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freedomfireflies · 1 year

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Stuck With You*

Summary: You and Harry have been assigned to a case halfway across the country. And getting stuck for over twelve hours in a car with him is nothing short of excruciating.

But having to share a bed with him?

A fate worse than death.

(aka: enemies to lovers + one bed trope!)

Word Count: 7.7k

*Contains Mature and Explicit content! Take care of yourself first, only consume what you feel comfortable with!*

BAM!

The violent sound of the car door being slammed is what jolts you from your nap, weary eyes fluttering quickly as you sit up in the rather uncomfortable chair.

You aren't sure how long you've been asleep but from the lack of light outside, you guess quite a while.

So, in an effort to assess your location, you lean forward to peer through the windshield at the bright, neon sign shining just above you.

Roadside Motel and Inn.

Slowly, the pieces begin to come together as you yawn and roll your head back to relieve some of the tension in your neck.

You and Harry have been on the road for exactly twelve hours.

Twelve long, excruciating hours filled with bad rock music, limited snack breaks, and arguments over which part of the map to follow.

Harry doesn’t obey directions very well, something that became abundantly clear when he threw the map out of the window somewhere back in Ohio.

You have to smirk to yourself at the memory of his little tantrum before you realize...he's not in the car with you.

Curious as to where he went, you look back out the window just in time to see him slipping into the lobby of the motel, that familiar, sour scowl still set firmly on his face.

He must be going to book a room for the night, and you feel rather relieved to be calling it quits for the day.

Although, this motel doesn't look all that...safe. Or sanitary. In fact, it kind of looks like the motel in a horror movie where they'd find a dead body.

But, you aren't in a position to complain, so you lean back in your seat and wait for Harry to return with a room key.

However, after five minutes has passed and Harry has yet to return, you realize that something must have gone wrong.

And knowing Harry…it's a pretty safe bet.

So, you retie your shoes, zip up your jacket, and slip out of the car.

You can hear the aggravated arguing before you’ve even reached the lobby door. And you have to resist the urge to roll your eyes when the sound of Harry’s seething retort echoes into the parking lot.

“You aren’t fucking hearing me,” Harry is growling as he leans across the counter. “Two rooms. That’s all. I don’t fucking care about bed sizes or furnishings. I don’t fucking care if the TV is on the goddamn ceiling. Just give me the fucking keys.”

The poor man behind the counter looks absolutely exhausted with him (a feeling you know well) as he waves his hands in front of his computer. “I don’t have two rooms available, sir. I only have the one. One room. One queen-sized bed. One TV on the floor.”

Harry slams his palm against the desk with malice as you rush forward to intervene.

“Hi. I am…so sorry about my friend,” you begin hesitantly, pinching Harry’s hip in warning. “But, um…are you sure you don’t have any other rooms with two beds? No matter the size? We aren’t picky, really, we just…we’ve had a long day. And we’d really appreciate anything you can give us.”

The man’s eyes soften while Harry scoffs.

“Sorry, Miss,” the desk attendant sighs. “Just one room with one bed.”

“I don’t fucking believe you,” Harry begins again, tossing a vengeful glare across the counter. “There’s no way every other room is booked up but that one. What do you want, huh? You want money? Is that what it’s gonna take? Fine. How much fucking money is it gonna take for you to give us a key to a room with two beds?”

With a sigh, the worker says, “Sir…there are no more rooms. I don’t know what else to tell you—”

“You fucking prick. You think you can just con us out of another room because it’s the last minute—”

“Sir. No room in the inn. I don’t know what else to say—”

“Oh, you won’t say fucking much with my fist down your throat—”

“Okay, all right, let’s calm down,” you interject, wrapping your hands around Harry’s upper arm to tug him away from the desk. “We’ll take any room you have. Please.”

The charged silence seems to span an eternity as the desk attendant goes to retrieve a key.

And as he does, Harry rips his arm from your grasp while viciously whispering, “I had it covered.”

You snort. After all, you both know that’s not true.

Once you’re officially checked in, Harry storms for the exit, nearly breaking the glass in the lobby door as he slams it open and shut.

You follow a few feet behind, desperate to put some distance between you and his unjust wrath.

But, even still, you don’t miss his aggravated grumbling as he stomps back to the car, griping and cursing about, “Shitty fucking motels,” and “sleezy assholes with a stick up their arse.”

You suppose it would almost be funny if you weren’t dreading having to spend a night with him. In fact, you’re almost tempted to offer to sleep in the car but…well, you hate those fucking seats.

Harry is already unpacking your things by the time you reach him, tossing items left and right as he attempts to retrieve what you’ll need for the night.

He finds your duffle, yanking it from the backseat before nearly hauling it at you as you catch it and go stumbling back.

Then, he pulls his own backpack free before slamming yet another door shut.

With that, he leads you to your room, booted feet stomping across the concrete as you trail behind.

It takes him about five minutes to figure out how to even get inside, large fingers fumbling with the keys as he growls and nearly shoves his fist through the door.

Once you’re inside, he flips on the light, and you both take a moment to assess its condition.

The queen-sized bed is more like a full. The wallpaper is faded and peeling. The smell is…unplaceable. The carpet is stained and dingy. The TV (which is not on the ceiling) is at least forty years old. And the bathroom has no door.

And seriously, what is that smell?

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” Harry huffs under his breath, backpack dropping to the floor. “No. Absolutely fucking not. Not happening.”

“Look, we don’t really have a choice, do we?” you argue as you move for the bed to study its condition. “We’re in the middle of nowhere and the next hotel isn’t for miles.”

“So?” he sneers, moving his glare to you. “S’better than this.”

“This is fine,” you retort, but wince as you say it. “Yeah, it’s not…great. But we’re only here to sleep and then we’re back on the road.”

“No,” he decides, arms crossing as he shakes his head. “Uh-uh. Not fucking happening, I’ll sleep in the parking lot.”

“Okay, great. Buh-bye, then,” you call, waving your hand through the air as if to dismiss him.

His eyes narrow. “He lied, by the way.”

Turning around, you gingerly lower yourself onto the mattress, expression scrunched as you make contact.

Ew.

“Uh…who?” you ask, rather distracted by the somewhat moist duvet beneath your ass.

