#‘don’t use it you have a history of BLANK.’ I have a history of BLANK! I have a huuuuge history of BLANK!! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

seresinhangmanjake · 1 month ago

Note

Could we please get Feyd x reader where they have an arranged marriage with feyd and the House Harkonnen expects her to be replused by him . But instead reader is completely obsessed with him and finds him so hot because he is lol and he can do no wrong. LOVE YOUR FEYD STORIES 💌

Unexpected

Feyd-Rautha x Reader

Notes/Warnings: None, i think. I mean, arranged marriages? That's not really a warning though. Anyway, i fear this kind of sucks. My writing has been messed up lately. Hopefully, you guys still enjoy it anyway.

Words: 2100

Feyd-Rautha Masterlist / Main Masterlist / Tag list

They’ve been chattering for what has felt like hours—going on about dresses and parties, servant boys they find particularly interesting—and at some point, your mind could no longer take the dull droning, and so you drifted onto thoughts of him.

You know everything about him, read everything about his family. You saw his face in an updated textbook about the Great Houses, drawn in what you hope is a perfect likeness, because if it is, then he’s absolutely stunning. You’ve never seen anything like the Harkonnens, but then again, they look like no one else. They’re wholly unique and you want everything to do with them—well, specifically, everything to do with Feyd-Rautha.

“I can’t believe they’re marrying you off to him,” one of your friends—the daughter of House Wallach—says.

You snap out of your thoughts, wondering when the conversation turned toward you and your soon-to-be husband. You hum in question, needing more time to provide an answer that won’t induce raised brows and dropped jaws.

“Yes,” the other says—Duke Leto’s daughter, whose bedroom balcony you’re currently sitting on. “How can they do that to you? You’re their only daughter and they are giving you to a murderous House.”

“We’re all murderous Houses,” you quickly say, and from receiving the blank stares you’d hoped to avoid, raise your teacup to your lips to hide your blush. You take a sip, then continue. “What I mean is, history states we’ve all dealt with bloody hands. That’s how our families are where they are.”

“Well, the rest of us don’t kill anymore. Our families are praised, worshipped.”

“So are the Harkonnens.”

“Out of fear,” Wallach reminds you. “The Baron is vile, as if you don’t know, and he trained Feyd-Rautha to be just as insane.”

Insane. That word has been used a lot lately. Your mother shouts it at your father for his willing agreement with the Baron. Your servants whisper it amongst themselves when they think you cannot hear them. That boy is insane, they say. She’s doomed, they say. But you don’t see it that way. You’re not scared of Feyd-Rautha. You’ll admit you don’t so much care for the Baron, but that’s because you’ve heard of his treatment of your future husband.

People claim Feyd-Rautha’s a lapdog—you don’t believe that. From what you’ve learned, you see no puppy in Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen. You see a lion on the prowl, biding his time, waiting for the perfect moment to strike from below. You see a man hunting his dinner. You hope upon meeting, he gobbles you up as well.

“Aren’t you terrified?” Atreides asks. “Don’t you think about your first night with him?”

You certainly do. Another sip of tea hides another blush. “I’m not worried.”

Wallach blows out a huff of breath. “Maybe you’re as insane as he is.”

Yes, you think maybe you are.

—

Your mother struggles to hand you over. You’re the one who has to pry her gripping fingers from your arm so you can step forward and bow to the Baron. When you rise, you sneak a peek at Feyd-Rautha just to his uncle’s right. He’s as beautiful as his picture depicted. His eyes are just as glazed over with steel as you imagined. He looks at you, and the steel melts ever so slightly. His brow pinches. He swallows hard.

“I trust my daughter will be well taken care of,” your father says, a puff expanding his chest. It makes him look no more menacing than he is.

The Baron chuckles. “In the hands of my nephew, you can expect no less.”

You know it’s a lie. One corner of Feyd-Rautha’s lips quirks upward. He has plans for you—good. You like plans. You have plans of your own.

He steps down the staircase that has held him above you and your family and takes your hand in his. He presses his lips to your knuckles. Your blood zings throughout your veins. If this is all it takes for you to feel this way, you can’t imagine what more will do to you. The thought of his lips in new places, his tongue in new places, makes your eyelids flutter.

“My Lady,” he says. His voice is intoxicatingly low.

“My Lord,” you say back to him.

When you smile at him, the smirk drops from his face and his head jerks back. Cold, blue eyes scan your features for falsities, as if you wear a mask he can remove to reveal a frown. He watches that frown fall into place only when your mother comes up behind you.

“Oh, my sweet daughter,” she cries, whipping your body around so she can properly hug you goodbye. “Don’t let them change you,” she whispers in your ear. “You’re too lovely for them.”

“I’ll be fine,” you tell her. You’ll be more than fine. This is the most excited you’ve been in years. And you knew it would be. That’s what he brings out of you…already.

—

He likes you. Well, he likes you in a way—he likes the look of you—but it’s hard to say if he likes the rest of you yet. He sneaks glances where he can, but he doesn’t often allow you to be in his presence for long. He removes you from his training sessions when you peek in to watch. He leaves once you join for dinner, which you’re less than a fan of, considering it leaves you to his brother and uncle’s company. He does not come find you to say goodnight.

Don’t you have better things to do, he’s often snipped at you when he finds you close by. You’ve assumed he means in preparation for the wedding in a week, but you told your new servants and planners to do whatever they want. You don’t care what the damn wedding will look like. You don’t care what you’ll look like. You just want him. You want to be around him. Watch him fight. Watch his muscles tense and shift and strain in the war of death. You want to see his body shine with sweat and his eyes harden with a murderous glare. But he won’t let you.

The closest you’ve been able to get to what you want is by sitting in the stands of the arena, where you have to observe his skills from a decent distance. And while it is wildly exciting to see the man you’re going to marry covered in the blood of enemies, you wish you could be closer. You wish you were close enough so he could grin at you as men’s bodies fall off of his blade. You wish he wanted you close to him because it’s killing you to be so far away.

After days, you still don’t understand the separation. You figured your smiles at him would be enough to get the message across that if he likes you in any sense of the word, then he should be going for you as much as you would him if he’d permit it, but no. He keeps his space between you. Unfortunately for him, you’re sick of it.

—

“I’m tired of you avoiding me,” you call as you chase after him down the darkened hallway. You’d been waiting outside his training room for hours, hoping his keen senses couldn't pick up your unsteady breathing as you prepared yourself for this exact confrontation.

His steps stutter at your words and he pauses. He turns on his heel, and with narrowed eyes, advances on you. His form towers over yours, and in any other situation, you might detest the abuse of power, but here, now, you feel a sharp thrill. You try not to let his lack of shirt affect what more you intend to say, but it’s hard. You’re already swallowing saliva. You’re core is already throbbing.

“Do you have a moment?” you ask.

Feyd’s muscles tighten and bulge as his arms cross over his chest. He huffs. “I don’t understand you. You’re like a little rodent, you know,” he says. “Following me around as if I drop crumbs for you.”

A lump catches in your throat. He hasn’t spoken much to you since your arrival on Giedi Prime, and you know cruelty runs through the Harkonnen bloodline, but you didn’t know he could cut so deeply with words. “I’m not a rodent.”

“You’re as annoying as one.”

“Because I want to be around you?” you ask. “Because I like you–”

His arms fall away from his chest and your head flinches back from the finger pointed at your nose. “You do not like me,” he snaps.

His voice, though low, bounces off the walls of the hall, an echoey repeating of those words that you almost can’t believe you’re having to hear. You’ve not given any indication that what you’re telling him could possibly be a lie, so you don’t see how he could come to that conclusion. Unless there are whispers in his ear.

“Yes, I do,” you say. “I’m marrying you. I want to marry you.”

“You are not supposed to want that,” he spits.

“Well, I do!” you spit back.

“Then you don’t make sense!”

You don’t know what that means, so you just stand there, staring at one another as you wait for him to explain further. He doesn’t, and you tire of the waiting, so instead, you take a risk by stepping closer, and with cautious fingers, you raise your hand to his chest. Your palm plants firmly against his skin, and then you feel it. His heart beating rapidly. For a second you think it’s from the training. But then you look up at him, at how his jaw clenches and how he struggles to meet your eyes. And now you understand.

“I like what you are,” you tell him. “I like that you’re strong. I don’t care that you kill. I don’t care that you crave the feeling it gives you.”

“You should care,” he says, still avoiding your gaze. “You’re meant to be a precious little Lady. That’s what I was promised.”

“And that is what you wanted for a wife?” He doesn’t give you an answer. “I’m sorry if you’re disappointed–” he snorts, irritating you further. “I’m sorry if that ruins whatever fun you intended to have with me. I know the Baron has been eager to see what you’ll do to me once we’re married.”

His head swivels back to yours. “He found enjoyment from the idea that you’d be repulsed by me,” he says. “And so did I. So you shouldn’t feel so comfortable.” He latches his fingers to your wrist and jerks your hand away from his body. His hand leaves yours. It falls back to your side and you instantly feel a chill without him. It won’t do. You see a glimpse of your marriage—a loneliness, a cold side of your bed. He begins to turn away from you.

“You don’t now?”

He stops. “What?”

“You said you did find enjoyment in it,” you repeat. “Do you still?”

You can see his teeth grinding with the shifting of his jaw as he contemplates continuing this conversation. “They said you wouldn’t like me,” he finally tells you.

“But I do,” you say. “I read about you. I liked you before I met you.”

He groans. His hand runs down his face. He steps back to you, an iciness penetrating your stare. “I had plans for you. Ones you weren’t going to enjoy.”

A smirk curls your lips. “I had plans for you, too. Ones I fully intended to enjoy.”

He sucks in a breath, his chest puffing. His eyes narrow as if searching for your lies.

Without another thought, you reach up again and, placing your palms on his cheeks, raise onto your toes to press your lips to his. It might be idiotic of you. It might be the stupidest move you could make. He might gut you for the act, marriage alliance be damned. But the only interest you have is in getting your point across.

His lips are soft—probably one of the few soft spots on him—and they taste of salt from the sweat of his training. He’s frozen for a few agonizing beats, but then nails are digging into the skin of your hips, the fabric of your dress doing nothing to keep the sharp sting at bay. Lips move in tune with yours. You’re pushed backward. You hit the wall, trapped between hard surfaces of stone and body.

You ache for the man you’ve felt you’ve known for longer than you have. You ache for the heat of him. You knew it would feel like this.

When the kiss breaks, you smile. “You’ll like me,” you tell him. “I promise.”

He sighs in defeat and says, “I know.”

#feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha x you #austin butler #feyd rautha harkonnen #dune 2 #feyd rautha fic

451 notes · View notes

flawseer · 2 months ago

Note

In your last ask, you mentioned misgivings with Book 10's ending, and especially how it pertains to Winter. I absolutely agree, and I know why, but I wanna hear your thoughts on it, too: What's up with Book 10?

The following is a (very long) examination of my personal feelings with regards to the WoF second story arc finale. While it is based on what is in the text, this analysis will be interpretive and fill in blanks with my own thoughts. Keep that in mind.

Hahhhh... okay. Since mentioning it in my last post I’ve gotten several requests to talk about my feelings regarding the second arc finale. There’s probably no way around it then.

If you haven’t read that last post (it was admittedly very long, and so will this one be), I talked briefly about why I didn’t like that part of the story. I have to warn you now, this will likely be the most negative and dour post in the history of this blog. In a few parts it will sound like I hate Wings of Fire, and I want to say now, while I still have the chance, that I don’t. I love this series, thinking about its setting and characters brings me joy.

I also—very emphatically—want to make it clear that I have no ill will against Tui T. Sutherland. I’ve looked around other people’s stuff a bit and there are a huge number of posts wishing violence upon her or threatening her for doing things to her series that people don’t agree with. That is NOT what I am doing here, shit like that is NOT okay! While I will be critical of her choices, I still respect her effort of bringing this vibrant, wonderful world of dragons to all of us.

Also, obligatory last disclaimer: If you liked the finale, that is okay. You are valid for feeling that way. I’m here to share my point of view, not to demand people agree with everything I say. Just be warned that you most likely won’t enjoy what I have to say. If you don’t think you can handle that kind of criticism, this is your guilt-free opportunity to stop reading.

Otherwise, let's get into it.

CW: Discussion of parental abuse, depression, disease, and extreme acts of violence.

In defense of the finale

Before I start to systematically disassemble this narrative and get lost in a quagmire of negativity, let’s talk a bit about the circumstances that brought forth this part of the story. The plot of this arc was a mess from the moment animus magic was unshackled from the restrictions it had in the first arc, and from then on there was no longer any conceivable way to end this story in a clean way. Sutherland had created an invincible, unbeatable, omnipotent villain; he could read minds, see the future with perfect clarity, and anything he could imagine he could conjure into existence at any time with no cost to himself and no drawbacks. She was likely wracking her brain about how to resolve this impossible conundrum. What we got wasn’t good, but I believe nothing could have been. The foundation was rotting and by the fifth book it couldn’t bear the weight of the plot anymore.

The thing about animus magic in arc 2 is that it is so potent, so all-powerful, and so free of restraint that everyone who uses it also HAS to be a simpleton, or they would be able to break the plot immediately and become god. From the moment Darkstalker broke out of that mountain, he could have said “Any and all spells that are cast with the intention to harm me, interfere with my plans, or do something I don’t consent to will not work, from now on until forever”, and he would have instantly won. The strawberry would have fizzled out. The Darkstalker-blocking earrings would not have been created, and no one could have saved the Icewings. On the flipside, Turtle or Anemone could have said “I enchant the concept of animus magic itself to no longer obey Darkstalker”, and his threat would have been neutered. Point is, powers as potent and easy to use as this really need limitations, or they will quickly eat your plot alive.

I don’t envy the situation Sutherland was in at the time at all. If you’re an author, that kind of thing is a nightmare. It really is no wonder she decided to blow up animus magic for good in her next arc, even if I would have preferred it to get more healthy restrictions instead of killing it outright.

The Darkstalker age regression thing

Everyone has talked this part to death already, but if I am to write a thorough analysis of my feelings regarding this finale, I’m going to have to talk about it as well. I’m sorry if I end up repeating a lot of things you’ve already heard.

This final fate of Darkstalker, to have his memories wiped and be reset to an infant, is really uncomfortable. As far as I am aware, though correct me if I’m wrong, Sutherland said in an interview that she didn’t want Darkstalker to die because, in her view, he did not deserve to. We can debate here about the philosophical question of whether anyone is truly deserving of death, and the merits of “justice” and “punishment”, but in general, Wings of Fire did not seem to have any issues killing off its villains prior if they committed suitably terrible acts. That makes this moment stand out as noteworthy.

Who is Darkstalker then--and if we assume villains can be “deserving” and “not deserving” of death--what about him speaks in his favor, or against? The guy had a pretty crappy childhood, coming from a broken home (there is that inadequate parent theme again). He genuinely loved his sister and felt protective of her, and whenever he liked someone he wanted them to be happy and feel affirmed. The thing that Queen Diamond does to his mother is awful and he is justified in hating her for it. He is also portrayed as rather sympathetic in Moon Rising. When he asks Moon to find his scroll for him and not to leave him, he is not manipulating her, he is sincerely begging for her help. He is stuck somewhere underground, trapped in darkness, in a space so tiny that he can’t move. He remains that way for months, lonely and sad. If you just focus on these aspects, it’s easy to understand why he has so many fans who want him to see healthy and happy.

On the flipside, while he is dedicated to the happiness of his friends, he doesn’t always go for the most ethical way to achieve it. He tries to brainwash said friends without their consent whenever they exhibit behaviors he doesn’t like, or when he thinks he knows better and wants to “fix” them. He has very little regard for other people’s autonomy, lies to his loved ones with alarming frequency, and is unhealthily attached to the idea of power. Those things are certainly not good, but they are his character flaws. These are his demons; everyone has them and they make him a person. If this was all there was to it, he might still be a villain, but I’d argue he’d not be wholly irredeemable.

But there are things about him that take him beyond the pale. Things that go beyond the realm of just being misunderstood, or easily excusable.

He is possessive. He wants Clearsight and Fathom for himself, and for them to listen to him primarily. When Indigo makes it clear she doesn’t like him and cautions Fathom against trusting him, he deceives his friends and traps Indigo in a wood carving, just so he can isolate Fathom from his support network and manipulate him easier. He alters Clearsight’s mind to make her more agreeable and stop her from holding him accountable for his actions; while he thinks he loves her, he only loves an idealized version of her that is wholly devoted to and unquestioning of him. This is why, when he later forcibly overwrites Fierceteeth’s existence to recreate her (which is another horrific thing), he tries to excise the parts he finds undesirable to create a perfect version of his lover. But this caricature he has created in his head is not and can never be Clearsight, which frustrates his attempts.

He is vengeful. Not against people who have actually wronged him, like Queen Diamond. That would be questionable, but understandable. What makes this unacceptable is his frequent targeting of innocent people who just happen to be related to the person who wronged him in some esoteric way. He enchants a secret murder knife that kills random Icewings regardless of who they are or what they think about the Queen, just because the one who took his mother from him happened to share their tribe. He hates Turtle and wishes death upon him in Moon Rising just because he is a green Seawing, like Fathom was. And then there is the big one: He tries to kill all the Icewings who are alive in the present day, where Queen Diamond is long dead and none of them have ever even met her. Even his mother, who suffered from Diamond’s actions the most and has the most reason to hate her, is horrified and calls him out on that one.

And lastly, he is sadistic. He revels in torturing those he hates. He forces his father to disembowel himself, while the latter is fully aware and powerless to resist AND the man’s traumatized daughter is watching. Later he sends a magical plague to kill every single living Icewing sans one.

It should be noted that Darkstalker possesses virtually infinite magical power; whatever he declares, with very few exceptions, will happen. Even if he wanted them dead, he had the power to prevent unnecessary suffering. He could have said “Arctic, fall dead instantaneously”, or “Every Icewing will fall asleep and pass away peacefully,” but he didn’t. He wanted them to feel pain and pass away in the most wretched, agonizing ways he could imagine.

So what he chose to do instead is—and I want you to picture this for a moment—Darkstalker sat down, calmly, and said “Henceforth every living Icewing, excepting Prince Winter and those of hybrid blood, will fall ill with an incurable disease. This disease will cause heavy internal bleeding and make its victims cough up blood and waste away for a few days, followed by certain death.”

This spell does not discriminate with regards to who its victims are. The book glosses over the implications, but imagine the ramifications. Young children are notoriously frail, how many newborns got infected and died because of this? How many families were torn apart because they couldn’t get the magic earrings fast enough? Or accidentally got one earring less than there were family members and had to decide who has to die?

Most of the Icewings were physically cured by the earrings, but an experience like that sticks with you for the rest of your life. Somewhere surely, a dragonet watched as his mother put the earring on him and then slowly wasted away because she didn’t have one for herself.

It’s really easy to overlook how horrific this spell is because it isn’t shown or dwelt on. But the trauma, grief, and suffering it caused must have been immeasurable.

And none of those victims have ever even met the person Darkstalker wanted to get revenge on. None of those deaths meant anything to anyone.

The attempted death toll and scale of the calamity here puts even Scarlet to shame. The ones who come closest to it were Queen Battlewinner and Morrowseer with their attempted Rainwing extermination. All three of those died for what they did. Gives you some food for thought for sure.

Peacemaker’s burden

Despite just airing all of his dirty laundry and declaring him an irredeemable villain, I actually do have a lot of sympathy for Darkstalker still. His story is really sad. He was a child born with an amount of power that nobody should possess, and it corrupted him to the point where it destroyed his life before it began. His parents were always fighting and no matter how good his intentions were, he was unable to understand why he couldn’t hold on to his friends and relationship. He kept making mistakes, then made bigger mistakes to fix those, until his hands were covered in blood and he couldn’t stop anymore. My belief is that, after he wakes up in the present and realizes Clearsight is dead, he loses his reason for living and becomes completely lost in his grief.

Therefore, my opinion is that it would have been appropriate for him to die. If not to punish him, then to finally grant him reprieve from all that rage and pain, and let him rest. I think that would have been a dignified end.

But instead he got turned into a baby. ... And then they decided to magically erase his father’s blood from him? I don’t know what it is, but something about that Icewing erasure makes my skin crawl?

The thing that turns this baby twist from weird into highly unsettling is the context. Darkstalker’s mind is erased, then modified into a new person via animus magic. This is the technique a lot of this arc’s villains used to victimize Hailstorm, Queen Ruby, Peril, Kinkajou, Fierceteeth, and Winter. The same technique is now used again, by the heroes, which is a dangerous thing to have your protagonists do if you want them to remain morally upright.

It is also very reckless, because in almost all of these instances, animus mind alteration has been shown to be very unreliable. The spells seem to wear down over time and are susceptible to partial breaking upon encountering certain strong stimuli. Hailstorm—while trapped as Pyrite—seems to retain trace amounts of his former memories, which is why Pyrite is subconsciously drawn to Winter and clings to him all the time. Ruby is able to ignore half of her conditioning because her familial love for her son partially overpowers the magic. Qibli is just straight up able to reason his way out of it.

The thing to note here is that spells of this nature require a very meticulous approach; you can’t half-ass your reprogramming or the victim will just think their way past it. If you alter someone’s mind, the wording of the spell must be ironclad, lest you risk it wearing down over time and even break.

Luckily we have nothing to fear in that regard, because the spell that created Peacemaker was written by a Rainwing with a total of four days of literacy training. No one better mention the name Clearsight to the new baby Nightwing, or next month is going to be rather interesting.

But that’s just speculation on my part. Let’s assume that, somehow, this spell isn’t as unstable as all the others. Somehow Kinkajou threaded all the needles, and masterfully dodged every conceivable pitfall to pen the perfect incantation, despite having been illiterate just a few weeks prior. This one is built to last and Darkstalker is sealed away really thoroughly, for good.

That is still absolutely terrible and morally dubious, because now you have Peacemaker, who for all intents and purposes is a COMPLETELY innocent little kid, saddled with this huge burden of being the certifiable reincarnation of a genocidal ancient wizard. He’s gonna grow up thinking things like “Mommy gets real quiet whenever the topic of the Icewing tragedy is brought up,” and “Why does Auntie Moon look at me like that? One time she accidentally called me a weird name, who is Darkstalker?” “What is this ‘Clearsight’ name my mind-reading friends from the village found in Mommy’s mind?”

