Warnings: Smut, safe sex of sorts - not really- (pulling out method - keep in mind this is not a way of safe sex since it may only prevent pregnancy and you should never rely on it, unless you’re in a committed relationship with someone you really know and trust! Always wear a condom!!), slight choking!kink, slight dom/sub, slight dirty talk. And btw having sex on top of a pile of boxes can be dangerous.
Prompt (Jared bonus) #4: ‘I’m gonna come in and kick your little 5’4” ass’
Thanks to my beautiful -inside and out- friend @whywhydoyouwantmetosaymyname for the read over and the awesome exchange of kinks and preferences. Just an everyday conversation.
[Feedback is the best way to show your love]
Heart stammering against your ribcage threatening to burst out through bone and skin, lungs burning from the bad breathing, the furniture around you turns blurry as your short legs move faster. Heavy footsteps follow you from close behind, he’s at your heels, getting closer by the second. You take a sudden turn right, down into a dark corridor, just in time to avoid the grip of long fingers on the back of your shirt, and you enter the first open door to your left. Closing the latch and stepping away. Adrenaline keeps pumping through your veins making you jump a little when his entire weight collides against the closed door.
“Y/N!” Sam bellows on the other side, voice all breathy and croaky.
Your chest heaves and you try taking deep breaths to calm yourself down, which is almost impossible considering you’re still laughing.
I got a great question from @jailmom on the post “The 7 Elements of a Scene”. The question was about how that post could apply to quiet, distinctly-not-actiony scenes. I didn’t even think about writing a post like this, so thank you for the excellent observation!
Anyway, here’s how the elements apply to a low-conflict scene, illustrated by a scene from Up.
Mr Fredricksen, Russel, Dug, and Kevin are on their way to Paradise Falls, but must set up camp for the night. Russel has tried and failed to make a tent.
What’s at stake? Mr Fredricksen’s resolve to remain unattached to anyone.
Russel’s Goal: He really wants to be Mr Fredricksen’s friend.
Carl’s Goal: He really doesn’t want to be friends. Thus far, he’s regarded Russel as a mildly annoying obstacle, slowing down his goal of getting the house to Paradise Falls. And since he’s stuck with Russel, he wants to keep him as a mildly annoying obstacle. Growing attached to anything would be the worst thing that could happen (he believes).
Escalating Conflict: They’re “fighting”, meaning their goals conflict. It’s not outright of course, not an argument; they’re not even aware what’s at stake, and what the significance of the situation is. But really, the subtext is battling over what their relationship is going to be. Annoyance and annoyed guy? Or kid and grandfather-figure?
Russel: “Awh. Tents are hard.” (Exhausted)
Carl: “Wait, aren’t you ‘Super Wilderness Guy’? With the GPM’s and the badges?” (Grumpy derision)
Russel: “Yeah, but … can I tell you a secret?” (Sheepish)
Carl: “No.” (Russel wants to share something. Carl doesn’t wanna hear it.)
R: “Alright. I never actually built a tent before. There. I said it.” (Says it anyway. Honest. Mostly, sweet.)
C: “You’ve been camping before, haven’t you?” (Surprised, slightly judgmental.)
R: “Well, never outside.” (Honest again.)
C: “Well, why didn’t you ask your Dad how to build a tent?” (Curious, in spite of himself.)
R: “I don’t think he wants to talk about this stuff.” (Suddenly concerned)
C: “Why don’t you try him sometime? Maybe he’ll surprise you.” (Helping him, in spite of himself.)
R: “Well, he’s away a lot. I don’t see him much.” (Explanatory)
C: “He’s got to be home sometime.” (Trying to prove that Russel can fix this on his own.)
R: “Well, I called, but Phyllis told me I bug him too much.” (Now kinda sad)
C: “Phyllis? You call your own mother by her first name?” (Beginning to be emotionally involved, so covers it with contempt. Kids and parents these days!)
R: “Phyllis isn’t my mom.” (Surprised.)
C: “Oh.” (Realizes he’s been wrong about him.)
R: “But he promised he’d come to my Explorer ceremony to pin on my Assisting the Elderly Badge, so he can show me about tents then, right?” (innocently optimistic, hopeful. Sad.)
C: “Hey, uh, why don’t you get some sleep. Don’t want to wake up the traveling flea circus.” (Danger! This kid is invading Carl’s closed-off little world. This must be avoided.)