Seriously, why the fuck is it wet?

“The owner,” Harry snaps, head jerking toward the door. “When he went to get the key, there was another fucking key right next to it. For the master suite.”

“…okay?”

He seems rather unimpressed with your answer. “Seriously?”

“What?” you huff as you stand back up. “Maybe it’s his room.”

“It’s not,” he decides haughtily. “No, he doesn’t fucking sleep here. ’Cause even he knows this place is a fucking dump. All right, satan’s asshole is cleaner than this room.”

Your nose crinkles. “Ew.”

“Exactly. So, get your fucking stuff and let’s go.”

“Go where?”

“To the master suite, are you not fucking listening?”

“Harry,” you nearly scoff. “We don’t have a key. Okay, and even if we did, that’s…you know, illegal…I think.”

“God, you are such a fucking pussy,” he hisses, already spinning around to return to the door. “Fine. Fucking stay here. I don’t care. Sleep with the cockroaches while they make babies in your ear.”

You gasp as he disappears into the parking lot, the rather unsettling image in your head making your muscles recoil.

Ew, ew, ew.

You don’t know where he’s gone. Perhaps to argue with the owner again or perhaps to sneak into the other room.

But you don’t worry about him. Instead, you worry about what he said. About bugs, and babies, and them crawling into your ear, and mold, and bedbugs, and termites, and—

You fling yourself toward the door, duffle bag in tow as you slip from the room, nearly running into Harry on your way out.

He’s already returned, a key now spinning around his pointer finger as he nods at you. “Changed your mind, I take it?”

You exhale a deep breath. “Did you at least pay for the room?”

“What do you think?” he snorts. “Fucking waited till he went to the bathroom and snatched it.”

“Harry, he’s gonna notice the key is missing.”

“No he’s not. I put the old key in its place.”

You lean back. “Oh. That’s…smart.”

“Yeah. Thanks for sounding so fucking surprised,” he grumbles before brushing past you toward the stairs.

“Come on, that’s not what I—” You begin but stop when you realize arguing with him is rather futile.

Instead, you follow after him toward the second floor of building as he leads you toward the end, where only one room lies.

He manages to get this door open a little quicker and once it swings open, your eyes widen.

It’s not the Hilton, but it’s a hell of an upgrade. The room is significantly larger, it doesn’t smell like ass, and the bed is huge. At least a king, you imagine, if not bigger. With what looks to be fresh, clean sheets and even a nice throw blanket.

Harry grumbles something about, “Now that’s more fucking like it,” as you both continue into the massive space to look around.

There’s a mini bar, two TVs, and a nice vanity in the corner. The wallpaper isn’t stained, the carpet is soft, and this bathroom has a door.

“Shit,” you breathe as you practically levitate toward the mattress. “Okay…I hate to say it, but…you were right. This is…so much better.”

“I know,” he deadpans, tossing his backpack toward the floor before moving for the couch placed just across from the bed. “Okay, I’m going to sleep. We’re leaving at eight. Try not to fucking bother me until then, yeah?”

With that, he flops down onto the sofa, eyes falling shut as he settles back into the cushions.

A little surprised, you stare at him, curious as to why he’s chosen to sleep on the most uncomfortable piece of furniture in the room. In fact, the floor would likely be more relaxing.

However, his expression remains placid, most likely aware of your presence but refusing to acknowledge it. “Go away now,” he mumbles without ever glancing up. “Stop fucking hovering and go the fuck to sleep.”

And you’d likely argue or remind him again of how unpleasant he tends to be but choose instead to obey as you head for the bathroom. After all, you are tired, and tomorrow you have yet another long day of traveling ahead.

With him. And his outrageously hostile temperament.

Once you’ve changed into some pajamas, you exit the tiny bathroom and scurry to the bed. It’s still winter outside, and even though this is the master suite, they apparently haven’t mastered heat.

The covers are thin, hardly adding even one degree of warmth. You tug the throw blanket further up and curl yourself into a ball, hoping to find some relief from the shivering of your teeth but to no avail.

You have no idea how Harry isn’t freezing his ass off but can’t exactly focus on him as you begin to lose feelings in your toes. And now, the large bed seems to be working against you since all it does is provide you with more space to be cold in. And even if you wanted to readjust, you’d lose the spot of warmth you’ve created, forcing you to get stuck with the cold sheets once again.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Harry suddenly growls, and you vaguely see the outline of his body as he straightens up from the couch.

Curious, you sit up as he stalks over to you, his large hand coming out to snatch onto the blankets and rip them back.

“Shit,” you breathe, recoiling away from the frigid air. “The fuck are you doing—”

“You won’t stop fucking shaking and it’s fucking annoying,” he snaps as he climbs onto the mattress beside you. “Move.”

A tad stunned, you blink at him. “I—seriously, what are you doing—”

“I’m trying to get some goddamn sleep,” he huffs, as if it were obvious. “But I can’t with your fucking teeth making so much goddamn noise. So, I’m gonna fucking hold you until you stop shivering.”

“Like hell you are,” you snort, already wiggling away from him. “The whole fucking point of us finding another room was so that we didn’t have to share a bed. Remember?”

“Yeah, well, that was before your teeth started doing the tango,” he retorts. “Now shut the fuck up and cuddle me.”

“I—Harry. I’m not going to cuddle you, that’s gross—”

“Oh, grow up. God, you are so fucking dramatic. We’re adults—”

“Yeah, but we’re not in fucking Twilight. Okay, Jacob? I don’t need your doggy heat to warm me up—”

“My doggy heat? The fuck does that even mean? I wasn’t gonna hold you doggy style—”

“Yeah, ’cause you’re not gonna hold me at all—”

“For fuck’s sake,” he seethes for a second time before his arm is extending across the space between your bodies to latch onto your hip and drag you closer.

You don’t have the time to protest before your face is being squished into his chest as he pulls the blankets back up.

Your brain is the next thing to freeze as you take a moment to comprehend what the fuck just happened.

And why you aren’t fighting it.

Because much to your dismay…he’s right. Again. Instantly, this is significantly better, and you can already feel the movement return to your toes as you take a deep breath.

And suddenly, you realize that he’s…everywhere. Against you, around you, inside you. Well, his smell is, anyway. The subtle scent of his cologne making a home in your lungs.

