#i have never had a sense of direction and now with technology i never need to develop one!

[ineffablebookgirl]

Millennial culture is nodding politely while Boomers [affectionate] give me directions somewhere, knowing full well I'm just going to put it in Google Maps as soon as I get in the car.

#millennials #millennial culture #boomers #i have never had a sense of direction and now with technology i never need to develop one!

[rip-quizilla]

Eat Me

Pairing: Older!Rockstar!Eddie Munson x Popstar!Reader

Summary: (TLDR: you perform with Corroded Coffin, act like a brat the whole time, and Eddie makes you pay for it.) Two years after your hiatus from the music industry, you're back and all grown up now. After collaborating with early 2000's metal sensation Corroded Coffin for several songs off your new album, you debut the new tracks live in a surprise performance with the band during their tour- and the tension between you and frontman Eddie Munson is so thick, you're barely able to keep your pants on throughout the set. (Songs referenced are by Demi Lovato from her album HOLY FVCK, which inspired this fic. I highly suggest listening to the songs "Eat Me" and "Freak" while they're performed in the story for the complete experience!)

Word Count: 14K

Tags: 🔥SMUT, age gap (reader is 27, Eddie is 47), Reader is a brat (Eddie can handle it), fingering, squirting, p in v sex, unprotected sex (wrap up!!), light degradation, reader has blue hair, reader is a grown-up child star, for the purposes of this fic Corroded Coffin started in the 90s instead of 80s for timeline reasons

🖤🖤🖤

You had no fucking clue what you were doing. 

It had been two years since you’d put out music. Two. Years. That’s enough time for a person’s relevance to crawl into a hole and die, which is something you had been strongly considering doing for the duration of those two years. 

It was a tale as old as time- child star grows up. Child star is not a child anymore, but the world only wants the star to be a child, so if the star wants to keep being a star, they do not. grow. up. 

But you grew up, and guess what happened? 

The world hated you for it. 

So you stopped trying to be a star. You’d dropped off the face of the earth and deleted every social media app from your phone. You’d bought a house in the mountains, and thanks to modern technologies like Amazon and DoorDash, you basically never had to leave. It was a little scary how easily you had become a hermit living in a cabin in the woods. Your life quickly became a never ending cycle of reading, binge-watching tv, and dying/cutting your hair whenever the mood struck (The latest spontaneous color change had left you with a surprisingly pretty shade of faded blue).

It was easy, running away… until it caught up with you.

After all, at your core you had always been a performer. From your first audition at five years old to your big break at twelve, to the first album you’d put out on your television network’s record label- you had always been a person who had something to say and craved an audience to hear it. When your audience had turned on you, it had jolted your rhythm enough that you forgot the words to a song you’d been singing as long as you could remember. 

It had taken you a couple years, but eventually you figured out that when you play the same song on repeat for long enough, it gets old. 

So you wrote a new song. 

To be more precise, you wrote a whole album. Literally. 

Some of the songs were composed, some still needed a tune, but the message of the album was clear: I’m not that little girl on your TV screen anymore. You don’t have to like it, but you sure as hell can’t change it. 

The minute you’d figured that out, you’d called your team. Once they understood the direction your career was headed, they helped get everything in order for your re-entry into the fray that had driven you out in the first place. 

There was only one part of the album that made you nervous. 

I know two years doesn’t seem like that long, your agent had said, but the public eye doesn’t have a very impressive attention span. You only have half of the album composed, right? This is the perfect opportunity to make the other half of the songs collaborations with artists that are in the public eye! 

The idea made sense. Their popularity helps you, and if the songs go over well, then it helps the other artists too. The only issue was that these songs were way more vulnerable than what you used to write… hell, half the songs you’d recorded before your hiatus were written by whatever run of the mill joe schmo had gotten the kid-friendly execs’ stamp of approval. Even when you’d split from the network after turning twenty-three, you’d kept your songs strictly PG-rated since you knew the majority of your audience were minors. These new songs, though… 

You weren’t an idiot. The themes of these songs were not subtle. Anyone who listened to these new songs was going to see a side of you that wasn’t all that pretty. Were you ready for that? Were you ready to bare that darkness to not only the world, but to other artists who meant to help you make music out of it?

Your anxiety about the album had gotten even worse when your agent had given you the list of potential collaborators.

 One song that you were particularly proud of called “Eat Me” had some very metal undertones to it, so you’d told your agent that you’d like to collaborate with a metal band or artist to compose the music that would match the lyrics. Almost immediately, your agent had suggested a collaboration with Corroded Coffin.

The band had been HUGE when you were a kid, topping charts throughout your childhood and making a name for themselves as one of the most culturally relevant turn-of-the-century metal bands. Even now, they were a household name. Your older brother had been a huge fan, so you’d actually listened to their music quite a lot growing up. They weren’t some random collaboration- if Corroded Coffin read your lyrics (which were basically your soul laid out on display) and thought they were shit? It might just send you spiraling right back to your cabin in the mountains. 

You had been equal parts thrilled and terrified when your agent told you they’d agreed to collaborate on the song.

Currently, you were sitting in your home-away-from-home, a cozy apartment that you rented on a month-to-month basis whenever you needed to be in New York, which just so happened to be where Eddie Munson, lead singer/guitarist of Corroded Coffin had asked to meet with you. It was your album, so you had invited him to come to your place and discuss his ideas for the song. You shifted nervously on your couch and glanced at the time on your phone. He was ten minutes late- that shouldn’t bother you, a lot of musicians had a habit of running late. Just because you didn’t subscribe to that stereotype didn’t mean you had to judge him for doing the opposite. 

When you finally heard the buzz of your doorbell, you practically hopped off the couch. You peeped through the little door viewer to catch a glimpse before you had to look one of your childhood heroes in the eye. You… you hadn’t been adequately prepared to see this. 

Eddie Munson had been attractive in his hay day- you could admit that. You’d seen the pictures of him on their album covers, the press photos, the magazines… he had always been cute in a scruffy sort of way. You hadn’t bothered Googling what he looked like now, which you were currently regretting since you had not been adequately prepared for the father of all DILFs to be standing on your doorstep. 

After doing some quick math, you came to the conclusion that Eddie Munson must be in his mid to late forties at this point. His hair was still long and curly and thick as hell, but you noticed other details that you distinctly remembered were not present on the album covers you remember from your brother’s CD collection- dark, whiskery shadow along his cheeks and jawline. Tattoos creeping up from the collar of the crew neck shirt he wore, as well as every inch of his arms. A nose ring. Smile lines. Soft creases forming between thick brown eyebrows. 

Eyebrows drawing together in confusion because you weren’t opening the door. 

Shit. You inhaled sharply and hastily made to open the door. Breathe, you instructed yourself, taking a moment to blow out a semi-relaxing breath before turning the doorknob and plastering on your best entertainment industry smile.

“Hi!” you said, a little too peppy- you knew you sounded too peppy because the rockstar in front of you actually flinched when your high-pitched sorority girl voice slapped him in the face. “Sorry, I think I’m a little caffeine-riddled, I just finished my third cup of coffee.” You said apologetically, swinging the door open wider for him to step through the threshold into your apartment. 

“Too many frappuccinos there, huh popstar?” His voice… if it hadn’t been so condescending, you might have melted on the spot. Your pride, however, had to argue with your clenching thighs. 

“Uhm, no-” you laughed, keeping your voice airy as you shut the door and leaned back on it to ensure it was closed. “-just cold brew, rockstar.” You couldn’t help but add that quip at the end, seeing how he had just called you popstar like it was the same as calling someone a pussy or a wimp. What was his deal?

He looked at you with a raised eyebrow, arms crossed over his chest, and then turned back as if you hadn’t said anything at all. He simply sauntered through the hallway to your living room, where you had laid all the necessary materials for your composing process across the coffee table- but he wasn’t looking at that. He seemed to be inspecting your walls, the decor, the old pictures that sat in frames on your floating shelves, the records you had displayed above your turntable. His eyes surveyed everything like he was a judge at a fucking science fair, and your heart was starting to race as you started to irrationally wonder if you fell short of his expectations or something.

“Ahem,” you cleared your throat to get his attention. 

He turned to face you, irritation flashing across his expression like a cloud blowing past the sun. You took a breath. Calm down, you chided yourself mentally, he’s probably just a prick, don’t take it personally. Be professional. 

“Can I get you something to drink?” You chirped politely, to which he smirked and shook his head.

“Don’t trouble yourself, sweetheart.” 

You bristled; sweetheart? Who did he think he was, Don Draper? Was this the 1950’s? Were you his fucking secretary? Your blood pressure rose by the second. 

“Hm.” you respond, chewing your lip to keep a snarky response to yourself. “Well, we can go ahead and get started if you want.” You gestured to the pages strewn across the coffee table. Notebook pages with your lyrics written out in black pen, empty pages of sheet music that you planned to fill out with a melody to coincide with your words as the morning went on. Your acoustic guitar sat securely in its stand beside the couch, eagerly awaiting your hands to make the message in your music come alive.

Munson sunk into the cushions of your leather couch, manspreading enough to make you feel like a guest in your own apartment. His forearms rested on the thighs of his ripped charcoal jeans as he surveyed the pages before him. He grabbed the notebook page full of lyrics first, chuckling when he saw the title. 

“Eat Me, huh?” he raised an eyebrow at you, and the way he was holding the page between the two of you left only the top half of his face visible from where you sat. You noted that Eddie Munson had extremely expressive eyes. “That’s a pretty evocative title for such a squeaky-clean ‘lil diva.”

Your brow furrowed. “That’s kind of the point.” Using your pointer finger to pull the page down, the bottom half of the rockstar’s face coming into view and spiking your blood pressure again when you saw that fucking smirk still on his face. 

That’s it. This guy is an ass.

“Maybe my agent didn’t accurately portray my vision for this album,” you said, struggling to grit out the words without coming across angry. “If that’s the case, I’m very sorry we got our wires crossed.” 

Ready to listen, Munson leaned back into your couch and crossed one booted foot over his knee, an arm thrown across the top of your couch cushions. The picture of nonchalance. 

Cocky bastard. 

“I’m not sure if you’re aware, but I haven’t put any music out in over two years.” you began. “This isn’t just a new album for me- it's more like a debut album for the new direction I want to take my career in. Up until now, I’ve been portraying a very different side of myself that…if I’m being honest, it wasn’t really me. It was childish and immature and I…” 

You huffed out a heavy, frustrated sigh. “-I can’t do it anymore, I can’t keep being a kid, I’m twenty-fucking-seven years old, for god’s sake.” the rockstar’s eyebrows jumped up at hearing your expletive, obviously amused.

What the fuck? Here you were, being vulnerable with a complete stranger, and he thought it was amusing? You half expected him to laugh, but you brushed past it and decided to ignore this asshole being even more of an asshole. 

“What I’m trying to say is this is a very personal album for me. It’s very different from what I’ve been putting out, and that is very much the point. Does that make sense?” 

You watched as he slowly nodded his head, mulling over your words. “So…it’s like a coming of age thing?” he ventured, “Like, ‘little girl’s all grown up and sexy now’ all that?” his mouth turned up at one corner. “How very Miley Cyrus of you, sweetheart.”

You scoffed, physically recoiling a bit. “Are you being serious right now?” you balked. 

He shrugged. 

Oh, you fumed, that is it. Fuck this guy.

You stood from the couch, finally snapping after holding yourself back from giving this asshat a piece of your mind. “What is your problem?” Munson’s smirk faded a bit, but his smug air remained intact as he stared up at you. 

“Look sweetheart-”

“No.” you cut him off, stopping him with a hand in the air. “Stop calling me sweetheart like you know me or like that isn’t a condescending fucking way to speak to someone. You have done nothing but talk down to me since you walked through that door, so no, you do not get to talk to me like that, I don’t care how famous you are.”

There wasn’t a trace of a smile on his face now, and you took pride in that. Maybe there was a conscience in there somewhere that was telling him I told you so right now.

You took the page from his hands and held it up for emphasis. “If you had just read my fucking song before making assumptions, then maybe you would have understood that this song is actually a social commentary on people like you who assume the direct trajectory of a child star’s career is to go from cute and childish to sexy ‘girls gone wild’ or whatever the fuck.” you spat, practically shaking the paper in your hand. “I’m allowed to grow into whoever I damn well please, and that’s exactly what this song is about. If I want to write a song about sex- and I’ve written a few, they’re on the fucking album- I’ll write them because that’s what I want to write! I’m not doing it for shock value or because I like attention; hell, I’ve been a literal hermit in the woods for two years, I don’t give a fuck about attention!”

You finally paused to breathe, and you knew your eyes must look absolutely insane because the man before you genuinely looked terrified. 

Steeling yourself, you inhaled and exhaled slowly, attempting to push down some of that hysteria. “Sorry.” you bit, “Didn’t mean to unload all that on you. It’s just… this song is a part of me, and you just belittled it without even reading past the title.” You looked him directly in those big brown eyes and thought- hoped- for a second that you saw understanding in his gaze. “That was shitty. I’m not letting other people make me feel like shit anymore.” 

When you were finished, silence took over. It settled over the room like a reprieve from a short but heavy rainfall before the sun showed itself again. Suddenly, Eddie Munson stood from your couch and marched to your door, letting himself out with a sharp click of your doorknob latching closed. 

Okay. That went well. The lead singer of one of the most famous metal bands just came to your apartment, got yelled at, and ran away. You were just starting to ponder how you would explain this one to your publicist before you heard a knock at your door. Tentatively, you opened it- you didn’t need to look through the peephole to know who it was. 

Eddie Munson stood at your door wearing an expression that you hadn’t seen yet today- he looked open, compassionate, and sorry. One hand in his pocket with the other outstretched, tattoos winding up the expanse of skin, rings glinting light from the sconces on either side of your door. He was offering his hand. 

Smiling slightly, you accepted his gesture. You grasped his ink-scarred hand, feeling the cold metal of his rings press against your skin as you shook it. “It’s lovely to meet you-” he said your name softly, and you realized that when he had entered your apartment earlier, you hadn’t even exchanged pleasantries. Hadn’t introduced yourselves, almost as if fame got rid of the need for normal human introductions. Now, here he was, remedying that.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Mr. Munson,” you said, voice less chipper than it had been when the two of you originally stood in these same spots. “I’m a huge fan.” 

He winced at ‘Mr.’, clapping his other hand over yours tightly. “Please, for the love of god, don’t call me Mr. Munson.” his big brown eyes pleaded with you. “Call me Eddie.”

Your smile widened as you nodded. “Eddie.” you repeated. “Is this you telling me we’re starting over?” 

He let go of your hand, and you felt a sudden chill as the warmth of his skin left yours. “If that’s alright with you?” he replied softly, turning up the end of his sentence like a question. 

Instead of saying yes, you simply stepped back to make room for him in your hallway. With a pleasant grin on your lips, you gestured for him to step inside. “Let’s get started, then.”

After sitting down on the couch once more, Eddie took the sheet of notebook paper on which you’d scrawled a part of your soul written in verse and began to read intently. Leaving him to digest the song completely (also because you felt awkward sitting there in silence as he read your work) you left to grab two water bottles from the kitchen. When you returned, he had already grabbed a fresh sheet of notebook paper and begun jotting down notes. 

You placed the bottles on coasters, bracing yourself for the criticism that you knew was coming-

“You were right.”

Huh? 

You craned your neck to see what he had written on the notebook paper. “About what?”

With a mischievous glint in his eyes, Eddie yanked the paper out of your line of sight. “About this song, it’s completely different from what I’d assumed you would write. Actually,” he grinned. “-it’s kinda fucking metal.”

You smiled, once again reaching for the page. “Then let me see what you wrote-”

“I’m not finished yet, keep your panties on.”

The two of you worked for hours that afternoon, Eddie suggesting lines and chords as you wrote corresponding notes and chords on your sheet music. It didn’t take long for you to grab the acoustic guitar and begin strumming out portions of the song until it was finished.

Both of you agreed it was something to be proud of.

“Hey, uh,” Eddie stuttered before exiting your apartment that evening, when you were both happy with the work you’d done for the day. “I hope you know how sorry I am for being such an ass when I got here earlier-”

You shrugged, any traces of anger melted away at this point. “Eh.” you smirked. “You made up for it. That song might be my favorite on the album now, honestly, I meant it when I said I was a fan of yours- wouldn’t have trusted it with anyone else.”

He smiled at you warmly. “I’m honored to have such a talented fan.” The door was open, but he wasn’t leaving yet. Instead, Eddie stood with his tattooed arms crossed over his chest leaning his weight to one shoulder against the doorway. “I mean it though, you’re a talented songwriter. If you want to collaborate on any other songs, just say the word and I’m back here.”

You quirked an eyebrow. “Are you serious?”

He nodded, “Dead serious.”

Smiling excitedly, you ran to your notebook, flipping through the pages until you found what you were looking for. You looked up at Eddie, a knowing grin on your lips. “Remember those songs about sex I mentioned?”

***

The original plan for your album had been to collaborate with multiple artists for about fifty percent of your album, while the other fifty percent would only feature you. What ended up happening was slightly different.

The more songs Eddie saw, the more passionate he became about the message you were working to convey through your lyrics. He ended up reworking every single song with you in a completely collaborative process, where he never overstepped, never tried to take over- simply understood what you were trying to say and added the extra ‘oomph’ each song had been needing to truly become what you had envisioned. 

“I feel like I really can’t just call this my album now, Eddie, you’ve contributed way more to this to just be credited as a featured artist-”

You’d first voiced concerns about how to credit Eddie in the album a few days into your songwriting spree. It became an easy routine, Eddie would come over first thing in the morning, and the two of you would sit in your living room working through your songs and ordering takeout until the sun set. 

“Well it’s not a collaboration album with Corroded Coffin,” Eddie had replied, sticking a bite of noodles into his mouth. The two of you had been seated at your kitchen table, white boxes of Chinese food, napkins, and torn chopstick wrappers decorating the space between you. “Those fuckers haven’t even met you, they don’t get credit for anything they ain’t playing on.” 

“But I’m talking about you.” you pushed, “If we keep going the way we’ve been, you’re going to be a vital part of the composition for every track on this album! I’m not going to let you avoid credit for that.” you gazed at him, unable to hide the admiration you’d begun to feel for the artist at your table. “Let me list you as a composer for every track you help me with. We already know you and your band will be featured on Eat Me and Freak, so obviously you’ll be credited for those…” 

As you continued to ramble on about how Eddie would be credited for each and every song lyric he suggested, he got distracted looking at the way your hair glinted slightly different shades of blue in the sunlight that filtered in through your balcony window. His eyes followed the light along your skin, taking in the way it glistened off the dewey shine on your cheekbone, how it shone directly into the corner of your eye so that colors he had never noticed were brought to the surface of your irises…

This wasn’t the first time that Eddie had gotten distracted watching you rant about something you were passionate about. He knew he was supposed to be listening, that it was very important that he knew what your songs were about, that he understood the details of your plans for the album so that you wouldn’t have to repeat yourself later- but dammit, you were just so pretty. Really fucking pretty, it was hard for him not to get distracted. Initially, this whole collaboration had just been something that Eddie’s publicist had suggested for getting the newer generation listening to Corroded Coffin in time for their new album to drop at the end of the summerl, so when Eddie had first waltzed into your apartment he’d been expecting a kid; an innocent, teeny-bopper sort of persona. He hadn’t expected a loud, firecracker of a woman with hair the color of his old denim jacket. 

Eddie wasn’t an idiot. He was well aware that he was old enough to be your father. You were what- twenty-seven? Twenty-eight? Definitely under thirty. And here he was, pushing forty-seven with a salt and pepper shadow on his jawline. The hair on his head hadn’t started graying yet (he dreaded the day that he would have to use *gulp* hair dye) but he knew it was only a matter of time. For him to be ogling you like this? It would probably make you uncomfortable if you knew how often his eyes forgot to look away when you left the room. What was that old saying? Hate to see you go, love to watch you leave-

“Eddie?” 

Shit. He’d missed an entire conversation, hadn’t he?

He gave you his best apologetic smile, which didn’t work at all. You sighed, hanging your head low exasperatedly. “You didn’t hear a word of that did you?”

“Not a word, zoned out.” 

You threw a fortune cookie at him.

***

You and Eddie didn’t see each other for a while after recording the album. Eddie was there with the rest of Corroded Coffin to record the two tracks that they were featured in for the album, but after that plus a few guitar parts Eddie had been kind enough to record for some other songs, the two of you hadn’t had a reason to see each other. 

That was why you were so nervous for tonight. 

After working all summer and the better part of the fall, the album was finally finished. Copies of CDs and special edition vinyl were already being shipped out to music stores across the country and set to hit shelves in a week, so tonight was the kickoff event for your publicity tour: you would be joining Corroded Coffin tonight onstage for a surprise performance of Eat Me and  Freak. Tonight was October 31st, and premiering those songs on Halloween with the metal king that helped you make them the masterpieces they were? This was just one of those moments when the stars aligned poetically.

You looked yourself in the mirror, taking a deep breath to calm your nerves before heading to sound check. It had been a couple of months since you’d seen Eddie, but that wouldn’t matter, right? You’d spent a whole week workshopping incredibly personal- in some cases, intimately personal- songs with the guy, so singing onstage with him shouldn’t be a big deal. You were a professional, so it didn’t matter that you hadn’t performed in over two years, you could do this. Never mind the fact that this was the first performance of the rest of your career; never mind that sometimes the way Eddie looked at you make you feel like your knees were about to buckle; never mind that Eddie Munson, rock god and sex symbol of the metal world, was going to be within touching distance the moment you set foot on that stage…

A knock at the door of your tiny dressing room startled you, along with a voice letting you know that sound check was about to begin. Decisively, you grabbed your water bottle and headed to the stage before you could psych yourself out any more. 

When you got to the stage, Eddie was the first person you laid eyes on. He smiled at you, dark curls flying around his face and forming a sinful-looking halo around his face as he gave you a friendly nod- god, he was gorgeous. Waving back at him, you returned the nod and grinned. You wouldn’t be going on until the end of their set, so you situated yourself on an empty stool backstage with a view of the band. 

Their practice was fascinating to watch, how all four of the band members were so obviously masters of their craft, each ear trained to notice any imperfection in the way their instruments sounded through the stereos. Every once in a while, Eddie would look your way out the corner of his eye, just to check if you were still watching; you always were. Whenever he saw you looking directly at him, never glancing down at your phone or at the other band members (besides the odd look thrown in Gareth Emerson’s direction; the way his curls bounced was honestly hypnotic), he’d hold your eye contact, smirk into the microphone, and continue to belt out the lyrics to his songs with a smidge more cockiness than he had been prior. 

When the time finally came for you to join them, you took a deep breath and strutted to where Eddie stood in the center of the stage. No one had handed you a mic, so you weren’t sure where you were supposed to stand until Eddie moved aside to make room for you at his mic stand. 

You looked questioningly at Eddie. “You don’t need your mic?”

He chuckled, placing a hand on the small of your back as he put his lips to your ear. You figured he was just trying to avoid the mic picking up his voice, but the hand on your back… that was new. Was this a move? Was Eddie Munson making a move? On you?

Oh. 

That’s a fun development. 

“This one’s all you, darlin’.” Eddie said, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “I’ll stay out of your way. Also-” He pulled away enough to look you in the eyes, and your lips must have been a little too close to the mic because it picked up your fucking gasp. You jerked your head away from the mic, cursing yourself for being so nervous. 

Eddie definitely noticed, but all he did was chuckle, still staring at you with giant doe eyes framed by smile lines and bushy brown eyebrows. “-it’s good to see you, popstar.” There was no condescension in his tone this time; all you could find in his gaze was kind, genuine joy that you were here, and you couldn’t help but smile back. 

