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wintaerbaer · 3 months

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so eden sank to grief (knj)

summary: He just wants to make you happy. It seems to be the one thing he can no longer give.

pairing: Namjoon x Reader

rating: sfw (but maybe tears?)

genre: established relationship au, breakup au

word count: 1.2k

warnings: HEAVY ANGST, implied infertility problems, this is just the straight-up collapse of a marriage (i'm sorry)

a/n: found this buried on my old college laptop. i wrote this for a class a decade ago and figured i'd give it the fic treatment because why not (though i'm a little wary because i think it showcases how my writing has since declined lmaooo)

MASTERLIST

Namjoon’s never been a religious man, but when he sees you walking down the aisle towards him, he’s suddenly certain that there must be a heaven. With your eyes lit up like fireflies and your smile stretched wide across your face, you’re looking at him like he’s everything.

You look happy.

And it’s all he’s ever wanted to give you.

From where he stands he can see you tugging on your father’s arm, taking too-fast steps in that so-white dress, and he tries to project the thought that he’s not going anywhere—you don’t need to rush. Your father leans over to say something into your ear, and it must be along that same string of thought because you slow down ever so slightly, a frown momentarily dipping into the bow shape of your mouth before twisting back up into a grin even brighter than the one that came before it.

When you finally—finally—reach the alter, your father places your hand in his, and your fingers curl around each other, so warm as you turn to him with your tongue poking out from behind your teeth.

“Hey,” he whispers.

You laugh in response.

The officiant begins to talk, but all he hears is static because all he can think about is the svelte line of your body in that dress and your soft curls all pinned back and how it feels to have his hand pressed against the bare curve of your hip, tangled in white sheets, and he’s probably staring at you like a slack-jawed, lovesick fool, but he can’t really bring himself to care about any flack he might receive later.

He loves you.

You’re happy.

That’s all that matters.

The ceremony passes in a blur of sound and color, and then at last he’s kissing his wife—wedding band wrapped around his finger and the church bells ringing in his ears.

He wakes at 2:13am, the pang in his gut becoming too much to ignore even in sleep. The weight of the day hangs around his neck like a noose, choking him until he’s gasping for air. He rolls over, finds your face on the pillow next to his. Even in sleep, your features are twisted, crumpled.

You look broken.

It makes him ache in a way that he just can’t handle at the moment, and so he swings his legs over the side of the bed and presses his feet into the carpet that’s turned pearly white from the moonlight dancing over it. It’s too good of a color—too innocent, too pure—and he curls his toes as if he could scrape it away, make it feel the pain that he feels, make it reflect the inner turmoil of his soul.

He stands and makes his way into the hall, fighting every bone, every muscle, every pore that begs him to stop—demands instead that he lay down and die. And it is too much—it really is—as he stumbles into the small bedroom and throws himself down in the middle of it.

It hurts even more in here and for some distorted reason that makes it better. Here, he can feel every welt, bruise, and contusion of his heart and somehow—somehow—giving in to the pain makes it hurt less.

And so he sits alone in the nursery, save for the pale walls and the wooden rocking horse that he had bought one summery afternoon during a useless fit of optimism. For reasons he can’t even begin to understand, he finds himself crying over that damn horse—over how it no longer has a purpose, how it’s essentially been condemned to sitting alone in this empty bedroom day after day. He winds up curled at its side, choking on great, heaving sobs that wrack his entire body.

It’s the same place where you find him in the morning.

He’s watching film from your wedding when you come down the stairs looking absolutely striking in your sleek black dress with the matching high heels.

“What are you doing?” you ask. And still, after all these months, your voice sounds dead.

Flat.

He gestures at the television screen where the two of you are swaying on the dance floor during your reception. “Remember this?”

Your eyes flick up as you regard the image with what can only be described as complete and utter indifference—the sides of your mouth don’t twitch like they used to when you’d try to hold back a smile, nor do your eyes brighten in any way.

Simply nothing.

You don’t say a word about the homemade movie, just turn your back to him and say, “Can you zip me up?”

He gently places his hand at your waist for support, but you flinch so he pulls it back, grasps fabric instead as he glides the zipper up to the nape of your neck.

And then you’re walking away, your figure retreating into the kitchen for your purse before heading out the door, and he’s left wondering why this all went so terribly wrong—what he or you could have possibly done to deserve having the final, beautiful wisps of your past life disappear like smoke, slipping through his fingers as the two of you were sucked into a raging cataclysm of grief.

He just wants to make you happy.

It seems to be the one thing he can no longer give.

He arrives home in a swirl of shivers and coughs, the downpour outside doing nothing to help his health nor his psyche. He kicks off his boots, flips on a light, and is greeted by what seems to be an empty house.

That’s not right.

You always get home before him.

He takes a few hesitant steps forward, the feeling of wrong wrong wrong wrapping its long fingers around his gut and squeezing and suddenly, he’s speeding around the house calling your name.

You’re not in the living room, napping on the couch with a book propped on your chest; you’re not in the kitchen, cooking dinner with the radio on; you’re not in your bedroom or the bathroom or the nursery-turned-office or the laundry room or the den.

You’re just gone.

He’s always had a feeling that this day would come, but it does nothing to suppress the flood of agony that swells up, rushes in, and drowns him as he staggers back into your bedroom. Now that he’s looking, he can see how things are different—shifted, twisted, tilted.

Your perfumes and jewelry have vanished from the dresser, the painting that you bought a few months back is no longer on the wall, and the pair of slippers that usually sit next to the bed are missing. He moves to the closet, throws it open to confirm what he already knows to be true.

Your side is empty.

He falls to his knees, the last of his composure crumbling away as he gives himself over to the earth-shattering reality that lies before him—trembling beneath the glint of gold that is your wedding ring lying solitary on the bed.

a/n: apologies for any emotional damage. please feel free to rant at me in the replies or my inbox, and my lawyers will see to it as soon as possible. <3

#bts x reader #bts x you #bts imagines #bts angst #bts fic #bts fanfic #namjoon x reader #namjoon x you #namjoon angst #namjoon fic #namjoon fanfic #namjoon imagines

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beskarandblasters · 11 months

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Copycat Killer with a Chemical Cut - Copycat Killer Part Two

Famous Singer Joel x Stalker Fan Reader AU

Copycat Killer Masterlist

Main Masterlist | Joel Miller Masterlist

Summary: After the events of Punisher the reader is fixated on seeing Joel again but this time from a distance. Her last encounter was too close for comfort… or so she thinks.

Word count: 2.2k

Warnings: reader is able-bodied, canon divergent, written in third person, stalker behavior from reader (I mean it’s part two to Punisher what did you expect), no mentions of a physical description of reader besides the fact that she can cut/dye her hair, age gap (takes place in 2010 so Joel is 43 and reader is in her mid to late 20’s), drug use, drinking, fingering, unprotected sex, cream pie, semi public sex, no use of y/n

The effects of the drugs are wearing off in a precipitous crash. She’s fading hard. She stumbles home as fast as she can, just wanting collapse in her bed and rot. She reaches her apartment building and drags herself up the stairs, so close to the end. She struggles to get the key in the keyhole, hands shaking violently as she tries to keep herself upright. She bursts through the door with a thud, surely disturbing the people below her. She falls into her bed as her mind replays the night’s events. She doesn’t know how to feel. She wanted to get close to Joel Miller but that was too close. The room is spinning and she can’t think straight. She closes her eyes to try and make it all stop and ends up drifting off to sleep.

The morning light coming in through the window wakes her up with a pounding headache. She definitely got too fucked up last night because the higher you go, the harder the fall. She rolls over and checks her phone; 1:00. She slept in really late but that’s typical for her. She gets out of bed and looks in the mirror across her room, concocting a plan in her head about how to get close to Joel again. The thing is, she’s recognizable to him now. Despite all of the substances they were under, it’s hard to exactly forget an experience like that. What kind of person gets up and bolts without saying a word after giving a guy a blowjob?

And the idea strikes her weird little mind. It’s time to go to the store. She searches the nearest beauty supply store, changes out of last night's clothes, and begins the journey there. She walks everywhere, no matter how long of a walk it is.

“Man, I wish that I could say the same

I swear I'm not angry, that's just my face

A copycat killer with a chemical cut

Either I'm careless or I wanna get caught

Who I'm not”

On the walk there she thinks about last night again. She thinks about how nice Joel was to her. She just barged in on him alone in the pool house and he wasn’t even phased. She wishes she could be that nice but she’s too off putting. She doesn’t have people skills. And it doesn’t help that her appearance is just jarring. She’s usually in yesterday’s clothes, bags under her eyes, hair unkempt, and the resting bitch face ever so present. She was destined to be a loner.

After the long walk she arrives at the beauty supply store. She walks up and down the aisles, scanning them for what she’s looking for; a hair bleaching kit. Her plan is to bleach all of her hair in the hopes that Joel wouldn’t recognize her. She’s hoping in the midst of his spiraling drug addiction that this will work. But is that even likely? Probably not. She’s lying to herself but deep down she knows it won’t work. She finds the kit and goes to the counter to pay, ignoring the judging looks from the cashier. She leaves hastily and speedwalks home, eager to get her plan going. She barges into her apartment and gets straight to work, stopping to do a line before starting the process…

She changes into a sleep shirt and stands in front of her bathroom mirror, taking a deep breath before opening the kit. The kit comes with gloves but why would she use them? She dumps the blueish paste into the clear plastic bowl before taking some on the brush, slathering her hair in a messy fashion. She covers her whole head, slicking her hair back and setting on a timer on her phone for when it’s time to wash it out. She sits down on her couch and flips through TV channels, looking to kill time. Night time is when she thrives, moving under the dark covert where she’s met with less judging eyes. The night is when she finds more people like her so the day time is when she normally retreats to the comfort of her apartment.

She slumps against the couch, closing her eyes in exhaustion. The sound of the TV lulls her to sleep…

She awakes with a gasp and shoots up, desperately looking for a clock to check the time. She sees her phone on the floor and grabs it; 7 p.m, four hours have passed. Shit. She scurries to the bathroom and looks at her hair in the mirror. It’s bleached alright but it’s also fried. She jumps in the shower and starts washing the dried, crusted bleach out but to her horror her hair starts falling off in large clumps. She grabs a towel and gets out of the shower, looking at herself completely unphased. Her hair is much shorter now, with jagged, uneven ends. How could she be so fucking stupid? But in all honesty after the initial shock she didn’t care anymore.

She dries herself off and blow dries her hair, getting a better look at it now that it’s not drenched. It still looks like shit but not as bad as it looked wet. She gets dressed and makes herself look at least semi presentable. Tonight she’s going back out on the prowl for Joel, hoping to see him at the bar this time. She grabs her bag and a book to read and sets off into the evening. The judgmental stares are in full swing tonight thanks to the hair. But that sort of stuff never phased her and it surely isn’t phasing her now. She walks with her head up, purse slung over her shoulder and book clutched to her side, walking down the street without a care in the world. She can’t be worried about her appearance right now, not when she’s on a mission.