And it’s…nice. A masculine vanilla, of sorts. Comforting.

…ew.

And while your first instinct is to reach up and shove him away…you don’t. Instead, your hands come to rest on his chest as you feel each curve and dip of his strong body. Maybe you’re too cold or too tired, but whatever the case, you don’t push.

“You can’t do this,” you choose to mumble, despite the fact that you do nothing to stop it.

He simply snorts under his breath. “Already am.”

You shift but don’t pull yourself out of his arms. “I can’t breathe.”

“You’ll get over it.”

Your eyes narrow, even though he can’t see you.

For a moment, the dark room falls quiet. The sound of his breathing above you is soft and you feel his body rise and fall with each one. It nearly lulls you to sleep as the heat begins to surround you, much like his arms have.

“Why are you so mean to me?” you hear yourself whisper, momentarily stunned by the words that came from your own throat without permission.

He seems to tense. “I’m not mean to you. That’s just…you know, our thing.”

“Our thing is you being mean to me?”

“I’m not mean,” he repeats sternly, arms constricting around your back. “Trust me, if I were fucking mean to you, you’d know it.”

“So…this is you being nice?”

You hear him huff. “Can you please just go the fuck to sleep?”

“Okay,” you murmur, with absolutely no plans to do so.

But you allow him to think that he’s won for about two minutes before you voice your next question.

“Why is being mean our thing?”

Another sigh. “I swear to fucking God—”

“You used to bring me cookies,” you remind him, the memory of when he first joined your sector years prior coming to mind. “Every morning. You’d bring me cookies from the bakery you stopped at on the way to work.”

Again, he goes quiet, muscles hard beneath your touch. “I don’t remember,” he replies after a minute, the cadence of his voice so low you almost don’t catch it.

“I do,” you say, fingers absentmindedly stroking his soft shirt. A nervous habit. “I remember. It was my favorite part of the day. You were so…kind. Quiet. Maybe a little shy, but…you were a great addition to the program. I liked having you there.”

He snorts again, the sound full of disbelief and contempt. “Yeah. Right.”

You lean back, head tilting to look up at him. “I did.”

He looks down. Stares. Says nothing.

You don’t know what you wanted him to say but you do suppose you want to know why. What changed between the days when you were almost friends to…now.

“I’m not mean to you,” he finally answers, a bit softer than his last remark. “Not on purpose, anyway.”

“Oh, so the constant insults and degrading comments are just a part of your charm and charisma?” you tease, hoping to lighten the mood.

It doesn’t work.

His lips press into a thin line. “Why do you care if I’m nice to you or not?”

“I’m…’cause you used to be,” you say, rather confused by the question. “And clearly something changed, I just…I don’t know. I want to know why.”

“Why?”

“Yes, why.”

“No, why do you want to know?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because it doesn’t matter. We’re not friends.”

“Yeah. I know. Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why aren’t we friends?”

He leans back now, too. “…why the fuck would we be?”

You shrug. “Because we work together. And have to spend a lot of time together. And it would be nice to at least be civil.”

“I don’t want to be civil,” he scoffs. “Especially with you.”

Now even more startled, you blink at him. “I’m sorry, what the fuck does that mean?”

Again, his jaw clamps shut, effectively ending his side of the conversation.

You’ve struck a nerve, but you have no idea which one.

And despite the fact that he’s still holding you, his touch has grown cold and distant.

So, you snatch his shirt between your fingers and tug. “Stop doing that. Just talk to me.”

“There’s nothing to talk about—”

“Yes, there is. Look…if I…did something…just tell me. Okay, because I probably didn’t mean to, and I can’t exactly apologize for it if I don’t know. So, just…spit it out—”

“No—”

“Yes—”

“I said fucking no—”

“And I said I don’t fucking care. Now, tell me what I—”

“Charlie.”

The name brings your response to a halt as you hesitate and flick your eyes between his, looking for understanding. “…what?”

Harry takes a deep breath as if steeling himself from the conversation. “Fucking Charlie, all right? You started dating Charlie. That’s what you did.”

There’s a certain disdain behind his expression that you manage to make out and it throws you for a loop. “I…wait, what? I don’t get it, why is that bad?”

He hesitates before sighing, seeming to dismiss the conversation altogether. “Forget it.”

“No, seriously,” you insist, tugging on him again. “Did…did you want to date him?”

His eyes roll. “Here we fucking go—”

“No, I mean it. ’Cause I don’t understand why else that would make you hate me—”

His attention snaps back down. “I don’t hate you, I…look. It doesn’t fucking matter, all right, so just drop it—”

“It does matter. It does, Harry, because it’s been driving me nuts for four years and I can’t take it anymore.”

And maybe he’s tired, too. Maybe he’s delirious from the long journey or maybe he’s just tired of talking, but for whatever reason, he finally lets his vulnerability slip through the cracks.

You see it peak through his expression. See it—feel it—in the way he holds you. Looks at you. In the way he fights with himself to reveal the truth.

“Because I liked you,” he says. So simply, you could almost be tricked into thinking it is. “I liked you. A lot. But you didn’t like me. You liked him.”

You can say nothing. Can offer no response or reaction as your lashes flutter and your brain works to process what he just admitted to you.

His jaw tenses as he waits. “Yeah. Exactly. So…there you fucking go. Happy?”

“I—” Your heart begins to race wildly inside your chest as this secret bounces around the walls of your mind. “Harry, I didn’t…I didn’t know.”

“I know,” he mumbles, shifting a little as his grip begins to loosen, desperate to let you go and pull himself away. “Why would you have? I’m not Charlie.”

You frown. You don’t like the implication in his tone. “No, you’re not Charlie. And you should be really fucking glad you aren’t.”

Now, it’s his turn to work through your reply. “…what do you mean?”

“I mean Charlie was a fucking ass,” you tell him, past resentment slipping through your hostile tone. “Okay, cheating on me was one of the nicer things he did.”

And you almost think you see pity in his eyes mixed with just the slightest hint of rage. “He cheated on you?”

“Oh, yeah. Cheated on, belittled me, ditched me in the middle of one of our dates with no way to get home,” you recall. “Not to mention he was shit in bed, he couldn’t be bothered to learn my last name, and he owes me over fifteen thousand dollars.”