Confidently, you gripped the mic with both hands, smirking at Eddie through your side eye. You didn’t bother leaning away from the mic when you replied, sprinkling sultry into your voice. If Eddie Munson was trying to drop a hint, you wanted him to know you were receiving it.

“It’s good to see you too, rockstar.”

***

Mic check went flawlessly, which meant it was time for you and the band to eat in the green room while fans began lining up outside the venue, waiting for the doors to open. 

You had a couple drinks with the band while biding your time before you had to get dressed for the show. Much to your delight, Eddie never left your side the whole time. You had been close to him in your living room day after day when you’d worked on your songs, but this was different; you kept noticing little glances and touches that spoke louder than words- how his hands lingered longer than expected, never missing a chance to touch your arm or place a hand on your back to guide you as you walked. How his eyes were most focused whenever he was looking at you, and he never seemed to give you passing glances- every look he gave you was intense and purposeful, it made you shiver in a very good way. When he and the band left to get ready for showtime, he took a moment to check on how you were before leaving to go to his dressing room. 

“You nervous?” he asked. There wasn’t any judgment there, just concern for you. 

“Yes,” you admitted, “But I think I’ve got it.”

Eddie smiled widely, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and squeezing you tightly. “Oh I know you’ve got it, angel.”

You caught his wrist, holding it to your shoulder before he could retract it. Turning to him, you batted your eyes a bit before raising an eyebrow. “Angel, huh?”

Eddie inclined his head, eyes narrowing flirtatiously. “What, should I switch back to sweetheart?”

You smirked. “Only if you wanna make me mad.”

It took everything in you not to shrink back from him as he leaned forward, practically glowering over you. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but must have decided against it. You saw his tongue poke into the inside of his cheek as he nodded to himself, eyes narrowing further as if he were having a whole conversation within his head that you weren’t privy to. Finally, he gave your shoulder a gentle squeeze and you let him go, staring at him with every ounce of confidence you could muster. 

“...I’ll remember that, popstar.” he said, voice low and gravelly and sure to throw you into a coma if he said the right words with that voice at the right time. You didn’t let him see how much he was affecting you, though- save for a little grin that you couldn’t hide as he smirked at you and walked away.

When he exited the green room- and you were sure you were alone- you finally let out a breath that you’d been holding for what seemed like entire minutes. You grabbed your drink, chugging down the rest of your liquid courage in the hopes that it might also cool you down a bit. 

***

The cheers from the crowd were deafening, and the gravity of what was about to happen was starting to get to you. 

Corroded Coffin was about to start the song that would be your cue to join them. You stood in the wings like you had during sound check, this time fussing over your outfit to ensure every piece was in place. The fact that it was Halloween combined with the tone of your new album had influenced your wardrobe choice for the evening- ripped black jeans that were more rip than jean, a strappy black bustier top with a plethora of silver buckles that decorating the surface of your bodice where the sides attached at your sternum, fishnet fingerless gloves, and your favorite part of the outfit: the biggest platform boots you’d ever owned. You remembered seeing them and falling in love immediately with the straps that decorated the entirety of the shoe, as well as the silver buckles on each strap that matched your top like a dream. Paired with your blue hair, you looked strikingly goth and nearly unrecognizable from the girl your fans remembered. 

When Eddie announced you onstage, you had to take a deep breath before joining him out there. Slow inhale, slow exhale… and then you were overtaken with hot stage lights.

Out on the stage, you could really take in the size of this crowd- it was far larger than what you were used to, and when they realized who you were, they went wild. You couldn’t help but be intimidated until you felt Eddie’s hand gently grounding you as it ghosted the skin on your back.

His lips tickled your ear as he leaned in and whispered in your ear out of range from the mic, “Knock ‘em dead, sweetheart.” 

You felt a flare of indignation intertwined with delight, and you couldn’t help but laugh a little evilly into the mic at this little shit of a rockstar.

 He did that on purpose. 

You looked at him with the biggest smirk on your face, and it matched the smug, sultry grin on his. Silently, he nodded at the audience as if to say ‘Well? They’re waiting.’

You looked over your shoulder at Jeff on the bass, nodded, and right on cue as Jeff began the first note of the song, the entire stage was flooded with scarlet light. 

***

Eddie could tell you were nervous. Flirting with you probably wasn’t helping, and for all he knew, he might even be making you uncomfortable. 

However…

Over the years, Eddie’s gotten more perceptive when it came to the subtleties of body language. He didn’t miss the fact that you’d been leaning into every touch he ghosted over your skin, no matter how overt or fleeting those touches might have been. He’d seen the change in your eye contact when it lingered a little longer than necessary- that shift from attentive to intrigued, even a little wanting at times. 

The only question was what you wanted, and Eddie was really hoping it was him.

As he watched you take his place at the mic, standing monochrome in scarlet light, he bit his lip as he tried to hold back the salacious grin that slid across his lips; he was unsuccessful. 

Eddie hit his guitar part easily as you purred the lyrics that the two of you had slaved over into your microphone. 

Be more predictable

Be less political

Not too original

Keep to tradition, but stay individual

Thrusting ever so slightly with his warlock, Eddie channeled the rage and rebellion of your lyrics into every word, smirking with the next few lines- they had been one of the first additions to the song that he’d made, and you more than did them justice. 

Dirty but washable

Winning but stoppable

All that I’m hearing is

You wanna make the impossible possible

Even though you’d been nervous earlier, it looked like you’d been able to shake it all off. Confidence was rolling off you like waves, strength in your comfort onstage practically seeping out of your pores. Eddie felt proud, yes, but mostly? He was turned the fuck on by it. His eyes never left you as you carefully removed the mic from its stand and leisurely strode to the edge of the stage as you sang the next lines, punctuating the last with a little shake of your head and a comically disgusted wrinkle of your nose.

Is this what you’d all prefer?

Would you like me better if I was still her?

Did she make your mouths water?

Ugh.

Just like you’d practiced, flashing white lights littered the stage right on cue when the drums opened up the chorus, and you belted those lyrics with all the anger and exasperation that he knew you’d felt when you’d written them. You were a force to be reckoned with- this was that girl he’d met when he’d walked into your apartment acting like a jackass; this was the firecracker of a woman who wasn’t afraid to tell him exactly what she thought. 

I know the part I’ve played before

I know the shit that I’ve ignored

I know the girl that you adored

She’s dead, it’s time to fucking mourn

I can’t spoon-feed you anymore

I can’t spoon-feed you anymore

Dinner’s served, it’s on the floor

I can’t spoon-feed you anymore

You dropped to a crouch, for the end of the chorus, legs bent but spread slightly, and flashing lights glinted off the metal buckles of your platform boots. Your voice ripped from your chest as you belted into the mic.

You’ll have to eat me as I am

You’ll have to eat me as I am

Eddie was incredibly grateful for the crouch you’d dropped into, because it gave him a view of your ass that was so perfect, he actually groaned. Swooned, practically. Thank god you had his mic and the music was loud enough that no one noticed. He hoped. However, anyone with eyes could probably see that he was basically undressing you with his gaze right now, so he really needed to get it together unless he wanted to be on a front page tomorrow for the wrong reasons. He cringed, imagining the headline Munson Ogles Popstar Half His Age. Mid-Life Crisis? Yeah. His publicist would love that one. 

You stood back up, stalking the edge of the stage as you sang the second verse. When you were about halfway through, you turned to look over your shoulder at Eddie, and it just about knocked the breath from his lungs. Your eyes- lined in black and zeroing in on him like something out of his metalhead fantasies- smoldered like embers on the edge of a cigarette as you sang the second half of the verse to him. 

Longer hair and tighter clothes

Would you like me better if I didn’t oppose?

Silver platters, pretty bows…

You were at his side now, turned sideways from the crowd so you were facing him as he turned to face you in tandem. About a foot away from each other, the only thing between you was his guitar, thankfully big enough to hide the way his hard-on was quickly growing harder with every moment you looked at him with those eyes. 

Your expression shifted, eyes rolling as you threw your head back in mock boredom, amping the lines up to the extreme. As you lifted your head back up, you looked at him with the brattiest fucking face Eddie had ever seen as you delivered the final line of the verse into the mic.

…Fuck. 

And then you smirked, tip of your tongue peeking out of your lips and you winked at him. 

Fucking. Winked. 

Ohhhhhh, you were doing this on purpose. You had to be. 

And Eddie couldn’t do shit about it, because you were in the middle of a performance, on stage, jumping around in platform boots and screaming the chorus into your mic like fucking banshee. So he channeled every ounce of sexual frustration into shredding the fuck out of his guitar and staring you down, salivating at the way you blazed on that stage like a witch at the stake. Then, about halfway through that chorus, at the edge of the stage and working the crowd for all they could give you, Eddie just about had a heart attack.

Because you dropped to your fucking knees.

You let the music take control of you, screaming ‘I can’t spoon-feed you anymore’ into the mic, you dropped down to one knee followed by the other as you delivered the final lines before Eddie’s solo.

You’ll have to eat me as I am

You’ll have to eat me as I am

You held your last note long and loud, widening your knees and leaning into a backbend that didn’t stop until your upper back touched the stage behind you. Eddie was amazed that he was even able to remember his part when you were in front of him doing that. Jesus Christ.

Eddie continued to play, and he saw you crane your neck just in time to make eye contact with him as you delivered the next line of the song. You brought the mic to your lips, your knees still spread open and your spine deliciously arched.

Choke on it!

God…you were gonna kill him. 

You pushed yourself back into a kneeling position, facing the audience. As Eddie’s guitar solo became more complex, and his playing more impressive, your jaw dropped as you looked to the audience and fanned yourself, as if you were all sharing a joint reaction of ‘wow, are you guys hearing this too?!’. Eyes crinkling from your smile, you brought the mic to your mouth again. 

Choke on it!

Once you were back on your feet, you stood at ease in the center of the stage as you waited out Eddie’s solo. When he finished, you stared down the crowd as you delivered the last chorus. At this point, Eddie could see some of the spectators mouthing the words along with you, and his chest swelled with pride at your ability to win over a crowd that hadn’t even been expecting you on stage. Hell, knowing his fans, most of them were probably older than you by several years, and yet here they were singing your song. 

When you drew your first breath after the final note, the crowd went wild. He expected you to be staring at them, soaking up the energy of a satisfied throng of fans, but no- immediately, your eyes were on him, an ear-to-ear smile stretching across your face. You had just absolutely killed your first song performed in two years, and you wanted to share your joy with him before you shared it with anyone else. 

Eddie couldn’t help but mirror your smile- it was the least he could do, after the way you just made his heart swell to triple its usual size. He took a few steps over to where Jeff stood with his bass, nodding to the mic in a silent question, to which Jeff gladly stepped aside. 

“If this is what happens when you take a two-year hiatus,” Eddie said slyly into the mic, “then maybe you should do it more often, rockstar.”

The crowd cheered again, and you looked caught off guard by his calling you rockstar instead of popstar. To Eddie, it made perfect sense- tonight, there was nothing pop about you. You were rock & roll incarnate, his equal in every single way. You took a few steps back until you and he were the same distance from the edge of the stage, and as long as he was speaking, your eyes never left him.

“So I’ve been working with this absolute badass on an album- well no, I’m giving myself way too much credit, she wrote an album, I plucked a few guitar strings, yada yada yada-” You giggled as Eddie reminded the crowd of your name, loud and clear, so they knew who to look up on Spotify later. “-anyway, her album drops in a week, that last song you heard was called…”

Eddie looked at you with expectant eyes and a devilish smile. He wanted to hear you say it. Just for fun. He enjoyed being a little shit. 

You smirked into your mic. “Eat Me.” 

The crowd cheered again, all it took was hearing you say two little words. Eddie knew the feeling.  

“We’ve got one more before our lovely guest has to leave the stage, and this one is my personal favorite off the album.” Eddie started warming up with a couple chords from the song before adding, “This is Freak.”

You had replaced the mic into its stand at center stage, which was where Eddie headed to meet you. During sound check, you had asked him if he would need his own mic for this one, but Eddie- selfishly- had said it was no problem, and he didn’t mind sharing. That was a drastic understatement though, since he would happily leap at any excuse to have his lips close to yours in any capacity at all. 

You smiled at him, and you were doing that thing again- that thing where you looked at him like you were giving him a dare. That thing where you touched the tip of your tongue to your upper lip. 

Eddie wanted to bite that lip.

Instead, he smoldered down at you as he began the opening chords to Freak. 

***

You may not have been sure about Eddie’s feelings before tonight, but you were now. 

He wanted you. Bad. So bad, you felt high off the lust that was rolling off the man beside you. 

You could tell by the way he was looking at you that he wanted to do so many things to you here and now, but due to the giant crowd before you that wasn’t an option. The power trip of knowing that every move you made was driving him crazy and he couldn’t do shit about it made you feel bratty as fuck, and you channeled every ounce of that into each word of your next song. 

Pinch me, singe me, inch me to the edge

Your eyes fluttered shut as you let the sultry lyrics take over, arms bending as you brought them up to dance above your head as you stretched your neck back. Your pose mimicked the way you might have stretched across a bed, arching your back slightly in a way that you knew would make Eddie’s mind wander to all the right places. 

Prod me, laud me, ungodly but heaven-sent

As the tempo picked up for the bridge, your lips brushed the mic and you bounced slightly to the beat. Looking up at Eddie, you felt your chest tighten when you saw how blown his pupils were as they zeroed in on you. There was nothing silly or flirty in his gaze now- this was lust, want, need… it was predatory in a way that made you shiver.

Get your tickets to the freak show, baby

Step right up to watch the freak go crazy.

Eddie’s guitar launched into the chorus with you, both of your mouths breaking your little standoff by smiling because you couldn’t help yourselves- performing together, this close, singing lyrics that the two of you connected with- you were having so much fun. 

Am what I am and what I am is a piece of meat

Take a bite just to watch me bleed

Freak

Say what you want and what you want is behind your teeth

Ain’t gotta spell it out for me

Freak

Now Eddie’s lips were the ones on the mic, his throaty voice tearing through the air in a way that made you stop short from its power alone. He sang the first two lines on his own-

Bait me, you can cage me

Even plate me, I don’t care

You joined him for the bridge on one side of the mic while his mouth remained in place at the other, and his voice dropped down to his chest to create a sound that was more growl than song. He sounded demonic, feral- damn, you wanted to jump his bones right now. 

Get your tickets to the freak show, baby

Step right up to watch the freaks go crazy

As you both sang the chorus together this time, your eye contact across the microphone was charged with feelings reflected as though you were looking in a mirror. Anticipation for what would happen after this show was building with every lyric, and as he growled his lines into the mic you wondered what the headline would be if you stuck your tongue down his throat right now. 

Unfortunately, that wasn’t how you wanted to start this next leg of your career- at least publicly. Different time, different place. Like, say, in about thirty minutes. In your dressing room. Against a wall, preferably.

When you finished the chorus, Eddie shredded through his guitar solo like a bat out of hell, even improvised a scream into the mic that made your jaw drop yet again. Upon hearing it, you couldn’t help but let out a surprised laugh, hopping up and down in your platform boots and headbanging along with him. After he’d finished, you took hold of the mic stand with both hands and began chanting repeating lines that would take you through to the next chorus before ending the song. 

Came from the trauma, stayed for the drama

You sang the line twice before Eddie joined you for the third and fourth repetition, that deep, ripping croon tearing its way through his throat and out of his plush pink lips less than an inch from yours. You wanted to turn your head and look at him so badly, but you were so close that you’d be locking lips if you did. 

As you both sang the final chorus, you pulled back just enough for your gazes to meet; you were rewarded with lust blown umber eyes, sweat-soaked curls framing a face as timeless as music itself, and a grin that sparked pure joy in your very soul. 

If this guy can fuck, you might just fall for him. 

Eddie prompted the audience to cheer for you one more time after the song was over, shooting you a smile as he brought you in for a friendly hug. He was in front of thousands; you knew his hands would remain in strictly G-rated areas (unfortunately), but he did whisper in your ear out of range from the mic. 

“Wait for me in your dressing room.”

Bingo. 

You thought about following his lead- waiting patiently in your dressing room for him to finish up his show then have his way with you- but you had a better idea. You tilted your head up quickly to bring your lips up to his ear, your clear lip gloss catching its shell.

“I’m gonna keep watching you in the wings- you can do whatever you want after that.” 

Your eyes met as you pulled away, and you let yourself revel for a moment at the way he looked at you- like he wanted to, well…eat you. Eyes so dark they were almost black under the stage lights, he shook his head slightly in disbelief. Again, you felt that familiar rush of adrenaline from driving him crazy when he couldn’t do a fucking thing about it; you were beginning to think you might be addicted.

As Corroded Coffin finished their set, you stayed offstage and did exactly what you said you would- you watched Eddie every second. You were like a sponge soaking up every flip of his hair, every deft movement of his fingers as they flew across the frets of his guitar. Every once in a while, his eyes would flick to where you stood, checking to see if you were still there, which of course you were. Each time he saw you, you watched as he shook his head again, or rolled his eyes, or- in one case which almost resulted in you melting into a puddle on the floor- maintaining eye contact as he belted out lyrics to songs he wrote, with a gaze so smoldering it felt as if there were no one in the whole arena but the two of you. With every minute, every note, every song- you felt him spinning a web around you like a spider trapping its prey, and you willingly anticipated the moment he would finally storm off the stage and drink you dry.

And that’s exactly what he did.

The last song ended, and Eddie wasted no time in ripping his guitar from his torso, handing it to a roadie without a second glance and grabbing you by the hand. You didn’t protest as he pulled you into a corner backstage away from any prying eyes. Before you could think a coherent thought besides Wow, I’m wet, Eddie took both your wrists in his strong, ring-dappled hands and slammed them above your head against the wall. His eyes, black with lust and wolfishly hungry, bored into yours as he used the last ounce of restraint to hold himself back long enough to ask the vital question, “Tell me, you want this?”

He bit the words out; growled them into your face as your eyes widened, desire painting your expression a gorgeous shade of pathetic as you nodded desperately. A deep groan sounded from his chest as Eddie pressed his pelvis against yours, and you gasped at how hard he was. “Words, sweetheart, I need you to say it.”

That familiar flare of indignation in your chest mingled with the flames in your core that burned for all he had to give you. Your eyes shifted, screaming rebellion that harmonized with the submission that your body so desperately craved. The corner of your mouth quirked up in a mocking half-smile. “Fuck yes, I want it, what do you think I was bouncing around out there for-”

His lips murmured a “Fucking Christ,” as he cut your sentence short, smashing his needy mouth against your burgeoning smirk. His arms crumbled as he finally felt the release of his skin on yours, caging you in as his forearms collapsed against the wall, hands still closed around your wrists. His biceps flexed, framing your faces as he all but devoured you in a kiss that was so wanting, so possessive- it claimed you. It ruined all kisses that came before it and would ever follow it. 

He was ruining you, and you committed the way his whole body covered yours and made you feel both safe and coveted to memory, imprinting it on your mind knowing that you would probably never feel this wanted ever again. 

Then, just as soon as he was on you, his touch lifted away. 

A needy whine escaped your lips before you could hold it back. Eddie slotted his tattooed hand into the space where your neck met your jawline, thumb caressing your skin as he smiled sweetly down at you- but his eyes were anything but sweet.

“I gotta go back out for the encore. Go take these off-” you melted into his touch as his other hand played with the buckles at the front of your top. His hand at your neck crept back, taking your chin between his thumb and the middle knuckles of his forefinger as if he were scolding a child.

“-and wait in your dressing room.”

Your eyelids were heavy, and you smirked as you opened your mouth to argue-

“And don’t fucking argue with me.”

You bit the reply into your bottom lip- you could save the brattiness for later. Just as Eddie had begun to pull away, his eyes dropped to your teeth on your lip and in half a second he was on you again.

He sucked your bottom lip into his mouth, running his tongue along the soft skin before biting down firm enough to set off your mental alarms yet soft enough that you didn’t feel any pain from it. He pulled away once more, letting your lip go with a little pop.

“Been wanting to do that all night.” Eddie said, his shit-eating grin back in full force as he winked at you and jogged back to the stage. You stayed put for a second, smiling like an idiot as you heard the roar of the crowd, imagining what Eddie must look like while he returned to the stage with lips pink and swollen from his attempt at eating you alive. No one would know why he looked out of breath and a little extra happy… but you would. 

You’d never walked as fast in your life as you did in that moment, making a beeline for your dressing room, fingers already beginning to work on the buckles at your sternum.

***

When Eddie opened the door to your dressing room about ten minutes later, the gigantic grin on his face fell instantly when he saw you lounging on the couch in the same clothes you’d been wearing during sound check, sans your oversized skull sweatshirt. Your black shorts and knit tank top still showed plenty of skin, but he had explicitly told you to take off your clothes and wait for him. You were still in the mood to brat out, apparently. 

You looked up at him from your phone, smiling sweetly with challenging eyes. “Hi.”

Eddie closed the door behind him, leaning against it as it shut. “Hi.” he mimicked, crossing his inked forearms over his chest. He stared at you silently, expectantly.

You raised an eyebrow, coyly pretending not to know what he was being so pissy about. “What?”

Eddie pushed off the door, walking towards you at a pace that was agonizingly slow. “You know what.” 

You huffed haughtily, looking back at your phone and pretending to be more interested in your screen than the man who’d had you panting up against a wall ten minutes ago. “Well that’s a little presumptuous of you, I’m not a mind reader.”

It didn’t take Eddie long to cross the expanse of your tiny dressing room, deftly sliding the phone from your hands and placing it on a low table beside the couch. “Should’ve known you weren’t listening earlier,” Eddie tsked and shook his head in disappointment. “I know you were a little distracted back there, sweetheart, but when I told you to take your clothes off, I meant it.”

You sighed as Eddie stared down at you from where he stood, towering over you as you laid back against the couch cushions. His gaze devoured you piece by piece as it roved over your wide eyes, glossy lips- your shoulders still shining from sweat after giving your all to the stage, your chest as it rose and fell with your quickening breath. 

“Well,” you purred, like a cat who knew they were the center of attention and didn’t mind it in the slightest. “You didn’t say not to put on clothes after I took the other ones off…”

As you spoke he leaned forward, placing a knee on the couch between your legs so that your heat was only inches from his thigh. His hands splayed across your rib cage, admiring the stark contrast between his ink-covered hands and your soft, cream-colored shirt. It was thin enough to see… wait, were you-?

Eddie smirked, a breathy laugh escaping through his nose as he pulled the fabric taut, confirming his suspicions that yep, you weren’t wearing a bra. 

Oblivious to Eddie’s train of thought, you continued, “...if you wanted me to just wait here for you naked then you should’ve been more specif-”

Rrrrriiiiipp!

Your jaw dropped, cold air hitting your bare breasts without warning as Eddie tore your shirt open. You squealed, your shocked voice jumping up several octaves. “Eddie!” but your eyes told a different story. You were pissed, but the anger you felt was nothing compared to how fucking hot he looked after doing something as dominant and unexpected as ripping your fucking clothes off. 

He raised his eyebrows, giving you a moment to push him away in case he had gone too far- but you didn’t. Instead, you narrowed your eyes up at him and crossed your arms over your bare chest, pressing your cleavage together the way you knew would drive him nuts. “That was fucking Gucci!” you pouted.

Eddie laughed, taking your crossed arms and shoving them up above your head over the arm of the couch as he mockingly imitated your high-pitched “‘That was fucking Gucci!’” he lowered himself over you, bringing his face to the hollow of your neck, and you heard him inhale the scent of you from your collarbone to your ear. He wrapped his lips around the underside of your ear and sucked, then bit, savoring your little moan at the sensation. His mouth met your ear as he growled, “Wouldn’t have happened if you’d just done as you were told, instead of being a little fucking brat.”