In a village that will be full of mind-readers soon, eventually the secret will come out, and Peacemaker is going to learn what was done to him. A huge, messy load of undeserved baggage was forced onto this completely separate, innocent entity. He will be devastated. Whether he then chooses to forgive them for this remains to be seen. To be honest, he would be well within his right not to, and turn resentful.

Poor kid.

Qibli’s callousness

I love Qibli, he is one of my favorite characters. This happens to be his book, and the fact that I fundamentally dislike half of it makes me rather sad. If anything, I hope this tells you that I’m not just hating on it for my personal amusement. I really wanted to like this. I tried to, and I couldn’t.

Qibli is really weird in this one, to be honest. He is suddenly made to be co-dependent on Moonwatcher, fawning over her every third paragraph, saying how much he loves her, how he is an incomplete and dysfunctional wreck without her, how it physically pains him to be apart from her, oh if only the stars would grant his wish and split the mountains apart so that he may fly to his princess, his muse, his goddess of ebony wit. It gets so old.

And it’s not Qibli. He never acted this clingy towards Moonwatcher. It’s more intense than even Winter gets about Moon, and Winter was actually depicted with a crush on her in book 6. Qibli was always just a supportive element, eager to befriend Moon but never desperate, like he is going to keel over if he is separated from his true love five minutes longer. These very frequent love declarations feel so forced coming out of him. It strikes me like it was just written in service of the love triangle. Maybe if we make him confess his love every four seconds readers will overlook the fact that they had no proper romantic build-up.

You might rightly accuse me of bias. I have previously admitted I am fond of Qibli/Winter as a romantic pairing, on the surface this seems like I am just not happy with my pet ship being blocked by Moonwatcher. But I assure you, I am actually pretty flexible and accommodating even towards pairings that contradict my preferences. I have no issues with Winter/Moonwatcher, for example, because the possibility was properly established and they have good romantic chemistry in Winter Turning. In theory, I would have no problem with Qibli/Moonwatcher either if it was ever set up as an interesting romantic dynamic. But to me, it seems like Qibli is written as a good, supportive friend to Moon for four books, only to pivot hard into “Moon moon moon moon moon moon swoon” at the last second, and it just reads to me as obnoxious.

I got distracted. This section is called “Qibli’s callousness”, and I haven’t even talked about the main part.

Qibli and Winter have excellent chemstry together, whether you read it as romantic or platonic—both of these interpretations have merit and are set up. They’re always the highlight of any scene they’re in. Throughout the story arc you get the impression that these two really get on each other’s nerves, but they bond and grow into really strong friends who bicker a lot but have each other’s backs when it counts.

Then there is a scene where Qibli casually tells Winter that he wouldn’t object if someone wanted to mind-control away some of Winter’s more objectionable traits.

This is genuinely a terrible thing to say to your friend. Like, it crosses a line and ceases to be harmless banter; you’re just telling them that there is something you hate about them so much that you wish they were someone else. Winter actually WAS mind-controlled earlier and felt (and proably still feels) guilty about having attacked Qibli in that state. And now Qibli says “Hey, I wouldn’t mind if someone did that to you again! Hue hue!”

It is awful, BUT I don’t necessarily object to Qibli saying this here. Qibli is in the middle of his character arc at this moment, so he is expected to be flawed. He is making a mistake by thoughtlessly telling Winter this horrid thing, and it seems like a believable continuation of his current character track. This is a reasonable development as long as the plot acknowledges that it’s a mistake.

Spoilers: The plot doesn’t acknowledge that it’s a mistake. Qibli never has a scene after where he reflects upon what he said and apologizes to Winter. When Darkstalker has Qibli trapped in his mountain jail and mind-wipes Qibli’s grandfather into a toddler (hey, wait a minute), Qibli gets visibly disturbed. Like, this is so off-putting to him that he gets queasy and Darkstalker hastily changes the spell. That could have been a great way to bring this back. Like in the epilogue, have Qibli track down Winter and tell him about disturbing baby grandpa theater and how he realized that wiping people’s minds is actually messed up and should have never said that to him.

But he doesn’t. He just lets Winter go, allowing him to believe he is broken and needs magical intervention to be tolerable. It leaves me to think that maybe he’s still okay with it, and fantasizing about rewriting his friend’s mind. Great.

Moonwatcher’s character death

You will find as this goes on that, I get the impression that the second half of this book takes all of the wonderful, endearing characters I have learned to love throughout the story and replaces them with really mean, or stupid, or otherwise inaccurate caricatures.

Moonwatcher’s relationship with Darkstalker gets plenty of setup and development in Moon Rising. You get the sense that these two could be great friends if their circumstances were a little different. It does a great job at making you think maybe Darkstalker is just misunderstood; maybe Moon should free him from his predicament.

Then at the end of Escaping Peril comes the emotional gut punch. Darkstalker actually IS a villain. He callously admits to Moonwatcher that he used his magic to make his own father gruesomely disembowel himself. Moonwatcher is horrified and disgusted that he would do that. There is no circumstance in which something like that would ever be okay. She ends the scene awash in tears because the person she thought was her friend is a murderer and a sadist. This is good, that is a natural reaction to what she was just told.

A few hours from there, in Talons of Power, Turtle finds Moon again and she is completely cool with Darkstalker walking free, despite crying her eyes out after feeling so betrayed earlier. That may seem strange, but this is still good because later, Darkstalker’s mind control plot is discovered. This scene was obviously written to set that up, Moon is mind-controlled into forgetting that Darkstalker could do something that morally reprehensible, and thus forgives him. This is also completely in line with his characterization in Legends: Darkstalker. It’s a kind of stunt he would pull to get Clearsight to shut up about him slipping into villainy.

In my earlier post I alluded to a moment where Moon is set to narrative auto-pilot and says something so rampantly off-kilter that it does irreversible, permanent damage to her character. It happens here, in the second half of book 10. Qibli gives Moon the Darkstalker protection earring, and Moon, somehow, says “I’m not being mind-controlled, Darkstalker really is my friend.”

I get what the plot tries to do here. It’s taking this concept of mind-control and adding a nuance, in an attempt to flesh out Darkstalker and give his character depth. He is ready to control everyone in the world, but for Moon, who is his best friend in this era, he wants her to remain herself. Perhaps this is his attempt at attonement for playing with Clearsight’s mind and driving her away from him. It is very touching in a way, viewed in isolation.

Unfortunately, it does not work with the full context of all the books. Because Moon is in auto-pilot mode right now, her main character trait is “Darkstalker=Friend,” so naturally she would speak in support of him. But this revelation has devastating retroactive consequences. The earlier scene that was written with Moon under mind-control is now altered into her having been in her right mind! She is completely okay with Darkstalker’s admittance to cold-blooded torture and evisceration, within hours of being so shocked by it that it made her cry and ready to denounce him. That is such a quick turnaround it’s giving me whiplash. And what’s more it turns Moon from a principled, upstanding girl into a sociopath who casually accepts gruesome torture and murder if it is committed by someone she likes.

Did Sutherland forget about the scene two books ago, where Darkstalker’s actions were so inconceivably horrid for Moon to learn of that she started crying? It baffles me that this made it into the final version. Her saying she was never mind-controlled makes Moon come off as so awful. This torture-excusing lunatic is not the same kind-hearted and insightful character I followed in all the other books.

Kinkajou’s character derailment

The world is a sad place when I have to question the way Kinjajou is written. Fortunately she is mostly fine, despite her having the biggest excuse to act out-of-character since she’s the victim of a mind-altering spell. Her only real moment of “what!?” comes at the end.

I already talked about her role in casting the spell that regresses Darkstalker into an infant. But I didn’t mention how her being the source of it is questionable in itself.

The clue is in the first paragraph of this section: She herself has experienced the effects of invasive mind-alteration. She was cursed by Anemone in the previous book to be in love with Turtle, and kind of half-struggles kind of not with it, it’s really strange. Turtle is appropriately horrified and acts like really awful things are happening, but then it’s mostly played lightly for some reason. My assumption is that Sutherland introduced this plot point, but then realized how uncomfortable this premise really is and tried to downplay it until the story got to a point where it could get done away with.

But I think the takeaway is still supposed to be that this was a horrid thing to do (which it absolutely is), and that Kinkajou will have to spend a lot of time trying to untangle her real emotions from the fake ones the spell created.

The point is: Kinkajou knows first-hand how awful it is to do something like that to another person. Ideally she should never even conceive of the idea to cast a spell like that, but if we’re really set on this Darkstalker baby thing and it has to happen, she should at least be a bit hesitant about it. And afterwards she should struggle with the guilt of having resorted to it. Not celebrate it and be proud, like it’s funny.

The assassination of Winter’s future

Now we come to the part I’ve alluded to previously; the part where all of these threads converge to utterly destroy one character and drive him to the brink of ruin. Let’s talk about Winter.

Prince Winter is the son of Tundra and Prince Narwhal, hatching in the same clutch as his sister Icicle. He spent his formative years being unfavorably compared to said sister—who easily took to traits that Icewing royalty considers desirable—whereas Winter struggled greatly to embody those same ideals. He was just a little too kind, too merciful, too gentle. As a result he often had to endure abuse from his parents, who made him feel like he was defective.

Because he was young and didn’t have any other frame of reference, he embraced this abusive narrative and began to drive himself with a vigor unreasonable for someone of his age. He scraped and cloyed for every bit of credit he could get, obsessing over advancing up the circle rankings in an attempt to “purge” the wrongness out of himself. To make his parents as proud of him as they were of Icicle.

This never worked. He was always seen as the runt, poised to embarrass the family name. Whatever he did, no matter how hard he strived, there was always something he could have done better.

The only real source of love and affirmation in his life was his older brother, Hailstorm. Where everyone else only saw what Winter wasn’t, Hailstorm embraced his brother despite of his “failings” and was openly affectionate with him. When Winter was with him, it was okay to not think about rankings all the time, and just be himself for a bit. I assume Hailstorm fulfilled a similar role for Icicle as well, which is why both of them love him dearly, and Icicle destroys her own life to bring him back.

Winter also has a fascination with scavengers, possibly because they are small and perceived as useless, like he himself is. He likely feels a kinship with them and observes them being craftier and more adept than everyone else sees them. This is therapeutic for him, to see that a thing can have merit even if no one wants to see it.

One day, he and Hailstorm sneak into Skywing territory so Winter can catch a scavenger as a pet. This excursion turns hostile when they are discovered by a roaming Skywing troop and faced with the prospect of capture, possibly execution. In a gambit to save Winter from this fate, Hailstorm mirrors the words of his parents, calling Winter pathetic and useless, so the Skywings will not think of him as a threat and show mercy. His act succeeds in convincing the Skywings, but it also convinces Winter, who does not understand Hailstorm only said these things to save his life. He returns home—believing his brother hated him all along—to face the wrath of his furious family for losing them “the desirable son”.

For all of his life, these themes have repeated themselves and haunted him. “I was born wrong and defective,” “I am unlovable,” “No one wants me.”

A few months after the war ends, Winter is one of the five Icewings enrolled in the newly founded Jade Mountain Academy. Shortly after departing, he unexpectedly returns home, having successfully rescued his older brother and bringing him back. He is made to believe that this erases his mistakes, his mother even pays him a backhanded compliment, an uncharacteristically “nice” gesture. He is promoted to the top of the rankings, finally his parents are proud of him.

But of course it is all a trick. The “adoration” afforded to him was all a ploy. Secretly, his parents abused power and tradition to arrange for Winter’s death. They force him into a lethal trial they intentionally rigged against him, all to finally erase that stain on their family’s honor.

Winter finally realizes the true nature of his parents’ opinion of him. Even when he succeeds, and does everything right, he is still defective, unlovable, and unwanted. He will never be anything else to his family. And so he leaves his homeland, pretending he is dead, resigned to live in hiding forever.

During this time, while at the brink of despair, Winter is able to draw strength from one source: His new friends from the academy. He vocalizes that, for all the abuse he suffered at the hands of his birth family, he fervently believes that THEY would never do anything like that to him. They chose to stuck with him, even when he was awful, and told him he was not hopeless. He was not a mistake; he could be deserving of love.

So naturally, he returns to them; they accept him readily, are willing to be his new surrogate family. When he almost burns to death at a later point, they fear and weep for him. When Qibli sets out to confront his own abusive family, Winter, despite being mind-controlled into a placid potato at the time, feels concerned enough for his friend’s safety to insist to come along (returning the favor of them accompanying him in his time of need in book 7). When Darkstalker’s mind control forces Winter to attack Qibli, he is shown ashamed and guilty of it once the control wears off again.

They bicker and struggle, and make mistakes, they break up but always come back together again. Time and time again the one thing that is always reinforced: When the cards are down, Winter loves his friends, and they love him. They would never intentionally hurt each other, or give up on each other.

I want you to keep in mind how wholesome, and loving, and mutually supportive this ramshackle band of misfits has been portrayed to this point... Because we’re moving on to the arc 2 finale, and it will do everything it can to corrupt all of it and consign Winter to a life of misery.

We arrive at aforementioned scene, where Moonwatcher receives her earring. Just a little bit prior, Winter had learned that Darkstalker unleashed a magical plague onto his people in an attempt to wipe them out. Now here is Moonwatcher, revealing that she is not under any spell, and has aligned herself with this guy willingly, speaking fondly of him as if he was a dear friend who never did any wrong. Winter takes this badly and accidentally breaks a vase; the narrative lingers on this moment and really tries to sell us on how unreasonable Winter’s reaction is, how he is overreacting, but let’s examine that interpretation for a moment.

Moonwatcher doesn’t yet know about the attempted Icewing genocide, but she DOES know about Darkstalker being okay with casting spells to inflict immeasurable torture upon those he hates. WE know that she knows this, so her stance here is already suspect. Yet she goes on to praise Darkstalker and refer to him as a friend. Look at this from Winter’s perspective. This “friend” of Moonwatcher just tried to kill his entire tribe, and he actually succeeded in killing his aunt, Queen Glacier, a person Winter greatly respects. Winter is currently unable to return to his homeland for fear of being branded a traitor. Even if he could return, he knows his obstinate and spiteful family would prevent him from attending the funeral, meaning he is not even afforded the basic dignity of saying farewell to his aunt. The aunt whom Darkstalker murdered by making her vomit her own blood until she withered away in her bed. And here is Moon, absolving the person who did this to Glacier from his appalling actions, despite knowing full well what Darkstalker is capable of and choosing to look away.

I don’t know about you, but I think I can forgive the grieving, emotionally overwhelmed boy for shattering a little pottery after hearing his trusted friend—who held his hand when he was dying—say that the guy who makes people disembowel themselves and wipes out entire countries may be misunderstood and not so bad. I think I would have a similar reaction. In fact, I would never want to talk to her ever again.

There is no way I can read this scene in which Moon doesn’t come off as either an absolute lunatic, or critically stupid and callous. In fact, based on her earlier behavior I half-expect her to get over the news of the attempted Icewing massacre in a couple hours, saying “Eh, it’s kinda bad, but you just have to do these kinds of things sometimes, you know? I’m sure he had his reasons.”

Then there is the part where Qibli makes his off-color comment about how Winter’s brain could really use a good wash. I already went into how it could have worked but didn’t. But with the timing here, we’ve already had Moon spit on their friendship, so as Winter’s other closest friend, it naturally follows that Qibli also craps on his feelings.

Consider the context: Winter comes from an abusive household where his parents forcibly tried to change him away from who he was to purge the “wrongness” from him. When they betray him and he narrowly escapes their attempt on his life, he re-affirms his belief in his friends, and the knowledge that they wouldn’t treat him like that gives him the strength he needs to keep going. But now, Qibli asserts that Winter DOES need to be altered, thereby AGREEING with Winter’s abusive parents, rendering Winter’s affirmation from book 7 erroneous. Qibli WOULD treat him like that if it made Winter less “intolerable”.

Neither Moonwatcher nor Qibli ever make an attempt to repair this rift. Winter is left betrayed and alone.

Stuff happens, and the forces of the Nightwings and Icewings come to blows over Jade Mountain. With his two closest friends having written him off and his support network eroded, Winter relapses into thinking he is worthless, seeks validation in unquestioning patriotism, and realigns himself with his abusive family by throwing himself into the battle. Nobody wants him to, in fact his parents still hate him for it, but whatever. His father dies and his mother blames him for it.

Meanwhile Turtle, Anemone, and Qibli are cooking up a solution to the battle problem. They have the idea to make everyone’s minds connect in a huge empathy wave for a few moments, which I think is a pretty interesting idea for what it’s worth. But then they teleport both armies back to their homes, and the spell sweeps Winter up with them, taking him out of the rest of the finale and bringing him to the Ice Kingdom. The characters say “whoops” but aren’t further concerned with the situation. It’s all a big laugh.

Let me remind you that Winter is currently considered not welcome on Icewing territory. His family, whom he was sent back with, is extremely abusive and vindictive. His friends know this. Said parents have previously arranged for him to be killed, and are still on record as wanting him dead. His friends KNOW this. And now he is alone with them and a gaggle of other royal Icewings who all are extremely pissed off at him for ruining their sacred trial site.

It is very possible that he is being torn apart and mauled by an enraged mob right now. He could be forced into captivity and flayed. Maybe the interim regent is sentencing him to death and getting the rope ready. There is a million different horrible things that could be happening to Winter right now, while he is trapped alone with people who hate him, things his friends would be reasonably able to anticipate. And nobody is doing anything to get him out of there, to suggest bringing him back, even though it would only take a single spoken sentence to do so! They aren’t even concerned!

Then the climax happens, strawberry thing and all, and we get the coup de grâce. After all is said and done, the group decides that Winter is untrustworthy, and that they must protect the secret of Darkstalker’s fate from him, because they fear if he knew he would kill Peacemaker.

Moon, who read Winter’s mind in book 6 and reached out to him about how the “ruthless Icewing warrior” persona in his head is a facade and how she sees he has a gentle and good heart... Moon, who in book 7 finds out about Winter’s secret deal to kill Glory and STILL trusts him, who calls out his bullshit to his face because she KNOWS how kind-hearted Winter is and that he would never resort to murder... Moon who, again, held his hand while he was dying... thinks that the dragon she has reminded of his compassionate nature time and time again would kill an innocent child.

This is disgusting. Moon believing that is so far off the mark with regards to anything this group has embodied or done for any of the last 4 books, that my only conclusion can be that these are different characters. Maybe the Nightwing library collapsed on top of original Moon, and when Darkstalker magiced her back to health she came back wrong or something. I don’t know.

So after all of this, Winter is left alone. He somehow escaped from the Ice Kingdom; luckily there is a timeskip so we can just gloss over the horrible situation he was put in by his friends. He thinks about Jade Mountain. He reflects on everything that happened, how his parents never really loved him... How they hated him so much they tried to kill him... How he despaired, but found solace in his friends who loved him for who he was.... How those friends then betrayed him too and magiced him away... How they didn’t care about what happened to him... And he decides he is done. He won’t bother going back. A few people, probably Sunny, reach out to tell him he is welcome back, but he says “it wouldn’t be fair to other Icewings if an exile took up a bed”. The decision isn’t hard to make, after all there is nothing left for him there. Everyone has written him off, moved on and left him behind.

Kinkajou visits sometimes, tries to stay in touch, but that’s just how she is. Maybe the others sent her to check on whether he’s going to become troublesome. They don’t trust him. Better to keep an eye on him, he might kill the baby.

With nowhere else to go, Winter moves to Sanctuary, a place for rejects like him. I picture him standing there, at the edge of a cliff staring blankly into the distance. He is completely alone; no one wants to go near him or talk to him beyond the bare necessities. He could probably make new friends with the Talons of Peace if he tried, but there is no point. Why should someone like him have friends? It wouldn’t work. They’d just decide he is too inconvenient to be around. Sooner or later they would just tell him to leave anyway. It's better not to try, so he doesn't get hurt again.

And slowly it dawns on him. His parents had been right all along. It was never them, or the others, it was him. He is the problem. The Icewings said it, Qibli said it, Moonwatcher said it. There is just something fundamentally wrong with him.

He is defective. He is unlovable. Nobody wants him. He will never be anything, or have anyone. And so he stands at the cliff, looking over the broken vase fragments of his life... This is who he is. Prince Winter. A mistake.

And quietly, where no one knows or cares, he does the only thing he has left to do... he begins to weep.

As it is written, the tale of Winter is the story of a boy who is told he is wrong for being alive. He closes his ears and tries to keep walking forward, desperate to prove that he is not an error, that he has merit. But this book comes out and it unmistakably says that he doesn’t. He is nothing, and he deserves to have nothing.

And I just cannot accept that.

Why did this have to happen?

I think that the author was really struggling with the ending of this book. I’ve said before how much of a corner she wrote herself into with such an invincible villain. I think she came up with the strawberry idea as a solution to this problem. But as she was writing it, the characters kept fighting her. It was not a natural solution, not a decision the characters—as they were established—would ever make.

So concessions had to be made to force the issue. Established traits had to be bent slightly to make this plot work. The farther she went, the worse it got. The concessions piled up and turned into contrivances. Eventually the characters were no longer acting like themselves. Their bonds got stretched too far and some snapped. It’s a very tragic pitfall that occurs with long-running series.

I think Sutherland must have also been tired. Writing an entire book is a monumental task, and writing 6 connected ones even moreso. She also comes out with these things really quickly. Maybe she was burnt out? Maybe she wanted to be done and her attention lapsed. Maybe that’s why she forgot that Moon knew about the disemboweling. It seems reasonable to believe when you consider that the next story arc would make a relatively clean break from the problems of this arc, especially with regards to the magic system.

But I don’t know what ultimately happened, so I can only speculate. I reiterate, I bear no ill will against Sutherland for writing this. Even if I kind of hate everything about this finale, and very vocally wish it would be different, I don’t want this examination to generate (or reawaken) any hatred towards her, or to attack her personally. I understand the pain of an artist who gets trapped with something for too long and has to find the means, any means, to see it through to the end. I criticize the story, but I could never hate anyone for that.

But for me, I do not consider this half of the book as part of the story. The characters act too unnaturally for it to have happened. So to me, it didn’t. We don’t know what happened, maybe Darkstalker is still out there. Maybe they dealt with him. Maybe what actually happened is my crappy and self-indulgent rewrite of the ending which I will never show to anyone because it would be really embarrassing.

But whatever actually ended up happening, I am sure Winter never ended up at that cliff, pondering how worthless and meaningless his life was. He is currently at Jade Mountain, surrounded by friends who love him, and bickering with Qibli about the correct solution to their advanced calculus assignment that is due tomorrow.

Is there anything left to say?

Probably.

