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fuckyeahgoodomens · 11 months ago

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Ooh! A wonderful interview with Rich Keeble who played Mr. Arnold (the one with the Doctor Who Annual :)) in S2! :)❤

Q: In Good Omens 2 you play Mr. Arnold, who runs the music shop on Whickber Street. Were you a fan of Good Omens before joining the cast, and is it challenging to take on such an iconic story which is already loved by a huge fanbase?

A: “There’s always pressure if you’re working on something with an existing fanbase and people might have an idea already as to how you should be approaching something. To be honest I was aware of the show but I hadn’t actually seen it before I was asked to get involved. I knew it was something special though! I remember talking to Tim Downie [Mr. Brown] about how when you tape for certain things you know if something’s a “good one”. Of course by the time I was on set I’d watched Season 1 and read the book.

I had an interesting route into the show actually: I was asked at the last minute to read the stage directions at the tableread on Zoom, and Douglas [Mackinnon] the director called me up to discuss pronunciations of the character names etc. To prepare further I quickly watched the first episode on Prime Video, and I was very quickly drawn into it. A couple of hours later I was on a Zoom call with David [Tennant], Michael [Sheen] (with his bleached hair), Neil [Gaiman], Douglas and the whole team, including Suzanne [Smith] and Glenda [Mariani] in casting. After that readthrough I asked my agent to try and see if she could shoehorn me in and she came back with a tape for Mr. Arnold saying “you play the piano don’t you…?” They wanted me to demonstrate my musical playing ability, so I rented a rehearsal studio room in Brixton for an hour and filmed myself playing piano (and drums just in case), then I did my scenes a couple of different ways and I guess it wasn’t too terrible!”

Q: During episode five you mimed to music written by series composer David Arnold alongside a real string quartet – this must have been very immersive! How did it feel to work with David, and bring the ball to life?

A: “I actually didn’t meet David Arnold sadly, but I did work with Catherine Grimes, the music supervisor who is lovely. David was at the London screening but I missed an opportunity to go and say hello to him which I kicked myself about.

I remember before I was in Scotland there was a bit of uncertainty as to whether I would need to play anything for real or not, so I practised every day playing loads of Bach and other music I thought was era-appropriate just in case they asked me to do anything on the fly. So yes, it was very immersive as you say! They sent me three pieces of music to learn which I practised in my Edinburgh apartment on a portable folding keyboard thing I bought. They introduced me to the string quartet (John, Sarah, Alison and Stephanie) and I tried to hang out with them when I could. On the day we all had earpieces to mime to. I had to mime while listening out for a cue from Nina [Sosanya] from across the room, then deliver my dialogue and carry on playing, which was tricky! The quartet and I helped each other out actually: Douglas would say something like “let’s go from a minute into the second piece of music”, I’d look at the sheet music and whisper “where the hell is that?” and one of the quartet would say “we think that’s bar 90” or something. Here’s a little bit of trivia: the shooting overran and the string quartet couldn’t make the last day, so they found some incredible lookalikes to replace them for the scene when we get lead out of the bookshop through all the demons, although I think they also kept them deliberately off camera.”

Q: What did you think of your music shop when you first saw the set? Did you have a favourite poster or prop?

A: “I thought it was incredible! It could’ve been an actual music shop with all the instruments hanging up with the “Arnold’s” price tags on. The attention to detail was incredible, well IS incredible as I understand it’s all still there. It’s hard to pick a favourite to be honest. I did a little video walkaround on my phone at the time so maybe I’ll post that if I won’t get in trouble. Interestingly the shop interior itself was elsewhere on the set to the shop entrance you see from the street. You walk out of Aziraphale’s shop, over the road, through the door of the music shop and… there’s nothing.”

Q: Mr. Arnold is tempted into the ball by a Doctor Who Annual and is playing the theme in the music shop scene – are you a fan of Doctor Who in real life? And what was it like making those jokes and references in front of the Tenth Doctor David Tennant?

A: “I’ve always dipped in and out of Doctor Who over the years since Sylvestor McCoy, who was doing it when I first became aware of it when I was growing up. Even if you’re not a fan it’s one of those shows you can’t really get away from, so doing that particular scene in front of David was really fun, and of course Douglas had directed Doctor Who as well. Apart from the amusing situation of two supposed Doctor Who fans talking about Doctor Who without realising they’re in the company of a Doctor Who, I also seem to remember Michael being the one to suggest that he would deliver his “due to problems at the BBC” line directly to David.

Oh, and I think it was actually my idea to grab the annual off the harpsichord before joining the queue behind Crowley at the end of the ballroom scene (which we’d shot weeks earlier at this point). When we were blocking it out and rehearsing I knew I had to leave my position and get to the front for my “surrender the angle” line, and then later it just felt like I wouldn’t leave without the annual so I ran back through everyone to grab it. Nobody seemed to have a problem with me doing that so I just carried on doing it when we shot it! I do remember it being a fun set with Douglas and the team being very open to suggestions.”

Q: How did you balance filming both Good Omens and BBC Ghosts at the same time?

A: “Luckily both shows were a joy to work on, and everyone seems to know about both of them. We were shooting them in early 2022 and I also had a little part in an ITV drama called ‘Stonehouse’, starring Matthew Macfadyen. I usually never know when I’m working next so to have three great TV jobs at once was very unusual. There was all this date juggling and I actually almost had to turn down Ghosts due to clashes. Luckily both shows had to move some dates so it worked out. But yes, I spent two weeks up in Scotland shooting all that Good Omens ballroom stuff, then I came back down to London to do Ghosts, knowing I’d be back up to shoot my scenes in the music shop in a couple of weeks. Now, when I found out who was playing my wife in Ghosts I couldn’t believe it: Caroline Sheen – Michael Sheen’s cousin! She was amazing and that was another great set in general. I say “set”, but it’s all filmed in that house which surprised me. I’d worked with Kiell [Smith-Bynoe] and Jim [Howick] before, and Charlotte [Ritchie] was in the Good Omens radio play a few years ago and a big fan of the book. Charlotte’s very musical of course and we got talking about my folding keyboard I had for practising my Good Omens stuff, and she ended up setting it up in the house for us to have a play on!

Now, when we’d shot all our internal scenes there was this big storm forecast, and our external scenes were scheduled for the day of the storm, so that had to be moved into the next week. It meant I ended up shooting those scenes outside the house, then going straight back up to Scotland to shoot the Good Omens music shop scene the next day! When I mentioned to Michael I’d just worked with Caroline he said “ooh she’s in Ghosts is she!” and revealed that she’d texted him about me which was rather surreal. Then later after the Ghosts wrap party Kiell gave me a part in his Channel 4 Blap, so at the time I felt like I was killing it career wise, but the industry quietened a bit after that and my workload eased off over the year so I was in my overdraft by November.”

Q: What are your plans for the future – can we expect to see you in something else soon?

A: “This year, after a bit of a quiet start, I was very fortunate to work on a Disney+ show called Rivals which stars… David Tennant! I think I’m allowed to say my character is called Brian, and I shot five episodes so that was another really amazing job, and great to work with David again (I told him he must be my good luck charm, although I hope he’s not sick of me). That should be out at some point in late 2024. Other than that I’ve filmed a few other bits I presume will be out next year, one of which is called Truelove on Channel 4 which actually looks really good. That starts early January. Of course now Season 3 of Good Omens has been greenlit, I would love Neil and the gang to have me back on that… but I can only keep my fingers crossed!”

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shawnxstyles · 2 years ago

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stupid

DATE: MARCH 27, 2023

summary: as a challenge, you try to get yourself out of handcuffs. eventually, you find yourself unsuccessful, leaving you confined to your bed. when your roommate harry sees your predicament, he can’t help but be a little turned on, especially when he notices that you are too.

song: invisible string- taylor swift

words: 5.8k

warnings: SMUT (f-receiving [fingering, bondage {handcuffs}], m-receiving [masturbation], praise kink, unprotected sex [coming inside], dirty talk), some pining, and language

note: a cheesy ass storyline but it still has me in a chokehold. also, i’m posting this at 3 am :D (sorry if the gif is all weird)

fratrry x college!reader (my favorite pairing 🤭)

—

“Oh, fuck me.”

It was stupid—you were so stupid.

Your heart falls in a panic as you thrash around on your bed, trying to break the cuffs surrounding your wrists.

You got caught up in a video. Some stupid video you scrolled to on the internet that explained how to escape handcuffs in an emergency. With a Bobby pin. You watched the full thing out of curiosity and boredom, but then decided to try it.

Because why the hell not, right?

Who the hell has a Bobby pin in an emergency? You didn’t think about this part until after you were stuck.

You rummaged through your messy closet, searching for the cuffs. Luckily, you were a bit of a hoarder and kept mainly everything you bought. One year for Halloween you were a cop (basic, but cute), so of course you had handcuffs when you bought the outfit.

Huh, they’re way nicer than you remember.

Snatching the handcuffs, you sat back on your bed and rewatched the video again. The demonstrator was handcuffed to the leg of a table while the instructor showed the camera and directed the viewers. Once you felt confident enough, you were going to attempt it.

At this moment, you didn’t think twice about how stupid it might be.

You looked around your room for somewhere to practice. You didn’t want to use the table in the small dining room because it was crowded with stuff on it. Plus, you didn’t want your roommate, Harry, to walk through the door and see you doing another stupid thing you found on the internet.

The amount of times he’s caught you doing something strange is ridiculous. To anyone else, it would be embarrassing. But Harry is your best friend, who is able to keep up with your madness, and who you might maybe have a crush on. Okay fine, it was a big, fat, stupid crush.

90% of the time your internet attempts were some type of trick that ends in something breaking.

But this—this has got to be the stupidest thing you’ve ever attempted.

Your eyes circled around the entire room before you landed on your bedpost.

Stable. Unmoving. Bingo.

Reaching up and turning your head, you locked one of the cuffs to your wrist. Then you grab the small pin in the other hand. You loop the chain around the pole and cuff that hand. Facing the locked cuffs, you cramp your hand in a certain way that allows you to ram the pin into the lock hole. You twist it easily and free yourself from the cuffs.

You smirk to yourself at how easy it was. You decide to do it another time. And then another. You got confident with the movements, so you switched the pin to your non-dominant hand. It was slightly trickier, but you were still able to release yourself.

Knowing yourself, you wouldn’t stop until the challenge became a real challenge. So you decided to make it a little harder.

You made sure your body was facing forward, away from the post, before looping the chain around the wooden pole. You clicked the cuff on your left wrist, locking you to the post.

Now, you would try to unlock the cuffs blindly.

With the pin in your dominant hand, you try to maneuver it so it can reach the lock opening. You feel around with your fingers as much as they allow, trying to picture where the hole is. Thinking you felt it, you confidently jam the pin into it before twisting it.

