#-- over some documentary he's watching over and over and over

[cvntyworld]

Loving your fics, was wondering if you could write a Lucy/reader fic where Lucy and reader are traveling together and get stuck in a thunderstorm? And Lucy obviously knows the science behind it, but the vault didn't have thunderstorms, and she's terrified of the thunder? And reader comforts her? And the two cuddle maybe?

stormy night ( lucy maclean )

summary: you were used to the unpredictable weather of the surface, lucy, however, wasn't, and seemed to carry a terrible fear for thunder. luckily, you were used to the big storms in the wasteland so she wouldn't have to be afraid for much longer.

contents: usual fallout shenanigans, pure fluff, reader is a sweetheart, thunderstorms, lightning, slight mentions of violence, mild language, set after season one of fallout, the ghoul being a hater, one bed trope, kissing, friends to lovers, the reader and lucy being cuties, ect...

The place you were held up in for tonight was a shit hole, but it would have to do for now, you may not trust him or like him but the ghoul you were travelling with said that it would be harder to travel in a storm and so you all agreed to get some form of rest until it passed.

Which led you all to this cramped house that was barely standing, but it was the only one with a roof and so you'd all headed inside, the dog following the ghoul loyally with a whine, fearful it would be left behind again. Lucy was a little excited, for she had never experienced a real storm, only learned about them through books or documentary films she watched with her dad. It was when the thunder finally arrived that her excitement had faded and she was lying next to you flinching with each rumble that growled from the dark clouds above. It didn't take a genius to see that the thunder scared her, the flashes of lightning, you had grown used to the wasteland weather to never have developed a fear of the storms. The ghoul didn't seem to care about the weather, lying on the other bed with four or dogmeat as you'd heard him call the dog, his hat was over his head but you could tell he wasn't sleeping, you don't think he ever did.

Lucy was where your worries pointed, she was turned on her side, facing away from you, slightly shaking, you were aware the weather was what frightened her, she denied it to appear stronger and tougher than she was but it was a valid fear, especially for someone who had lived beneath the surface all her life, you had your own fears and even if storms weren't one of them, you could at least try to keep her attention elsewhere, distract her from the rumble and flashes from the sky.

"I'm scared shitless of yao guai's." You admit quietly, your voice a mere whisper compared to the rain outside, but it was loud enough that Lucy heard you and turned to face you, both of you lying on your side to face one another, a tired yet curious look crossed her features, "What's a yao guai?" She asked and you smiled slightly at her, although she had been on the surface for a while, she hadn't seen a whole lot of it yet. "It's this mutated bear, could rip you to shreds in seconds, real fucking scary, I'm being honest, if I ever came face to face with one, I wouldn't be wasting a bullet on it, I'd be saving it for myself." Lucy winced when she realised you were being serious, "Wow, that's dark." A quiet laugh made its way up your throat and she smiled a little at the sight until another flash lit up the room and an angry rumble of thunder followed, causing Lucy to flinch, gripping your hand for comfort.

You gave her hand a squeeze of comfort and listened to a patter of raindrops hitting the dirty window and then you met her worried gaze, "Hey, it's alright." You assured her, a small smile as you held her hand, "It's just thunder." A nod came from Lucy as she repeated the words back, "It's just thunder..." Another rumble and she gripped your hand as if it were a lifeline, instantly apologising when she saw an uncomfortable wince.

"When I was little my mom taught me a trick when it was stormy outside." You begin and Lucy keeps her attention focused on you with curious eyes, "She told me that you can track how far away a storm is if you count how long the number of seconds is between the flash of lightning and the sound of the thunder." Lucy smiled at this, "And then divide it by five and you can tell how far or close it's getting, do you wanna try and do that?" The vault dweller nods instantly, "As long as you count with me." You give a reassuring squeeze to her hand, "I'd be honoured, Lucy." You told her and then fell silent, waiting for the next flash of lightning to occur.

The small room lit up, the crackle of lightning giving you the go ahead to start counting, both you and Lucy count the seconds quietly and then a rumble interrupts at a five second count and you do the math in your head unsurely before meeting Lucy's gaze, but she was already uttering a confident answer out to you quietly, "It's one mile away, that's good isn't it, it felt like it was right above us a while ago." You nod, realising that she'd become distracted by the math calculations in her head, but it was better than her being constantly fearful of the storm.

Another flash and you count quietly, noticing how Lucy has shuffled closer to you, but you didn't say anything, a rumble of thunder stopped your counting and you meet her soft gaze, "That was ten seconds this time..." You tell her, "Two miles away -" Your answer was cut off by Lucy leaning over to you and pressing her lips to your own, at first you had been caught off guard, but soon joined her in closing your eyes, bringing a hand to her face to brush the hair out the way of your hold, another flash lit up the room but it didn't frighten Lucy this time as she began to break away from you with a smile as the sky rumbled on and she spoke quietly, "Twenty five." You nod and count in your head before replying to her, "Five miles."

You both laugh when another flash lights up the room, a cheerful Lucy giving your hand a squeeze before she met your lips once more and you follow her movements, she's gentle and sweet and all the things you thought that you didn't deserve and as she broke away once more, you are left staring at her with starry eyes.

"Hey, Thelma and Louise, mind shutting up and going the fuck to sleep?" The drawled yet tired voice of the ghoul is suddenly the loudest thing both of you had heard, even if he was quiet while speaking, it startled both of you when you remembered he was also present. "There's far worse things out here than a little thunder, vaultie." He stated, a wave of annoyance in his tone that made you glare over in his directions, "Worse things? What, like you?" You fire back at him and he merely sighs from under his hat, but didn't argue for once, mumbling words to the dog about how he was way too old for this bullshit.

When you turn back to face Lucy, her eyes are shut, her chest rising and falling as she slept peacefully beside you, her hand still holding your own. You smile at her and pull the rough makeshift blanket over her shoulder before you shuffle beside her, wrapping an arm around her that she's quick to lean into in her sleep and so you close your eyes, drifting off to the sound of the rain.

And the thunder, the thunder had stopped.

#fallout #fallout tv show #fallout tv series #lucy maclean x reader #lucy maclean #lucy maclean x y/n #lucy maclean fanfic #cooper howard #the ghoul

[tremendum]

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Me and the Devil; ii

(not my gif) .·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·: Paul Atreides x fem!reader previous next series masterlist

word count: 7.1k

summary:  Paul knows that whatever he is feeling, you're likely feeling a hundred times more. So, for both your sakes, he will learn to live with you, and it will start tonight. It will start with the box to his right. 

warnings: allusions to smut, knife kink if you squint very hard, still the same familial trauma, descriptions of blood/violence, Paul and reader are beefing, fear, Paul has one (1) almost-panic attack, still switching POVs, no betas because i am lazyyyyy

notes: thank u all AGAIN for the support and feedback, its what keeps me motivated :) i am planning on posting the next update later today over on AO3, so i figured i'd post another chapter on here too! lmk what y'all think, tysm for the support! love to u all xx

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In the revered customs of House Bourbon, the path to marriage is paved with cherished rituals and symbolic gestures, each sacred to the planet Sabberon's culture. Though the house may have dwindled in stature over the past three centuries, its customs and rituals remain a testament to the enduring legacy of a once-great lineage.

Unlike the grandiose affairs of some of the larger noble houses, betrothal within House Bourbon is a deeply intimate and sacred process, guided by the rhythms of nature. Rooted in their own ancient spiritual religion, which has endured through centuries of change and upheaval, marriage is viewed as not merely a union between two individuals, but a harmonious life in the embrace of the natural world.

This section reviews the process of Courtship and Betrothal for the House of Bourbon, including: 

Betrothal Gifts 

Heirloom Exchange

Harvest Festival Offering

Ceremony: Handfasting Ritual and Vows

Marriage Consummation.

- "Chapter 68: Customs of Marriage," The Noble Lineage: Exploring the Customs and Cultures of the Houses Major of Landsraad. Atreides Library. 

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The video drones on as Paul stares absently, his eyes heavy. There's a skip suddenly, jolting his head on his jaw as he blinks down at the textbook. The words are blurry until he shakes his head, resuming reading along as the documentary plays; a faint twitch in his left eye has not left since he started reading the chapter. 

"marriage consummations are a deeply personal and intimate affair..." the voice, factual, settles unease within Paul's stomach. Averting his eyes from the screen, he scans the page in front of him, trying to fight the resentment that bubbles in his chest. 

Among the more unique of traditions of House Bourbon, the consummation of marriage takes place outdoors, through a path walked by many ancestors. Upon a pristine white sheet, under the House's Sacred Pine Tree, this ritual symbolizes not only producing legally recognized descendants, but also the sacred union of the betrothed with nature and their ancestral lineage. 

Paul's eyes read the passage unblinkingly as his cheeks burn; his throat dries quickly.

A clear of his throat, he looks to Thufir Hawat, who watches the video documentary with an irritatingly calm expression. What kind of archaic ritual culture did this house have? He can hardly imagine you practicing these traditions on Giedi Prime; This thought makes his mouth sour and a wave of realization washes over Paul, leaving him with a sense of profound unease.

As his eyes flick back to the textbook in front of him, the words blurring and dancing before his vision, he bristles. They mock him with their implications; slowly he feels the weight of expectation bearing down on him, pressure threatening to suffocate him. 

He was trained from a young age for this, but it is all happening much too quick. The blood slams through Paul's veins suddenly in pounding bursts; the noises are too loud, the walls too close. Anger washes over him, his jaw clenching tight.

"Perhaps I should be studying Harkonnen tactics instead of this." he mutters, crossing his arms defiantly. "She's likely much more accustomed to that, anyways." It's childish, sure - he can barely breathe, however, and his tunic is stuck to his chest. His breathing is hard. 

"Paul, you mustn't-"

His rage takes hold, though. "-No! Nobody will listen. She was one of them for almost half a decade. She was accused of espionage, her family was proved of it - who's to say this isn't one big Harkonnen plot?" 

The man lets him get out his anger - Mentat training can take a lot out of one, anyways; Paul can't bring himself to school his emotions today. Why is his father not more concerned with the girl's presence?

"Thufir." Paul snaps suddenly, standing abruptly, his heart thundering in his chest. 

The Mentat looks to him - Paul sighs. "I will read about this later, I swear to it. But I'd prefer to train right now, if it's all the same to you." 

There is a clear hesitation, but Paul's cold stare earns him a conceding sigh. 

"Very well. Your father suggests you gift her soon, but..." He finishes, clearly noticing the overwhelmed look on Paul's face. "Sit down, my Lord. Let us begin today with cause and effect-" 

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The sun hides behind sullen clouds when it hits midday, casting long shadows of light among the windows.

When you woke early in the morning, your handmaidens told you that the Duke wished to meet with you later in the afternoon, and that you're invited to join the family for supper this evening. Besides this, your day is free. 

So you lie in bed most of the morning, staring warily at the dark corner of your bedroom, half-expecting the ghost to emerge from the shadow again; clenching your jaw, expecting him to come out, to crawl over your frame, to trap your jaw in his sinister grip.

He doesn't, though, and eventually you call in the maids for a spot of tea.

You feel like anything is better than meeting with the Duke - In your reluctance you'd been struck with a feeling of restlessness, anxiety curling warm as a small cat in your stomach.

Sitting up straight from where the maids had been styling your hair, you'd cleared your throat; "I'd like to go explore." you'd stated, fingers aching for the comfort of metal.

They'd shared looks of surprise - you pretended not to notice. You haven't left your room much in the days since arriving on Caladan, besides attending meals and the one time Paul had escorted you around the premises - truthfully, you still feel like you're in a dream. 

You'd sat patiently as they insisted you bathe, eating a full meal before the sun had hit the middle of the sky. The maids finally dress you in casual clothes and quietly, with the need to do something with your hands, you decide to find the armory. 

Pulling yourself together, you leave your chambers quietly, hoping to avoid contact with anyone who may be around at this hour. You can't help the smile on your lips when you take a deep breath - It's more fresh in this castle.

Perhaps your lungs are so used to heavily recycled air within your confines back on Giedi Prime, or you're trying to find something to prove that what you've endured hasn't been for nothing; That this life will be, in some way, better than that one ever could have been. 

You slink through the halls, on alert each time you pass a guard or worker, hoping you run in to no familiar faces. You've chosen to deny an escort through the castle; you prefer to be alone to your thoughts, anyways. 

A shiver runs down your back as you take in the patterned wooden beams that place intricate shadows over your frame; high, vaulted ceilings, old stone that feels wet to the touch. This place is truly beautiful in an ancient, grand way. 

In another world, you would have felt such joy to call this your home. 

Today's clothing is more forgiving; your trousers are loose but more reinforced at the hips and waist, allowing you to move much quicker and quietly through the halls. The only noise you emit is from your cloaked veil. Momentarily, you debate just ripping the veil off, burning it in one of the several hearths in the vicinity.

A small rage burns within you, simmering and igniting more each day you go on like this - resentment for the customs that you barely know, for your house that no longer exists. You wish to see the planet without green-tinted vision. 

But the image of your sister's grave all those years ago; the sight of your family falling in the sand pit of the Harkonnen arena... you swallow thickly.