She reaches the dive bar on the corner. It’s full of people who are probably not too far off from her vibe. She sits at the bar and orders a vodka soda and scans the room. No Joel yet so she cracks open her book, sipping on her drink and eavesdropping on others’ conversations as she reads. It’s nothing of importance. No one’s talking about him. She orders another drink and props her elbows on the bar, resting her head in her hands. She’s getting impatient. She had a taste of him last night and she’s desperate for more. She’s hoping and praying just to hear his hame, let alone see him again. She finishes the second drink and goes to the bathroom. She stares at herself in the mirror before doing a line to calm her nerves. When she returns she finds none other than Joel Miller sitting at the bar alone. It’s clear he drank before he came. And he’s definitely on some sort of substance. She opens her book and pretends to read; pretends to act like she hasn’t noticed him. But she notices him slide closer and closer to her out of her peripheral vision. Maybe the disguise didn’t work. Her eyes flicker back to her book before taking one more look and that’s when she sees Joel directly next to her. She gasps but before she can speak, Joel goes first.

“I know you.”

“Do you?”

“The pool house. You think you can just change your hair and then all of a sudden I wouldn’t recognize ya?”

He reaches for her chin and turns her face towards him to look her directly in the eye.

“Can’t forget that pretty little mouth wrapped around my cock.”

Her eyes widened. He’s so different from last night. Maybe it’s a different mixture of drugs? Maybe because he’s not at a party?

Or maybe it’s because he knows she wants him. And now he’s taking advantage.

“Meet me in the bathroom if you want a good time,” he says before getting up and walking down the hallway.

She’s torn. At first she never wanted it to go this far. She just wanted to be near him without him noticing; to lurk in the shadows… But deep down she’s living for the thrill of it all. The dark, twisted side of her wants to get closer and closer to him, until she’s infiltrated every corner of his life.

She grabs her bag and follows him, ready to just suck him off again. But it seems he has other plans. He presses her against the bathroom after it closes and kisses her, one hand palming her thigh and pulling up her skirt. His calloused fingers trail the seam of her underwear teasing her ever so slightly before pulling them down completely. While his fingers grazed the entrance of her cunt his mouth worked on her neck, marking it up with bites as she moaned against him. He pulls back and looks at her with a deranged look in his eye. But that didn’t scare her. He brings his fingers to his mouth and moistens them, bringing them back to her cunt. He pushes two fingers inside her, without warming her up with just one first.

“A dirty girl like you can handle it,” he whispers against her ear, curling his fingers ever so slowly.

She writhes against the door in pleasure as Joel takes pleasure in teasing her.

“Please… I need more,” she moans softly.

His thumb finds her clit, sending her closer to the edge. Her moans fill the small bathroom as he works to bring her to orgasm. She cums around his fingers, soaking him down to his wrist with her release. He pulls his fingers out of her and grabs her waist, dragging her over to the bathroom sink. She bends over and stands on her tiptoes to lift her ass higher for him. He undoes his belt and slides down his pants. Something falls to the floor with a light thud but both of them are too horny, drunk and drugged out to give a shit. He slicks his cock with the wetness on his hand and pushes himself inside her. His hands squeeze the soft skin of her waist underneath her shirt, hard enough to leave a mark as he pulls her into him. Anyone outside the bathroom could hear their incoherent moans of pleasure and the sound of skin colliding with skin. With his size and the force he’s fucking her with she’s not going to last long. And apparently neither will he. She feels his cock tense up inside her so she pushes against him as he pushes against her. Her orgasm erupts from her core as she grips the sink, desperately trying to keep herself up as her legs are going weak. With one final slam he finishes, filling her up with his cum as he leans back and closes his eyes in pleasure, letting out a guttural moan in the process. She doesn’t flip out that he just came inside her. She’s still hung up on the fact that they just fucked inside the bathroom of this bar. He pulls out of her and pulls up his pants, cock still wet.

“Thanks for a real fuckin’ good time, darlin’,” he says, kissing her on the cheek before leaving. He gave her the same treatment she gave him the night before. She cleans herself up with a paper towel and notices something on the floor; his wallet. She immediately picks it up and opens it without thinking, scanning it for his driver’s license. She pulls it out of the sleeve and takes note of the address. She puts the wallet in her bag and finishes cleaning herself up now that she has a new mission in mind. She leaves the bathroom and pays her tab at the bar before exiting onto the street. His house is in this neighborhood but also sort of not. She’s walking there of course but it’s gonna be a long walk.

It’s past midnight now. She walks through the night, legs and abs sore from the bathroom sex earlier but she persists. Her high is fading, too. It’s a chore to get to his house but she wants this more than anything.

She climbs up hills and weaves through the neighborhood, pulling out the license to make sure she’s going the right way every so often. But then she turns onto his street and picks up the pace now that the end goal is in sight. She stops in front of his house, nice but also modest; not overly flashy. It’s tan with green shutters and a rust colored roof. The lawn is slightly unkempt. It’s somehow exactly what she pictured in her mind when she thought of where Joel Miller would live.

She checks her phone: 1:30 a.m. She drags herself to the front door and rings the doorbell; the alcohol in her stomach stirring thanks to her nerves. She heard a gruff “hang on” come from somewhere in the house. She waits for what feels like forever until Joel answers the door. He doesn’t realize who it is at first until his eyes adjust to the outside light above the door. The look on his face is one of pure horror as she breaks out into the widest grin.

To be continued

#joel miller x reader #joel miller au #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x fem!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller smut #joel miller #joel miller imagine #tlou #tlou hbo #pedro pascal joel miller #pedro pascal characters #the last of us #the last of us hbo #beskarandblasters punisher #punisher #punisher phoebe bridgers

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chimielie · 2 years

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having this idea of an hq character (you can choose who it suits the most) where the reader and them are like lowkey flirting and do couple things ig but they both don’t realize that they like each other? like they are just going with the flow, and doing those things for shits and giggles but then when someone else in their friend groups point it out they are like hmm.. and then they give it some thought and then they have an oh shit moment like “yea I do like them” idk if that made any sense (feel free to ignore this too 💀)

note! i have a full fic that’s similar to this concept with akaashi, which you can find here! tysm and hope u enjoy <3

“Why do you call Kenma babygirl?” Shōyō wants to know.

“How about we stop talking for a little while,” Kenma says placidly, eyes glued to his Switch, nudging your hand with his head. He’s lying in your lap, molten-gold locks spread out so you just had to comb your fingers through them.

You don’t answer, head leaned on the window of the train. You get motionsick easier than he does, so you’d taken an anti-nausea pill and fallen asleep within ten minutes, hand still in his hair. He can feel your breathing, the side of his head pressed up against your stomach.

Shōyō, on the other hand, presses on from his seat across the aisle. “Don’t you ever think about settling down?”

“Do you? And be quiet, they’re sleeping,” Kenma says protectively. This is why you’re his favorite friend. When he slides his gaze to his orange-haired friend, he’s kicking at the floor, looking pouty.

“He means you look like a couple.” Kuroo is sitting in the corner where he shouldn’t be able to pass snarky judgment and yet he still does. Incredible.

“Don’t say what I mean!” Shōyō says to Kuroo. “But yeah, that’s what I meant.”

“We look like two friends riding the train together. Two friends who are going to get off a stop early and find their own hotel so they don’t have to deal with their other... acquaintances.”

“A love hotel,” says Kuroo, dragging out “love” into four excruciating syllables and earning himself the lowest rank among Kenma’s three (3) friends yet.

“I’m going to put a hit on you on the dark web,” Kenma says. Kuroo (who doesn’t understand the internet) is deeply, deeply afraid of the dark web.

“I get it,” Shōyō says thoughtfully. “You’re just like two friends—”

“Yes,” Kenma says. For once, he feels understood, listened to, heard.

“Who do all the things couples do but they don’t call it that. Platuney.”

“No,” Kenma drops his Switch to his stomach.

“I think the word is platonically,” says Kuroo, pronouncing it wrong with total confidence.

“You are all idiots,” the beleaguered gamer pronounces. “Name one thing Y/N and I do that I don’t do with one of you.”

“Sleepovers—”

“Takeout and a movie—”

“Animal Crossing dates—”

“Grocery store dates—”

“Who even does that, except married couples—”

“You make tea for—”

“Kissing—”

“You dared me to!” Kenma snaps, way louder than he meant to. He takes in a surprised, short breath, and then glances guiltily up at you, trying to determine whether he woke you up. Thankfully, your breaths remain deep and even, your face peaceful. He’s glad. “We’d never kiss if we weren’t in a situation like that.”

“But you want to,” Kuroo guesses. Kenma presses his lips together, a tight line.

You shift in your sleep, and he’s shockingly, acutely aware of every place you touch. The softness of you and the places that cover bone. He wonders if it was the same for you, when the bottle pointed between you both and you’d flushed but stuck your chin up bravely, and that subtle motion made him brave too.

It was so fast and he was so nervous. He can’t really remember the kiss, but he has your face memorized. He can imagine it.

Shit. He wants to kiss you again.

“Doesn’t matter,” Kenma says, picking his console back up. “Not if Y/N doesn’t want to.”

“What if they do?” Shōyō asks. Kenma rolls his eyes. This is a very annoying train of thought, since it’s derailing straight toward absolutely nothing but endless pining for him. He didn’t want this; he wanted things to be simple.

“They don’t,” he says flatly. He’s so distracted he doesn’t notice your hand sliding out of his hair or the way you stretch, rolling out your neck.

“Don’t tell lies about me,” you say, loud and clear. “I definitely do.”

Only years of lightning-fast gamer reflex training (and maybe volleyball, too, damn it) save Kenma from dropping his Switch right off the seat.

“What?”

#sorry this is such a shitpost lol #shorts!#kenma x reader #kenma kozume x reader #kozume kenma x reader #haikyuu!! x reader #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #hq!! x reader #kenma x reader fluff #kenma fluff #im in the car imso carsick i dont want to tag. just like send it to ur friends who like kenma and haikyuu please thanks #user: seijohlations #ask n answer

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staticl0ve · 1 year

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The Pig and the Fox - Chap 1 - Connor x AFAB!Reader

Pairings: Connor/AFAB!Reader (no pronouns used) Rating: Mature/Explicit/NSFW 18+ Link (AO3): Read it Here Chapters: [ Chap 1 ] [ Ch 2 ] [ Ch. 3 ] [ Ch. 4 ] [ Ch. 5 ] / 6 Words: 3.3k Warnings: implied drug use (supporting character), so much swearing, reader does wear feminine attire Summary: When a thief meets a cop, they’re on the opposite sides of the law, two flips of a coin. However, there’s more to life than things being black and white. In a post android revolution, not much has changed for the common citizen. The rich get richer and the poor, well, they work. They adapt. They sacrifice. You straddled that fine line, one toe in the light and one in the dark. So does Connor, but you don’t quite see that yet. Notes: Based on that ask for “Tear You Apart.” I see you anon and I made this way longer than a oneshot (oops). ✨💙

Chapter 1 - Law and Disorder

When you think of America, you’re probably thinking of a star spangled banner, waving in the air as a marching band proudly plays a tune inspiring pride and patriotism. Pay no mind to the country’s shores dimming away into a rising sea and rockets with their red glare gleaming over oil rich lands. Across an ocean, the same melody was once but a pub song, meant to be slurred out of drunken mouths like 99 Bottles on the Wall.