However, your confidence failed you because you were too cocky. The pin slides through one of the chain links that you mistook for the lock hole and slips from your fingers. You let out a small gasp as it does, realizing what position you’ve gotten yourself into this time.

“Oh, fuck me.”

It was stupid—you were so stupid.

Your heart falls in a panic as you thrash around on your bed, trying to break the cuffs surrounding your wrists. Your eyes dodge around the room, trying to think of a solution. You notice the key to the cuffs lying tantalizingly on the bed. It was way too close for you to reach it with your foot, and you obviously couldn’t bend your head down to grab it.

There was only one thing you would do; wait for Harry to come home.

—

Harry presses a button on the treadmill, slowing down the conveyor belt beneath him. He huffs and puffs, trying to catch his breath. Even though he feels like he’s killing himself at the gym sometimes, he can’t help but love the feeling afterwards. That post-workout sensation that motivates him to get up and walk in the gym the next day. It was addicting to say the least.

As he steps off the treadmill, his phone begins to buzz. He looks down at the contact, feeling his heart buzz similarly at the name. He slips his finger across the glass, answering your FaceTime call.

“What’s up?” Harry answers the phone, holding it up so you could see his sweaty face while he stares at your ceiling. He packs up his bag and heads towards the locker rooms.

“I need help,” You shout, loudly enough so Harry could hear you from the phone, which was at the end of the bed. You had finally used some cells in your brain to use Siri to FaceTime him. Harry scrunches his eyebrows and stands stucksill in the middle of the locker room. Without hesitation, he starts to head for the exit of the building, thinking you’re in some type of life-threatening emergency.

“What? Are you okay?” Harry speaks anxiously as he reaches his car and turns the engine on.

“I’m fine! I’m fine! I just need you to…help me out,” You reassure hastingly with a grunt, continuing to thrash around as if that’s going to work.

It hasn’t for the past half hour.

Harry’s heart calms down a few beats, since your life clearly isn’t threatened. He hears the clanging of the metal to the wood.

“What’s that noise?” He questions, scrunching his nose.

“It’s, um, me,” You squeak vaguely. It was so embarrassing that the words couldn’t even leave your mouth without a cringe rolling through your body.

In a flashing moment, the pieces finally clicked in Harry’s head.

“You did another challenge again, didn’t you?” You stayed silent, too stubborn to admit that he was right and that you were stupid. He knew you well enough to know that your silence meant he was right, so he scoffed and groaned before hanging up the phone.

After parking in his usual spot, he grabs his gym bag and heads for your shared apartment. He trudges up the stairs, his legs brutally sore after today. Harry fumbles with the keys until he unlocks the door. When he walks in, he instantly hears you shouting his name in relief.

“Harry! Oh my god!” Harry knew it was wrong to be thinking the way he was thinking, but he couldn’t help it.

He imagined those words as moans spewing from your mouth as you lie underneath him. He envisioned fucking you deep and slow so you’d feel every inch of him. If he lingered on the idea long enough, he could imagine the depth of your cunt as he sinks into it, all wet and snug around his cock. Your hands would pull on his hair as he said the most sinful things to you. Some nights he had to conjure this type of fantasy to relieve himself, and he felt selfish every time.

He couldn’t believe that he was turned on simply from your voice.

God, he wanted you so bad.

Throwing his gym bag on the messy table, he heads for your room and discards his thoughts. The door is wide open, and before he even gets inside, he’s facing your predicament.

Your arms are raised above your head while your wrists remain trapped in metal confinements. Your body was slumped, probably tired from trying to escape. Your chest rises up and down in frustration. He could sense the irritation radiating off of you. It was laughable. Very, very laughable.

But his mind wandered back to his thoughts from a few minutes ago when he imagined pounding into you. Now, in his new fantasy, you were cuffed to your bed. Just like you are now, you wouldn’t be able to have your hands in his hair, but he’d lower his head in between your legs this time. The thought—the sight— of you in those cuffs was about to send him in a spiral.

He was half hard.

“Fuck me,” He muttered, closing his eyes and inhaling sharply.

“Are you going to help me or just stand there and watch my misery?”

“I don’t know, I kind of like it,” Harry teased, being honest, but not in the way you probably thought.

You weren’t the type for one-night stands. But when he saw you bring home the person you were dating (at the time), some deep, unwanted feeling burned in his stomach. Harry eventually labeled the feeling as hatred; he hated everyone you brought home, no matter how nice they were in the morning aftermath. You and Harry got too close, too friendly for anything like that to be allowed.

So, he would invite girls over because he realized he couldn’t have you. And eventually that created a cycle he couldn’t break because, again, he couldn’t have you. He couldn’t break it without you. No amount of girls or any other girls made him feel the way you made him feel.

He thought whatever he was feeling for you made him weak, but it really made him stronger, better.

Now, he stood a few feet from your bed, arms crossed in amusement. He hopes that if he joked enough you wouldn’t notice the bulge growing in his gym shorts.

You felt a rush of heat creep up your neck at his words. Although he can be sweet and soft, Harry was as much of a frat boy as the rest of them. He talked women up and brought them back to his room with his panty-melting smirk. You couldn’t help but envy them every time you heard the noises they made, knowing that Harry was the one causing them. Your stupid crush and hormonal body made his words sound like some sexual innuendo, but you knew Harry wouldn’t truly have any intentions behind it.

So what if he makes flirty, teasing comments that make your stomach drop and your heart race a million miles an hour? They weren’t intentional and he does it with everyone.

“Like it? Kinky shit,” You mumbled to yourself as your neck burns up, but of course Harry wasn’t going to let that slide. He was going to have a little fun with it.

“What did you say?” Harry leaned towards you with his ear, now wandering closer to your bed. You glared at him in irritation.

“Nothing. Just open the cuffs!” You said, ignoring him without making eye contact.

“No, I don’t think I will. This is quite fun actually,” He crosses his arms and smugly smiles, teetering on his feet. He should have left by now to take care of his erection that’s pulsing in his shorts, but he’s having too much fun. This is truly one of the stupidest things you’ve done. You roll your eyes as you wriggle your wrists pathetically, attempting a lost cause. Harry laughs, clearly enjoying your misery.

“Do you get off on this or something?”

“Maybe,” Harry shrugs. You don’t know why, but your heart skipped a beat and your neck continued to be aflame. The slight thought that Harry might be attracted to you, even if it was you at your mercy, caught you off guard. Slightly. “You have to admit it’s a little arousing.”

Your heart rate increases as he steps closer to you, eyes doe-y and wide as you take in the view. Every comeback or quick wit washes away from you.

“Is it?” He asks.

“Is it what?” You try to focus on the conversation, but it’s hard when his post-workout body is standing only inches away from you. In any other scenario, you would have pushed him away or brushed off his comment. But you can’t run away this time. Instead of looking at him, you stare at some spot on the floor.

“Is it arousing for you? To be all helpless and needy?” His voice is taunting. His words caused your cunt to instinctively clench, making your thighs do the same. His eyesight peered at your legs for a moment, hopefully not noticing the action.

“No,” You lied straight through your teeth. Your hands turned into fists as you dug your nails into your palms, trying to keep it together.

“Are you sure about that?”

“Yes,” No.

“I don’t like liars, Y/N,” Harry raises his eyebrows in a hurtful way and then slowly starts backing away. You shake your head in confusion as he heads for the door. “Now, I’m going to take a shower. I’ll be back.”

“Harry Edward Styles, do not leave me here!” You shout as you squirm for the millionth time. But he leaves and walks out of the room. He purposefully leaves the door open and heads down the hall into your shared bathroom.

Harry had a plan. If you weren’t willingly going to tell him you were aroused, which it was very obvious that you are, he would tease you. It was his greatest strength.

After turning on the shower and stripping from his clothes, he purposefully leaves his door open too, so you can hear everything. Once he gets in, he doesn’t hesitate to take his aching erection in his palm. He strokes his length as his body gets lathered in water.

Pictures of you with the cuffs appear in his head; helpless, needy, and vulnerable, just like he said. Based on your reactions, he could tell you were turned on by something and Harry was sure to crack you. He’s been waiting for this moment for a long time. Now, all he has to do is not fuck up.

He imagines you squirming underneath him as he rubs your clit, desperate for relief and freedom from the confinements.

“Harry!” You called out, but it was hopeless. You could hear him in the shower, taunting you. Your mind went straight to the image of his naked body and pictured it above you. You’ve never even seen him fully naked, but just the thought of it aroused you even more.

His strokes became faster as you shouted, rubbing his thumb over his leaking slit. In his mind, he translated them as moans of his name, which motivated him to pump brisker.

“Fuck, Y/N,” He groaned loud, for once hoping you heard him.

His balls tighten as another fantasy explores his mind: you on your knees, cuffs behind your back, as you suck his cock. Your eyes peering up at him innocently with tears brimming your ducts would send him into a lustful frenzy. He moaned noisily, his sounds bouncing off the tiled walls and down the hall.

You could hear everything. Including the way his name groggily fell from his lips in that sultry voice you only heard in dreams. Your panties dampened with each loud groan, forcing you to bend your knees toward your chest and rub them together to stop the nearly painful ache.

It was so unfair.

“I’m gonna come, angel,” He nearly whined as his palm slammed on the shower wall, fist pumping fiercely to reach his orgasm. The name slipped from his mouth, but it fit you perfectly.

A small whimper elicited from your lips at his noises, your legs crossing together in agony. You controlled yourself to not roll your hips in the air, because that was rock-bottom level pathetic, no matter how badly you needed him. This was torture.

His knees nearly buckled when his orgasm hit him hard, his balls squeezing and shaft twitching. Spurts of his release paint the walls that are soon washed away by the water as he calms himself down. With breathy sounds and dazed movements, he completes the rest of his shower before turning the water off and wrapping a towel around his waist.

He barely wastes time drying off before waltzing back into your room. Staring at your helpless figure caused a familiar ache in his cock, even though he just had an orgasm. He was insatiable when it came to you apparently.

Your eyes shot daggers at Harry, freshly showered and smelling like some woodsy soap that only reminded you of him. A white towel hung low around his waist and water droplets stuck to his body like he was straight out of a rom-com film. The burning in your lower belly and the pulsing between your legs never ceased. Your chest was rising quicker than it should have for being chained to the bed.

“Something you want to say?” Harry taunted with that smug smirk plastered on his face, slowly padding towards your bed.

His eyes pierced into yours, trying to force you into admitting. He sat on the edge of your bed beside your bare legs with the towel daring to slip off. Your head told you to not fall for his longing gaze while your body begged you to submit.

Your logic could only take you so far with the overpowerment of your body.

“No,” You replied with clenched teeth.

“No?”

He brought his hand to smooth over your shins, firing bolts of electricity straight to your clit. You involuntarily squeezed your thighs again to dull the ache, and you hated yourself for how obvious your arousal was. Harry slightly tilted his head condescendingly innocent, waiting for your response. But you tightly bit your bottom lip, refusing to say another word. You didn’t trust your next breath because if he kept touching you, you’d moan from just his hands on your knees.