The walls seem much more empty as you go further into the castle's bowels, dragging your palm along the cool stone. As you round a corner, you're stopped in your tracks upon an ornate doorway, its intricate carvings catching your eye.

There is an engraving of a man and a bull deep in the wood of the door and your fingers trace over the lines of the man's shoulders before you gently push against it.

It gives easily.

Inside is a dimly lit study; The room is filled with shelves upon shelves of ancient tomes and artifacts, the air thick with the scent of old parchment and dust. The breath you take is blown back out with particles of dust in the sunlight - several pieces of select furniture are covered with sheets, as if the room is no longer commissioned. 

You bite the sense that you're somewhere you're not supposed to be. You know there is no true danger - if you were to wander somewhere you didn't belong on Giedi Prime, you'd have been punished. You doubt, however, that the guards here would dare touch you unless you gave them a reason to. 

You walk along the treasure trove of secrets, hidden away from prying eyes; a large hawk spreading its wings carved in the window in front of you. 

It's large, proud; green and black with gold embellishments. The Atreides colors. 

There's a book that your forefinger traces - a deep blue color, the spine is old and well-read. A few of the pages are even dog-eared, the dust deliberately swept off its pages as if it was read recently.  Caladan: A Comprehensive Ecological Study of Biodiversity.

You nearly pull it out to study its contents, momentarily forgetting the task of finding the armory in your piqued interest; Yet you can explore further, you hear footsteps approaching from behind. 

Hair stands up on your neck. 

They're light, sneaking- intentionally quiet. You whirl around quick, snarling as your hand instinctively goes to your hip. You come up empty, a flash of disappointment washing over you as a reminder of your absent beloved nameday knife. 

You turn just in time to see Paul Atreides standing in the doorway, his expression shockingly guarded as he takes in the sight of you standing amidst the shelves. You flounder, having expected it to be one of your handmaidens coming to redirect you, or perhaps a member of the Duke's guard. 

Paul stares at you, too - clearly, he was not expecting to see you either. His eyes turn suspicious, flickering to the desk beside you, towered with old texts on the Atreides family and war strategy.

"What are you doing here?" he asks, his voice cold and accusatory. His cheeks are red, eyes narrow - he’s harsh in the dim lighting, when you'd thought he'd look soft. You don't need to see the crazed look in his eyes to see he's flustered about something. Irritated.

"This is my father's old study. It's not meant for prying eyes," Paul's voice slices through the air, sharp and accusatory.

Your heart lurches at the implication, a rush of heat prickling your skin as you stiffen. "I was looking for a place to train," you shoot back, your tone laced with defiance. You refuse to cower under his suspicion, no matter how thinly veiled. "I didn’t intend to intrude on your father's privacy. You may give him my apologies when you see fit."

The air seems to crackle in the distance between you, thick and palpable as Paul's piercing gaze meets yours, distrust laced through his gaze even as he maintains his chivalrous facade. The way his eyes narrow sends a surge of indignation coursing through you, your pride flaring in response.

"Forgive me if I’ve offended you," Paul's words are clipped, his tone tinged with an edge that sets your jaw tight. "Considering certain connections you may have, it's important to be cautious in matters of trust. But if you're lost, then allow me to escort you."

You bristle at the narrowly disguised accusation, your temper heating your cheeks. "Forgive me for assuming you’d know better than to judge me based on the actions of others," you retort, your voice sharp with wound. "Please don't exert yourself, my Lord, I'm sure I can find the armory without a chaperone."

With a sharp pivot, you brush past him in the doorway, your steps quick and purposeful. Each footfall echoes in the corridor, a staccato rhythm that you cannot bring yourself to care about hiding. Anger pulses through your veins, simmering your resentment. You refuse to be belittled or underestimated, not by him or anyone else.

Paul told you just yesterday that you will one day be Lady Atreides; if he is so afraid of your so-believed connections with House Harkonnen, why has he not insisted you be cast away?

You've observed Paul and his father together, and it's clear he is valued not just because he is the son of the Duke but because he is smart, cunning. Your face darkens at a thought as you tear past corners, finally rounding into a familiar area. 

Your own lineage is gone. A house as old as the planet it ruled, burnt to the ground - the other Houses Major complacent and willing to see it happen - and they plan to use you for themselves. 

You barely see anything but red.

If they think you can be manipulated to their advantage, they are sorely mistaken. you may be betrothed to Paul Atreides, but you will never be a part of their house; your blood is the ancient blood of the Pine, of the Sword.

You'll have to be a wife to the future Duke - sire an heir, live in the castle, command the planet. But you will not go down easy. 

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The armory is not as empty as you'd wished. 

In fact, it is one person too many; you're mistaken sorely when you storm in, chest heaving and cheeks hot with anger, to find one person standing in the middle of the floor. You are vibrating with hurt, anger boiling over - the only thing that will placate you might be swinging a knife. 

"Duncan." You greet him icily, your voice devoid of warmth. He faces you, blinking back his surprise. He uses your first name like a secret as he greets you; a flip of your stomach. You'd almost forgotten that name.

"Is everything alright?" He asks. A foolish question, really. You want to scream - Why did you wait so long to get me? Where were you? Where were my parents?

But you already know the answer. They were doing nothing. You grit your teeth, instead striding purposefully towards him.

"You're the Swordmaster of the Duke." You remark coolly, masking your anger - You know this, of course; He's been Duke Leto's Swordmaster since before you were bore into the world. 

"That's right." He affirms, wary of your movements as you stride towards the weapons rack.

"I find myself missing my knife - If I remember correctly, you took it from me on Giedi Prime." You walk slowly towards the center of the sparring mat where he stands, in front of the rack of shortswords. "I would like it back." 

To your surprise, Duncan nods. "Of course." he replies, "Would you like to spar for it?"

He reads you like a book.

"No honor without a fight.” you acquiesce; Fighting a man is much better than fighting a dummy, anyways - more to hit, more pain to inflict. Without waiting for a response, you snatch a blade from the rack; He tosses you a shield that you activate swiftly, assuming an offensive stance as he settles his own. 

For a moment, neither of you does anything; your blood pulses through you, eager to take out your anger, eager to show him who you've become. 

To show that you're the beast everyone expects you to be. 

You lunge at him and quickly are reminded of the skill of the man in front of you. You haven't sparred with anyone in over a week; In the commotion of your family's abdication, the arenas had been filled to the brim with your house's soldiers the whole week leading up to your exit from Giedi Prime. Even Feyd had been too occupied to fight you; Though, perhaps feeling sentimental, he’d let you pull your blade on him that last evening when you’d been on him, breath heavy against each other.

It takes only minutes before your muscles are aching, screaming; The frustration of the morning and the despair within your stomach spurs you forward, keeping your feet under your body.

Soon, your panting and the clang of steel on steel fills the room, punctuated only by both you and Duncan's measured breathing.

It’s been a long time since you trained with Duncan Idaho. You used to move together like water, even when you were just fifteen; he'd taught you how to fight like a Ginaz - your bloodline - and though his visits were sparse, he'd see you for your planet’s harvest festivals, always with a blade in your grip and your brother's hand in the other.

You were graceful when you were young and still learning. But now you're quick, snarling like a rabid dog, lashing out with teeth and nail.

It feels nothing like it used to be. 

"Have something to say, Idaho?" you ask, letting out a quick gasp as he gets near to taking you down, ducking at the last second as he charges your right side. He’d been sending you looks of interest at your newfound techniques for several minutes. 

He lets out a breath as you slide past him, slamming your elbow hard into his side; A dirty move, but all is fair in war, right? 

"You fight different, Little Bourbon," He's at least breaking a sweat; you're drenched, muscles fatigued as you fight his blade, straining with the adrenaline of a fight. He said the same thing days ago.

You're out of breath; "You already told me that." Your voice is faint as you wipe sweat from your brow, parring an attack to your left side. "It's the veil." You grit your teeth.

To be fair, it could be the veil - it's restrictive, catching on corners, pinning beneath your arm or tangling as you fight hand-to-hand. You can't see well wearing it.

His brow lifts, "I think it's probably the four years with those beasts."

Your blood runs cold; expression souring, your hackles rise. 

"What do you know of those beasts?" You snap, heart pounding as you think of the man who'd once been your intended - who'd called you his pet but paraded you like a wife. Spoiled you, ruined you. Tortured you, nurtured you - What was that old saying, about biting the hand that fed you? 

But suddenly Feyd-Rautha is in front of you, wielding both curved blades with that sinister black smile. You stumble back for a second, staring at his intimidating, lithe frame as he laughs a mirthless, dangerous chuckle down at you. 

Don’t worry, my pet. I will find you again.

Heart in pain, you lash out, grunting as you swipe at his face; It's Duncan, though, and you can't hide the gasp as you blink away the vision. Your heart thuds heavy between your ribs. 

He jolts back, tutting. "I didn't mean to imply that it is a weakness, my lady." He blocks a blow and you struggle for a moment against his sheer strength; with a twinge of anger, you can tell he's going easy on you.

He continues on. "-Far from it. you seem to forget that I've fought them, but that is besides the point-" He's momentarily distracted when he disarms you, and you use the opportunity to flip sideways, jumping gracefully over the water station to retrieve your blade. His face betrays a look of appreciation at your acrobatics, smirking as the pitcher of water shakes slightly. 

Concealing a grin, you creep back around, launching into an attack that he parries quickly, dropping you on to your side. You grunt, kicking with your legs to twist, trying to force his body off of yours - a momentary weakness, and you're done. 

He stares down at you, raising his brows. "I'm just saying, maybe there's aspects of your training that could benefit from a more balanced approach." He finishes his sentence just as he bests you, your blade flipping against your own ribs as he forces your arm tight against yourself. you hiss and twist; to no avail.

He's won. 

Still fighting the adrenaline from your vision of Feyd, you snarl. "What are you implying? I'm too rabid an animal for you people to tame? Is House Atreides scared of Little Bourbon?" You snap, eyes alight with heat. "Or, are they just afraid I've become Little Harkonnen?" you snap. 

He does not take your bait. Instead, he rolls off of you, standing up and offering you a hand. With a sharp glance, you take it, letting him pull your full weight off the ground as if you're nearly weightless. 

"What I am saying is that I am here every day. Come train whenever you please." 

You sigh, side cramping as you move from his grip to pour yourself a glass of water. You pour a shaky one for Duncan, too, trying to fight the creeping sensation that he's talking to a stranger. He grasps the water gently, watching you from the corner of his eye. 

The hesitation makes your jaw clench in anticipation; You busy yourself by examining the various blades that lie before you, knowing what's to come. 

Finally, he says your name softly. "We haven't gotten to discuss any of this..." he is clearly trying to put together words, but you cannot bear to hear them - you drag your finger along a curved blade, eyes squinting shut.

"I'm sorry. I…" he starts gently, trailing off as if he can't bear to say it out loud, reaching out to touch your arm but thinking twice. His fingers hesitate just before your bicep. 

Just as much; You fight not to recoil from his touch, swallowing hard as you step away slightly, tossing the knife back on the rack. "I'm fine," you reply curtly, voice steelier than ever. "Nothing to do about it now."

Duncan sighs, but does not call your bluff. You almost appreciate him for it. 

"Now where did you put my knife?" 

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You're struck with an observation when you sit in the conference hall across from the Duke later that afternoon: They do not sit like a council, looking down at you - instead, the table is rounded with only one seat missing, next to Halleck. You suspect Paul's is the body absent from the chair; he’s training with Duncan, then. You must have just missed him on your way back. 

Cautiously, your fingers toy with your newly reclaimed blade, its shine restored with the etchings across the hilt. You're significantly tired after your sparring, but Duncan’s words have settled a thin blanket of unease over you that pulls taught when your eyes land on the Lady Jessica. Her eyes stare unblinking at you, and though there is a soft smile upon her lips, you have to fight to resist a snarl. 

The Duke is serious as he regards you, hands clasping as you make yourself comfortable; he holds up a hand to stop the guards who unsheathe their blades when you set your own blade down in front of you for all to see.

A threat, or perhaps a sign of respect. You're unsure. 

"Lady Bourbon, thank you for meeting with us." His voice is a deep caramel, not unlike his son's - years of diplomatic training. "We know how hard this can be. The weight of your sudden responsibility does not go unappreciated."

You nod curtly, gaze fixed on the table before you; You've never been known for your patience. "How may I be of service, my Lord?" 

At your deflection, he nods slightly, "I was told you spent the afternoon training with Duncan Idaho." He speaks plainly and you are, if nothing else, appreciative of that; His eyes glance over the short sword that lays in front of you, to the signature black leather that wraps around the hilt. Once, it had served as a claim - but now, you're unsure. 

"Yes, my Lord." You say, voice serious and strong. 

The Duke’s brows are low over his eyes; an expression you can imagine on his son's face quite easily. You're unsurprised Paul has become such a well-respected figure in the castle even with the workers and servants who tend to you every morning - even this morning Hestia told you of his rigorous training but also of his intelligence, diplomacy, and honor. While you had clenched your jaw at her words, you now suppose in a diplomatic sense, he will assume his father's role quite perfectly one day. 