Harry rears back. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Nope.” You almost smirk, somehow amused by his utter shock. “So, trust me…Charlie was not a threat to you. In fact, nobody could have been a threat to you.”

“And what does that mean?”

He sounds suspicious and you hesitate, curious as to whether or not this is really something you want to admit.

You swallow the urge. “It just means…you were my friend. And I cared about you, and it kind of fucking sucked when you turned on me.”

His expression falls, frown mirror your own. He opens his mouth, ready to respond, but then stops. He stops and he looks at you and he mulls.

You wish he’d allow you a visit inside his mind. Wish he’d clue you into his thought process but perhaps it’s better this way.

And maybe he was right. Maybe this is your thing. Maybe it’s better if he doesn’t like you.

Maybe that’ll make it easier to stay away.

“So…he was shit in bed, huh?” Harry murmurs after a moment, and your brow raises.

“Really? That’s what you’re taking from what I said?” you tease, playfully slapping at his chest. “Very funny.”

“M’not being funny,” he insists, nodding his chin at you. “Must have been hard for you. Or…I guess soft?”

Your eyes narrow as you smirk. “Ha. Ha.”

For the first time all day…he smiles. “Look, I just…I feel bad for you, you know? I mean, yeah, the cheating and stealing and being an ass part all suck. But…the bad sex? That’s just unforgivable.”

“It was heinous,” you agree, feigning a wounded sigh. “Seriously, I had to replace three vibrators over the course of our relationship. Three.”

He sucks in an empathetic breath. “Yikes.”

“I know. But I got really buff in my right arm.”

His grin widens until you can see his bunny teeth. “For fuck’s sake—”

“But not the left one for some reason. So it was really uneven. I looked like a Picasso painting—”

“Oh, my god. Stop. Please stop talking—”

“What? You’re the one that asked.”

“Yeah, I asked because clearly you need some help.”

This time, you rear back, eyebrow raising as you look at him. “I’m sorry…what?”

And he almost looks like he regrets the words that just came out of his mouth, but instead of taking them back…he shrugs one shoulder up. “Well…come on. You have to admit you’re…tense.”

“Wha—I am not tense,” you sputter. “I’m…I…just because I don’t put up with your shit does not make me tense.”

“No, but you not being able to come the way you deserve does.”

It’s so…tenacious the way he speaks. The way he says deserve like he’s had this thought before.

You wonder if he has.

“And who says I haven’t?” you counter.

“Have you?”

Your split-second hesitation is answer enough and his smirk returns as he hums to himself.

“Got it,” he mumbles, letting his eyes rake down your face. “Like I said…s’a shame.”

You snort, “Oh, is it?”

“It is.”

“And why is that?”

“Cause I could probably help you out.”

There it is again. That confidence in what he’s offering that makes your breath hitch. “Harry…come on.”

“Come on what?” he teases. “Your tongue? Your stomach? Your pus—”

“Okay, all right, enough,” you interject, wincing a bit as you lean away. “Seriously. Stop.”

“Why?”

“Why do you think? We can’t…this is a weird conversation,” you huff. “You don’t…that’s not what we…it’s just weird.”

“Why do you think it’s weird?”

An unamused glare begins to form. “Because it is.”

“Why?”

“Because.”

“Because why?”

“Because we don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Talk like that.” Your hand quickly gestures between your bodies. “You said it yourself. Our thing is being mean. Arguing and fighting and you getting on my nerves.”

He hums again, as if considering it. “Well…maybe this can be our thing, too.”

“Harry.”

“Princess.”

The exasperated expression on your face deepens at the familiar nickname. “It is not going to be our thing.”

“Fine,” he sighs, one hand raising as he surrenders himself. “I’m just saying…it would probably help you stay warm.”

Oh, he’s such a fucking—

“That’s…dumb,” is what you choose to reply with, to which he smiles.

“Maybe,” he agrees. “But it works. All that body heat, and friction, and excursion—”

“Harry.”

“Princess.”

Your lips set into a line. “Are you being serious right now or are you fucking with me? Because I really can’t tell.”

“I’m being serious,” he says, just as simply as before. “Dead fucking serious.”

“Why?”

Another shrug. “Told you. I feel bad for you.”

You scoff rather incredulously as you turn over onto your back, forcing his arms out from around you. “I don’t need you to feel bad for me. I’m perfectly fine.”

“Clearly.”

It goes quiet then, both of you falling in line with the comfortable silence.

After a moment, you look over, suddenly aware of the absence of his body now that you’re no longer trapped against his chest.

And you almost…miss it. The warmth, and the slight serenity, and…the safety.

He’s one of the most annoying people you’ve ever met but he’s damn good at his job. He’s quick, he’s smart, and he’s quite capable.

And he’s got more muscles than he’s got brain cells.

“What?” he grumbles, seeming to finally notice your staring.

“Sorry,” you whisper, shaking the thought of him free as you glance back up at the ceiling.

But you feel him study you. “You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?”

“No,” you deny instantly, cheeks flushing at the very idea. “God, Harry. You’re so—”

“Annoying. Yes. I know. I’m also quite good with my hands if that’s any help—”

“Harry.”

“Princess,” he mimics, and you can hear the smile. “We don’t have to, I’m just saying…my services are here.”

“Services,” you repeat under your breath, snorting some. “How romantic.”

“Never claimed to be romantic. Just claimed to be good.”

“Well, you would think so.”

“I don’t think so. I know so.”

“Yeah, well, Charlie thought he knew so, too.”

“Well, we’ve already established I’m not Charlie, haven’t we?”

Your eyes flick back over to his. “Maybe. That doesn’t make you good.”

“And what about me implies that I wouldn’t be?”

“I don’t know. The fact that you called it services?”

“Getting you off is a service. A very nice one, actually. Or would you rather call it a favor?”

“I’d rather call it nothing. Because it makes it sound cheap.”

“We’re in a roadside motel. What about this entire trip doesn’t scream cheap to you?”

“The fact that we work for the government. And the fact that they’re not paying us to…you know.”

“What? You can’t even say it? Come on, Princess, I thought you were better than that.”