“Hypothetically,” You didn’t like where this was going. It was scary, out-of-the-friend-zone territory. “If I were to check, you’re saying you wouldn’t be wet at all?”

You bit on your tongue. Hard. Harry shouldn’t be allowed to say the word “wet” in his deep, post-orgasm voice. When he touches you, you shouldn’t cave so easily.

Why did you have to like him? Your best friend and your roommate? That’s setting yourself up for failure.

Being the stubborn person that you are, you still continued to play snarky, even if you were soaking so much in your panties that you might be leaking through your shorts. “Not a single drop.”

“So you wouldn’t mind if I jus’ took a look, right? I know you jus’ love being right,” His hands rub along your legs until they’re on your knees and lower thighs.

He’s not wrong, and you hate that. Why does he have to make everything so difficult? He could simply just unlock the cuffs and go back into his room like nothing happened. So why is he making such a big deal about it? Unless he…no way.

“Go right ahead,” You tried to sound confident, but you squeaked, heart beating rapidly. Did he want this as much as you?

A sly smirk creeps onto his lips as his palms snake higher up your legs until they’re at the hem of your shorts. Your breath hitches in your throat, too afraid to make any noise because it might betray you. How does one act unaffected when they are very much affected?

“Gonna take these off now,” He narrates, and then slowly slides off your shorts. You didn’t breathe, just watched it happen. Your heart was running a marathon in your chest, and you thought you might go into cardiac arrest. With your shorts now on the floor, your legs remain closed. You know that the second you open them you will be proven wrong.

Harry’s fingers sneak in between your thighs and practically pry them open, your right leg hanging off the bed. You gasp at the sudden vulnerability and sharply turn your head in embarrassment. You can feel his smirk and piercing eyes burn into your skin screaming “told you so” while he tsks, but he doesn’t openly say it. He caresses your upper thighs, so close to your panty line.

“Aw,” He says patronizingly when his hands pinch the sensitive skin of your thighs, causing you to subtly roll your hips toward him with a small yelp. “Helpless and needy.”

“Harry,” You tried to sound threatening, but it was breathy and quiet. “We…can’t.”

“Why not?” His reply was instant, almost too fast for you to register. His hand gripped your thigh, making you whimper shyly. You didn’t have a valid reason why you couldn’t.

The worst thing that would happen is that you would fall in love with him and he would leave you in the dust, just like every other one of his hook-ups. You didn’t want to be that to Harry. If you two did this, would everything you guys have built as friends just go to waste? Would you have to move out and find a new place?

“I don’t just want to be another one of your hook-ups. When I have sex, it means something to me,” Why did you always have to make it so difficult? God, you’ve wanted him for the longest time and you’re saying this? He’s just going to run away. He doesn’t want to deal with this shit.

“Y/N, I promise you’re not jus’ another one of those girls. If you knew what I was thinkin’...”

“What are you thinking?” You whispered. His fingers trail up to your panties and tickle the area of your mound. You gasp, as the pad of his thumb presses to your clit. It pulses and throbs beneath him, begging to be touched without the barrier of the thin fabric.

“Want to feel you wrapped ‘round me while I’m deep inside of you,” He informed gravely, eyes concentrated on his own fingers. You whimper again, pushing your hips into his touch. “Want to hear your sweet noises.”

“Oh,” You bite your lip harshly.

“Want to kiss you. Everywhere. Want to wake up and see you next to me. Want to come home to you in my bed, in my clothes.”

“Harry,” This time, his name fell from your lips as a delicate moan, endeared by his words. Your mind becomes hazy from everything; his touch, his voice, his words. You only need one thing now. “Please.”

That’s all he needed. He gradually slips off your panties until they’re joining your shorts on the floor. The air breezes over your drenched cunt, contrasting the burning of your skin. His thumb rubs over your bundle of nerves again, but this time you mewl at the bare contact.

“You’re soaked, angel,” Voice rough and deep, he grunts as his middle finger teases your wet folds. You buck into his hand, desperate for more. Harry’s lips curl into that familiar smirk before he slips his finger inside.

You moan noisily, not trying to remain quiet anymore. You didn’t care. His digit runs deep, nudging your G-spot. The deeper he went, the more your folds could feel his icy cold ring. You panted and wheezed embarrassingly when he slipped his ring finger inside. He pumps torturing slowly, making it possible for you to feel every detail of his skin sliding in and out of you. Your eyes roll back while your hips squirm under him. He glides his opposite hand beneath your T-shirt, thumbs caressing the underside of your breast.

“Harry, fuck,” Your stomach burned. Actually, everything burned. Your wrists struggled against the metal. Your muscles coiled tightly, alerting you that you were getting close. You weren’t surprised that he had you on the brink of an orgasm in a matter of a few minutes.

“Am I making you feel good, angel?” Lustful and sensual, Harry began to pump faster, realizing you were close. Your back arched toward him, seeking to be closer. You wanted to be melting into his skin because you were so attached to him.

“So good, H. I’m close,” You mewled as his thumb brushed over your pebbled nipple. He multi-tasked; his index finger and thumb twisted your aching nipple while his other hand curled deliciously inside of you. Your walls squeezed his digits and your legs began to spasm at the overwhelming sensations.

Not a second later, you felt a wave of relief flush over your body. Your heart thumped rapidly against your ribs and your face scrunched in undeniable pleasure. Harry’s movements slowed as he helped you ride out your unforgettable orgasm.

“You’re so pretty when you come, baby,” Harry compliments, still caressing your breast. You wearily smile, heat burning your skin from his words. He raises his fingers up to his own mouth and licks away your release. For some reason, you opened your mouth thinking he was going to put them in yours.

His eyebrows raise and that cocky smirk comes back before he’s laying his damp digits on your tongue. You suck, swirling your tongue erotically as he barely moves them. Your glossy eyes remain locked on his, never looking away.

“Fuck,” He mumbles before yanking them out of your mouth. His cock twitches impatiently under the towel, neglected. “Dirty girl, huh?” It was your turn to smirk now.

“Need to be inside of you,” He removes the towel and you nearly faint right there. Long and thick, his cock was pink and pulsing at the tip. Precum oozed from his slit and you had the urge to put him in your mouth just like his fingers had been. Harry’s eyes looked at you like he was hungry, and if he didn’t have you he would starve.

“H, what the hell,” You wheezed as he spread your legs wider apart and stroked his painful erection with his palm.

“What?” He questions, hissing as he looks at your soaking pussy again. He never wants to forget the sight of you fucking drenched for him. He’s wanted this too long and too much for this to be a simple one-time thing.

He knows that the second he enters you, you are his. No one else’s. He’s going to ruin you for every other man.

“You’re… huge. Where have you been hiding that thing?” Panting, you start to get nervous. Everything becomes so real. This wasn’t a part of your imagination or some fantasy you conjured up. Harry was really in front of you, and he just gave you a mind-blowing orgasm.

You force yourself to get out of your head and live in the moment for once.

Harry chuckles hoarsely, and leads his tip towards your entrance. His body hovers over yours, face cradling in your neck. “Fuck, my condoms are in my room–”

“I’m on birth control.”

“I–are y’sure? About this, I mean.”

“I’ve never been more ready,” You smile at him endearingly. If your hands were free, you would have stroked his cheek.

“And I’ve also never been so impatient–” Cutting you off, Harry finally slides into you a couple of inches. You both share a string of groans and moans at the completely bare contact. You were more snug around Harry than he’d imagined—he thought he was going to come on the spot. He’s barely halfway in and you already feel a stretch.

More arousal leaks from you while your walls throb around him. His lips press into the skin of your neck and you inhale that woodsy scent again like flavored oxygen. Like you need it to live. His damp hair tickles your neck while your chest moves rapidly with the beat of your heart. You wish you could lace your hands through it.

“I need you to move, H,” You whisper, so quietly that if he wasn’t so close to you he probably wouldn’t have heard.

Obeying your request, he pulls out almost all the way before sinking back into you. Most of his length is in you as he pumps leisurely. Harry grits his teeth as your walls flutter around him, clutching him like a goddamn vice. He doesn’t want to hurt you. He doesn’t want to ruin this by going too hard. He wants to savor this moment forever. He repeats the action a few times before you get frustratingly impatient.

“Harry, I need more. Please,” Your words of plead cause him to screw his eyes shut.

“I don’t want to hurt you, angel.”

“Big ego you got there,” You roll your eyes as you rock your hips towards his. “Fuck me like you hate me. Please.”

A wavering sigh falls from his lips before he yanks himself completely out of you. You thought for a moment that you scared him off, but then, his cock slams back into you. An echoing moan bounces off the walls of the room while he pounds roughly.

His pace is brutal and concentrated, the head of his dick repeatedly hitting that sensitive spot inside of you. Your pussy clenches him, never wanting to let him go. Harry bucks his hips, ramming into your cunt at a new angle. Out of instinct, you go to move your hands to touch him, but are painfully reminded that you can’t.

“I want to touch you,” You plead, thrashing your wrists within the metal cuffs.

“No,” Grunting, he thrusted impossibly deeper–he practically melted into you.

You groan while he lifts up your left leg to shift it. He moves strategically and briskly, his thrusts never falting. Your eyes spin to the back of your head while the world around you seems to fade away. The only things that existed were you and Harry. But even in this moment, you two felt like you were one. When his lips began littering soft, pinched kisses on your neck, you thought you were going to lose it.

“Oh my God, Harry,” You sighed, hazy in bliss. Every ridge and vein of his cock could be felt through each hearty thrust. His noises varied from deep growls and soft moans, and you swear with just his sounds you teetered closer to your second orgasm.

“So fuckin’ tight, angel,” His breath fanned over your neck that was being covered in his love bites. The noises that fell from your lips were uncontrollable; you didn’t care if your neighbors could hear and you didn’t care if they would send a complaint the next day.

“Kiss me, H,” He didn’t hesitate to listen. After months of waiting, his lips finally collided with yours.

Interlocking, your lips molded together like the perfect experiment. Your chemistry bubbled up and created a flame the color of ecstasy. A firework of emotions burst all around you. He never halts his movements, pumping barbarically in and out while his tongue explores your mouth. To kill you even more, his free hand slips down in between you both and rubs your throbbing clit with a brutal pace.

How does he know how, when, and where to hit?

You become overwhelmed with feeling; everything was so pleasant and blissful, even if the scene was unbelievably dirty, it just aroused you more. Even if it was too much, you somehow couldn’t get enough.

He mumbles profanities as you squeeze his shaft firmly because that familiar wave was so close. Just a few more thrusts…

“Killin’ me every time you do that, baby.”

“I’m gonna come. Fuck, fuck, fuck!” As you spoke, your muscles tightened and your legs wrapped around his torso, forcing him lower inside. He groans as you clenched around him again, orgasm finally releasing from you. Broken moans echo throughout the room as your high causes you to feel floaty. Your heart thumps in euphoria and overwhelming affection. Surrounded in a cloud of rapture, the only thing on your mind was to have him come inside of you.