"We'd like to reiterate that you are free to pursue your interests, to educate yourself, and to engage in hobbies that bring you joy. We hope for you to consider this your home, and know that we are here to support you in any way we can." Lady Jessica says, her voice quiet but intense; much like her son. 

This is… not what you’d anticipated. You sit, rigid as a board, eyes wide. You're unsurprised that your unease on this planet is clear - you barely sleep, you never eat around them, you barely speak, choosing to keep to yourself. 

"We would like to know of your interests so we may set you up with any materials you may need. I'd like to introduce to you Dr. Yueh, as well as Thufir Hawat, who have volunteered to help tutor you should you wish. Duncan Idaho also wishes to help you train if you see fit. I understand you knew him when you were young." The Duke offers, sitting straight in his seat.

Much to your chagrin, your eyes burn with unshed tears as you slowly process the words. For the first time in what feels like an eternity, you're being offered a taste of freedom.

It sends you into fight or flight; your heartbeat pounds against your ribs, your hands clenching hard. You feel cornered, but take a breath. There is no hostility here.

I must not fear. fear is the mind-killer. fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me.

Clearing your throat, you lift your head slightly. "Your...generosity overwhelms me. I was educated for a while in politics and local economics, and I've always been fascinated by botany and ecology- I..." your mouth is incredibly dry, voice void of emotion. You bite your lip, one tear slowly tracking over your cheek; You really must be exhausted.

"Thank you." You don't know what else to say. 

There is a small gleam of recognition that passes Duke Leto's eyes at your words, his smile intrigued. "Those are noble pursuits. You have similar interests to my own son - I believe you two will have much to discuss."

Your mouth bitters at the suggestion and you try not to squirm in your seat; For a moment, you'd slipped away - into a world where you are their daughter, a world where you aren't tainted by the last several years, by the crimes of your House- where you haven’t been turned into a monster that hisses at a glimpse of the sun. 

But of course, as you'd expected, there is no good will for free: The next words set your back rigid. 

"Though we are hesitant to put you into another painful situation, it is hard to deny just how helpful you could be to us, my Lady." Gurney Halleck speaks from besides the Duke.

Your eyes snake to him, your back prickling. You resist the urge to run, or to throw your blade at his head.

"-and we hope, when you are ready, you might give us some insight into your previous arrangements." He says, surprisingly delicately.

You can't help but bristle at the sentiment; the offer of cooperation feels more like coercion. You don't by law owe the Atreides anything besides wedding their son, but the implications of the arrangement suggest a lifetime of servitude towards them - and you despise owing people anything.

Perhaps, if not just the Harkonnens, they prefer you for your relationship with your bastard mother's sister, the lady of House Ginaz? This thought has several times crossed your mind, but you're sure they'd be displeased to hear of how strained such relationship became when the Harkonnens started filtering your messages.

Barely any of her letters made it to you for the last several years in your time at Giedi Prime, and you're almost certain none of yours made it out at all. You haven't heard from her in some time. 

You wait a moment, collecting your thoughts and willing yourself to only reveal what you need them to know. Self-preservation builds itself around you like rock-solid armor. "During my time with the Harkonnens, I became privy to certain..." you purse your lips, looking for the right word, "lateral moves."

Gurney Halleck's eyes fly to you, as do Lady Jessica's.

"-However, my interactions were primarily with Feyd-Rautha; The Baron held little interest in me until my family was caught, and Glossu Rabban suspected me of being a spy long before he'd ever met me."  As you speak, Lady Jessica's keen eyes observe you closely, her lips pressed into a thin line. You pretend not to notice as her hand flicks down by her side, the Duke and War Master's eyes flickering down to observe her hidden words. 

You set your jaw, ignoring their silent communication, "I do not know much about their deals on Arrakis, but I have gathered enough about their industries on Giedi Prime." You say, eyeing them all. Recalling Paul’s earlier mistrust, you add, "I have no reason to lie." 

It's quiet at the table as the Duke sits in thought, Gurney turning to whisper lowly to the man. He nods, and after a moment, looks back at you. "I'd wonder if you might attend a meeting with my Strategy Council next week." The Duke proposes, shocking you. Stiffly, you nod. "There is a Space Trade Route Referendum coming soon, as I'm sure you know, and we would benefit from your insight." 

You truly have to fight the flush that grows on your cheeks, reminding yourself of where you are, who you are. These are still the people who think you are some rabid dog that they may muzzle. A pawn to play. 

"I'd be pleased, my Lord." It comes short of genuine in tone, your apprehension showing. 

He nods, glancing down before looking back up. "If I may..." He addresses you with your first name, a jolt to your system. "We value everyone in this castle. Plans have changed quickly, and it is more than understandable if you have felt unwelcome or alienated here on Caladan, though we do not wish it."

You let a short breath, biting back a bitter quip about their son and his willingness to chew you out for exploring the walls of what was supposed to be your castle.

But perhaps your anger and fear have been projected onto the Duke and Lady Jessica, which, in fairness, is not theirs to receive; No matter if their son is mistrusting, they have shown nothing but respect for you in this transition. You hesitate, biting your lip. 

"I apologize if I have come off as ungrateful." Your voice is much softer than anticipated, your throat floundering in embarrassment. You can only thank your lucky stars that the Atreides boy is not here to snicker at your misery - though as the sharp eyes of everyone at the table turn to you, the self-deprecating feeling turns towards disdain for him; anger, for daring to disrespect his future wife. 

"It was never my intention." You take a breath, choosing your words carefully. "I am not unused to being treated like a spy, even in the house I am supposed to become a part of."

Your voice is strong as your chin holds high, staring straight at the Duke although he cannot see your gaze. "Perhaps, if I were less interrogated by select members of the House Atreides, I might feel more at ease." You speak honestly; if nothing else comes of this, perhaps Paul will get his ear chewed out by his father or mother - and that, you feel, is justice.

You don't care that you are a stranger to everyone at this table and they have known him for his whole life; you will not be pushed around.

Folding your hands, you continue, "I'd like to pass along my personal apologies for entering your old study this morning when I was lost." you say, "Lord Paul informed me that it is off-limits to my kind." 

The looks on their faces show their varying degrees of surprise; the Duke, however, glances sidelong at the empty seat at the table before clenching his jaw, eyes something akin to irate. The two make eye contact before Halleck sighs gently, hand falling over his forehead.

You can tell the Duke is about to speak but you don't wish to listen to any excuse he could find for his brat of a son- unfortunately for you, it is not acceptable to interrupt a Duke. So you sit, foot bouncing on the floor, as he purses his lips. 

"This arrangement was certainly a shock to him as well as to you. But that does not permit disrespectful behavior." This, indeed, comes as surprise to you, having expected them to support the na-Duke's every whim.

"-As for my former study, it is now used as an archive room. I apologize if there was any confusion regarding its accessibility - I will speak with my son about the importance of clarity and respect in our household rules." His words held a note of sternness; a silent admonishment directed towards his absent heir. "You are allowed wherever you wish." 

Once again, you're flooded with emotion; Perhaps they do want you to come into your own here. Perhaps the Duke's son has his own opinions about you and your history, but that does not mean his parents feel the same. 

You feel a sudden spark of rebellion - could you find some kind of purpose with House Atreides, despite their ulterior motives? After all, your house was once a strong ally of theirs. The thought flickers tantalizingly before you, only to be swiftly extinguished by the reality of your situation.

No, you remind yourself bitterly. You are tainted with blood - not Atreides, not Bourbon - but Harkonnen. Paul will always see you as a beast, wife or not. 

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:

Supper is called later than Paul expects.

His stomach growls by the time you come into the hall; though he and his parents have been at the table for some time. 

There is a box in his hand, one that will sit next to him until the end of dinner. It glares at him tauntingly; he avoids its stare. 

You may not always like her, but you will treat her with the respect and care befitting of a future spouse. 

How foolish he’d been this morning - flustered, angry at the arrangement - what awful coincidence he'd run into you snooping around the old study. He knows better than to treat you that way, even if he does not trust you.

Paul ignores the twist in his stomach as his father glances at him; The air is tense with their previous conversation - his parents are upset with him. But Paul knows he must amend his actions; It does not matter his apprehension. You will be his wife, and he your husband. He rolls his neck, feeling it pop as he waits.

Paul knows that whatever he is feeling, you're likely feeling a hundred times more.

So, for both your sakes, he will learn to live with you, and it will start tonight. It will start with the box to his right. 

You enter through the doors, your pace slow as you look around. Despite himself, Paul's cheeks heat up; You're wearing a simple dark dress, your figure snug with flowing sleeves - but the veil you wear this evening is significantly less thick than any you’ve warn yet.

You're still concealed behind the fabric that falls over your head, but your eyes are large behind it, meeting his for what feels like the first time.

With a chill, he realizes he can see your stare, the fullness of your lips, the upturn of your cheeks, the way you take in a quick breath; He's struck with your beauty and forces himself to nod and greet you.

There's that look to you - contained, schooled to be polite - but he knows better. You nod back tersely as your eyes glow against the dark green mesh and beads that fall over the crown of your head, and he's suddenly struck with the strange desire to see more of you. 

Instead, he forces himself to look down at the table. 

Dinner is less uncomfortable than he'd feared; you seem much more relaxed than he's ever seen you, though your voice is still quite calculated - even his mother is relaxed, asking about the wintering sport you'd mentioned learning in your youth. 

His heart hammers in his chest when the dishes begin to be cleared, knowing it is his time to present the first of several of your House's courting steps. He'd poured over them before going to train this afternoon; Perhaps this won't be the most traditional example of your culture's marriage customs, but most of your people are gone.

There's no use in fighting it, and he can only try his best to make you feel more comfortable. 

His parents excuse themselves, but with a jump of panic, he calls for you to stay, just for a moment. Paul waits silently as his parents wish you a good evening, sending him a stern look that sets his teeth on edge. When they are gone, you remain seated as if frozen, your eyes wary. Perhaps you expect him to berate you again. 

Gifting heirlooms is a sacred tradition, passed down through generations, where the betrothed proudly wear the sigil of their new house as a symbol of unity and commitment.

Paul's heart races nervously as he stands, straightening his dark tunic before approaching you, the small velvet box clutched tightly in his hand. With each step closer, your eyes sharpen with suspicion. You shift your hand through the skirt of your dress, as if searching for something- a weapon, maybe - but you have no chance to wield it as he rounds on you. 

He offers you the box with a slight tremor in his hand, small enough that you likely don't notice; Flipping it open, he tries to swallow his reluctance. This is his duty. You stare down at it, your demeanor guarded and unreadable.

Plush lips partially hidden behind a sheet of green part -for a moment, Paul wonders why you seem completely shell-shocked; he brushes aside the thought, attributing it to the formality of the gesture after his childish behavior earlier in the day. 

"My Lady," he begins, his voice steady but tinged with nervousness, "I hope you will accept this pendant as a token of my-" He clears his throat awkwardly, "Of our betrothal." He's incredibly thankful to be so well-versed on diplomacy; "I apologize for how I acted this morning. It was childish." His voice comes out strong, if not slightly quiet. 

You stare at the necklace, eyes taking in the green and gold sigil of Atreides; a hawk, small but ornamental. It was his great-great-grandmother's from her wedding day, cherished for many years. After his lesson this morning, he’d searched for something that seemed fit to uphold your family's tradition - the color would suit you well, too. 

He waits for your response, hoping against hope that you'll see the gesture for what it truly is: An attempt to bridge the gap between the two of you; Suggested by his parents, yes, but chosen and executed by himself. 

Your eyes harden, as if a decision has been made in your sharp mind. He tries not to sway on his feet when you move your hands towards the box. 

"Thank you." Your voice is much too cold. Your eyes hold none of the shine he'd seen previously, and it is with a pain in his stomach that he recognizes your sharp glance sideways. Your eyes are lethal, he decides - just as lethal as the rest of you is. 

You would not be as civil if it were just you and him, he is sure of it; His parents may be gone, but there are servants who watch on out the corner of their eyes as they clear dishes. 

He can't help but feel slightly dishonest, perhaps he should have waited until the two of you were truly alone.  

Your own hands shake as you reach under your veil, clasping the necklace around your neck slowly. He watches with a dry mouth, knowing better than to think your shaking is anything but resentment on your part. 

"It is a gorgeous collar." You utter.

Turning to stare up into his eyes, Paul's heart thuds.

"I shall wear it like a dog." 

The choice of words unsettles him completely, but you are out of the door before his lips find anything to say. 

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follow @tremendumnotifs for updates.

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#paul atreides x you #paul atreides x reader #paul atreides smut #feyd rautha smut #feyd rautha x reader #dune fanfiction #dune smut #me and the devil; series #paul atreides i need you so bad #paul x reader

[ofstarsandvibranium]

A Day in the Life...

Fandom: Marvel (Actor AU)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x GN!Reader

Summary: You're hired to be famous actor, Bucky Barnes' social media manager. This is probably the best and worst job you've ever gotten because Bucky gives you free reign of his social media but also...you may or may not be crushing on Bucky aka your boss. Based off my imagine here.

A/N: this is 3,180 words because i refused to break it up into parts. anyway, ENJOY!

You press record and begin to narrate, "A Day in the Life of a Social Media Manager for a Super Big and Popular Actor *Working Title*"

You face the camera to you and continue to speak, "Bucky had some morning meetings but I wasn't allowed to film. So now here he is doing his daily workout."