“I’m…I…” It’s incredible how quickly he’s managed to render you speechless. “I’m just saying, that’s not what we’re here for.”

“People fuck on the job all the time,” he reminds you. “Just last week, Spencer Reid told me about this girl he met in Vegas—”

“I don’t wanna hear that,” you exclaim, hands immediately flying to your ears to protect you from any unpleasant information about your friend. “What he does is none of my business.”

“You mean who he does,” Harry corrects smugly. “Look, Hotch doesn’t care. As long as the job gets done, it doesn’t matter.”

“So…what? That makes it okay?”

“Okay? It’s just an orgasm, it’s not murder—”

“Shit like that is personal,” you huff. “It’s intimate and…delicate. You know? It’s not for people who already don’t like each other. That makes it…messy.”

“Yeah, well…I like it messy,” he says, and despite yourself, there’s a catch in your throat. “Besides, I don’t know why we’re still talking about it if you don’t want to do it.”

You hesitate. He’s got a point.

Suddenly, he pushes up onto his forearm to really get a good look at you. “…unless you do want to. And you’re trying to argue yourself out of it.”

Your mouth drops open. “What? No, I…no.”

He snorts. “Oh, well, I’m convinced.”

“I don’t,” you insist before the truth begins to beat against your ribcage like a drum. “I mean…I don’t know. Wouldn’t it be weird?”

“No. Not unless we make it weird.”

“Well how do I know you won’t make it weird?”

“It was my idea. Why would I make it weird?”

“Because you are weird.”

“Yeah, but I’m still good.”

You exhale a sharp breath. “Harry…I’m being serious.”

He returns your stare. “So am I.”

“Well…I still don’t understand why you want to. Don’t guys hate stuff like that?”

“Stuff like what?” he retorts. “Fingering you? Eating you out? Tasting you? I’m sorry, what part of that doesn’t sound like a fucking dream?”

“Listen, Charlie used to tell me that it was gross—”

“And Charlie’s a fucking pussy,” Harry decides, rather resolutely. “Which is ironic since he doesn’t know what to do with one. But that doesn’t mean the rest of us are. Okay, we know how to enjoy the finer things in life.”

“Is that…a compliment?”

“Yeah.”

“Wow.”

“Thanks. Are you convinced?”

Are you convinced? You almost want to laugh at the very question but…perhaps you are. Perhaps he’s right—yet again—and this one-time agreement could offer you a bit of…help.

And heat.

Since it’s still fucking freezing.

“If I say yes…you have to promise to never…bring this up again,” you begin as he straightens up. “Never, Harry. I mean it. Not as a joke. Not when you’re mad at me. Not when we’re in front of anyone. Ever.”

“What, you think I want people to know about this?” He smirks. “Promise. What happens in the shitty roadside motel stays in the shitty roadside motel.”

“Great.” Your hands gather in front of your stomach as you begin to pick at your nail beds. “So…okay. Great. Is that…I mean, are you—”

“What do you need?”

You blink. “What…what do you mean?”

“My mouth or my fingers. What do you need?”

God, this feels too fucking real. You swallow rather thickly as you move your focus to his nose, looking for something less intimidating to concentrate on. “I don’t know. Whichever you want, I guess.”

“It’s not about what I want,” he replies easily. “It’s about what you need. So, I’m gonna ask you again. And this time I need an answer, all right?”

You simply look at him.

“What do you need…to come?” he asks softly, moving a bit closer across the mattress as his breath fans across your face. “Do you need my mouth? My tongue? My fingers?”

His hand outstretches for your neck, palm sliding up until his thumb can sweep along your jaw.

“Hm?” he hums, gazing down at you rather curiously as you lean back into the pillows. “Or do you need it all? Do you need more? Need to feel full? Fucked?”

You feel like you’re being pulled into a trap. Lured into the devious intentions swimming behind his eyes.

But you don’t…care.

“Can’t help you if you don’t tell me, Princess,” he continues, his voice like silk. Sex. “Give you whatever you need. Just have to ask.”

“I don’t…I don’t know, really,” you whisper, desperate to shove the control in his hands. “I’m not…I don’t care. Do whichever you’re comfortable with.”

“Darling…there is nothing about you I couldn’t be comforted by,” he says, finger teasing your bottom lip. “Do you really think…I’d choose not to feel you? Slip myself inside you and feel how fucking tight you are. ’Cause I know you are, aren’t you, honey? Bet you’re so soft…so warm…so fucking wet. Be so easy to taste you for myself.”

He was right. He is good at this.

And maybe in the past you’ve liked to have some control, but right now…you’d do anything for him. Be anything he wanted you to be.

He knows exactly what you need. Knows that you need someone to put you in your place. Guide you toward what you want.

“Why don’t I start with my hand?” he suggests gently, looking for approval on your face. “Give you a minute to realize how much you like it.”

When your only response is continued staring, his head tilts.

“Words, Princess,” he warns. “Or we stop.”

And really, he hasn’t even done anything yet but the very idea of stopping makes your stomach recoil.

“Fine,” you manage to breathe. “Your…hand. That’s…fine.”

You hate how…nervous you sound. How unsure, but Harry is more than willing to make up for the slack, grinning to himself as he trails his palm back down your neck.

“Need you to relax for me, okay?” he instructs as he reaches your chest, delicately and tamely slipping between your breasts toward your stomach. He doesn’t linger, doesn’t graze, doesn’t take a moment to fondle you like a prepubescent horny boy. He does only what he said he was going to. “Just like that, there you go.”

He continues to glide along the fabric of your shirt until he reaches your hips where the band of your pants lie.

His finger taps against the elastic, almost as if waiting.

“Say it again,” he whispers, dipping down until his nose ghosts across your cheek. “Need to hear you say it one more time.”

And you wonder if he really does want to be adamant about consent…

…or if he just enjoys hearing you submit.

“Please,” you just about gasp, suddenly aware of the lust you feel for his touch. The way you really do feel…empty. “Please, Har…just…just—”

His hand disappears beneath the material, and when you feel him brush over the fabric of your underwear…your eyes flutter shut.

He chooses to forgo skin on skin contact. At least for now, and you imagine it’s because he’s waiting for you to feel a bit more at ease.

And the rather generous thought does something to your stomach as he begins to drag the pad of his thumb down your covered clit.