Luckily, he wasn’t far behind. As he attempts to pull out, about to come, you whine and beg him to stay.

“Want me to come in you, hm? Who knew you were so dirty,” He taunts and you hum in response, simply just feeling him as you ride out your high. “Gonna be the death of me, angel.”

You jerked your hips forward, sensitive and squirmy, as his cock twitches. Before you know it, Harry is coating your walls with his release. Your eyes roll back for the hundredth time tonight, savoring the sensation of his ropes of cum. His heart pounds quickly like a galloping horse, still in denial of everything that just occurred.

Everything felt so surreal, you were positive that Harry had sent you into an oblivion. His strokes become sloppy as he tucks every last drop into your cunt, just like you wanted.

“H…” You don’t even know what to say. You were speechless. Harry literally fucked the words out of you.

“Are you okay?” Was his first question, his first words to you in the aftermath. Your heart swells for some odd reason, even though that is the bare minimum.

“Yes,” Was the only thing you could say in response. In a moment, you came to the realization that the bottom half of your body was naked. Your muscles jittered as you close your legs, covered in wetness.

“Y/N, I…” He wanted to tell you everything. Right now. There was no better moment than right now to tell you everything. Right?

But how does he say it?

You knew Harry was about to say something sentimental or serious. You knew when he was about to say something meaningful that it took him time to find the right words. That was one of the things you found most endearing and adorable about him. His next words were either going to break your heart or make you want to have sex again. Either way, you might cry.

“I feel fuckin’ stupid,” Okay, those were not the meaningful words you expected to come out of his mouth. Your eyebrows scrunch in confusion. “I feel fuckin’ stupid for you. Do y’know how hard it is to live with someone you feel so strongly about? It’s bloody crazy. You drive me insane, Y/N. I’ve waited so long for this thinking that if I had you once it would be enough. But I like you too much for this to be a one-time thing. I need more than this. I need you.”

Your mouth was wide open, shoulders slouching with your arms hanging. You were positive your arms had fallen asleep with the amount of time they’ve been hanging, but your heart was too full to care. That organ in your chest inflated with the admission he spoke. Those words might not have been as heartwarming or movie-like to other people, but to you, there was a strong, heartfelt passion that was real and true. You were surprised he cracked first. You surely thought it would be you.

“Harry, I–”

“If you don’t feel the same, I understand–”

“Goddamnit, Harry! Take these cuffs off of me so I can kiss you, you doof!”

—

i thought this was only going to be 2k, so you’re welcome <3

tags: @crybabyddl @tiaamberxx @alwaysclassyeagle @bisexual-desi @raajali3

crossed out= not able to tag

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imaginaryf1shots · 1 year ago

Text

My Girls (||) | Max Verstappen

Words count: 3072

Driver!OC X Max Verstappen

Summery: Cecilia Hansson daughter of a Swedish billionaire, a race car driver, with a dream of making it big in Formula 1. However she has a few secrets that may hurt her as women are disliked in the sport.

Series Warnings: cursing, child abandment, absent father, drinking, car accidents, Jos Verstappen, misogyny, Christian horner (tell me if i missed anything)

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Max Masterlist

Previous || Next

A new beginning

Both Max and Cecilia followed each other’s carriers.

When Cecilia then got pregnant with her ex’s, Mathew’s, daughter she watched as Max made it into F1, she was jealous yes, she wanted to race to reach her dreams, she wanted to be the first F1 female champion.

“What do you want to do?” Her dad asked her as he watched his daughter hold his granddaughter. He never expected to have his little girl as a mother this young, her ex signing all his rights away before they baby was even born, leaving the father's name on the birth certificate empty. A single mother at the age of 18.

“Whatever you decide, we’ll support you.” Her mum told her holding her hand, her girl just gave birth after a long pregnancy, she looked tired but content.

“I want to keep her.” She whispered looking at her girl, she had wisps of blonde hair, the same hair Cecilia and her father shared. Already looking like her, she whipped her tears away and looked up at her parents. “And I want to race.”

“It’s going to be hard.” Her dad warned her, she needed to know the challenges facing her, if she decided to do that then it’s going to be one of the hardest things she ever did.

“I know, but I want to do it for her, I want her to know that she can achieve all her dreams, I want her to proudly say that I’m her mum, to never feel like any less because her dad isn’t in the picture, I want to do it for her.”

“And you will, we’ll work it out and help you as much as you need.” Her mum kissed her forehead and pushed her hair out of her face, her lovely daughter. Her sweet and strong daughter.

Once Cecilia was given the green light by her doctors, she was back on track and in gyms. Her family’s home gym was upgraded, she had everything she needed there. The only time the girl used her uncle’s connections was when he helped her get back into competitions, getting into F2 was easy once she showcased her abilities that improved in her time off. Mclaren’s junior team snatched her up and she drove for them for a year before she was set as the reserve driver for them in 2018, she raced for the team in a free practice in the Germany, a track she hadn’t drove in her carrier, the woman was on the sim everytime she could as she prepared for the race, she wanted to impress not only Mclaren who had her on yearly contracts for now, but also everyone else, women belonged in the motorsport and she’s going to show it. She wants more skilled females racing, she wants her daughter and all the young girls growing up to see girls like them racing and winning.

In 2019 she had her seat, driving for the first time in an F1 car that was made for her. Making it as the first female F1 driver since the 90s. Getting a place is one thing, keeping it is another thing, all the other females before couldn’t keep their seats for long but she planned to stay racing no matter what.

When it was announced you better believe it turned into a media circus. The female had gone through grilling PR and media training, going through every question she could’ve been asked. She’s ready to face the fire.

The season kicked off in Australia, once the media saw the Mclaren making its way to the park at the entrance they crowded the area, wanting to get a glimpse of the female driver or even her teammate. Mclaren is doing a lot of unseen things with two new drivers this year. When Cecilia got out of the car she was given for the week, she smiled at the cameras, she was sporting Mclaren merch with a pair of blue jeans, wanting to be as neutral as she could until the media got used to her, if she wore any of her clothes the team speculated that they’ll focus on that and take away from her abilities.

It’s media day and she had a lot of interviews to go through, making her way to the entrance. One of Mclaren’s press officers walked with her, there weren't that many fans of her around so she only signed a few things before she made it inside. Going to the paddocks where there was a quick meeting with her and Lando before they start their media duties.

Standing a little to the side she waited for the drivers doing the interview to finish before the new batch did theirs, her and Lando were split up for this section, thankfully she saw Charles coming her way, they both grinned when they saw each other, hugging the other tightly when he made it to her.

“Mon Dieu, tu m'as manqué.” She said in French, they pulled back Charles’ dimple evident on his face. (Oh god I missed you)

“Tu m'as manqué aussi, je suis si heureuse que tu sois là.” Charles replied to her they stood talking in French, Checo and Daniel walked in too they heard the pair talking in French they couldn't keep up with them so they left them talking after they greeted each other, the last to join is Max. (I missed you too, I'm so happy you’re here.)

When he saw her standing there he had to take her in, they’re no longer the teenagers they were when they used to Kart, gone the baby faced Cecilia and in her place stood a grown woman, hair longer and light makeup on her face, her hair loose, he only evers saw her in braids growing up.

It’s been years since Max saw Cecilia last, he knew she was the reserve driver for Mclaren, everyone knew, but they never ran into each other, both lived in Monaco but he never ran into her there either. He knew she’d make it into F1, it took her longer than he thought but she made it. His childhood rival made it into F1 to be one of his rivals, he can’t wait to race her on track once again.

There it is again, his heart speeding up, his eyes coming back to her every few seconds. He thought he grew out of his feelings for her, but evidently not. Once again she’s standing with Charles speaking in french his french isn't a match for the Monégasques. When Cecilia took her eyes off her best friend’s they fell onto the dutch driver.

“Max.” She called for him, he looked from Daniel to her, that smile she had when she was younger, he remembers the last time they talked and how rude he was to her, but that was years ago, a lifetime ago it seemed. “I haven’t seen you in years.”

They didn’t hug, like her and Charles, but her smile was enough for him. Cecilia couldn’t help but take him in too, she’s seen him on TV of course but the real thing is always different. She wonders how she hasn’t run into him before.

“Yeah, last time I saw you, you were almost as tall as I was.” Rolling her eyes at his joke, she’s taken her height from her mother, her father’s side of the family were all tall, leaving her the shortest of the bunch, she wasn’t that short but she always looked short next to her family members, she’s 165 not that short but whatever.

“Wow Verstappen, not all of us are born to be giants.” She joked back. “I’m not even that short, I’m average.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

“You know Max is right.” Charles said with a teasing smile.

“Come on, not you too.” Cecilia groans and glares at the due.

“It’s the truth, Cece.” Charles said and leaned down a little to be the same height as her mocking her height, she huffed and exaggerated rolling her eyes. The men laughed at her antics, she crossed her arms and walked to the two other drivers.

“I feel bullied, I’ll go talk with the nicer drivers.” She shook her head as she heard them laugh at her, her hair swinging left and right, they knew she was only joking with them. She could always take a joke.

Complaining to Daniel and Checo about the boys, they patted her back in comfort. A minute later they took their places on the sofa in front of the journalists.

Cecilia got nervous once her feet hit the elevated platform, she’s been through all questions that could be asked, she’s trained until she could answer without a moment of hesitation. So why is it that the opposite happened, why is it that no one thought that the male filled room would agree to ignore her. They were all just too happy to take pictures of her walking into the circuit. It showed what they thought of her, she didn’t belong here, they didn't want her here, she’s only good to look at, a replacement for grid girls. The poor press officer tried to get people to ask her anything but they just ignored him. She had long since just leaned back and placed her microphone beside her, she was annoyed but she tried to act as if she wasn’t bothered. Was it working? Not 100%, people would debate whether she was bothered or not. They don’t know her well enough to go back for past experiences.

“Cecilia, what are you looking forward to this year?” Charles asked once he answered the same question, he turned to look at the female next to him, it wasn’t hard to understand what journalists were doing. Picking up her microphone.

“I’m mostly looking forward to showing everyone what I can do.” She looked at Charles before her eyes met the main camera, looking straight on, no jokes. “I’m going to prove to everyone that women belong in F1.” She smiled then and looked at Charles. “But mainly I’m looking forward to beating you and Max like I used to do when we were young.”

This did it, both men started talking at the same time making her smile. She wasn’t asked any more questions but she didn’t mind after that, her and Charles were talking to each other when he wasn’t asked anything. She nodded along with some answers. After what felt like forever they were done. Walking out of the room she pressed the Mclaren hat on her head, an arm wrapped around her shoulders.