You pan the camera to him and he says, "Hi," with a shy smile.

You snort, stopping the recording, "What?"

"This is..." he gestures to you and your work phone, "awkward."

"Then don't make it awkward! And hey, you said I had free reign! I asked your followers what they'd like to see and they say they want a glimpse of your daily life."

His brows furrow, "Didn't you just say this is a day in the life of a social media manager?"

You shrug, "The poll was tied to seeing your daily life and my daily life working for you. So I just decided to put the two together. Anyway, the title is a work in progress. We'll see how this does and go from there. Anyway, just ignore me. I'm not even here."

Bucky gets back to his work out. He has an outdoor and indoor set up. Because the weather was nice, he decided to do his workout outside...shirtless.

He goes to the lifting station, picking up some weights. You begin to narrate again, but this time in a Steve Irwin impression, "Right. Now watch as the esteemed actor gets ready to work out his arms in preparation for an awesome movie that I'm not allowed to mention."

Bucky lets out a chuckle, dropping the weights and looking back at you, "You filming a nature documentary now?" he rests his hands on his hips and smirks at you in a way that makes you want to melt.

You give a playful yet dramatic sigh, dropping your filming arm down, "Are you this difficult with your directors, Barnes?"

He shakes his head, "Nah. None of my directors have been as dorky as you."

You stick your tongue out at him, "Fine. I'll leave you to your workout."

"No, hey, I was joking! Don't leave me!"

You shake your head, "It's fine, Bucky. I'll leave you to it. I'll chalk up some other videos we could do. Also, the getty images from last night's premiere are up. Did you want to look through them before I post?"

He shakes his head, "I trust your judgement." he turns around, his bare back facing you. You stay and watch as he do a few arm curls and immediately rush back into his home.

"Get it together, Y/N," you mumble to yourself, leaving your boss to his workout.

________________________

During Bucky's fitting for New York's Fashion Week, you were allowed to take some behind the scenes pictures. You have a few candid ones of Bucky standing in front of a mirror, his stylist fixing his collar, and him looking at the different shoe options.

Then you included some goofy ones where he copies a pose of a mannequin, a selfie of you two showing of your shoe choices (his being very fancy and yours being your regular sneakers), and then a selfie of him wearing a pair of sunglasses without a lens.

You posted all of them after fashion week was over and his Instagram followers were LOVING it.

bbarnesfan: STAHP. he's so adorable.

xbucky-muncher: he went from serious to dork. get you a man who can do both.

notyouraveragebuckyfan: ok but him and his social media manager are so cute together???

bbarnesfan replies: they're literally bucky's employee. don't be weird.

notyouraveragebuckyfan replies: i'm just saying! they seem like they have great chemistry! have you seen the tiktoks and reels of them together?

"How come you put the candids and the selfies all in one post?" Bucky asks as he looks through the latest post you made.

You're scrolling through the analytics of the last tiktok you two made, one where he guesses if one of his characters said a specific line or it's made up.

You take note of the demographics, the comments, etc. to be mindful of for the next posts you make.

Without looking up from your laptop, you answer, "It shows people the different sides of you. How you take things seriously but you can also have fun with it."

He hums, "Lots of people think we look cute together." He says this in hopes of getting some sort of reaction from you.

You continue to work, not looking back at them, "Don't pay attention to those comments. The internet will make up all kinds of stuff."

Bucky's shoulders sag a bit as he replies, "Yeah. You're right."

You'd been working for him for almost a year now. He doesn't see you every day like he did when you first were hired on. Now you only come over twice a week to go over analytics with his team and to shoot some content. Most of the time, you work from your place and Bucky's been feeling more lonely ever since.

Your presence brightened his day and you provided a breath of fresh air on his busier days. He genuinely enjoyed your company and liked making content with you. He liked learning more about you, having meals together, and just being with you. He thought that maybe there was something there between you, but then he'd be reminded that you're his employee and he's your boss. It can't work out.

But there were some glimpsed of hope. You'd look at Bucky a certain way or make a comment that seemed a little more flirty. It had to mean something, right? But whenever Bucky tried to push a little more, you'd pull away and he hated it. It was so complicated.

He wanted you as more than an employee but his team clocked him on his feelings and told him not to fuck it up because you've helped Bucky's image immensely.

He can't fuck this up, not matter how much his heart yearns for more.

___________________________

"Hello, hello!" you greet Bucky, handing him his coffee as he lets you into his home. You've been working for him for over a year. It's one out of the two days you come over to do work with him.

His stylist, Michael, was nice enough to bring some clothes over for a TikTok video that you had which was "My Social Media Manager Picks Out My Next Event Outfit".

The next event that Bucky needs to make an appearance in is his friend, Nat's, movie premiere. The dress code is very formal so it's no surprise to see various kinds of formal wear.

What does surprise you is that you see a rack of clothes that you know wouldn't be for Bucky.

"Um...what's this?"

He grins widely at you, "Clothes for you to choose from."

Your brows shoot up in surprise, "Excuse me?"

"You said you've always wanted to go to one right? You're coming with me."

"As your social media manager?"

"You're not working the event. You're going as my plus one."

"Uuuuhhh..."

"You don't have to, but I was hoping to bring you as, ya know, a thank you for all the amazing work you've done for me this past year."

You can't help but snort, "Bucky, c'mon, did all of your usuals reject you or something?"

"You're the only person I've asked right now. Come on, Y/N, please?"

You want to. You really, really want to. But these past few months, you and Bucky have been toeing the line between a work relationship and something more. You're not sure if going as his plus one to the premiere is a good idea, especially since even more people have been commenting on your chemistry.

But Bucky's looking at you with those gorgeous blue eyes and he's pouting and he looks so cute, so how could you say no?

"I'll think about it," you reply and it seems to appease Bucky because he smiles again and says, "Okay. But I really do hope you'll go. It'll be fun, plus you've met Nat. She thinks you're cool."

You scoff, "There's no way Natasha Romanoff, the hottest and most popular actress right now, thinks I'm cool."

He shrugs, "Everyone thinks you're cool. It's hard to not like you, Y/N, trust me," he gives you a wink and it makes your cheeks warm up, "Anyway, so let's see what we got."

You wordlessly nod, going over to set up your work phone to begin filming.

________________________

You think you did really well with picking out Bucky's outfit. It was a royal blue velvet jacket with a black bow tie, and black slacks. Even Michael was impressed with your choice.

Even though you weren't working tonight, you still took some pictures and clips just in case. You took a video of the reveal of your look tonight and can't help but feel bubbly inside when Bucky wouldn't stop looking at you.

To distract yourself, you decided to take candids of Bucky getting his hair done after you were finished getting ready. He kept making funny faces at you, making you laugh.

After you both were ready, you took some mirror selfies, obviously, and sent them to Bucky afterwards.

You're in the car on the way to the premiere when you get a bunch of texts and notifications from people:

Wanda: I KNOW YOU SAID YOU WERE GOING TO THE PREMIERE BUT YOU DIDN'T SAY AS BUCKY'S DATE!

Pietro: good luck tonight! use protection! ;D

Carol: since when are you dating bucky barnes???

You unlock your phone but see a notification that Bucky tagged you in a post you didn't know he was going to make.

It was the mirror selfies you two took, with the caption: got the most gorgeous date on my arm tonight.

You immediately turn to Bucky, eyes narrowing, "James Buchanan Barnes."

"...I don't like how you just used my government name like that."

"Why would you post those selfies of us?!"

He shrugs, "Because we look great."

"And the caption?"

"It's true. You're gorgeous."

You groan and pinch the bridge of your nose, "Your publicist and manager are gonna kill me."

"No, they won't."

"They hired me to make sure your online presence is good and won't jeopardize your career."

"Nothing's gonna happen, Y/N."

"People already assume we're together because of how well we work together. It was fine to let them speculate because but that post will make things even worse."

"How?"

"People will think I'm a gold digger? That I got this job because we're sleeping together? I don't know! The internet makes up all kinds of fucked up reasons and I won't be able to get work ever again!"

"But is it so bad that people think we're together?"

"For you, it won't be bad. For me, it could be. So, please, Bucky, delete those photos before even more people see it."

Bucky's jaw clenches and mumbles out, "Fine. I'm sorry," he takes out his phone and you watch as he deletes the photos off his instagram. Tonight was supposed to be fun, but you're sure you just ruined it.

____________________

The entire night was awkward. Bucky did his best to still include you in conversations he had with friends and colleagues, but you felt the tension between you two. You did your best to enjoy it as much as you can. You saw Nat for a brief moment where you hugged her and congratulate her. She said she wanted to chat later but you didn't really expect much. This is her premiere and she has other priorities.

She proved you wrong, however, during the after party where she pulled you to an area for more privacy.

"Hey, how are you?"

"Um, good. A little overwhelmed, but, uh, tonight's been...fun."

She tilts her head and narrows her eyes at you, just like her character did in the movie, and you can't help but let the truth spill, "I freaked out on Bucky on the way here. He posted pictures of us that insinuate we're together and I don't want it to result in me getting fired and potentially never getting a job like this ever again."

"Yeah, I saw that before he deleted it. You guys looked cute. Also, are you two not dating?"

"What? No! He's literally my boss!"

She shrugs, "Could've fooled me. Anyway, there's something clearly going on between you two, right?"

"I, uh, I don't know what to say. Do I have feelings for him? Yes. But will I act on them? No. Again, he's my boss, I'm his employee. I really like this job too, so I can't risk anything."

"I feel like there's a 'but' coming."

"...but he's so amazingly funny, smart, hot, understanding, compassionate, and I just love spending time with him. It's so fucked, Nat.

She nods in understanding, "I know, hon. I'm gonna say the most cliche thing ever, but listen to your heart. I'm sure you'll find another job just as fun as this one, but to be with someone you click so well with? That doesn't come often."

"Hey, you okay?" Bucky comes up from behind, placing a hand on your hip and looking at you with concern.

Nat flashes him a smile, "Just wanted to catch up with them, but I've hogged up your date long enough, Barnes." she turns back to you, "Think about what I said, okay? Enjoy the rest of your night and thanks for coming," she hugs you and heads back out to the party.

Bucky nods to her and stands in front of you, "Did you want to stay longer or are you ready to go?"

"I think I'm ready to go for the night."

"Alright." you follow him out to the front where you wait for the driver to pick you guys up. He stands beside you with his hands in his pockets, wearing that gorgeous outfit you chose.

"I'm sorry again about the pictures."

"Thank you, I'm sorry I attacked you like that."

He shakes his head, "Don't be. I get why you did. But, um, we're good?"

You nod, "Yeah, Bucky, we're good."

"Good," he gives you a shy smile and then points at the upcoming car, "Our ride's here." As soon as the SUV pulls up, he opens the door for you and lets you go in first. He follows and the drive home is in silence.

_________________________

You're working in your little alcove at Bucky's when he approaches you, "Hey, I need to talk to you about something."

You turn in your chair and look up at him, "This doesn't sound good."

"It's good and bad."

"Um, okay?" you clasp your hands together in your lap in anxiousness.

"So...I'm hiring a different social media manager."

Your heart drops, "Wh-What? But-But I thought I was doing well. Your team said I was doing a good job. What happened?"

"You are, but lemme also add that there's another job already waiting for you."

"Bucky, I'm so confused right now. Are you firing me? Or contracting me to someone else?"

"I'm firing you because I can't date an employee."

You straighten up at his statement, "Excuse me?"

Bucky steps closer to you, reaching out and grabbing your hand, "It's just...shit, Y/N, you gotta know how I feel about you right?"

You bite your lip in nervousness, "Maybe."

He lets out a long sigh and run a hand through his cropped hair, "Listen, I like you. A lot. That's the real reason I wanted you to come with me to the premiere. I love spending time with you and I've been so much happier since you've started working for me. To be honest, I didn't know how much longer I could keep myself from wanting to be with you. So to still make sure your professionalism was in tact, I reached out to Nat to see if she was in need of an amazing social media manager and, luckily, she was."

"I'm gonna work for Nat? Nat wants me to work for her?"

Bucky nods, "She does. So you'll be working for her which means I'm not longer your boss. Which means...will you go on a date with me?"

Fuck it. Fuck it all. You held in your feelings for Bucky for so long and now you've been given a loophole to be with him.

"I like you too, Bucky. So much, I didn't say anything, obviously, because I wanted to remain professional, but fuck did you make it hard to not fall for you."

Bucky snickers with a smirk, "I can say the same thing about you." His thumb caresses the back of your hand and it feels so right.

"Have you actually hired someone to take over for me?"

"Not officially, but I have some applicants already. Why? Do you know someone?"

You nod, "I do. She just graduated college with a degree in communications with a concentration in social media. I can have her send in an application, but I one hundred percent vouch for her. She's done great work."

"Alright. I trust you, but I don't think I can find anyone who works as well as you do."

"I fucking hope not. Or else you might leave me for them!"

"Never," Bucky replies confidently with a softness in his voice and adoration in his eyes.

"So...about that date..."

_______________________

"Come with me to work for a popular actor!" Kamala narrates her latest TikTok.