Eddie pulled back, sitting up on his knee that was still slotted between your legs as he cupped his hands around your naked breasts. He kneaded them, played with you like he was testing out a brand new toy. He addressed you without looking up into your eyes as he continued to paw at your chest. “You gonna be a good girl now and do what I tell you to?”

You raised your eyebrows, amused that he expected your submission so quickly. Smugly, you looked up at him through narrowed eyes, placing your hands behind your head like a pillow and sighed petulantly. 

“Fucking bite me.”

His eyes snapped up at you, thick with predatory disbelief at your cheek even when he had you half naked beneath you. He’d been challenged before, sure- but at this point, when he had his woman pinned down and moaning under him, he was usually the undisputed decision-maker during sex. The smile that bloomed across his lips was devilish, almost like there was a beast within him that had been kept safely under lock and key- until you’d said that. 

Eddie was on you, grabbing one breast and enveloping the nipple in a harsh suck of his lips, biting down on the little nub hard. You gasped, the sound a lewd, sharp moan that brought out a laugh in him so nefarious it gave you chills. He looked up at you with eyes alight with amusement and feral need that shook you to your core.

“Oh, baby-” he laughed, crawling up until his face hovered over yours. “-I’m gonna have some fucking fun with you.”

Taking your face in his hands, Eddie Munson kissed you like it was what he had been put on God’s green earth to do. His lips moved against yours with a beautiful mix of urgency and devotion, like you could just tell that right here, right now, there was nothing else he cared about except making sure you knew exactly how badly he wanted- needed-  to make you his. He slowly lowered the rest of his body until his pelvis was flat against yours, grinding into your clothed heat and exploiting the chink in your brat armor that was the his fucking size. 

You bucked your hips up into him, craving friction as you moaned into his mouth. Eddie chuckled, stroking your cheek with his thumb. “What’s the matter baby, you need something?” 

You pouted against him, moving a hand to reach between the two of you and palm him through his jeans, but he knocked your hand out of the way, continuing to dry hump you to insanity. You whined as he bit your pouting lip, sucking it into his mouth before his tongue slipped into yours. It explored you, tasting you as your tongue happily let him in. You felt his hand creep down your torso, giving your abused, bitten tit a little squeeze before traveling further down to the button of your shorts.

He undid the button with ease before you registered that he was taking off your clothes after he had denied you access to do the same to him. “Hey,” you panted, reaching for him, “you first, that’s not fair. I’m nearly naked and you haven’t even taken off your shirt.”

Eddie chuckled, tilting his head to the side as he feigned confusion. “Fair?” he asked, “Since when did you want to play fair?” He reached back down to your shorts, button already undone, and gently pulled down the zipper. “You were the one out there- as you said- ‘bouncing around’-” His hands raked up your thighs until they reached the hem of your shorts and slowly tugged them down as you lifted your hips slightly so he could remove them smoothly. Eddie smirked; NOW she does what I want her to do.  “-knowing full well I couldn’t do a damn thing about it… and that fucking wink-” His eyes rolled back in his head just imagining it. He groaned as he pulled your shorts from your feet and discarded them on the floor. “-what the fuck was that, huh? Trying to get a rise out of me, baby?”

You giggled, bubbly laughter floating into a breathy sigh as Eddie’s finger traced the line of your slit through your panties. “Hmmmmm, like it when you call me baby.” you hummed.

 He raised an eyebrow, “Oh you do?” His finger traveled up over the fabric, and he chuckled when you bucked up into his touch as the pad of his finger passed over your clit. That finger slipped under the elastic waistband of your panties, pulling it upwards off your skin as far as it could stretch. “You’re entirely too happy right now,” he stated, matter-of-factly. He let go of the elastic, making you jump with a breathy whimper as it hit your skin with a soft sting. “I’m switching back to sweetheart.”

You whined and he laughed as he continued to play with the elastic on your panties. He stared at them, entranced, before a wolfish grin took up residence on his face. “You like these?” he asked, and you knew where this was going right away. 

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head in disbelief. “How kind of you to ask this time.” 

The grin grew, and he took the crotch of your panties into his fist, grabbing the fabric above it with his other hand to do the same. You ground your hips against his knuckles as they brushed your pussy, already soaked and eager for any friction you could get. “Yeah, you know what,” he voiced, as if he were simply thinking out loud. “I don’t really care if you like them or not.” 

And with that, another article of clothing was ripped to shreds by Eddie Munson and his stupid, tattooed, ring-covered, sexy-as-fuck hands. 

This time you couldn’t even be offended; you were just fucking feral at this point. While he was still distracted by your panties, you quickly shoved yourself up to a kneeling position, startling him enough that he moaned into the fervent kiss that crashed into his mouth. The two of you knelt on the couch cushions, hands grabbing at fabric desperately in a quest to make your skin connect at every square inch you had. Eddie allowed you to pull his shirt over his head, and the shallow breath you had left was instantly knocked from your lungs when you took in the ink that decorated his torso. Some tattoos were old and faded almost blue, while others looked newer- song lyrics, mythical creatures, hellish images adorned his skin like a tapestry that belonged in a museum- but it was here, under your hands. All for you. You couldn’t hold yourself back from bending down a little lower, sliding your tongue up his sternum over the masterpieces scarred into his skin and licking a long, broad stripe from his chest until you reached the tip of his chin. You felt him shiver, arms tightening around you after shoving the remains of your tank top over your shoulders. You started to push him back, planning to open his pants and show him what else you could do with your tongue- but Eddie wasn’t about to let you be on top after the way you’d been acting all night. 

“Mm-mm, nope.” he mumbled, stepping off the couch.

“I’m just trying to suck your cock, baby. Please?”  You looked up at him with your best puppy-dog eyes, widening your legs as you knelt on the couch facing him, squishing your boobs together in that way that usually got you exactly what you wanted. For some reason, Eddie was immune. 

He placed his hand along your neck, thumb and forefinger squeezing just enough for him to feel your pulse. The way your eyes widened, looking up at him the same way you had when he’d shoved you up against a wall earlier- it brought a satisfied hum out of Eddie, and he loved the way he could feel your heartbeat quicken slightly. There was no hiding what you felt when his hand was wrapped around your throat. 

“You like calling me baby, sweetheart?”

You gulped. He felt it, of course, and he had to hold back a laugh- you looked so cute like this. Made him want to break you just to see what you’d be like when he picked up the pieces. 

Your eyes were blown wide, like a hunted fox with nowhere to run. “Is that okay? Can I call you baby?”

His face crumpled- god, you were adorable. Eddie smiled sympathetically, “Oh you can call me whatever you want, sweetheart-” His thumb moved up to your bottom lip, stroking gently before working it into your mouth; he groaned, head thrown back when he felt your soft, wet tongue swirl around his digit and coat it with your spit. 

“-don’t care what you’re calling me as long as you know I own your ass tonight.”

And then you moaned- oh, you fucking moaned his name around his finger in your mouth, and his cock twitched at the way it sounded. He wanted to record that, play it on loop, put it in a fucking song, hell- anything for him to be able to listen to it again and again and again. He wanted everyone to hear it, to know it was his name on your fucking tongue.

His thumb ripped from your mouth, replaced by his middle and ring finger, delving surprisingly deep into your mouth as you gagged around them. Your tongue quickly resumed its previous motions, lapping at his thick fingers and sliding over, under, around, between them. You reveled in the taste of metal as you tongued his silver rings. You gasped when he removed his fingers before, without warning, he slid them into your weeping pussy.

Your expression was beautifully obscene, eyes wide with surprise while your mouth- glistening with spit from his fingers leaving in a rush- fallen open in a silent scream. Eddie thrust his fingers up and into you repeatedly, forcing you open wider and wider with the rapid motion.

“Actually, I changed my mind,” Eddie grit into your ear, “I don’t wanna hear anything but my goddamn name leave that pretty ‘lil mouth until I’m done with you, aright?”

You were moaning, but evidently that was still not enough to deter you from being your snarky self. “Well that’s unrealistic, I’ll probably say more than just tha- ah! Oh fuck-!”

Eddie’s pace was relentless, fingers ripping through you with a vengeance as he muttered “Bratty little slut-” spearing you over and over as you sped toward the white-hot precipice that wasn’t quite release, but certainly what Eddie intended to pull out of you. 

You moaned as what felt like a dam within you suddenly gave way, flooding your inner thighs, Eddie’s hand, and the couch beneath you. Eddie smiled wide, the muscles in his arm screaming pointlessly- he wasn’t going to stop until you’d given him every last drop there was to give. 

“-yeah, not so bratty when you’re squirting all over my hand, are you baby? What, are you trying to say something? Spit it out, popstar-”

The noises tumbling from your lips were anything but coherent, Eddie knew that. He just kept grinning like a kid in a candy store as you babbled sounds that might have been his name, might have been a prayer, might have just been yes, yes, yes, Eddie, god yes! 

Whatever it was, it was music to his ears. 

Eddie looped his arms under your knees, pulling you into a sitting position with your legs wide open. Dropping to his knees, he stared at your spread pussy, glistening with the slick he’d just wrestled from you. His hands, wet with all you’d given him, grasped your thighs firmly but gently as he looked up into your eyes. It might have been the post-orgasmic haze you were experiencing, but for a second, Eddie looked at you with nothing in his eyes but care and admiration. His gaze shone like sunlight as he looked up at you, your stomach creasing from the crunch position he'd placed you in, your breasts rising and falling with each breath- the way he stared at you made you feel like an angel. 

“God, you’re fucking beautiful.” he whispered, hands squeezing your thighs affectionately. Before you could even react, his tongue was on you, lapping away at your soaked pussy. You mewled, head thrown back and spine arching as unraveled you from the inside out. He traced endless intricate shapes over your clit, your lips, your hole- thoughts flew from your brain as you let his mouth drive you fucking wild. His ministrations slowed at one point, causing you to open your eyes- you couldn’t even remember when you’d closed them- and look up at Eddie. 

Upon looking up, you were blessed with the sight of Eddie Munson, close-cut beard soaked with your slick, shirtless, pantsless, and currently pulling off his black boxers to reveal a cock that made you salivate on sight.

You let your brattiness fly out the window- there would be time for more of it later, but right now you needed that cock in one of your holes and you didn’t quite care which one. 

Eddie stroked himself leisurely, eyes boring down into yours the whole time. “Tell me what you want, babygirl.”

You spread your legs open wider for him. “Please.” you whined. 

Eddie shook his head, disappointed, sinking to his knees again. “See, this is what I knew would happen,” he murmured, sliding a finger around your clit at a torturously slow pace. “I can’t believe you got fucked stupid already and I didn’t even have to use my cock, those were just my fingers, baby.” From the slick sounds you heard from below your line of sight, you knew that he was jerking himself off as he played with your pussy. It was enough to pull a desperate moan from your throat. He licked one flat, wet stripe from your opening to your clit before murmuring against you, “Can’t even use your words and tell me what you want, sweet girl’s been fucked too dumb to make decisions, is that right?”

You found yourself nodding ‘yes’, the dirty words flying out of his mouth in rapid succession throwing your brain into overdrive. He was right; you barely had the brain capacity to think right now, much less match his attitude with snark. All you could do was stare up at him with wide eyes, waiting for whatever he planned on doing next. 

Eddie clicked his tongue, tilting his head as he looked at you pityingly. “That’s right, don’t worry baby I’ll just make all the decisions now, okay?” He rose, leaning over you as he placed a knee to your side and stroked himself, lining up his fully hard cock at your entrance. Your heartbeat quickened, excitement and anticipation building now that you knew his cock would be inside you soon. You mewled as his tip stroked your slit, up and down and up and down again… and stopping at your hole, hovering outside you. 

You looked up at him desperately, only to breathe in sharply upon seeing his devilish grin paired with coal-black lust-blown eyes. 

“Beg for it.”

You sighed so heavy it became a sob, frustrated and scrunching up your face like you were ready to throw a tantrum. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” you whined.

“There she is.” he murmured.

If looks could kill, your glare would have sent Eddie Munson to his deathbed. He matched it with a condescending smile that spoke volumes of the power trip he was on right now. Leaning in slightly closer, he repeated himself. “Beg, sweetheart.” 

You narrowed your eyes. “No.”

Eddie shrugged, backing up just enough for his cock to leave your skin- you knew it was over from there. 

“Wait!” you cried, eyebrows drawing together desperately under his cocksure gaze. Christ you didn’t want to beg, but you might not have a choice. Eddie waited patiently, stroking his cock absentmindedly as he watched you squirm below him. 

You looked up at him, giving him your best ‘fuck me’ eyes. “Please fuck me Eddie.” Your voice was honey sweet, soft and submissive.

Eddie crouched down, sticking a finger in his mouth before he used it to play with your pussy, stroking circles around your clit and pumping it slowly in and out of you. “Aww, baby…” he crooned before narrowing his eyes. “-we both know you can do better than that.”

You groaned, back arching as your hands fisted frustratingly into the cushions. “Eddie, pleaaasse-”

“Try harder, sweetheart.”

“Fuck, Eddie you fucking prick, just fucking fuck me, please, I need your cock-”

Eddie smiled- that was good enough for him. “‘Atta girl.” he groaned deeply as he pushed his cock into your waiting hole, your thankful moan mingling with his. 

His dick was perfect, filling you deliciously and long enough to just hit that spot beneath your clit that made your nerves go berserk. You didn’t realize how loud your moaning was until Eddie shut you up by covering your mouth with his own, swallowing down every sound you made and repaying you with noises of his own. 

“God, baby- so fuckin’ tight-”

You moaned, squeezing him as his cock speared you again and again. You were so built up between your squirting earlier and Eddie’s talented tongue- you were already getting close. 

As if he could read your mind, Eddie grunted out as he continued thrusting into you, “I’m nearly there already, baby, you gonna cum with me?”

You whined, nodding ‘yes’ as he pacified your mewling with his thumb. You lapped at it lewdly, covering him with a thick layer of your spit before releasing it with a pop. Eddie brought it down to your clit, working gentle circles around your bundle of nerves as his thrusting picked up the pace. You squirmed under him, chasing your release as you listened to the filth that poured from his mouth while he fucked the living shit out of you. 

“Jesus, fuck, so tight- my sweet girl, gonna fucking ruin you. Gonna make you come undone on my cock, just a fucking mess, gonna cum so hard on my cock-”

That last thing he said seemed to jerk him back into reality- his eyes grew wide, snapped out of his high as he looked down at you. “Shit, I don’t have a condom…baby, I’m so sorry, shit, where should I-”

You reached down, raking your nails softly over his hips. “I’m on birth control.” you said, smiling calmly. You kicked yourself for being so eager; normally you would still insist on a condom even with your implant, but Eddie just did something to you. “You haven’t been fucking any random groupies, have you?”

Eddie huffed, his laughter strained by his fast-approaching orgasm. “You’re the first in a while, angel. Last I checked I was clean, but I can still pull out if you-”

“Inside.” you whispered, grasping his ass and pulling him deeper into you. “I trust you, Eddie, I want you to fill me.”

His movements stuttered, big brown eyes wide and watching you like you were a miracle unfolding underneath him. He was still for half a second before his thumb resumed its movements over your clit as he thrusted faster, harder than before.

“Oh fuck, you want me to fill you baby? You want my fucking cum?” 

His cock speared into you as deep as it could go, Eddie’s attention to your clit driving you over the edge with relentless speed. “Yes, I want it Eddie, fuck, I’m gonna-”

“Fucking take it baby, cum on that cock.”

Eddie groaned as you clamped down on him, his seed spilling inside of you while your pussy fluttered around him. You arched your back until your face was pressed into the cushions behind you, muffling your whimpering voice as you moaned his name. 

A few moments passed, the air thick with the sound of heavy breathing and the smell of sex, before Eddie slowly pulled out of your wet heat. You laid there for a moment before you felt Eddie clean his sticky spend from your thighs and ass using a tissue. 

“Normally,” he said gently, “I would use a warm washcloth to do this, but we have limited options.” 

You sat up as he finished, smiling up at him playfully. “That sounds nice,” you said, “maybe I shouldn’t have listened to you earlier, made you wait until you couldn’t take it anymore and just whisked me off to your place.” 

Eddie sat down beside you, pulling you into his lap. He looked up at you with nothing but content sweetness in his eyes, any trace of the feral dominance from earlier gone for now. “I mean, we can still do that.”

You beamed, “Really?”

Eddie scoffed, tugging you closer. “What do you mean, ‘really’? You think I need to be desperately horny to want you in my bed?” 

You felt your cheeks heat up at the mention of his bed. “I don’t know… I guess I didn’t know if you wanted this to just be a one time thing, or…” You trailed off, unsure of what Eddie’s expectations had been for what happened after.

Eddie’s eyebrows drew together, confused. “Sweetheart,” he said, his finger tracing circles on your thigh affectionately. “We can hash out details whenever you’re comfortable… but tonight? I would count myself a very lucky man if you came home with me tonight.” He touched his forehead to yours, placing a gentle kiss on the tip of your nose. “Okay?” he asked.

You looked down, suddenly shy upon hearing his honey-sweet words. You gave him a quick peck on the lips before looking him in his big brown eyes. “Okay.” you whispered. 

Your eyes stayed connected, melting you until your lips met his again, kissing him sweetly as his hands worked their way to your ass, squeezing as he sighed into your kiss.

“Alright,” he grunted, playfully slapping your thigh as a signal to stand up. “Let’s get you dressed.”

You giggled. “In what? You ripped up all my clothes!” you held up the shredded panties, shaking your head in disbelief.

Eddie shrugged, stepping into his boxers. “I didn’t rip up all of them, don’t be so dramatic.” He picked up your shorts, tossing them to you. “Just go commando with the shorts and wear your sweatshirt, no one will know.” 

You sighed, stepping over your torn Gucci tank top and retrieving your bra from where it sat neatly folded in a chair. Eddie looked over his shoulder at you as you began to put it on and gasped. 

“You did have a bra!”

You smirked, reaching behind your back for the clasp. “Yeah… I wanted to see your face when I wasn’t wearing one.” 

Eddie shook his head, smiling like an idiot as he buckled his jeans. “Unbelievable.” he chided, “Was it worth it?”

You tugged your sweatshirt over the bra, taking a few steps in Eddie’s direction until you were close enough to snake your hand around to the back of his neck and pull him down for one more kiss. When you pulled away, Eddie looked down at you entranced, blinking rapidly as if emerging from a dream. He could only describe the feeling in his chest as complete and utter euphoria. 

You grinned up at him, eyes alight with adrenaline that still lingered from your performance onstage and absolute infatuation with the man before you.

 “So worth it.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie stranger things #rockstar!eddie munson #older!eddie munson #popstar!reader #inspired by demi lovato's album holy fvck #brat!reader #dom!eddie munson #rip-quizilla

[luveline]

maybe miguel with shy spider girl who never holds eye contact with him and he calls her to is office alone for info and she’s just a mess? idk 😭😭

“Miguel wants to see you.” 

You smile at Peter B. Parker. It is not a natural nor authentic smile. “Sorry,” you say, “what?” 

“Miguel, the big guy! He wants to see you. You reported that weird bubble on 265, right?” Peter’s chewing on gum obnoxiously, seemingly unwise to your panic. Mayday giggles in his arms. “He wants your opinion.” 

“I've never spoken to him.” 

Peter laughs jovially as Mayday climbs up his front and almost topples down the back of him. “He's a nice guy, you'll like him. Hey, you want some gum?” 

You take a stick of gum but don't chew it, the strip of Juicy Fruit powdering your fingers as you ride the elevator up to Miguel's laboratory. You barely know where it is, only that it's in a general direction of which you've never walked in. You haunt the dorms and the library rather than the workshops, content in your quiet life (as quiet as it can be, considering). Every step you take down the red lit hall to his lab is brimming with the want to turn back. 

There's a platform set on the floor decorated by computers. You can't tell what's holographic and what's physical, but Miguel O'Hara is undeniably solid. His shoulders alone look thick as a tree trunk where he stands in the midst of it all. 

You know it will be less painful to just… say hello. You put your Juicy Fruit in your pocket and clear your throat quietly. 

“Mr. O'Hara?” 

He waves his hand at you without looking. “Miguel is better. Come here.” 

You struggle up onto his raised laboratory. Would it have hurt to build a step? 

“Spider-Girl from earth 1421. Yes?” 

“Y/N,” you say. “Yeah, that's me.” 

He looks up at that, like your name is a curse word, or a surprise. You meet his eyes for as long as you're able to before your gaze crawls to his chest. 

“And you saw the distension on 265?” 

“Distension… um, you mean when the air looked like it was bubbling?” 

“What were you doing when it started? Just give me a run down.” 

You clasp your hands together tightly. You feel silly in your suit because somebody convinced you that it was okay to wear stuff on top, so now you're in this big silly hoodie while Miguel stands waiting in his officials. You'd always thought it was nanotechnology, but closer it seems more like a fabric with chameleon technology, or—

“What were you doing when it started?” he asks again, softer now. “You're not in trouble, I just need to get a sense of what happened.”  

“I know, I– we were there to– to–” You wince. “To capture an anomaly, Doc Ock 83.” Your hands start to tremble, you're so nervous. “But we had a hard time finding him, he wasn't doing much, and the– bubble started not long after getting there.” 

“Was it a precursor to anything? Did something significant happen after it began?” 

“Um–” You can't think. What happened? You'd been standing on the street between the last reported sighting of the anomaly with your small team. You're a competent bunch but you only ever get called in for the weak guys, and you weren't sure what to do when things got weird. “I'm sorry, I don't know.” You peek at him, worried he's going to snap at you. 

“Just take some time to think about it.” 

He smiles —Miguel smiles at you, a juxtaposition to every rumour you've ever heard about him— and takes a step toward you, gesturing at your hoodie. You freeze up, worse when his fingertips point at the hem of it. 

“Do you have your drone?” 

You flush a hundred degrees hot and pull your hoodie up your chest to click the panel of your drone where it dents over your heart. It breaks free, flying up into the air above your head on automatic. Miguel grabs it out of the air and takes it over to his computer, where he syncs the sim and looks through your recordings. He isn't so cruel as to play them without permission, deferring back to you.

You raise your hand and tap the file. 

It starts with you talking to yourself. “There's no… what alley was he…” You scrub forward to the middle of the video, just before the distension begins. “Hey, do you see that?” you ask your teammates.

Miguel leans forward. He's standing very, very close to you, and he talks quietly so as not to overcloud the sound on screen, “Here. Does this jog your memory?” he asks. 

You look away from him again. But, now he's asked, and now you've seen it, there was something unfamiliar. “After it appeared, the anomaly changed. Doc Ock didn't look like himself. I thought I was seeing things, but here–” You rewind the video and point at the outline of Doc Ock against the bubble. “See? He's different. He looks paler.” 

Miguel glares at the screen in concentration. Your comparison must impress him, though it doesn't solve the problem. “Alright,” he says as he copies the file from your drone. You summon it back to your heart. “The next time one of these is reported, I want you to come with me.” 

“Oh. Why?” 

“Because six people went to that dimension and only one of them flagged this. You have a sharp eye. When you deign to use them.” 

You bring your gaze up in a rush, “I– I'm just nervous–” 

“I know.” He smiles at you again, not at all the prey versus predator grin you'd imagined, but a more private smile as though you're sharing a joke. He looks at once like a normal man. Is he flirting with you? “Keep your communicator on, hm? I'll call for you.” 

“Okay.” You don't know what to do, so you offer him a smile of your own. “See you then.” 

He chuckles into himself as though he knows something you don't. “See you, nerviosa.” 

You wouldn't need to know Spanish to know he's teasing you. 

#miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara x you #miguel o’hara x y/n #miguel o’hara x fem!reader #miguel o’hara #miguel o’hara fanfiction #miguel o’hara fanfic #miguel o’hara fic #miguel o’hara drabble #miguel o’hara scenario #miguel o’hara blurb #miguel o’hara oneshot #spider-man: across the spider-verse #spider-man: across the spider-verse fanfiction #miguel ohara x reader #miguel ohara x you #miguel ohara x y/n #miguel ohara x fem!reader #miguel ohara #miguel ohara fanfiction #miguel ohara fanfic #miguel ohara fic #miguel ohara drabble #miguel ohara scenario #miguel ohara blurb #miguel ohara oneshot

[leathfaic]

Every year around Easter Ghost hides somewhere on the training grounds. If you find him you get half of his leave.

Soldiers all around go fucking feral, Ghost never takes any leave and there's rumours that start around Christmas of how long you'd be able to go home. Weeks probably aren't enough maybe a few months? Some are sure it's at least a full year.

Except of course no one ever finds him.

He's the Ghost and if he doesn't want to be found he isn't. He's just taking the piss, enjoying how the event has people riled up for weeks. He's not one for practical jokes, but this has him cackling.

Enter Soap, the FNG, the man who brings Ghost to his knees. They do their whole song and dance, and come Easter Ghost is hugging his boyfriend before preparing to hide.

Soap promising with a cocky smile that he'll find Ghost and they are going to use that leave for a nice holiday. Which Ghost smiles at, his sweet naive Soap, as if he's gonna hand him a win just because he loves him.

Imagine Ghost's shock when a few hours later he spots Johnny from his hiding spot. He's still high in a tree but the other man is walking directly in his direction and after a few moments he looks up.

Once Ghost is down the tree, still incredulous, but also very much in love, he asks Soap how he did it.

"Let my heart guide me, L.t." is the answer he gets which he calls out for the bloody nonsense it is.

Takes him all the way back to base to make him talk. And even then Johnny just hugs him, reaching around putting a hand in his back pocket (not unusual) and digging around (definitely unusual). Producing a small piece of technology.

"You fucking tracked me?!" his jaw nearly drops at the realisation.

"Aye, slipped it in this mornin' when we hugged."

"You little shit." is all that his brain will allow, mostly hung up on the cocky smile on Soap's face. The same as this morning.

He should be fuming. His proud record broken, he actually has to make good on the promise that so far has been all but hypothetical. Price will be in hysterics about the amount of paperwork that comes with it.

But he can't find it in him to care. He's mesmerized at Soap outplaying him. Drunk on the weird sense of pride that Johnny is so observant and skilled. Most of all he's blown away by the fact that he never even considered the possibility. It would be easy to blame hubris here, but that's not the reason no-one ever pulled a similar stunt.

No, Soap was able to do this because Ghost let him get close. Because he trusts him.

The Ghost that met Soap a few months ago would've panicked at this point. Soap had not only seen his weak spot, he clearly was also cunning enough to use it to his own advantage.

The Ghost that has been loved by Johnny for months now doesn't. Because he trusts him. And because he's proud. And because the rational part of his brain realises that any enemy agent would never have exposed their advantage for a game.

"If you ever do anything like this again-" he doesn't need to know where he wants to end that sentence, but Soap's interjection saves him the trouble "No worries, I like meself alive too."

He'll still have to be careful next year. After all he found a worthy opponent and he can't just make it too easy on him. Probably can not let Soap touch him before the game. Maybe not even the night before. Just to be safe. A fortnight should do it. But that also means a fortnight of not touching Soap...

But he can consider that later. For now he and Soap have a holiday to plan.

#this devolved from purely fun to feelings I'm sorry #anyways this is unrealistic as fuck but also gave me a serotonin so i thought i'd share #i just love the idea of soap outplaying ghost like that #and ghost unable to be mad because hes got a whole thing for soaps competence #because he really wants soap to be better than him one day #ghostsoap #simon ghost riley #soapghost #cod mwii #johnny soap mactavish #cod #captain john price #cod hc #sorry for the weird hc

[wandussyfantasy]

I Can See You

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x G!n Amab Reader

Summary: Wanda Maximoff and Reader are having a relationship in secret in order to appear professional around the other Avengers. But it's not as easy as they thought it would be.

Word Count: 2094

WARNINGS:

18+ ONLY, MINORS DO NOT READ & DO NOT INTERACT!!!

smut, gn!reader amab, powerbottom!wanda, oral, hand job, fingering, sneaking around, dirty talk.

𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄 𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓. 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐂𝐄𝐄𝐃 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐂𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍.

You roll your neck to fix the stiffness of it from staring at the screen in the boardroom for over an hour. Wanda watches you from the other side of the room and when you bring your hand up to massage your neck she can’t help but bite her lower lip. She loves your massages. You always make a flirty remark about her magic fingers but she thought yours held a much more satisfying magic than hers. You feel her stare and wink when your eyes meet. Wanda blushes and returns her attention to Steve giving the long briefing. 

“I wish I had Wanda bent over this table with my tongue inside of her,” you think to yourself as you look in Wanda’s direction. By the way she clenches her fist shut, you know that she read your mind. “That’s against the rules, Wanda,” you playfully scold in your mind. Wanda pretends to ignore you which only makes you want to fluster her even more. “Then again, you were never good at following rules… Naughty girl.” You test out but with the lack of authority to your tone it makes her laugh behind her hand.

“Nice one,”  she says back to you. 

Feeling a little embarrassed that the pet name didn't take. You go back to your earlier tactic. “What would you do if I were to touch you now?” She licks her lips and pretends that she didn’t hear that one.  “I could see you up against the wall with me. My fingers inside of you. What would you do if I…”  You smirk as she snaps her pen in half, making the ink fly everywhere. 

She sits up in her seat and unsuccessfully tries not to draw attention as she tries to clean the mess. The others in the meeting look in her direction and Steve is upset by the disruption and stops talking. Tony presses a button and calls in someone to clean the mess and you grab one of the tablets from the charging station and one of the pens that go with it. When the spot on the glass table is cleared, you place it in front of Wanda with the notes app already open. “This is why we have the best technology available to everyone,” Tony says. “Just please, don’t break that one.” Wanda apologizes again and the two of you focus on the meeting until Steve is done. 

Once the group is dispersed Tony comes up to you to tell you that he expects you to join him in helping him, Natasha, and Steve talk to some government officials at an event later. They needed to play nice with them in order to continue to operate with so much red tape but because of the destruction the Avengers continue to cause with their missions it’s gotten increasingly difficult. Especially after what happened in Sokovia. There are rumors that they are trying to make something that prohibits them from operating how they normally do and they want to get ahead of it. Hopefully win over some congressmen to vote in their favor. Natasha is skillful in persuasion, Steve knows how to talk to those who have served in the military and you and Tony know how to talk to people with money. You agree to come along and assure Tony that you’re going to be on your best game and behavior. He smiles and tells you when to be ready. 

You get in the shower and get dressed in a timely manner. When you come out of your room, Wanda brushes past you  in a tight red dress as she adjusts her earrings. “Sorry,” she says as she continues on without looking back at you. 

“Where are you headed?” You ask as you try to catch up with her. 

“Tony said that they need me to read minds,” she explains. “Get a sense of who we’re winning over. But I can’t be seen with any of you. Tony is afraid they will kick everyone if I’m there.” 

“Makes sense, politicians are full of career ending secrets,” you see their point. “Is that why you’re all dolled up?” 

“Yes, and I have to wear some facial disguise for extra measure,” she informs you as the two of you walk into the main area of the compound. “Looks like you have to go,” she points to Steve pacing as he checks his watch with Natasha leaning against the wall bored and Tony pouring himself a drink. “I’ll see you later, but you won’t see me,” she winks. 

“With that dress, I’ll be able to spot you in the crowd,”  you think to yourself and she blushes. “Rules, Wanda.” You playfully remind her. 

“Rules are meant to be broken,” she replies and you smile as you part ways. 

“What’s the hold up! Let’s go,” you clap your hands as you direct the team out of the building. Tony chugs the rest of his drink and returns the glass to the bar as the rest of you leave the compound. 

Once at the event, which is being held at a museum, the four of you go your separate ways to cover the most ground and talk to as many people as possible. You focus on the task and make many people laugh and hopefully help them see your point of view. Express that the Avengers work best when they aren’t tied down to the government's restrictions because the way the bad guys operate, they don’t care for restrictions. Out of the corner of your eye you spot a red dress through every conversation and you know she is watching you. After talking to a very handsy woman who has just come into another great fortune as her third rich husband has just passed, you spot the woman in the redress again, this time she is leading a man away with their hands locked together. You excuse yourself from the woman and follow the red dress. Your heart begins to race from imagining Wanda with some random man, even if it is for a cover. 

Unfortunately, you lose her in the crowd in your search. She had walked through the large hall of the main party. There are many people with their cocktails chatting away while an orchestra entertains them with live music. You go into a sensory overload as your eyes wildly scan the room for her. Trying to figure out the face they gave her for the night. Trying to not imagine another man with his hand between her legs. You adjust your tie and straighten out your suit as you calm yourself down enough to spot the man she led away with her in the crowd all alone. Your body relaxes as relief fills you. She wouldn’t do something like that behind your back. There wasn’t any reason for you to panic. You know. But you don’t like how often they require either of you to flirt with people in order to get information out of them. 

Finally, you see the familiar red dress leaving the hall across the way. You make your exit and find your way around the building until you spot her. You stop when you spot her chatting with the mayor as they admire a sculpture. You pull out your pen and rip out a piece of paper from your leather pocket book and write down an invitation for her. “Meet me tonight,” it says. You fold it up and you make your way towards the two in conversation. 

“I wouldn’t have pegged you as a fan of Clodion, Mayor Fisk” you say to the man as you stand beside him in front of the Intoxication of Wine sculpture. “Y/n Y/l/n,” you grin at the lady beside him and offer her your hand. She takes it with a shy smile as she introduces herself as Ana. 

“You found me,” Wanda’s voice enters your head and you let go of the slip of paper in your hand. 

“I told you that dress is quite unforgettable,” you remind her. You let go of her hand and start to chat more with the mayor. Now that you know what face Wanda has on tonight, you’re able to relax and focus on the task at hand. The night runs smoothly and you’re able to head home around two in the morning. You hated how long those events could run but it was part of the job. 

Once you’re back in the Avengers Compound, you hide around the corner of Wanda’s room and wait for her to return. It’s a few minutes before she finally arrives and she still has her disguise on her face. She shuffles around in her clutch for the keys to her room and once she disappears from your view, you walk towards her room and swiftly enter before she shuts the door. You lock it behind you and a slow smile grows across her face. 

“I have to give a briefing in half an hour,” she tells you. 

“I guess we’ll have to move fast and keep quiet then,” you tell her as you grab her waist and move her against the wall. You turn the disguise off and peel the layer of technology off of her face. “Hey,” you whisper. 

“Hey,” she whispers with a light giggle. 

You put the disguise in your pocket and quickly remove your jacket and toss it to the floor. Wanda pulls you closer to her by your tie. You lift her leg around your hip and roll against her so she can feel how hard you are for her. You kiss her on the lips, humming at the feel of her soft lips against yours. “I thought you didn’t like champagne,” you say as you taste the beverage on her lips. 

“I don’t but Ana does,” she says as she chases your lips. “We don’t have time for small talk,” she reminds you as she reaches down and pulls your zipper down. She pulls your hard cock out of the fly of your pants. She spits in her hand so she can stroke you and you are both turned on and amused by her eagerness. “I have been thinking about you all day. I hate how we have to keep everything professional,” she mutters as you kiss her neck. 

“One day they won’t keep a watchful eye on us,” you say against her collarbone with your fingers pumping in and out of her. When her walls start to grip your fingers tightly, you know that she is close and you pull your fingers out of her and pull her hand off of you. 

You are quick with your penetration, needing to get this done before they send someone to get her so she can give her report. You slam your hips into her roughly, the way she likes it and she is gripping your shirt as she gets closer and closer to the edge. She bites down on your neck when you thrust deeper inside of her, then she places soft kisses along the accidental teeth marks that she left. You continue to fuck her against the wall until her body spasms and twitches against you. 

You pull out of her without finishing and Wanda smiles at you as she falls to her knees in front of you and licks her juices off of your wet cock. You stroke her cheek as she kisses the base of your cock, leaving red lips on the skin. You don’t even think about the mess of red lipstick that you have all over your face and neck. Wanda licks the tip of your penis a couple of times before she takes you into her mouth. She bobs her head back and forth as she tightens her lips around your cock. 

It doesn’t take much longer until you are blowing your load into her mouth. She swallows every last drop and cleans whatever she doesn’t catch with her finger and sucks it off of her finger. You tuck yourself back into your pants and grab your jacket off of the ground. You straighten yourself out and return the disguise device back to her. 

“I might be a little late to the briefing,” you inform her. “I need to clean my face.” 

Wanda rolls her eyes, “Whatever. I’ll see you then.” 

You sneak your way back into your room, satisfied by the successful mission of getting a moment alone with Wanda. You can’t wait to have the chance again. 

The End.

#wanda x y/n #wanda x you #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda smut #wanda fanfic #smut #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff fic #wanda maximoff x gender neutral reader

[satoru-is-the-way]

SPOILERS FOR AVATAR 2!!

Avatar! Rick Quaritch x Na'vi Reader 

"Given Enough "

Series Master list

Tag list: @anyzandy   @kneelingforvillains @dioriez @mylovelyreblogs @dinobae-replyacc @the-wanderer-2022 @zootsutra @voodoogoul

Let me know if you want to be on the tag list.

Chapter 1 - The Invader

Colonel Rick Quaritch shamefully tucked his tail and flew off. His mission to kill Jake Sully failed drastically. Now it's just him flying out into the wilderness of Pandora. His body is weak and needs to rest. Rick landed on a nearby plot of floating land,' Ayram alusìng' as Na'vi called them. However, this was not the Hallelujah Mountains. Quaritch had no clue where exactly he was. He grunts, removing his Queue from the Ikran. He slides off the mountain banshee’s back boots landing on the ground beneath him. The Colonel glanced around for any natives lurking in the trees or behind the bushes around him. The cost seemed clear enough to let his guard down. Little did he know a female Na'vi had been monitoring him long before he entered her tribe's domain. 

(Y/n) (L/n), the clan leader's firstborn. Her people were known as the Kamimaljuyú. The air tribe. They lived in the Ayram alsuìng and built their home there. Humans learned very little about their kind. Due to the terrain, it served as a natural shield against the sky people. Their technology did not last beyond a few miles before rendering them completely useless. The Kamimaljuyú made minimal contact with Sky people and preferred to keep it as such.

(E/c) orbs gradually examined the Avatar before her. She caught subtle differences between her people and the lab-grown organism. Their Avatar features included:  eyebrows, a pronounced nose, a stout physique, one extra finger, and a toe. Their entire race intrigued (Y/n). How did it make sense to leave their dying world only to bring their problems here? Humans would not change their way of life. Not even to save their race. They rather force their ways on others while avoiding the real problem. She could not allow him to stay here much longer. (Y/n) feared Quaritch might bring others. The Kamimaljuyú knew about the sky people’s return but had no involvement in such a meaningless slaughter. They were after the mighty Jake Sully, not her people.

Her chest rose and fell, soaking in the air around her. With a graceful hand, she retrieved an arrow from her quiver. (Y/n) placed the string between the nock before pulling back. Her accuracy could rival any hunter in their village because she never missed. Everything around her accounted for; the distance, position, and wind speed. She let go firing her poisoned lace weapon. Suddenly a gust of wind hit the trajectory changed. Her eyes widen as the arrow lands right at the Colonel’s boots. She then felt a strong presence, Eywa. Maybe the path for this Avatar is not death. The great mother is never wrong. 

Quaritch leaped up glancing in the direction the arrow came from. “Come on out. I might go easy on you.” He growled despite not being in the physical condition to fight. (Y/n) rolled her eyes before slowly emerging from the nearby bush. Her arrow is out as a precaution. 

“You look ready to collapse at any moment now, demon.” Her ears go back hissing as a warning. “I take it you couldn't handle the Na'vi as you thought? You may have an Avatar body but your skills and technology are no match for our spirit." 

Quaritch looked over the native female. He could not deny she was beautiful. The Colonel normally had no attraction to women of their race but. Her eyes, face, lips, and hair all came together perfectly. "You-you." He stutters before collapsing. The last thing he saw is (Y/n) rushing over to his body before everything went black. 

---

Quaritch had no idea how long he was out. He woke up surrounded by thousands of Navi. He hissed looking frantically for a way you. However, he is bound and helpless. What choice did he have? Why did she not kill him? What did they want? He instantly could tell the leaders apart from the other Navi. ‘Oh, shit’ He thought realizing the pretty native woman is not just anyone. It was their daughter. How lucky could he get? It brought flashbacks of Jake Sully meeting Neytiri. Perhaps he could use this to his advantage. If Jake became one of them perhaps he could? Seduce the princess into falling in love. Oldest trick in the book. A mission he would be willing to extend if that meant killing the whole Sully family while Jake watched.

“Why have you come back to Pandora after Toruk Makto sent you flying back?”

“We come back in peace. Not all of us agree with what happened to the people all those years ago. Earth wants to make admins.” He looked down with sorrow as the lies spilled off his tongue. “I had gotten caught in a nasty fight with the water tribe. I tried to explain but they did not want to listen.” Quaritch looked up directly into (Y/n)’s eyes. 

“How can I trust the sky people? The last time ended in bloodshed for both sides.”

“I will do anything.” 

“Father…” He glanced at his daughter. Originally Cualli held great anger when (Y/n) returned from her hunt with this demon tied to her Ikran. That anger changed as (Y/n) told him Eywa gave her a sign not to kill the Avatar. “Yuum, leti' impidió ti' le flecha perforara u puksi'ik'al. In wojel ba'ax Eywa Ma'atech u equivoca.Yaan jump'éel plan ti'. In wojel jach jaaj.” (Father, she stopped the arrow from piercing his heart. I know Eywa is never wrong. She has a plan for him. I know it to be true). Quaritch listens closely not understanding this language. He knew about the Kamimaljuyú. They were one of the largest tribes on Pandora and preferred to stay isolated from the other Navi. It was mentioned in books their numbers are greater than the stars in the sky.

The people chatted amongst themselves. They had a right to be scared for the sky people. Other clans had not been so lucky with the alien invaders. Eywa had blessed them all this time. Now his daughter has brought the invader right into their home. His wife, Inez, placed a hand on the wounded Avatar's chest closing her eyes. The Navi went silent waiting for her judgment. “We have avoided war for over 30 years. We kept the sky people at a distance. Eywa has blessed us with protection. Now the great mother has given my daughter a sign. This Avatar has great spirits around him. Evil and good alike battling over his heart. Eywa now brings him here for reasons we do not know. In time she will guide us to find his path, his destiny.” Her voice traveled loud and certain of her communication with Eywa. (Y/n) sighed in relief he would not be harmed as of now. Cualli stepped up raising his staff. The crowd bowed down waiting for his final verdict. With a gesture (Y/n) walked to her father kneeling down.

“My daughter has been spoken to by Eywa. Told to spare his life for now. As we wait for his purpose my daughter will take on the responsibility of tending to his invader. He could be a threat or an ally. We have yet to learn his heart. Eywa sets everyone on two paths. It is his choice of which path to take. Rise, my daughter.” He spoke. (Y/n) rose to her feet ears back. She is left in charge of this man? “You are going to show him our ways. Teach him right and wrong. Then I will pass judgment on him. If he passes the test he will be welcomed as one of us. If not you will kill him yourself. Do you both accept?” 

Quaritch held back his smirk,” I accept.”

(Y/n) sighed deeply,”Je'el in wóotik” (I accept.)

“Then go your time starts now,” Cualli announced

“ Ma' in falles waal.” (Do not fail me, daughter.) Inez whispered already knowing this will not work and (Y/n) will once more disgrace their family. (Y/n) nods looking at Quaritch.

“Follow me.” She instructed as the villagers went back to their daily tasks. She huffed once arriving at the edge of their first village. “You will have to wear our clothes, eat our food, and learn our language.” (Y/n) growled.

“I am not going to run around in one of those thongs or whatever you call them” He adds. Without warning (Y/n) pulls her knife out cutting his shirt. “You will change for this role. You will have to make accommodations or else my father will kill you.” She looked over him. “No boots, no guns, no shirt, but your pants can be cut short enough to still allow for mobility. We are air people there is still forest on our land. So we know how to climb the trees, and swing on the vines, and you will also need to learn our language.” 

Quaritch sighed taking his cut shirt off. He kicked his muddy boots off and growled cutting his pants mid-thigh length. He did not like this one bit.  “Is that better for you Princess?”

“Don’t call me that!” She hissed tail slapping him. “You are going to fail…Eywa sees something in you and I do not know why. It’s getting late supper will be soon then I will show you where you will rest.”

“With you, I hope.” He smirks moving closer to (Y/n). She growled and turned away with a sway in her walk. The Colonel knew this is going to be fun. 

Chapter 2

#Spotify #avatar x reader #na'vi avatar #avatarmovie #avatar way of water #avatar #avatar x you #Avatar x navi #colonel quaritch x reader #colonel quaritch #Rick quaritch #jake sully #sully family

[insipid-drivel]

Southern Colloquialisms To Enrage ESL Bloggers:

I see a few posts asking international and other tumblr bloggers to supply the literal English translations to common colloquial phrases for the sake of the sheer silliness, strangeness, and outright lunacy of what happens when you take a colloquialism and take it literally (Factoid: linguists refer to this process as “Pidgin”)

But what about Southern colloquialisms from the United States that don’t even make sense in their native language? Hello! My great-great grandmother was born in a ditch outside of a mud house with mud floors in the Dust Bowl in the United States and I didn’t know I had a Southern accent until my friends in the Pacific Northwest pointed it out!

I have relatives from all along the Bible Belt, aka the “Old South” that, you know... Yeah. A few of my cousins are awesome people and we trade notes over ridiculous phrases our relatives and elders used that we never understood, but accepted on a spiritual level. Here are some I grew up with:

“Got myself a short cold.” - “I have seasonal allergies and just mowed the lawn.”

“Oh, crap and molasses!” - “I forgot something at home and we’re already almost to our destination and I don’t want to swear in front of polite company and small children.”

“Eating high on the hog tonight!” - “We’re not eating scrap cuts and offal for dinner because steaks were 2-for-1 today.”

“Hoecake” - A form of pancake or “Johnny Cake” made from corn meal instead of flour. They’re delicious.

“Catawampus” or “Cattywampus” - “I’m gonna have to wash that off the ceiling but at least it worked. It’s messy.” 

 “Piddling” and “Piddly” - Any worthless or time-wasting endeavor or result that helps no one. “This paycheck is plum piddly, hoss. Quit piddlin’ ‘round and gimme that re-GI-nal manager’s job y’all know I’m qualified for.”

“Hoss” - “Boss” that you also think could probably beat the crap out of you behind an alley for catching you cheating at pool.

“That boy’s bigger’n a brick shithouse.” - “Your physique and muscular stature is intimidating to the degree that I am complimenting you by comparing you to a solid structure everyone would regret trying to knock down.” 

“Crazier’n a shithouse rat.” - “Dude, please talk to a psychiatrist.”

“Doohickey” - Any object or concept you can’t remember the name of but need urgently. Often accompanied by aggressive hand waving in the approximate direction of said object without actually looking at it.

“Y’all better hush up back there!” - Your grandmother’s polite way of warning you she’s going to take a flyswatter to your ass if you don’t shut the fuck up in Church.

“Y’all’d’ve” - A real contraction I can’t even stop myself from using meaning “You all should/would have” and am leaving here just for the English majors out there. 

“Dude” - A completely urbanized individual who has no idea how to live or function in a rural or wild setting without technology and utilities and can’t ride a horse or milk a cow.

“Proudboy” - Oh yes, it was already a thing. In Southern slang, a “Proudboy” is a neutered male horse that still acts like he’s a badass stallion the mares will want to mate with. “Poor proudboy ain’t noticed yet, bless his heart.” 