“Show them what you’ve got, Cece.” Daniel said to the younger female, he hated how underrated she is and people already looked down on her. People were acting like they’ve never seen her drive, F2 was filmed and aired, she drove in a FP last year, and did well, not to say how good she did in testing.

“Planning on it.” Cecilia said with a grin, how real it is, she couldn't tell you.

Free practice, she didn't give her all, the team planned for her to surprise everyone on qualifying day. She was seen with Sebastian talking, the man was talking with her, giving her advice not about the race but about the media. He told her how the media can go from portraying you as a villain to a hero in a few seconds, telling her that once she gets in the car she should forget all of them and just focus on driving, the german driver had seen her drive before with his own eyes, he knows how good she can be.

When Lewis joined them, Cecilia couldn’t look him in the eye. He’d seen her last year, and they’ve never talked about it, he never asked and no news came out, but she was still scared. Plus, she looked up to him, always admired him.

“You were a badass on Media day.” Lewis said to the female, he knew slightly of what she was going through, F1 isn’t known for its diversity, while she had the money, he had his gender, both came into the sport at a disadvantage and Lewis knew she has big potential, Seb talked to him about her before, making him watch her races before. Hearing his words made Cecilia look at him, his smile made her smile as well, a look of understanding passing them.

Getting P9 in qualifying wasn’t bad for a rookie, on their first drive. Her team is proud of her place, knowing that tomorrow she’ll start at a good position to do even better. Even if she didn’t finish P9 then that’s some points won in her first race.

Cecilia planned to do better, if not for the helmet’s visor then people would see how the look in her eyes change the moment she starts a race. Gone is the smiley girl and in her place a woman on a mission.

At the first corner she went up to P7, her team encouraging her to keep the pace. Drivers know each other’s techniques and how to deal with them, but the new ones are always full of surprises, and Cecilia is indeed a surprise. The female is a skilled driver, no questions asked. Going up another position, she couldn't overtake Charles but she got the fastest lap, finishing at a strong P6 winning 9 points for Mclaren.

She may have not gained a podium but her team were shouting down the radio how happy they were.

Later that day Cecilia got a text from an unknown number, she was in her driver’s room, going over the race analysing every minute. A habit that she got, it’s one of the ways she got better, after a race she’d sit down, watch and analyse and try to learn from it and then never think about it again. She could tell from the number that it’s a Monaco based number.

Unknown number

Hey, I got your number from Charles, hope it;s okay.

Cecilia H.

Who is this?

Unknown number

Its Max

Verstappen

Cecilia H.

It’s okay

What's up?

Max

Lando said you’re still at the circuit?

Cecilia H.

Yeah, are you still here?

Max

Yes, mind if we meet up?

Cecilia H.

Sure give me a minute and i’ll be outside Mclaren

Max

Okay 👍

Closing the laptop she had on, still in her team kit with the cap and all, she walked out holding her packbag deciding to just leave after her talk with Max. Max was already waiting for her. The sun was almost down, only a few stragglers still there, all the media and fans already left.

“Maxy!” Cecilia cheekily called for the man, he turned to look at her, he looked like was about to scold his younger sibling or something, making her smile even more.

“Don’t ever call me that again.”

“Sure whatever you say, Maxy.” Cecilia teased him again, this version of Max is her favourite, the one who could joke and take a teasing. Definitely better than younger Max.

“I take it back, I’m leaving.” He turned to walk away before Cecilia held his bicep to stop him.

“Wait, wait, I’m sorry, what do you want?” She asked him quickly, he gave her a smile showing her that he knows she’d just joking. Thinking about what he wanted to say kind of made him shy, his cheeks were dusted with a pink glow and he rubbed the back of his neck for a moment. “Come on, it can't be that bad.”

“It’s not, I’m just embarrassed.” His voice dropped when he said embarrassed, just admitting that he’s embarrassed made him even more embarrassed. “You know the last time we talked…”

“Yesterday?” She asked him, frowning, trying to recall what happened yesterday, admittingly so much has happened. Maybe she said something rude without noticing or something, but nothing was coming to her mind.

“No, no when we were young, I wanted to apologise.” He said and decided to just get out and get it over with. “When you just wanted to congratulate me and I called you stupid and weird, I'm sorry about that, I didn't honestly mean it, not then and not now.”

“You scared me for a second there Max, I thought I said something.” Cecilia adjusted her hat so it won't cover her eyes as much so she’d be able to look at Max without raising her head that much. “I honestly forgot about it, we were kids, a lot of things happened since then, and you kind of forget about those small instances.”

“Still I felt the need to say I’m sorry.” Max was glad she was taking it lightly, he knew that she most likely would she hadn't held it over his head, or acted coldly towards him when they met again. “So what are you still doing here?”

“We had a post race meeting.”

“Lando left over an hour ago.” Max frowned; they both had their things and were slowly walking to the direction of the parking lot.

“Well, it’s just a little habit I developed. After a race I would watch the race and see where I went wrong, how I can improve and what the others, who did better than me are doing.” Max nodded to her simple explanation, that alone proved to all those haters online and misogynistic journalists who refused to ask her anything. On Mclaren’s promos and any pictures of the girl, it had a copious amount of hate under it, it’s baffling to see.

“You did great today.” Max commented and even though she disagreed she took the complement. Nothing much was said the rest of the way, and they split up going to their cars, and driving to different hotels.

Cecilia could only think about how much Max has changed, no longer the cold boy she met before. Yes on track he is the same, wouldn't want to piss him off on track but the man in a race wasn’t the same as he was talking to her now. And he wasn't bad to look at either.

Her phone rang, her mum’s picture popped up, answering the phone while she had it connected to the car, her daughter’s voice greeted her. Her little three year old voice met her ears, making her smile.

Next ->

#formula one imagine #f1 scenario #f1 x oc #my girls #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen one shot #max verstappen #f1 x driver!reader #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #f1dr

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bettyfrommars · 1 year ago

Text

Handcuffs & Crab Rangoon

(also known as How I Met Your Mother)

playgirl!Eddie x Reader

By Request! From this ask, directly inspired by this delicious artwork by @sporelium (run don't walk if you haven't seen it yet) but also inspired by the 1995 Peter Steele Playgirl cover. Peter notoriously kept his joystick hard for most of the 6-7 hour shoot because he thought readers of the magazine would enjoy it more than if it were flaccid (I'm fine either way, but damn, thanks baby). wc: 4.3k

18+Only, mature content, smut, rockstar!Eddie, oral (f receiving), protected p in v, reader wears overalls, pet names, fingering, mention of Eddie's scars, accidental edging, sex on the job, sneaky sex, she/her is used once, no y/n, reader is a tough cookie, but Eddie is magic. It is the mid-90's.

Playgirl!eddie afterthoughts

---------

You’d been helping out a photographer for risqué magazine shoots as an assistant for almost 5 months now. It was the fourth job you had just to keep yourself afloat while trying to live an independent life in LA. To make it in show business you had to be extremely talented, drop dead gorgeous, backed by generational wealth, or just plain lucky, and you were none of those. So, you broke your back to make ends meet while taking night classes and working on the script you were writing with two other friends.

The studio loft on the second floor was an expansive space with windows overlooking the industrial district all along the wall. Sasha, the photographer, stood adjusting her camera on the tripod, while the makeup artist touched up the rockstar you were working with that day, and Need You Tonight by INXS played low from the radio on a nearby shelf.

You saw him from the back first; long, dark wavy hair hanging down over the white robe he wore to protect his modesty for the time being. You noticed that his hands were strong and calloused as they hung at his sides. June, the makeup artist, was on a step stool to blot his nose with powder and fix the crown of his hair.

June saw you coming and introduced you, causing Eddie to turn on his heel, tightening the sash on his robe as he did.

You sucked in your bottom lip to hold back a whimper at the zing you felt when his warm hazelnut eyes met yours. His full, soft lips parted in greeting, a long strand from his bangs bouncing on his eyelash, his gaze rolling over you from head to foot indulgently.

Of course, you’d heard of rock star Eddie Munson from Corroded Coffin. At one of your other jobs, a girl you worked with had his magazine cutouts taped to the inside of her locker. Last year, he was Cher’s date to the Grammys. He was getting ready to go on tour, and procuring tickets was all any of your friends could talk about.

But, goddamn, he was much better looking in person than any tabloid or tv show could've ever prepared you for, and the chemistry vibrating in the space between the two of you was palpable.

“Eddie…Munson, you say?” You squinted, as if you were trying to place him, like the name sounded familiar but you didn’t know why while June fixed the back of his hair. “Football player, right?”

The tip of his tongue sipped out to wet his lips, curling one side of his mouth up in a half grin. “I love a girl who knows her sports.”

There were a few loaded seconds there when the two of you just sank into a sexually charged stare-down, both unwilling to budge.

Sasha called your name, snapping you out of it. She came over to let Eddie know what your role was, and encouraged him to let you know if there was anything you could do to help him relax. She finished explaining a few things to him while you brought over a glass of lemon water.

Sasha walked away and he took a sip, keeping his eyes on you over the glass, smirking.

“What?” you mirrored the smirk. “This will be such an easy job for me because I know you rockstars don’t have any problem taking your cocks out and being admired in public.”

“Oh, you know me, huh?” He challenged.

You worked your jaw, pussy clenching, wondering what he looked like out of his robe. “You’re all the same, aren’t you? Arrogant, over-sexed, and too pretty for your own good.”

“Well, you got me on the pretty part,” he winked. “But nah, I’m not a rockstar. I’m just a small-town freak who got lucky and, this has all been fucking overwhelming to tell you the truth.” Eddie was tall, with broad shoulders, and your mouth dried up a little at the tattoos on his forearms that peeked out from under the sleeve of the robe.

You took the glass from him when he was finished. “We have the small town thing in common, at least,” you said with an incline of your head.

It was time to get started, but even as Sasha motioned him over, he paused next to you, so close that the ends of his hair grazed your shoulder. “So, if I can’t get relaxed on my own, then that means you have to help me?” He whispered it, but forcefully, so you could feel his warm breath on the side of your head. You could smell the mix of spearmint and tobacco.

Keeping your eyes straight ahead, you swallowed hard as the woodsy spice of his scent hit your nostrils. “I’ll do my best for you, Mr. Munson,” and then you dared to glance up, your breath hitching as he unfastened his robe and lowered it from his shoulders right in front of you, only a few feet away.

You tried not to show emotion because you knew he was watching, but you closed your mouth to keep a yearning mew from escaping. There were tattoos scattered around his defined muscles, but there were also fascinating scars like floral blooms along his neck, chest, and stomach. Your eyes ached to travel down to the V-shape that cut into his hips and the treasure below, but you refused to give him the satisfaction. Not yet anyway.

You were just about to tell him he could keep the robe on until he was comfortable, but he threw the article of clothing over for you to catch. “I’m ready as I’ll ever be.”