"So Bucky is working on a new movie with Natasha Romanoff so for promo we're filming a bunch of different content!" Nat and Bucky wave at the camera.

"After filming all of that, they're off to a photoshoot. Here are some of the potential outfits they can wear." the camera pans to several racks of clothing.

"There's a lunch break and here's my lunch versus Bucky's lunch," Kamala's plate is pasta while Bucky's roast chicken, "The boss needs to bulk up for another role so he needs a lot of protein."

"And that's all that I can show you for today. Until next time, bye!"

You scroll to the comments and they're immediately flooded with"

you're not y/n???

wait, did y/n quit?! did bucky fire them?! no!

what happened to y/n?!

and so on.

You snort and show Bucky, who was cuddling you from behind, "I told you people would notice."

He peers over your shoulder to look at your phone, "Kamala actually had an idea for that."

_________________

"A Day in the Life of an Actor's Social Media Manager. Part...whatever. So we're doing more promo stuff for Bucky and Nat's new movie. But this time I'm also working with Nat's social media manager, Y/N! We're doing a What's in the Box Challenge and here's a clip of Bucky freaking out."

"IT'S MOVING! WHY IS IT MOVING?!"

"Also look at Bucky and Y/N. They're so cute together. And yes, guys, they're totally dating now which is why Y/N no longer works for Bucky. ANYWAY..."

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagine #gn!reader #gender neutral!reader #actor au #social media manager au #marvel au #marvel imagine

[em-harlsnow]

I wanted to do another speed write, so here it is.

They're sitting in the living room, and for once they're all together.

Together, except not, because each of them is off in their own bubble and it feels like when they were kids. When they could just be around each other without reason or need to talk or have a purpose to be there for.

Ian and Mickey are beside each other on the couch, watching something from Ian's phone. Debbie absentmindedly braids Franny's hair as she watches some documentary which is playing. Carl is playing a seemingly very intense game of draughts with Lip across the living room table. Liam pours over his homework on the other end. Tami is messaging one of her coworkers in the armchair.

The only one missing is Fiona, and the loss is acute but bearable.

Lip cheers as he manoeuvres his piece to take three of Carl's at once. Carl huffs and rolls his eyes, clearly losing but choosing to continue playing anyway.

It's then that Liam closes his maths book and opens up his backpack, placing the completed homework inside and pulling out a coloured cube.

"Lip." Liam states, tiredly.

"Mhm." He's focussed on the board, trying to absolutely annihilate his brother.

"Can you solve this?" He asks, holding up the Rubik's cube in one hand, staring at it like an enemy.

Lip turns and looks at it, frowning. "No. Why?"

Liam sighs. "If I can bring it in solved my teacher said she'd give me extra credit. We all got one."

"Just move the stickers around." Lip advises.

"I already thought of that. It doesn't have stickers, the colours are just on each piece. It's a fancy one."

"Liam, your teacher's scamming you. Those things are impossible. The only people who can solve them are magicians or just really lucky." Lip tells him.

"They're not impossible." Mickey snarks, rolling his eyes. "Give it here." He makes a gesture at Liam.

"Why?" The boy asks skeptically.

"I can solve it." He explains, like it's obvious.

"Really, Mick?" Lip says with a voice full of doubt.

"Yes, asshole. Now hand it over."

Lip raises his eyebrows but Liam tosses it to Mickey.

"You can solve a Rubik's cube?" Ian questions.

"Yes." Mickey replies as he starts shifting the sides and the middles, turning it around in his palms to figure out the patterns. His tongue pokes out of his cheek as he focusses. "It's been a while, I'm rusty. So it might take a minute."

Lip snorts. "Just admit it's impossible."

"Shut the fuck up, dick."

The rest of the room goes back to their own devices, momentarily entertained by the conversation but ultimately disinterested. Only Ian continues to watch as Mickey plays around with the colours, slowly building the cube to completion. Even Liam turns away, choosing to start on his English homework instead of watching something he doesn't think will yield results.

It's clear no one thinks he'll actually be able to do it.

Ten minutes of clicking pieces ensue, and Ian returns to his phone.

After another ten minutes, the cube is slammed onto the table, six perfectly neat and completed sides displayed clearly.

Ian glances up to see it, and has to double take. Lip looks stunned, and Liam looks at the cube like it's his greatest enemy.

"Woah." Carl states.

"How did you do that?" The youngest Gallagher rages. "I've been trying all day!"

"I learnt ages ago. Found one of 'em in the back of a car we stole. Got bored and used YouTube to learn it. I could probably do it in less time now that I've figured it out again." Mickey shrugs, and Ian looks fucking awed.

"There's no fucking way you just solved that. You didn't mix it right, Liam. I'll make it really messed up, then I bet he can't." Lip challenges, messing up the solved puzzle again.

Mickey shrugs again. "It ain't about how 'hard' you make it, Phillip. It's a system."

Lip ignores him, then presents him with a thoroughly scrambled product a few moments later.

"Solve that." He says, smugly.

"Easy, bitch." Mickey smirks, then starts again.

Ian watches with extreme interest, this time and the rest of the Gallaghers are just as transfixed.

He completes the white side first, slowly building the red, green, blue and orange, then working on the yellow. At a point, it looks almost done, only the yellow corners are out of place. Then, Mickey messes it all up.

"Don't do that!" Ian shouts. "You're messing it up again."

Mickey's attention never leaves the coloured squares. "Fuck off, I know what I'm doing." And he keeps turning the faces until suddenly it all comes together again. "See, Lip. Doesn't fucking matter."

Lip looks horrified. "There's no way."

"That's cool, Mickey." Debbie chirps, grinning at Lip's reaction.

"That's so cool." Carl's eyes are sparkling. "Even Lip isn't smart enough to do that."

"Shut up, Carl." Lip rolls his eyes, kicking at his brother playfully. "It's a kids game."

"Yeah, a kids game you can't do." And then the two are tussling light heartedly.

But Ian's attention is completely on Mickey, who seems absolutely calm about the whole thing.

Later on, they're lying in bed together and Ian won't stop staring at him.

"I can feel you looking at me, man. What's up with you?" Mickey asks, thoroughly unimpressed.

"Solve it again." Ian orders without explaining, extracting Liam's (again messed up) cube from the nightstand to his husband.

"Why? You don't believe I can do it?" Mickey counters, prepared to prove him wrong.

"No, I think you can. But-" Ian leans in to whisper into his ear, "-I wanna see you do it again."

Mickey raises his eyebrows. "Coloured squares turn you on, Gallagher?"

"Mmm. Hot husbands who know how to solve the coloured squares turn me on." Ian grins down at him salaciously.

Mickey laughs and Ian shoves at his hands where they're clutched around the cube.

"I'll suck you off while you do it." Ian tells him, moving down his body.

"I like the sound of that." Mickey drawls and starts moving the pieces hurriedly.

Ian smiles.

Okay, I don't know what happened to this, it wasn't meant to get smutty but my brain went to kink and I obey my brain.

Either way, I hope you enjoyed.

This may or may not have anything to do with how proud I am that I can solve a Rubik's cube.

#gallavich #shameless #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #ian x mickey #gallavich fic #shameless fanfiction #speedwrite #speed write

[dollarstoreartsupplies]

okay okay okay so in trying to come up with a headcanon for what instrument Pete would play if he needed to (clarinet) I've come to a very important youngest-sibling-of-poor-parents conclusion:

it isn't what instrument peter would want to learn to play (listen, I know it's clarinet, but in a world where it isn't) because those are expensive and I don't think pete is musically driven enough to really bother putting a lot of effort into convincing his parents to buy him an instrument or saving up for one on his own,,,,,,,,, no.

whatever instrument pete would know how to play is whatever ted would buy because he was convinced knowing how to play an instrument would make girls think he was hot

and then (very important note: this is coming from a bass player myself) the only answer to what a pathetic, kind of gross guy with very little perception of what women would find hot who probably heard one time on twitter that guys playing acoustic guitars were cringey would buy and promptly never practice (leading to his little brother stealing it and teaching it to himself when he was bored and under stimulated) is absolutely bass guitar

#steph thinks it's REALLY hot and ted is both SO vindicated and LIVID #I also am convinced nerd-better-person high school ted played saxophone in high school but I bet he rented that so its a nonstarter fhjgkdl #coming from another neurodivergant bass player Pete doesn't even plug it into the amp sometimes he's just plucking the same rhythm--- #-- over some documentary he's watching over and over and over #peter spankoffski #ted spankoffski #starkid #it's a good Pete instrument he's VERY instrumental to the band and also the LEAST noticeable it's perfect #Pete wants to be invisible? the ONLY answer is bass guitar gfhjdkl #ONCE AGAIN I ALSO PLAY BASS I CAN SAY THESE THINGS FGHDJK #he tapped he's good with rhythm and thats the main starting point lmao

[fakeoutbf]

.

#anxiety tw #i just watched lewis’ documentary #this is gonna be a little tmi so bear with me #genuinely did not know that much about him personally so it’s fucking wild to see all the pressures and anxieties he had to face after #the success of his first album like i can’t even imagine feeling so much pressure over something so complex #huge love to him honestly #i’m gonna side step a little from bc i was watching it with my mom right #and mental illnesses are so fucking complex and different for every person that has them right #so we get to the big climax in which it all starts to build up for him right #and i’ve never said this online before right but my brother’s has diagnosed autism since he was a toddler and he has add and anxiety on top #and my mom’s always been very on top of that with him and tried to get him therapy and shit for it for years #and medication and all that stuff #like to the point where i remember going out of town to get him to a doctor and get him meds and shit #and he hasn’t taken anything in a while and my mom kind of chilled about it after he graduated high school #so she goes ‘you know that’s how your brother is like’ while we’re seeing lewis experience his own anxiety etc #while i’m over here almost crying bc it definitely hit close to home for me and my own personal experience #and it feels so fucking shitty that like bc a professional has never told us that i have an anxiety disorder or depression or any other #fucking mental illness that my mom just brushes off my own feelings and struggles #when some days i can barely get up in the morning and somedays i think about not doing it anymore and every day i sort of harm myself #so i just tell her to shut up and she gets mad when like #i’ve had to hide it for years so she doesn’t get worried then hit the breaking point and asked for help and they didn’t do anything about it #idk i guess i’m just tired of being pushed aside when i’m clearly aching

[twpsyn-who]

Taking a break from Steddie and going on the quest of finding Villain Eddie and/or Will fanfictions because they deserve to be evil during season 5 😌

#saying that like I haven't been on a steddie break until now while reading mungrove fanfictions lol #i have been daydreaming about a mungrove idea I have and I'm lowkey making Eddie's life miserably in it so now I just want some Eddie going #bad and getting the revenge he deserves. Will too #let them both bound over getting on 01's side in the end #even better if they had been on his side all along omg #stranger things #don't mind me just thinking out loud #also I might have started watching some criminal documentaries and it might influence my desires for this too ups

[theaxolotlkween]

Reasons why Jon Archivist is truly a character of all time:

Had the police called on him several times when he was a young child

Keeps his rib and the ashes of the season one antagonist next to his stationary drawer

Promised he wouldn’t get lost in tunnels and then immediately got lost in aforementioned tunnels

Has no clue what a joke is

Learned how remarkably easy it is to buy an ax in central London

Had to have two separate interventions

Told people his place of employment before traumatising them for life

The first character he ever said ‘I love you’ to is a cat

Allegedly participated in amdram

Watches documentaries and collects some kind of weird shit (my headcanon is Soviet Union postcards) when he’s not being a paranoid mess

Canonically looks like he hasn’t slept in weeks

Knows nothing about library science

Fell head over heels for a man that he hated until he learned he lied on his resumé

Has been referred to as Jesus or Jesus-adjacent at least twice

Asexual icon

Knows what a meme is and said “LOL” in the first episode

Rode on a merry-go-round sometime during his university days because he was in a weird place emotionally

Died for our Jonathan Sins

Is probably a computer now playing minesweeper with his boyfriend and evil 200+ year old boss

#i just love how much of a hot mess this sad little wet cat of a man is #jonathan sims #jon sims #the archivist #the magnus archives #tma #tma spoilers #tmagp #the magnus protocol #the magnus protocol spoilers

[capfalcon]

so i study decolonization, as in i studied it as part of my degree, and i thought I'd make a list of some readings/films that might offer additional insight about decolonization (it also helps if you're tired of the christian moralistic thinking)

occupation 101 (can be found on youtube i believe, it's about the history between isreal and palestine, it focuses on palestinians and it is quite comprehensive. there's live footage, there's interviews with palestinian children, etc. it's a must watch i think, regarding palestine. it points the finger squarely at the united states.)

the wretched of the earth, franz fanon. fanon is really well known in the decolonization sphere because he writes about it in a very succinct and clear way. to him, decolonization can never occur peacefully, and i think that's a really important key lesson. he also talks about how colonizers don't just take land, they reframe ideas, they take language, art, thoughts.

the battle of algiers, 1966. this is a fascinating film, it's sort of a documentary, they got the actual people to play their parts. it describes and interviews the main individuals involved in the fight for independence within Algiers. i think understanding how a nation can gain independence over its colonial forces is really important in the grand scheme of decolonialism.

unthinking eurocentrism. if you can get your hands on it, i love this text. it's so poignant and it lays everything out so clearly and it really shows how we center our worlds around eurocentrism and westernism.