Since the young country’s founding, the nation quickly led the global markets in pop culture, science and technology. By 2018, a young CEO of a tech startup changed everything with one invention, a perfect creation, beautiful, unchanging and with a mind that was sharper than its creator. An android, straight out of science fiction. The invention handled everything from household chores, babysitting, surgery and even replacing the role of an intimate partner. One could only imagine the fallout that occurred across the job market.

By 2038, the country was too busy bickering across political aisles, gaslighting and finger pointing instead of helping a neglected populace. Like adding water to a grease fire, tempers flared as people began to take out their frustrations on the androids. Eventually, the machines had enough. An android killed a man out of self preservation and a little girl was held hostage.

The story had changed and the media was quick to paint an image of a temporary truce, an us versus them. But machines were more level headed than their organic counterparts, wanting only peace, equal rights—the expected fundamentals. One peaceful revolution, a series of lawyers and they got it all. Love em or hate em, their freedom meant things quickly returned back to the status quo—for the most part.

For those still lost and purposeless, they found their way out with the dawn of cybernetics. In an effort to compete with the machines, people began embracing synthetic alterations. Surgical procedures ranged from minor implants to full limb replacements. X-Ray vision? You’ve got it. A machine gun for an arm? Still pretty fucking illegal but you bet someone had one.

The cybernetic market was also a hit for those in it for the aesthetic of glowing eyes and hair that could grow at will (very popular with middle aged men). Others found more…nefarious uses for their upgrades. Murder was a little extreme for your tastes. Thievery was more your thing, or a little something you might call, wealth redistribution.

Bold colors, the same as the flag, flashed wildly at a mansion in Palmer Woods, one of Detroit’s wealthiest neighborhoods. A patrol car idled in the rain. Not only were the roads slick, the weather was all doom and gloom, discouraging outdoor activities. Police normally didn’t make appearances in the sleepy suburb, but tonight, a house party was disturbing the peace.

From high up, a curtain was slightly drawn in a nearby home. Unlike the one next to it, the guests were not expected.

“Fucking pigs,” your associate, Leo hissed under his breath. He was attached to the shadows in the room, dark hair hidden behind a beanie, arms crossed with a teal blazer wrinkled around clenched fists. For a rich kid, he always managed to be short on money and his father, Carl Manfred, was beginning to catch onto why and halved his allowance. It wasn’t uncommon for people like Leo to chase wild parties and find himself doing dubious work to pay for his new habits. He would blame his circumstances on his father’s neglect, or as Carl saw it, the best a divorced man could do while balancing a large art career.

As a buyer of Carl’s gallery work, you knew him first, then Markus and met Leo at a bad place and a bad time. Carl’s eldest son had gotten himself in some trouble during an exchange of goods, a fight over bags filled with red crystals. You leveraged your trade name, Fox, and saved him from one hell of a beating. Despite your best judgment, you dragged him under your wing and to your surprise, he was good at keeping your side gig a secret. While you weren’t the type to pry, you didn’t love what he did with his free time but you did tell him, “If you’re going to do dumb shit at least I can keep an eye on you.”

You watched after him like any good sibling would, even though he already had a younger brother, Markus. But Markus was an android that shared all of the same passions their father had, which did not rest well with Leo who lacked any artistic talent. A story…meant for another rainy day.

“It’s just the one patrol car, you don’t think they tracked us…?” he pondered.

“Relax,” you replied. Your fingers were holding a bedroom curtain open by a sliver, enough to spot the cop car parked across the street and the two passengers exiting the vehicle. “They’re not here for us. I bet a neighbor called in a noise complaint about the house party.”

“Damn, you think we can finish up soon? I was hoping to meet my buddy there.”

You tried to ignore how shifty his eyes got around the word ‘buddy’ and the subconscious twitch of his fingers rubbing the tip of his nose.

“Right,” you scoffed, returning to the center of the room where an empty desk sat.

The home you cased was nearly barren, the owner too busy or too preoccupied with his other homes to bother decorating with personal touches. Paintings of generic scenery hung in each room and the walls were all the same drab seashell white color. This boring, Crate and Barrel style home belonged to a former investor of Cyberlife, your target for the evening.

“This shit we’re doing…we’re the good guys right?” Leo asked. It was a peculiar question since he never had a problem with what you were doing before.

“There’s no good or bad, we’re just here to balance the scales. Our target has been happily benefiting from the services our taxes pay. It’s time we got our share.“

“Wait, taxes pay for stuff?”

Distracted, you had to turn around to give him a look like you were talking to a child.

“Yes, they do. What are you twelve?”

“I’m Twenty-Nine!” he shot back, standing up taller and puffing his chest out. You knew he never worked a day in his life and mostly survived off the money his father sent him.

“Oh, so you do have a seat the big kids table then,” you snickered.

“Just—forget what I said and worry about the safe, okay?”

You went back to checking out the oak desk. At a glance, it looked like the rest of the home, plain and unimportant. You ran your bare hand over the surface, enjoying how smooth it felt. The new upgrades to your limbs offered retractable fingerprints and you were pleased to know you weren’t one of the unlucky few to lose all feeling in your hands as a result of the implant.

Your skin warmed along your veins, the circuitry embedded in the skin revealing angular lines of light that traveled from the back of your neck, down your spine and to your fingertips. The artificial lenses in your eyes spun, adjusting to see something beyond human perception. As the room shifted from reality to a virtual grid, a blue line trailed from a panel on the desk and to the wall across from it.

“There,” you announced and injected the lock panel with a combination breaker. Numbers clicked away, cycling and flickering hundreds of formations. Off in the background, you could still feel the bass of the party next door, shaking up the dead stillness of the place you were in. It was interrupted by a constant buzzing. Out of the corner of your eye, Leo stuffed his hand into his pocket, bringing out a phone.

“Fuck,” he whispered, gloved thumb fumbling with the red end call button. “Shit.”

You caught a small glimpse of a face on the screen, an older man who if not for his age, would be just as problematic as his son.

“Sorry, Fox,” Leo sighed out. “Won’t happen again.”

“S’fine.” You shrugged but kept an eye on him. “I hope it wasn’t important?”

Alright, so you pried sometimes.

Leo wasn’t looking his best tonight. Sweat was beading down his brow, his feet fidgeting and creaking the hardwood. He shook his hand dismissively at the desk, half to tell you to let it go and half to redirect your focus. You did, returning to blocks of text streaming down your sight. Numbers cycled until it finally halted on one set. Your lips curled, finger drawing a pattern on the panel.

A disguised safe door clicked open on the wall, revealing a small square box filled with thin, rounded glass tablets. On the surface, they looked like trading cards with cute monkey graphics but you knew this set was worth millions. These cards weren’t all that different from rare paintings and a few controversial auctions were all it took to make them seem exclusive. It was a little funny, the obscure measures the super rich took to funnel their wealth.

“That’s all of them,” you declared, grabbing a handful of holocards. Placing them in Leo’s care, you didn’t have time to celebrate when an alarm broke. Dramatically, your shoulders slumped, head thrown back as you groaned.

“Leo!”

Wide-eyed, he jumped, panic racing across his features. “Shit, I swear I got all of em.”

“Could have been a silent one. Fuck, and the cops are right next door.”

You dashed to the blinds, cursing once when you saw the officers on the neighbor’s lawn turn their heads from the alarm. Pulling away from the window, you worked out your backup plan.

“Cover your face,” you said while lifting up a handkerchief tied around your neck. He mirrored you, bringing a holographic mask up. It shimmered, forming around his face until he looked like a pixelated blur. “The door to the back yard, take it. I’m going out the front door—”

He looked more concerned as the words sunk in, “What? You’re going to run into them!”

“That’s the idea. Come on!” You raced forward, shoving him through the doorway. “We meet up after, a different spot than last week. You know the place right?”

Leo stammered out an affirmation of sorts as he stumbled down the stairs.

“And change your clothes!” you shouted after him.

Through the windows, you could spot the cops, one older and one younger, making their way to the front door. If you were to be honest—you stretched out a little, fingers intertwined and reaching for the ceiling—this was your favorite part when a heist went wrong.

Explosive energy surged through your veins, blue light rippling across skin, glowing brighter. You shot off your feet, racing quickly through the home, making a loud banging noise as the door swung open. Rain hit your exposed skin, cool pinpricks chilling your hands and face.

“Halt! DPD!” That must have been the younger guy, his voice energetic and closing in much closer than the other officer. Behind him, his partner sighed, arm bracing his back as he jogged to catch up.

“Connor! Wait!” the older man shouted. He gave up after a few paces as the rain slowed him further.

Pigs needed to run every now and then. You stuck out your middle finger and hopped over a fence. Connor’s faint cry of “stop” got lost between backyard sheds and fancy trimmed bushes.

First things first, the rules to a neat getaway: befriend the neighborhood dogs.

A large canine, out on its pee break ran up, bared it’s teeth with a vicious snarl. It calmed instantly when you threw a milk-bone and you were back on the run. The man chasing you felt close behind, the dog reacting to his presence only moments after you left.

The other rules were tedious things of the past like cardio. But who needs cardio when they’ve got implants? Wind bit your face as you raced through neatly curated suburbia. Some might say you relied too much on your cybernetics but you saw it differently. You designed them for a living, suffered the pain of your body rejecting the technology and when it all finally came together, you used your new advantages to your benefit.

Well, you weren’t soulless. A lot of the money you stole got laundered, turned legit and anonymously donated to nonprofit organizations you trusted. What was leftover went to your daytime front: a condo with a view, a sweet android dog waiting for you at home, and your side hobby of collecting art.

As homes drifted off into the distance and the streets felt more open, you glanced over your shoulder.

“Oh, fuck.”

The cop from earlier was still on your tail and it was then that you realized a small…blue…ring on his temple. You’d never seen an android that could keep up with your off market cybernetics. Double fuck.

For those taking notes, every successful getaway requires a back up plan to go with the back up plan. There were a handful of locations where you had emergency transit parked in hiding. Your fingers twitched, skin pulsing in a pattern. Blocks away, a motorbike’s engine came to life.

“Not another step,” Connor ordered. His shadow stretched to your shoes, his posture tall and shoulders squared to intimidate. “Move and I will have to use force.”

“Fuckers like you always do,” you casually responded, not at all deterred by his threat. The bike was going to take a few minutes to arrive so you had to buy some time. Your gaze dipped to his utility belt. Taser, gun, baton…oh, handcuffs, fun. “So, how do you wanna do this?”

His head tilted slightly, curiosity chipping away at his authority. “What can I call you?”