I didn’t talk about Anemone yet. You know, in the epilogue she enchants herself a bracelet that makes her “not be so mean all the time”. I find that creepy. To me it reads as Anemone voluntarily brainwashing herself with magic to erase her negative traits instead of growing past them naturally because she finds them undesirable and wants to work to change for the better. I would ordinarily assume that this is an overreaction on my part, and I’m just reading the scene wrong. But no, we just got through a part where the heroes brainwashing someone is treated as an unequivocal good and worthy of celebration, so I think my reading may actually be spot on. Why are we letting the little kid alter her own brain without supervision? Hello? Tsunami? Someone intervene maybe? This cannot be healthy.

Turtle stands out to me as the one bright spot in all of this. He (and Peril, but she’s mostly out of focus) remain as the only main characters of this arc who don’t have any mind-boggling out-of-character moments or sudden streaks of uncharacteristic callousness. I really like the part where Qibli goes to free Turtle from his captivity and plans to give him an earful about the comically unhelpful messages he’s been sending him. But when Turtle asks if what he did was helpful, Qibli sees how beaten down and exhausted Turtle is, and wordlessly drops his frustration to tell him “Yeah, they were helpful.” That is the true Qibli shining through for a moment, showing that he cares about the well-being of his friends.

Do I hate the pairing of Qibli/Moonwatcher? No. Well, I DO hate how it happened in the book, and how the story tried to assassinate Winter’s character to resolve the love triangle and make it happen. I don’t hate it on principle though. If you are a fan of Qibli/Moonwatcher and want to write fanfics about it, please do! I absolutely encourage you to do that! Maybe you can fix this mess and turn it into something that’s actually properly handled!

Mightyclaws keeps the power that Darkstalker granted him past the finale. That means all the spells that Darkstalker cast are technically still active. Does that mean the Icewings have to wear earrings for the rest of their lives? Do they get sick again if they take them off? Is Peril forever cursed to think of Darkstalker as a cool old uncle and has to somehow reconcile how everyone else thinks of him? How did the Nightwings relinquishing their powers work, do they have to wear the earrings forever too now?

And there is one more thing to mention.

My confession

You may have already intuited this, if you’ve been following the content of my blog. It is very heavily skewed towards the first and second arcs of the series. I would now like to confess something.

When I read the second half of book 10, I found it so disillusioning, Winter’s fate so upsetting... that I put down the series then and there. And I haven’t picked it back up since.

That’s right, I have not read arc 3. I don’t know if that makes me a fake fan. I know pretty much everything that happens in it, the controversial twist at the end, Pyrrhia coming back into the story later, Snowfall getting brainwashed by a piece of jewelry until she cares about a plot that had nothing to do with her or the fate of the Icewings, etc..

It’s not out of malice, or because it’s a new continent. The opposite in fact; I would have greatly prefered a clean break with a new setting—Bug-themed dragons in a slightly more contemporary, developed environment sounds fascinating and full of potential. I don’t hate Pantala or the new characters.

I just... I can’t really do this again. I can’t handle the thought of Pyrrhia coming back post-Darkstalker, with Winter showing up and talking to these guys again like nothing happened, seeming like a different person, joking around with them like his entire character wasn’t dragged through a mountain of manure to make the plot bend a certain way. I think as long as this is the ending that the story is continuing from, seeing that would just make me miserable.