Half of the people Sasha photographed were too shy to take the robe off right away, and maybe Eddie would have hesitated in other circumstances, but you had a strange feeling he was doing this for you. If Sasha wasn’t asking him to look at the camera, his eyes were always banking in your direction.

“I think we should try the handcuffs,” Sasha said to the room, but mostly to you.

You made your way over to where the props were, knowing that Eddie’s eyes were keeping pace, and playfully dangled the silver cuffs from your thumb and forefinger as you retrurned, wiggling your eyebrows; a gesture he was happy to return.

“Front or behind?” You asked Sasha.

“Behind for now,” she answered. “You okay with that Mr. Munson?”

“My god,” he chuckled, putting his hands behind his back for you to have easy access to the tender skin of his wrists. “Call me anything but Mr. Munson. Eddie is fine.”

You always tried to keep things very professional, but not only that—you’d been around so many naked bodies, they all started to look the same to you. This was your job, and mostly it never even occurred to you to see the models in a lustful way.. You never let your eyes hover too long on the private parts of your clients; maybe just a glance and that was it. But the job of fastening Eddie’s handcuffs had you taking in the firm structure of his ass like it was a visual last meal.

You stroked your finger a few times in his palm. “Is that too tight?”

The combination of your touch and the way you whispered gave him chills in the best way possible and his fingers flexed, as if trying to reach out for you. “I hope you have a key for these things,” he mumbled.

“I do,” you assured him. “But I’m about to swallow it.”

“Hey,” he hushed over his shoulder before you could walk away. “Should my dick be hard for this?”

You wanted to kiss his arm, you wanted to bite it. Instead, you put your hands together and intertwined your fingers. “Do you want it to be?”

Eddie lowered his chin, voice barely audible. “Are you offering to help, sweetheart?

Sasha took a few more photos as he was, standing to the side, eyes flicking to where you stood behind Sasha’s shoulder. When it was time for you to take the handcuffs off, Eddie stretched his hands, turning to face front. “No chick wants to look at a flaccid dick when they buy magazines like this,” he announced. “Give me a second to…get ready? If you know what I mean?”

While Sasha and June went out for a smoke break, Eddie put his robe on, and headed for his private dressing room, but he paused in the door and turned to find you. His eyebrows popped up a few times, motioned with his hand down low for you to follow him in. You knew you could lose your job for fornicating with Eddie during a photo shoot, but at that moment, you couldn’t have cared less.

Once you were in, Eddie closed the door and leaned back against it, his robe falling open. He clutched a fist into the front of your overalls, pulling you closer. Your fingertips feathered down the ridges of his scars, thumb caressing over his missing nipple, and he jutted his head forward to meet your mouth, but you were too fast, dropping to your knees to taste his cock, taking your job and his request a bit too seriously.

“Wait,” Eddie sank his hand around your throat, guiding you back up to full height. “Kiss me first,” he swiped the tip of his tongue across his bottom lip. “And then you can kill me.”

While the tiny person in charge of your brain ran around inside your skull screaming, your lips met his, tips of tongues introducing each other first, and then echoed moans, opening wide to take each other deeper.

“I know what will get me hard,” he told you in a breathy rush. “Take these off,” he motioned to the overalls you were wearing. “And sit on the counter.”

He walked forward so that you would back up, his hands supporting your waist.

You looked back at the counter top. “But we don’t have much time to—”

“I don’t need much time,” he said, swatting a stool out of his way so it crashed to the ground. “I want you in my mouth.”

You shivered and obeyed, unhooking your overalls, letting them fall to the floor. You were in nothing but a tank top now, ass on the cool edge of the Formica, and he pulled your underwear down your legs, salivating and biting his lip as he did so.

“Fuuuuck, you are so wet,” He pushed your knees wider with his strong arms and sank his tongue into your glistening folds, flicking the nub a few times. “Did you get this wet just for me? Hmmm?”

“Yes Eddie,” you whimpered, bracing yourself on the beige counter next to the vanity, watching him drag his chin all the way up your slit, and then pull and twist his tongue down, darting it into your hole. His eyes met yours again, his mouth latching onto your sweet spot and sucking there. You wrapped your legs over his shoulders and sunk your heels into his back.

His fingers dug into the meat at your hips, his mouth diving deeper, sucking in while his tongue flicked. He reached a hand down between his legs and started stroking himself, getting more and more turned at the way you were gasping and twitching.

You grabbed the top of his head. “Fuckkk Eddie fuck just like that.”

His eyes were closed now while he devoured you, but the look on his face spoke of how seriously he took the task, rolling his tongue and working you in a way that made your eyelids flutter and a choke catch in your throat.

But then there came a knock at the door.

It was Sasha, and thank god she didn’t try the doorknob because you hadn’t locked it in your frenzy to get on Eddie’s joystick. .

“Coming!” You shouted nervously, dropping to your feet, stepping into your underwear and then your overalls.

Eddie sucked in his bottom lip, licking what was left of you from his mouth. He caught your elbow as you were fastening the second clip. “Can we finish this later?”

The way he asked it was almost shy, as if his face hadn’t just been between your thighs. Meanwhile, your engorged pussy was soaking your underwear, begging to be finished. You saw that his chin was still wet from your arousal and whisked some of it away with your thumb.

He bent to let his lips graze at your ear as he closed his robe. “I like the way you taste.”

Back out on the floor, you let Sasha know that Eddie was talking your ear off about something, but that he would be out any second. Sasha and June exchanged a look, mostly in regards to the way the straps of your overalls were all twisted and buttoned wrong, but neither one of them addressed it.

When Eddie came out and took his robe off again, he was hard, rolling his big hand around the head a few more times as he got on the prop bed that was there for the next set. There was a model named Cindy in lingerie there to be in the shots with him, and you felt a jealousy rise in you that didn’t make any sense. It rose so hot in your gut while their mouths hovered inches apart, pretending they were about to kiss, that you had to look away. Every so often, he’d glance over at you while he had his cock in his hand, determined to keep the beast hard, and you wondered if he was thinking about having his tongue inside of you.

Because, you were definitely thinking about it. You took a little private time around the corner just to touch yourself through your denim, working your fingers at your core, wondering if you should just finish yourself off and be done with it just as Sasha finally called for another smoke break.

You tried not to be too obvious, casually strolling back to Eddie’s dressing room, making sure the model Cindy was comfortable and fetching her the sparkling water she asked for while Love Bites by Judas Priest played on the radio.

Eddie was already in there waiting, yanking you inside by the wrist so he could lock the door, planting hot, hungry kisses down along your neck.

You dropped your overalls like they were on fire, caressing his hard length in a way that made him moan. “I need you so fucking bad,” you breathed, pulling your tank top up and over your head so that you could be flush with his skin, to feel the ridges of his scars. “That last set was almost two hours,” you were still talking as he backed you further into the room. “How is your cock still hard?”

His fingers slipped down through your folds and he hissed at the way you were dripping. “Just the thought of this, sweetheart.”

There was a floral couch against the wall and when your calves met with it, you plopped down into the cushion and Eddie followed, knees to the wood floor, wrapping his arm around your thighs to take your sweet bud into his mouth again, teasing it with his nose first.

“Fuck fuck Eddie, I’m already so close,” you took a fistful of his beautiful hair, careful not to mess it up too bad and bucked against his mouth. “You’re so good, I love it when your tongue fucks me.”

Your hole was clenching around nothing, needing more, and that was when two of his fingers slid in, the ones with the chunky metal rings, they stretched you out suddenly, making you curse with pleasure. Eddie zig-zagged his tongue rapid fire over your clit, groaning at the way your hole gripped his fingers. His cock was leaking pre-cum and he thrust his hips into the couch as he felt your walls begin to ripple.

“Fuck Eddie, you’re gonna make me cum…so hard….” the orgasm seemed to snap your body in two, pulsing a waves of pleasure up your spine, making your mouth freeze open on a sharp inhale. And then you were babbling, “cummincumming so hard, Eddie!”

“Turn over,” he demanded in a deep voice once you were able to catch your breath. “I need to clean you up.”.

And so you got on your knees facing the wall and held onto the back of the couch, trembling at the way he spread your cheeks and lapped you up all along your drenched slit.

“We’re ready if you are!” Sasha called from out in the studio making you spin around.

“Oh shit,” you breathed, looking down at how swollen and ready his cock was. “I can’t leave you like this.”

“I can wait, sweetheart,” he mumbled, standing to pull his robe back on and offer you his hand, tossing his hair back over his shoulder.

By the time the photo shoot was over, Eddie would’ve been edging his release for over 4 hours, and he didn’t seem phased at all about it.

It was time for the handcuffs again. Eddie wanted a cigarette, and Sasha encouraged him to have it in a seat by the window and she’d get a few shots of him there. He held his wrists close together in front of him while you secured the cool metal, his chocolate orbs fixed on your face. He liked how your fingers quivered as you cuffed him, and his erection had finally softened enough to not be obnoxious, but it was still making your mouth dry up with desire.

He wanted to light the cigarette himself, so you passed him the lighter. He spread his legs, hitching one heel up on the leg of the chair, exposing the patch of hair at the base of his cock and around his balls

“That’s perfect,” Sasha told him, finger tapping on the shutter button, producing a blast of fast clicks..

You glanced up at the clock, knowing your time with Eddie would be over soon. Cindy the model could’ve gone home, but she’d decided to stay and wait to watch the rest of Eddie’s shoot, her eyes sparkling with lust. Maybe she would be the one to get Eddie off and not you. She was physically more what you assumed his “type” would be since, in your mind, all rock stars were the same.

You didn’t have to wonder for long which woman he’d rather fuck, because he was eyeballing you from across the room as he put his robe on and said a few last words to Sasha. The dressing room door was hidden around the corner and down the hall, but you decided not to follow him straight in like you had the last two times; your carnal needs were making you sloppy. This time, you went out into the stairwell to the back entrance and knocked, hoping he would get the hint because it only opened from the inside. Eddie pushed it open with a hard metal clank, and then your hands were in his hair, and wordlessly the two of you fell into each other. He was doing the work of unfastening your overalls while you were coherent enough to ask about condoms and he presented a string of them out of the pocket of his robe.

“You came prepared,” you stumbled over your clothes, yanking your shirt off as you went.

“Nah,” Eddie cocked his head. “I had my gofer bring me these. The guy is quick.”

“How do you want me?” You kissed down his chest, flicking his one salty nipple with your tongue, making him groan.

He ripped one of the condoms off the pack and tore it open with his teeth, and then spat the paper edge out. “I need to be able to see your face,” he crashed his nose against yours diving in for another kiss.

“Sit,” you told him, urging him back into the wooden chair in the corner of the room. It was right next to a full length mirror so he could watch you fuck him from the side if he wanted to. There were no arms on the chair, and he complied, licking his lips, eager for whatever you had in mind while he rolled the condom on.