You go still. Deathly still because it feels so fucking good. You hadn’t realized you were this wound up but instantly…your muscles turn to jelly.

“How’s that, hm?” comes the low purr of his voice, his lips now much closer to your ear. “Feel good?”

You nod mutely as your hands begin to fist the sheets below you.

“Good,” he replies, seemingly proud as he repeats the previous action before moving down. Then…he tsks. “Oh, honey…what’s this?”

You venture a glance over at him as he leans back to see you.

“Already so wet,” he says, fighting his amusement. “What’s got you so worked up, darling? Haven’t even done anything yet.”

Truthfully, you don’t know. You hadn’t realized. Maybe he’s just that good or maybe your body has been more complicit to his unspoken intentions than you were aware of.

Either way, he’s right. You are so pathetically wet, and he hasn’t even fully touched you yet.

“Have you been thinking about it this whole time?” he asks next, voice slipping back through the needle of salacious resolve. “Hm? Just been lying here, dripping for me? Needing me to make it better?”

He adds a bit more pressure and you gasp, the ache between your thighs growing much more unbearable.

He does it again before slowing down and your chest just about caves in.

“What?” He moves closer again, grinning to himself as he places his lips against your neck. “Something wrong?”

“Har…” you nearly whine, squirming some under his hold.

His tattooed arm flexes as he rolls the heel of his hand down your clit. “What? What is it? What do you need?”

You, you, you. The thought screams inside your head as he licks his tongue along your jaw.

“Please…” you say instead, hoping you sound desolate enough to garner his sympathy.

“Please what? Can’t read your mind, honey. Need you to tell me.”

You groan in the back of your throat, partially from his arrogant, flippant behavior and partially from the way he’s pulling at your skin with his teeth.

“Just…just…” Still, the request refuses to come out, and you want to smack yourself for being so weak.

“Just…just?” he repeats, somewhat mockingly but still gentle. “Just what? Just…this?”

You feel his finger hook around the hem of your panties before he’s effortlessly pulling it aside to graze his touch through you.

And you moan, so much louder than you’d meant to. Because even this simple touch does more for you than Charlie ever did.

“Ah,” he murmurs as he dances his mouth down the side of your throat. “That’s what you need.”

And before you have the chance to reply, he’s slipping a finger inside right at the same time that he’s raising up to kiss you.

Really kiss you, his tongue tangling with yours as you willingly give him every breath in your lungs.

The combination of sensations just about kills you as he effortlessly works his touch in and out with ease.

And he’s not recoiling the way you imagined he might. He’s not half-assing it or declaring he’s already done.

No, he’s…he’s indulging in you. Truly and completely as he groans into your bottom lip before sucking on it.

“Fucking knew it,” he whispers, moving to sit up on the bed so he can fully hover over you. “Fucking knew…”

You aren’t quite sure what he means but you do like the way he says it, your skin flushing as he gently introduces you to a second finger.

And it’s so good. So…full. Exactly the way you’d hoped. Exactly the way he’d promised.

Practiced, and patient, and pure pleasure. Right now, you know nothing but this feeling he’s giving you.

His kisses grow hungrier. Angrier. Like he’s fighting himself on how much he’s enjoying it.

And it makes sense. You’re rather annoyed yourself at how easy it was to start needing him. How desperate he’s made you become in such a short time.

Your arms move to wrap around his shoulders and keep him close, nails scratching at the few hairs lying on the nape of his neck.

You hear him sigh. Perhaps with contentment as he places his other hand on the mattress to brace himself and fully give in.

You wish you’d turned a light on. Wish you could really see him. Drink him in. Admire the man you’ve always loved to look at.

Because he is quite fun to look at.

Your hips lift from the mattress as if chasing the feeling he’s offering, and he makes a noise against your mouth that’s a mix between entertained and disappointed.

“Easy,” he chastises, subtly pushing you back down. “Come on, Princess. Be a good girl and stay still for me.”

“Har,” you whimper again, pulling a bit harder on his curls. “Please…just…hurry.”

“No,” he says simply, and your lashes flutter. “No, I’m gonna enjoy you. Gonna take my time…and you’re gonna take it.”

You exhale a wounded whine as he leans back and slowly removes his fingers.

And the loss of stimulation just about ruins you.

“Fuck,” you seethe between gritted teeth. “Come on. God, knew you’d be a fucking pain in my—”

His hands latch onto your pajama pants and underwear so he can pull them down, and when the cold air hits your cunt…you gasp again.

Once they’re off and discarded to the side, he maneuvers along the mattress until he can take hold of your thighs and guide them apart.

Then…he blows.

A warm, gentle breath dances across your already sensitive pussy, making you tense as he settles onto his stomach.

His fingers constrict around your legs to keep them planted firmly to the bed as he leans in to press a kiss to your inner thigh.

Then, another.

And another.

Higher, and higher, and higher until he’s so close…you can practically taste it.

He pauses and you aren’t sure why. You hope it’s not because something’s wrong. Or because he’s repulsed. Or because he’s changed his—

His tongue presses into your cunt with fervor and pressure, cutting your overthinking short as he takes that taste.

And just like that…everything makes sense.

All you understand his him, and his mouth, and his lips, and the powerful rush of immense and innate pleasure washing over you.

But it doesn’t just wash, it surrounds you. Overwhelms you. Pulls you down until you feel like you’re drowning.

There’s static in your brain as he sucks on your clit and squeezes your legs in his hands. As he leaves kisses across your pussy and traces his name across every inch.

“Harry,” you whisper, too overcome to care how pathetically enamored you sound. “Please…please…please…”

You can’t see him, but you don’t doubt that he’s proud. Probably smiling to himself as he releases one leg to slip his fingers back in.

He curls, and he stretches, and he sucks until your skin is on fire. Until it almost hurts. Until you feel as though you can’t hold it.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, nose bumping into your hip as he works you closer. “S’a good girl…you can take it, come on.”

“Shit…shit, Har,” you breathe, muscles burning from the way you attempt to hold yourself together. “Can’t…please…”

“Yes you can. You can, come on—”

“Harry—”

“I know, Princess. I know. S’okay, you’re okay. I’ve got you—”

“Please…”

“Shh…let me play with you. M’having so much fun. Don’t wanna stop.”