“You can…fuck…right off.” You didn’t miss the flash of gold from his temple.

“Would you prefer…” His LED pulsed until it eased back to a calm blue. “Fox?”

Your fists clenched. He couldn’t possibly make out who you were with what little you were revealing. Communications used for this assignment were heavily encrypted, although…it wouldn’t take a super computer like him long to compile data from the dark web and find a trail some associate of yours failed to cover.

You weren’t confident you could take on a machine that hunted other machines since your implants were optimized for dexterity and speed. However, Connor didn’t look terribly intimidating with his large doe eyes and delicate angular features. Compared to your sleek black, waterproof clothing, your adversary was a sad, wet dog. His hair was soaked, flat and his police labeled windbreaker was two times too large for his lean build. That all changed when he lowered his chin and the whites of his eyes caught the glow from a streetlight. As he stalked forward, you recoiled marginally, muscles pulled taut.

“Do you like to tango?” you asked, redistributing your weight until your feet were squared with your shoulders. You grinned, canines baring back at him, a sly fox sizing up a hog. “I’m a really good dancer.”

You didn’t wait for him to reply, dropping low with a fast sweep of your leg to his ankles. Any other person would have collapsed to the ground but Connor was quick to right himself mid fall, using the momentum to wrap his hand around your arm. Everything moved as if frame by frame, droplets of rain falling at an angle, your eyes widening and him dragging you into his hold.

What you failed to realize earlier was that this android wasn’t your average run of the mill PC200 or PM700, law enforcement androids meant for guarding, observing and patrolling. Connor was an RK800 and now, as you were about to land face first into his chest, you remembered you had seen him before. There was a man lingering at the edge of the stage during Markus’ big speech but your personal investment in the deviant leader’s wellbeing had you fixated on Markus. Great, how unlucky for you to be arrested by the one and only deviant hunter who’s specs were still unknown.

Alright, one last back up plan, because of course you were prepared.

You were prepared, weren’t you?

“You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can be used against you in court,” Connor said as he caged you into his chest. Your head smacked his jaw and he continued with little effort despite your thrashing.

“Let me go!”

“You have the right to talk to a—”

“Fuck off!” Your elbow connected with the center of his chassis, making him loosen his grip. It wasn’t enough but you were able to free your arms. Your hand glowed as you gripped his neck, forcing an interface. Connor’s body seized up, turning him into a still mannequin. His eyes were frozen open, the brown dimmed to a dull gray as his LED glowed an angry red. Waving your fingers over his face, you breathed out a sigh of relief.

Normally the program you ran acted as a temporary sedative to use on androids and you weren’t sure how effective it would be on an RK800. Your escape plan was here, headlights approaching and washing your tangled figures in yellow. Pushing free of Connor’s grip, a shock worked its way up your arm, the same one that touched his neck.

“Ow! What the f—fuck…?”

You glanced back up at him, watched the red of his indicator spin to gold and knew you had no time to think about anything that wasn’t getting away. The sting had mellowed out into a small fizz but the cybernetics in your arm never calmed on your way to the meet up spot.

Beneath the cover of a park tree, Leo’s leg was nervously shaking as he tried his best to appear casual. He had changed from his original get up, as did you. Anyone walking by would figure he was out on an oddly late date. He had bagged the cards in a bright pink bag full of white hearts with a single rose sticking out.

“Fox! Thank fuck, I thought for sure they got you.”

You cheerily held up a bag of oily goods, filled with fries and nuggets.

“What kinda friend would I be if I left you standing out in the cold?” Your smile grew wider when you caught sight of his disguised bag. “What the hell is that?”

He roughly snatched the junk food and handed—tossed more like it—the bag of cards to you.

“It was all I could find at the drug store!”

You caught it with ease, bringing the rose to your nose. With your other hand, you brought out your phone. An app for exchanging currency flashed before him. Leo fumbled around, wiping his salty fingers on his pants and you had to hold back a laugh.

“I knew you’d be hungry.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he replied and placed his phone next to yours. The screens flickered, numbers counting up on one side. He watched the change with rapt focus, brown eyes wide as if hypnotized. His ashen face was washed in the white glow of his screen, drawing deeper lines on the purple, almost bruised skin beneath his eyes. You’d seen that look on other faces before and the ending was not so happy.

“Hey…you should call your dad sometime,” you said.

Leo broke from his trance, pulling away and stuffing his phone back into his pockets.

“I know.”

The silence was accompanied by glimpses of polished stone on fresh dug soil, the smell of cut grass. Your hand on a cool surface, flowers in hand.

You pressed the rose back up to your nose, nodding back at him.

“See you around, Leo.”

“Don’t get caught, Fox.”

Your fingers throbbed again, the blue glowing beneath your jacket.

#my writing #detroit become human #dbh fanfic #reader insert #dbh connor #rk800 #connor rk800 x reader #rk800 x reader #connor x reader #the pig and the fox

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aislingsurrow · 7 months

Text

Aleport’s chapel to the Twelve was nothing to write home about. Broad flagstone floors were laid unevenly, causing an unwary step to stumble. Pews made of stubborn, old wood stood in straight lines before the altar. Today it was dressed for Llymlaen- a fine glass bowl of seawater sat in the middle, circled by bright white sand and colorful shells.

Behind the altar, the chapel’s greatest expense- a grand, stained glass window. It was beautiful and clear and cast a kaleidoscope of colors across the chapel floor when the sun was right in the sky. That was when the ceremony would take place, in that golden hour.

For now, the light was slanted against the wall. Much too early. Aisling appreciated that; grand, public prayer was important but she needed a moment to herself.

She anointed herself from the bowel of sea water- a splash in her palm over her forehead. Her bangs stuck to her skin, a reminder of the salt of the sea, the sweat of sun and surf.

"Llymlaen- is it you?" Aisling whispered. Soft fingers traced the soldered metal that held the carefully cut glass in place. "Althyk never said anything back when I asked him. And Thaliak has been no help either."

The gods were tricksters- of that Aisling was sure. What other beings would send strange dreams to a girl and not tell her what they were for? How worse it had been of late, too. Scenes of destruction- fresh-cut and lacquered wood wrecked on the sand. Pure white sails tangled in line and stone. She'd seen these things before- how many shipwrecks littered the land around her home after all?- but all the same, fresh dread bubbled in her stomach.

"Are the winds changing, o great watcher of the seas?"

But like her other pleas, she heard and felt no answer. When she was younger, it felt as if there always was an answer- the reach of prayer readily answered with assurance, a feeling, but now-

Now all she could feel was a sinking, quiet certainty. She could only see tattered sails.

The ceremony later that day was to commemorate the first voyage of a new cutter that was made by to ferry goods all around Eorzea- from the Indigo Deep to the Rhotano Sea. The skies were clear- everyone was in good cheer- so why-

"Aisling?"

She hadn't heard the door, nor her father's heavy footsteps. It was his low voice, rumbling like far-away thunder, that made her snap from her thoughts. To look up at him, Aisling had to crane her neck, and her eyes widened with guilt. The building was supposed to be closed and locked, after all.

"How did I know?" he said as he bent down to her, taking a knee to meet his daughter's gaze. She had his sandy hair- and he ruffled it playfully, messing the bells in her ribbons. "Come on, she won't say much. Tell me what's wrong, instead."

Aisling's lips trembled. "... A feeling," she said simply.

"Ah." The hand atop her head slid to cup her cheek and lift her chin. "That somethin' bad'll happen."

"I feel like- it must happen." The dreams were like memories- sand felt beneath her feet. "It's already happened, and it's just happening again."

"Bad things feel that way, don't they?"

Indignation clenched her fists at her sides. “I’ll tell captain- they’ll delay the maiden voyage- if I warn them, then maybe-“

She was interrupted by his hand atop her head, and her father’s voice edged into the firm. “The captain has contracts and schedules. The skies are clear- they know the risks. We all do, as seamen.”

But that offered no assurance- and when Aisling retreated back into herself he knew he had to try a different tack.

"They're folk of salt and sea. This ain't their first voyage- so if somethin' does happen, they're ready for it. Ready for anythin'. It's all we can be." He pet her hair back- and the gentle thunder of his voice parted the clouds in Aisling's eyes. "If y'want t'do more, ask the gods for help, or give some yourself."

"... We'll ask for extra blessings today," she said firmly. "And give them a second crate of the Portsmont. For luck."

He winced- the Portsmont was expensive, and like her mother, Aisling was too generous by nature. It irked his pirate's sensibilities, but-

But she was smiling, and she slipped her hand around his. "Come on Papa, hurry up," Aisling said as she tugged him out. "Do you want cleric Ahldbhar to catch us?"

He laughed and let his small daughter yank him out of the chapel, and into the sun.

#aisling surrow #ffxiv oc #lalafell #writing #ffxiv gposers #gposers #ffxiv fic #ffxiv writing

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bone-evidence · 4 months

Note

4 and 8 for the writing asks !

4. What is your favourite line you wrote this year?

Oh my god that's such a hard question, holy shit- Here, I'll give you a bunch since I can't pick, and since I already did question 8! With some sneak peeks to things I haven't posted yet >:D

To Cure What Ails:

Gilbert breathed in those words, let them fill him with church bells and a sobbed-out eulogy, and then breathed them out until there was nothing left in him. Just an empty shell, trembling in the cold arms of a ghost.

You Brought Me Your Illness, I Brought You My Love:

“You… you didn’t have to do that, you know.” Tolys whispered, much softer than he had before. He could whine and moan and protest himself being taken care of no problem, but to know that his dog was thought of as well… He’d try to deny it later, but in the moment, a much sweeter warmth filled his heart. “Thank you.”

Gilbert was grateful that his mask obscured half his face, because he couldn’t stop the soft smile that crossed his lips if he tried.

My Reason:

Matthew stood up straight and looked for a price tag. When he found it, he couldn’t help but laugh.

“Damaged goods. You and me both, eh?” He spoke softly to the bear. A gentle smile settled on his face as he tucked the stuffy under his arm and moved on. The books in the next aisle were calling his name.

Witch in the Woods:

By the time Madeline finally passed out, she had completely filled two pages in her sketchbook with her muses. One page was a mix of the wolf and the fae, a recreation of the beautiful fairy dance that had lifted her spirits so. The other page was filled entirely with sketches of the wolf. Every facial expression she’d seen from him was documented, along with a guess as to what the front of him looked like as he scared away the villagers.

That page bore the label ‘Mr. Wolf’. But in the morning, she would find the words crossed out, with a name scrawled underneath in messy writing:

Gilbert.

Grandaddy Purple:

“I’m giving you a choice. Hypothetically, ignoring everything you’ve ever been told, what would you want?”

Gilbert moved a little, enough that he could hear his lover’s steady heartbeat and feel the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. Crimson eyes slid closed as he murmured his answer. “I… I think I would want to go to heaven. I always did like the sound of a house saved for me up there. Do you think God charges much for rent?"

Concerning Prussians:

Prussia nodded, and the soft smile he received in return found itself a loving home in his long memory.