Maybe I will just stay in the parts of the story that I fell in love with. And imagine a version of reality in which Pantala is allowed to exist on its own, where Swordtail was the fourth POV character of arc 3, where Queen Wasp stayed the villain throughout, and Snowfall got her own legends book about how she reformed Icewing society and fixed all the shit that poisoned Winter’s life, so future generations don’t have to suffer through the same stuff he did.

~~~~~

If you’re still with me, thank you for reading this far. I think this is everything I ever thought about the finale of the second story arc, so now I never have to talk about it again. Writing this was difficult. I found it crushing at times. This will probably stand as the only overtly negative post I have ever made on this blog. I love Wings of Fire, and I want to celebrate it. To add to it, not tear it down.

I hope this wasn’t too boring, or painful, or frustrating, or soul-crushing to read through. I’ll see you later, hopefully with a more constructive post.

#wings of fire #dragon #wof #digital art #wof art #flawseer art #flawseer talk #flawseer reply #wof winter #long post #long winded

456 notes · View notes

fabled-fiction · 1 year ago

Note

Maybe a Hobie Brown x Mabel-Pines-Type!Reader? Older obviously, with just like, her personality and fashion sense? A Chaotic Sunshine meets Chaotic Rebel type thing.

If not interested, just ignore. But I look forward to whatever you write!

Starstruck (Hobie Brown x Fem!Sunshine!Reader)

Summary: You’re Jess Drew’s gal in the chair (in training), and when you have to make a quick trip the spider society you happen to catch a certain punk’s eye.

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: MINOR SPIDERMAN ACROSS THE SPIDERVERSE SPOILERS, use of (Y/N)

A/N: I hope this meets your expectations!! I had alot of fun writing this!

EARTH-1618

KINGS, NEW YORK CITY

Your desk was more glitter than wood at this point.

It was hard to tell where the stickers stopped and where the wood of your desk started.

Especially now, as you squeezed glue on top of whatever artpiece you were currently working on. An array of different paint tubes and what looked like glitter bombs were spread about your work area, dangerously close to what looked like very expensive monitors and pcs. Though it was kind of hard to tell based on all the string worms and star stickers pasted on any surface that wasn’t a screen.

The project, which could only be identified as an oversized button pin upon closer inspection, was coming together nicely. Atleast in your eyes.

It read “BEST SPIDER” with a cute doddle of a spider surrounded by loads of blue, yellow, and red glitter. Currently you were putting your finishing touches on it by attaching color coordinated ribbons to the bottom ruffles.

The craftsmanship alone of it was indeed impressive, you just needed to look past the blinding reflectiveness of it.

It was for your mentor, Spiderwoman.

Who had taken you under her wing for the past two years, “training” you to be the best. Well, best in the sense of “gal in the chair”. At first it didn't make a whole lot of sense to you, but neither did the world you were thrown into. She apparently saw something in you from all the way across the multiverse.

The rest was history.

“(Y-)..(Y/N)...(Y/N)!”

The glue bottle currently in your hands spun in the air, a chaotically beautiful cascade of glue spewing in the air and (thankfully) somehow none of it landed on you. Slowly turning your head, you gave a small wave as you saw said mentor on the screen staring down at you.

“Jess! Hey…did you..did you try calling my watch?”

“What do you think?”

Spinning your chair across the room, you snatched your multiversal watch and flicked the screen on.

You did in fact have about five missed calls from her. You could feel her iced stare from across the room, hell from across dimensions.

“But it was getting in the way of my creative liberties!”

“I don’t care! As the second half of a spider person you need to be available 24/7! Your future spider will need to be able to rely on you.”

Slipping the watch onto your wrist, you shot yourself back over to your desk and smiled widely at her. She knew that whatever scolding she gave you would only have about a few moments effect. Sure the message would stick but she always had that nagging feeling in the back of her mind of how long it truly stuck.

“Well, You have me on the horn now! What's up? Who do I need to aid with my technological wonders? My sleuthing skills? I'm ready to Sherlock it up!”

After a few more long blank faced seconds, Jess reached up to pinch the bridge of her nose.

“We actually need you here. Our resident Spider who usually deals with all of our technological deals is having some connectivity issues.”

Your heart stopped for a moment, but only for a moment before you were shooting out of your seat and whooping. Jumping around your room, you threw your fist in the air before a sudden realization dawned upon you mid air.

It was almost comical how you seemed to pause mid jump.

“Oh my god…I have to change. I can't show up to Spider Society looking like this!”

“(Y/N) there's no time! Grab your bag and get here now.”

Standing in shock, you huffed as you watched your computer screen clip off.

She was crazy if she thought you weren’t at least gonna put on some body glitter.

“Jess said to meet her here…do you think she got lost?”

Hobie shrugged, shoving his hands into his vest pockets. His fingers found themselves fiddling with whatever computer chip or part he had nabbed as he leaned against what could be considered a front desk.

“You know ‘er best. She usually punctual?”

Gwen looked up from her watch with an exasperated look. That told Hobie all he needed to know as he leaned his head back with a sigh.

“Listen! I've never met her in person! She’s one of Jess’s other trainees! I just know she's not a spider, and that despite having worked with Jess for two plus years she's never stepped foot in Spider Society!”

“She’s a chair?”

Pinching her nose, Gwen nodded. “Yea. A pretty good one too. She is a bit…eccentric though. And loud…I think she blew my eardrum out one time. I had tinnitus for like a week...”

“So she’s got some vocals on ‘er aye?”

“Thats all you picked up on? C’mon Hobie help me look for anyone who looks lost we’re supposed to chaperon h-”

Usually the portals that opened here were the usual semi-chaotic reality altering ones. But for some reason the one that just opened in front of them was nothing of the sort. No..this one opened with a loud tear; Everything and everyone in the vicinity was enveloped in a neon pink hue.

It was hard to tell who came stumbling out of the portal, as Hobie feared that if he moved his hand he would temporarily blind himself. But as the portal closed, and everything returned to its normal color palette, he finally dared to move his hand.

Maybe he shouldn’t have moved his hand.

Cause he was only met with a very different, blinding sight.

You had just fully stood from what he could only assume was a clumsy entrance. You wore what could only be described as almost every color of the rainbow but someone you pulled it off. There was absolutely no way you could move silently, as you were adorned in a plethora of kandi bracelets, pastel chains and pins. Your hair was adorned in a multitude of clips that matched the ones on your bag.

Was your smile an accessory too? Hobie was sure it was, cause it was blinding him just as much as the body glitter that was spread over your legs and arms were.

His hand slowly reached up to clutch the chest of his jacket, in hopes that it would remind his heart to beat.

It wasn’t until Gwen had elbowed him in the side (hard enough to bruise might he add) that he remembered to breathe.

“Don’t stare, it's rude.”

He didn’t want to look away.

“Hi! Im Gwen…Stacy! We’ve talked a few times over coms?”

You smiled even wider as you grabbed Gwen’s hand and shook it rather violently (or enthusiastically it could have been confused for either). When she removed her hands from your drip it was left brighter than before for only a moment.

“Hi! Its nice to finally put a non-masked face to the name! Im (Y/N). And you are?”

Your sneakers squeaked as you took a sharp turn to face Hobie fully.

“Im Hobie Brown. Quiet the entrance you made.”

He holds his hand out, and is relieved when you shake it for just as long as you did Gwen’s. He watches as it glowed then returned to its normal saturation.

“Yeaaaa. Apparently my Earth is like WAY brighter than most. I would’ve brought sunglasses if I had known that would happen. Anyways…can you show me to the computer lab..hub…wherever this Spider-Byte normally operates?”

Gwen had taken it upon herself to lead the charge, and include a quick run over tour of whatever facility you all happened to pass on the way to the lab.

Everything was so bright, but what amazed you more were the amount of Spider people that were just casually walking about. Either they were coming back from patrol, returning from break or coming for the first time.

You were sure your neck was gonna hurt or have a permanent crook in it from how much you were whipping your head around and turning to take everything in. You weren’t sure when the next time you would be here would be, so you wanted to take it all in.

“And here is where all the computer magic happens! You uh…know what you’ve gotta do from here right?” Gwen awkwardly raised her hands as if to present the lab.

“Yup! Im TECHNICALLY supposed to monitor your guys software and stuff and blah blah blah but I actually connected with Layla on the way here-who is super sweet by the way-and Im actually just gonna fix Spider-Byte’s connectivity issues here so she can get back to it. Y’know since she’s more knowledgeable with everything here. I would probably just mess something up.”

Despite the fact that you spoke about a mile a minute, and it was obvious Gwen was struggling to keep up, Hobie hung onto every word.

You moved like you had been here before despite this being your first time even stepping foot on the premises. You just moved with this sense of self confidence that had the aura of the room commanded by your presence alone. If you hadn’t told them your Earth just naturally saturated Hobie would have just assumed your essence was just too potent that it leaked off you and onto whatever you touched.

You were leagues above him when it came to the coolness factor.

Watching as you moved around the consoles via spinny chair (when did that get there?), each screen popped up and immediately began to run code. Hobie liked to pride himself on being a tech wiz, but this was levels beyond what he knew how to do. Maybe he could learn a thing or two from you.

But as he watched your hands, he noticed…were you TAKING code off the computers too?

Oh, that just brought a smile to his face.

As Gwen wandered over to the other side of the console to watch the miles of code run across the screen, Hobie took the opportunity to have a moment with you on the opposite side of the room.

Right when you went to shoot across him (and might he add it was almost like you had spider like reflexes with how you moved around on this thing), his hand went to grab the back of your chair.

Pulling the chair back, he watched as you rubber banded back into the seat and stood straight up. He leaned over your shoulder to look at the screen in front of you both. His hand reached over to tap a few keys and pull up the results onto just this screen.

Ignoring how his spider senses were shooting down his spine at an all time high with how close he was to you, he looked at you with a smirk.

“Did you just ‘alf inch some of our code?”

“Im sorry?”

Leaning in closer, he pulled the thumb drive out of only this terminal and held it up. Your cheeks turned a dark red in realization to being caught, and you crossed your arm as you started at him.

“You know wha’ I said”

Turning quickly, you pulled ANOTHER flash drive out from your pocket and stuck it into the port. The downloading resumed, and much to Hobie’s surprise you stood and snatched the thumb drive from him.

“First of all, I am part of the ‘’our’’ and second of all…it's none of your business.”

Suddenly multiple of the screens, well practically all of the screens in the room flashed green. With a pat of his shoulder, you rolled over to every computer and pulled out each flashdrive. Hobie counted…12!

He covered his mouth, trying to keep his cool disposition as he watched you quickly shove each one in your bag. You little grifter you…he would definitely have to find out what Earth you were from…

With the push of a button, you turned to them with a smile as you placed your hands on your hips.

“Alrighty! My work here is done…wait..,”

Turning around, you pressed the enter key on the computer behind you only to whip right back around smile as all the screens returned to normal.

You had been here all but twenty minutes and you managed to do solve all of their problems and then some.

“Now Im done! Gwen, you have my contact coordinate. Call me if you need me at all.”

Your eyes raked over Hobie, and you couldn’t help but feel a flutter in your chest as he watched you carefully. The hair on your arms stood when he had leaned over you earlier. You could tell from his punk aesthetic and impressive hair that he was definitely anarchy incarnate…

He intrigued you. You were sure the data files you had picked up from the archives would barely answer every question you had about him.

You would have to push off your paper mache project for tonight…

“It was nice meeting you Hobie! Hope we can meet again sometime. Im like, basically free all the time…Later!”

Signing off with a peace sign, your neon portal opened again and closed in an instant as you fell into it.

“See what I mean, eccentric.”

“I thought she was pretty cool.”

Walking over to where you just stood, Hobie ran his fingers over where you had last touched hoping to catch some of the light leftover.

It was then he noticed you had left behind one of your thumb drives. It was definitely yours, a bright neon yellow covered in white glitter that fell off as he picked it up. His other hand came down to pick up the tag on the string connected to it.

‘Oops! Guess I left behind this VERY important thumb drive. Mind returning it to me? I like really need it for super duper important chair stuff…Earth 1618, Kings, New York City things y'know.

– (Y/N)’

#hobie x reader #hobie brown x reader #hobie brown #spiderpunk x reader #spider punk #x reader #across the spiderverse #oneshot #spiderman across the spiderverse #spiderman across the spiderverse x reader #marvel x reader

4K notes · View notes

maniculum · 6 months ago

Text

One of the things I’ve noticed working in a bookstore is that a surprising number of people are completely unfamiliar with the normal way books are organized.

(I mean, in the part of the store where we keep the used books, I frequently have to assure people that the books are organized at all, but that’s because we have way more books than we have shelf space and there’s no way to handle that without it looking a bit of a mess.)

On one hand, we get customers who are apparently a completely blank slate in this area. I frequently have to walk people through, like, “Okay, it’s organized by subject / genre, then by author. Oh, ‘by author’ means in alphabetical order by the name of the author. No, their last name.” (Most of the people I give this talk to are, I think, college kids — it’s a bit strange to me that you can reach that age without knowing how bookstores work, but then again, I can kind of see how these days it’s possible to mostly get your books online where you just use a search function.)

One customer responded to the above explanation with “oh, it’s the Dewey Decimal System!” and I had to be like… no. Similar in broad concept, yes, but the Dewey Decimal System is a very specific thing (involving… decimals) and it’s really only used in libraries, not bookstores, because it kind of requires you to label the spines of your books, which bookstores generally don’t like to do for obvious reasons.

On the other hand, we also get customers with pre-existing incorrect assumptions, which are so often similar that I think they’re being imported from other media (though I’m not sure what).

People seem to expect the organization of Fiction to be much more granular — e.g., “where’s historical fiction?” “oh, that’s just in with general fiction.” I think some of that comes from movies (people ask where the “rom-com” section is, and that’s definitely a movie thing), but I’m not sure that’s always the reason.

(Admittedly the fiction organization is a bit more granular in the Used Books area than it is in the New Books, but that’s because there are certain genres that we get tons of from people selling us their old books, but we don’t buy enough of on purpose to justify giving them their own section in New Books.)

At the same time, people have the opposite assumption about Non-Fiction — i.e., they expect there to be one singular section labeled “Non-Fiction”, which is not the case. I’ve had multiple conversations that go like:

Customer: Where can I find non-fiction books?

Me: You’ll have to be more specific.

Customer: You know, non-fiction.

Me: [gesturing at the signs hanging from the ceiling that say things like “science”, “philosophy”, “art”, “history”, etc.] All of these are non-fiction in their own special way.

I try to be nice about it, but I don’t think I always succeed, just because I’m so often legitimately surprised and confused when someone just doesn’t know How Do You Books. I’m getting used to it now, but I’ve been working there for almost five years, so there’s been quite a long adjustment period in between.

Anyway. Just some observations.

#retail #books #bookstore

751 notes · View notes

eddiessluttywaist · 2 years ago

Text

as if

AGELESS/BLANK/UNDER 18 BLOGS ARE NOT WELCOME TO INTERACT. PLEASE RESPECT MY RULES AND BOUNDARIES.

summary: eddie taunts reader daily, but… she kinda likes it? just never does anything about it. not until she has to tutor him, anyway.

pairing: bully!mean!perv!eddie munson x perv!fem reader

word count: 7,901 words

content/warnings: swearing, some angst at the beginning kinda, mention of death (barb), SMUT MDNI (y/n is 18), bully!eddie, mean!eddie, perv!eddie, bully kink (?), dominating, arguing, breeding kink, hate sex, brief masturbation mentions, mocking, teasing, anxiety kinda, spitting, invasion of privacy (eddie goes through her things), eddie’s a dirty lil pantie stealer and sniffer, y/n is a c*m sl*t, bulge kink(?), dacryphilia, groping, choking, daddy kink if you squint real hard, mentions of virginity (y/n is not a virgin), pet names (doll face, princess), degradation (use of slut). i think that’s all pls tell me if i miss anything!

a/n: i have to say tbh i don’t see eddie ever being a bully so this is technically like an au!eddie?…but also… uhhhh very hot. makes my brain wiggle with heat waves so here we are. hope you like it! <3

part two - part three

As if.

It’s a simple statement, really, and you meant no harm when you said it. It was just something to be said… that didn’t mean he didn’t hear it though.

That also didn’t mean it didn’t tick him off.

You were surprisingly pretty to be in the geek group, but in the cruel and tyrannical world of high school girls..? Alas, no amount of lip gloss or cute skirts could free you of the fact that you were smart. Not only smart, but a geek. A nerd—who was shy around most—and you got along with nearly all of the teachers because of how well-behaved and intelligent you were. And, on occasion—although you always tried your best to not come off this way—a bit of a know-it-all.

That was the final nail in your coffin, really. Correcting Carol Perkins in American History in front of everyone back in your freshman year. (Her sophomore year and already irritable about having to take a freshman course 2 years in a row). You meant well, but she had it out for you ever since. The tyrant, as it was, made it entirely impossible for you to make your way up the food chain.

So in your sophomore year of high school, back in Autumn of ‘83, you were among the peasants just like him—even as a senior (for the first time). He took a quiet interest in you. You were cute and soft-spoken. You were a sophomore, though, and the fact that you were 15 at the time made the 17 year old scrunch up his nose whenever he remembered. He could still look, though, right? There was no harm in that…

Nancy and Barb took notice of it all pretty quickly. The way that the senior would scan over your outfits everyday. The way that he might’ve smirked a little if you had to bend over to pick something up, simply staring at your behind rather than coming over to get your things for you. The pair would exchange glances that you were adorably unaware of, over his attention that you were also so endearingly oblivious to. One day, they finally burst over it in the hallway, and he overheard.

“I think a senior likes you.” Nancy teased, gripping her Geometry textbook to her chest.

“What?” You had let out a slight laugh, digging through you locker. “What makes you say that?”

“Oh my god, seriously?” Barb interjected. “Aren’t you supposed to be smart? Observant?”

You were all wide-eyed over that, pouty lips opening and then closing as you struggled to find your words before finally landing on a frustrated huff and a simple “Shut up.”

“He stares at you all the time.” Nancy pushed with a teasing smile.

“Like you can talk.” You teased, slamming your locker shut before resting your back against it. “Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington is totally all over you.” You smirked at the way her face instantly heated up.

“I- He- It’s not like that.” She insisted, completely flustered. And while Barb agreed with you, she wasn’t interested in letting you direct the conversation elsewhere.

“Besides he’s just a Junior. The guy who likes you is a Senior.” Nancy tacked on.

“Like there’s really that big of a difference?” You raised a brow.

“There is.” Barb scoffs.

“Well then if it’s such a huge deal… can’t you just tell me who it is?”

“You seriously don’t know?” Barb questioned and the ginger-brunette pair tilted their heads while they looked at you with a sort of exasperated disbelief. You just gave them that wide eyed look again and shrugged your shoulders.

Barb broke first with a scoff and a bright smile. “Eddie Munson. He stares at you all the time.”

Eddie Munson. He wasn’t popular by any means, but he was still a Senior. He was still attractive to you, and could still make an underclassmen blush if he gave them any attention simply because he was older and a little dangerous. He just didn’t show any interest in any of the other younger students, just a little curiosity towards you.

“Eddie Munson?” You had laughed a little, which made him furrow his brows as he listened in just around the corner of the hall at his own locker. You were being dismissive out of nerves, not out of any sort of malicious intent, but that’s not how he took your tone. After all, he was a cynical man.

“As if.”

After that he was a bit bitter towards you. Then he was a little mean. And then he was just plain cruel. He was an asshole. He was a bully.

Since his interest being pointed out to you, you occasionally glanced over at him to see if he really was staring. But he either acted like you didn’t exist, or whenever his gaze did meet yours the corners of his lips turned down and his brow frowned with disgust before looking elsewhere.

When Barb went missing, you and Nancy were temporarily joined at the hip in your efforts to figure out what happened. Then one day Nancy went cold on you. Started making excuses and hardly speaking to you otherwise. You didn’t understand, finding yourself completely alone as you scattered “Missing Person” posters all over Hawkins.

You had no idea what happened with Barb at the time and still had no clue what happened with your friendship with Nance to this very day. Maybe the loss was too much. Maybe Nancy couldn’t handle the reminder of your perfect trio. She was always closer to Barb than you. Maybe Barb missing and then turning up dead made it too difficult for her to face you. Maybe she was all caught up in two guys being completely obsessed with her, which admittedly made you a little jealous.

Soon enough you seemed to be completely off one another’s radars. It made high school even lonelier for you. You eventually found some new friends in other corners of the “Smart Kids” lunch table, but it was never like it was with Nancy and Barb.

So by the time he started getting a little mean, there wasn’t really anyone to protect you. Your new friends were skittish around the metalhead. Nance and Barb would’ve stood up for you once, but that support system was obliterated back in ‘83.

So when he shoved past you in the halls later in your sophomore year, no one gave it any thought. When he was pulling your hair in your Junior year then acting all innocent when you turned around to confront him, still no one cared. Now in your Senior year—and him in his third—whenever you thought he couldn’t be worse, he proved you wrong and did so with a devilish grin.

He pulled your hair. He tripped you. He stood behind you in line at lunch and would flip up the back of your skirt. He smacked your books out of your hands. He openly mocked you while leaning back in his chair at lunch with that smug look on his face. He mimicked your contributions in class under his breath, knowing you’d hear him and trip over your words. He snuck filthy messages into your locker that made your face burn with embarrassment and disgust—disgust for him and for the way his perverted words made your thighs press together. He would speed up whenever you were walking or biking home just to scare the shit out of you. He would take any opportunity to shove you or throw things at you or press his body up against yours in a derisive and vulgar manner—especially in gym class. He would “playfully” hump you from behind and nearly knock you over whenever you bent over and there was no teacher paying attention. Or spank you. Or pinch your ass.

He was horrible. Disgusting. Obnoxious. Crude. Vile. He made you go home with tears in your eyes most days, but the worst part was how much you liked the attention. You hated yourself for it. You wished you were running to the nearest adult to tell them every last thing he did to you. You wished you were standing up to him and calling him a disgusting pig in front of everyone which surely would’ve pulled out some “Ooo”s and maybe even some of the Seniors that hated him would’ve joined in. Maybe even had your back, even if it was temporary.

But you didn’t because by now when he pulled your hair, you had to refrain from whimpering or moaning. When he tripped you, you thought of the things he could do to you now you were already on your hands and knees. When he flipped up your skirt you always gasped and shoved him away, secretly hoping he’d do it again—even starting to wear only your cutest pairs of panties to school. When he smacked your books out of your hands, you actually liked that it was him causing you to bend over or get on your knees to collect your things again. When he decided to mock you from over at his spot at lunch, you got butterflies from the way he said your name and the way his dimples sunk into his cheeks. When he mimicked you in class, you tripped over your words because his voice and tangible presence got you all flustered and hot. When you got to your locker, you secretly hoped to see the torn off corner of some notebook page flutter onto the floor with the most obscene words. When he sped up to scare you, you thought about screaming something so bold at him that he would screech to a halt and reverse before telling you to get in his van, now.

You liked when he threw things at you like balled up paper to your cheek in class or a basketball to your side in gym. You liked when he shoved you or pressed against you because in his attempts to intimidate you with his touch and his proximity, it made your knees weak. You liked how he pinched your ass or gave it a little smack when you bent over and your teacher wasn’t looking. And you loved when he would thrust up against you whenever you were bent over and there was no teacher around at all, because his bulge pressed up against you (even while he was laughing devilishly) made you ache.

He was so utterly horrible to you, and yet when you found yourself grinding on your hand at night on top of your pink, white and yellow quilt—you were thinking about him and how mean he was. You were thinking about how mean he would be as he fucked you. Taunting you and teasing you and mocking you. You spasmed around your fingers and choked down your cries at the thought of him bullying your cunt.

It was all a fantasy, though. He never interacted with you longer than a few seconds, and was always with him in control. If you walked up to him and told him you wanted him to fuck you like the bully he was, he probably would’ve died laughing right before your eyes and told everyone he knew about your embarrassing lust for the guy who made your life a living hell. But now you were being cornered into spending time with him, and being faced with a real-life scenario where you were together made your palms sweat.

“I know he’s a difficult young man, but if you tutor him I’ll figure something out with the principal. Some sort of extra credit maybe.”

“There’s no one else that could tutor him?” You choked out, nerves on edge. Ms. O’Donnell gave you a sympathetic smile and shook her head.

“All busy.”

Busy, my ass you wanted to huff out. They were probably all avoiding him like the plague. O’Donnell was desperate to get his grade up and get him out of the damn school, which you didn’t blame her for, but god… why you?

“Okay…” You relented, a sad twitch for a smile when she sighed in relief and thanked you incessantly.

“I’ve already spoken to him about needing a tutor, I’ll let him know the good news, okay?”

You nodded with a meek “okay,” and tried to go on with the rest of your day as if you weren’t wracked with fear, excitement, concern over your excitement. You were on edge all day, and nearly jumped out of you seat when you were called to the office over the speakers about 5 minutes to the end of your last class. You swallowed anxiously, collecting your things and trying to ignore the “ooo”s over you being summoned to the principal’s office—assuming you were in trouble.

You trudged towards your destination, pausing when you spotted him slack in one of the chairs by the front desk that he frequented more than anyone else. You considered running in the opposite direction and making up some lie to Ms. O’Donnell the next day, but then Mrs. White beamed at you after happening to glance away from her clunky typewriter.

“Miss Y/L/N! Come on in, dear.” She spoke cheerfully in a way that went through you sideways. Eddie’s eyes shot up to you, smirking around the fingernail he was chewing at and clearly considering spitting it at you if Mrs. White hadn’t been paying attention. You toyed with the ends of your sleeves anxiously, listening to Mrs. White discuss the details Ms. O’Donnell had ready. What topics to go over (which was just about everything). How many times per week she wanted you to tutor him (at least once/week). The only thing left out was when and where.