R: “Mr Fredricksen, Dug says he wants to take Kevin prisoner. We have to protect him! Can Kevin go with us?” (Worried)
C: “Alright. He can come.” (Relenting, though keeping up the grump act)
R: “Promise you won’t leave him?” (Hoping to rely on him, trust him.)
C: “Yeah.” (Agreement, still grouchy)
R: “Cross your heart?” (Sleepily, one last promise.)
C: “Cross my heart.” (This is the turn of the scene, and the moment that Russel “wins” it. Because this is something Ellie said to Carl. Something that symbolizes her, part of the moment he started loving her. Saying it again signifies the turn.)
Russel is sleeping peacefully.
C: "What have I gotten myself into Ellie?” (Looks at his floating house, the symbol of his attachment to the past and to Ellie. Knows he’s lost the battle. Russel isn’t just an annoyance anymore.)
Turn: Well, Carl is officially emotionally attached.
So! Scenes work no matter the level of conflict. As long as there is conflict present – two characters (or more) in opposition – the scene will work. Anyway, this was really fun to write. Thank you to @jailmom for the excellent question!
Fic Request: “Mine was about anti and dark fighting over the reader”
(Props to the creator of this awesome animation! I just saw it and was like, YES!)
“What makes you think they’ll ever be with someone so stuck up?” Anti hissed, his fist curling around the knife. “I’m sure they’d prefer one such as me over an imbecile any day!” Dark retorted bashfully. Anti rushed at Dark, the knife flashing up to meet with his smug face. But Dark danced around it, his fist catching Anti’s cheek. The two were a tornado of fists and flying limbs. Their cries of anger making the ground tremble. Dark was forced back against a table, a vase was knocked from it’s perch and it shattered on the floor. You were stirred to awareness by a small bang somewhere in the house. But you rolled over, tucking the blanket under your chin, unknown to the battle that was raging just outside your perception. Dark kicked Anti back, his hands grasping at the man’s shirt. But Anti unleashed a torrent of energy through his body, zapping Dark’s hands away with a cackle. “I’m quicker, Dark.” Anti sneered, stepping around Dark’s form and slicing open his side. “You wouldn’t stand a chance against others like me.” Dark grunted as he charged at Anti, his fist catching him in the stomach. Throwing him into the air and casting him across the room. “But I’m stronger,” Dark snarled. “I can protect them. Where your only ability would be to flee.” Anti launched himself off the ground, the knife forgotten on the ground. The two met in the center of the room, a collision that sent a boom through the house.
You defiantly weren’t hearing things. The walls had certainly vibrated, as if an earthquake had just rolled through. You hurried out of bed and made your way to the where another crash sounded. But the room was empty. Only a broken vase and a shattered coffee table made a difference in the empty space. However, the pressure in the air was heavy. Like a thick fog that pressed down on you as you walked into the room. When you flicked the lights on, they flickered and popped. A lamp-bulb actually cracked when you lightly tapped on it. A small shard embedded itself in your finger and you cursed loudly as a trickle of blood ran down your finger.
The two entities faltered when you entered the room. Dark had fixed your perception, altering it so the battle wouldn’t disturb you. But the physical environment wasn’t in his power. What they broke, you heard and could see. They quietened as you stepped further into their space. Watching you to see if you’d sense them. But you were oblivious. Anti dashed around you as you made your way in between them. The fight commencing even as you switched on the lights and tapped a lamp by the door. They froze when the heard you curse. The sight of your blood turning their attention off each other. “Stupid bulb,” You muttered, hurrying away to get tweezers and clean up the cut. Dark went to touch you, but Anti slapped his hand away. The fight progressing. But when the two slammed into the wall, making the pictures fall off their hooks, you came storming back in. “Alright! Who is here?” You demanded. “Dark? Anti? Show yourselves!” The two froze. Anti’s head under Dark’s arm and his fist poised ready to punch the Irish-man’s face. They both waited for a moment. But you were impatiently standing there, tapping your fingers against your side. Dark sighed and released his hold on your perception. Anti wriggled out of Dark’s hold as the two appeared before you. “What the hell are you two doing?” You demanded angrily. “Are you fighting? What about now?” The two looked at each other, sheepishly avoiding your gaze. “Nothing, love.” Dark purred, trying to distract you. “Just a little tussle is all.” “Yeah, just two pals wrestling.” Anti punched Dark’s shoulder. Harder than was necessary, and the two glared at each other. You pinched the bridge of your nose. Trying to bring whatever patience you had back to the surface. “If you two want to fight, do it outside. Or don’t bother coming here. I’m sick of having to clean up after you two and my neighbors are worried I’m some murderer with all the noise you two make!” Dark and Anti looked at the floor. “My apologies, pet. We’ll do better on your account.” “Cross our hearts and kill our other halves.” Anti joked with a smile. But you were beyond amused. “Clean this place up and get out. I’m too tired for this tonight!” You huffed, stomping out of the room. The two watched you leave. Shifting on his toes, Anti bounced slightly on the spot. “I still think they dig me more.” He announced with a grin. Dark barked a laugh, “Really? Because I’m pretty sure you just got kicked out.” “So did you, Dark!” You yelled from the other room.