Shatter Me:

Gilbert ran a calloused hand through his choppy white hair and took a deep breath. Folklore and rumours were what would keep him safe and hidden, as much as their memory ran his blood cold.

Sweeter Than Wine:

Unfortunately for Tolys, he discovered what happens when one tries to laugh and drink at the same time. He managed to turn to the side just in time to not splatter Lovino with the wine that burned his nose. When he sat back up, slightly cross-eyed and sniffling a little, he saw his dear dinner partner trying so hard to stifle his giggles. Their eyes met, and it was all over for both of them. Their shrieking, boisterous laughter echoed across the Italian countryside, joining the song of the seagulls that wheeled overhead.

That Special Feeling:

The pair erupted into a whooping chorus of cheering in both German and English, of love confessions and promises all shouted louder than the music had ever been playing. Gilbert stood, with Arthur securely in his arms, and spun them around until they were laughing like schoolchildren and dizzy enough to fall right into the pool of leaves.

Oceandeep:

Arthur couldn’t help himself if he tried. He reached a hand out, slowly so as not to scare the beauty before him, and gently grazed the sharp edge of his jawline with the back of his fingers. He was rewarded with a lightning-fast snap of those deadly jaws that made him yelp in surprise. The mershark’s laughter accompanied the furious beating of Arthur’s heart, and though he was decently sure he’d been nicked, he simply rolled his eyes.

“You’re going to be the death of me, aren’t you?”

A toothy smirk broke on the mershark’s face. “Pray that I make it quick.”

Annnd that's something from almost everything I wrote this year lmao! Oceandeep, Shatter Me, Witch in the Woods and To Cure What Ails will hopefully be coming out in the new year!

#writeblr ask game #thanks for the ask <3!!

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zhakyria · 6 months

Text

So, writing has been slow, mostly because of the whole "where do I go and how do I write this" but I have been working on a few other snippets for other parts of the Cimarron AU.

I've determined that the Cimarron AU is basically a purgatory of sorts. It involves mostly SW Villains - usually my favorites, and a few extras that shouldn't really be there but somehow are. (I actually have a lore reason for this!)

For a brief overview - the Character dies and wakes up on a train to Cimarron, a small frontier town on a unnamed Wild Space world that is fairly disconnected from the rest of the galaxy. They have no memories accept for their death (usually), they do know their name, they still have access to much of their personality and knowledge they just don't have the context. They are called Ghosts by the locals because they only arrive on the Midnight Train and though they can take injury and illness like most people, they do not seem to age, and they cannot leave the area.

Most have come to consider it a second chance of sorts. Below the cut is one such snippet that I worked on last night. For when Thrawn arrives in town. In this AU Thrawn dies after Eli. Eli dies during the Ascendancy/Hegemony war, in the same manner as he described near the end of Thrawn: Treason.

“It was a suicide mission. In an effort to take an enemy down with us, I loaded an escape pod with as much explosives as I could, waited until it had been taken aboard the attacking warship, and then detonated the explosives.”

Thrawn's death memory however is fragmented, and almost seems to be multiple deaths with the 3rd one being the most shrouded (mostly because in Canon he hasn't been killed yet).

“Mitth’raw’nuruodo?”

That was his name, though it hadn’t been pronounced correctly. Still, it did feel odd to hear it, like it hadn’t been spoken in his presence in a very long time. Thrawn opened his eyes to find a human wearing an olive green Conductor’s uniform standing in the aisle next to where he sat.

“Thrawn.”

“Pardon?”

“I would prefer if you called me Thrawn.”

“Of course. Thrawn. This is your stop.” The Conductor motioned towards the exit.

Thrawn looked out the window briefly. It was dark out but he could see that they had stopped at a small frontier town. Though he didn’t know why or how he’d come to be here. His mind was blank, bereft of any memories of his past.

Yet something beckoned him forward. He rose to his feet, feeling a twinge of pain ripple through him, a tightening of his chest, and shortness of breath. He waited until his breathing returned to normal and then followed the Conductor to the exit.

The depot was bathed in soft light. The temperature was warm but not unpleasantly so. Crickets were quietly chirping and oddly familiar music drifted in on the breeze.

A man leaned against one of the pillars. His dark eyes were bright and he watched Thrawn step off the train with a curious expression; his easy smile causing faint lines to appear around his eyes. “So, you are Mitth’raw’nuruodo.”

It was a statement, not a question. Thrawn blinked. The man not only said his name correctly, but spoke Cheunh. The lilt of his accent made the language more melodic than usual. Like his name, he hadn’t heard the language of his people in what felt like a lifetime. He nodded and asked, “How did you come to speak Cheunh?”

The man shrugged. “It’s just something I know, I guess.” Then he stood up straight, and bowed. “I am Eli’van’to. I welcome you to Cimarron.” Eli paused and a brief expression of confusion passed across his face, before turning into a nervous smile. He rubbed the back of his neck and didn’t meet Thrawn’s eyes. “Eli is fine though. Honestly, not sure why I introduced myself like that.”

Eli was still speaking Cheunh and the bow was a common Chiss form of greeting. Something pulled at the edges of Thrawn’s mind. Like a shadow in his periphery but when he tried to examine it, it disappeared, and left a headache in its wake.

“You speak the language well.”

Heat flushed Eli’s cheeks and he nodded in acknowledgement.

* * *

Based on his own experience, Eli suspected he knew what Thrawn was going through, yet the Chiss continued to hold himself confidently, and he betrayed very little surprise at Eli’s use of Cheunh. Yet there had been surprise, Eli recognized the slight widening of the eyes. In fact, every micro expression Thrawn made felt familiar in a way that Eli couldn’t put a finger on.

He also had a sudden reminder to carry pain inhibitors - a very specific type of pain inhibitors actually, though he wasn’t sure why. Perhaps it was an old habit he once had? The lack of memories always made discovering old habits or knowledge unnerving. Everything lacked context and history. It always left him wanting more information, wanting to somehow regain his memories and figure out what was going on.

#cimarron au #star wars #thranto #thrawn #mitth’raw’nuruodo #eli vanto #lore discussion #work in progress #feature creep for writing #i just keep adding more things i want to write

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theshireisburningbaby86 · 2 years

Text

Mentally Cheating- Steddie

pairing: eddie x steve

summary: steve’s with nancy. steve wants to be with eddie.

warning: 18+, sexual content ahead. daydreaming. mxm content. blowjobs.

word count: 1,847

song inspo: Mentally Cheating by Natalie Jane

etc.: my sister was telling me about her favorite song, and boom, this idea came along.

p.s.: please like and reblog if you enjoy!

(you can click here to read it on ao3, too!)

Stop looking at me like that. Steve thinks it so hard he’s sure Eddie can hear it from here. Eddie doesn’t falter, though, instead smirking and blowing a bubble with the bubblegum he’s chewing. They finally only break eye contact across the aisle when Dustin claps Steve’s arm, grinning at him.

“Your turn! Try to actually hit at least one pin this time, eh?” Dustin teases Steve, plopping down next to Will who was chuckling at his joke and offering him a plate with a slice of pizza that had just arrived at their table.

He’d have to put a stop to these weekly bowling nights. Or at least convince Henderson to stop inviting him. Steve rose from his seat, brushing his sweaty palms on his jeans before going over to the conveyor belt and grabbing his unfortunate bright pink ball. It’s the only color they had left in his size ball, he had defended when everyone teased him for choosing pink.

Stepping over to the front of the alley, he could feel Eddie’s eyes on the back of his head. With shaky hands, he finally pushes forward and tosses the ball onto the lane, it almost immediately heading straight into the gutter. Groaning, he turns back around to see Dustin just staring at him with his arms crossed across his chest.

“Never picking you for my team, ever again.” He states once Steve saunters back over to the group, taking his seat back down next to Nancy. Steve just grumbles and mocks Dustin, crossing his arms over his chest and looking up at the scoreboard, sighing deeply when it shows a large zero next to their team name, thanks to him.

“It’s okay, hon!” Nancy cheers happily next to him, giving him a kiss on his cheek and rubbing his arm. He can barely rouse a smile toward her, though, because at the same time Eddie stands from his seat across from them and stretches dramatically, causing his shirt to rise from its position on his hips. Steve swallows roughly, unable to force himself to look away from the captivating image of Eddie’s hips and stomach. This doesn’t go unnoticed by Eddie, of course, and he smirks as he comes over to the conveyor belt to grab his own, smaller sized, dark green bowling ball. He takes his time lining up his shot, leaning into it before sending his ball down the lane with speed, striking all the pins down.

Cheers erupt from Mike, Eleven, and Lucas, Eddie turning and celebrating with them, fist pumping his way back to the group. Steve watches Eddie’s every move, unable to help himself at this point.

“Pizza, babe?” Nancy asks, bringing Steve out of his seductive thoughts, causing him to slightly blush. “Uh, no, thanks honey, I’m not hungry.” Steve smiles kindly to her, taking the plate she was offering him, though.. “Eddie, you?” Steve asks Eddie without hesitation, Steve watching Eddie closely as he reaches out the plate to him.

Eddie nods and comes over to take it from Steve, their hands touching for a moment when he takes it. “Thanks, Harrington.” Eddie says, voice low and eyes piercing a hole straight through Steve’s head. Steve can’t think straight–his eyes go fuzzy, his ears starting to ring. He tries to catch his breath while Eddie goes back to his seat next to Lucas, his blood flowing heavily and quickly through his ears. God, there had to be something going on, there’s no way Steve was just imagining this, these…feelings.

“Alright everyone, watch me save the whole game.” Nancy stands confidently, brushing her hands on her skirt while sauntering over to the conveyor belt and choosing her tiny pink ball. Steve wasn’t watching, though, he couldn’t take his eyes off of Eddie. Eddie, the freak Munson, who was currently picking the toppings off of his sausage and pineapple pizza, and eating each individual piece with long, slow sucks of his greasy fingers. He couldn’t take it anymore, Steve felt like he was suffocating in his seat.

Standing quickly, managing to barely mutter a ‘bathroom, sorry’ to Dustin who just raised his hands in confusion at Steve, now sprinting to the bathroom across the alley. He went into a stall, locking the door behind himself quickly as he leaned against the door of the stall, whimpering at the now-rock hard issue in his jeans. He palmed at it, trying to think of something, anything to make it go down. “Fucking… Munson.” He grumbles under his breath, obviously not having heard the bathroom door open just mere seconds ago.

“You rang?” Eddie calls to him, standing on the other side of the door Steve was leaning on. Steve nearly jumps out of his skin at the sound, not moving or breathing. He had to be imagining this, right? There’s no way Eddie FUCKING Munson followed him into the bathroom. Maybe he just had to pee, right? Or-or wash the grease off of his fingers, yeah that’s definitely why he’s in here, talking to Steve through a bathroom stall door.

“Er, uhm.” Steve tries, clearing his throat. “Sorry, just, uh, peeing, really fast.” He lies, flushing the toilet to make it seem like he had just used the restroom. He shoves a hand into his jeans to straighten himself out and tuck his boner down, hoping it would stay concealed.