“Oh that’s up to you two, hon.” She chirped. “Just compare your schedules.”

“It’s not in school? With a teacher around?” You questioned anxiously, but she was oblivious to your worries.

“Nope, no need for supervision. We like to give the tutors space from the teachers while they work with others, we find that the students that need help take to that better.”

“Sure do.” Eddie spoke up, and you nearly flinched at how close he sounded. You glanced over and he must’ve just gotten out of the hard plastic chair cause he was slightly leaned back to give his body a stretch causing his chest to puff out a little, his hands moving to rest by his hips as he tugged his jeans up.

“What? Scared of me ‘r somethin’?” He whispered playfully, a hand moving up to rest over his heart as he feigned offense before his act melted away to show his usual smirk. He winked at you, and you swallowed nervously as you looked back at Mrs. White again who was blissfully unaware of his malevolence.

“So here you go… those worksheets and… a time sheet.” The woman grinned as she placed the last paper on top before sliding everything over. “You just have to add the dates that you study together, and you both have to sign each time. Ms. O’Donnell said writing a quick synopsis of what you went over would be nice too, but not necessary. The most important thing is seeing a difference in Mr. Munson’s grades.”

“Sounds good to me, Pam.” Eddie smiled at Mrs. White whose sunny demeanor sunk into a more serious expression while you put the papers away neatly in one of your folders.

“What have we talked about, Mr. Munson? Use my first name again and you’ll find your butt in detention this Saturday for such disrespect. Again.”

He puts his hands up as if apologizing for his actions, but he was still grinning ear to ear. Mrs. White eyed him with a tight lipped scowl, then looked at you.

“Good luck.”

You were gonna need it.

The ride to your house in his rusty van was surprisingly quiet beyond his music. You were on edge which he enjoyed like always, but he was clearly saving the torment for when he was inside your home. You wished your parents were home, even if they were tucked away in another room, but they were both gone for the weekend to attend your Aunt’s wedding. Not that you’d let him know that.

“We’ll be studying in the dining room. And no funny business. My dad’s in his office and he doesn’t like being disturbed while he’s working.” You lied seamlessly, making your way over to the dining table, Eddie lazily sauntering along.

“Oo does daddy have a temper?” He teased in a whisper. “Gonna come out and spank you if you bother him too much?”

He gave you a mocking pout and your face scrunched up with irritation.

“Just sit so we can get this over with.”

“I’m sorry are you under the false impression that you’re in charge here, doll face?” He questioned, keeping his anger mostly disguised by his inquisitive tone.

“Well, I’m the tutor so-“ You scoff out, avoiding looking at him as you pulled all of your study materials from your bag.

“Yeah and that means something to me because…?” He drew out his last word as he spun on his heels and casually walked away.

“I- what-“ You sputtered. “What are you doing?”

“You know it’s awfully rude to have a guest and not give them a tour of the place.” He spoke casually, grabbing the ends of picture frames hanging on the walls to get a better look at them before letting them drop back again. You were hot on his heels, fixing every frame he left crooked. He paused at a picture of you from camp in a bikini with some of the friends you made that summer, smug and sucking at his teeth a little as he eyed the image of you.

“Real cute…still got it?” He looked over at you, his hair shifting over his shoulder as he eyed you. “Wanna model it for me? Make all this worth my while?”

Your cheeks were starting to turn pink.

“We have to study.”

“Eh.” He shrugs, and looks over to spot the staircase behind him. He slunk around the corner and made his way up the carpeted steps.

“Hey- hey! You’re not allowed up there!” You shout after him, rushing to follow after him. He was already on the second floor when he turned and shushed you.

“Don’t wanna make daddy angry, right? He’s hard at work if I’m remembering correctly.” He whispered with a joking concern for your father’s focus who wasn’t even here, and you worried he knew that. He continued on along the hallway and you stayed behind him, wishing there was something you could do to get him to stop. He opened doors along the way, inspecting the interior with a mild curiosity. The upstairs bathroom. Your parent’s room. The spare bedroom. Then-

“Ah, here we are.” Your bedroom at the end of the hall.

“Please get out of my room.” You pleaded, but he continued on his quest. He looked at the makeup on your vanity, toppling some of the products over like a careless cat before moving on. He toyed with any photos in your room, sniffed at the perfume bottles on your dresser.

“Eddie-“ You started, clenching your jaw as he found the perfume you wore the most often and sprayed some of it on the crotch of his jeans. Then he just kept a hold on it as he waltzed around your room, spraying it several times just to waste your favorite product.

“That’s rude.” You spoke up, your lips pouting slightly. He snickered at your comment, how you sounded like a wronged child.

“Aw well if you need to touch up your perfume at all, you know where to get it.” He grinned, pointing to his groin before continuing to go through your things. The concept was strange but still made you clench simply from the thought of having to rub at his bulge to get something you wanted. He didn’t waste that much of your fragrance, but the idea was still burning in your mind.

He muttered disapproving comments at the posters on your walls and the cassettes he rummaged through until he got bored. You were nervous about interfering even as he invaded your privacy, until he was opening your top drawer to go through your panties and bras.

“Hey! That’s too far!” You gasp, rushing over to slam the drawer closed again. He shoved you back and opened it again.

“Quit being so fucking uptight.”

“Quit going through things that don’t belong to you!” You talked back which was still surprising him every time you did, but certainly didn’t let it show.

“Yeah well quit pissing me off before I put you in your fucking place.” He seethes, giving you an angry warning look that felt like fire all over you. You wanted to cry, to tell him to stop being so mean to you, but it would be useless. You’d just end up feeling pathetic as he laughed over your misery. You just had to stand there and watch as he kept going through your underwear drawer.

“Ooh, cute. I don’t think I’ve seen these yet.” He clicked his tongue and blew out an impressed breath as he held up a black lacy number. “‘d love to leave some stains on these for you, doll face.”

“You’re disgusting.” You blurt out, but the thought of his cum spurting onto your new pair of panties made you feel warm. He smirked at your frustration, tucking the underwear into his pocket.

“Those are new!”

He shrugs, shoving the drawer closed again with enough careless force to knock over a picture frame perched on top. He doesn’t seem to care until he’s spinning around with his finger pointed at you and that wicked look on his face.

“You know what, though? You bring up a great point.” He tugs the lace from his pocket and holds it up to his nose before letting out a disappointed sigh. “Now that’s a problem. Still smell like whatever cutesy store you got ‘em from.”

You have a moment of hope that he’s trying to be nice and provide an opportunity to give them back to you, even if he’s going about it in a dirty way. But that doesn’t last long, even when he’s tossing them back to you.

“Why don’t you put ‘m on for me, huh? Then when you give ‘em to me on my way out I’ll have proof of how fucking wet I get you.” He spoke so smoothly as he got closer to you, that it almost blanketed the filth of his words as something soft or even sweet.

“As if.” You scoff out in a huff, and there’s a fury to his gaze that you don’t understand.

“Yeah… as if.” He murmurs darkly, getting closer to you. You swallow nervously and take a step back. “Cause fuck me, right? I’m just some good-for-nothing asshole who you wouldn’t give the time of day. Not a priss like you.”

“I-I’m not a-“

“Oh dad!” He’s suddenly shouting at the top of his lungs in a sing-song manner, his body whipped around to face your doorway, and your eyes go wide.

“Stop-“

“Hey! I just wanna meet Mr. Y/L/N! Spending time with your lovely daughter!” He spoke with a passionate respect that you knew was coming from a hateful place. He had gone to your doorframe and was listening for any kind of response. A verbal acknowledgement. The sound of steps or creaking floorboards to tell him there was actually going to be someone to confront him.

His grin became devious as he went to the steps again. “Hello?” He calls, dragging out that last vowel.

“Will you quit it!” You hiss, tears prickling at your eyes now at the thought of him realizing you were all alone. Just you and him. And that you had lied to him.

He was turning around, sure now that the only people in this house were you and him. His dimples were pushing into his cheeks again as he sucked at his teeth, approaching you at the doorway to your bedroom like a cocky killer. The kind that you saw in horror movies that knew they had their prey cornered and could have some fun with it.

Out of nerves and a need to keep a barrier between the two of you, you took a quick step back and went to slam your door shut so you could lock it, but he got there in time to stop in with an outstretched arm. He pushed it open so harshly that you were sure there would be a dent in your wall where the doorknob was forced into it.

God, you couldn’t stand the way he looked right now. So proud. So smug. That shit-eating grin that told you he knew he was winning. That fury from before still lingering. He noticed the gloss to your eyes and tuts as a mocking pout reaches his lips.

“Upset about somethin’, doll? Someone got you all worked up?”

You huff out your nose, your lips screwed into a frown and your eyes still stinging with unshed tears.

“You’re so… so… mean! I hate you!” You shout, and without even realizing it you had stomped your foot at your last statement. It makes him pause, his expression unreadable for a moment as he considers everything until it all lands on amusement. He crosses his arms over his chest, grin wild and his hair flowing with him as he tilts his head with intrigue.

“Did you just stomp your foot at me, princess?” He teases, and your face feels so hot you wonder if he can see the flush of pink even through your foundation. He can. You refuse to answer him, fighting back the urge to fully cry in front of him. He’s getting closer though until he’s brushing up against you and looking down at you. God, he’s so warm.

“Aw… such a sensitive girl. Look at you.” He murmurs as he continues backing you two up until you’re pressed against the wall, one of those posters he disapproved of crinkling against your hair. He’s making fun of you like always but there’s a softness around the edges of his words. Blurred by a desire to do just about anything to you. He reaches his hand up to drag the pad of his thumb over your pouty lower lip before bringing his hand down to grasp you by your chin.

“Bet your pussy’s just as responsive as the rest of ya, huh?” He whispers as he makes you look up at him. Your nostrils flare momentarily and you keep looking up at him but you still won’t speak and you still won’t let those tears fall.

“I bet your cunt is just as weepy. All hot and wet when I’m fucking you into shape.”

You bite the inside of your cheek to refrain from whimpering or letting your lips part for a soft sigh. Anything that would confirm how badly you want him to figure out just how right he is. But then his anger flares back up as he’s gripping your jaw now, squeezing just enough to make it uncomfortable.

“Speak when you’re spoken to.” He demands in a low voice with a sort of growl to it that makes your knees weak. You part your lips as you consider answering him like you’re told, and he raises his brows while waiting. Then, in a brazen defiance, you spit in his face instead.

He’s so solid it’s almost like he doesn’t care. Not a flinch or a crack in his demeanor. Then he’s moving his hand from your jaw to your throat and gripping onto it enough that you gasp.

“I’ve been spat on my whole fucking life, you think that’s gonna make a difference here, princess? Think that’s gonna make me respect you? Think you’re brave?”

Your hands reach up to rest over his on your neck, a mewl vibrating from the back of your throat. He leans in closer to your face, your lips parting wider as he tightens his grip.

“It just makes me think you’re stupid.” He finishes before spitting directly into your open mouth. He’s releasing you from his grip right after, wiping your saliva from his cheek while you catch your breath. A soft moan escapes you before you can keep it at bay and his inflated ego is tangible. He’s eyeing you with a sort of amazed intrigue that pulls him back to you, his arms lifting to place his hands on the wall on either side of your head.

“You like it, don’t you?” He laughs and you shake your head furiously, but he isn’t buying it. “You could’ve gotten my ass suspended—hell, even expelled—ages ago. And yet…?”

“I just felt bad that you’re such a fucking idiot.“

“Dirty girl.” He hisses inward through his teeth as if burned by your words, but you were just egging him on.

“Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?” He wondered in a soft tone, hand back to your jaw as you stayed quiet. “Will you kiss daddy with that mouth?” He added with a lazy grin, exuding dominance and arrogance.

You became a little slack jawed at the implication, and he was on you. Hand still on your jaw, he pressed his lips to yours. You feigned protest at first with a few kicks and smacks, but then he had your wrists pinned against the wall and you sunk into the kiss. He kept you pinned for a few moments, until he was sure you were relaxed. He dropped his hands down to completely engulf your waist in his arms, and keep you pressed against him. The kiss was filthy with anger-fueled lust and slips of moans on your end and grunts from his.

“I hate you.” You whispered in between kisses, his hands moving to grip your ass now.

“Yeah you do.” He chuckled proudly against your lips before beginning to trail his lips down your jaw to your neck. Your eyes fluttered closed, hands settled on his muscular back as he sucked and bit at your neck, messy hair tickling you. More sounds slipped from you with no attempt to hold them back, a teary whimper hanging on your lips after he bit down on your neck hard enough to pull a yelp from you.

“Gonna mark you all up…” He muttered against your skin, making your head swirl.

“Gonna have you walking into school and have everyone know who you belong to.” He pulled back now, breathless and his full lips all pink with attention. His eyes were dark with lust, and it all made you whimper. The sound made him laugh in disbelief.

“Yeah? Such a slut. Bet you can’t wait to walk in with my hickeys all over you. Might even fuck you in the back of my van beforehand. Make you go to class full of my cum.”

You almost can’t believe him or yourself as you nod your head dumbly with a desperate pout. He groans at the sight and pulls you to him again, his lips back on yours as his hands reach down to hook under your thighs and lift you up. You’re quick to wrap your legs around his waist, a soft cry escaping when he starts grinding against you. He’s so hard and feels so pressed into his jeans, you’re both afraid and alight at the thought of just how big he probably is.

Eddie made his way over towards your bed until his legs made contact with your bed frame. He pulled away from the kiss to drop you on the bed carelessly. You lifted your torso up by digging your elbows back into your mattress, legs bent up at the knee and parted for him while you watched him undo his belt. He noticed you staring, and his gaze traveled along your form. Your knit sweater. Your pleated skirt.

“Take that shit off.” He said with a slight jut of his chin in the direction of your top, hands paused at the waist of his jeans and boxers. You hesitated at first, mostly at his hesitation to pull down his bottoms, but also out of nerves that your body wouldn’t be good enough. He made fun of you for just about everything. Surely he would tease you for that too.

“Did I fucking stutter?” His voice rose just a touch, his expression showing his impatience. At that your eyes went a bit wide again, and you lifted your sweater over your head and then the t-shirt you had on underneath. His hand was under his undone jeans, palming himself through his boxers as he looked over your naked torso.

“Bra too.” He murmured, and your nerves subsided from the way he looked at you. It was all hunger and lust and some impatience, but that was common. But no mockery. He wasn’t gearing up to make fun of your body cause he’s been waiting to see it. It was even better than he imagined, and he stopped a groan in his throat when you unclasped your bra and put it off to the side.

“Fuck…” He sighed out, squeezing his hard cock in his fist. You arched your back, which he initially enjoyed, until he realized your hand was moving to unzip the back of your skirt.

“Hey.” His harsh tone broke through, his free hand slapping your thigh. “Did I say take the skirt off?”

Your lips parted, and he jerked his head forward with a wide, frustrated gaze. It was as if he was saying “Hello? Earth to Y/N?”

He rolled his eyes as you shook your head no, and moved your hands away. He muttered under his breath and settled himself between your legs before deciding you weren’t close enough. His hands grasped your thighs to pull you closer, a surprised giggle bubbling in your chest from the action. He didn’t acknowledge it because he was trying to not let it show that it made him want to smirk. Just like when you get all teary-eyed. Or stomp your feet. Or finally get enough nerve to talk back. Even getting a giggle out of you made him smug, despite the fact that he had only ever seemed to enjoy making you miserable.

Eddie flips your skirt up onto your stomach, licking his lips at the sight of the light blue cotton panties he had already seen in the lunch line today. He finally tugged his jeans and boxers down below his balls, and started pumping his dick in his hand. Your nerves lit up at the sight of it—thick and with a bit of a curve to it. You wanted to see more of him, but the likelihood of that was slim to none. He enjoyed the control he had in this relationship, and that meant he liked having you almost completely naked in front of him while he was practically still dressed. He smirked as pre-cum beaded up on his tip and let it drip onto the fabric of your underwear. He dipped down to drag his tip along your covered slit to make a mess of your panties with his pre-cum. You inhaled sharply at the feeling, biting the inside of your lip whenever he nudged your clit.

“I like these panties…” You complained, knowing how much better it would be for him to ruin a pair of underwear you love.

“Aw…” He tutted, leaning over you as he mimicked the pout on your lips. “Don’t tell me that cause then I might have to cum all over them. ‘N I thought you wanted it inside.”

You mewled again, nodding your head which he mimicked too. The little shake of your head, the sound you made.

“Such a whiny, needy girl.” He said as if he cared. He hooked a finger under your panties and tugged at them, fighting the fabric over your legs one handed before holding them up to his nose. His eyes were trained on the sight of your sopping pussy as he breathed in, his cock twitching in his fist. He cursed under his breath, only pulling the fisted cloth away to stuff into his back pocket. His now free hand moved forward to drag his fingers through your slit, proud to feel how soaked and puffy you were already.

“You a virgin, doll?” He purred, tilting his head with a sickeningly sweet grin, the curled corners of his lips devilish. It was saccharine and mean. He figured you’d say yes because no one at school seemed to want you, but then you shook your head.

You lost your virginity at that summer camp you were at in the picture he was ogling earlier. It was awkward and felt strange, and you didn’t have much experience beyond that, but you weren’t a virgin. You thought he’d like you better this way anyways, already ready for him to fuck, but it ticked him off.

“No?” He asked, pushing two thick fingers into your cunt and making you gasp. The pressure on that sweet spot right at your entrance was buzzing with pleasure, but it still ached a little. “Guess you’re the little slut I always thought you were, hm?”

He was pushing his fingers in deep and curling them up into that spongy spot that made you whine and your thighs tremble.

“Who is he?” Eddie urged, his expression back to the irritation you were familiar with. You weren’t answering, all of your focus on his thick fingers and the rings that adorned them pinching the edge of your entrance.

“Who. Is. He?” He repeated, moving his face a bit closer to yours in bursts with every word, his head tilting to the left then to the right then back to the left to punctuate his words. He was slowing it down for you like you were dumb, and his fingers stopped moving—all of this making you huff.

“No one-“ You whine hopelessly, and he was starting to pull his hand away but you shot yours out to grip his wrist and keep his fingers deep between your legs. “No one, no one important.” You continued. “It was at summer camp, he’s not even from here. Please-“ you nearly sobbed, and it was enough to make the man groan as he leaned over you.

“Oh… please what, doll face?” He murmured, hand that had just been wrapped around his dick sinking the mattress down beside your head.

“Please- please don’t stop.” You whimper softly and he smiles sweetly down at you while pulling his hand away anyways. It was just for a second, enough to make you want to cry, but then he was plunging them back into your fluttering hole again. He added a third finger, barely giving you even enough time to enjoy the first two, the stretch making your lips part a little.

“God, you’re desperate.” He snorted, his hand angling a bit differently to let his thumb catch your clit. He watched with pride as your head tilted back and your back arched. Your thighs kept twitching and your walls were clamping down around his fingers more and more—he could tell you were close.

“Eddie…” You drawled, breath catching as your body braced itself for the mind-altering pleasure of your orgasm, but just as you approached the top—he pulled his hand away. You let out a distressed cry that made him laugh. He cooed at you, his hand that had been pumping his cock moving to rest on your cheek. Knowing where it had been made it even better, made it filthier. It made you wonder how many times he had just touched his dick before touching you.

“That’s for letting some random loser fuck you.” He whispered after leaning down so close that his nose was occasionally brushing against yours.

“‘m sorry…” You whine, tears of pleasure and pain having already slid down from your eyes and back towards your ears—leaving your hair damp and cold.

“You’re sorry, what?” He urged, nudging his tip against your folds.

“I’m sorry I let someone else take my virginity.” You were a blubbering mess, teary-eyed and needy.

“You’re gonna make up for it, though, right?” He purred, his tip already pressing into you and you nodded enthusiastically with a cry, your hips twitching forward.

“That’s my girl.”

Your lips parted, your lower lip quivering when he pushed into you until his hips were flush with your ass. You let out a sort of choked whimper and he groaned.

“Fuck you’re tight…” He sighed with content, sliding back before sinking back in until his tip was kissing your cervix. “Not even a virgin and I’m still gonna have to work to split this cunt open, huh?”

He was grinning again over that, over the grip your walls had on him from such a foreign stretch. It ached in the best way possible except for the occasional thrust that pinched and made you yelp out a small “ow.”

“S-so big… you’re so big…” You babble, your mind fuzzy. Your pupils were all blown out and you watched him fuck into you like it was the best dream you ever had. You eventually tilt your head back, letting out a happy hum as your hips push outward to feel him as deeply and as harshly as possible. He mimicked the sounds you made and the expressions you made from his thick cock hitting all the right places and stretching you enough that you knew you were going to be sore. All day tomorrow you were going to get brief pangs of aching that would remind you of how full you were of Eddie. Eddie, Eddie, Eddie. He was all you could focus on, and you didn’t even realize you had been whimpering his name over and over under your breath until he made fun of you for it.

“Fuck you.” You huffed defensively, only for his amusement to bolster.

“Ha!” He cackled right in your face as you looked up at him with glossy eyes, pink cheeks and pouty lips. “Already are, sweetheart.”

Soon enough your sounds annoyed him though, especially the more demanding they got. Harder. Faster. Slower. More. Please. So he flipped you over onto your stomach and had his hand on your head to press your cheek into the mattress as he mounted you again—all with a casual “God, just shut up.”

At this new angle he was driving into you with a force that reverberated throughout your whole body every time he slammed into your cervix or that gushy part of you. You felt dizzy and breathless, every stroke of his cock against your ridged walls shooting off sparks. After being so close just from his hand to now, you were steadily approaching an orgasm again—just praying he’d let you keep it this time. He must’ve noticed because his free hand was reaching down to rub your clit. Your eyelids fluttered, a sob being muffled by the comforter you were biting down on. The sound of skin smacking, the tired springs of your bed squeaking, Eddie’s panting and grunting, the chain of his wallet clinking every now and then, the wet and pornographic sound of his cock plunging in and out of your pussy—it all seemed so loud for a second and then felt muffled the next as you came undone around him. You moaned out his name, whimpering cries on the tail end. You could feel your walls fluttering around him, clamping down and then blossoming back open then clamping down again in a mind-swirling rhythm.

“That’s a good girl…” He purred in a way that might’ve been too sweet from him if it wasn’t laced with a condescending tone. “Gonna cum in you, ‘kay?”

“Uh-huh-“ You moan, body aching as he picks up the pace again, fingers tangled in your hair with a painful grip. You can’t see him, but his head is tilted back completely blissed out as he fucks into you. You felt amazing, even better than he imagined which was pretty damn astonishing considering the pedestal he already had your pussy on in his imagination. He was so close, and a brief thought of getting you pregnant nearly sent him over the edge. He was mean. So fucking mean. That was the most devious thing he could do. Fill you up and make you all round with his kid.

“Shit-“ He pants out. “Gonna fill you up, babe.”

“Please-“ You beg, pulling an incredulous chuckle from him.

“Such a good girl… always take everything I give her.” He breathes out, leaning down to trap your body between him and your bed, his hand moving your hair away from your face. “Takes everything I give her at school, and she’s gonna take everything I give her in her bed, isn’t that right?”

“Yes, please-“ You sob, gasping out with the next few sharp thrusts against you until there was this warm feeling blooming inside you as he groaned against your back. He gave a few more thrusts after cumming inside, letting out happy puffs of air. You remembered how content that guy was when he unloaded into his condom inside you in camp. That blissful look on his face before he pecked your lips then lied next to you. Eddie didn’t bother with a condom, didn’t press a little peck to your lips and he wasn’t so quick to pull out either. When you squirmed a little he shifted so he was pushed up deeper into you, pulling a gasp from you which made him smirk against your skin.

Eventually he leaned up to bite your shoulder and then he slid out of you. You were still a little out of it, purring out a whiny hum as you nuzzled your quilt. Your legs were still spread and slightly bent up while you laid there on your stomach, and as he adjusted his softening dick back into his boxers he saw his cum slowly started to seep out of you and onto your comforter. Ever the gentleman, once his pants were zipped back up and his belt was buckled he landed his palm on your ass cheek and turned you over as you huffed over the action.

“See you Monday.”

“But we… we have to…” You fought to find your words through the haze. Study. You had to study.

“Bye, doll face!” He called out as he made his way downstairs.

You pouted a little, wanting to beg him to come back and stay with you. Maybe even go another round, but you were so spent that you just laid there.

When you got your energy back enough to force you to get up, you went to pee and clean yourself up before heading downstairs. Unsure of what to do with yourself, you made your way over to your backpack and you spotted the writing on the time sheet. A smile tugged at your lips. Instead of the date he wrote his phone number, and for the synopsis of today’s tutoring session he wrote “sex ed” with a winky face, and then signed where he was supposed to.

God, you were so fucked. And you were going to need a new time sheet.

#eddie munson smut #mean!eddie munson #bully!eddie munson #perv!eddie munson #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x yn #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson #eddie munson stranger things #stranger things smut

6K notes · View notes

floral-hex · 3 months ago

Text

Short story, then longer vent after the cut:

Psych keeps scheduling me for telehealth. Psych changed my meds with little consultation. Psych did this on a Friday and didn’t respond to email or calls (while their office was still open for the day), so I spent the weekend grumpy and stressed about meds. Today I set up an appointment with a different psych (for tomorrow, even! Wow, what god did I please to pull off an appointment that soon?).

Still grumpy. Still stressed.

Anyway, had ANOTHER telehealth appointment with my psych on Friday. I hate telehealth. He kept saying we’d eventually do an in person, but then the session would end and I’d get an email confirmation saying the next one was telehealth. Dumb. My counselor/therapist works in the same office and told me the psych basically just works telehealth from home and sits on his laptop scrolling Fox News. Not a very personable guy, made me feel like I was in the principal’s office in our first meeting, but I’m a pushover and just went along with it.