“Bless his/hers/your heart.” -  “Because the Good Lord sure didn’t bless your head.” It’s also used as a heartfelt form of “Thank you” when someone goes out of their way to offer you a kind and thoughtful gesture. Context is important.

“Don’t let the door hit ya where the Good Lord split ya.” - “You are no longer welcome in this space and if you don’t leave now I’m literally going to slam the door on your ass.” 

“Living in high cotton” - “I have achieved fiscal success and am using a colloquial term to refer to it without considering the fact that the term originated out of slave plantations.”

“If the creek don’t rise.” - Basically “Knock on wood.” A term meaning, “I’ve prepared for everything but what I can’t prepare for or anticipate and will achieve my goal so long as it is within my power to do it.” Bonus points if you pronounce “creek” as “crick”.

 “Fixin’ to” - Another polite way of indicating you’re about to aggressively undertake a task. “I’m fixin’ to whip ya ass, son.” This is not to be confused with “Fixin’s” singular, which refers to the ingredients or catalysts required to cook or complete something that requires assembly.

“Doesn’t amount to a hill of beans.” - A hill of beans is a Southern unit of measurement for anything that remains worthless regardless of how much of it you have, much like NFTs. “Your anti-TERF ‘sources’ don’t amount to a hill of beans, proudboy.”

“(Way) Over yonder” - “It’s over there, and the number of times I repeat the word ‘way’ prior to ‘over’ is indicative of how much yonder is between you and there. Sorry, what’s a yonder? You just asked me to show you! It’s way, way over there! Bless your heart...”

“Madder than a wet hen.” - “Oops, you have reached ‘yikes’ level of pissed off. Better skedaddle!”

“Skedaddle” - “RUN AWAY FAST NOW AAAAAAAAAAAAAA”

“It’s blowin’ up a storm.” - The sensory indicators of an oncoming heavy storm or hurricane that presents with the smell of ozone, high humidity, and an abrupt drop in temperature. Yes, it’s a thing; I can also smell when a storm’s gathering and it is a distinct set of very subtle odors.

“Pretty as a peach.” - “That individual whose pronouns are irrelevant but is most commonly a woman or proud of rocking a femme aesthetic is exceptionally beautiful and I admire them.” 

“Busy as a cat on a hot tin roof.” - “We’re overburdened and understaffed to the point that I am numb to all forms of communication that don’t involve someone being on fire.”

“Aren’t you precious.” - Not a question unless it begins with “Well,”. Depending on tone, it either is a high compliment toward someone’s appearance or behavior being exceptional, or as a sarcastic response to when someone says something insulting to you. “Awww, you’re so sweet, baby sister!” vs. “That insult was just adorable.” 

“Yes Sir/Ma’am/Mx” - Also applies to “No”. Answering a question with “Sir”, “Ma’am”, or “Mx” to someone that is your age or older is just considered universally respectful in polite conversation. If a Southern person suddenly stops answering your questions with your preferred pronouns or never does at all, it probably means they have 0 respect for you. When the small niceties disappear, you’ve fucked up.

“Frunchard” - “Front yard”, the opposite of the back yard. 

“Quit being ugly.” - “Stop being an asshole.”

“He thinks the sun comes up just to hear him crow.” - “You’re so stupidly full of yourself you’d probably honestly believe the sun rises and sets just for you.”

“That dog won’t hunt.” - “I know you believe it’s a good idea, but uh... it’s not.” Also used in place of replying to a person’s excuse you know is 100% bullshit.

“Well, I declare...” - “I am about to obliquely reveal broad adjectives reflective of my emotional state or opinion about this state of affairs and you should probably prepare yourself for more nonsensical colloquialisms.”

“My eyeballs are floating.” - “I need to pee so badly it isn’t going to be an option very, very soon.”

“Can’t never could.” - “Can’t never could do nothing!” That’s... that’s literally it. I can’t elaborate any more than saying it’s a term indicating you’re feeling optimistic. 

“Give him two nickels for a dime and he’ll think he’s rich.” - “This person’s stupidity is physically painful to experience.”

“That makes me wanna slap my mama!” - “I am so impressed/pleased with that experience that we’ve circled around to domestic violence somehow.” 

“You could start an argument in an empty house.” - “Go to anger management classes.”

“Ain’t got the good sense God gave a rock.” - “I cannot fathom this level of lack of common sense and forethought and require divine intervention immediately.”

“Slicker than pig snot on a radiator.” -  “That person is the Webster’s definition of a scumbag.”

“About as useless as a screen door on a submarine.” - I think that one is pretty self-explanatory.

“There’s not a pot too crooked that a lid won’t fix.” - “There’s someone out there for everyone. Don’t give up on finding love and companionship just because you’re different.”

#southern slang

[partywithoutsmiling]

Some musing on the Wanderer!Branch AU

(Okay, bit of a chaotic lore dump incoming, as this is probably the first time I am putting it to words)

Okay, important info first:

I headcanon it that Branch- and thus the other Brozone bros- are half-pop half-rock in their herritage; this headcanon is an old one, ever since World Tour dropped, and honestly only supported by the fact that Total Eclipse of the Heart that Branch sung as trolling is considered a Pop Rock song XD But hey, one doesnt need to have many reasons to make headcanons pff

(I have some tentative lore about his parents- and his grandparents- too, and how that would effect Branch and his Bros growing up, but I will leave that for a separated post)

But anyway, with Branch's Pop side being moderated by his Rock side, he would have always felt a bit out of place among his tribe, even he grew up perfectly happy with no tragedy in his life (I know switching Branch's and Poppy's place when it comes to being grey is all the rage right now, but I still feel most are missing all the necessary nuance to really make it work, but lets not get into that pf)

Obviously, that feeling of not fitting it only got hundred fold worse since his PTSD and him being grey, as Pop Trolls doesn't seem to be known for mental health support. Branch eventually leaving is not him going 'Screw you all, I will find someone who appreciates me' (much like Clay did) but more of a 'I am sorry, I won't get in your way anymore, I wont be a burden'

Basically massive amount of self-loathing and severe lack of self-worth. When Branch had his final breakdown and decided to leave, I don't think it would be with the precise goal of finding anyone (yes, part of him hopes he would be able to find his brothers and at least find closure one way or another, no matter how much it terrifies him).

Honestly, Branch probably didn't dare to examine his decision to leave any closely than he needed to, lest it would stand out to him for what it really was- a suicide trip.

This was Branch that doesnt know anything about the wide, outside world; he knows Bergen Town, knows of the old Troll Tree, and now knows the Forest and their Troll Village. But everything else is uncharted territory for him. He knows of the Neverglades, because of a faint memory of John Dory constantly talking about them when he was a baby, but has only a vague sense which way they are (I headcanon they make up for the border of Pop and Rock territories)

His preparation for the trip was abysmal, and so was his plan in general. He just picked a direction- opposite of Bergen Town, away from them- and started walking. When he first encountered the towering high peaks of Classical Territory, he immediatelly recognized that they can't be the Neverglades- very much not fitting the description that he remembered, so he walked past/around them, smack dab into Country territory.

Compared to others, I don't think the Country Trolls would have been very welcoming to him at the beginning; used to hard life, inhospitable land and abundant death, Branch would be an unexpected disturbance; obviously not a Classical Troll, who borders with them the closest but never comes down from the skies, obviously not a Funk Troll, who with their technological advance might as well be myths at this point- and obviously not a Pop Troll, since he doesnt shower them with obnoxious music and doesnt even look the part.

Had he been at his 100%, they would have probably been quite content to send him packing, figuring he was just a Rock Troll going solo career (little insert headcanon: Rock Troll Rite of Passage is going on a Rock Tour, and sometimes the more adventurous Rock Trolls strays into other territories to bother and cause mayhem other trolls. Barb's Rock Tour was her Rite of Passage, and being a freshly fanged Queen, she took it to another level)

But Branch quite helpfully collapsed on their doorstep, half starving and dehydrated, and they weren't so callous as to leave him there for the elements to take care of him.

Naturally, their help hardly came for free, and even if they didn't ask, Branch would have already feel indebted to them for wasting resources on his wellbeing. A Survivalist himself, he easily spotted the tight budget they were running, and felt guilty for being a burden yet again.

To his surprise, when the country trolls found out he was a hard worker, a skilled architect and wiz engineer, they completely turned their wariness around.

It was the start of his 'finding himself' journey, but for the first time, Branch started to feel... appreciated. Yes, these trolls didn't know him- but they looked at him, looked at what he can do, and called him accomplished; they were praising his skills, and called him valuable.

(But some sense of danger remained with him; as far as he believed, 'Branch' was left behind to rot away in his bunker. So when introducing himself, and habit got better of him, he started with "Bra-" but caught himself and finished "-mble"; and that new name, 'Bramble', stuck XD Still a plant name, still close enough that he can learn to repond to it- and honestly, feels like fits him better right now, as he feel all out of sorts)

It was only the first step, maybe, but it was a step toward feeling that he had some worth.

I think, out of all the Tribes, he stays with the Country trolls for the longest; yes, the life there is hard, but that is perhaps why he feels most welcomed there. There are no useless nonsense parties, no senseless dancing- the times when they can finaly wipe their brow and relax is when the community gathers together and they just... talk. Sit around, share food, look at the stars and reminiscence.

It's all very subdued, and even though Branch is the most obvious outsider ever, he feels like one with the community, and that by itself is already healing a deep wound he didnt know he had.

When the country trolls finally start singing on their good day, Branch is rather taken aback (He forgot, that Trolls are Trolls, and Trolls sing)- but the sombre and slow melody and topic of the country speaks to him, and while he doesnt join- and they dont push him to join- he listens, and he appreicates.

It is with Country Trolls that he heals most of his trauma when it comes to music. His Grandma and his Brothers leaving him are still a big guilt that weights him down- and something he wont address for a long time- but Country trolls shows him that music can be wildly different. He still doesnt sing, but when offered to be taught to play a banjo (XD), he probably doesnt refuse- mainly out of fear of insult, but also because for the first time in his life, he wants to actually try.

As time passes, his more curious side comes out- he asks questions, wants to know everything- up to this point, he didn't even know that the Country trolls were country- and to them it was obvious what they were, so why would they need to introduce themselves?

That line of questioning leads to the explanation of the other Tribes existing, and that each Tribes' music is different.

And for the first time in his life, Branch felt something alien to him- burning Wanderlust. (Bit of his Rock herritage showing, eh? Solo Rock tour, Rite of Passage~?) The thirst for knowledge was always there- after all, his bunker had many journals filled to brim with information about what he discovered in the foods, helpful tips for survival and many plans for inventions- but those were always done out of necessity, discovered and noted down so that he could live another say. Never before he had a desire to discover simply for the sake of discovering.

Never before he also actually felt like he had the option to do so; the world has always been an inhospitable wilderness to him, only filled with a small handful of trolls and a town full of monstrous giants. His childhood was filled with memory of a large iron cage, and that trapped feeling didn't change; after all, his Bunker, for all that it offered him safety, was a different type of cage too. The whole Troll Village- Pop Village, as he learned now- was another cage as well. Gilded one, made of ignorance.

And so he knew his time with the country trolls came to an end- and it was because he grew to respect them and appreciate them, that he doesnt disappear in the nigh and haltingly tells them his decision to leave and explore.

Memories of his Brothers' argument echo through his mind as he waits for the inevitable blow up, but.... he is once again surprised when the trolls just accepts this decision and wish him all the best- going as far as to help him pack- properly this time- and wheedling out of him a promise to check in once in a while, whenever he is in the neighbourhood.

Equipped with a non outdated map, he decides to make visit all the other territories one by one, starting from Country and heading right towards Classical, going around in one large circle around Pop Territory- Going to Techno after Classical, and to Rock right after that. Funk is largely a mystery to him- the Country trolls are at this point content to believe they are just a myth- much the same way a unicorn is to us- but Branch wants to keep an open mind.

After all, he himself had no idea other kind of trolls existed, so why dismiss the Funk Troll existence right away?

His travels to Symphonyville proved to be as challenging as was the start of his trip towards Country territory. Being high in the mountains- higher than anywhere Branch ever went- really showed him that walking is easy only when the road is straight and flat.

The air growing colder and thinning, he probably doesn't make the best first impression neither- especially in his dishevelled state, he is once more mistaken for a Rock Troll, and it takes a gargantuan amount of effort to convince anyone that he is simply there to learn music, and not cause any trouble.

Out of all the Tribes, he would stay with the Classical trolls the shortest. They are strict teachers, and their culture is very frigid and traditional- and Branch knows that he would have to wildly change himself to fit among them. Yet looking around, seeing the tall spires of the buildings around him, he finds he doesn't really want to. The grandiose of everything is rather intimidating- but even if he tried his best, he would never fit well among the classical trolls, always limited by something (like his ability to fly)

And realizes that was okay. That was acceptable. And that the classical trolls knew he wasn't a good fit now, and would hardly ever be a good fit ever- but they never expected him to become someone he is not. He asked them to teach him and so teach him they will- but you cant force a white sheep to grow black wool anymore that you can force a black sheep grow white.

The moment they realize Branch is there to learn and not wreck their peace like wandering Rock Trolls tend to do, they definitelly warm up to him more- but it still with the mildest of disapprovals since compared to them, Branch looks like a scrunkly kitten and all of them are just itching to groom him properly XD

Branch himself is amazed at the variety of musical instruments that exists and very quickly finds that he is not a progidy in plaing them all pff. Wind musical instruments are most likely completely beyond him, and after some attempts gives them up for a lost cause. Percussion fairs a bit better; he definitelly has some idea how to keep a beat and a rhythm, but even there he finds playing piano the most comfortable out of them all, with drums being a close second.

It is with string instruments that he trully shines, especially those that he can play with his own hands, without the need to use a pick or a bow; a tentative hint at his connection to music, the vibrations just send shivers down his spine and makes him feel more close to the sound his playing produces. (Guitar and Harp becoming his favourite instruments from the get go).

Getting to Techno was trickier. Them living underwater makes access to their territory rather impossible- unless Branch happens to meet someone willing to cross then bridge between Land and Sea XD

It makes for a rather convenient introduction for minor genres; the land bordering Classical and Rock seems to be as the perfect land for various minor tribes to cohabit in peace.

Are there Techno Opera trolls? Siren like beings, that found their homes on the deck of boats, sailing from and to an island after island? Techno Classical that built their living on the coast line, wanting to be close to both land and sea?

In any case, Branch discovers that even with music it's not so simple as shelving it into labels, and that it is ever growing, ever evolving. He never manages to actually visit Techno Reef, but he doesnt' need to; compared to other trolls, the Techno Trolls are not insular, and quite happily come to the surface or to the coast, both to vibe with the offshoots of their genre, to discover what they came up with, but also to simply make friends and have fun.

It was the first time Branch encountered a large party not unsimilar to that of a Pop Troll one- and yet for all that the party was just as loud and wild as he was used to seeing, the sight of it didnt really fill him with uncontrollable panic. It definitelly helped it was once again more about the music and the beat itself, and about the mood of the partygoers than it was about the singing; it was about experimentation and trying out new things- and yet not every troll was dancing around like maniacs. They had the stage for sure, and large crowd was gathering there- but there were also the fringe areas and corners, where Trolls just sat and chatted and bopped to the beat. Not forced to do anything they didn't want to, simply allowed to have fun in their own way.

He doesnt really interacts with the Techno Trolls that much, beyond when there is a party happening on the surface. Gravitates more towards exploring the Minor Territory, and discovering that it holds more than just Techno Classical/Opera. Not wanting to stray too close to the border with Pop, he nevertheless encounters encounters various offshoots of Pop as well- and the K-Pop gang as well

This definitelly allows him to learnt that even the Trolls Kingdom are not free of corruption and the bounty hunters are not starving for contracts- crime does happen in the troll kingdoms, and when the local police force comes short, the bounty hunters are the next best thing to employ.

Speaking with the K-Pop gang, he learns- with a bit of unease- that there was an old contract unfulfilled, that searched for all the Brozone Brothers, and thanked his lucky stars he can in no way be connected to them. It was considered a cold one, where there was no hope among the communities of it ever being cashed in- but the knowledge someone was looking for them- specifically for the younger of the brothers (Him, Floyd and Clay) made him wonder who could it be.

(Part of him entertained that it could be John Dory)

(Other part dismissed it right away. After all, JD did specifically state 'Goodbye Forever'- why would he make the effort to employ bounty hunters to find three of his brothers, if he was even alive to do so?)

That meetings seems to set of a string of bad luck- at least, that's how he feels. Continuing down to Rock territory- of which he is most wary (after all, he was constantly being confused for one, and expected to cause mayhem and destruction- so what kind of Trolls Rock Trolls were to earn that reputation?

A very specific kind- wild and chaotic.

Compared to other Territories, no-one blinks when he just walks in and continues deeper into the Kingdom; and he can finally see why he was mistaken for a Rock Troll. Muted colours, sharp smiles and even sharper claws, it was like walking into uncanny valley, where nearly every troll wears his face. At that point, unknown to him, his colours are not completely grey and black, so he is sporting some faint hues, and very quickly learns that thanks to the direction he came from, Rock Trolls think he is from an Offshoot genre; either Punk Rock or Pop Rock (though they obviously hope for the former) They reconsider him to Folk Rock when he brings out softer tunes that he plays on a borrowed guitar; and for the first time in a while, Branch is asked to sing.

He panics, obviously- playing musical instrument is one thing, but getting over his trauma from singing is another- and quite swiftly and bluntly refuses, cringing after to wait for the inevitable "You are a Troll, why don't you sing?"

Only... it never comes. There are shrugs, and one "Cool." and then he just gets invited to an Indie Rock show, and that is that.

Completely baffled at this easy acceptance, Branch agrees out of shock, before he can trully think it through- and realizes it's the first time since he left Pop Village (at this point probably nearly two years ago) that he thinks back on its inhabitants and namely Poppy.

He feels rather guilty, for taking this long to really give them a concrete thought. Like yes, he did think of them at the beginning, when he lived with the Country trolls- but that was only in general way, comparing the different livestyles. He never really chose to think about the people he left behind.

Now, no longer blinded with grief, self-loathing and rampart paranoia, he does remember that not all adults in his life went out of their way to activelly fail him. King Peppy, for all that he was unequipped to deal with Branch's issues, tried to check up on him regularly; his Grandmother's friends or those who knew her, made it their goal to be kind, even if Branch tried to avoid them out of reminder what he caused

Hype, Trickie, Boom and Ablaze were old friends- his childhood friends- the ones he made after his brothers left, and the ones he pushed away after he went grey- and yet they still managed to be around, noticing them from a distance, even as he stopped speaking to them.

And then there was, of course, Poppy.

Just starting to mature when he left, it's not quite a crush that he feels for her (not yet anyway), but there is still some sort of appreciation for her- some part of him, that subconsciously aches at the need to be close to her, and feeling just that bit of her warmth and positivity- one that made him wistfully keep all her invitations and listen to the sound of her recorded voice.

For the first time, he wonders how they reacted to his disappearence. Wonders if they miss him- or if they curse him. If they do both- like he felt conflicted towards his brothers, the older he got and the more obvious it became that they are not coming back.

It was that thought- the comparison to his brothers- that pushed him to hesitantly think about returning back to Pop Village; to his bunker, to his old life- to Poppy.

It was a tentative thought really; truthfully, the desire was a half hearted spur of the moment, and not something he would drop everything for. He didn't miss his old life; where he was the village hermit, the outcast, the weird one. Besides, he just arrived in Rock, and he still had a whole adventure ahead of him, trying to find the Funk trolls.

And so, When in Rome, do as the Romans do- and so Branch steeled himself to attend a party, one that he was specifically invited to; after all, he had been at parties before now, within the reach of Techno Reef, it's not like this one is any different

Only it kind of felt like it- yes, the music was harsher, the beat went harder- but the harmonizing of voices reminded him so close of his own tribe that it just left him feeling jittery- and at first, yes, the party made him tense and hardly participate, but as it went on, song after song, he could feel himself slowly relax.

(Besides, there was something about rock music, that send warmth straight to the core of his being; something about it resonated with him more than any other music did, besides Pop- and where before he fought hard to not allow it to do that, perhaps, just this time, he could try the opposite)

(After all, they were underground, where Branch always felt the safest, and the Bergens had no idea other tribes even existed- he could indulge a little)

Of course, fate has a funny way of entertaining itself, and in the second of his indecisiveness, he gets bumped into and trips and falls- or he would, if pair of hands didn't steady him, and familiar voice asked him if he was okay

And Branch suddenly felt altogether three years old, getting fed empty promise and watching his older brother disappear through the entry to his Grandma's pod

And he is now in present, left staring at nearly 15 years older Floyd, his brother clearly living the best life, happily away from Pop Territory (away from Branch)

His name drops from his lips before Branch can stop himself, and that has Floy pause and squint at him- obviously not recognizing him, obviously trying to place him- before something clicks and his eyes widen and he goes pale

Branch most likely punches him- and then finds he cant stop heaving in fury and goes punch him again, not allowing Floyd a word in (honestly, he is not punching very hard, not apart from that first one)

Of course, Floyd is hardly alone, probably in a band, and his band mates are not keen on having their member be attacked by a random troll

Brawl very easily breaks out- honestly nothing new among the Rock Trolls- and ends up with all of them, especially Branch, thrown in a cell for their troubles, much to the protest of Floyd's bandmates, who curses and claims innocence

For the first time in forever, Branch feels hollowed out; yes, he had been hoping for a closure- but honestly, he had expected to find all of his brothers dead; not finding any of them living happily away, their youngest brother not even a blip of concern in their mind.

He certainly never expected it from Floyd, who essentially lived a stone throw away; who clearly was able to cross the distance it took from Bergen town to arrive in Rock troll's territory, just shy away from the Pop one.

------------------------------------------------------------ This is where I will stop the musing for now XD;

Obviously there are more things to add; Barb would make appearance, not yet as a Queen but definitelly in charge of keeping any Rock Trolls in line (she is not called a Princess because the Rock Trolls don't use that title for their heirs) and while Floyd is aware she is the future Queen, that information doesnt get shared)

The discovery of Funk Trolls still awaits as well, as does Branch's return to Lonesome Flats, as he had promised to do

But that's for the next time :)

#trolls #dreamworks trolls #trolls fandom #trolls branch #wanderer!branch au #Lore #lore dump

[randoimago]

Day 11 - Soulmates

Fandom: Nier: Automata

Character(s): 9S

Type of Request: 31 Days of Oc-trope-r

Note(s): I love 9S so much and I hope I did a good job with writing this!!

9S knows that androids have fallen in love with each other. He's seen it on the ship and in the Resistance camp. But he doesn't know if he believes in the idea of a soulmate, someone destined to be with you from the beginning. Humans had them, but humans also had souls. Can a machine really have a soul? He doesn't know.

Yet anytime he goes to the Resistance camp, anytime he locks eyes with yours, it feels like a shared connection. Like his mind and body want to force him closer to you. They want to make him reach out and touch you (something that is very concerning, and he would never want to actually randomly grab someone)

But he's never had a reason to talk to you. he's never had a reason to walk away from 2B to approach you. But his eyes would wander in your direction and more often than not, your eyes meet his. As if you might feel this bizarre connection too.

He gets irritated, acts a bit short with 2B at times. And it's not her fault. She's following her directives; she's doing as the mission commands, and he wants to go to you instead.

So, he does something that logically makes no sense to do. He hacks and destroys the piece of technology you're working on. You don't get hurt, but he sees you jump and feels so much guilt that he is the one that caused that small scare.

The next time they go to the Resistance camp, he's thrilled that you call out. That you ask 2B for help getting specific parts to fix your tech. 9S offers to stay behind. He'll see if he can provide any assistance with his hacking background.