You kicked your leg over him like you were mounting your motorcycle and sat your hungry, soaking hole down on the tip of his cock. Eddie took hold of your hips and guided you down, releasing one long moan as you went. You whined, coming down flush with his lap, his cock stretching you out in a way no one ever had before, settling yourself first before you began to move. You pushed up from the balls of your feet, riding him, and Eddie clamped a hand onto each of your ass cheeks, creating a rhythm, using his strong arms to help lift and lower you.

Your foreheads came together as you moved, hard nipples grazing his chest. You watched him grit his teeth and gasp. “Damn, you’re so tight. I’m close, I’m so fucking…close,” he bit out.

Your clit rubbed against his patch of hair as you worked, and it wasn’t long before you began to hiccup with the contraction of your own release. Never in your life had you cum this soon and this close together. “You’re gonna make me cum again, oh my god.”

“Yeah?” He pulled his head back. “Look at me.”

You met his eyes as you bounced, his hips snapping up to meet you every time you bottomed out.

“Yes,” you said breathlessly, finding the yearning in his stare too much to handle. “Like, right now, right…fuck, Eddie I’m cumming!” Your head dropped to his shoulder while the tremors rolled through you, walls squeezing his cock, making his toes curl and his hips jerk erratically, the chair legs squeaking from his weight.

He held you flush to him, his release hot and plentiful; so much so, he might’ve worried about the integrity of the condom if he hadn’t been so pussy drunk on the way your hole was still clenching him like a fist. You locked your chest to his and he caged you with his arms, locking you there.

Your knees threatened to turn to butter and betray you as you dismounted the ride of your life, both of you finding the footing to scramble around and retrieve your clothes. Eddie could stay in the dressing room as long as he wanted, but you? You were only a shell of the employee you normally were that day and you feared that Sasha was probably coming to look for you at that moment, ready to tell you to take a hike.

Eddie pulled his shirt down over his head, adjusting it over his jeans and flipped his hair from out of the collar. You snapped the first buckle on your overalls and gave him a tilt of your head. “Hey stranger, I almost didn’t recognize you with clothes on,” and then you fixed yourself in the mirror quickly before planting one more kiss on him on your way to bolt for the door.

“Hey, wait,” he called out, making you turn around. “Is that it? This is goodbye?”

Eddie Munson was a beautiful rockstar. Eddie Munson was in music videos on MTV. Eddie Munson could have any woman he wanted in the world, single or taken, and so no---you hadn’t expected more to come from this. You thought maybe he had a new fuck for every day of the week and you just happened to fall into his lap at the right time when he was bored and had some time to kill.

“Did you need anything else?” You asked it in your professional assistant voice, your work voice, and put your hands in your pockets to patiently wait.

He sat down on the couch to put his Converse on, absorbed in his task as he spoke to you. “My hotel is just up the street. Are you busy tonight? We could have dinner. Anything you want, my guys will get it for us.”

“I’m busy tonight,” you lied.

“What about tomorrow?” He pushed, tying the next shoe. “I wanna hear more about this small town you grew up in. I’ve really been missing home lately.”

You softened. “I refuse to believe you are anything but a spoiled city boy.”

He stood to his full height, stretching his chest, and hooked his thumbs into his belt loops, giving you a shrug and a familiar smirk. “Just think about all the ways I could prove you wrong if you came to hang out with me tonight. I might even surprise you.”

You got all awkward for a bit, fighting with yourself over why you weren’t on your knees begging for this man. Regardless of your silence, he found an old receipt for a tin of mini mart pretzels in his pocket and wrote his room number and hotel on it.

Passing it to you pinched between his two fingers, he added without meeting your gaze, “I’d really like to see you again.”

But then Sasha was calling for you, needing help with equipment, and you were scurrying out of the room with your heart in your throat.

You paused with your hand on the doorknob. “Crab Rangoon?”

Eddie scoffed. “What did you call me?” He was jutting his arms up into the sleeves of his leather jacket when you favored him a glance over you shoulder.

You swiveled to face him and made a circular gesture with your hand as if the implication was universally understood. “If there happens to be some crab Rangoon at your hotel tonight, I will stop by.”

Eddie’s face was blank, totally unreadable for a few seconds, and then a smile teased at the corners of his mouth, crept across his face, and jumped to his eyes. He gave a nod, “crab Rangoon it is then.”

---------

#playgirl!Eddie #Eddie Munson smut #Eddie Munson fic #Eddie munson one shot #rockstar!eddie munson #90sau #eddie munson x reader

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capsyst · 10 months ago

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And here is my second animation in Procreate Dreams! This time it’s a little Moomin scene.

This started off simply as a test to see if Dreams could do multi-plane camera effects, but it quickly got out of hand and took me WAY longer than I thought it would.

The problem was that in order to have the closeup shot look decent, i had to have an extremely large canvas and had to paint the background with much more detail than I normally would. In addition, it still needed to be able to fit the much smaller resolution insert of the window opening. I’ve never had to paint a scene in 4K resolution before and that presented a lot of challenges for my poor outdated iPad. Getting the right amount of detail and aligning the two layers was much more trouble than I anticipated and resulted in a lot of trial and error.

Getting each layer of the scene to move at the correct speed to make the parallax effect work also took a lot of work. And of course animating Moomin opening the window and Snufkin playing the harmonica added to the time needed to complete the scene. Honestly I didn’t think this simple scene would take me close to a month to complete.

For those curious, using the groups feature in Procreate Dreams was a lifesaver. Once I animated Moomin opening the window I was able to just group it together with the house layer and then scale both at the same time. The same went for Snufkin on the bridge. Being able to link those layers together into one layer made adjusting the parallax scrolling much easier to deal with. I really love how much groups help tidy up your timeline.

The song Snufkin is playing is a 90’s Moomin harmonica cover by Bat-Hen Zarfati.

#procreate dreams #procreate #2d animation #procreate animation #dreams #procreatedreams #moomin #moomin valley #snufkin #snufmin #90’s moomin #moomin house #snufkin x moomin

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race-week · 1 year ago

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Hear me out: grill the grid episode or driver challenge where they have to parallel park a car but said car has no parking sensors or rear cameras - I bet you at least 90% of these rich boys will fail

#f1

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sirfrogsworth · 10 months ago

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I just bought my first non-phone camera (Canon PowerShot SX70 HS). I travel a lot and want to take great photos of the landscapes I see. What would you recommend for someone who is essentially a novice? So far I've been afraid to change the settings from "auto" but I want to use the full capabilities of this camera!

I'm really tired and I don't have the energy to explain everything, so I'm going to give you the secret recipe to landscape photos. This works 80-90% of the time unless there are challenging variables to account for.

Put camera on tripod or stable surface. Set timer to a delay of 1 second. Put camera in Av or Aperture Priority Mode. Set f-stop to f/11. Set ISO to lowest setting. (Usually 100.) Let the camera decide the shutter speed automatically. Focus 1/3 of the way into your framing. Press the button, stand back, and let the camera take the shot.

Tripods are a pain in the butt to carry around, but they open up a whole new world of possibilities when it comes to landscape shots. You can also try a little bean bag weight, railings/ledges, or those gorillapod things.

If I am feeling better tomorrow, I will reblog this and explain why these settings usually work and add some additional tips along with settings for when you can't use a tripod or stable surface.

But this should give you something to start with.

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lessi-lover · 11 months ago

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ILYSM- maybe when reader is feeling a bit down and viv makes sure she feels supported and loved? love you!!

you understand me II v.miedema x reader

summary: you have a panic attack but your girlfriend is there for you. ★ you understand me II v.miedema x reader

the grass glistened under the floodlights, raindrops blending with beads of sweat, as they traced the curves of exhaustion etched into every player's face.

but there was one face amongst both teams that shone with a fierce focus, a resilience that the torrents of the weather couldn't dampen, - vivianne miedema arsenal's star striker, or better known to you, your girlfriend.

the final whistle blew, signalling another hard-earned victory, another night where your team would travel home scraping out yet another difficult win, another night in which you and your girlfriend would fall into bed with sore muscles, tired eyes, but hearts full. you barely noticed the weight of the rain soaking your kit; the thrill of the tough win lingering heavily on your mind.

you pushed through the stadium's corridors, the sound of your boots against the concrete creating a steady rhythm in your ears, as your head began to space out.

reaching your locker room, you immediately stripped yourself of your rain soaked clothes, immersing yourself in the warmth of the shower. you scrubbed your body clean, a few nasty tackles had resulted in a lot of grass stains, and a few small cuts that you knew your girlfriend would fret over, much to your displeasure.

drying yourself, you dressed yourself in your girlfriends, your plain cream shorts, and an arsenal hoodie you had been gifted by Steph, for secret santa. you brushed your wet hair, neatly braiding it into a plait, before packing away your belongings and heading out of the stadium.

walking out, you were met with a dizzying amount of photographers shouting your name, and yelling out questions. your mind raced, the pounding in your ears unwavering. you pushed your way past begrudgingly, your usually patient persona completely left behind.

as you neared the bus, you pulled your hood over your head, there was only one person you wanted to see right now.

you knew Viv would be waiting for you at the end of the bus, her arms open widely, with a comforting smile adorned on her face, and with the exact words you needed to hear.

walking past the girls seated on the bus, you could feel a swell of emotions cloud your head. the chatter and laughter of your teammates became a distant hum, as you felt tears brim in the corners of your eyes. each step towards the back felt heavier, laden with the weight of the 90 minutes you challenged your body to play for.

despite your best efforts to stay composed, the strong walls you had built up began to crumble, dragging you down in the destruction. you felt your last veneer of strength begin to fade, mirroring the harsh toll of your day. the barrage of flashing cameras, loud speakers, invasive fans and the sheer physical exertion of the game, left you utterly drained and with nothing to do but try and gather the pieces by yourself.

you longed for solitude, for a single moment in which you could just be you. The persona of the calm, enthusiastic, indefatigable athlete was a heavy mask to wear, and in this moment you felt it start to slip.

nearing the end of the bus, your steps became slow, your laboured breaths echoing in your ears. you yearned for viv. her presence was a light in the haze of your crowded head, a promise of comfort and love. she knew the unspoken battles, the silent sacrifices, the relentless push against one's limits that came with the demanding lives you both chose.

finally reaching viv, you saw her sitting down, arms open, a sanctuary in the storm. her smile, so raw and familiar, able to soothe your nerves. she didn't need to speak any words; her presence was comforting enough. in her arms, you found a haven, a safe place, one where you could let the facade you had built fall away, and just be yourself, vulnerable and real.

collapsing into her embrace, the tears that had been threatening to spill finally fell down your cold cheeks. viv held you, her arms wrapped tightly around your body, her heartbeat beating steadily against your own. "you're okay, darling," she whispered into your damp hair, the three words alone enough to mend your heart all over again. "everything is going to be alright, love." she reminded you, her arm rubbing soothingly up and down your back.

"you're safe." you sniffled, air getting caught in your throat. "you're beautiful." your tears began to subside. "you're talented." your breaths returned to their normal pace. "you're loved." she kissed your forehead, her thumb wiping away your dry tears.