And you don’t want him to stop either. You never want him to stop again. You want to stay here, in this shitty motel, on this lumpy mattress, in his hands. Forever.

He’s so warm, and strong, and safe, and good.

And you can feel the tears slip from your eyes from the immense build-up and from the realization that you are so insanely…happy right now.

You hate him. God, you fucking hate him.

But there’s no one else you’d want around. No one else you can even imagine yourself doing this with.

You don’t want to let this go. This joy, this serenity, this moment.

Him.

You don’t want to let go.

But you know…you’ll have to.

The tears begin to flow a bit faster as you suck in a sharp inhale through quivering lips.

You focus in on his touch. His voice. The gentle rasp that encourages you to keep going. That he’s got you. That you’re doing so good. That he can’t wait to taste you.

And you can’t do it any longer. Can’t hold off, can’t fight it.

You come with a mangled whimper, fingers clawing down the sheets as your thighs squeeze around his head. As you see a glimpse of heaven while he makes you roll against his tongue. As everything changes.

“Fucking perfect,” he hums, working you through every second, thrusts slowing as he eases you back down. “So good, honey. Just like I wanted.”

But you don’t respond. Can’t. Not out of remorse or embarrassment…but because your throat has gone dry from the tears.

And as the dark motel room falls silent…he hears it. Hears your cries as you struggle to contain your emotion.

“Hey…hey,” he calls sternly, quickly straightening up so he can move closer. “What’s wrong? What happened? Why are you crying?”

You don’t answer as he reaches over to flick on the bedside lamp, and the moment the light fills the room, you throw your hands over your face.

“Fuck,” you whisper into your palms, cheeks stained with broken promises and humiliation. “Fuck…fuck, I’m sorry—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he warns, fingers already wrapping around your wrists to pull them down. “Don’t fucking do that. Don’t. Just tell me what happened, tell me what’s wrong.”

But you don’t. Can’t. You simply blink up at him as he studies you, the trepidation clearly etched across his expression.

For a moment, you both stay there. Him kneeling above you, hands tight around yours, and you. Lying in your defeat.

After a minute of silence has come and gone, he seems to understand. Seems to accept that this isn’t about what did happen.

It’s about what didn’t.

His eyes grow sad as he sighs and reaches up to brush a thumb down your lip.

Then, he caresses your cheek with more tenderness than you’ve ever seen from him.

“I know,” he murmurs while your heart just about shatters. “In another life…I would have done it right.”

And you know exactly what he means.

You sniffle as he dips down to find you again. Mouth on yours as a hundred unspoken promises pass between you.

“Yeah…in another life.”

~ Other Harry Blurbs

~ Full Masterlist

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immoralkombat · 8 months

Text

feeling(s)

Kenshi has been blind for maybe an hour or two.

Johnny looks over at him with sympathy. He's not sure what he could possibly do or say to make things seem any less bleak for him. The man was just trying to get his family's heirloom back and now, after months of training and dedication, one of his five senses is gone permanently through no fault of his own. If Johnny were in Kenshi's position, he's sure he'd be feeling just as desolate, if not more so.

Kung Lao is sitting in the far corner, talking to Baraka. He seems genuinely fascinated by Tarkat as a disease. Were Johnny not in the same situation as them, he would find that particular conversation topic a bit morbid. Right now, it's really all they have to talk about. They've already exhausted all the small talk options you normally go through when first meeting someone. They might as well start talking about the disease that'll eventually kill Baraka.

The salve on the cloth seems to have worked a little, because at least Kenshi isn't moaning in pain every few seconds anymore. Not that it makes things significantly more cheerful, but it does help the atmosphere a bit.

Johnny taps on his knees as he sits, eyes darting between looking at Kung Lao and Kenshi. He's kind of in between where the two have sat themselves, a visual and metaphorical median between the two ways one could possibly react to getting imprisoned by a sorcerer that's almost 100% going to kill you. (To be fair, there isn't much that connects the points of "casually talking about a stranger's terminal illness with them as though you're both standing by the office water cooler talking about whatever hit TV show is airing these days" and "rocking back in forth in the corner about how a different terminally ill stranger took your eyes and you have nothing left in this world." Johnny supposes the best middle point is "looking anxiously between your two co-workers and not saying anything because Jesus Christ, what the fuck are you supposed to say in this situation besides aforementioned terminal illness.")

He really wishes that Kenshi still had his eyes, because every time he looked at Johnny, it always seemed to make everything feel okay.

Johnny thinks for a second and then scoots closer to Kenshi. It's only once he accidentally bumps up against Kenshi's foot and scares the living shit out of everyone in the cell that he realizes he probably should've given an audible cue that he was going to be approaching the newly blind guy.

After Kenshi's done having a mini panic attack over the sudden Hollywood A-lister jumpscare he's gotten, Johnny looks at him and asks, quietly, "Do you want to hold Sento for a bit?"

Kenshi turns to face him and even underneath the newly christened blindfold, Johnny can tell that Kenshi is looking at him with the most surprised and reverent eyes in the universe. The kind of look that you'd get and say "fuck this stupid sword, I'd pay $3 million just to get this guy to look at me like that again."

Kenshi's mouth opens as though he's going to say something, but it shuts again before any words or sounds can come out. He opts to nod in response and Johnny takes the scabbard from off his back, holds it in his hands gently and passes it to Kenshi. Their fingertips graze one another, a way to indicate that the blind man is in the right spot. The touch sends crackles of electricity through Johnny and he wonders if Kenshi feels them too.

It's like the tattoos on Kenshi's hands are swirling around him, colors dancing in front of his eyes. It's more beautiful than any lame fucking Disney movie ever could be.

The yakuza's voice is hoarse as he says "Thanks." It's so small that Johnny can almost see it breaking in the air. He wants to put his hand on Kenshi's and tell him that things will be okay, that he's going to pay for a sight companion, any kind of corrective surgeries he wants, whatever it takes. He wants to tell him that he's still just as strong and fierce and goddamn handsome now as he was before. He wants to kiss him so fucking badly it makes his entire being ache.

He settles for saying "You're welcome," and then sitting next to Kenshi in silence.