2B hesitates with the idea for a moment, he knows why she does, she might need to kill him after all. But she leaves him alone with you. And that pull, that odd craving-like feeling he has, grows stronger. Is it because you two are so close? He doesn't know, but he hopes it doesn't jeopardize anything with you.

9S looks over the tech, he knows he messed it up bad, but he wants to see what repairs you might've made or hear what you tried doing instead. He reaches for a wire the same time you do and you both touch.

And that pull he felt, that craving? It's gone and now he feels relief. So much relief and happiness like everything is complete and he's running diagnostics because this is so much artificial emotion that he is suddenly feeling from just brushing his manufactured skin against yours.

But you feel it too. He heard your "breath" hitch, he sees you place a hand to your chest, as if you're checking your own systems. And then you hesitate and hold his hand in yours and he feels happy. Not an overwhelming amount when he initially touched you, but happy that you weren't afraid of the initial touch and now you're initiating your own.

There's a shared laugh between you two and he wants to talk about what just happened, but he's interrupted with a message from 2B. 9S gives you an apologetic smile as he responds to her and is a bit upset that she's on her way back.

He continues looking over the tech with you, no longer shying when your hands brush against each other. It's just hand touches, sometimes your arms brush together due to your closeness. And he likes it so much.

2B comes back with the parts you need, and she noticeably sees how much happier 9S is. How he isn't as snappy he had been with her. Although there's some sadness in his eyes that he has to leave your side. 2B says that they still have a mission to complete, but they will come back to see how your technology is doing. That cheers up 9S and you. And before her and 9S can leave, you pull him into a hug.

9S stiffens at first but hugs you back. It's like a breath of fresh air as he feels you so close to him. 2B lightly clears her throat and he pulls away, bashfully. He didn't know if he believed in soulmates beforehand, but he knows that he has found his.

#randoimago 31 days of october #9s x reader #nier automata x reader

[clowningaroundmars]

morales twins vigilantes: getting found out pt 1

hey yall im in my fic writing era. but i am BAD at writing LMFAO i'm really not sure i'll ever write a proper fic with a plot or anything

either way, i hope yall like this lil drabble my brain came up with on a whim of the morales twins!

it's how i imagine the way their secret would be revealed after doing the whole vigilante thing together for a lil bit. it's kind of based on the hcs i had of the twins which is here, kind of a continuation of the last bullet point there actually

miles1610 is miles and miles42 is milo bc i read a couple fics with that name given to him and now it is stuck in my heart u_u

>2nd part here<

well. uh. hope u enjoy! :)

It was a fight that went slightly awry that really did them in.

No blood, no fireworks, no loud banging or explosions or anything. No one was even so badly hurt that they almost died, either.

It was simply just… a broken mask and their father unexpectedly being on patrol that fateful night that finally brought their secret out to light.

The Morales twins had been doing their vigilante thing together for only a few months now. Miles had been Spider-man for well over a year, of course, but it was after a particularly bad fight with a rhinoceros guy (what a freak…) that went semi-viral on social media that his brother Milo finally put his foot down and pulled those Prowler gloves from under his bed. He worked hard to modify the technology to better suit him, and had all of the armor and rope he needed in order to keep up with his brother all set in as little as 2 weeks.

Miles hemmed and hawed about bringing his not-super-powered brother around for the nasty fights he usually tackled alone. But he would be lying if he said that Milo’s concern didn’t put a small smile on his face in the end. Plus, it really helped out a lot when Miles needed to be somewhere quickly but still had a criminal left to take on and web up. Milo being just one text away from springing into action took a real big load off of his shoulders in ways he couldn’t even imagine.

That was about 3 months ago.

It was relatively smooth sailing until one Jefferson Davis took a night patrol under his belt without even warning the boys.

Well, Miles thought to himself in retrospect, we weren’t really around the house to catch if he did tell anyone, so.

Miles ran along a side of a building to catch up with the villain of the week. He was desperately trying to keep this super-powered baddie off of his not-so-super-powered brother, and not quite succeeding. Miles told Milo time and again not to tease any bad guys during a fight. Keep the attention off of you, bro. You do not have superpowers. I do! Is that not what Miles said? God, it’s like in one ear and out the other with this guy. Ugh.

Currently, Milo is parrying and deflecting attacks from this shocker-looking guy, a real piece of work. He still had his hi-vis vest on-- and Miles swore he even saw a name tag on it somewhere which was just hilarious, really-- but aside from his normal-looking work outfit, everything else about this dude was definitely not normal. Like the bright electricity fizzing all over his skull that just barely concealed this man’s real face, and the giant lightning bolts shooting out from his hands as he tried to fry Milo. It was a good thing Milo had enough sense to install energy-absorbing tech into those giant claws of his, or else Miles would be in real big trouble at the ER.

Miles ripped a chunk of some abandoned demolition project that never got done and swung it with all of his might in the direction of their fight, using his webs for maximum distance. It didn’t hit electro-dude but it almost hit his brother. Oops.

“Ayo, watch it!” Prowler growled, his mask distorting his voice the same way it distorted Uncle Aaron’s back when he held the mantle. He gracefully flipped out of the way and shot a grappling hook somewhere off into some scaffolding, pulling himself away from the action to let his bro fly in and give the temporarily-distracted electric-man some work.

Miles would snap back with a retort if he weren’t so busy pummeling this villain with all that he’s got. Both boys’ curfews were about an hour ago and they just knew their mom would be fuming once she got back and found out. But this needed taking care of, and neither Morales boys were willing to leave some freak of nature to take over Brooklyn and shut down all the power lines over a bedtime. Hell no.

But this needed to end now, or else good ol’ Spidey won’t be seeing the light of day for another 2 months. And by the looks of it, neither will the Prowler. Before Miles could even think to land the finishing blow on old lightning-head here though, tragedy struck.

An all-too familiar voice hollers out those dreaded words both boys hate hearing, especially in the middle of a fight.

“PDNY! Freeze! Put your hands up where we can see ‘em!”

Everyone did freeze, Milo looking particularly shocked as his head swivels around to the sight of waving flashlights and 3 burly but familiar silhouettes making their way past the far gates and advancing quickly into the fray.

Jefferson Davis’ gun appears to almost materialize out of the shadows, his face lit up in the harsh lights of his flashlight beam, sporting an intimidating, professional look. Cop mode, is what Miles and Milo called it jokingly one day as they lounged in their room, passing a bag of chips between them and having a laugh at their dad’s expense. That was before Milo took on the mantle of the Prowler. That was before this.

Miles panics slightly as he feels the man jump up underneath him, thrusting an arm into the police’s direction, ready to fire off a bolt--

Right after Milo lunges in front of the officers, ready to take the blast.

It happens in a fraction of a second. Miles didn’t even think he had enough time to open his mouth, let alone warn Jeff of the incoming danger. He figures that’s what Milo must’ve thought, too, otherwise there really was no other explanation for this stupid decision he just made.

Sparks flew, and then the thud of a body hitting the floor seemed to echo throughout the demolition site.

Shit shit shit shit shitshitshitshitshit, was Miles’ inner monologue as he finally landed the blow to the side of the baddie’s head, knocking him out successfully. He quickly webbed the man up to the floor, restraining him fully. The way I shoulda done in the first place, damnit, Miles lamented, freezing in place after the deed was done. His brain was working into overdrive to try and think of ways he could extract his now-nearly unconscious brother from this place without raising their dad’s suspicions.

Ever since Prowler joined in on Spider-man’s “adventures”, the media became even more fascinated with capturing every single moment it could of Spidey now that he had a sidekick in tow.

Headlines splashed on magazines, articles and news feeds read: “Batman and Robin! Spider-man and… the Prowler?” and “Webbed Menace Recruits Purple Sidekick, Even More of a Menace”. They haunted Miles’ every step. Milo, for his part, was mostly amused. But every now and then he would complain about being known as his brother’s sidekick, as if that was the most egregious part of having his every move recorded and uploaded for millions to see online.

Their mother became even more suspicious of her twin sons after she watched a video of the two vigilantes stopping a runaway bus in downtown Brooklyn. They looked eerily similar in size to her own teenage boys, and even seemed to banter the same way after all of the civilians were saved and back on solid ground. The way Spider-man clapped Prowler on the shoulder… hmmm.

To say that she shared her suspicions with her husband would be an understatement. Milo and Miles somehow always managed to catch a familiar cop car slowly rolling around corners and down streets, keeping pace just behind them, watching them. Miles would always roll his eyes, knowing it was their father. Milo would be annoyed but managed to shrug and keep minding his own business, since it was very obviously their father. When confronted, Jeff would try-- and fail-- to casually brush it off as simply doing Concerned Dad things.

“Listen, you two.” Jeff started one evening after dinner. He managed to get both boys down in their room one weekend, just for “a quick talk”. His excuse was that Brooklyn was getting too dangerous lately, especially at night, and that he was “gonna keep an eye on them” as a precaution.

But neither boy missed that slight nervous shift in his stance as he delivered the news, and once their dad bade them a good night and left, they gave each other a silent look that conveyed the exact same thought they were both thinking.

They’re onto us.

Well, their parents’ fears and suspicions were definitely going to be confirmed whether the twins liked it or not.

Milo groaned on the ground, the Prowler gauntlets having taken the majority of the blast sent his way, but the mask was halfway blown off, revealing a good portion of the boy’s face underneath. He rocked in place for a moment, blinking stars and dancing lights out of his eyes for just that one moment.

“Prowler!!” Miles shouted. In his panic, he forgot to lower his voice and conceal his identity, but his feet just wouldn’t move! What the hell, Morales… get it together! His brother was just badly injured and here he was, frozen in place like a deer.

Jeff, for his part, was barking orders to his coworkers and directing them to make a sweep of the place in case any other suspects tried to make a run for it.

They both left. He finally jolted his bright beam of light onto Spider-man, simply standing there a little ways away and staring back with those unnervingly gigantic bug-eyes of his. If Jeff wasn’t in work-mode right now, he’d explode on this guy and ask about what the hell was going on here, but Officer Davis was nothing if not a consummate professional.

Plus, there were more pressing matters to attend to.

There was what seemed like a teenage boy on the ground, wearing those goddamned gauntlets that Jeff could’ve sworn he shipped off to the junkyard after Aaron’s funeral. Damnit, if this punk was running around wearing his brother’s mantle and tagging along with Spider-man just to double-cross him in the end, there was gonna be hell to pay.

Jeff didn’t know why, but he felt slightly protective of the bug-themed hero, damnit. Sue him. And those claws brought nothing but terrible memories of screaming women, dead brothers and heightened stress. He did not need this right now, fuck.

Once the boy on the ground stirred, Jeff quickly pointed his gun and flashlight beam directly onto him. “Those orders were for you, too, punk. Do not try me tonight. Freeze. Put your hands out where I can see ‘em!”

Milo froze on the ground, and then tried to twist his face away from his looming father who was only a foot or two away with the world’s brightest flashlight in his face, fuuuuck. He just knew he was gonna be feeling this headache for the next 3 days…

Tentatively, he also raised his claws in front of his face as slowly as he could, trying to cover his face even more. He propped himself up on his elbows and tried to regulate his breathing.

Having a cop for a dad was not always peachy, but it helped a lot to know exactly how an officer would react if any sudden movements were made while having a gun out, and Milo was not trying to get a bullet to the chest on top of the mother of all electric shocks as well. No thank you.

It was in this moment that Miles’ brain started working again, and he unstuck himself from the pavement to reach out to his dad.

“Offi-- ahem, ahem. Officer Davis,” he remembered to lower his tone and conceal his voice a bit as well, and continued, “what a surprise to see you here. On this, uh. This very beautiful night!”

Groan. Oh my god. Even Milo rolled his eyes a bit, trying to shuffle back.

“I said FREEZE!” Jeff roared, attention still trained on Milo.

Without glancing up, he added, “And you Spider-man. Oh, buddy you are gonna get it after I’m done with this little asshole, runnin’ around with my brother’s-- man, y’know what-- nevermind! Just stay back, okay? I got this handled.”

“But wait! Th-that’s uh. He’s not an asshole, officer, he’s my-- my sidekick! He’s the good guy!! He helped me take this guy down! And he even saved you just now!” Miles waved his hands around frantically, agitating Jeff.

Stop doing that, stupid! Milo thought to himself in a daze, still recovering from the electric blast.

“Stay back, Spider-man. I’m warning you.” Jeff growled.

Miles picked up the hint and halted his movements, giant white eyes flicking back up and down from his dad to his brother and back. He had to think of something, or else Milo would be dragged back to a holding cell and both of their identities would be out. He just couldn’t let that happen.

Biting his lip, Miles gathered some resolve and stepped forward again. “Officer Davis—”

“Not another word outta you!” Jeff swung the flashlight right back onto Miles threateningly, and then trained it back onto Milo again. “I am serious right now, Spidey. One more word outta you and I’m slappin’ the cuffs on you too, I swear to god! I got more than enough room in the back of the squad car for two freaks!”

Miles recoiled. “Freaks. Geez, is that what you think of us?”

But Jeff didn’t answer, because he was all of a sudden deathly silent.

Both of the other officers just finished their sweep of the area, and were making their way back to Jeff when he all of a sudden kneeled down, still training that gun on Prowler’s face. But his movements were slow and hesitant, as if he were performing them in a daze.

Miles’ spider senses should’ve been tingling by now, at the very least a little. Still, he stayed glued to his spot as he watched Officer Davis-- as if in slow motion-- shifting his flashlight and gun into one hand, lowering both slightly and away from Prowler’s shattered mask.

As his other hand reached out, Milo flinched, but he didn’t need to. Jeff simply carded his calloused fingers over his hair, his braid on the one side of his head, in reverence. Milo couldn’t breathe. He was too scared to speak.

And then everyone’s blood ran cold at the same time.

Jeff saw the beads of Milo’s favorite basketball team colors, ones that he was excited to get again at the barber shop last weekend, simply hanging there tied to the ends of the Prowler’s braid, sitting limply in his hand. Milo’s blood ran cold once he realized exactly what it was that his own father was looking at. He didn’t need to reveal his face whatsoever when his now-exposed hair told the whole story anyways.

Miles’ spider senses finally kicked up once Jeff looked up slowly, an absolutely ruined expression rippling across his worn-out features as he really gave Spider-man a good, hard look, eyes playing over what little he could see of the vigilante in the darkness of night.

For a split second, no one said anything.

Even electro-head seemed to be silent as he came to and tried to sneakily rip the webs off of him. No dice. He finally turned his attention to the trio not too far away and opened his mouth.

“Hey, what the hell is this, some family reunion or something? Let me outta here, man! Goddamn, what a fuckin’ punch, man… shit…”

Everyone startled at the same time, turning their attention to the villain. Damn, almost forgot about him.

The other officers finally arrived to surround the other angles behind Spider-man, one of them even kneeling down beside electric-- whatever, the villain of the week-- and started cutting him out of the sticky ropes to put him in cuffs.

“Don’t even think about it,” one of them grunted once they got to his hands and saw a tingle of electricity surging through fingertips. “We got dampeners in my squad car if you try anything cute, got it?”

Jeff slowly holstered his gun, keeping the flashlight trained on the Prowler, unable to tear his eyes from this boy lying on the ground at his feet.

“Davis…? You good?” This was the officer who wasn’t busy wrangling sticky webs off of the baddie. He had his flashlight and gun trained on said baddie of course, but his head was swiveled to look at his captain.

Jeff swallowed hard and nodded slowly, a weirdly mechanical kind of movement.

“…Okay. Hey, Spidey. Thanks for this, I guess,” said the officer, keeping his concerned gaze trained on Jeff, shrugging a shoulder. “Too bad about your friend though. Hope he’ll be fine.”

It took Miles a second to recognize that iconic mustache, and then it dawned on him that it was his dad’s faithful friend and his own sidekick, Officer Gutierrez. How ironic, Miles thought ruefully.

He turned back to his dad, who was now helping Prowler up from the ground and steadying him against his side.

“What’re we doing with these two?” Gutierrez asks, because someone has to.

Jeff startles, as if he was just asleep and happened to wake up. “Uhh, about...?”

Gutierrez gave him a look. “The mask guy under your arm. And, uh. This guy,” he points his chin towards VOTW (villain of the week) as he’s being hauled up forcibly by the other officer, now in giant sturdy cuffs binding his arms together.

“The… that guy. Electric man. Just… just put those dampeners on his hands and take him down to HQ. They’ll probably just ship him off to the Raft. Let me know when you guys get there, of course. I’ll uhm. I think I’m gonna be taking my break right now.”

“You taking the mask-man all by yourself, then, captain?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I will. It’s… something personal to me, to be seeing these claws on this boy. I’m sorry. I think I might explain later but right now, we gotta get that guy behind some kinda bars. Please, Gutierrez.”

Gutierrez gives him an unreadable expression, and Jeff shoots an apologetic look back.

Finally, his partner gives a small nod and turns back to the task at hand. Miles breathes out a sigh of relief.

But it was a breath too soon.

“Spider-man. Prowler. The both of you. My car. Now.”

#mine #spiderverse #miles morales #miles g morales #listen idk what's getting into me either tbh i'm just...... #like this is it i guess LMFAO #i hope it's not TERRIBLE but yeah these are my brain blasts i have occasionally #i was makin dinner one night when this occurred to me #bc i was really thinking about miles and milo just teaming up and doing the whole vigilante thing.... thinkin abt how cute that would be! #but then my brain was like “ok and so when do the parents finally find out tho. cuz they're DEFINITELY gonna find out lmfao” #and an image of milo's broken mask and jeff doing his cop thing popped into my mind #btw i know that prowler miles has his braids out n everything in earth-42 #but in this particular instance he needs to keep them under wraps so their parents dont watch the news and put 2 n 2 together #so yeah #broken mask= hair fallin out. oops #oh yeah pt 2 is in the works so that should be up soon too #anyways thx 4 reading ♡ :)

[starqueensthings]

WIP Wednesday

Thank you for the tag @sinfulsalutations! Here’s a snippet from the final chapter of Dork Love 🧡 (pls note I use “coming soon” very very loosely because I just can’t get my fkn life together)

As if it was putting in every effort to soothe his nerves, the weather had fashioned itself significantly more pleasant than when he last traversed this pathway; the cold sprinkling of rain falling that day had dampened the absorbent collar of his blacks remarkably quickly, and had lingered uncomfortably against his skin for several hours afterward. Though despite now feeling significantly physically comfortable, long shadows cast by the sun’s position over the mouth of the underworld was making the screen of his datapad periodically difficult to discern, sudden bouts of intense glare blinding him to the data that he was only absentmindedly scanning yet relentlessly fetching. Despite the sun’s return to the Coruscanti skyline, the uppermost level of the underworld in which he and his sergeant walked side by side, remained largely free of foot traffic, the rhythmic clunking of their boots echoing easily against the large glass windows of passing stores.

Bemused that the apex of Tech’s affection had landed itself upon a person instead of a piece of technology, Hunter had insisted that he accompany his brother, though the guise he’d chosen to conceal his disbelief was a weak one; the coils of wire that he’d deemed ‘too heavy’ for one man to carry, swung daintily from their elbows with every step, and despite having witnessed Tech memorize the circuitry requirements, he was adamant his heightened senses would prove beneficial— (“you may need me to sense where the wires are in the wall!”)

Had circumstances been different, his sergeant’s companionship would have been welcomed; independent as he was, Tech never stifled an opportunity to be accompanied by a brother, particularly so if it meant freeing the cockpit of any unsupervised interference in his absence. Today on the other hand, as his mind whirred uncomfortably with a myriad of anxiety, excitability, nervousness, and the persistent dread that his lenses had dirtied themselves again, he’d much rather have made the journey solo.

As they typically did to pacify his overactive mind, his fingers danced fervently across the illuminated buttons of the device clutched tightly in his left hand, the motions triggering a near constant pull of new data that only a small portion of his attention was directed. Notably more imperative to him in this moment was calculating the likelihood that you would notice the stray droplets of engine oil still splattered across the toes of his boots, the only remnants of a night spent repairing the damage caused by Wreckers most recent attempt at landing the ship.

And swaddling all other anxieties, was the gnawing idea that this entire adventure could be naught but a misunderstanding; those were, admittedly, frequent occurrences for Tech. The disfigurement of his genetics had rendered him largely unable to accurately identify and categorize certain behaviors in those that he was not entirely familiar with, and he often perceived both body language and spoken inflections incorrectly. What if this was one of those times? What if the request that he come find you, was merely a parting statement made with the sole intent of being polite and not one that you intended that he act on? It wouldn’t be out of the realm of possibility; you were quite polite after all… and intelligent… and welcoming… and capable… and kind… and so very becoming to him. And arguably more horrifying, what if the profound sense of adoration that welled inside him at only the thought of you, was not a feeling mutually shared? What if the ever-persistent yearning to be in your company, with your chilled fingers interlaced with his in a motion of connection so consuming that it seemed to set his very nerves alight, was simply unreciprocated? Could all of this be yet another miscategorization of body language? Was he was presently walking toward a potentially brutal rejection?

Crosshair’s sardonic remarks of being able to spot ‘dorks in love’ from a mile away, succeeded in partially diminishing Tech’s gnawing uncertainty; the validation from someone that deeply understood him was a welcome verification for navigating such uncharted territory, but as the entryway to your shop drew nearer and nearer with every thunk of his soiled boots, his brothers words began to lose more and more of their initial integrity.

Tech swallowed heavily, stumbling slightly over the fragmented movements of his feet; the fluidity of their typically athletic movements impeded by the sudden and unignorable urge to physically shake the malignant thoughts from his head, and the impulsive act of attempting to smear the oil from his boot with the back of his other leg. Hunter, nostrils flared against the onslaught of foreign underworld aromas, remained thankfully tactful, seamlessly upholding the guise that he hadn’t noticed the clumsy misstep immediately on his right.

NPT: @staycalmandhugaclone @twistedstitcher27 @anxiouspineapple99 @isthereanechoinhere96 @stardust9905 @ghostofskywalker @rain-on-kamino @zoeykallus

#the bad batch #tbb #bad batch #tbb fic #bad batch fanfic #tech x you #tech x reader #tech x gn!reader #starqueenswrittenworks

[wheresarizona]

You Missed Me

summary: You knew you belonged with Frankie and Santi, but after the army, you’d gone in different directions, seeing each other when you could, the timing never right for you all to be together—It’d been over two years since you, Frankie, and Santi were last collectively in the same place. You had hardly heard from Santi since then, his focus on his work in Colombia, and now he was calling out of the blue to let you know he was coming to see you. You’ll, of course, drop everything to meet him; you’ll drop everything to be with them both again.

pairing: Frankie Morales/f!reader/Santiago Garcia

rating: E (18+!!! This is smut with plot. Polyamorous relationship, M/M/F, double penetration, unprotected p in v (wrap it up!), anal sex (f receiving), oral sex (f & m receiving), vaginal fingering, anal fingering, creampie, (1) bite, praise, spit mention, the boys kissing, lots of kissing in general, pregnancy mention, feelings, language, mentions of PTSD)

word count: Almost 6k.

A/N: Hello there! This can be read as a standalone fic or as a sequel to Make It Fun; it works either way! I dedicate this to my dearest friend @perropascal who asked for more MIF literally the moment she read it and has kept asking for over a year. I’m sorry it took so long. 😘 Also, a shoutout to my bestie @juletheghoul, who is always by my side, my rock, and the person who keeps me going. I love you. And thank you to my beta @invisibleismyname who makes my work make sense, you are the best!

Masterlist

The only information you had for where you were supposed to be meeting, was an address and room number. You assumed a motel or maybe a hotel, but now you were staring at the towering beachfront building, double-checking the text message, and looking up the address to confirm that, yes, you were meeting at the Four Seasons here in Fort Lauderdale, a fucking luxury hotel.