ANYWAY (another anyway), telehealth appointment, only it’s actually just a phone call bc he can’t get his telehealth to work (second time he hasn’t gotten it to work in two months!). So me with my hearing impaired ass had to suffer through a 20 minute phone call where he was, I can only assume, on speakerphone deep in a cave somewhere. He switched around my meds, one to a dose I didn’t want to be on and another brand new that he DID NOT go over with me. Really, no explanations, just “lemme try to prescribe this new med for you. It’s called brbrbrbr and if I can’t get the pharmacy to approve it, I’ll call you back,” and that was IT. No more details. No going over interactions or side effects. Then he was rushing, saying he was late for another appointment. So we hang up, I start researching the new med and there’s lots of red flags. I email an alternative idea. No response. I call back the office and am told he’s gone and his medical assistant is gone. So… fuck it. Called today and asked to see a new psych. No problemo. New guy is at least recommended by my therapist, so I’m a bit more hopeful. No one needs to or should read this, but I wanted to vent a little.

angery. grumpery, even.

#I just think it’s super shitty to prescribe a new med on a Friday #if there’s an issue I can’t contact you! it’s the weekend!#and you gotta tell me what the med is for and what it does!#you can’t just say ‘take this pill. don’t worry about the side effects or interactions’#seriously. one look at the side effects and I immediately saw issues #‘don’t use it you have a history of BLANK.’ I have a history of BLANK! I have a huuuuge history of BLANK!!#my dude did you even look at my medical history? my current prescriptions?#you don’t want to come into the office? we don’t have to meet there. I’ll go to your house. we’ll do this in the driveway I don’t care #fucking…. butthole #I’m such a pushover and try to make shit like this work and it’s stupid. I’m not asking for a lot here.#whatever.#I could complain all day but it’s probably healthier to move on since I’m already set up to see someone else tomorrow #the counseling place has a kinda ‘if you don’t vibe with this person you can switch easy peasy’ which I’m grateful for #I just wanted a second opinion but they said it has to be a straight up switch and in that instance I was like ‘hell yeah. bye loser.’#I’m not gonna say the new med bc I don’t want this to show up in the tumblr search for it #but it’s a newish drug that’s got dextromethorphan in it #like… I know chemicals do different things and the interactions with the other ingredients changes the effects #but also my roommate in college used to robotrip all the time. and the testimonials online make me nervous.#you can take 10 or so minutes to explain why you want me on this? why you think it might help?#and maybe it would help! I saw some awesome reviews. scary ones too. just… talk to me about it dude. help me trust you here.#the possibility of being high & tripping for days at a time honestly scares me bro. and that’s not even the scary possible side effects #dont get me wrong. weed is 👌. but I’ve had bad experiences. I have worrisome family history. I do NOT want to risk a bad trip #I’m a scaredy cat!#he also lowered my dose of remeron to the sleepy dose and I don’t want that. so hopefully new psych will fix that quick #I said I occasionally get bad anxiety trying to fall asleep & he immediately put me back on the med dose that makes me tired 24/7 #like no. I sleep a lot now dude. just sometimes I freak out about suffocating in my sleep.#but… like I’ve been saying… we just aren’t vibin #this is way too much text. wow. I really want to just complain about this all day. therapy is only 3 days away! then I can really complain!#you can ignore this #text

3 notes · View notes

rosie-writings · 1 month ago

Text

You Need a Melody

Kinktober Day 1: Dirty Talk

Summary: In the middle of an investigation, you lose focus because Colby doesn’t understand the effect his voice has on you, so he ends up bringing you back to his hotel for the night but not without tormenting you for the rest of the job.

Warnings: Semi Public smut, Unprotected sex, Voice kink, Dirty talk, Degradation, slight Praise kink…

Words: 8.1k

Title is from ‘Higher’ by Sleep Token

Note: I chose a to write about a real investigation from their channel to aid with inspiration. Not knowing that it was a sad ending, I diverted from the video midway through because it felt disrespectful to not due to the nature of this story.

There was something about the sound of it that put my stomach in a twist breathing alone couldn’t undo.

The wind was still cool enough for us to pull on our jackets by the time the sun tapped the horizon, and I was impressed I made it that long without it considering my arms crawled with goosebumps from the moment we stepped out of the car. I blamed it on the crisp spring New York air.

No one else had goosebumps though, so then I decided to pretend like I was sensitive to the cold. But I wasn’t often bothered by the cold.

“What does the C and M stand for?” Sam asks as he points to the clear K and M on the door.

”That’s definitely a K—“

”Kall… Me… Kris,” Kris says, cutting me off, and follows it up with a dramatic gasp.

”Oh, so it’s all about Kris now,” Colby laughs but instead of saying anything else, Sam shoves the camera in Colby’s face.

”I see a scary man, do ya’ll see that scary man?” Colby says as he stares into the setting sun. His eyes are blank as he stares at them as if not a thought is behind that poor man’s eyes.

“What did you take?” Kris bursts out laughing.

”He doesn’t have to take anything to look like that unfortunately,” I laugh.

“Goddamn,” he laughs before he turns around and busts the door open.

”Ladies first!” He says happily and Kris complains about walking in first. We all pause laughing as Kris walks in looking very similar to the girl standing emoji.

“You can go next, Sam,” I sigh as I shove him. The camera shakes in his hand and he gasps.

”Actually you can!” He says and grabs my wrist and yanks me through the threshold. My nose scrunches as I’m dragged across the wood of the porch.

I’m hyper aware of the low laugh on my other side as I’m shoved into the same course Kris first took.

As we snoop around the house, Sam and Colby also explain some of the history of the house in between jokes. Something about putting Sam and Colby, Kris and Celena, and I in the same house either scares the ghosts away or gives us a false sense of security because there was more messing around and teasing one another than real investigation for the first twenty minutes. I didn’t have a problem with that.

I am convinced there are no ghosts in this house when all five of us get along like this. I also am sure that I would be the one replacing the ghosts for content because if I had to withstand listening to Colby speak like this for another day, there is no promising I would come out of this house alive.

It took going up to the top story for it to start though.

Dizzy, Kris plops into a chair and Celena sits next to her. Sam, Colby and I stand around her as she catches her breath.

”It could have been slight vertigo, this house is twisty and we just went out on that balcony, and seeing the elevation…” I suggest.

”That’s true,” Celena says. “You also get like this when suspicious things happen at my house.”

”It’s also really hot up here,” Colby says. I don’t say anything. I think Sam says something next. My heart skips. I pretend like I’m not sure why as I shift on my feet as Colby sways close to me subconsciously.

We continue on and go downstairs to talk with the owners of the house and go over precise history about the house.

Later, Celena and Kris explain what happened to them, and we immediately snap into investigation mode.

For a while, the irrational sensations that trail through my body every time Colby, honestly, simply makes his presence known, fade, and we get a more in depth tour. Many things happen, Kris hears something, there’s something that sounds like thunder; it’s hard to remember everything that happened because that much happened.

Until the owner told us the ghost’s story in the basement, and the lights flicker every time he mentions specific things about the ghost.

I’m not sure why the antics upped in that moment, but in my mind they did. Hearing footsteps and seeing flickering lights was enough for my stomach to recoil. On top of the things I witnessed, Celena explaining the ghosts she noticed in her mind's eye did me no favors.

My knees tremble by the time we make our way to the top floor.

As we film in the dark, the only light in the room pouring from the camera light, it seems harder to speak.

At least for me.

Sam and Colby orchestrate the interview with the ghost, and I’m silent for the entire time. Celena and Kris intervene intermittently, but my throat twists within itself with every answer we receive from the so-called ghost.

Colby is also a hair away from grazing my arm every time he speaks and moves naturally. So maybe it was that.

It’s not that anything more than friendly happens between Colby and I; recently his voice has just done something a little more than friendly to me. I’m not sure if that makes it better or not.

Especially if we plan to film during a particular time of month, I mentally prepare myself to be left dizzy and overwhelmed.

And definitely not due to any paranormal activity.

”New piece of equipment, doesn’t have batteries, so I have to go get batteries. I’ll be back in a moment,” Sam explains to the camera as Colby films him.

“Oh… okay,” Colby chokes out with fear.

“Oops sorry,” Sam says with a high pitched voice as he leaves the room and closes the door behind him. Colby comedically turns the camera to me and zooms out and I stand there perfectly straight and still as the light over exposes my body like a beacon.

Colby bursts out laughing and I whine as I close my eyes from being blinded.

”Sam deserves to get murked by ghosts if he’s leaving us alone in here,” I complain.

”Kris and Celena are alone in the creepy doll closet upstairs, so it could be worse for us,” Colby says and instantly, the erratic beating of my heart returns. I swallow tightly.

His voice sounds different when we’re alone, but no one would ever find me trusting my perception when I’m alone with him. I stay still, listening to anything that might happen in the room as we wait for Sam to return. My heart hammers in my chest, and my eyes don’t leave Colby as he flips the camera to face him and speaks to it.

An aching courses my body as he speaks.

Maybe he did have a different tone in his voice. We were alone with the camera, so it felt less like putting on a show since there were three less people taking up space in the frame.

Or maybe my body wants to believe he spoke differently now.

”Literally saw a woman— whoa I’m white,” Colby gasps as he turns the camera and sees himself in the viewfinder. I laugh once, stifling my movement because one, I’m in a house full of ghosts and two, I’m being filmed alone with Colby.

No, I don’t trust myself right now.

And then I hear it. My body lurches in the direction of the low bang and Colby instantly turns the camera towards the bar meaning he heard it too.

”It sounded like a footstep right there.”

”The ghosts are spying on us,” I say lowly.

We both keen our attention behind the bar for a few more silent seconds.

”It really sounds like something is right there, and the footsteps trail that way,” Colby explains to the camera as he points down the corridor and across the wall where it dumps into the hallway outside of the room we’re in.

”The ghosts are waiting outside to get Sam when he comes back,” I say. Colby turns to me.

”Why would they wait for him if we’re in here already?”

“Because you have a camera,” I laugh. “I thought we’ve established multiple times in this video alone that these ghosts especially hate cameras since everything huge we’ve captured has been when the cameras are off.” Colby puts down the camera for a second, and I hear the faint noise of the recording ending.

I’m not sure why my heart jolts.

We’re thoroughly alone now.

”Yeah? You think the ghosts will do something huge now that I turned it off?” I can tell by his light eyes that his words had no underlying meaning, but his voice could never be innocent to me. Especially not when he drops it to that smooth and low tone he always adapts to when we’re alone.

I convince myself it’s his real voice and not fluffed up for the camera.

”It would make sense if they did,” I say, but I don’t need to say anything else because the same rolling thunder sounds we heard in the walls happens right above our heads in the ceiling. It starts over Colby and finishes in a few paces, over me.

“Celena and Kris are two stories above us, not one,” Colby says distantly as he still looks up to the ceiling. I don’t say anything because my eyes are snagged on the length of his throat as he speaks up towards the aged drywall.

”Told you things happen when the camera is off.” Maybe I should work on the filter on my voice as well, because his eyes snap back down to mine as he hears my words. I swallow again. We already established that it is hot in his house, maybe I just need water.

Colby parts his lips again as his eyes are slightly darker than I’ve seen them all night.

The door opens and we both jump around. Sam walks into the room with the batteries and Colby quickly starts the recording again.

“So we need to stay very still,” Sam explains, and he turns on the white rem pod looking piece of equipment. As they speak, we have to stay as extremely still as possible or else the pod will shrill to life. I almost need to hold my breath when Colby asks questions. His voice is low but smoother than usual; it’s all I can ever describe his voice as. But when he asks questions to the ghosts in the night, I can hear another layer of velvet that…

I need to hold my breath as we stand here perfectly still, to say the least.

My body is on fire already. I don’t want to know what changing my clothes later will entail.

”Do you know if there’s members of the Kriescher family in this house? If so can you go up to this table so this device goes off?” Sam asks.

It’s silent.

”Okay, so he doesn’t know anything about the murder, but he’s not alone so—“

The rem pod shrills to life and green floods the room.

”Boom, confirmed,” Sam says. I glance at Colby who looks at the rem pod. The green light paints his face as he thinks for a moment.

”Charles or Edward, I don’t know… I still saw a physical person. Let’s go see if Celena and Kris got the same things,” Colby says. And we pick up our things to go back two floors up.

My hands shake as I grab my things and I can’t stop thinking about the heat deep in my body.

I’m hyper aware. I’m sensitive. Those are two things I’ve never dreamed about calling myself, but the way Colby’s hand drags against mine, or the way we brush past each other have to be charged more than they ever have been.

Charged with something. Maybe it’s all me and my hormonal anticipation and he’s completely oblivious.

He never realized the complexities of his voice.

“Welcome to the seance room,” Sam sighs as he walks into a dark room illuminated by a dozen candles around the room and in a circle around a white poster board and planchette. My stomach twists and it’s then and there that I may need to go to therapy.

We sit in a circle. My knee taps Kris’ knee and Colby’s knee as we sit in a close circle and Sam opens up the seance.

“Charles or Edward, we invite you to use us to draw any clue as to what happened to you. Edward, give us a hint,” Colby says next to me as all our fingers touch the planchette, and it begins moving.

Maybe we all need therapy because two drawings later, we think the ghost has drawn a gun and a man’s face with blood pouring from it.

“Oh my god, I’m going to be sick,” Celena says, and Kris freaks out. They explain that they pieced together a story in the closet upstairs.

”The husband knew! He knew that the affair with the doctor and his wife was going on, so he put it on a piece of paper that if he was going to die, it was the doctor’s fault.” Celena says.

”That’s confirmed though,” Colby says.

”What is?” Celena gasps and my stomach twists.

”The doctor is the one who confirmed he was dead.”

”I literally saw that the body was alone and the doctor was checking it and he found the paper and disposed of it so no one knew! He killed himself in the woods with the gun in a way to make it look like a murder, and left the note in his pocket to frame the doctor since he had an affair anyway,” Celena explains.

A rush of flickering light coils through the room, and goosebumps that run bone deep cover my skin. Kris draws in a harsh breath as the candles flicker and Sam jolts in shock.

”It matches up perfectly, the way the gun is pointing to the man and the way the blood is falling,” Sam explains as they point to the drawing.

I’m perfectly quiet, overwhelmed by how much Celena and Kris uncovered.

“That is insane,” Colby says as he turns his head, and I feel his breath on my skin making chills race down my spine. Then I hear the thunderous rolling behind us again; the reason his head turned. But I don’t look at it, because at this point, Colby’s voice on my skin makes it recoil more than the sound of the paranormal. When I don't look behind just as the rest of us do, Colby looks down at me and I look back at him.

I need to keep myself in check and hold my breath when he looks at me so intently within the candle light. His eyes look much darker with the orange light despite the fact they are the purest blue I’ve seen.

The others turn, and it takes physical labor for me to look back at the planchette in front of us.

It takes another beat for Colby to finally pull his eyes from me.

His knee doesn’t leave mine for the rest of the seance.

The next investigation we start is with a deck of cards.

Sam sits at the head of a table with Kris and Celena on either side of him. Colby and I sit on the other end as Colby films.

“If there is a spirit who wants to talk to us, they can see the cards,” Sam explains as he lays out three lines of six cards in between the girls. “What we’re going to be doing is that you guys will intuitively move your hand over the cards and turn over the one you feel like the ghost wants you to flip. If the card is a heart, the answer is yes. If the card is a spade, it’s a no. If the card is a diamond, it’s maybe, and the club is I don’t know.”

I take a breath because it feels like it’s necessary, and when I see Colby shift, I look at him subtly. He glances at me as well, and something about the glint in his eyes makes me look away and blink quickly.

”Charles and Edward, if you’re talking to us and the one depicting a framed murder, we have some questions we’d like to ask. The first question is, are there spirits that would like to talk to us through this game?” Sam begins the gam.

Celena felt the inclination to turn over a card.

It was a spade.

”Oh…” Colby breathes deeply, and I shift in my seat as if his breath was personally intended for me.

“It’s highly advised to not continue with the game if they say no…” I roll my eyes with a smirk at Sam’s comment because we all know he won’t stop like the dumbass he is.

The sounds and motions around us intensify until the mirror shakes behind Sam. His eyes go wide and Colby gasps a ‘whoa,’ and I’m more caught off guard by the heat in my clothes.

For the fourth time.

”Did Edward know about an affair between the doctor and Frida?” Sam asks.

Celena draws a spade.

”Oh, who are we talking to that wouldn’t know?” Sam asks softer, more distant as he thinks.

”Rob?” Celena whispers.

”Are we talking to Rob?” Sam asks confidently.

Celena draws a spade.

Colby’s head turns to the side as he shifts in his seat. His eyes are on the cards intently as I see his mind rolling with thoughts about the game.

I stifle as I feel his arm relax over the armrest of the chair.

His fingertips graze over my thigh right above my knee.

I become more still than I have all night.

Of course I decided to wear shorts earlier that afternoon.

“Maybe Frida,” Sam says.

”Maybe it is because she didn’t want to talk about it,” Kris suggests.

”Is this a female spirit we’re talking to?” Sam asks louder.

Kris draws a heart.

”Yes,” Sam says with excitement.

”So it could be Frida,” Colby’s voice raises and my thigh subtly jolts up into his fingers as he speaks and moves. He doesn’t recoil his hand.

His fingers move across my skin absentmindedly.

A current of chills make their way through the lines of my skin. I’m even more excited to change my clothes when this night is over.

”Is this Frida Kreischer?” Sam asks.

Celena draws a heart.

”Yes,” Sam exasperates with a sigh.

”Yes, we’re finally talking to her,” Colby sighs excitedly, and my stomach tightens at his breathy tone. I flinch and look at him for half a second because where did that lighter and breathy tone come from? My heart pounds now.

First my skin, then my stomach, and now my heart; Colby is ruining them all tonight.

I really need to get a psychiatric evaluation if he’s affecting me like this more so than literal ghosts in an old mansion.

”She married that doctor six months later…” Colby whispers animatedly, reminding us that she really doesn’t want to talk about it.

“Did Edward Kreischer die by the hand of a family member?” Sam asks.

Kris draws a diamond.

”Oh… maybe, she doesn’t want to say,” Colby says as his head turns thoughtfully. I bite my tongue when his fingers swirl higher up my leg.

”I’m just going to go for it…” Sam sighs quietly. “Edward Kreischer, did you try to frame the doctor for murder?” Sam asks.

Kris draws a spade.

”So then the mystery still stands?” Sam asks lowly.

”Freida Kreischer, you’re not the only spirit talking to us, are you?”

Celena draws a spade.

Colby’s fingers push into the thick of my thigh.

My toes curl.

”Is it true that Freida and the doctor were having an affair?” Sam pushes.

Kris draws a diamond.

”She really really doesn’t want anyone to know,” Celena exasperates under her breath.

”Was Edward Kreischer murdered?” Sam says.

And Celena draws a diamond.

”Oh my—“ Colby laughs breathily, and my own breath hitches as his fingers move again as he readjusts how he sits. They fall in between my legs now under the darkness of the table. “We’re also the first people to document this, so maybe they’re telling us to keep our mouths shut,” he suggests. His voice is normal and low as if nothing is going on.

“Yeah,” Kris agrees, and Sam closes the game.

I suck in an uneven breath as Colby’s fingers tightly graze my core over my hot shorts when he draws his hand away to stand and clean up.

As we move on to our final investigation, we get our things together in the dining room. I shove the extra lights in the backpack and the smaller tripod as well. I turn to grab the other tripod and Colby is there, putting something in his backpack as he looks up at me.

I could have fallen to the floor from the dark look in his eyes.

”Is it still warm to you?” He asks. I know it’s supposed to be polite words in his mouth, but that tone annihilates any kindness whatsoever.

”I’m not sure,” I say back quietly, lowly. Colby stifles, his head turns to the side slightly. His eyes drape over my body.

”Hm…” I swallow tightly as I tear my eyes away from him and I look to the floor and turn to follow our loud friends. He holds my arm and my body is on fire. “And I’m not sure why you’re avoiding the question?”

”I’m not sure why it’s a deal for you,” I say smoothly, looking back at him with dark eyes. He visibly swallows. His eyes still tear me apart, slicing to the bone.

”It would be a deal to you if you had just felt how turned on I was in the middle of a seance of all things.” My vision blows for a moment, and a scoff huffs out of my dry lips.

”What- What are you even saying?” I choke out as I try to pass him. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Celena following the other two out the door.

”Maybe I’m saying I just felt how hot you were under those shorts and I’m trying to figure out why.” My hands are trembling more than they have all night. Chills fall across my body, amplifying this heat in my shorts all over again as I feel his breath on me.

“Colby-“

“If it’s not because of me, you’d be out the door already. You wouldn’t have let me touch you the way I did during the card investigation.” But my heart already throbs desperately as he speaks to me like this. My chin quivers as I try to form words, but he seems to have taken all of them. “What? Have nothing to say for yourself?” My eyes gleam up at him thickly.

”Stop talking,” I choke out and he pauses.

”I’m sorry, I’m not trying—“

”No,” I whisper quickly. “It’s not that.” Colby’s eyes narrow as he tries to figure me out.

”Not like what?” I sigh impatiently and look back up at him.

”We should go—“

”No,” Colby demands. “You-You like when I talk to you like that, don’t you?”

”Colby,” I sigh breathlessly, and my heart stops as he says it. His eyes glaze over.

”Go. Follow them,” he commands me, and I quickly obey. My body trembles as I hurry out of the door and meet the other three towards the cellar where we plan to perform the last investigation.

The three didn’t question why we dragged a pace behind them.

We split.

Celena and Kris do the Estes method in a corner of the cellar.

Sam records himself with the rem pod sitting alone in the room right above Celena and Kris to find the consistencies between their experiences.

And Colby and I do the Estes method between the entrance of the cellar and the first floor of the mansion since the furnace is right next to it, and supposedly the ghost Colby is trying to talk to died in the furnace.

My hands shake as he gives me the blindfold and he notices. I hold my breath as I glance at him one last time before I pull it over my eyes. I hear an uneven breath between Colby’s lips. Then he puts the headphones on me.

His fingertips gently graze my face as he pulls his hands back. My lips part.

The radio starts.

I don’t hear Colby at all, but the words pour out of the radio. I know this supposed ghost talked a lot, so I should have expected it. It distracts my burning for a while, and I’m nearly over it until I feel the tap on my shoulder. I hesitate and draw in a breath when I feel his fingers graze up to my face again.

I timidly raise the blindfold off me.

Colby stands in front of me.

I look up at him.

”Did-Did any of that make sense?” I ask timidly.

”Yeah,” he says as if it’s an afterthought. My heart pounds as I feel his fingers on my chin still, and I look over seeing the camera turned off. I look straight back up at him from where I sit.

”You’re very good at this,” he says, and a tsunami of fire extinguishes the remaining sense in my body. On my body. His low voice twists my stomach and I shift in my seat. I gasp as I feel him yank my gaze back up towards him since he never took his fingers off my chin. “You look very obedient… sitting there and saying what the box is telling you to.” His voice is so smooth like velvet my chest heaves.

”Colby,” I sigh his name as I shift in my seat. He crouches down in front of me.

”What? Is it suddenly hot in here again?”

”Don’t-Don’t speak to me like that.” His eyes glint and he smiles evilly.

”So it is my voice then? Is that why you’re blushing and dazed?”

”Colby,” I choke out again, slightly louder. He leans forward to ground me again. To keep me from squirming and retreating out of the chair.

”I never took you as such a dirty girl, getting so turned on just from someone’s voice in the middle of a haunted mansion. What’s wrong with you?” He antagonizes me. His voice is breathy but dark and I’m drowning in it.

My chest heaves and I can’t even speak.

”Have you even paid attention this entire time? Do you even know what state you’re in? Or are you too busy being a slut and imagining a bunch of nasty things because my voice turns you on?”

”Fuck- Colby—“ I gasp as he cuts me off with his hand on my thigh. My lips part and Colby leans forward. Only centimeters are between our parted lips. His eyes glint down my face and he smiles slightly as he sees the dazed look in my eyes and the desperation on the tip of my tongue.

”Tell me what you’ve been thinking about?” I figure out the game he’s playing. His fingers lightly swirl around the end of my thigh, momentarily dipping in between my thighs before going back to the top.

”No,” I whisper breathlessly.

”No?” He asks, turning his head. The lightness of his voice makes my thighs push together. He looks down to them briefly before smiling. “You want to just listen to me talk to you then?”

”Colby…” I think my breath doused with a whiny tone sounds like a beg to him.

To which I’m grateful for because I don’t think I can form another syllable.

”Fine,” he says, pausing and swallowing tightly. “If you can’t tell me what dirty thoughts you’ve been having about me, I’ll figure it out myself.” I swallow hard when he pauses.

”I didn’t even know if I could have made it to this mansion the first time I saw you in the hotel. For as fantastic as you look in those shorts, I wanted to rip them off you.” I whine timidly as his fingers swirl over my thigh and raise higher up my hot skin. “I imagined taking a break and letting you ride me in the car before going back to this job because I couldn’t focus. Do you even understand how hard it is to focus when you’re around?” I cry out when he squeezes my thigh harshly. His lips get nearer to mine. “Do you know how much of a fucking whore you have to be for me to be so distracted and turned on in the middle of a haunted and insanely active mansion?”

And then I moan when his fingers press into a sensitive part of my thighs. He stifles and adjusts the way he’s crouched in front of me. His hand sits on the arm of the chair in front of me and he leans closer.

”Tell me what you’ve thought about tonight,” he says darkly.

There was no room for defying him.

”Your voice,” I choke out again.

”What about it?”

”It’s so- It- It turns me on, I’m so wet when you talk to me like that.”

”Yeah?” He says sweetly even though his voice is still dark with a heaviness I had never heard before.

There was no getting out of this situation alive, I thought.

”I can’t believe how wet you think you are when I wasn’t even trying to turn you on. You want me to talk to you like I’m trying now?”

”Colby,” I whine. I can’t handle it.

”I’ve thought about putting my fingers inside you since you let me touch your thighs like a slut in the other room. I’ve wanted to tear your clothes off and feel how wet you are for myself. And to think it’s all because of my voice…” He scoffs. “You’re such a fucking slut and I think you deserve a lot more than just my fingers.”

“Colby please,” I whine as my hips squirm. I gasp when his hand on the arm of the chair falls to my hip tightly.

”Don’t writhe like a slut, I haven’t given you anything yet,” he fires at me under his breath. “You want me to make you come?”

”Y-Yes, Colby please—“

”If you’re good for me, I’ll make you come all night when you come back to my hotel room.” I grit my teeth as I realize he will make me wait for a few more hours. “Be a good girl and be patient.”

”Colby,” I sigh breathlessly. He looks down in between my thighs again where his hand trails across my skin. I gasp when his fingers trail lighter.

“Fuck, baby. You’re so hot, it’s making it difficult for me to even be patient.”

”Please,” I choke out.

I gasp when he actually touches me over my jean shorts. My back slightly arches.