"i love you, vivvy."

you nestled your head into the crook of her neck, her comforting arm never leaving you. gazing out the window, you watched as the rain drops traced effortlessly down the glass, the journey seeming aimless yet purposeful, much like the swirl of emotions you felt yourself. the rhythmic pattern of the rain against the roof provided a calming background noise, to the turmoil of thoughts swimming through your head.

you felt yourself become grounded, safe in her arms.

there was nowhere else you had to be, nobody else you needed to be with.

you found your solitude, right there in the arms of your favourite person. right there in the arms of the girl who would be able to mend your broken heart over and over again. right there in the arms of the only girl who truly understood you, and you understood her.

#vivianne miedema #vivianne miedema x reader #woso x reader #woso #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso community

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melatonin-melanin · 11 months ago

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jirai kei as a trend and the inherent ableism and racism present within it

if you've been present in any japanese fashion or vtuber spaces for the past few years, chances are you've most likely heard of jirai kei. it's gotten major media attention in japan, and inevitably its popularity has spread overseas. what is still misinterpreted about it, however, is that jirai kei is a fashion style. jirai kei is a stereotype, as well as a subculture that features fashion elements. as opposed to the fashion aspects, the focus of the subculture is mental illness, and many people use the jirai tags and labels to find those with similar struggles and interests. you can learn more about the recent history of jirai kei as a stereotype here, and the fashions associated with jirai kei here.

jirai kei as a stereotype is bad for a multitude of reasons, but there are many people who seem to think that there's nothing wrong with the trend itself. i've seen many arguments in favor of it, ranging from "if brands are using it, that must mean the term isn't that bad" to "plenty of japanese girls are using it to only refer to the fashion, and they don't actually lash out at others or self-harm." its usage by brands and everyday people are true, and that much cannot be argued. the problem comes from assuming that, because it's something widespread in japan, it can't possibly be as bad as people make it out to be. if this trend were to come from anywhere else, i'm almost certain that people would immediately question the morality of it for several reasons. this is going to be a long post, so i hope you have some time.

TW for mentions of self-harm, alcohol and drug abuse, and child sex trafficking below the cut.

a brief rundown of jirai kei's origins

to start, jirai kei's original coinage before the trend has existed since around the 90s. it was used by misogynistic men to refer to women who they believed exhibited signs of emotional instability. this was applied to completely harmless traits, and the criteria for someone being a landmine has drastically changed over the years. for example, the first common identifier was simply "a girl who looks put together." this sexist usage still extends to present times, but now it's often conflated with the current aestheticized definition of the term.

the source of the current iteration of jirai kei

the modern-day jirai kei stereotype comes almost entirely from a gang known as the toyoko kids, who reside in kabukicho. this gang contains many members ranging from ages 9 to 24 who have run away from their homes and families. they have been known for several activities, but the most publicized ones are cutting themselves in public circles, papa katsu (underage prostitution), heavily drinking, and overdosing on over-the-counter medications. majority of the gang members also wear japanese alternative fashions, with girly kei being the fashion that's most often present in the jirai kei stereotype.

where does the ableism come in?

the rise of the aesthetic trend peaked somewhere in 2020, where a "landmine makeup challenge" gained popularity online and resulted in various people attempting to mock and mimic the stereotype for clout. people would wear girly fashion, act "wild" or "crazy" on camera, and, at worst, pretend to cut their wrists or even use makeup to create fake self-harm scars. i don't believe i need to explain why faking self-harm for views is ableist. however, the ableism is also present in the supposed "lighter" aspects of the trend, particularly its sudden association with girly fashion.

during the height of jirai kei's popularity in japan, many brands had begun to sell pink x black girly coordinates, advertising them as jirai kei fashion. it's incredibly important to note that girly as a fashion has existed for several years prior, and that multiple people had already been wearing clothing that's abruptly being labeled jirai. as a result, you have all of these random people minding their business suddenly being labeled as "crazy psycho bitches" because of the clothes that they wear. as if that isn't enough, some brands went as far as to promote the more dangerous aspects of the stereotype as well. with attempts to pander to girls who are deemed "yandere" and "highly explosive," many shops, online influencers, and companies had directly and indirectly capitalized on the suffering of the toyoko kids by encouraging people to cut their wrists, manipulate their partners, binge drink, and lash out at others to engage in the "full landmine experience."

mental illness in japan is almost never taken seriously because it's seen as a personality flaw rather than something that needs treatment. the jirai kei trend only set back any progress made for mental health acknowledgement in society, as people perceived as landmines began to be harassed for wearing girly fashion. more girls were approached by men on the street trying to scout them for prostitution, and people gave away their wardrobe because "others assumed they were troublesome" for wearing it. from another perspective, the anti-recovery nature of the trend has also taken lives. some people who felt that they identified with the term had fully embraced the lifestyle that was commercialized and promoted as something "cute and fun," resulting in more people running away from home to be like the toyoko kids. these people, who have essentially been failed by the system, are simultaneously fetishized and shunned for the fact that they're struggling.

well, what about the racism?

the racism present in the jirai kei trend, from what i've seen, mainly comes from overseas communities. the perception that many people have of jirai kei tends to have its roots in orientalism. if you've ever witnessed how people tend to glorify japan in almost every context, this shouldn't be too surprising. what's concerning, however, is that much of this glorification of jirai still goes unacknowledged by the western j-fashion community.

when jirai kei gained popularity in japan's mainstream, people mistook the name of the stereotype for the name of the fashion. this mindset also translated over to western spaces without a second thought. as a result, when jirai kei as a stereotype was formally introduced to overseas j-fashion communities, some were confused and oddly adamant. it seemed like people thought, "there's no way that japan would endorse something so horrible. there has to be different explanations!" regardless of whether this idea was conscious or subconscious, it had begun what people now call "jirai discourse" in the community. many arguments were made in favor of using jirai kei to refer solely to girly fashion, as opposed to recognizing its origins and continuous usage as a derogatory term. an especially common viewpoint that's perpetuated is that jirai kei has been reclaimed or is in the process of being reclaimed, which is something that has several things wrong with it.

problems with thinking that jirai is "reclaimed, so it's fine to use"

firstly, reclamation is subjective. the assumption that the entirety of a minority group makes the unanimous decision to reclaim a term is frankly just implausible. even more popular words that are thrown around more casually nowadays are still debated in some circles on whether or not they should be used. for a term like jirai kei, something fairly recently coined and undoubtedly controversial in most contexts, the mere idea of reclamation amongst anyone would have to take a much longer time, and that's only if the stereotype starts getting taken seriously.

secondly, the only people who have the right to consider reclamation are the people who are directly affected by the usage of this term, which would be feminine-presenting native japanese people who are mentally ill. people overseas have argued in favor of reclaiming the term despite not being a part of the group that the term is actually used against. this is not something where you can take apart the criteria and suddenly claim that you're also affected by jirai kei's usage. for a comparison that may be easily understood, that's like if a nonblack woman tried to advocate for the reclamation of the "mammy" stereotype, which stereotypes and therefore only affects the perception of black women. just because both groups consist of women, that doesn't mean they have the exact same experience with the stereotype in question, even if they happen to resonate with some aspect of it. unless you've grown up in japan as someone afab and/or feminine-presenting and have struggled with mental health, it's nearly impossible to fully identify with the extent of jirai kei's harm because it's occurred in such a specific set of circumstances to a specific group of people. the only thing that should be done in this case is doing your research on the affected group, which you can do by looking into the history of the toyoko kids and some of the individual stories of the members. that way, you can at least attain a better understanding of their perspectives and connect the effects of jirai kei to their struggles.

lastly, it is not reclaiming to simply use the term for yourself. this tends to be where the idea of jirai kei being reclaimed comes from, because many japanese girls on social media use the term to refer to themselves as well. in these instances, there are typically two separate reasons: one, the person is pretending to be a landmine for clout; or two, they genuinely identify with the derogatory meaning of the term. the latter is often the case, since there's not many other ways for people in japan who are mentally ill to find groups for themselves. when it comes to reclamation, it's important to remember that it's not simply using a word that was used against a group that you're a part of. reclaiming is about actively working to change a term's meaning into a neutral or positive context for the benefit of the group. none of these girls are doing that. there's no big effort in japanese landmine spaces to move the perception of being a landmine away from things like girly kei fashion, idol fan culture, or toxic behaviors, which leads me to the final section of this post.

it is not anyone's job to push for the "reclamation" of jirai kei.

i put reclamation in quotes because, although some genuinely may not have ill intentions, many people come off as having a "white savior" mindset as opposed to actually wanting to reclaim the term in any sense (which, as mentioned before, is not the right of just anyone), and it's usually for the sake of enjoying girly fashion without feeling bad for incorrectly calling it jirai kei. one of the defenses often used to propose that being seen as a landmine can actually be a good thing is that the people who do self-harm and abuse substances are simply "bad apples" in the landmine community. if they're not treated as the dirty underside, then they're seen as things to be pitied and sympathized with, but with the quick disclaimer of "don't worry though, not all landmines are like this!"

not only is this incredibly ableist, but this assumption being made by mainly white influencers is also rooted in the historical development of racism against asian people, particularly in the united states. if you've heard of the model minority myth, one of the biggest issues with it is that it heavily generalizes asian people as being well-mannered, good-natured, and upstanding citizens. as a result, anyone who seems to fall out of this generalization is deemed an "untrustworthy foreigner" and appears as nonexistent through a romanticized lens. this exact situation can be applied to how people tend to treat the issues surrounding the jirai kei trend. the japanese girls who are faking and/or making fun of mental instability for the sake of online popularity are suddenly being glorified as these ideal representations of jirai kei to be palatable to the western world. meanwhile, the people who are considered by many to be part of the lowest rungs of society and are actually getting this term thrown at them pejoratively are treated as an afterthought and not representative of what people overseas want jirai kei to mean. it's even to the extent where native japanese people using girly kei or being uncomfortable with jirai kei are immediately assumed to be faking their ethnicity or their japanese-speaking skills, something that many foreigners have actually done in an attempt to claim authority over jirai kei's usage. since the reality of the trend is so uncomfortable to many, people think that it's best to simply disregard it or dumb down its impact when that changes nothing. what has avoiding the topic of discrimination and fetishization ever done for anyone?

the last thing i want to point out is that, even if reclamation of the term was in progress, it would not be happening the way that some seem to think it is. if the term was being reclaimed, we would not have people (both overseas and in japan) still acting like the stereotype for tons of likes, namely by taking pictures of themselves in girly kei next to cans of pink monster while sitting on the sidewalk with someone handing them money. that is an actual image i've seen, and if that doesn't tell you that there's a problem, i'm not sure what else will.

#rise and shine #jfashion #japanese fashion #jirai kei #jirai onna #girly kei #alt fashion #alternative fashion

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