You’re ridiculous, Santi.

You huffed out an amused breath as you made your way into the lobby.

It had been over two years since you’d last seen Santiago Garcia, which was a pretty long period you’d gone without seeing him in person, and it stung a little that he’d gotten so caught up in his work in South America that he hardly ever made contact. The last time you saw him was when he convinced you and Frankie to help with a reconnaissance job in Colombia—he needed you both as backup because he hadn’t trusted the local law enforcement. It had been a week where two days were spent doing the work that hadn’t panned out to anything, and the rest of the time holed up in the hotel room with the two men and no clothes.

You’d known them for over ten years, spending five being in Delta Force as the team sniper. The three of you had gravitated towards each other, became tight, and inseparable. Sure, you’d gone to high school and enlisted with Benny—the Miller boys treating you like the sister they never had—but with Frankie and Santi, it was different; there’d always been something between you that had life not gotten in the way, you were positive you would have been happily together.

But life had gotten in the way.

Santiago was doing his work in Colombia, Frankie was piloting helicopters in the private sector, and you worked for a defense technology company in town.

You were genuinely surprised when Santi had called out of the blue, telling you he needed to discuss something in person, only letting you talk enough to tell him where you were living, saying that he’d be there in three days, and to look out for a text with where he’d meet you.

Of course, you wanted to see him, and he was right to assume you’d drop whatever you were doing to meet—you’d left work early, it was a Friday, and you had personal time you could use.

The lobby was just as opulent as the outside of the building, decorated in earthy tones, and the people milling about looked like they were in a much higher tax bracket than yourself, which was most likely true. You were just glad you didn’t look too out of place in your slacks, yellow button-up shirt, and navy blazer.

You found the bay of elevators, and before you knew it, you were ascending to the floor you needed.

Your belly fluttered with excitement, your brain thinking about the last time you saw him, and all the things the three of you had done together; the tangle of limbs, and mouths always on each other, bringing each other pleasure over and over and over again. You squeezed your thighs together, feeling hot and achingly empty.

The ding of the elevator had you jolting from your thoughts, briskly walking out of it and quickly figuring out where you needed to go, until finally, you were standing in front of double doors. Your eyes narrowed, rechecking the text to make sure it was the correct number and comparing it to what was listed on the wall.

He got a fucking suite.

You put your phone away in your purse and rapped your knuckles against the door, and it opened seconds later to reveal a smiling Santi.

“Miss me, baby?” He asked.

He was standing there in jeans and a black t-shirt, the hair on his head and face greyer than the last time you’d seen him. He looked handsome, like always, the shirt clinging to his chest.

“Shut up, Santiago,” you replied, smiling, stepping forward, and throwing your arms around his neck, leaning in to kiss him hard.

He laughed against your mouth, pulling you into the room and shutting the door.

He deepened the kiss, swallowing your moan as your tongues moved together, holding you tight against him, getting lost for the moment in being reunited.

You could go weeks, months, even years without seeing each other, and still, there was that spark, the way he excited you and made your body thrum with energy. It was the same with Frankie; these men made you feel things no one else ever had, and you could never get enough, cherishing whatever time you spent with them.

He kissed you until the need to breathe became too much, and he pulled back to look at you, breaths coming out heavy, his lips red and shiny.

“Yeah, you missed me,” he said with a cocky smile.

You laughed, hand playfully hitting his chest, and he grabbed it with his own, kissing your knuckles softly and making you melt.

“Of course, I fucking missed you,” you answered.

Your other hand moved down his back to grab a handful of his ass, making him chuckle.

“I missed you, too, Preciosa.” He kissed you quickly. “Missed you both,” he said a little louder, and that’s when you noticed the other man behind him.

You tilted your head to the side to look past Santi at Frankie, taking in the way the other man had his weight to one side, hand on his hip, wearing sand-colored work pants and a white henley, his signature Standard Oil hat on his head. He was smiling fondly, eyes soft and crinkled at the edges, Santi releasing you so you could walk over to him. Frankie’s hands came up, his big palms cupping your cheeks as he leaned down, pressing his lips against yours in a searing, toe-curling kiss.

Santiago came up behind you, pressing his front to your back as his hands moved to your front to unbutton your jacket, kissing your neck and any available skin he could find.

You let out a contented sigh, Frankie kissing the breath from your lungs, loving being between them as they surrounded you, and their hands started moving to strip you of your clothes. You weren’t surprised—this was how it always went when there was a reunion, and your body was responding, panties already wet, body heated, nipples tightening and pulse-quickening.

Frankie’s lips never left yours as Santi removed your purse and blazer, the man at your front quickly unbuttoning your shirt with deft fingers, the other pulling it off as soon as it was undone. Frankie’s large hands moved over your torso, palms trailing over your stomach and up your ribs, palming your bra-covered breasts as Santi worked on getting your pants undone.

There wasn’t any speaking, the men moving to get you out of your clothes as quickly as possible, making you toe-off your flats, so Santi could get your pants and underwear off, while Frankie removed your bra.

You were completely naked, Frankie massaging your bare breasts, feeling the weight of them, before ducking his head to pull a pebbled nipple into his mouth, making you moan at the sensitivity as the pleasure shot straight to your cunt, while Santi was kissing at your neck and shoulders, his hands moving to your front, one of them trailing down to the apex of your thighs, sliding two fingers through your slick.

“So fucking wet for us already, baby,” Santi said against your skin.

You were gasping out moans as Santi circled your clit, Frankie moving to your other breast, laving at your stiff peak. You felt like electricity was coursing through your body, letting them do whatever they wanted, your arousal dripping from your core.

You moaned loudly when Santi pushed two fingers inside you, his thumb working your clit, pumping the digits before crooking them, making you gasp when he rubbed against that soft spongy spot that made you tremble and your knees go weak, his other arm holding your body to his, and keeping you standing.

“Want you to come like this,” he said, nipping at your ear.

They were building you up, working together, Frankie licking and sucking at your sensitive nipples, moving from one to the other, ramping up your arousal with the way the pleasurable sensations shot straight to your core.

You could feel the tightening in your center, feel it going tighter and tighter, as Santi worked his fingers and Frankie used his mouth until finally, the tension snapped, and pleasure radiated through your body and limbs, loudly moaning as you clenched around Santi’s digits.

“Good girl,” he rasped in your ear, breath tickling you.

Frankie’s head came up, crashing his mouth against yours to kiss you as Santi worked you through your orgasm until you were coming down, the kissing becoming less fervent.

“What a welcome,” you breathed when Frankie’s lips left yours.

He chuckled.

“Hi, honey,” he said.

“Hey, babe. Long time, no see,” you winked, giving him a quick kiss. “Why am I always the first one naked?” You asked, moving to look between the two men.

“Because we enjoy stripping you,” Santi said. “It’s like unwrapping a present—you waited for fucking ever and can’t wait any longer.”

“Exactly,” Frankie added.

“Well, it means I’m naked—” you started walking towards the bedroom, looking over your shoulder. “And now I have to wait for you two to get undressed. You both better hurry; I’m feeling empty,” you pouted.

“Yes, ma'am,” they replied in unison.

You walked into the room, seeing the large king-sized bed, taking in the white blankets and furniture in tan tones, a cream-colored armchair in the corner by the floor-to-ceiling windows, hearing the men taking off their clothes. There was a black bench at the end of the mattress, and you stepped up onto it before crawling onto the bed, lying on your back in the middle. It was absurdly comfortable. You turned your head to look out the windows, seeing there was a balcony with a view of the ocean stretching out into the horizon.

“This room is nice, Santi,” you called, sitting up on your elbows.

“It better be, with how much I paid,” he said as he walked into the room naked, Frankie following and just as bare. “Wanted to treat you both.”

Your heart constricted as you looked at him, watching as he got onto the bed next to you.

“That’s really sweet,” you said.

Your eyes moved over his body, taking in the muscles in his arms from his years of work and the breadth of his chest. His six-pack wasn’t as defined as when you were in the service, but you didn’t mind and quite honestly liked it, his golden skin so beautiful under the light in the room, seeing the scars from old wounds long healed. You touched his belly, feeling his warm skin as his hand wrapped lightly around your throat, bending down to kiss you.

“More places for us to fuck, too,” he whispered.

You laughed.

“You’re ridiculous.”

Frankie was at the foot of the bed, kneeling on the bench, his hands rubbing along your calves. You looked at him, taking in his broad chest and softened tummy, and fuck, he looked good with the curling hair on his head and patchy beard, lips swollen from kissing.

“What are you doing down there?” You asked.

His lips moved into a crooked smile.

“Waiting to eat that pretty pussy of yours,” he rasped, and your cunt clenched, feeling arousal spike in your body.

“Fuck,” you gasped. “How long do we have here?”

“All weekend,” Santi replied.

“I’m going to be sore Monday.”

Frankie’s hands wrapped around your ankles and pulled you towards him, making you fall flat on your back.

“Just means we fucked you well, and you’ll have a reminder of us,” Frankie said, eyes hooded as he watched you.

Santiago moved down to lay at your side, his hand cradling your cheek as he made you look at him.

“You’ve made Fish wait long enough. You want him to lick your pussy?”

“God, yes,” you nodded.

That was all the answer he needed. Frankie pushed your thighs apart, leaning down and using his fingers to spread open the lips of your sex.

“Fucking gorgeous,” Frankie rasped, voice deeper.

You felt the wad of spit land on your clit, followed by his hot, wet tongue, and Santi kissed you then, swallowing your moans. You tried not to squirm as Frankie ate you out like a starving man, but it was damn near impossible with how his tongue worked against your sensitive bundle of nerves. His arm held down your hips, Santiago’s tongue tangling with your own, moans falling from your throat as your orgasm built.

Frankie loved eating pussy just as much as he loved fucking it, and would take any opportunity he had to do either. This all meant he was exceptionally good with his mouth, knowing exactly how to lick and suck, and when he used his fingers, you came in record time. He’d moved off of your clit and was now lapping at you, getting all of your slick and teasing you, going close to where you wanted and moving away, until he finally gave it the attention it deserved. It all felt amazing, his tongue moving against your sensitive flesh in practiced movements, knowing what you liked to push you towards your release.

“Want to suck your dick,” you murmured against Santi’s mouth.

“Fuck, yes,” he said, quickly moving up your body and getting on his knees.

You pushed up on your elbows, mouth-watering as you watched him stroke his straining cock, flushed red, and dripping precum at the tip. He was long and not as thick as Frankie, but he still felt so fucking good inside of you, filling you nicely. He angled himself, and you leaned in, taking him into your mouth, relishing in the salty tang of his arousal on your tongue.

“Fuck,” Santi groaned. His hand landed on your head as you took him further into your mouth. “Missed your mouth, baby. Look at you sucking my dick while your pussy gets eaten.” You moaned around him, swirling your tongue around the tip and making him moan.

Frankie’s mouth came off of you, and you didn’t catch what he said, Santi moving above you to grab something off the bed and tossing it to the other man.

You quickly figured out what it was when Frankie’s mouth was back on your pussy while a thick, lubed finger circled your tight ring of muscle before he eased the digit inside, making you gasp around Santi’s dick.

You hollowed your cheeks, letting Santi guide your movements along his shaft with the hand on your head, praise falling from his lips at how good your mouth felt. Frankie worked in another finger, loosening you up and stretching you open while his tongue sucked on your clit, making your eyes roll back in your head. You found yourself tumbling over the edge and coming with a moan, your legs shaking as he worked you through it, your body awash with pleasure.

“Fuck,” Santi gasped. “Is she ready? I don’t want to come in her mouth.”

Frankie’s head came up, and you felt his fingers leave you.

“Yeah,” he replied. “She’s ready.”

Santi pulled you off of him.

“Who do you want in your ass?” He asked.

You were still feeling pleasantly floaty that thinking was difficult.

“Flip a coin?” Your voice came out breathy.

Santi looked over to Frankie.

“Tails,” he said.

Frankie chuckled.

“You always fucking choose tails.”

“You’ve never complained—I know how much you enjoy coming inside pussy.”

Frankie moved out from between your legs and up onto the bed, crawling up next to you and handing Santi the lube.

“This—” Frankie pressed his hand against your cunt. “Is the only pussy I like coming inside of,” he replied.

You looked over at him.

“You’re so romantic,” you said in an even tone.

Both men laughed.

Frankie’s arms wrapped around your torso, and suddenly, you found yourself being moved up the bed and onto your side facing him, feeling him hard and leaking against your stomach. He cupped your face kissing you tenderly, and you melted into it, a moan vibrating in your chest as you tasted yourself on his tongue.

“I think I’m pretty fucking romantic,” he said when his lips came off yours.

“Hey,” Santi said, pressing his body against your back, feeling the hard line of his cock against your ass. “I booked us an expensive fucking room for the weekend—I’m romantic.”

You turned your head, looking over your shoulder, moving your arm to touch your hand against the back of his head.

“It’s very romantic. Thank you, Santi,” you said, bringing him down in a misaligned kiss.

Your hand came off him when the kiss ended, and Frankie’s took its place, lightly tugging his hair as he leaned over you, pulling the other man towards him.

“Yeah. Thanks, Pope. This is nice,” he said, kissing Santi passionately.

You smiled.

“God, I’ve missed this,” you said with a happy sigh.

Both men looked at you, smiling.

Santi looked at Frankie, his hand grabbing a handful of your ass.

“Let’s fuck our girl.”

“She said she was empty. We better fill her up—make her come on our cocks.”

You moaned, cunt throbbing at the thought.

“Yeah, she wants that. Don’t you, baby?” Santi asked.

You nodded your head.

“Yes, please,” you said.

Santi squeezed your ass again.

“That’s our good girl, asking politely.”

Frankie grabbed your leg, setting it over his hip.

“I got you, baby,” he said, hand gripping his cock and rubbing it through your wetness. “You ready?” He asked.

“Yes,” you nodded.

He notched himself at your entrance and pushed in, making you both moan as his thickness stretched your walls.

“So fucking wet and tight,” he said in a strained voice, bottoming out. His hand held your face as he kissed you.

You heard the cap to the lube pop open and close after a second. A moment later, Santi was pressing the fat head of his dick against your tight hole.

“Here we go,” Santi said and slowly started pushing in, making all three of you moan as he filled you, inch by inch, ignoring the slight burn until his hips were finally flush against your ass.

You felt so fucking full it was almost overwhelming. It’d been so long since the three of you had been like this, and it felt so right having both of their bodies pressed against yours, their cocks filling you to the brim. You loved this, loved every fucking moment of being with them both at the same time, making you feel so good—it was perfect.

I love them so much.

“Move,” you moaned against Frankie’s mouth.

His hand held onto your thigh as he started to thrust slowly, Santi grabbing your hip and following, the two of them setting a rhythm that had one pushing in while the other pulled out, making your brain short-circuit as all the nerves in your body lit up in pleasure.

The men fucked like they fought—in unison and as a team. The years they’ve known each other made them intimately aware of what the other was thinking and instinctually knew what the other would do. Their movements were in sync, thrusting in and dragging out, pulling you apart from the inside and putting you back together again, making your body go boneless and limbs shake.

They picked up in pace, the room filled with grunts and moans, slapping hips, and the wet sounds between your legs, all of it obscene and loud.

Frankie started kissing you, his tongue pushing into your mouth as his fingers dug into your flesh, Santi's lips on your back, peppering over any skin he could touch. All you could do was take what they gave you, entirely under their control, and they were building you up, making that coil wind tight in your belly, all of your muscles beginning to tense as your muscles fluttered around them.

“Such a good girl,” Santi said against you, feeling his lips. “Taking us so fucking well—you were made for us.”

Frankie’s mouth was working against yours, swallowing all of your moans with his answering groans, and you were almost at your peak, feeling it so close and within reach.

Santi’s hand moved to your front, sliding down to feel how Frankie was stretching you, groaning, before moving up to rub his fingers against your swollen clit.

“Come on, baby. Come for us. Give it to us,” he grunted.

It was all too much, everything coming to a head, and you found yourself careening into your orgasm, the coil snapping inside you, as you came with a loud moan, feeling your cunt clench and slick spill around Frankie’s cock. His rhythm stuttered, groaning loudly, as euphoria washed over your entire body, feeling like you were no longer tethered to earth but floating high above.

“Good fucking girl,” Santi panted.

His thrusts sped up, and Frankie joined, both men chasing their highs.

“Gonna come,” Frankie said against your mouth, hips moving erratically until he pushed in hard, coming with a guttural groan you could feel against your chest, his come painting your insides.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Santi chanted. “‘M coming.” He thrust his hips flush against your ass, his teeth sinking into your shoulder with a strangled moan, making you whimper from the pleasurable pain, his cock jerking, filling you with his warm release.

The three of you were panting, Frankie languidly kissing you, while Santi kissed at your back, their hands rubbing along your body as you all came down from your highs, and you thought you might be in heaven—ecstacy still flowing through your veins, basking in the afterglow and their touches.

“Fuck, this is nice,” your words came out slurred, your eyes closed.

“It is,” Frankie answered, sounding just as wrecked.

“Fucking missed you two,” Santi added, not sounding any better.

You moved your arm at the awkward angle to rub at Santi’s hair, pushing your fingers through the thick strands. He turned his head to kiss your forearm.

“If you weren’t so busy in Colombia, we could do this all the time,” you said.

He sighed.

“I know,” he said softly, sadly. He reached his arm over you to Frankie, pulling you both closer to him, and the three of you were quiet as you stayed in the moment of being together again.

It was too soon that Frankie was pulling out of you with a hiss, Santi following, and the men moved you to lay on your back between them, laying on their sides, hands touching you and each other, you rubbing at them both, wanting to feel their warm skin, smiling at one another, and sharing soft kisses.

“Speaking of Colombia,” Santi finally said after some minutes, breaking the silence.

You both looked at him.

“Are you close to finishing down there?” You asked, trying not to sound too hopeful.

He sighed.

“That’s why I’m here.”

You frowned, and you knew Frankie shared your expression.

“You need us for a job,” Frankie guessed.

“Yeah, I do, and I know you both have your own shit now,” he said quickly. “I need to get the whole team together, and it’s guaranteed seventeen grand for a week of consulting—no action unless you want it.” He had a big smile on his face. “I fucking found him—I found Lorea, and we’re going to take him down. I’ve got word that he’s got seventy-five million in cash on him, and we get to keep twenty-five percent of what we seize; it’s just reconnaissance—a recce.”

He’s lying.

Your frown deepened.

“Cut the bullshit, Santiago,” Frankie said. “This is too good to be true, and you're a bad liar; tell us what’s really going on.”

You hated that he was trying to pull you both in with falsehoods. South America had changed him, which worried you a little; he was more desperate.

Santi frowned.

“Shit, fuck, okay. I did find Lorea, and I have good intel he does have the seventy-five mill in cash. We can take him out and take the money for ourselves.”

“With that kind of cash, he’ll have a fucking army guarding it,” Frankie said. “There’s five of us, Pope; what the fuck are we going to do against that kind of manpower?”

Santi’s brows furrowed.

“There’s six of us, and we do a recce, scope out the place; Lorea is very devout and sends his family with the majority of his guards to mass on Sunday mornings, leaving Lorea and three guards at the compound.”

“His family, Santi? His family lives with him?” You asked.

Is he putting children’s lives at risk? What are you thinking, Santi?

“As I said, they’re gone to mass, and that’s when we’d hit—no innocents in the crossfire.”

You breathed out a sigh of relief.

There were things you’d all done in the past you wished you could forget—orders given that would have violated the Geneva Convention, but orders had to be obeyed, and many times, it was life or death situations. There was still a lot of fucked up shit you’d all been through that you knew haunted the three of you—had helped each other through the aftermath and nightmares, comforting one another.

“So, we scope out the place,” Frankie said. “Figure out a plan. I don’t know, Santi. This seems like too much of a risk.”

“Seventy-five million, Francisco,” Santi said quickly. “Think of how this will change all of our lives. You’re the most talented pilot I know, working for the fucking Sheriff’s department for less than a hundred grand a year, you're,” he looked at you, confusion on his face. “Baby, what do you do?”

You scoffed.

“If you made an effort to reach out in the last two years, you’d know I’m working for a defense company.”

He grimaced.

“I’m sorry I’ve been MIA, but as I was saying, you’re both not making what you’re worth; Redfly can’t send his kids to college, Benny is getting the shit beat out of him for a living, and Will is a fucking glorified motivational speaker. This money would take care of us all for life.”

“You’ve been gone all these years because you said you wanted to empower your mother’s homeland to police themselves,” Frankie said. “You were trying to right all of your wrongs and the shit we’ve done, and now all you care about is money?”

“It’s not just the money,” Santi said. “Lorea is a bad fucking man, and if we take him out, we do a lot of good—the money is a bonus.”

“You’re pretty fucking stuck on it, though,” Frankie replied. “This is all too dangerous.”

“This is my last job,” Santi said. “I do this, and I can come home to both of you, we can all finally be together, and with that kind of cash, we could fuck off to anywhere in the world.”

Your heart clenched at the thought of it.

That’s always been our dream.

You and Frankie shared a look, knowing what the other was thinking.

“Please,” Santi pleaded as you both looked at him. “I want to come home.”

Frankie sighed.

“I’d have to talk it out with my lady,” he said. “She doesn’t like me doing this shit anymore.”

Santi’s eyes went wide.

“Your lady?” He breathed. “What? We—”

“And I’d have to discuss it with my boyfriend,” you said.

Santi’s mouth fell open.

“Boyfriend?” He croaked, color draining from his face. “You both have? But we just,” Santi was at a loss for words. “How could you….”

After you’d gotten out of the military, the three of you had agreed that it was okay to see other people—if you met someone, go for it. The thing was, before Santiago had gone on his crusade to South America, the three of you met up regularly, or you’d see one or the other if you happened to be near them or they, you, at most going a month without seeing either of them and you hadn’t needed anyone else. But Santi left and broke up the regularity.

You’d been three people at differing stages in your lives, who when together, things were perfect, and everything was right in the world, but the timing never worked, and you couldn’t all be together, and it’d been hard living without the other pieces of your heart.

You looked at Frankie.

“Do you want to do it, babe?” You asked.

He smiled at you.

“I don’t know, honey; we’ve got a lot going on with fixing up the house.”

Santi gasped, the realization hitting him hard.

“Wait, hold the fucking phone,” he said. “You two?” Pointing between you.

You looked at him.

“If you made an effort,” you said.

“How long?” He asked.

“Since we got back from Colombia,” you said.

“Two years…” He said.

“Two years and seven months,” you replied. “Santi, you really thought we’d live in the same fucking city and not be together? I thought you were smart.”

“I didn’t know you’d been here that long! I thought you getting work out here was new! You’d been doing all that freelancing shit around the world.”

“And I ended up finding a job that paid decently near Frankie, so we kinda just moved in together.”

While Santi had been away, you and Frankie kept up the regular visits. You loved being with him, but you both missed your other person, and after Colombia and the week together, the two of you took the plunge, and it’d been the best decision you’d ever made.

Santi smiled.

“Well, I’m fucking happy for you guys!” His smile fell as he scratched at the back of his neck. “I mean, I’d understand if you wanted it to just be the two of you—”

“Santiago Garcia,” you said, interrupting him. “We dropped everything to see you, your come is literally dripping out of me, and you think we wouldn’t want you to be with us? Santi, we fucking love you, and we both figured if we could be together, we should, and just wait until you could come back to us. Our door will always be open for you.”

His eyes got misty, clearing his throat as he looked away.

“I love you, too,” he said, voice a little rougher.

He looked back at the two of you.

“Does this mean you’ll do it?” He asked, sounding hopeful.

You frowned, looking over at Frankie and back at Santi.

“It’d be the five of us guys,” Frankie said.

Santi’s eyebrows knit together, looking at you pointedly.