Summary: Based upon the married life between Carl and Ellie from Disney Pixar’s Up. Word Count: 4,515. A/N: Literally the most longest, yet heart wrenching fic I’ve ever wrote. Although, I am absolutley astounded with the end result of this. As always, feedback would be greatly appreciated. Hope you enjoy, and prepare those damn tissues. Special Tag: @spidweeb bc god bless her soul for always helping me out edit my stories :-)
Ever since you and Jimin tied the knot, sealed the deal, cross your heart and hope to burn your Netflix subscriptions and account if either of you skipped ahead in watching an episode before one another, there had been some things that should’ve just be left to you no matter what status Jimin had gained.
From a stranger to cute eyes boy to friend who somehow doesn’t save your number to best friend who can’t forget your number to boy who took more tries than the number of fingers you have to one who made use of both hands to hug you tight whenever you said goodbye, to that one person you said I do at the altar, some things never change.
One of that would be that he’s still horrible in trying to open up canned food. Well, he does try his hardest, especially when you started to have weird cravings the moment two lines showed up on the test. Regardless, it’s only a matter of time he gets himself hurt again and - “Damn it!”
That’s your cue to get up from the bed and even though you’re just two months in and nothing’s showing yet, Jimin refuses to - “Woman, sit back down! I’ll get this done!”
“Fat chance,” You snort, already striding into the kitchen, popping out the first aid kit and standing by the sink with an arm stretched out to - “Give me your hand,”
He childishly refuses to look at you, holding his wrist to himself, “…no,”
“You said you’d do anything for me so my mood doesn’t get too messed up apart from trying to seethe my patience when the food takes too long to cook so before any of that happens, give me your hand,”
He lets out a deep sigh, one that seems like he just lost ten pounds at how heavy that was. Turning his body slightly, he places the back of his hand in your palm, just so you can tug him over and he yelps when he stumbles towards you, thigh hitting yours and he hisses, not because of the pain.
You scoff a laugh, patting his hand with a wet cloth, “You are in no position to say that to me, Mr. Cans-Can-Cut-Me-Anytime,”
“Real original, Y/N. Are you going to be as creative with our baby’s name?”
“Maybe if his or her father won’t admit that he’s far too horrible in opening canned items and refuse to ask for help when he needs to,”
Jimin only decides to press his lips together in attempts to hide his smile frown, staring at you quietly as you dry his finger and proceed to place a bandaid over. Because when you’re done, Jimin’s insides combust at the thought of you doing this to your future child together. A small kiss planted at the middle of where the bandaid sticks on his cut and he knows, whoever his child turns out to be, he or she would be one lucky, very lucky child to receive your love.
When you set his hand aside, pack up the kit and store it under the sink, just as you stand up you feel arms being wrapped around your waist. Then the warmth of a chest greets your back, with plump lips against your neck and gentle sways from left to right and all over again because Jimin has a habit of doing so and you came to love that habit.
“What would I do without you?” He murmurs on your skin, eliciting a chuckle as your hands smoothen over his forearms, “You’d have less cuts because I have some weird cravings that revolve around them being presented in a can,”
“For you I’d get a million cuts and I wouldn’t care,”
“Easy now, Mr. Park. I’d rather not have my husband get admitted to the hospital every other day,”
“…still though. I would,” He reaches up and carefully makes you turn your head until you look over your shoulder in efforts to meet with his eyes halfway, “For you, anything,”
“I appreciate the thought,” You turn, going the extra mile to hold onto his hand where his battle wound is, “And I always will. Just, maybe call me when you need to open up the cans,”