“Oh, okay.” Eddie nods when Steve slowly exits the stall, coming to the sink to wash his hands. Eddie joins him, and yeah-Steve was right! He’s just washing his hands. Just two guys, in the bathroom, together, washing..their…hands. “Sorry, I just thought you may have needed me, or something, the way you moaned, before you said my name?” Eddie suggests after a moment, shrugging. Steve freezes, his whole body going stiff as a statue. Fuck, Eddie had heard him. Fuck, fuck fuck fuck. What is he going to do?

“Oh, uhm. I really had to pee, and I was thinking about the strike you just made!” Steve lies again, shaking his head as he grabs paper towels, drying his hands and backing up toward the bathroom door. Eddie follows him, though, Steve not realizing he was about to be cornered in the bathroom by Eddie fucking Munson.

“Or, you were thinking about how good I look, sucking on my fingers like that.” Eddie tells him definitively, looking straight into Steve’s eyes. “Maybe about how good it’d feel if I were to suck on…you? Like that?” Eddie suggested, and Steve’s back finally hit the wall of the bathroom, causing him to grunt lowly in his chest. Fuck, there’s no way this is happening, it’s got to be a fever dream, right?

“I, erh, uhm.” Steve just garbles out, shaking his head slightly and looking at Eddie. “Maybe? I don’t, uhm, I don’t know. I just, uhm.” He stutters, causing Eddie to giggle slightly.

“I love how flustered you get around me, Harrington.” Eddie smiles, brushing a piece of hair off of Steve’s forehead. “I just hope you don’t think you can rejoin the party with something like that.” He motions down to Steve’s jeans, which were now bulging with his full-on erection at Eddie’s words.

Steve, red in the face, moves a hand to cover himself. “I, yeah, I um.” He can’t seem to form a real sentence, just looking at Eddie. He’s clueless, he’s never done anything with a guy before, and wasn’t even sure he wanted to! All he knew is something about Eddie drove him absolutely fucking bonkers, and right here, right now, Eddie was in the same room as him, acknowledging his hard on, and mentioning his mouth on Steve’s body? Steve lets out a quiet breath at the thought rushing through his head, causing Eddie to hum.

“Say we take care of that first, eh?” Eddie suggests, his hands coming down to Steve’s belt and beginning to undo it. Steve whimpers at the touch of Eddie’s warm hands on him, nearly sliding down the wall. “Fuck” he says breathlessly, looking at Eddie’s hands on him as he pushes his pants down to mid-thigh, releasing Steve’s rock hard erection.

“Nice, Harrington. I always figured you were packing.” Eddie comments mischeviously, wrapping his hand around Steve’s cock and beginning to stroke, as though it was instinct. Steve trembles under his touch, a moan escaping his lips as his head falls back and hits the bathroom wall.

“Uh uh uh, quiet, sweetheart…” Eddie says softly to him, his free hand coming up to cover Steve’s mouth. “Can’t let anybody find us out.” He whispers to Steve, pressing a kiss to the back of his hand that was on Steve’s mouth, as though to kiss him. Steve whines at this, eyes wide and looking Eddie straight in his eyes.

Eddie strokes fast, his hand twisting over the head of Steve’s dick perfectly. Steve’s hips buck at the movement, already feeling that familiar warm sensation in the pit of his stomach. “Close, fuck, close..” He tries to say to Eddie, but Eddie’s hand over his mouth doesn’t allow anything to escape. Eddie just grins at him, seemingly knowing exactly what he’s just said, his hand over Steve’s mouth moving to his throat. He doesn’t squeeze, just holds Steve’s throat, as though to remind him of the power he’s got over him in this situation. Eddie falls to his knees, too, wrapping his mouth around Steve’s cock now. Steve could nearly die at the feeling, so much better than Nancy. He shakes his head, immediately, trying to clear the thought of Nancy from his mind and focus on the boy in front of him.

Steve loves it, nearly drunk on the touch of Eddie on his body. The warmth of Eddie’s mouth around him, and the pressure of his rings on his throat sends him piling over the edge, nearly biting a hole in his lip to try and stay quiet as his orgasm roars through him. Eddie hums around Steve’s cock, taking each spurt of warm come with a moan and swallowing every tiny last drop down. Finally, he pulls off of Steve, standing up next to him now.

Steve pants hard as he comes down from his high, trying hard to keep his body up as Eddie wipes his mouth off with paper towels and tucks Steve back into his jeans. “Thanks,” Steve manages to whisper to him, out of breath and energy now. Eddie just smiles, patting Steve’s cheek with a nod. “Anytime, Harrington.” He assures him, giving him a quick squeeze on his hip before walking out of the bathroom, leaving Steve to figure out what in the fuck just happened.

“STEVE!” Dustin snaps and claps in front of Steve’s face, causing him to finally come to. “Dude, did you smoke something before coming tonight?” Dustin teases him, laughing at how long Steve has been zoned out. Realizing, now, Steve still has to pee, he’s still holding the slice of pizza he was offering to Eddie, and their hands were still touching

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munsonburnslikehellfire86 · 2 years

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Mentally Cheating - Steddie One-Shot

pairing: eddie x steve

summary: steve's with nancy. steve wants to be with eddie.

warning: 18+, sexual content ahead. daydreaming. mxm content. blowjobs.

word count: 1,847

song inspo: Mentally Cheating by Natalie Jane

etc.: my sister was telling me about her favorite song, and boom, this idea came along.

p.s.: please like and reblog if you enjoy!

(you can click here to read it on ao3, too!)

Cheers erupt from Mike, Eleven, and Lucas, Eddie turning and celebrating with them, fist pumping his way back to the group. Steve watches Eddie’s every move, unable to help himself at this point.

Eddie nods and comes over to take it from Steve, their hands touching for a moment when he takes it. “Thanks, Harrington.” Eddie says, voice low and eyes piercing a hole straight through Steve’s head. Steve can’t think straight--his eyes go fuzzy, his ears starting to ring. He tries to catch his breath while Eddie goes back to his seat next to Lucas, his blood flowing heavily and quickly through his ears. God, there had to be something going on, there’s no way Steve was just imagining this, these…feelings.

“I, erh, uhm.” Steve just garbles out, shaking his head slightly and looking at Eddie. “Maybe? I don’t, uhm, I don’t know. I just, uhm.” He stutters, causing Eddie to giggle slightly.

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expended-sleeper · 2 years

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TES Summerfest Day 3: Tears Before a Wedding

@tes-summer-fest // Prompt: Confession

This is a bit from my unposted someday-story about my aroace Vestige Altmer in the 2nd Era, trying to grapple with the romantic implications of her arranged-marriage society. Ahh, if only I enjoyed ESO enough to play through its quests...

“Mother!”

Alandur nearly tripped on the rug in father’s solar as he rushed to embrace their mother at the door. She laughed and ruffled the spindly scholar’s hair, as Rendarie and her father looked on with a well-cultivated indignation. They exchanged familiar glances across his desk, as if to say look at these crazy madmer! Rendarie’s smile hurt her face, and for a few moments she felt what most brides must experience on their wedding days: pure, untainted joy.

“You’re still in your armor, mother.” Rendarie bit her lip and glanced past her mother and brother to the passageway beyond, as if agents of the Divine Persecution were hiding beyond the colorful tapestries. “Have you come straight from your ship?”

“Straight from a battle, my little Ren. Was turning in my shore leave papers on Morndas when we caught word that a Maormer raiding party was bound for one of our southern outposts. Couldn’t right leave, after that, ‘till we were sure the scum were dealt with.”

Rendarie's brow creased with worry when Mother stepped away from Alandur’s hug with a gasp of pain.

“Are you well?” Her father came out from behind his desk and hovered near his wife like a fussy dragonfly. “Perhaps Rendarie should have a look.”

“It’s nothing, love. Healer at the docks already took care of it.”

“Mother, please.” Rendarie dashed to the solar’s wide couch and patted the cushions. “Let me be useful to you.”

She acquiesced with a happy sigh, sprawling back on the couch like she was a weary fisherman’s woman and not the commander of a dozen warships and the wife of one of the most powerful men in the Isles. Rendarie’s father helped her remove her armor: a process that she constantly interrupted with breathy whispers, obscene suggestions, and unrestrained laughter, all of which he weathered through with a patience and amusement born of long familiarity. This is true love, viewed from an outside perspective. I feel I can nearly touch the flames of their affection.

Father stepped away, and Rendarie knelt to examine her mother.

“Remember when you used to count my scars?”

“It appears you’ll have a new one,” Rendarie murmured. Soiled bandages lay in a heap next to the couch, and her stomach turned at the wound on her mother’s thigh. “You didn’t get to a healer in time.”

“The fish elves did not die easy.”

“I hate them so much.” Rendarie pressed her palm next to the scar tissue: she could feel the steady and reassuring beat of her mother’s heart. “Look what they did to my mother. I wish Auri-El would come down and blow all their ships to smithereens.”

“This is no day for hatred, my sweet. Now tell me: will I limp down the aisle of my daughter’s wedding?”

“No, I rather think not. Hold still, please.”

Amber light filled the solar, momentarily overpowering the sunbeams from the stained-glass windows. The lines of her mother’s injury faded, though they did not entirely abate. She pulled Rendarie into a hug all the same.

“Wonderful!” Alandur exclaimed, clapping madly, while her father offered her a thankful smile. A familiar ritual, and a comfortable one.

Rendarie burst into tears.

The heavy silence of her family was like an anchor rushing down to the seabed as she turned her back to them and buried her face in the crook of her elbow.

“Ren—”

“Alandur, go with your mother to the seamstress. She needs to select her dresses for the rest of the day.”

Her father’s firm voice offered no room for complaint. Rendarie did not turn, even as she heard the door open and two sets of footsteps exit the solar.

“You have not wept since your uncle’s death,” her father said after a long while. “And before that, not since you were a squalling babe. You were always such a quiet child. Dignified, and peaceful. At times I envied your composure.”

Rendarie sniffled. “Truly?”

“Oh, yes. Certainly whenever your mother would come home wearing new marks of battle. I could not bear to look at her wounds without thinking of wiping Pyandonea off the face of Nirn. A ridiculous notion, of course. I have never held anything sharper than a letter opener.”

“What changed?”

“Hmm.” He wandered behind his desk, looking a bit lost. It was unlike her father to have to search for words. “When my brother and his children were taken from us, the hatred grew too strong to contain. Now what was emotion is a simple fact. The Maormer are our foes; they will always be our foes, and I will do everything in my power to secure their destruction.”

Rendarie almost forgot her own woes entirely, in the wake of her father’s startling revelations. Who could have known my quiet sire concealed such malice in his breast?

“Enough of that,” he announced crisply, and sat down. All at once he returned to being the father she had always known. “Sit down, my dear. Let us solve whatever problem is plaguing you.”

She acquiesced, and did her best to rub the redness from her eyes.