”Fuck… I can feel how hot you are through your clothes,” he whispers. I roll my hips forward into his fingers. His breath is shaking as he leans over me, and his free hand goes back to the arm of the chair as he raises up to his feet. “You sound so pretty when you’re frustrated.” I whine when he slides his fingers up and down my core. He knows it’s not enough to pleasure me enough to make me come, but enough for me to squirm and gasp for more.

”If you want, you can grind on my hand and take it for yourself, but I’m not giving you anything until later. You think you can get away with thinking like a slut this entire night? In public too?” I bite back a moan at the tone of his hostile voice. I grind my hips forward into his hand and he drags in a breath. “God, you really are such a pathetic slut for me aren’t you? You can’t even be patient and wait for tonight, you’re just grinding on my hand because you’re so desperate for it you can’t control yourself.”

”Colby,” I sigh his name as my head tosses back. Pleasure wells through me at the sound of those words coming off his voice thickened with arousal. And I thought he could never sound better.

”Yeah,” he teases with a sigh. “Moan my name like the slut you are. I can’t believe it’s so easy to get you out of your mind like this.” My thighs tighten around his hand when I hear him sigh. It was almost a moan. My nails dig into the edge of the chair as my back arches and my hips grind on his hand faster. The pleasure builds and is so unbearable; the dry friction of my jeans jamming into me over my soaked underwear is mind numbing.

With Colby’s voice in the mix of it, I’m a mess.

”God, you’re ruining me. Can’t wait to tear you apart in my bed. Look at me. Look at me now,” Colby demands, and my glossy eyes stare back at him in a haze. “You’ll look at me when I tell you what I’m going to do to you when we get back to the hotel.” I whine in response as I obey him. “I’m going to taste you and make you come on my face before I fuck you hard from behind. I’m going to stuff your face in the pillows too because I bet you’re so unbearably loud and we don’t want to disturb the entire hotel. You can barely hold in your little gasps now, what makes me think you can handle it when I touch you for myself?”

Tears are in my eyes by the time they snap shut. I bite my lip harshly as my pleasure coils to a point and I come on his hand. He sucks in a breath as my hips tremble and my thighs snap together and pull his hand further in.

”Fuck—“ He chokes out under his breath. He keeps his hand there so I can grind on it, coming down from my high.

My eyes open blearily, but I’m completely unsatisfied. I didn’t come very hard and my arousal ached for more.

I was more concerned about the fact that the denim was a deeper color now. Colby recoils his hand with a teasing smirk. Then he stands up.

My heart skips harshly in my chest when I realize how hard he is, and he turns away from me taking a breath himself. My body still trembles as I’m frozen to the chair. My breath heaves as I watch him intently. He turns back around with closed eyes. He pulls his jacket back on, hoping it would cover his arousal.

”Get up,” he demands. I ignore the jello that replaced my knees and I get up and follow him out of the entrance to the cellar.

My night is a blur.

We finish the video with Sam’s organization alone; he does the outro with Kris and Celena as Colby and I clean up and get the things into the car. My arms shake when I’m with him and I don’t dare say a word. I can’t even look him in the eyes.

His eyes are all over my body though. Analyzing. Planning.

My body tenses and nearly keels over when he’s near me.

There’s an edge to his voice now. Everytime he speaks, my legs get weaker.

In the car when we grab food before going to the hotel, Colby tells Sam to trade rooms with me. I planned to sleep on the couch in Kris and Celena’s room as they took the bed. The girls were quiet if they thought anything of it. I think Kris shot me a look but I couldn’t handle it and didn’t make eye contact with anyone for the rest of the drive.

I can’t hear anything except Colby’s voice and my erratic breathing by the time we close the hotel door behind us. I turn to him like a deer in the headlights and he drops his bags aimlessly; his eyes firm on me as he walks up to me.

A noise shoves out of me when he grabs my face with both hands and I bend backwards as he leans over and kisses me hard.

It’s not like fire anymore, no. Explosions happen behind my weary eyes, and I realize he wasn’t joking about earlier. It’s not that I assumed he was joking, it’s that I’ve never felt this side of him.

I’ve never dealt with the pure desperation and intensity that seemed to loom in his veins.

I moan into his mouth and kiss him back even harder than he first kissed me. He steps back as he moans, and he licks into my mouth. I cry and moan and whine against his mouth when our tongues slide together, and maybe he was right that I’m acting like a slut. I didn’t mean it.

The world stops spinning when he pushes me back on the bed; my feet still on the floor.

”Such a fucking slut, I can’t believe how much you’ve turned me on,” he breaths shakily over me. My own heart follows my erratic breathing as he harshly peels my jacket away and leaves me in the cropped shirt and short jeans shorts I wore. He kisses, moreso bites, down my stomach and the hem of the denim before he falls to his knees in between my legs.

“Colby—“

”Lie down,” he spits as I go to sit up. His fingers drive into the thick of my hips. I whine and obey. Like always.

He undoes my shorts before he pulls them down and off my legs. Then he draws a sharp breath between his teeth.

”Fucking hell, look at you. Your pussy is so drenched for me even still,” he mutters, not even peeling my underwear off my slackened puffy arousal. My hips writhe as I feel his breath on my core. His nails drive into my sides. “Be a good girl for me or I won’t let you cum.”

”Okay,” I say highly, and I hold back my whining and writhing of my hips.

“Fuck,” he sighs as he pulls my underwear down and tosses them to the floor. Then, I hold my breath as he blows lightly on my arousal. The cool air sends moans through me and it takes every cell in my body to not squirm. “The fact that it’s my voice that gets you this wet is what’s blowing my mind.”

I cry out when his tongue licks me once, twice.

And my hands are in his hair.

Thank god he doesn’t care because he parts my thighs more and lets them rest on his shoulder as he moans into me and sucks me hard. My hips thrust against his face as he eats me out and he doesn’t stop me at all. It makes his tongue work harder and his mouth close around my hot arousal tightly until I see stars.

”Fuck, Colby oh my god—“ I choke out as my hips squirm under him and he groans harshly, pinning my hips down.

I can’t even open my eyes as the moans and gasps pour from me; he eats me our just as he promised and it takes all but a couple seconds before the pleasure starts coiling. He pulls away for a moment and looks up at me with a look darkened with lust. It sends me spiraling.

”Fucking hell, you taste so good.” I whine when his fingers tease my entrance. “I could drown in your pussy forever. You would love that wouldn’t you? You’re such a desperate little thing anyway, I’d be surprised if you didn’t.” I can’t answer him because next thing I know he’s eating me out again two fingers deep.

“Fuck Colby—Yes thank you, thank you,” I moan as he fingers me harder. His free hand comes up to the side of my thigh over his shoulder and squeezes tightly.

I still feel his breath and moans on me and that’s what makes my head spin.

His fingers curl against that perfect place inside me and his mouth is unlike anything I’ve felt before. It takes two minutes and I’m coming on his face just like he promised.

When I’m still trembling and moaning, he stands. He pulls his jacket off and then his shirt and the room goes black.

It’s only him in front of me and it’s like every one else had died.

”You realize you’re mine now, yeah?” He asks breathlessly. I nod incredulously, my fingers tightening around the bedding under me.

”Yeah, good.”

Satisfied with that answer, he undoes his jeans but doesn’t deal with taking them them off.

“God, I know I said I’ll take you from behind, but wait a second,” he sighs and I gasp when his tip glides through my arousal. “Yeah, holy shit I need to fucking watch you take it when I fuck you hard. You think you can still handle it baby?” He teases and I glare up at him even though there’s no chance in hell I want him to actually stop speaking.

”Give it to me,” is all I can get out and so he does.

It’s like I meet god before I take my next breath.

He fills me up so perfectly I can’t contain myself or fit myself in the obedient box he forced me in earlier. I moan loudly and arch my back. My fingers try to pull him closer and instead, he grabs my hand and holds tight, moaning as he fucks me off the edge of the bed hard.

“Oh my god, you feel so good—“ he gasps as his eyes roll back. I watch intently as his hair falls in front of his face as he thrusts harder. The angle has me speechless and I can only take what he wants to give me. He finally yanks my legs up, feet from the floor, and pushes my thighs back and my back arches as a loud gasp is fucked right out of me.

”Colby, oh my god—“ I whisper, afraid of what sound would come out of me if my voice was any louder.

“Holy shit, you talk about my voice all the time but yours is going to make me come so fast.” I moan louder as I hear him speak to me like that and I relax.

I take everything he gives me as his eyes rake over me; taking in my appearance as he knows he sends me to heaven and back.

”Get on your hands and knees,” he finally spits out. I scramble to the head of the bed and I lower to my shoulder, staring back at him over my raised hips. “Goddamn, you’re really a little slut for me aren’t you?” He says with a voice so low I nearly fall over again.

He’s on his knees behind me and he fills me without warning. I gasp and moan loudly. I’m dizzy again when he fucks me, but this time the loud moans are uncontrollable.

“Holy shit,” he moans and he grabs a fist full of my hair at the roots and yanks me back to him. “You’re so easy, I knew you’d be fucking loud, stupid slut. Now, what you’re going to do is take it like a good girl and let me fuck you and come on my cock listening to my voice, you think you can do that for me?” His voice is so calm and smooth it nearly puts me to sleep.

”Yes, I’ll be so good for you.” He moans and kisses my neck sweetly. Few times in return, his pace slow and pleasuring behind me as he thrusts in and out.

”Good,” he simply says before he shoves my face back into the pillow. At the same time, he fucks into me so hard I moan before I even feel it completely. My body is on fire as he fucks me hard, and this time his own moans fill the room. “Oh my fucking god, your pussy was made for me, baby. You feel so damn good I don’t think I can go without it again.”

I think I moan his name.

”Think about you all the damn time. Especially when I’m alone. Always think about what it would be like to make you fall apart. I didn’t think it would be this easy and entertaining. I’m fucking addicted to you, baby,” he moans as he keeps thrusting hard. I can’t feel anything except the ecstasy he demands me to take. Fire coils in my core and trails down my thighs as they shake with pleasure. It builds and builds but doesn’t end.

”Please,” I moan into the pillow, wanting more than anything to come hard around him. I jut my hand down in between my legs but he sucks in a harsh breath and takes a break from pinning my head into the pillows. He grabs both my wrists and holds them down, pinned to my back with one of his hands. Then with his free hand, he shoves me back into the pillows.

”No way, I said you’re coming on my cock and listening to my voice. You acted like such a whore today, what am I to think other than the fact that you can come listening to it alone?”

I whine as tears fill my eyes.

”Now fucking feel it. Don’t you feel how good it is? You’ve never had anyone fuck you like this before, have you? You were so desperate for it, you knew I’d be able to because you’re so obsessed with my voice. You close baby? Close to showing me how much you need me?”

I whine and moan louder, my hips squirm as I try to tell him that I’m close.

”Holy shit, the way your pussy grabs me— I can feel how close you are, you just got so much tighter. You better fucking come when I tell you to because I won’t last much longer.”

“So close—“ I moan into the pillow in rhythm with his harsh thrusts deep in me. I tighten around him purposefully and he moans louder. His moans make me shake. I can’t even see; they’re blinding.

”My god… you’re so hot I’m so close actually…” He moans quieter, and the pleasure builds and I can barely hold it anymore.

”Please let me come,” I beg him as I turn out of the pillow to catch my breath.

”You want to come on my cock for me? Just from my voice, yeah?” He asks breathlessly and sweetly. Too sweetly for him to be fucking me like a slut right now.

”Yeah, please,” I ask nicely as my moans fade into desperate whines.

”Fuck— Squeeze me tight then, baby. Show how much you want to come. If you come for me I’ll fill you, okay? I’ll give you all my come.”

”Oh fuck,” I gasp and my thighs are shaking.

”Come for me now, baby. Come now,” he desperately moans, unable to wait any longer.

And thank god the sound of his real moans, louder and deep, push me over the edge.

I come so hard around him, I push my face into the pillows myself to block my moans from waking up unsuspecting people in the hotel. I tighten around him and he gasps as he lets go of my hands. He holds himself up as his orgasm wracks through his body, and I try to keep quiet and let him use me even though I’m coming so hard I can’t even breath.

”Holy shit, holy shit—“ He gasps breathlessly as he stills his hips and gently holds mine. His thumb brushes over my skin lightly as he coaxes me from my violent high. I turn my head to the side, facing him. “Are you alright?” He asks, panting and quiet.

”Yeah,” my voice breaks. He leans over and kisses me face.

”If I knew you felt this way about my voice I would have said something a long time ago.”

”The problem is you did and I’ve been going crazy for you since then. You’re just too stupid to have seen it.” Colby’s breath hitches as I say that and he laughs before he thrusts inside me deep again. I gasp loudly and arch my back.

”Maybe don’t talk to me like that when I’m this deep inside you.”

”You’re an idiot.”

✧˖*°࿐

Sam and Colby Taglist (Comment to be added):

@a-random-google-user

@graceciesiels22

@honestlybabymiracle

@xxsecretscenekidxx

@thedeadlynights

@glittervame

@rockwyu

@worldlxvlys

@benbarnesprettygurl

#rosie writings #rosie hub #minors dni #sam and colby #colby brock #colby brock x reader #colby brock smut #kinktober #kinktober 2024 #smut #fanfic

267 notes · View notes

dwonfilm · 2 months ago

Text

Teaching tech. | Soldier Boy x Reader

Summary: Butcher tasked you with the job of teaching a freshly thawed Ben, aka Soldier Boy, how to use technology. First off you started with teaching him about the iPhone.

Warnings: bit of Solider Boy being Soldier Boy but otherwise, mostly fluff.

“Dammit!” [Y/N] heard Ben’s voice from the other room and she sighed. Next was a smash and that made her rush back into the bedroom. Immediately Ben’s eyes lifted up to see her coming in and he scoffed. “I didn’t break the cocksucking thing this time.” He stated plainly. “Good,” she answered. “I don’t have the money to buy you a fourth phone.” She moved to sit on the bed next to where he was currently sitting. “This shit ain’t a phone, it’s a thin ass rock with futuristic shit inside. Phones have a base and a receiver or they were these massive bricks with buttons—not whatever the fuck a touch screen is-“ Ben ranted, but [Y/N] just laughed. “Yeah, they were those things once but this is 2022. Life’s changed a lot and eventually you’re gonna need to learn all these things.” She spoke, picking up the phone that was on the bed between them, swiping up to unlock it. Bits of her [Y/H/C] hair covered her face while her attention focused on the screen. Ben just watched, a grumpy expression on his facial features. “How’d you get stuck doing this anyway? Where’s the Cum Guzzler or the Cheerio?” She laughed, Ben’s nicknames for people were always pretty humorous. “Hughie is scared of you and Butcher can barely explain anything in the entire history of life’s existence.” Ben gently laughed at her answer. Fingers moved across the screen, making selections that she didn’t think were necessary to explain to him at the moment. “So, the bean pole’s afraid of me huh?” He asked, not really expecting an answer. However it did bring up another question. “Why aren’t you scared of me?” His tone seemed indifferent but there was a hint of something more inside his eyes. Something she was oblivious to since her own were focused on the screen of the phone in her hands. Though, she slowly gazed up from it for a moment. “Honestly,” she began with a pause directly after. It was as if she was attempting to think about how to answer him. “I was at first, a little bit, but I just try to sympathize.” He scoffed almost immediately. “You sympathize with a piece of shit like me? No wonder it’s so easy to get you women in the sack. Jesus Chris-“ She turned her head and shot a glare at him. “You can sympathize with people without wanting to fuck them, for starters.” She rolled her eyes, moving her gaze back to the phone in her hands. “No one’s perfect, not that it’s excusing.. well everything. Despite all that, no one here has any real room to judge too harshly.” Ben quirked a brow at that. “That so? Don’t tell me a pretty lil’ thing like you has baggage!” Part of him was sort of mocking her, though he was getting curious. “Moving on, I made the email for you and set up an account for you to use the phone.” She began to explain, looking over to him but finding a confused expression on his face. “E-what?” He asked plainly, green eyes gazing into her own. “Right, I forgot you have no grasp on the basics.” She turned towards him now.

“Email is pretty easy, it’s like sending letters to people—only digitally and in a much faster time period. It used to take y’know, days, weeks for those to be delivered. Now it just takes seconds—also instead of a home address you just need their email address. Does that make sense at least somewhat?” Her voice was gentle, not sarcastic or cruel. [Y/E/C] eyes meeting his green ones as he was silent for a moment. “Yeah, I guess.. I mean it seems straightforward enough—though doing that stupid shit is gonna be harder than understanding what the fuck it is.” He answered. “Well, yeah, but we’ll get there.” [Y/N] offered a half smile at him. “No one’s asking you to be Steve Jobs after a day,” she tried to encourage him but his face was blank yet again. “Who the fuck is that?” He asked, to which she sighed gently. “…never mind, it’s not important. What I meant is that none of us are expecting you to know how to use it all within the blink of an eye.” She replied before moving her gaze back to the phone. He peered over at the phone while knitting his brows together. None of it made any sense to him. Now the screen was black again, before the stupid symbol popped up. “..the fuck is it doing now?” He asked, moving his glance to her face. “It’s updating the software,” she spoke before shifting it to an analogy he’d understand. “..which is like maintenance on a car kind of—it makes sure everything’s working and also is.. replacing the parts in a sense. Fixing things that weren’t working and replacing them with things that will work and hopefully work better.” It took a second, but the analogy did help. “Makes sense I guess.” He spoke, arms crossed over his chest. His eyes watched for a moment before he became bored, so, he did what he usually did and turned his attention to whoever was occupying the space with him. “So tell me, how’d a gorgeous gal like you get tangled up with a fucker like Butcher anyhow?” She laughed softly but she didn’t look up at him this time. Mostly to hide the fact that she was blushing just a little. [Y/N] knew that she shouldn’t be feeling this way, by all accounts this man was still Soldier Boy. He wasn’t a good person, but the more she spent time with him the more she realized he was letting her see the man behind the persona and maybe.. maybe there was more than what he’s done in the past. After all she was preaching sympathy just moments prior. “Flattery will not get you out of the tech lesson, but since it’s updating you’ve got a little wiggle room.” She took a gentle breath before beginning to tell a very condensed version of events. “Becca, Butcher’s wife, she was my mom’s best friend. When my mom got killed in a car wreck, Becca sort of.. became my maternal figure.” Ben nodded, feeling some of the strings attached to his heart pulling. “I’m sorry about that, doll.” It was the least he could say. “Where the hell was your dad?” He asked, not knowing subtly if it were to bite him on the ass. She sighed gently. “Couldn’t tell you, never met him.” Ben could sympathize with that in a way, his own father being a piece of shit and all. “Sorry ‘bout that too.” He spoke, keeping his gaze on her own. She simply nodded before the phone’s screen lit up in the bright colors again, signifying that the software update had been completed. Picking the phone up, [Y/N] swiped up to begin the process of actually setting things up. “Okay, back to this-“ she spoke but was immediately cut off by Ben’s loud groaning. “Fuck sakes, is this really necessary?” He grumbled, which caused the woman next to him to roll her eyes. “You already know the answer to that.” Again he grumbled, acting like a mix between a grumpy old man and a stubborn child. “If this was forty years ago and some fine piece of ass was trying to tell me I had to do somethin’..” She turned and her [Y/E/C] eyes met his face with a pointed glare. There was a momentary pause as Ben contemplated whether or not to continue.

However, he was mischievous by nature and so he opted to continue on with his train of thought. “..I’d have grabbed her by her pretty little chin and talked her into getting on her knees so I could show her a better way to use that mouth.” [Y/N] again rolled her eyes. “Anyway,” she brushed it off and moved on immediately though Ben was wearing a little smirk. “Picturing it, aren’t ya’?” He asked, clearly attempting to make the woman flustered. She turned her gaze back towards him with a blank expression upon her face. “Picturing me, punching you in the face? Absolutely I am.” She answered, which had Ben’s smirk fall completely. “You new age women, chicks in my day would’ve been creaming their panties at the chance to get with Soldier Boy.” Ben grumbled, irritation showing on his face. It was amusing to [Y/N] that he thought he’d get her to crumble so easily. Pushing herself up into a better position she’d lean the phone towards the Supe. “Alright, so I made two emails—one has the Soldier Boy name on it, just in case there’s.. I don’t know people that have business offers or something. Granted, that’s if we all live and you don’t get thrown into jail or whatever they do to other Supes and the other is for, well, more personal shit. That’s the one I was telling you about when I mentioned it initially, the one that’s tied into everything on the phone. I downloaded some stuff but now you need to try it.” She handed the phone over to Ben, praying he wasn’t gonna break this one. It was clear that he was trying to hold it gently, which would’ve made her giggle out loud—however the man was in an overly sensitive state and she wasn’t going to push that. “Alright, so tap the icon that says ‘App Store’ and wait for it to open.” [Y/N]’s voice was gentle and Ben nodded, putting his finger over the square with that name underneath it. However he left it there and so the apps began to all shake. “What the fuck is happening?!” He exclaimed, to which she gently moved her hand and pressed the button labeled ‘done’. Now the apps went back to being still and she sighed. Gently she grabbed his index finger and lightly pulled it towards the screen again, Ben wanted to grumble but he was too distracted by how her fingers felt against his own. Where his skin was rough, battle tested and calloused.. hers was soft, maybe a scar here and there but nothing compared to his and the contrast? It was more enjoyable than he’d ever admit out loud. [Y/N] pulled his finger down toward the screen and gently tapped it against the screen to open the app. “You just gotta tap, see.” She spoke, letting go of his finger. “Huh.” He replied, but it wasn’t very loud. “Now typing on these things is probably gonna annoy you, it annoys us all and we’re used to the technology. Just.. try to not freak out and break it yeah? Shit is easy for you to snap, given y’know..” After she said that, she couldn’t help but to chuckle. When she did Ben felt himself smirking just a little. There was a split second where their eyes met and lingered, before she spoke up again. “Alright, so if you just click on this one it’ll take you to the place where you can download them. I think most things that are necessary for now are already there but I wanted you to know how to do it, so.. you like sports right?” She asked, tone kept gentle. “Uh, yeah, obviously little less on the up and up these days.” He replied, to which she nodded. “Alright well type in ‘MLB’ right there in that search bar, click it first though.” [Y/N] explained and for a moment Ben just stared at her, as if she had three heads. Eventually though he moved his gaze to the phone and tapped the screen over the search bar, which brought up the keyboard. “So.. these fucking things are called apps?” He asked, typing the three letters slowly into the bar and then she pointed to the blue button labeled ‘search’, which he tapped before looking up at her again.

“Yeah, they have one for just about everything these days.” She replied, pointing to the button that said ‘get’. Ben tapped it and the symbol to signify it was downloading appeared. Once it had finished, she smiled slightly before reaching underneath his arm for a second. “So, to close an app, you just swipe up like this.” Gently she placed her thumb on the screen and swiped upward to bring the phone back to the Home Screen. “Now, that closes it for the moment. Swiping up in a short motion brings up all the open ones like this-“ she explained, demonstrating. “Once they’re up like this you can swipe up again and fully close them.” She closed all of the currently open apps to demonstrate to him how to do it. “You really think I’m gonna remember all this shit?” He asked, almost glaring when he looked in her direction. It was a lot of information to take in, so she took a gentle breath and locked the phone. “Okay, fair, let’s take a break then.” [Y/N] placed Ben’s phone on the bed between them and slowly pulled out her own. He couldn’t help it, curiosity took hold and he glanced over. “You can put pictures on that thing?” He asked, noticing her Lock Screen photo of a drawing of the moon. Quirking a brow for a moment, she then figured out what he meant. “Oh, yeah! You can. Did you wanna do that on your phone?” Her voice was sweet as their eyes met yet again, bringing back the slight tension that continued to linger between them. “Fuck it, shit looks better than whatever the fuck it comes with.” He replied after a moment or so of silence. “Do you have anything specific you want?” She reached up with her free hand and tucked some of her [Y/H/C] hair behind her ear. Ben’s expression was pensive for a moment or so as he tried to think of anything he’d like to have as a background on the phone. “I dunno, just find something badass—none o’ that girly shit.” She shook her head before thinking herself, trying to figure out something she could use. “I’m gonna go take a leak.” He spoke up, pushing his frame up and off of the bed before grumbling about something and making his way over to the bathroom door. Once he’d closed it, she thought for another second before smiling to herself. Lifting the phone up at a decent angle, she quickly opened the camera app and primped herself slightly—snapping a couple of pictures of herself right after. Flicking through the few she found the one she liked the most and made it his Lock Screen wallpaper. Thumbs darted across the screen and within another two minutes or so, spent entirely on Google, she’d found a nice photo of Ben’s shield. It worked well for a Home Screen.

It wasn’t long after that [Y/N] heard the toilet flush and the sink turn on, seconds passing before the door was pulled open and Ben re-entered the bedroom. Lifting her gaze up to meet him, his green eyes held something she couldn’t quite pinpoint. She gently laid his phone onto the mattress and kept her attention on him while he sat back down onto the bed. “Are we doing more of this shit? ‘Cause I think my fuckin’ brain might implode.” His voice was deep, housing a distinct rasp to it. [Y/N] couldn’t help but to chuckle at the old man antics he was displaying before answering the question. “No, I think we’ll save some lessons for another day. After all, there’s much more than just the phone you’re gonna need to learn.” After she’d spoken, he groaned for what felt like the millionth time. “It’s amazing how you bounce between acting like a senior citizen and acting like a teenage boy.” Her voice held a humorous tone as she again chuckled, it was Ben’s turn to now offer her a pointed glare but there was definitely a layer of amusement behind it. Just as he was about to offer up a retort, the bedroom door was pushed open and Butcher popped his head in. “Oi [Y/N], need ya’ to come help Frenchie with a little project.” His accent was thick and his eyes held a wild expression that was pretty standard for the man. [Y/N] sighed and slowly pushed herself up from the mattress, but turned towards Ben with a gentle smile. “If you have any questions just.. come find me.” He nodded, because his brain wasn’t sure how to react to the little smile on her lips. Sure there was a lot of unholy and downright vulgar thoughts swimming around in his noggin about her, there had been since he laid eyes on her—however there was something more that lingered and that was causing a short circuit in his mind. She turned back to the Brit and groaned. “This better not be anything messy because the last time-“ she was cut off by Butcher’s laugh. “It ain’t, I swear.” [Y/N] rolled her eyes as the two left the room, closing the door behind them. After a couple of minutes Ben remembered [Y/N] lecturing him about locking the goddamned phone, but she had left it unlocked. Pushing the button he heard the clicking noise, but tapped onto the screen to make sure he hadn’t accidentally turned it off somehow—and that’s when he saw it. There underneath the time and the other bullshit, was a picture of her and her smiling face. Since he was by himself, he didn’t have his guard up and his lips curled upward into a smile. “Pretty lil’ lady.” He spoke out loud, his heart feeling something he’d not felt in quite some time.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Hi guys! I am soooooo sorry about how long this took. Between writer’s block and my fear of it sucking, I was just struggling for a while. This is my first attempt at writing for Ben so if it’s bad, I’m sorry! He’s a more complex character to nail in writing and hopefully I’ll get better at it over time. Anyway, hope you enjoyed!