#media studies #decolonization #free palestine

[sockeyesoren]

I used to always wonder what my special interests were and looking for a specific definition, but tbh it's my autism my rules and if you can't mention anything history related without me going on an absolute tangent then I think it's safe to say that's a special interest no???

#oh you want to know abt 9/11 let me tell you about 9/11 #you'll get unrelated facts about the challenger explosion too #oh and while we're on the topic of explosions #let me tell you about the chernobyl disaster #the cold war #rise and fall of the soviet union #fall of the berlin wall #world war I and II #I've got it all #not true actually I'm still learning #but it's something that has kept me occupied for ages now #my sister's boyfriend must think I'm crazy or smth because every time he's over I'm watching some fucked up history documentary #I would like to add that I'm not interested in the WW's because I'm some kind of army dickrider #I'm interested in specifically my country #what my ancestors did and how they made it through yk #does that make sense #idk where I was going with this #gossip from the salmon runs

[augustinewrites]

“oh, you poor thing…” you murmur, stroking megumi’s hair. he’d been caught in the rain during the walk home yesterday, and had come down with a bit of a cold. the seven year old is curled up next to you on the couch, his head resting in your lap.

you glare at satoru when he scoffs from his end of the couch, the tip of his nose rosy and dripping with snot. “i was caught in the rain too, you know.”

“take some nyquil.”

you don’t even bother to spare his suffering a glance.

“can i have hot chocolate?” the little brat asks, his request followed by a weak cough. “my throat hurts.”

it’s almost ten in the evening, and the kid’s already brushed his teeth. there’s no way you’d say yes—

“of course! i’ll make some for your sister too.”

satoru’s mouth falls open - because he can’t breathe through his nose and because he’s shocked. “can i have some too?”

“i’ll make you tea with lemon and ginger,” you reply, carefully adjusting megumi on the couch as you get up. you even steal his blanket, draping it over the kid’s curled up form.

megumi peeks one eye open as soon as you leave, and satoru swears the smirk that follows is directed at him.

people have told him that kids are supposed to be gifts. but later - when he’s watching a lame documentary and choking down some bitter lemon ginger tea as megumi is spoiled with sips of chocolately heaven - he thinks they must mean gifts from hell.

_____

your lips are brushing over satoru’s collarbone when he wonders if he’d locked the bedroom door.

but then you bite and all his concerns go out the window.

your breath is hot against his skin, picking up when his hands grip your waist. chests rising and falling, the two of you love in sync. slow, deep kisses are exchanged in time with gentle grinds—

“i’m hungry.”

it makes satoru startle, banging his head against the headboard as you sit up, stuttering as you both turn to face the doorway.

“megumi,” you gasp. “how long have you been standing there?”

the blush colouring his cheeks is answer enough.

“i’ll make you something to eat,” you offer, leaving your boyfriend with a very unfortunate situation as you climb off his lap, shooting an apologetic look over your shoulder as you herd megumi out of the room.

satoru swears the kid shoots him a smug grin over his shoulder.

this, he thinks glumly as he heads to the bathroom to try and calm himself down. this is why he needs to stop doing nice things.

_____

exhausted can’t even begin to describe the way satoru feels after a long day of bugging nanami and exorcising curses.

he’s practically dragging his body through the apartment towards the bedroom, wanting nothing more than to strip out of his uniform and fall into bed next to you.

but he can’t, because the first thing he sees when he opens the bedroom door is megumi hogging his side of the bed.

you press your index finger to your lips as soon as satoru opens his mouth to protest. “tsumiki’s at a sleepover,” you explain.

“so? i’ll carry him back to his room—”

you make a noise if protest, waving his hands away as you whisper, “it’s his first night here without her.”

hands on his hips, satoru examines the very little free space left on the bed. “so that means you’d let me sleep on the couch?”

he doesn’t like sleeping alone. hasn’t liked it ever since you’d moved in and he’d decided he liked waking to the warmth of your body next to his.

“well, you could sleep in megumi’s bed.”

“or you could wake him up,” he counters loudly on purpose, earning a shush and a glare from you in answer.

“this is a good thing,” you insist once you’ve ensured the kid’s still asleep. “it means he trusts us!”

“but i’m tired,” he whines, even stamping his foot a little for emphasis. “i wanna cuddle with you.”

“fine,” you relent with a little sigh. “but you have to wake him.”

gleefully, he goes to shake the kid awake. he’s about to do it, but all it takes is one look at the peaceful look settled over that little face. over the year he’d gotten to know megumi, he’s only ever worn a scowl, or a look of general boredom. so to see him like this, finally settled into the household…

it’s enough to make the sorcerer smile, even as he sets up the makeshift bed of blankets on the bedroom floor.

_____

“sharing is caring,” satoru proposes the next afternoon at the dinner table. it’s just him and megumi right now, as you’d just left to visit shoko. “so you can cuddle with her on the couch, but the bedroom is all me, got it?”

megumi frowns, staring at the list (can he even read yet? gojo has no idea) “but what about movie night?”

“fine, but only for a little bit. after that she’s all mine.”

he takes the kids shrug as agreement and moves on.

“knocking,” he starts with the utmost seriousness. “is a very important thing to do when any door is closed. and next time tsumiki is out, you’re the one sleeping on the floor.”

(they both know that’s not going to happen, but it doesn’t hurt to try.)

once the terms of their deal are finalized, they shake on it.

“so we’ve come to an understanding, good. because i’d rather have you as my bro than my foe,” he says, dragging the edge of his thumbnail across his throat for emphasis.

megumi rolls his eyes before sauntering off to his bedroom, and satoru sighs, letting his forehead hit the tabletop with a dull thud.

he’d fought off suitors vying for your attention before, but never one as tough to beat as this one.

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #gojo fluff #keeping up with the fushigojos

[pearwaldorf]

I hate that you can't see a tweet thread anymore if you're not logged into Twitter (as a gesture of disrespect I refuse to call it by its rebranded name). Here is a copypasta of a thread from Dan Olson, a Canadian documentary filmmaker, expanding upon camera quality, the guilt trips Somerton used to goose his Patreon subscriptions, and how the best tools will never make up for lack of dedication or patience. I have added clarifications in [[double brackets]] where I feel it is necessary.

START OF THREAD

Okay, so, back in April I snapped at James in reply to a tweet that was linking to this video (which James has since delisted but not deleted) and I want to talk about the full context of that but I don't want to make a video, put your beatdown memes away. [[The video has since been deleted. I can see the title of the video is "Maybe the end (not an April Fool's Day thing".]]

The first bit of context is that I initially got keyed into James to fact-check his claims about indie filmmaking in Canada. As a filmmaker the entire Telos venture was immediately obvious as a juvenile fantasy dreamed up by someone with no idea how to make a movie.

Just wild claims about their plans that weren't worth debunking because they bordered Not Even Wrong. But in watching one of these pitch videos I noticed that he had a $4000 current-gen camera in the background as a prop, and that seemed both pretentious and weird.

You don't use your best camera as a prop, you use your second best camera as a prop. So being an obsessive weirdo I needed to know, and I watched his BTS stuff until I spotted his main rig, a $6000 camera with about $1000 in accessories.

Now, these in isolation are unremarkable because his Patreon at the time was bringing in ~$8000 per month, his channel was a full on Business business, and so investing in some professional equipment of that level is maybe a bit indulgent but justifiable.

What was weird is that he doesn't shoot multi-cam, doesn't shoot outdoors, doesn't shoot on location, and in a studio the two cameras kinda really step on each others' toes. Basically if you already have one and don't need a B cam there's no reason to get the other.

Again, on its own, this says nothing, it's just indicative of poor financial decisions, maybe impulsive purchasing, Gear Acquisition Syndrome. Biblical sins, but not crimes.

Paired with the constantly inflating fantasy scope of the Telos films it was clearly an expression of a very, very common bad filmmaker habit of "if I just get the right gear then my movie will basically make itself" Buying stuff because it feels like progress.

At the end of February he tweets "I want to start shooting anamorphic" and then three weeks later in March he posts the worst, out of focus, under-exposed "I just got a new lens!" video I've ever seen, showing off his trash-covered bedroom.

Based on what's available for his cameras and the lead time, that's enough time to get a Laowa Nanomorph or Sirui Saturn from B&H but not enough time to get a Great Joy from the UK or a Vazen from China. And with the flaring blah blah blah, $1300 lens.

Again, [gear acquisition syndrome] is not a crime and these lenses are budget options. Bit of a pointless impulse purchase since he only used it for the Showgirls video. But this is what he was doing just a few weeks before that above video came out: effortlessly impulse purchasing lenses.

James has (had?) a habit of regularly, aggressively driving viewers to Patreon by claiming that videos were getting demonetized. While tacky, it is something a lot of queer YouTubers have dealt with, so there's precedent there. But people were noticing he did it a lot.

Mid-March he humble brags about needing to work so hard to make 6 videos in April because he has over-booked sponsorships.

Then March 29th James posts this whole incel screed on Twitter about how sex work should be "subsidized as a mental health service."

[two image descriptions.

1. "For the majority of people sex (and human contact) can be imperative to a healthy state of mind. A kind and talented sex worker can make someone feel wanted for the first time in their life. I know sex workers who have pulled people back from suicide just by being there for them." 2. "Not only should (sex work) be legal, but it should be subsidized as a mental health service."]

He spends several days getting absolutely *roasted* for this, just dragged across the pavement and read for filth, and doubles down in the replies the whole way.

So this is the context immediately surrounding James waking up on Friday, and posts the above video and the below tweet.

[image description: "We just got the lowest Patreon payout we've gotten in well over a year. Like, a "maybe we need to rethink things" kind of amount... NOT an April Fools Day thing btw. But I don't know if we'll be making videos much longer."]

Now, this unfolds in kinda two directions. The first is that I'm convinced he was just lying about this income shock in the first place.

There's a million theoretical edge cases about what maybe happened and if maybe he just misunderstood the data or saw a glitch and panicked, maybe one of those happened, I don't believe it, I think he just lied because he was salty about getting dragged and felt owed a win.

A big tell to me is that he doesn't blame Patreon. He says he doesn't know what happened, but let's be real, Patreon screws up all the time, they're the first people anyone blames if anything confusing happens, just as a reflex action, even if it's completely not their fault.

The only reason to not blame Patreon is if you already know that it's not their fault and that any investigation on their part might reveal embarrassing details.

Instead he indirectly blames his viewers for not watching enough, not sharing enough, and not turning on auto-renew.

So regardless of the unknowable truth, this segues into the second, far more offensive direction of the messaging itself. "I don't know if we'll be making videos much longer." "Maybe the end" He explicitly framed this as an immediate existential threat to his channel.

In the video he is vague about everything, leaves a ton of hazy room for plausible deniability on how long the channel can keep going, but the messaging is "I need more patrons right this minute or my YouTube channel is over."

He repeatedly evokes all the "fun stuff" they had planned that would never see the light of day if this didn't turn around right away.

And his audience received this message loud and clear. Tons of people making far, far, far less than him left very heartfelt messages about digging a little deeper to subscribe or up their pledge or unsubscribe from other channels to move their pledge to his.

1200 new patrons in one day.

Since I simply don't believe the income shock was real in the first place that would put his post-"Maybe the end" Patreon income at around $10,000 per month. US. Add YouTube income, he's spent the last seven months making around $18,000 per month.

I have seen creators scale back their capabilities to the bone purely to keep making videos for the love of just, like, making stuff even as their funding evaporated and they needed to go back to a desk job to cover their bills.

You'd have to be so outstandingly reckless with your finances as a channel that a one month spook leads immediately to "channel over, sorry about all the fun stuff we won't get to do with you, our patrons, specifically because you, our patrons, aren't giving us enough money"

And not a spook where you then spend a couple weeks crunching numbers. Oh no. A shock so violent where less than two hours later you're weeping on camera about the channel being over.

Three weeks later he brought a brand new Sony FX6v for $8000 CAD to add to his pile of cinema cameras despite the fact that he was, but scant moments earlier, in such a precarious position that a single bad month would kill his channel.

He stole your money, and for that I'm profoundly sad and angry. That's why I snapped at him in April. I'm sorry I couldn't give you the full context then, and I'm sorry if that anger upset you.

END OF THREAD

#james somerton #dan olson #hbomberguy #jesus christ tumblr #it won't let me format things the way i want #because this website is sometimes a piece of shit

[hotchscvm]

not his girlfriend

You're not his girlfriend, but you're the first person to listen to his ramblings. The first time he realizes, he notices he's been talking for too long without taking a breath, and you're still paying attention to what he's saying. Microbiology. You know nothing about the subject, asking him to clarify stuff while he talks. He's surprised because everyone always stops him.

You're not his girlfriend, but he knows your coffee orders. They're all disgustingly sweet, as the teams point out, but he knows what to get depending on the day. No matter how urgent the briefing is, he goes out of his way to stop at your favorite coffee shop. Every day, you're greeted with a fresh cup of coffee and a smile.