“I notice you have been avoiding the groom,” he began, “though he arrived in Cloudrest several hours ago. Shall your first meeting be in the garden, as you stand across from each other for the ceremony?”

“I suppose so.”

“I understand your trepidation, Rendarie. Your mother and I did not meet until our wedding, either. I spent the entire day desperately trying not to encounter her, as I was rather intimidated.”

“You were afraid of mother?”

“Afraid is perhaps a strong word,” he said, but there was a twinkle in his eye. “I’d heard stories of the outrageous young mer who had bested seasoned mariners in sailing races from Lillandril to Shimmerene. She would have nothing to do with my hesitance, however. Shortly before our ceremony, your mother abducted me from my chambers and threw me on to her boat. She claimed she could not marry an elf who had never felt the spray of the sea on his face. One of us showed up to the wedding in quite high spirits. The other felt extremely nauseous and dizzy. I have never admitted this to anyone, but I almost vomited on our observer from the Divine Prosecution.”

She held the back of her hand to her mouth, unable to hide her grin. “Father, no!”

The corners of his mouth turned up, and he leaned back in his chair. Rendarie could not recall the last time she’d seen her father present himself so casually.

“I cannot imagine life without your mother, nowadays. She completes me. I want you to have that same happiness, my daughter.”

The smile left Rendarie’s face, and a familiar ache returned to her heart. It was strange. She had spent the first seventeen years of her life imagining herself a complete person, only to discover now that she was missing some part that seemed sacred to all those who spoke of true love and precious couplings. Though it hurt her to confess such weakness, Rendarie felt her father needed to know the truth of things.

“I want that, as well. I want that so fiercely that my heart can hardly take it. But that same heart feels nothing but coolness when I bring Lovillon to mind. I feel not a twinge of affection for him, no matter how hard I try. I think there may be something wrong with me.”

“Nonsense. You are nearly perfect, just as the gods made you.” Her father steepled his fingers. “You must have patience. Love will come, with sufficient time and hard work. Perhaps you should take a walk with Lovillon before your ceremony. Try opening yourself up to him, just a little. Pretend he is some boy you have desired in the past, if it helps. The imagination can be a powerful tool.”

Rendarie imagined she could take a thousand walks with Lovillon Mankar, and receive nothing from it except sore feet and the memory of a thousand pleasant conversations with a man she could never love. But father would never understand. He'd never understand that she had never had a crush on anyone at all, save for those she imagined into existence in an effort to fit in with her peers. Her body had never been inflamed with the desires she read about in Alandur’s foreign books. Rendarie felt certain there was something deeply flawed in her character, regardless of what her father said. All the world seemed set against her.

“I will do my best, father.” She took a deep breath and adopted a mask of composure. “I will do my duty.”

“That is all I can ask. Ordinarily, I prefer to shield you from political concerns, but you must know that our situation here is rather precarious.” He gestured to the wide window and the beautiful city below. “I never expected to become canonreeve of Cloudrest. Few could have anticipated my predecessor would be arrested for selling precious antiquities to foreigners. Alandur’s position with the Sapiarchs is a pillar of stability for us, in these unstable times. Your marriage to a powerful family will be another.”

“I understand completely.” Rendarie banished all thoughts of love and romance from her mind. This would be an act of duty, and nothing more. “All I’ve ever wanted is to be useful to the family. I am certain this binding is the will of Xarxes.”

“As am I. Now, you’d best be on your way. I’m sure your mother wants to see the dresses you’ve selected.”

#tesfest22 #altmer #elder scrolls online #eso #the elder scrolls #aromantic #aroace #asexual

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a-drabble-a-dray · 24 days

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The wisps of blue flame flanked him at first, joined by two more, then more. He watched the dim firelight spread quicker, tracing the sides of the great hall he found himself, until they met at the far wall. The resulting flash soon dimmed, exposing a large statue. He could not tell what it was at a glance, though its curves and twists, each only holding more candles, couldn’t help but bring to mind the bodies on the crosses.

Before the monument lay an altar, and on the altar, gleaming in the firelight, sat a figure. It wordlessly stood up, twirling some form of weapon; a glance at how the light shone on its long blade had him recognize it as a kind of scythe.

Upon tapping its hilt on the floors, the chandeliers lit up.

His eyes took a second to adjust– The room was now fully visible, and he recognized its layout. The lined-up rows of pews, the central aisle, and the altar brought to mind the divine chapels he’d often see. Stepping into one was heresy, of course, but he was far beyond that point.

Seeing the bearing of the figure before him, however, that wouldn’t mean he’d go unpunished.

At a glance, it looked like a doll. Its featureless, unclothed body connected with ball joints that shone like porcelain. It strode forth; its footsteps were quiet enough that he assumed it to be either impossibly delicate or unreasonably light. The scythe in its hands had an undecorated design, fitting the simplicity of its wielder, contrasting white porcelain with the same black metal he’d seen before, and a hilt of black wood akin to the seats around it.

The doll’s face had no human features, instead featuring a radial crack like broken glass from its center. He could still feel it staring at him.

He took a deep breath. He’d fought things that couldn’t be considered human, yes, but only technically so. Shifting the sheath slung on his back, he slowly drew his longsword, reacquainting himself with its heft. The doll paused, responding only by gripping its weapon more tightly, before leaning down, and shifting from a stride to a sprint.

He braced himself, an old standard flashing before his eyes as he tried to steady himself in the moments before the clash. His armor was sound. His weapon was sharp. His mind was sane. He reached for his helmet, unlatching its visor.

The metal clamped shut over his face like a pair of fangs.

The doll lunged forward, weightlessly sailing through the air. Leveraging his weight, he swung at full force.

His blade whiffed through the air, the construct using its scythe as a pole to launch itself into the air, taking easy advantage of his open guard.

Every time. With practiced strength, his every muscle tensed, sabatons grinding against the polished stone floor as he forced himself to spin, carrying the full force of the swing upwards to meet his adversary with a second strike.

The second hit connected, but only with the scythe’s haft. Its wielder was sent flying back, quickly readjusting itself, its feet finding a perch on the back of a bench, while its scythe’s tip dragged across the wood as a brake.

He was ready for its second charge. As it approached, halfway across the pew, he raised his foot, kicking the whole seat over onto its back. The doll leaped at him again, only for him to step back. It spun in the air once, concentrating its momentum, before attempting a wide swing with the scythe.

He blocked with the flat of his sword, feeling the haft grind up the long, wide blade, before finally being stopped by the guard. The impact almost broke his stance, but he could feel the force dissipating due to a lack of weight behind it. Of course.

The second it pulled its weapon back, he countered. His blade swung quickly… And went wide on purpose. The doll landed with a well-timed block that lacked an attack to block, only for him to jump up, using the momentum of his swing and the sword on the floor as leverage to land a kick straight to its temple.

It took the hit at full force, hitting its head against the back of another pew, slowly regaining its bearings, while he himself was already on his feet and preparing his next hit.

His ankle seized up.

He flinched, stepping back to regain his balance, giving time for his opponent to recover. He tried to force his foot to move, and it only regained motion after he heard a dull crack. He huffed as he noticed the doll already winding up for another attack. There was something wrong with his foot. That’s all, now shut up and fight.

The swing came diagonally, but luckily from the wrong side, the left. He managed to duck down, weight on his good foot, only to come back up with a swing of his own. His blade only scratched the porcelain as the doll already backed away, but similarly its follow-up attack had no force and was easily deflected.

Gripping his sword tightly, he charged forward himself this time, clutching his sword in his left hand. He noticed a flaw in the doll’s guard– Only for his arm to freeze mid-swing, half-bent. He instinctively let go of the sword.

No time to think now. He quickly pressured the doll with a frontal kick, forcing it to keep its guard up, before grabbing the sword from the air with his right hand. He recovered from the kick with a step forward, spinning for a heavy strike with the sword, only to have it blocked again. His eyes narrowed at the doll’s shaky footing, jumping at it and landing a punch at its cracked face with his left arm, feeling it come loose with the same sickening crack.

The doll managed to react immediately with a swing– Only for him to step into it. The scythe couldn’t reach him at point-blank range. The sword, meanwhile… He managed to swing up, catching his blade between the joints on the doll’s dominant arm. He grimaced as the sword got caught, only for him to point the blade towards himself, pulling on it.

The doll had enough time to shift the grip to its other hand, before his knee met its chest, and his pull fully ripped its arm off the socket.

He couldn’t help but grin, seeing the massive blind spot now in place, leaning into another swing to keep the pressure up.

His full body froze this time.

His eyes went wide. He felt some of his joints still twitch, but could produce little real movement. His body seemed stuck like a statue, without even the ability to force himself free.

The doll remained as silent as ever. He was left with only his breathing, and the growing sound of stone scraping against steel. Even then, his breaths seemed increasingly shallow.

The doll slowly stabilized itself. His head couldn’t move to accompany its movement.

It was only in the reflection of his own sword, that he saw the scythe finally come to meet him.

End.

#writing #unnamed tavern

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smokeybrandreviews · 2 years

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Bromance

I find the discourse around why Billy Eicher's Bros failed, absolutely fascinating. Both sides of the aisle are going hard in their respective ideologies and it's ridiculous. I'm no fence-sitter, if you've followed this blog long enough then you know I'm a borderline anarchist with common sense social views, but I feel like a lot of the very vocal dissenters in this argument, are missing the point. The Conservative Right would lead you to believe it failed because no one wants to be preached to, that Bros was Hollyweird politics being forced on people and the populace voted with their dollars. The Progressive Left would lead you to believe it failed because of homophobia. This feels like spin to cover up the abject failure of a gay film, a sentiment validated by a Rolling Stone puff piece claiming it's one of the greatest comedies of all-time. In its first week of release. Because, gay. While both are true in very small doses, the resounding truth in a Bros failure is the fact there's no audience for this thing.

Bros reads as a derivative, rom-com, cashgrab. It can effectively be Cliche Romantic Comedy number 12345, but gay. That's it. Bros feels like a movie we've seen before, but done much, much, better. Now, I say read because I haven't seen Bros. I have read various reviews and even a plot synopsis or two, and I just feel no desire to partake in this sh*t. Don't misunderstand me, I love rom-coms. Scott Pilgrim vs. The World is a romantic comedy and it's top twenty for me. I adore that film. Eternal Sunshine is another that really left an impression, as did the likes of Moonstruck, The Princess Bride, Kissing Jessica Stein, over Linings Playback, and As Good As It Gets. I'm sure I'm missing a few but those immediately come to mind. I am absolutely receptive to a gay rom-com (see Jessica Stein) but Bros came across as a movie i wouldn't care to see. Twenty dollars and two hours of my time is a huge commitment in this post-Pandemic age of recession. I'm even debating whether to see Black Adam in a theater and I f*cking love both The Rock and Capeflicks for these exact reasons! Do I really want to gamble on is Bros will be a fun watch knowing it's going to hit digitalis a ton of bricks because of all this controversy over its theatrical run.