• —– ٠ tag list: @roseblue373 @mrsjenniferwinchester @stillhere197 @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @aylacavebear @ladysparkles78 @globetrotter28 @jc-winchester ✤ ٠ —– • ·

#fanfic #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy imagines #the boys #the boys imagine #x yn

239 notes · View notes

aimseytv · 1 year ago

Text

i wanna talk about something real quick

i made a post the other day about lesbians, then a lot of people responded to said post with replies of “i’m bisexual does that count-“ or “i’m (blank) does that count”. i replied to these people saying no, not in a sense of “you don’t matter” but it was more from the eyes of “hey, i’m just tweeting at lesbians here! looking for more lesbians in my community” which i thought was an okay thing to do. this was not an attempt to exclude ANYONE from my community.

now, i then responded to someone who asked why saying they are half lesbian isn’t okay, and i explained that i made a tweet for the space in my community that are lesbians and i wanted to find more etc and that it was ‘invading’ which was definitely the wrong choice of words

nobody is invading anything, labels are just silly things we use and as someone who is quite literally unlabelled when it comes to my own gender, the narrative being spun on this app (which i wasn’t aware of until recently) that i hate unlabelled people is just really upsetting in all honesty - i have constantly spread the message being unlabelled is completely cool, and will continue to do so as someone who is myself

i am not someone who can decide what labels someone can and can not use, i’ve never once tried to either, maybe it came from a place of hurt of having people constantly try and headcanon my own sexuality as anything but lesbian that i had a weird press to want just lesbians under my tweets and such - but i’d genuinely like to apologise to any queer people i’ve upset with this

lets just be nice to each other, we are all trying to exist and that’s okay! queer history is long and i’ve read up on a lot of it recently, i wasn’t genuinely trying to upset anyone i just wasn’t aware of a few things regarding half lesbians and the term being used in ways that i’ve never seen before which is my fault

have a great day gamers, be kind :)

#lesbian #wlw

891 notes · View notes

wildemaven · 3 months ago

Text

life and loss | joel miller

pairing: dave york x f!reader / joel miller x f!reader word count: 1k content warnings: 18+ blog; death, grief/loss, major character death (no description of said death), AU and crossover universes, kind of fluffy, navigating loss, reader is non descriptive/blank slate. notes: this randomly came to me yesterday on my walk. It was meant to be just a moodboard and a small blurb to go along with it… and then this happened. Oops! Tried to pack a lot into a small thing so hopefully it makes sense.

Momentos of him, your late husband, have remained tucked away for the last year following his unexpected death. As you settle into your new widowed life and new home over a thousand miles away from the life you created with Dave, all the beautiful memories reside in cardboard boxes out of sight.

Word travels quickly through the small neighborhood about your arrival and marital status— or lack thereof. Welcoming introductions turn into unannounced check-ins and flowers. Uncomfortable small talk on your front porch is sprinkled throughout the following weeks, a hand on your shoulder accentuates their let us know if you need anything. Sympathetic casseroles finally dwindle allowing you to finally ease into this new season of your life.

The hammock left by the previous owners becomes your sanctuary most evenings. Searching for the brightest star in the night’s sky, then asking Dave how he’s doing before reading aloud to him the words from your latest book.

It's days later when you’ve read the final word that a small voice from over the fence manifests as a quirky teenage girl sitting at a table you’ve set up on your back patio. She has a million and one questions about the book and is filled with theories about what happens beyond its ending. The side gate is never regularly latched closed now, eagerly awaiting Ellie’s return. She navigates most of your late night conversations that follow, including personal stories and the history of her life. My grump of an old man is in construction. He’s single by the way— not by choice, but life happens.

His voice is calloused the first time he makes his presence known to you. Goddamn it, Ellie! I told you to leave her alone! They exchange brittle words back and forth through the shared barrier, before you insist he join the two of you. The crunch of his boots on the ground stall when he towers over where you’re still seated. His hand engulfing yours, warm and gentle as he tries to determine where his gaze should fall— you, the ground, the smirking teenager sitting across from you. Joel. Joel Miller. Uh, Ellie n’ I live next door. Not sure how long she’s been botherin’ you, but I’ll be sure it doesn’t happen again.

It’s weeks later when you run into Joel at the mailboxes. The clanking of keys and squeaky hinges fill the space between you before you’re both retreating back to your respective pathways. Your hands fidget and twist the bills and letters from your parents when you bravely initiate a conversation before he’s able to reach his front door. She’s the first person since moving here who wanted to talk to me about something other than the death of my husband. I don’t think I’ve laughed as much as I have with her in a long time. She’s welcome over here anytime.

He reeks of nervousness as he stands on your doorstep the following evening. The ambered hue of his eyes absorb the warmth from the front porch light, adding a brightness to them that they seem to be commonly lacking. His words waver a bit as he begins to speak, starting and stopping, scrubbing his hand down his face before he attempts to start again. You offer him nothing but patience, sensing the mournful energy radiating off him— similar to the one you’ve been carrying. My wife and older daughter— they were both in an accident on their way to Sarah’s soccer game. I was pickin’ up Ellie from her counseling group for adopted kids. We were headin’ to the soccer field when I got the call. Some days are harder than others. And everyone wants to help, however that may be— lots of food as I’m sure you know. It doesn’t ever really get easier, but you learn to live with grief. Anyways, if you ever need anything or just want to talk— you know where I live.

He accepts your impulsive invitation to join you for dinner, offering him the open seat across from you in the same spot as your timid first meeting. The crickets orchestrate the evening ambience as you share stories you’d tucked away, too painful to revisit until now. You find you laugh just as much, if not more, with Joel. Even among the tears shed, the conversation is filled with a hope and optimism that you longed for.

You still feel his wholesome embrace long after you’ve called it a night to seek out much needed sleep. But much like the nights that ensued after Dave’s death, loneliness and the weight of your grief rear its head.

The black ink glides over the surface of the paper. Line after line formulated a year’s worth of unsaid words that had been bottled up and blockaded by the rigid walls you’d built around them. Joel was right about the therapeutic effect of getting rid of the burdensome thoughts that come with loss, finding it’s hard to stop now that you’ve started.

You convey the love that you still carry for Dave, something you’ll never willfully ignore or regret. It feels wrong but you touch on the hatred you feel towards his death; you hate him for leaving you, hate that you miss him, hate that some nights you forget the small details that you cherished about him. You tell him about Joel and the kindness he’s afforded you in a short time of knowing him and that there’s life beyond losing the love of your life. To look for the light even when shrouded by darkness.

Pictures and trinkets find their way out of the cardboard confines Joel helped pull out from the guest room closet. The bare walls now filled with familiar faces and shelves adorn with colorful memories that you tried so hard to keep hidden.

Joel and Ellie being a constant presence in your life allows you to see that life can surprise you when you least expect it and there’s room for new love.

#Dave york #joel miller #dave york x reader #dave york x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #pedro pascal #wildemaven moodboard #dave york imagine #joel miller imagine #wildemaven writes

212 notes · View notes

barbatusart · 7 months ago

Text

bit of thinking outloud but for my current tactician run im doing a special wyll origins playthrough im calling the Evil Wyll Run & it’s given me a lot of food for thought about his character (or at least the freedom of psychological movement + exploration afforded to an origin run!)

wyll spoilers abound we’re entering the wyllenium here

wyll always felt a bit underwritten to me - i know that’s partially because there was that big kerfuffle in the 11th hour with changing his whole story and personality on top of having to recast his VA, and frankly hats off to both original VA lanre malaolu & new VA theo solomon for their hard work - both brought tremendous performances, & i sincerely hope mr malaolu was paid well for his work & time even if his voice wasn’t used in the final cut (i would also say warlock as a class itself felt a bit underdeveloped but im 100% OK with chalking that up to me the player not understanding how to play warlock effectively yet lol im more of a fighter barbarian Hit Stuff guy)

but honestly this feeling of being “underwritten” combined with a character with a long history of heroism in his pocket made wyll really interesting to me even in my tav playthrough. for all his accomplishments he still feels like a blank everyman, or like he’s someone who fully believes he’s the main character who doesn’t “need” to do any extra work on himself - and honestly he feels Very much like he could be The Main Character. once his backstory of the son of the duke was revealed too i immediately got the sense of like, rich boy trying to prove his worth beyond his wealth and status by striking out & becoming that hero, or that Prince Charming. basically that perfect happily ever after somebody. and im of the opinion that you don’t get mixed up with a cambion in the first place unless you’re either the kind of naïve “everything will just work out” immature that tends to comes with his status as the son of a noble, or you’re hungering for power. depending on playstyle he’s very easily both of these things

on the naïve front (ie a good wyll playthrough) if anything he feels very believably immature, & from that perspective the events of the game feel as though they’re the prequel to the actual start of wyll's story where he finally finds himself & learns what kind of man he really is. we just dont get to see it alas, but i really enjoyed the thought exercise of somebody still grappling with overcoming his own immaturity. he feels like someone who can still grow and that his tale is just beginning

Evil Wyll (meaning any time mizora shows up he drops everything to enact her instruction & hasnt once tried to find a loophole out of his contract) which ive come to be far more fascinated by is someone clearly vying for power, which is interesting because his noble status would’ve given him all the power he wants had he Played Nice. to me it speaks of someone who wants to be able to take what he wants from life without it being handed to him, which contrasts in a really fascinating way with entering into a warlock pact at all. maybe he thought it was better that it be a decision he made as opposed to nobility given to him by his family ties, maybe there’s still that pollyanna sentiment of “it’ll just work out & ill live happily ever after.” again maybe both. maybe in a sense the fiend, as he calls himself, is a good excuse to shuck off any poor decision he makes or any genuinely heinous thing he does under mizora’s instruction - an identity he uses as power fantasy (and very much in tandem/interchangeable with the blade of frontiers power fantasy) until it means taking ownership for any of his misdeeds, and then a scapegoat.

may be a bit incoherent but im only now hitting act 3 in my origin run & im Really enjoying this difficult characterization ive cooked up for myself lol

#wyll ravengard #baldur’s gate 3 #evyl wyll

239 notes · View notes

redheadspark · 10 months ago

Note

Prompt #2 with Azriel

Pls.

A/N - BEAUTIFUL! Thanks for requesting this, anon!

Time

Summary - Azriel never thought he had the time for someone. Cassian disagrees.

Warnings - Just some cute fluff

“Come on, Az. Let’s talk about.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Of course, there is!”

Az looked up from his makeshift desk, which was basically a piece of plywood that was blanking on top of two crates on either end. He would get a better desk, or a legit desk if he wished to. But he would rather use what he had than pay some money for something new and something he would barely use. Maybe he was frugal, but he would rather be frugal than far too comfortable. It was a running joke with the Inner Circle, how little Azriel would spend, and how he hated the concept of money. Rhsyand was the opposite, though he used his spending on good things and for the better of those he loved. Cassian just needed to learn how to handle money in general, if he was left to his own devices he would be broke within seconds.

There, in his little broom closet of an office at the Townhouse, Azriel saw Cassian grin at him as he placed his pen down and kept his intense stare on Cassian, “I am far too busy for anything apart from work, especially with our upcoming negotiations with Tamlin and Spring Court.”

“Psh, that’s child’s play, and that dirtbag of a Highlord is nothing we can’t handle,” Cassian replied with a wave of his hand, “We have more important things at hand, including your love life.”

Azriel snorted and took his pen again, looking down at his paperwork that was in need of a look over and he scanned the paperwork once again.

“That is nonexistent,” Azriel explained.

“And that is the problem, especially since there is a clear candidate that can change that for you,” Cassian teased. Azriel said nothing, but he knew exactly who Cassian was talking about. It was the same person that was on the other’s mind who would be perfect for the Spymaster, the calm to his storm and the peace to his chaos.

“I have no idea who you’re talking about,” Azriel hummed, writing a bit before flipping another page.

“Bullshit you don’t,” Cassian joked, “Being in a relationship and with someone you love actually makes someone…oh, I don’t know….more likable,”

“I don’t have time for a relationship—“ Azriel was about to say to him before Cassian clicked his tongue.

“That has nothing to do with anything I just said. Like at all!” He said back to the Spymaster. Azriel had to pause then and look at the Illyrian Commander. Cassian gave him a stern look, the kind that Azriel would get when he made a bonehead move. Sometimes things did go over Ariel’s head from time to time, he was never one to pick up on regular social clues. Perhaps he was too wired to be the Spymaster to simply be himself…what was himself anyway?

Having a social life was never really part of his life, not for how long he was working with and for Rhysand. He was far too busy to have downtime or hang out with friends, apart from the Inner Circle. That was different, that was built on deep and intense relationships and friendships that made and shaped him. But love? Was there love meant for him? Was there love meant to be in his life?

Did he want it? Now that he thought about it.

“She’s coming over tonight for family dinner. Nesta invited her, and as someone who will not go against his mate, I think it’s a great time to introduce yourself to her,” Cassian advised Azriel, who then leaned back in his chair and thought about it. He did see you from time to time, you were good friends with Nesta since you asked Rhysand and Feyre to help start up the Velaris library. You too were a bookworm, you loved reading books and saving the volumes that held history and stories that were meant to be told for centuries. Of course, Rhysand agreed and gave the funding, along with the connections to build and jump-start the library. Within months, Velaris Public Library opened to all the Velaris citizens and it was an instant hit.

Azriel was there at the Opening Ceremony, seeing you beaming in pride as you spoke in front of the spectators. Nesta was a partner in the project, standing next to you and clutching your hand in excitement since she too was enthralled with the notion of a library in Velaris. Azriel was entranced by you from the start, there was no argument there. But he also saw the thirst for preserving history and wanting to know more. He loved that fire, that spirit, and yet it was laced with sincerity and kindness that was rare to see in the broken world around them.

“Come on, Az. Live a little,” Cassian urged, to which Azriel finally cracked a smile.

“Oh, there you are Azriel! Come meet the guest of honor!”

“Honestly, I’m no guest of honor, Nesta.”

"Yes, you are! This is Azriel, the Spymaster himself. Azriel, come meet Y/N!"

You were sitting on one of the loveseats, holding a glass of wine in hand as Azriel came into the sitting room of the House of Wind. After his talk with Cassian, Azriel felt as if he should be the one to officially meet you, though he was giving him some fear since he only knew you from afar. He even tried to dress up decently, in a dress shirt and pants with his hair styled to be less rugged and more formal. Perhaps he looked like he was trying too much, but at least he was putting in the effort.

You were wearing a simple cream dress, though it was showing your curves in the right spots, and a shawl over your shoulders since there was still a bit of a chill in the air in Velaris. Your hair, long and thick, was half up and down in a messy style but it suited you. Azriel’s heart skipped for a long moment, you smiling up at him as you got up from the loveseat. You two were smiling at one another, not noticing Nesta and Cassian watching from the side and somewhat hiding behind a pillar with their own smiles plastered on their faces.

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” You said to him, holding out your hand for him to shake. He took it instantly, your palms connecting and warmth was felt along your skin.

“You as well,” He said, your smile growing slightly.

“See, told you that they were meant for each other!” Nesta whispered to Cassian as they watched you and Azriel sit together on the loveseat and start a conversation.

“I know, baby. I know,” Cassian hummed, kissing his mate on the cheek.

The End.

January Prompt Session

280 notes · View notes

sapphire-writes · 2 years ago

Text

an ego thing ~ modern!Aemond x Reader

previous part 1 // next part 3 // series masterlist

summary: part 2 of An Ego Thing; one-bed trope, but it's a study room 😏 I hope this brightens your Friday night loves! warnings: language, 18+ NSFW (oral & spicy times) word count: 2k note: I am working on requests but this got so much love and once I thought of the scenario I had to write it immediately! read more of my work here! 💚

“You sure you don’t want to bounce?” Baela asks, shoving her laptop into her bag.

You had been working with Baela on a project for another class for the past couple of hours. Confined to a study room off the main open space of your university’s library, where you could talk and explore different topics without being disruptive.

You sigh, looking at the time on your phone.

“ I shouldn’t,” you tell her reluctantly, “I have to get this paper for history in before 11:59.”

“Slacker,” Baela teases, heading for the door.

“Night! Good luck,” she calls, in a hushed whisper as she enters the main room of the library shutting the door behind her.

You groan, wanting nothing more than to crawl into your bed. You rub your eyes, opening your document for history. Fucking Aemond Targaryen. Can’t have a simple discussion with you and now you have another pointless assignment to finish.

You type away, eager to finish when the door to the study room opens.

“What’re you doing?” you ask, frowning at the tall man before you.

Aemond smirks.

“I reserved this room.”

“No, I had it reserved,” you argue.

Aemond raises a brow at your tone.

“Yeah, your time is up. Two-hour booking window, remember?”

He holds his phone toward you, noting the calendar used to reserve the study spaces. Fucker.

“Fine.”

You pack your stuff, eager to leave the space now that Aemond appeared. You scout throughout the library but no other rooms are available. You could just sit at a table, but you much prefer the seclusion a study room brings you.

“There are no other rooms.”

Aemond stares at you, his expression blank.

“How is that my problem?”

The sound of someone clearing their throat hits you and you turn your head. The librarian motions for you to shut the door. She presses a finger to her lips signaling you are being disruptive.

You check your phone again, the time slowly creeping closer to midnight.

“Aemond c’mon,” you say, exasperated.

He growls, looking away, flexing his fingers before continuing to type. You take that as an okay, shutting the door behind you and plopping yourself back into the seat across from him, taking out your computer.

You sit in silence, the sound of you both typing furiously in the space. Aemond closes his laptop as you begin to cite your references.

You glance up at him, finding him watching you. You scowl, already annoyed though he has yet to speak.

“Finished?” he asks, leaning back in his chair.

“Nearly.”

“Library closes soon.”

You look up at him again, nearly rolling your eyes.

“Then you should stop distracting me.”

He smirks then, perfect lips curling in malcontent.

“I’m distracting you?”

“Yes.”

“Hmm.”

You can feel his stare burning into your face as you continue to type before he begins to gather his things. You look up, watching as he packs his stuff. You can’t help but think of what Luke Velaryon said after class. He catches your eye once more, and you look away quickly resuming your typing, cheeks flushing.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“My references,” you answer, not daring to look up.

“Surprised you found any,” he quips.

You meet his eyes once more.

“My points are extremely valid,” you argue.

Aemond tilts his head to the side. You feel an argument brewing.

“You know what? I don’t have time for this,” you tell him, closing your laptop.

You’re nearly finished, you just wanted to look over it once more before submitting it to your professor, but you could do that somewhere else. You shove a notebook into your bag, standing. Aemond follows suit.

“Whatever,” Aemond says, moving toward the door, backpack slung over his shoulder.

His hand is on the handle of the door, just opening it as you speak. Truly, you can’t seem to help yourself. You antagonize each other.

“Jerk,” you mutter.

Aemond freezes, the door open half an inch, just allowing you a view of the main room where few students remain. You watch a muscle in Aemond’s jaw twitch before he closes the door, dropping his bag to the ground. His eyes meet yours, a snarl on his face as he grabs your backpack from your hands, tossing it to the floor.

“Hey!” you tell him, eyes wide before he connects his lips to yours.

You’re too shocked at first, freezing as his hands find your waist, thumbs caressing the skin of your hips. Your eyelashes flutter as you give into the kiss, bringing your fingers to tangle in his silky hair. It's just as soft as it looks-not like you’ve imagined how it feels between your fingers or anything. You suppress a whimper as Aemond deepens the kiss, tilting his head to the side and exploring your mouth with his tongue. You allow it, shivering with the feeling of his hands on you, at the way he squeezes your hips, pushing you back against the table.

The table bites into the back of your thighs, and you gasp into Aemond’s mouth before he pulls away slightly. His eyes open, half-lidded as you meet his gaze.

“You’re infuriating,” he says, in a hoarse whisper.

It’s becoming difficult to breathe like the room lacks air.

“And you’re a pain in the ass,” you snarl in response, trying to keep your voice low.

Aemond kisses you again, harder this time. He brings a hand to hold your jaw and you can’t help a pathetic whine from escaping your lips. He is a good kisser, a great kisser actually. The pouty shape of his mouth fits against your lips perfectly.

You keep kissing for a moment, allowing yourself to get lost in the moment.

Shit, your paper.

You pull away, hands on his chest.

“Maybe we should take Velaryon’s advice then,” Aemond says suddenly before you can catch your bearings.

You blink in surprise, cheeks flushing. Your eyes drop to his lips as he speaks, nearly bruised from kissing. He takes his bottom lip in between his teeth, as though savoring the taste of yours.

“You’re serious?” you ask, not believing the words.

This has to be a trick of some kind. Aemond watches you carefully, with violet and blue eyes, before giving you a curt nod. Your lips part and Aemond’s eyes are drawn to the action.

“Okay,” you agree, and Aemond pulls you from the table, turning you around.

Your heart beats wildly.

“Here?” you hiss, back pressed against his chest.

You feel his lips press against your neck, nearly melting all the resistance from your muscles. He trails kisses down your neck, onto your shoulder nipping at your collarbone.

“Mhmm,” Aemond answers.

You can feel his hands on your leggings, pulling them down toward the floor. Your face is burning, but you’re too excited to feel self-conscious. The anticipation of what is to come, from who you’re doing it with, and from potentially being caught are making your head spin.

Aemond loops his long fingers through your underwear, pulling them down as well, leaving your bottom half bare.

“You’ll just have to be quiet,” he tells you, “wouldn’t want the librarian to come snooping.”

You scoff, feeling his hand on your back, bending you over the table.

“I highly doubt they’ll be anything to be noisy about,” you challenge, preparing to feel him pressing himself into you.

You’re wet from anticipation, and a quickie with Aemond Targaryen is bound to ease the unfiltered tension between you two. You wait for him, wait to hear the unbuckle of his belt but it doesn’t come.

You turn your head, looking behind you, and spot Aemond kneeling behind you.

“What are-” you are cut off by the feel of Aemond licking a stripe up your soaking slit.

You slam a hand over your mouth as his tongue continues its exploration. You can feel his sharp nose pressing into you, feel his tongue curling into your clenching hole. He moans against you, the vibrations causing a whimper to break through your hand.

Aemond chuckles against you, pulling away slightly.

“You’re all talk,” he whispers, flicking his tongue against your sensitive clit.

Your eyes roll back in your head at the attention he gives it, thighs trembling. For someone who knows how to talk, you’re now at a loss for words as Aemond continues slurping on your sensitive pussy. You feel your orgasm creeping up on you, a coil winding tighter within your stomach.

“Fuck I’m going to-” you whisper.

“Cum?” Aemond asks, and you can feel his smirk against your pussy, before he continues to lavish your clit with licks.

“Yes,” you answer, before reaching your peak, finishing on Aemond’s tongue.

Your cheek rests against the table as you catch your breath as Aemond rises to his feet.

“Shit,” you whisper, mind hazy.

“Mhmm,” Aemond answers.

You hear something tear and look behind you, as Aemond holds a condom in his hands. You raise an eyebrow at him.

“You brought a condom to the library?” you ask.

“I always keep some on me,” he answers, unbuckling his belt.

You roll your eyes, as you watch him take out his cock. Your eyebrows raise at the sight, long and pale, the tip flushed red and already weeping with precum. You watch as he rolls the condom on, unable to stop your mouth from watering.

“Any other questions?” Aemond asks, bringing your attention back to his face.

You hate the smug look he wears.

“Just fuck me, Targaryen,” you growl.

“Will do,” Aemond says, guiding his cock into your center.

You feel his hand on your waist, as his cock splits into you, stretching you out. You bite into your hand trying to stop your moans. Your heart beats erratically, fearful of any noise that comes from the study room.

“Fuck,” you whisper.

“Shhh,” Aemond says, pulling back and thrusting into you, “you’ve got to be quiet.”

A wave of pleasure washes over you as Aemond continues to roll his hips into yours. Lewd, wet noises fill the space as Aemond fucks you. You can’t believe this is happening, you can’t believe Aemond Targaryen has you bent over a table fucking you. Fucking you as you’ve never been fucked before.

Small noises escape your mouth, and suddenly your hand is no longer good enough. Aemond brings his hand to your mouth instead, muffling the noises of pleasure that escape.

“I thought you were a good girl?” he purrs in your ear, continuing his thrusts.

I am, you think as your thighs clench, the table below you squeaking with the movements.

“No,” Aemond answers in a growl as if reading your mind, “good girls listen. Good girls don’t get bent over and fucked in the library. I think you’re a bad, bad girl.”

Warmth spreads through you at his dirty talk.

“Is that true?” he asks, “are you a bad girl, (Y/N)?”

You whimper against his palm, as he continues to pound into you.

“That’s what I thought,” he chuckles.

You wish you had enough energy to snap back at him, but his cock has you basically drooling into his hand, so any chance of being witty needs to be saved for a different time. Aemond angles his hips, and suddenly the head of his cock is pressing against the spongy part inside of you that makes you see stars. Your legs tremble and you arch yourself flatter onto the table, pushing your ass into him.

“Fuck, that's good,” he breathes, releasing your mouth, using both hands to hold onto your hips as he jackhammers into you.

You bite into your wrist, hard enough to draw blood as your second orgasm crashes over you. Tears slide down your cheeks as Aemond chases his release, stifling his groan of pleasure not a moment later.

You stay conjoined, feeling his cock soften inside of you before he unsheaths himself, discarding the condom into a trashcan. You stay flat, trying to regulate your breathing.

“Shit!” you hiss suddenly, opening your computer.

“What?” he softly groans.

You open your pdf before attaching the file to an email, pressing send to your professor just as the clock hits 11:59. You smile triumphantly, causing Aemond to chuckle.

“Smart ass.”

taglist: @ephemeralninon, @aemonds-wifey, @haydee5010, @schniiipsel, @sweetsweetpsyche, @letmeloveyouuuu

HOTD taglist: @zillahvathek @tempt-ress

1K notes · View notes