You're not his girlfriend, but he comforts you after emotionally hard cases. You often find yourself in his arms after wrapping up the cases, resting your head against his chest, allowing him to stroke your hair. He'll spend the flight next to you, his pinky resting on your arm as a way to ground you without the rest of the team exchanging glances.

You're not his girlfriend, but you don't leave his side when he gets shot on the field. You hold his hand as the paramedics carry him in the ambulance, and you only let go when they take him into surgery. He wakes with you by his side, his fingers immediately intertwining with yours before he's even fully awake. You smile and tell him he's an idiot for taking that bullet for you. He replies back with a smile and a, "Better for me to be injured than you."

You're not his girlfriend, but he makes sure you're paired up on cases. He goes to shooting practices to prove to Hotch he can be on the field with you, to prove that he can protect you. He does the stuff you don't want to, mostly readings you don't want to spend hours on or bagging up a used condom from the toilet.

You're not his girlfriend, but you go to every nerdy event with him. Whether it's a Spock convention or some nature documentary showing, you're there by his side. No longer does he find the seats next to him empty. Instead, when he looks over, he sees you and smiles, because now he's not alone.

You're not his girlfriend, but his mom thinks you are. When you spend a few days in Las Vegas for a case, you visit his mom with him, meeting her for the first time. She greets you, smiling coyly at her son, asking you if you like dating her son. He spends the next few minutes trying to convince her you're just friends. And the rest of the month trying to convince himself.

You're not his girlfriend, but he kills the man holding you hostage. He's the first to notice you gone, and he's the first to burst through the door, gun out. He doesn't bother talking to the unsub, doesn't bother descaling the situation, doesn't bother to wait for the rest of the team to enter before delivering a bullet through the man's head. He doesn't bother stepping over the body before he unties you and takes you in his arms.

You're not his girlfriend, but he covers you with a blanket when you fall asleep. He turns the TV off, placing a pillow under your head softly, making sure you don't wake up with a sore neck. He strokes your cheek with the back of his hand, longing in his eyes as he watches you breathe.

You're not his girlfriend, but he wishes you were.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fic #criminal minds #matthew gray gubler

[tojancy]

talk baby !! ft. t.fushiguro

you help a girl find her mom while at a picnic... and it sparks something inside toji he was hoping not to feel.

ɞ⁺ contains: toji x fem!reader, just fluff, toji suggests sex, baby talk, reader wants a baby, toji slaps reader's ass (loving)

ɞ⁺ w.c: 1k

toji stands a few steps behind you, just silently watching over you. he’s not fully sure what’s going on, but he’s content just to watch.

“she lost her mom,” you take slow steps toward him, the weeping girl’s hand in your own. 

“just keep her with the security,” he shrugs and signals with his chin to the security lady a few feet away, broad shoulders dropping carelessly. “what can you do anyway?

“I can’t do that, toji,” your tone holds scolding to it. he would argue, but it’s too much work. This was supposed to be a quiet picnic for the two of you but some kid had to interrupt it. “i’m going to help her find her mom, okay? you stay here.”

“i’ll come with you,” toji sighs after contemplating it for a second. he doesn’t want to go around looking for a random kid’s parent, but he’ll be damned if he let you go around alone like that. he watched a little too many documentaries of killers using kids as bait to do that.

and so, toji follows you silently. he remains a few feet back just in case.

it’s a heartwarming sight, as much as he hates to admit it; to watch you help a helpless kid out as if she were your own. It sparked something in him, something he couldn’t quite place. 

it’s not too long before you find the kid’s mother, who had apparently gone to the bathroom and lost sight of her. but it’s already too late to go back and enjoy the picnic the two of you were having. maybe going on a picnic when it was obviously going to rain was a bad idea. 

“what a day,” your black-haired husband grumbled under his breath, slamming the car door. he rarely gets free days like this. “that damn kid.”

you chuckle lightly. even though toji doesn’t know what’s so amusing, he’s content just hearing that sound. your laughter never fails to make him smile—and this time is no different, an irresistible smile crawling into his face. 

“it’s not funny,” he mumbles as he starts the car. “ruined our picnic. told ya’ t’just leave her with the security.”

“come on, baby. what if it were our kid in there?”

he glances at you curtly, then focuses back on pulling the car out of the parking lot. you’ve discussed the topic before, but only briefly. toji doesn’t have time for kids. he’s not sure he can raise a whole new human. but the thought of having a kid–a kid with you… he shakes the thought off, opting to not respond to you. his silence is enough answer for you. 

once you’re finally home, you quickly change into something more comfortable, relieved to be out of the attire you wore for the ‘picnic’. You settle on the couch next to toji, who is looking for something interesting to watch on tv.

“toji..” you whisper, leaning into him. toji’s arm naturally falls over your shoulders, bringing you closer to him. 

“yeah?” he hums, not even looking over at you.

“shouldn’t we have a kid, too?”

he turns to you, eyebrows furrowed and eyes wide as if you’ve grown another head. you’re so… straightforward. it’s not like you to be so blatant about your desires.

“huh? what’s this about?” he feigns nonchalance, looking over at the tv.

“come on,” you pull at his shirt, dragging the syllables. “i’m serious. i want to be a mother. i’m sure you wished we had a baby too.”

“that’s… that’s not true,” he lies. you can tell by the pause he had mid-sentence. you almost feel offended by how he’s lying to you as if you don’t know him.

“you’re lying,” you grumble, but he doesn’t respond. your arm extends and abruptly snatches the remote from his hand, pressing the red button to turn off the tv. he’s about to complain when he finds you glaring at him sharply, prompting him to stay silent. 

“fine. what brought this up? you never bring this up like this,” he says, referring to your behavior. “didn’t you say you don’t care?”

“i lied,” you speak sorely, “i must have a baby, toji. you can’t take this away from me.”

“‘m not taking shit away from ya,” toji retorts, fixing his position to have a better look at you. “We said we’d wait a few years first, remember? Why are you going back on yer’ words now, eh?”

“god– you’re so ignorant,” you huff. toji stares at your expression changing; there’s a storm about to happen, and he’d like to avoid that. besides, maybe a kid isn’t such a bad idea…

“baby,” he sighs, taking your hands in his own uncharacteristically. “are you sure you want that now? i mean– ‘m barely able to see ya’... isn’t a baby lotsa responsibility? don’t wanna hear ya whinin’ about how ‘you’re never around, toji’, yeah?”

you giggle at the way he mocks your voice, the sweet sound making him smile. he’d say the stupidest things to hear you laugh.

“we can manage that,” you tell him. “i’m sure we’ll get the hang of it by time.” you’re doing your best to convince him, but you have a feeling he’s just playing hard to get.

“babies ain’t some sorta’ experiment, babe,” he jokes but you don’t laugh, assuming he’s serious. “what i’m sayin’ is… are you sure you don’t wanna give it some thought?”

“it’s all i think about,” you mutter, giving him that look. he falters. there’s no way he can say no when you give him that. “please, toji. we already have everything we need. why wait?”

with a huff, toji wraps his arms around your middle and, with brusque movement, he throws you over his shoulder. you gasp at the sudden movement. “are you crazy? toji–! put me down!”

“ya’ wanted a baby,” he chuckles, palm landing a soft slap on your ass. “Think they fall from the sky or some shit? we’re gonna reproduce, baby.”

“you’re such a turn-off,” you say, no longer resisting. He only shrugs in response.

#✧˚₊‧𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐬 #jjk #jjk fluff #jjk x reader #jjk x reader fluff #toji #toji fluff #toji x reader #toji x reader fluff #toji fushiguro #toji fushiguro x reader #toji fushiguro fluff #toji fushiguro x reader fluff #fushiguro toji #fushiguro toji x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen x reader fluff #jjk smut #jjk x reader smut #toji smut #toji fushiguro smut #toji x reader smut

[peaches-creek]

When he walks through the door, you are cooking. Smells like something Italian but maybe not. He hears the bubbling of a pot and a searing of a pan. He crouches as he takes off his boots, caked in dirt and stinking of something foreign. He can’t greet you after a month like this, covered in grease and smelling of gunpowder and sweat. You heard him drop his duffle bag. He hears do drop the spoon you were using and the pitter-patter of your feet coming to greet him. Your smiling face turns the corner.

“You’re home.” You gently say as you walk over to him. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him into your arms with his face in your neck. You pull his mask off and give a kiss to his temple.

“I smell.” He says.

“Everyone smells,” she quips, “lemme hold you for a minute.” He lets her do exactly that.

After a minute or so he tells her she needs to finish cooking, and that he needs to shower. They can have a meal together and then take a well deserved nap together.

While he’s in the shower he takes his time decompressing. Trying to become Simon after a month of being Lt. Ghost. He thinks of what you might be cooking instead of the mistake he made that almost costed Price his life. He uses your conditioner and gingerbread body wash, knowing that you wouldn’t mind. You never do. It shocks him, every time, when he thinks of how much you Love him. You know what he does, and you still call him your “cutie-patootie.”

By the time he’s out of the shower, dinner is on the table, warm and on his favorite blue plates. You made him lemon breaded chicken and garlic parmesan pasta, his second favorite dish, first being his mother’s meatloaf.

“You smell familiar.” You laugh.

“This smells great,” he states, “not as good as me though.”

You place a kiss on his lips.

“Okay now that you have kissed the chef, you may eat your meal.” You move to the other side of the table, sitting across from him.

“Catch me up, what did I miss?” He says.

You spend the next half an hour talking his ear off as he shovels food into his face. He prefers that, not only does he like hearing your voice but it also helps him settle in. Hearing all the things that you did around the house, putting up new pictures, the ones that you took when you guys went to see the Eiffel Tower. You also got a few new plants, and told him that you waited for him to get home so you could name them together. You also said how you started watching some new documentary that he had to see.

He spent his whole life moving from one place to another, barely living. Now he has you. You move him and he moves you. Once he was finished with his plate, you took it to the sink and placed it on top of the others, you can do those later, it’s time to put your man to bed. He deserves it.

“Okay now, let’s get you to bed.” You pull him up and drag him to your shared bed. It’s quite a funny thing to see, such a large man getting dragged through the halls just to be tucked into bed.

You reach your destination. You let go of his hand and pull the covers back. You settle yourself in first, waving your hand to tell him to come in. You then maneuver him to put his head on your chest.

“All settled in?” You ask. He nods his head. No words needed. He was exactly where he needed to be. You begin to rub his back as he slowly finds himself falling into a sweet sleep, courtesy of you.

#simon riley fluff #simon riley angst #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley #simon ghost x reader #cod x reader #cod mwii

[corroded-hellfire]

no bc cockwarming with older!eddie is soooooooo

Oh I agree 100%. It’s something I need in my life but I guess I’ll have to settle for only having it in writing. Older!eddie my beloved 😍

Warnings: older!eddie, smut, p in v, unprotected (wrap it up), oral, m receiving, cockwarming, brat and brat tamer

Words: 3.3k

Eddie was never a sports fan. Never interested him, never played nor watched. His needing to be home to watch a game had never been an issue you’d had to deal with in your relationship. So, when the day comes that Eddie is more focused on something that’s on the television than you, you’re not having it. 

It’s a Saturday night and the two of you had finished off the pizza that you’d ordered, and you’d gone to take a shower. Halfway through your time spent in the steam, you start to feel a little lonely and wish your boyfriend would join you. Calling his name a few times doesn’t seem to work, even though the walls are thin in his trailer. With a pout, you step out of the shower and wrap a fuzzy towel around your body. Still dripping little droplets of water on the carpet, you pad down the hallway to see where your man is. Nothing Else Matters is coming from the television, and you find Eddie sitting on the couch with a beer in his hand. You’ve heard enough Metallica through him to know that’s what’s on the tv, but you’re not sure what he’s so transfixed on.

“Whatcha watching, baby?” you ask.

His eyes flit briefly over to you before returning to the screen. “Metallica documentary.”

“Oh.” You take a few steps closer to the couch and cock your head to the side. “Didn’t you hear me calling for you?”

“Hmm? Oh, no. You okay?” Eddie’s words are very monotone. You don’t doubt that there’s real concern for you there, but he couldn’t sound less enthusiastic if he tried.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just wanted some company,” you say coyly. There’s no reaction from your boyfriend. Figuring you’ll make it plain as day for him, you drop your towel, leaving your naked body on full display. He turns his head towards you, his eyes staying on the television until the last moment, then flickering your way as well. Arching an eyebrow, Eddie pats his jean-clad thigh and looks back to the television. It’s not exactly the reaction you were looking for, but you’ll take it. 

You stroll over to him and perch yourself in his lap. His hands rest on your hips, but he tries to look around you at the television. Your gaze is trained on him, not quite a glare but only a skosh softer. Eddie either doesn’t notice the way you’re looking at him or he doesn’t care. So, you rest your hands on his shoulders and gently press your nails into his t-shirt covered skin, adding pressure bit by bit until he frowns and meets your eye.

“Ow, babe,” he says. “What was that for?”

“You haven’t looked at me once since I sat in your lap. Am I bothering you?” It’s hard to keep the snark out of your voice, even though you’re aware you sound like a petulant child.

“No,” Eddie says with a soft sigh. “I just want to watch this documentary. I haven’t seen it, and you know Metallica is my favorite.”