At the end of the day, no one saw this film, gay or not. Like, the demo Bros was made for, didn't even show up. This movie appeared to no one. Cis men were driven away after the ridiculous straight hate campaign from Eicher and his production stooges, after it stumbled in its opening weekend. Women didn't go see it because why would they? They can't project themselves onto to, male, gay, leads and accept the fantasy enough to be immersed in escapism. The guys might have showed up but not nearly enough of them did and here we are. Bros might very well be excellent. They may have done some fun, interesting sh*t, with the rather uninspired Rom-com tropes we all already know. Hell, I may see it when it drops on streaming but asking for people to brave the theater when gas is forty-seven dollars a gallon feels extreme. Admittedly, this is all the opinion of a straight black dude who loves boobs so I might not be an authority on the nuance of this moment but I kind of feel like the vast majority of the movie going audience probably feels the same. Minus the very loud extreme ends of both sides. Those cats are all assholes, just in different ways.

#Bros #Some ol' bullsh*t

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smokeybrand · 2 years

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Bromance

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ifcrookshankswashuman · 2 years

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What is it about the night...

"isn't that a line? in some poem about creativity? or is it love?" he asked.

She glanced over her shoulder at him. The look of disgruntled confusion told him, she was not speaking to be heard, and his interruption to her musings had startled her. As evident by the feet now kicking and cricketing about across his legs.

J put down his controller and grabbed one of the flailing feet, he reached over the bedside table and pumped some of her body lotion into his free hand. She mumbled at him but settled back to her laptop as he massaged her foot.

Dry feet were the bane of her existence it seemed and this was one of the surest ways to soothe her. He smiled to himself as he worked lotion into her foot.

The first time she had pulled lotion out and started applying it to her feet in front of him, they had been on public transit. Just two acquaintances, happening to go the same way on the same bus. They saw eachother at the stop and had naturally struck up conversation.

He chuckled as he switched to her other foot. She had seemed a little surprised when he sat down next to her on the bus. She had smiled though. And it was that smile that had first sparked his curiosity. It was so innocent, fleeting, intriguing, he had instantly wanted to make her smile like that again.

As the bus rolled, he felt more than saw her agitation grow. She seemed to solidify the air around her. She grew more distant in conversation, and he could feel her leg bouncing a full jig through the bus seat. They were half way to her stop, and he had just asked her about her family (their families having been acquainted for years) when she clapped her hands against her thighs, as if decided on something. She turned to look J square in the face and said

"straight up truth? I am about to claw my way out that escape window" pointing with her chin the the window across the aisle "I am overstimulated from work, and this ride, and my stinky clothes and my dry ass feet scratching my shoes and there's only so much I can take. Considering I still have to manage these next few errands before I go home... fuck it" she muttered to herself, tossing her hands up.

She started rummaging around her bag as J watched, kind of concerned and not sure what to do with this sudden energy. She put her bag to the side, looking back at him brandishing a small bottle of lotion in her hand, "I think you asked a question right as I started having this moment," folding a foot up onto her opposite knee and squeezing some lotion into her hand, she looked back at J "please repeat the question"

J spent the rest of the bus ride, talking amicably with this chaotically adorable creature as she lotioned her feet. He was unable to pull that smile he was so intrigued by out again on that bus ride.

But he ended up being able to get that smile from her almost daily now, he reminded himself as he sat, in their bed, on a Thursday evening with her legs in his lap, and her lotion on his hands.

The foot sitting in his idle hand wriggled and he looked up, to see that exact smile on her lips, before she turned back to her own musings.

What is it about the night indeed.

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dilemmaontwolegs · 2 years

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The Proposition || n.f

Nick Fowler x fem!reader

Summary: You had always lived in the shadows of the criminal underground while most of your family were straight laced CIA like your late adoptive parents and Mace. You could never miss an opportunity to undermine the favourite child Mace and so you save Nick from her and offer him a position he can't turn down. Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, unprotected sex WC: 1674 || Masterlist || Requests OPEN ||

Nick was regaining consciousness too slow for your liking so you upturned your chilled bottle of water over his head. He spluttered as the cool liquid slipped between his full lips and shot up from where he was sitting buckled into his seat. His large ringed hands swiped a 1000tc napkin from the table and wiped the water away before he glared daggers at you.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that, I saved your life.” You rolled your eyes and tipped the crystal tumbler full of amber liquid to your lips. “Would you like a drink?”

“You could have warned me.” He growled. “Your sister nearly killed me.”

“Please, Mace is not my sister, we were both just adopted by the same people.” You shot back after finishing your drink and pouring yourself another, plus one for Nick. “And where’s the fun in telling you everything? You were never in any real danger, Mace is too predictable. Also, as I recall you like keeping secrets.”

His lips tipped up at the corner as he accepted the drink and he took a sip as his fingers worked to unbutton his wet shirt. Those fingers were all too familiar to you and you licked your lips as you watched them bare his chest. The monotonous drone of your private twin engine jet was the only sound that filled the opulent space but there was plenty being said between your eyes. It had been months since you had last been in the same city as Nick and the familiar need emanating between your legs grew the longer he held your stare.

“This fancy jet got a room back there? Or should I just fuck you right here?” He asked as he placed his empty glass on the table and unbuckled his seat.

“What makes you think I’d ever let you near me again?” You said, tipping your head to the side as you sized him up. “You think I don’t know everything you have been up to, with Mace.”

“Jealousy doesn’t suit you gorgeous.”

“Trust me, this isn’t jealousy, just disappointment with a side of disgust.”

“Trust you?” He laughed. “I don’t even know whose side you are on.”

“The same as always, my own.” You answered honestly, head tipping back to look up at Nick as he towered over your chair resting his hands either side of your head.

“Would it make you feel better if I said she was just a means to an end?” His cobalt eyes were melting your resolve as his fingers traced your cheekbone before reaching your lips, his thumb pulling you bottom lip out from where it was pinched between your teeth.

“Everything is a means to an end for you.”

“Not you.” He said, stealing a kiss before you could stop him. “You’re pure pleasure.”

You sighed into the next kiss, his large hand holding the nape of your neck and ensuring you didn’t try to pull away before he erased all thoughts of escape with his tongue. When he pulled away breathless he had a sly smile that told you it was only the beginning and your fingers flicked the metal buckle releasing you from the confines of your seat.

Turbulence rocked you as you followed Nick down the aisle to the mahogany door that hid the private bedroom from the main cabin and his hand reached behind to stabilise you while the other slid the door open. His damp shirt was already sliding off his shoulders to the floor and you saw the new scars that littered his skin. The fading lines only added to his alluring features and you traced a few of them delicately as he lifted your shirt over your head.

“I have a proposition for you.” You said as he took his time leaving possessive marks across your neck. “Come work for me, I need security I can trust.”

“You run a pharmaceutical company.” He paused. “Why would you need security?”

“Because you and I both know the company is just a front for a more lucrative drug trade.”

“I had my suspicions.” He said as he sat on the edge of the bed, pulling you onto his lap.

“I can offer you more than you would ever make double crossing the CIA.”

You twirled the longer strands of hair at the top of his head in your fingers and watched his eyes for an indication of what was going on behind them. The blue orbs were cold and calculating as he pondered your offer so you left him to his thoughts as you reached into his slacks and palmed his hard cock while you waited.

“Can’t think when you are doing that.” He groaned as your thumb circled his head and felt the moisture collecting there.

“The Nick Fowler I know never stops thinking.” You said as you nipped his earlobe. “Let’s make it interesting…you have until you cum to make your decision.”

His hands gripped your hips and pushed you aside so he could cage you between him and the bed, his thick forearms bracing each side of your head and his thigh pushing yours open wider. This was the man who people feared, the man who had the capability of killing without remorse, but when he turned those icy eyes to you all you felt was hot.

“Do we have a deal?” You asked as your patience ran out and your need to be fucked overruled everything else.

“We have a deal.”

He pulled back just long enough to tear your jeans off and throw his to the floor but you took the moment of freedom to crawl up into the centre of the large bed. He took your movement as a game of chase, those predatory eyes locking in on you before he pounced. Your heart was pounding in the best way possible as he caught you by the hips and threw you back on to your back for him, his hands on your knees and opening them wide to see how wet you were for him.

“Always dripping for me ain't you baby.” He smirked, dragging his fingers lazily through your slit and gathering the escaping liquid so he could taste it with a satisfied hum.

He dipped his fingers back between your heat and spread your folds so he could watch the head of his cock force its way through your entrance, the sweet stretch of your body taking his and his head fell back with a growl when he bottomed out. Your back arched as his hands roamed your skin, rolling one of your stiff nipples between his finger and thumb while his other hand settled over your mound, teasing circles around your clit.

“Nick…” You begged as your nails raked down his chest, needed something to grip as he pounded his hips into yours. “Harder.”

He grabbed your knees and shoved them against your chest, knocking the wind out of you, and slammed himself home. The sounds of your mewls were just as loud as the sounds of his skin slapping yours and you could feel the warmth in your belly spreading as he hit the sweet spot deep inside you.

“You could have me…anytime you want…if you come and…work for me.” You struggled to articulate your thoughts as he fucked you stupid but time was running out to convince him to take up your offer.

“I can have you anytime I want now.” He growled as he watched the way his cock disappeared inside your sopping cunt.

“You are wanted by the CIA, MI6 and Interpol. You will be too busy trying to survive to have fun of any sorts.” You countered before you could no longer formulate an argument and your eyes fluttered shut.

“Look at me.” He ordered, grabbing your chin in his hand and pinching it until you opened your eyes. “Keep those pretty eyes open for me when you cum.”

Your eyes threatened to roll back into your head as his thumb pressed against your clit but you did as you were told and held his cobalt eyes as the pressure became too much and your core clenched around him, walls clamping down and earning an animalistic growl from deep in his chest. His name tore from your throat as the dam within you broke and your cries filled the small room as he continued to fuck you through your orgasm.

Your skin felt like it was on fire as his thumb kept up its assault on your oversensitised and swollen clit and you writhed beneath him as much as you could while he kept you folded like an obscene form of origami. You couldn’t hold his intense stare any longer and you screwed your eyes shut as you threw your head back into the eiderdown duvet as every muscle in your body shuddered as he sent you spiralling into another more intense orgasm.

“Fuck, yes.” He growled. “So fucking tight, gonna make me cum, baby.”

“Your answer.” You reminded him as your head spun from the high of endorphins.

His body shuddered against yours and you felt his hot ropes spilling from his cock, every thrust pushing it in deeper as he rode out his release and let go of your knees to collapse against your chest with a satisfied sigh.

“Answer.” You urged as you felt his cum leaking out of your folds and dripping to the blanket beneath you.

“I already said yes.” He kissed his way across your chest, his devilish tongue teasing your nipples. “But the 355 will realise pretty soon that I didn’t make it to Hong Kong.”

“Let me deal with Mace. It’s about time she found out just what I am capable of.”

#nick fowler x reader #nick fowler smut #the 355 imagine #nick fowler x woc!reader

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