“Why just the guys?”

Frankie’s broad palm rested on your stomach.

“Because I’m three months pregnant,” you said.

Santi’s face dropped.

“You’re… You’re pregnant?”

“Yes,” you nodded.

“With Frankie’s baby?”

Your eyes narrowed.

“No, it’s the second coming of Christ—yes, Santiago, it’s Frankie’s. We’re monogamous, well polyamorous with you, but until today, we’ve only been with each other.”

“I… Fuck,” he looked away. “You guys are living together and having a baby, and you still want me to be with you?”

“Si, cabrón (yes, dumbass),” Frankie said. “Te queremos pase lo que pase (we love you no matter what).”

Santi looked at him.

“¿Dónde quepo yo en todo esto (Where do I fit in all this)?”

Frankie jolted like he’d been slapped.

“No entiendo (I don’t understand). What the fuck are you talking about, man? Where do you fit? By our sides, and if you want to, raising this kid with us. The three of us should have been together a long fucking time ago, and yeah, we never talked about the future, but I sure as fuck always saw you both in it once we’d figured all of our shit out. We,” Frankie pointed between the two of you. “Just happened to get it together before you and have been waiting.”

“You want me to help raise the baby?” Santi asked with disbelief in his voice.

“If you want, Santi,” you said. “Everything that Frankie said is how I feel.”

He was quiet for a second as he processed.

“Fuck, I’m going to be a dad?”

You smiled.

“Only if it’s something you want,” you reassured. “If you just want to only be with us, that’s fine, too.”

“No, no,” he said quickly. “I’d always wanted kids, just didn’t think I’d have a chance,” he smiled. “I’m so fucking happy. Think of what this money could do for the baby!”

It’s all about the money.

You felt your stomach churn with nerves. The whole thing was risky, but if they did the reconnaissance, and it was too dangerous, you had no doubt that Frankie wouldn’t go through with it; you just hoped that Santi would see sense.

“Yeah,” you said. “It’d be life-changing.”

“It’s going to be a hard sell to the guys,” Frankie added.

Santi thought it over.

“That’s why I think I should go in with my original offer—present the guaranteed seventeen thousand for a week of consulting and the recce, and after we’ve done it, and if it’s doable, tell them the plan.”

“Whose paying the seventeen?” You asked.

Santi sighed.

“Me.”

“You want to get this guy that bad?” Frankie asked.

“I’ve spent the last three years down there trying to make a difference—put it above living my fucking life, and being happy, and it’s gotten me fucking nowhere, all because of fucking Lorea. I get him, I take him out, these years won’t have been wasted, and I can finally come home to the people I love.”

“Fuck it,” Frankie said. “I’m in. I’ll help you convince the guys. I’ve got paid time off I can use—was saving it for when the baby comes, but I can use a week of it.”

Santi grinned, pulling Frankie towards him for a kiss.

“Thank you,” he murmured against his lips.

They pulled apart, and Santi put his hand over Frankie’s on your stomach, leaning down to kiss you.

“And thank you. I’m so fucking excited.”

“When will you leave?” You asked.

Santi looked between you both.

“Fish and I can go to Will’s thing Monday? Start with him. Benny invited me to his fight Tuesday.”

“Yeah, we got that invite, too. Do they know you’re stateside?” You asked.

Santi laughed.

“No, only you two are aware. Benny invites me to all of his fights. I’ll text the guys the offer, and then we can meet them in person to really sell it.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Frankie said with a nod. “We were planning on going to the fight already.”

“Yeah,” you said. “Never miss them, even when the smell of sweat and blood made me queasy as fuck. Thankfully, the morning sickness has died down.”

“Now she’s just horny all the time,” Frankie added.

You playfully slapped his chest as you gasped.

“Shut up! You love it!”

He chuckled, leaning down to kiss you.

“I sure fucking do, baby.”

“Does that mean you’re up for round two? I want heads this time,” Santi said.

You both laughed as Frankie moved, your hands grabbing onto Santi’s shoulders to pull him down for a kiss.

This was how it was supposed to be, the three of you together. One more job, and it would all be permanent.

Masterlist

Thank you for reading! If you’d like to be tagged in my fics, please fill out the form in my bio, on my masterlist, or just let me know!

Tagging: @daddydindjarin @absurdthirst @kirsteng42 @littlemisspascal @athalien @thevoiceinyourheadx @elegantduckturtle @harriedandharassed @girlofchaos @mswarriorbabe80 @spanishmossmagnolia @star017 @javier-penas-wife @artsymaddie @hansolosleftbuttcheek @deadhumourist @pretty-brown-eyess @hotchlover @lalalalemonade11 @eternallyvenus @allfoolsinluv @eppy816 @katareyoudrilling @babykangaemoji @punkerthanpascal @breezythesimp @grimeysociety @bruxasolta @peachyaeger @din-jarhead @lovesbiggerthanpride @loonymagizoologist @pinebeam @spacenerdpascal @padbrookcottage @karlawithacapitalk @trickstersp8 @that-friend-in-the-corner @just-here-for-the-moment @bluejones @quica-quica-quica

#frankie morales x reader #Santiago Garcia x reader #frankie morales x reader x Santiago Garcia #pedro pascal #oscar isaac #triple frontier #triple frontier fanfiction #wheresarizona writes

[coffeebanana]

LADYNOIR ONLY ONE BED!!!!

KAJFBKJD love the caps caps lock, does this idea intrigue you or something? 😂 (PS. I totally forgot I had this WIP until today)

Okay, so this one starts with post-Monarch defeat, pre-reveal ladynoir. They go to London to try and hunt down Felix/get the Peacock Miraculous back, so they have to stay in a hotel (for the plot!). But Chat's being really distant and Ladybug has no idea why.

I'm actually obsessed with how I wrote the beginning of this one, so I'll share a the whole first scene 👀👀👀

“Let me see…”  The receptionist’s sentence trailed into a clacking of keys, soon buried by a roar thunder as hotel lobby doors slid open. A frigid breeze extended its talons inside, but even that cold had nothing on the iciness stretched between Ladybug and her partner. Not that Chat Noir seemed mad at her, just…still. A frozen shadow, empty and lifeless. He’d been that way since they’d exposed Monarch. “Ah!” Ladybug jumped at the receptionist’s voice. “Here we go! Sorry about the wait, dears. You would think in a world full of superheroes they’d be able to invent software that didn’t freeze every ten minutes, but what can you do?” Considering how much older the Miraculous were than modern technology, that didn’t even make sense. But Ladybug nodded, stretching a fake smile onto her tired cheeks. Of course the woman was excited to see them—it wasn’t every day Ladybug and Chat Noir were in London. “Alright, darlings. Well, it seems there are three rooms available. No more double rooms, so I can either book you two or…" Her eyes were wide when she glanced up from her screen. Wide and hungry, like a reporter waiting for the next scoop. As if it would mean something if they chose to share a bed, as if that was more intimate than half a decade fighting for their lives at each other’s sides. Even if Ladybug had wanted to be alone, she knew she couldn’t leave Chat. Not tonight.  If she did, she was half-convinced she’d never see him again. She glanced up at him, checking to make sure he didn’t have any objection. Although, in some sense, she almost hoped he did. At least then he’d have an opinion on something.  Tired, she’d told the receptionist to explain why Chat wasn’t speaking. We just took down a magical terrorist, so he’s just a little tired. A perfectly reasonable excuse if it weren’t for the hollow look in his eyes—could nobody else see that? Now, he didn’t even glance in Ladybug’s direction, not even as she rubbed a hand up his back, squeezed his shoulders, and stupidly let her fingers brush against his on the way back down. Not as she felt her stomach sink when he made no move to grab her hand. How could she miss him so much when he was right there? Right there. Maybe they did need two rooms—how would they fit the distance between them into one bed? How would Ladybug live with herself if she couldn’t find a way to close that distance? She turned back to the receptionist. “One room will be fine.”

Thanks for the ask!! 💜

#ask response #wackus-bonkus-maximus #miraculous ladybug #miraculeakless #ladynoir

[thestalwartheart]

Hi! Not sure if you're taking prompts, but I'd love to see a 00Q story that addresses the defibrillator screw-up in Casino Royale. Whenever I watch that scene, I think "That never would have happened with (Wishaw's) Q there."

Hi!

I love, love, love this idea. In fact, I love it so much I want to make a series about it, but for now we'll have to deal with a short.

I was lucky enough to watch Casino Royale in a cinema the other night, and whoa boy did I have feelings about it all. This little scene came straight into my brain. A lot goes unsaid here, and it's pre-relationship, but I hope you like it anyway!

Read it on AO3 or below 😊 Feedback is always dearly appreciated!

competence.

The personalised gun is a stroke of genius, but it’s only one stroke of genius. It’s not until a couple of months later that Bond is assured Q Branch is in good hands.

He’s in the garage, escorted by Tanner, who is immediately distracted by the prospect of inspecting a Triumph motorcycle. Bond wonders vaguely if he’s on the verge of a midlife crisis.

Around the room, mechanics and engineers move about with ant-like industriousness. They scurry under cars, motorcycles, and, most memorably, a jet-black speedboat that looks no less lethal for its compact size. The busyness of it all, however, is highly organised. There’s not a speck of dust in the air or on the floor. There are no superfluous conversations, either. Every word spoken in the room is about horsepower or weaponry or which wires need to be joined or cut. Otherwise, there is only silence — the peaceful kind that exists between people who feel a great sense of camaraderie with each other.

When Q walks in, the room loses a little bit of its air.

Not that Q notices. He smiles benignly, and a little distractedly, at the workers who greet him with a “Sir” and a nod of their heads. Not aware of his own status, then, surmises Bond. And it is his own, not the title’s. Bond’s seen enough people play at Quartermaster to know the difference between genuine respect from the Q Branch staff and a pale imitation of it.

He’s dressed in a navy corduroy suit today, paired with a similarly dark checked shirt and a maroon tie. Bond can tell by his collar that the outfit started out ironed, though it now has the creases of a day at work folded into it. Q would still get away with it if it weren’t for the hair, which looks as if it’s been tugged in a hundred different directions throughout the day. It's likely the result of paperwork or a meeting with accounting. In the few missions Bond's gone on with Q in his ear, he's learned Q never gets this riled by matters within his own department. Nor is he very intimidated by the dangers of the field.

Bond has the mad urge to tuck away one of Q's wayward curls behind his ear.

Q, entirely unaware of those thoughts, saves his most genuine smile for Bond. It’s not wide. It’s a short, sharp little thing, but like the jet-black speedboat, it’s no less impactful for its neatness.

“007. Lovely to see you.”

Q leads him over to a beautiful Aston Martin. It’s the car Bond’s eyes had first been drawn to, though it seemed understated at first glance, placed as it was in a room full of snazzy red coupes and deadly-looking Jeeps. Q’s face assumes a bit of smugness, as if he’d known from before he walked into the room where Bond’s attention would lie.

“Incredible, isn’t it?” remarks Q in that smooth, crisp voice of his. “I don’t just mean the car, though she is extraordinary. No, it never ceases to amaze me how much taxpayer money we pour down the drain for fifteen minutes of technological glory, only for it all to end up at the bottom of a river.”

Q looks over, briefly, at a car’s waterlogged skeleton. Formerly a sleek black Jaguar, and, if Bond remembers correctly — which he does — it was assigned to 009 a week ago.

Bond smiles. “Have some faith. I like to show them an hour, at the very least.”

“Yes, I’m sure that’s what you tell all of them.”

Q doesn’t give Bond the pleasure of answering back to that. Immediately, he launches into a monologue about technical specifications. Bond listens with interest — though he doesn’t show it — impressed at the safety improvements and the many tricks up the car’s sleeve, though he’s most impressed by the newness of the miniguns. Custom-ordered, apparently. Before this Q, there hadn’t been custom-built guns in Q Branch for over a decade.

There hadn’t been very much worth noting from Q Branch at all in that time.

It’s only when Q opens the car’s glovebox compartment to display a defibrillator that Bond feels anything other than a benign sort of satisfaction. An old spike of adrenaline moves up through his chest, the residual wisp of memory that has never really left him. Q must catch the look in his eye because he clears his throat and lets out a short, understanding little sigh.

“Ah, yes, we’ve made a few changes to the existing design.”

“I should hope so.”

Bond gets another smile for that, a somewhat regretful one, though Q was likely still in bloody high school during Bond’s last dance with an MI6-made defibrillator. While he’s taking the blasted thing out of its casing, Q explains the design changes.

“Permanently attached leads. See? No pulling them off.” Q tugs at one firmly more than once. It stays firmly in place. “The wires are reinforced to prevent any damage from…well, whatever you agents get up to. And there have been some software changes, too. I can see the charge and override the button from here. No need to press it yourself should you be…incapacitated.”

Bond nods, silent. Q continues.

“Along with the one in your car, there’s a smaller, more discrete model in your briefcase. The same design modifications have been made to it. Both have passed extensive user testing.”

His tone is verging dangerously close to pity, and Bond suddenly yearns for the snappish, arrogant man he’d met at the National Gallery.

“Don’t tell me you went into cardiac arrest just for me, Q.”

“You say that as if you don’t bring us all closer to a heart attack with every moment you’re out in the field.”

Banter aside, he goes on to assure Bond that along with testing in the lab, 003 had made use of the device last week and returned unscathed. With that, Bond thinks he’s clear of any coddling, but he’d forgotten one essential detail from his and Q’s first meeting and all their encounters since: as precocious and cocky as the new Quartermaster is, he’s also exceedingly kind. And rather astute, too, if not with people, then at least with the history of the job and the responsibilities it entails.

Q closes the car door with a snap and straightens up. “My job is to outfit you with the tools you need, Bond. I happen to think we’re rather good at it these days, but if there’s anything we haven’t thought of, any equipment you require—”

“An exploding pen?”

Q’s only response is a distinctly British kind of withering look.

“—that you deem necessary to ensure a safe return,” he pauses, his voice softening and his face twisting a little with the awkwardness of the conversation. “You need only ask.”

“Thank you, Q.”

“Well, good luck in the field. Do try to return the equipment in one piece.”

Bond steps forward, making sure to get just close enough to Q to fluster him. It works for a moment, though the boy recovers quickly. Perhaps he’s been here just long enough to have become immune to an agent’s charm.

“And what about us agents?” murmurs Bond. “Say it’s between me and the gun or the car. Should I not return in one piece?”

Q averts his eyes. He looks around the garage and squints briefly at the ceiling as if he’s looking straight through the concrete to the bureaucratic behemoth above. Then, over the top of his glasses, eyes sparkling with mischief, Q looks back at Bond and quips, “Are you not part of this agency’s equipment? I trust you can make the right call about which...assets…we consider more important.”

A month ago, Bond would have guessed at the gun and the car being more important to Q. Now, he’s not so sure.

“Stay safe, 007. I’ll look forward to seeing you upon your return.”

With that, he slips the car keys into Bond’s hand and walks away. Bond fiddles with them as he takes a second look at the car.

In it, there’s a palm-print encoded gun (version two, apparently), several miniguns, an oil slick, heat-seeking missiles, a poison-detection kit, and a defibrillator meant to properly stand up to the kinds of emergencies agents face in the field. All of that is cased a frame designed to withstand bullets, fire and water. The Noah’s ark of cars. Well, it would be if it weren’t also a harbinger of destruction.

It's fine work, certainly, but it isn't until Bond climbs into the vehicle and opens its accompanying mission envelope that he lets an unguarded smile free. Lying inconspicuously atop the paperwork is an Omega Seamaster with a note wrapped around its band.

For opening doors. If you find yourself really putting your back into it, try the alarm.

Q.

Yes, Bond thinks, as he makes use of the car’s small ashtray compartment to burn the note. Staying safe in the field might be a bit easier this time.

#00q #00q fic #my fic

[green-crow]

Posting in AO3 is way too intimidating to me because it's full of such great writing so. I'm just gonna. Leave this here instead of there and run. First chapter of my Inscryption fic:

Lost little fawn

Another flying ant fell as they slammed their palm against it, killing the bug against a nearby tree. They wrinkled their nose and cleaned off the goo from the bug, feeling repulsed by it. “I hate this stupid forest.” They mumbled under their breath, fanning their hands to keep the bugs away. “Botopia didn’t have bugs.” They lamented, and with their next step, their hoove fell into a mud puddle. They groaned in annoyance, taking their hoove out of the wet dirt and shaking it to clean it off momentarily. Botopia didn’t have mud, either. But then again, they hardly belonged there anymore.

With a sigh, they continued walking through the rough path. Their bag felt heavier than ever as they carried it on their back, but leaving it was hardly an option. In a way, they wished that the bag had been heavier. It carried everything they had ever owned, after all.

Their ears perked up and moved at every tiny noise from the forest. A snap of a twig, ruffling of leaves, anything. They felt unsafe in the woodlands and would not let their guard down. Who knew what creature could leap out from the darkness and attack them? They were clumsy enough as is, with those bothersome new hooves and legs to get used to that still made them lose their balance occasionally, even after days of walking. The uneven terrain did not help at all. They didn’t need a beast chasing them on top of that. A grizzly, a wolf, hell, even a stoat could overpower them in that moment —stupid forest and stupid beasts and stupid everything.

They missed the factory. The loose dirt underneath their hooves was nothing like the cold metallic floor they were used to, just like the air filled with the smell of melted materials compared to the damp atmosphere they were in right now, scents of different beasts surrounding them and merging, making the task of figuring out what exactly lurked behind the shadows impossible. They missed the clanking of machines or clogs moving in unison, their ears finding patterns in those familiar sounds they never thought they would sicken for. Instead, now they were enveloped by random critters and cries, their head snapping every once in a while to an unexpected direction just to check they were still safe. Nothing followed a pattern in that disorganised hell. How did nature bloom in such chaos yet refuse to do so in the factory, where everything and everyone had its place? Nonsense. But then again, they weren’t complaining about that. Botopia was much better than those lands, full of disgusting lifeforms. Inferior and frail ones. Imperfect.

Yet, for as much as they missed their home, a subtle pain settled down in their chest. They stopped and looked down at their new legs. P03 had no sense of empathy or care for its people, that much they had realised too late. They scolded themselves yet again. Looking back, volunteering for P03 to test a new card mechanic had been stupid. More than stupid, idiotic. Ridiculous. Nonsensical. Mindless. And many other adjectives of the same meaning. Of course, it had seemed like a bright idea at the time. They were P03’s favourite, were they not? It had taken them in as one of its own robots, despite being fully human. And they had not disappointed. They had learnt from the scrybe of technology. Later on, it taught them, but they had to use other methods initially. Seeing parts of plans, overhearing conversations not meant for them, sneaking glances at code. And each time, they had returned to their beloved scrybe with a solution for its worries. A fixed version of the code P03 had tackled from the wrong angle. A list of vulnerabilities that could arise from the plans it made. P03 was at first angry at them for interfering, jealous even that they could spot things a robot as perfect as itself could not.

But those feelings soon faded, being replaced with pride as the scrybe realised they had no ill intent and only meant to help. To learn from it. P03 saw greatness in them. It told them if they worked hard enough, they could become the best apprentice in the factory. And they did. They worked hard, harder than any machine or living being. They offered to be P03’s lab rat, both when it came to trying out new game mechanics and strategies. So, of course, when the robot requested a volunteer to try out a new game mechanic, a sort of bonus that would let a robot turn every other turn into a beast… Well, they were the first and only ones to present themselves. To test the machine, P03 first had to ensure it worked on living beings, be they robots, humans, beasts, or, paradoxically, skeletons. Then, it would move on to test it on cards. They didn’t understand the process perfectly, but that’s why P03 was the scrybe, and they weren’t. They understood technology but not quite magic, let alone the mix of the two. P03 knew better. It wouldn’t endanger its most precious apprentice just because of a possible game mechanic, right?

Things did not go according to plan.

And now, here they were. In the middle of the woodlands, cold, tired, angry. Betrayed. They kept walking, the soft moaning of the wind caressing their ears, the sound of their hooves hitting the dirt echoing through the forest. Not long after, they finally reached it —the dreaded cabin in the woods. Property of Leshy, scrybe of the beasts. The only hope they had left.

They stared at the door, hesitating. P03 had refused to aid them after the machine malfunctioned, saying that the piece of machinery was a priority, along with the game mechanic. They had then travelled to the tower of mages and wizards, but Magnificus had apparently been too busy “training” his students to even look at their problem. Then they went to Grimora, and while the old lady had been far more affable than anyone else, she could not do anything to aid them, as her powers had little to no effect on the living. Alas, they found themselves before the door of the scrybe of the beasts. They had learned to hate Leshy and all he stood for. P03 had told them how ugly nature is, how imperfect it is. Yet P03 had turned its back on them, and Grimora had suggested visiting Leshy. They had nothing to lose, after all.

With a heavy heart, they knocked on the wooden door and waited.

Welp, there it is. The main character is my newest OC so I'm still getting used to writing them, but I think I like how it ended up. This would take place in a state of the game equivalent to act 2, not sure yet if I want it to be right before Leshy taking over or a different state of the game altogether. I have a rough general idea of where I want to take this, but for once Im enjoying writing as I go, so who knows where this could end up at. If you are still here, thank you for reading! <3

#inscryption #writing #inscryption oc #writing wip #p03 #leshy #fanfic #ao3 intimidates me and Im too much of a pussy to post there #feedback appreciated

[tarzinnia]

Where Hugo, I Go...

Rewatched for the umpteenth time, the lovely film, Hugo (2011). If you haven't seen it, nor read the book by Brian Selznick upon which it is based, please consider a look and a read.

We rewatch films for a variety of reasons, just as we often do for books. Always something new and different to see, to hear, to learn, to experience.

But that wasn't why I put this film on the blog. With the WGA/SAG-AFTRA strikes, now more than ever, the Martin Scorsese directed piece seems relevant. Here we have the young orphan, Hugo Cabret, living in the train station and maintaining the clocks; the timepieces that make the trains, and presumably society, run on time. Those horological machines are human made and what time represents in the lives of humans is a constant tick tock, tick tock. With every beat of our heart, every breath taken, time passes.

Hugo senses this, as does his young friend, Isabelle. At one point in the film, Isabelle questions the future and what her purpose in life is to be. Hugo thinks for a moment and remarks:

"I'd imagine the whole world was one big machine. Machines never come with any extra parts, you know. They always come with the exact amount they need. So I figured, if the entire world was one big machine, I couldn't be an extra part. I had to be here for some reason. And that means you have to be here for some reason, too."

And during their conversation, Hugo also states:

"Maybe that's why a broken machine always makes me a little sad, because it isn't able to do what it was meant to do… Maybe it's the same with people. If you lose your purpose… it's like you're broken."

Turning that scene over in my mind and thinking about the plot (w/o spoiling too much, it is a wonderful homage to humans and art and film and history and human connections) and the ongoing strikes...but...

How is it that we humans have so readily turned the machines into the masters and the humans who created them into the extra parts?

This marvelous film would be nothing without the humans who dreamed and created and built and moved and loved it into being along with the original work upon which it was based. The humans aren't broken, the system is. The studios/corporations must recognize the labor that gives purpose to our lives and place the technology in the place wherein it serves the greater good before time runs out.

I could contemplate this film and its themes for a long time, it is a real gem to view and think about in the context of the past, the present, and the future. Hats off to all involved.

#WGA #WGA strike #writers' guild of america #writers' strike #SAG AFTRA #SAG-AFTRA #sag aftra strike #sag-aftra strike #screen actors guild #Hugo #martin scorsese #brian selznick #the invention of hugo cabret #asa butterfield #chloe grace moretz #ben kingsley #christopher lee #sacha baron cohen #emily mortimer #helen mccrory #frances de la tour #richard griffiths #jude law #ray winstone #george melies #labor #labor rights #SAG-AFTRA strike