A groan tumbles from your lips as you drop your head forward and rest it on his shoulder. Cold water drips from your hair onto his neck, sending a shiver throughout his body.

“You want a blanket?” he asks. 

His words have you jolting upright and, this time, full-out glaring at him.

“You want me to cover up?”

“That’s not what I meant,” Eddie says, suppressing an eye roll – he knows it will only make it worse. “You just got out of the shower, aren’t you cold?”

“A little,” you say. “So warm me up.”

“Babe, this is over in an hour, can we just–”

“Fine.” You move to get off his lap, but his large hands keep you pinned in place. The overly cheerful voice of a woman trying to sell some new workout video comes from behind you and it makes you huff. “So now that there’s a commercial you’ll pay attention to me?”

“You’re being a real brat, you know that?”

Your eyebrows pull together as you frown at him. “I just want to get some lovin’ from my boyfriend.”

“Oh, baby,” Eddie says with a sigh. “So desperate for my cock, huh? Be a good girl then, get on your knees.”

With how fast and hard your knees hit the threadbare carpet in the living room, Eddie suspects you’ll either have bruised knees or rug burn. But you don’t seem to mind one bit as you stare up at him with wide, eager eyes. Your hands immediately fly to Eddie’s belt, and you’ve undone that and his zipper in the short few seconds it took Eddie to lift his hips so you could slide his jeans and boxers down. 

It doesn’t matter how many times you’ve seen it—or stroked it, licked it, sucked it, had it inside of you, etc—the sight of Eddie’s cock still gets you immediately wet. The promise of the pleasure that he’s going to bring you. 

Being eye level with Eddie’s semi-hard cock has you licking your lips in greedy anticipation. Not able to wait one moment more, you lean forward and wrap your hand around the base of Eddie’s cock. His pubic hair brushes against the side of your hand with every stroke.

You push yourself up on your knees so you can let some saliva drip down onto Eddie’s cock, making it easier for you to work your hand over it. A groan slips from your lips as you eye the bead of precum gathering on the tip.

As if based purely on primal instinct, you lean in and run your tongue flat over the head. Eddie’s thighs tense around your head as you savor the salty tang that coats your tongue. 

You’re tempted to tease Eddie but with him already accusing you of acting like a brat, he might not let you suck him off. It’s been the toughest torture you’ve ever had to bear when Eddie makes you watch him get off all on his own. 

Not willing to take that risk, you engulf the head of his cock in your mouth, swirling your tongue around the tip. One of Eddie’s hands rests on the back of your hair, not pushing, just lying there. It puts enough weight on your head to make you sink a little further down on his cock.

“Good girl,” Eddie drawls out. 

The praise does nothing to help the wetness that feels as if it will drool down your legs any second. You bob your head, taking a little more of him in each time you go down. Tears annoyingly pool in your eyes and you blink a few times to get them to roll down your cheeks; nothing is going to distract you from giving Eddie the best head you can. Just as you’re about to take him into your throat, Eddie’s fingers dig into your hair, rings lightly scraping against your scalp, and he pulls you off of him.

A whine of protest reflexively flies out of your mouth at the loss. Your brain hardly has time to wonder why your boyfriend pulled you off of him before he tugs your head backwards so you’re looking up at him. His attention is not on you though, it’s back on the television that you hear once again playing music you recognize as Metallica’s. Eddie is looking straight ahead, not sparing you a glance as you pout up at him.

“Get up here,” he orders as he drops your hair. 

“What?” you ask. Using the back of your hands you wipe the tear streaks from your cheeks and the saliva that managed to leak out of your mouth. 

“Get. Up.”

You push yourself up on unsteady legs and Eddie groans in irritation as you block his view of the television. A strong hand grips your naked waist and pulls you forward until you’re tumbling into his lap. 

“Here’s what’s going to happen.” Eddie’s voice is low and husky, the dominance in it sending a shiver down your spine. “You’re going to sit on my cock and keep quiet until this show is over. If you’re good, maybe you’ll get rewarded. If you’re a brat, you can get yourself off tonight. Understood?”

“Yes, Eddie,” you reply, hardly above a whisper. 

Making sure to lean your torso to the side to keep out of his way, you straddle Eddie’s hips and reach behind you to line his cock up with your entrance. Slowly, you start to sink down on him, the initial stretch leading you to let out a low moan.

“Shhh,” Eddie chastises, never taking his eyes from the flickering screen behind you. 

Teeth gnash into your bottom lip hard enough to draw blood to keep yourself from making any other noises. Tense fingers dig into Eddie’s black t-shirt clad shoulders as you fully seat yourself on his lap. After you’ve given yourself a moment to adjust, you start to lift yourself up again, but Eddie immediately slams you back down.  

A sharp whine is forced out of you, and you grip the cotton material of Eddie’s shirt in your fists.

“Wha—” you start to ask but Eddie cuts you off.

“You’re going to sit here, completely still. You’re not going to move around or make a sound.”

You drop your head forward and rest your forehead on Eddie’s shoulder as you let out a small whimper. This is pure torture. Being so close to everything you want, but not allowed to rock your hips to make the dream a reality. 

Metallica music continues to play behind you and when you glance up at the older man, he has his entire focus on the show. You almost slip up and let out an irritated groan, but you know you’ll regret it if you do. 

A few minutes pass by but it feels like an eternity as you just sit there, half listening to the loud metal music coming from behind you as you slump against Eddie’s body. Just as a song comes to an end and yet another journalist begins to talk on camera, Eddie’s hips shift, causing him to move inside of you. The unexpected jolt has you gasping and burying your face into Eddie’s neck.

“Relax, I’m just making myself comfortable,” he says. 

You highly doubt that but keep your thoughts to yourself as you try to calm your body down again. Eddie’s a little shit and you’d put money on this being only the first time he messes with you, looking to see how far he can push before you push back. Sure enough, just as you’ve let your guard down and let your mind wander, there’s a sharp smack to your ass. The sting makes you jump, and Eddie’s hands instinctively move to your waist to steady you.

“Sorry,” he mutters. “My hand slipped.”

He’s full of shit and you both know it. Eddie’s playing dirty now and you have to think of a counterattack. Anything too obvious and he’ll make both of you get yourselves off tonight, so it has to be subtle. 

Moving slowly so as to not interrupt his television time, you curl against his chest so he can feel it when you expand your lungs and let out a silent yawn against his neck. As you yawned though, there may have been clenching of your walls around his dick. You feel more than hear the growl that reverberates through his chest. Now when you bite your lip it’s to keep the smile off your face. 

You peer over at the clock hanging on the kitchen wall and see that this documentary should be over in about fifteen minutes. So close yet so far. The chill from your still wet skin is starting to settle in as well, which is going to make this quarter of an hour tick by even slower. 

Thankfully, the end of the show has some of the Metallica songs you’re more familiar with, so it gives you something to listen to while you wait for this test of wills to be over. With five minutes left you feel yourself getting antsy. Eddie just said until the documentary was over, right? Does that mean the second it’s done he’s going to start fucking you like you’ve been craving for what feels like hours now? Or will he be a prick some more and pretend like he doesn’t know what you’ve been waiting for this whole time. You’d place your bets on the second option. Eddie never turned down an opportunity to be a pain in the ass. 

The last song fades out and the show is over. You immediately sit up and look at Eddie with wide eyes. You did it. You had done what he asked of you and now you get your reward, right? Right? 

As nonchalantly as you’ve ever seen him, he raises his arms up over his head to stretch out his back and abdominal muscles. Usually, you’d take the opportunity to stare at his tummy when his shirt rode up, but with his cock literally inside of you it feels like a moot point. 

“Eddie,” you say. It’s not quite a whine, more like a poke—a nudge.

“Yes?”

He was going to drive you insane one of these days.

“It’s over, right?”

“It is.”

“So…?” you trail off.

“So, it was pretty good. Wish they had more metal documentaries like that.”

You’re two seconds away from putting your hands around Eddie’s throat—and not in the way he sometimes likes. 

“And I was good too, right?” You’re practically batting your eyelashes at him, and it takes Eddie a moment to compose himself enough not to laugh. 

“I guess you were.”

“So…” you drawl as you lean in to press soft kisses against the side of his neck. “Do I get my reward then?”

“What is it that you wanted, baby? Was it this?” Eddie rolls his hips up against yours and your eyes flutter closed at the feeling.

“Y-Yes,” you manage. “Need you, Eddie.”

“God, I love when you get all needy for my cock. Should I make you beg for it?”

He knows you will if he demands it. Eddie enjoys moments like this when he’s in full control, knowing you’ll do whatever he wants. That his cock drives you so wild that you become putty in his hands. It makes a nice change since in every other aspect of your relationship you have him wrapped around your little finger. 

“Please, please, Eddie,” you whine, fingers grasping at the front of his t-shirt. 

Eddie takes in your pouted lips and your widened eyes. He can’t help but smile at how utterly adorable you are; but somehow still the sexiest woman he’s ever met. 

“Alright, baby,” Eddie finally acquiesces. He reaches up and cups your cheek in his hand. Slowly and delicately, Eddie swipes his thumb right below your bottom eyelid. “Take what you want.”

The permission unlocks an energy reservoir you weren’t aware you had as you place your hands on Eddie’s shoulders for balance and push yourself up, almost letting his cock slip out. But at the last moment you lower yourself back down, the two of you moaning in tandem as he bottoms out again. You set a relentless pace as you begin to bounce on his cock. Eddie’s eyes hungrily watch your tits as they bounce along with you, providing your boyfriend with double the pleasure. 

“Fuck,” Eddie groans and drops his head back against the couch. Teasing you was definitely worth it with the way you’re taking his cock for all its worth. 

Your hands move up Eddie’s shoulder and slide around to tangle your fingers at the dark curls at the base of his skull. 

“This what you wanted, huh?” Eddie asks and pauses to catch his labored breath. He can feel how wet you are and that tells him this is exactly what your goal was. “Needed to have me deep inside of you.”

“So deep,” you mutter with a nod.

“Mm, what would you do without me, baby?” Eddie taunts, lifting his hands to massage your breasts. 

“God, I would die.”

Eddie chuckles, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Nobody could make you feel as good as I do. I know.”

“Uh huh,” you pant. 

Eddie notices your movements becoming slower, the strength draining from your body. Persistent woman that you are, you keep going, moving up and down to take what you want. One of Eddie’s arms snakes around the small of your back and the other comes up to cup your cheek.

“Hey, I’ve got you,” he says softly. Eddie turns to lay you down on the weathered couch and slides an old throw pillow beneath your hips. A loud whine of protest comes from deep in your chest when Eddie slips out of you as your positions change. “Love how desperate you get for me. Only me who gets to see you wrecked like this. So fuckin’ hot.”

As Eddie pushes himself back into your soaked, throbbing pussy your whines turn much more pleasurable. Your boyfriend holds onto the arm of the couch behind your head and uses the leverage to piston his hips. 

“Shit, shit, shit,” you cry.

“Too much?” Eddie teases, slowing his hips. “Should I stop?”

“Fuck, no.”

A cocky smirk grows on the older man’s face, a breathy chuckle coming from him at your vociferous reply. His hips pick up speed again, just as eager to please you as you are to be pleased. The arm that isn’t holding him steady against the couch runs over your tits, up your neck, and his fingers meet your lips. 

“Open.”

You let your jaw drop, letting Eddie slip his middle and forefinger into your mouth. Just as you did to his cock before, you swirl your tongue around the digits, the feeling of something in your mouth only making you feel that much fuller. Reluctantly, you let Eddie move his hand when he starts to pull away, but not before letting your bottom teeth gently graze against the pads of his fingers. 

Eddie’s hand dips down between your bodies and rubs tight circles over your clit. The added stimulation has your muscles tightening, that familiar buildup soaring in you. Your right hand clutches Eddie’s arm, the grip hard enough to leave bruises that will linger for the next few days. 

“Eddie, fuck.”

“That’s right. Cum for me, princess.”

“W-Wanna cum with you.”

He dips down and trails hot kisses from your chin, all the way down your throat. 

“You’ve been naked for the past hour,” he mumbles against your sweat covered skin. “Never mind how long I’ve been inside of you. You really think I’m gonna be able to last much longer? Come on, baby. Cum for me.”

The urging is all you need before letting your orgasm wash over you, back arching off the couch, and pressing your tits against Eddie’s shirt. The clenching and fluttering of your walls around him has Eddie following right after you, spilling into you and filling you up. Wanting to make sure you take every single drop, Eddie fucks his cum into you even after his orgasm begins to wane. 

The weight of Eddie’s body pressing on top of yours is exactly what you need in the moments as your bliss fades away. Contentment fills the both of you as you breathe together, both sweaty and satiated. Eddie uses the last of the energy he has left to lift his head and press a few kisses to your shoulder. 

“I love you,” you whisper, reaching up to move some of the hair that’s sticking to his face. “I’d apologize for being a brat, but it turned out to work pretty damn well.”

“You are a brat but I’m good at handling it,” Eddie says with a soft smile. “And I love you too.”

“I feel like I need another shower,” you say, your sticky skin feeling attached to Eddie’s.

He looks up at you with those doe eyes and a cocky smile.

“Want some company?”

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