He watches the way that he holds Sento in his hands, feels every single nick in the scabbard, every single imperfection. It's the first time in Johnny's life that he's ever wanted to be a sword and, if he keeps hanging out with Kenshi after this, (which he hopes he can), it almost certainly won't be the last.

Johnny wishes that Mileena had taken Kenshi's tear ducts with her after she'd stabbed his eyes out, because the short sad sobs that wrack through his body are almost too much to bear witness to. When he cries, it moves through his entire being. It sends a shockwave from his gut upward, makes him lurch his shoulders forward and hug himself.

"H-Hey, what's wrong?" Johnny asks. He knows it's a stupid fucking question, obviously everyone knows what's wrong, most of all the guy it happened to. But it's all he can think to ask as he watches Kenshi continue to awkwardly jerk alongside his cries.

Kenshi's head turns to face Johnny. From beyond the thin red cloth that covers his eye sockets, Johnny can feel them boring into him.

"Cage, could I touch you? I want to remember what your face looks like."

If Johnny were operating on his full mental capacity, he would probably explode at this question. He would become the fireworks they popped last night at the banquet over their heads as they feasted. He would be attached to one end of a fuse with Li Mei holding the other end, readying herself to spark it and send him to the stratosphere.

"Y-Yeah, of course you can, Ken-doll. Just make sure not to damage the goods - people pay good money for this mug to show up on their big screens."

The smugness in his voice would normally earn him a "tch" or a groan, (or an eye roll), from Kenshi. Hearing him chuckle under his breath makes his heart soar.

He turns his face toward him and waits, but no touch comes. His eyes close, he anticipates the electricity to come back... and instead he hears Kenshi clearing his throat awkwardly.

Johnny opens his eyes and finds that Kenshi's still got his hands on Sento. He tries not to be jealous of the sword again, but as with any other time he's tried not to be jealous of someone or something that has what he wants, he fails miserably.

"Could you get closer, Cage?"

"Not the first time I'm hearing that question, won't be the last. How close you need me, handsome?"

The words come out before he can even process them. Jesus Christ, is he really that much of a disaster that he can just openly call a guy he's been crushing on for at least a month handsome without even thinking about it? He's a fucking mess. His wife left him and now he doesn't know how to act. She was gonna be the only person he'd ever be able to trick into loving him and now she was gone.

"I'm going to turn, and I suggest you do the same. I want to be facing you. You can sit with your legs touching mine if it helps."

Great, now Kenshi has a colorful blindfold that also serves as a perfect swatch for the shade of red Johnny's face turns every time the man says something that's totally fucking normal for two people that are acquainted with one another.

Johnny does as he's told, because if there's one thing he's good at, it's taking directions. (Ignoring literally every single major motion picture he's ever been in, every statement he's ever made to the press after consulting his legal teams and public consultants, and generally living life up until this point.)

His knees knock against Kenshi's and it takes him aback for a second, how giddy and childish the butterflies he feels in his stomach are. Getting to know Kenshi was so simple. He wishes he had just taken a second and been less of a dickwad back when they'd first met, because maybe then it'd be easier for him to grow a pair of cajones and tell Kenshi that he doesn't spend a single night without thinking about how much he wants to trace the tattoos on his hands and arms. Maybe if he had just given Sento over, it'd be easier to admit that the low rumble of Kenshi's voice does something to stir up the pool of heat in his stomach that he thought had been long since gone after getting married to Cristal. Maybe if he hadn't tied Kenshi to one of his kitchen chairs, it'd be easier to ask him if kissing washed-up celebrities was something he'd be interested in doing.

"I'll put my hand out, you lean forward to match it."

Kenshi's palm is extended and it takes every ounce of willpower in Johnny's aching body to not press his lips against it. He leans forward until his cheek is lightly touching the yakuza's hand.

He must be hearing things, because he swears he hears Kenshi's breath hitch when they make contact for the first time. Nah, surely not. Must've been the wind.

If Kenshi's senses are heightened because of the loss of his vision, then Johnny's senses are heightened because of the gain of his touch. He purses his lips together to stop from letting out some sort of obscene sound as he feels Kenshi's hand slowly smooth over his cheek. He thanks whatever fucked up Gods exist other than Liu Kang that he finally got on that moisturizing routine that he learned off of TikTok three months ago.

As Kenshi's hand slowly feels out every angle and curve of Johnny's face, his thoughts rush a mile a minute. He wonders if he should've done a closer shave today - maybe his stubble is gonna be too sharp and it'll hurt Kenshi and leave him with little cuts or rug burn on his pretty perfect wrap-around-my-throat-please hands. He wonders if his nose is too big. He wonders if he maybe should've invested in hair plugs after that one weird SNL dropout made a comment about his weird square hairline back when he guest starred on the Comedy Central roast of Megan Fox. He wonders if his eyes are too small or too large or too close together or too far apart. He wonders if he should smile so Kenshi can feel his dimples.

"Yep, it all feels just like how I remember it. Although the stubble has gotten a little longer."

That is certainly not the answer he was expecting to hear.

His voice is small, barely there, as he chokes out his question. "You remember what I look like?"

Kenshi nods. "I do."

Johnny goes to open his mouth to ask, "Then why did you ask to touch it if you already knew?"

But then Kenshi's fingers are on his lips, tracing them with the reverence he'd have holding Sento, and for a moment, Johnny finally thinks he's better than that stupid fucking sword. His smile has the same curves, the same edges. The only difference is that Kenshi can't accidentally hurt himself this way. (He can, however, accidentally hurt Johnny. But even that would be better than the alternative, he thinks.)

Kenshi's thumb is on his bottom lip, the rest of his hand now holding Johnny's chin. If he tilts it up even one degree, Johnny thinks it'll be over for him, that he'll be kissing Kenshi before he can even think to stop himself. He'd always had poor impulse control - why else would he have spent $3 million on a fucking sword to hang up in his living room?

"These are the same, too. I'm glad you weren't hurt in the fight, Cage."

Johnny feels so fucking overwhelmed. He wants to ask so many things. First of all, what does "these are the same, too" mean? Second, why does he care about the guy who bought his fucking family heirloom and refuses to give it back? Third, why does he insist on calling him Cage like one day he won't end up calling him Johnny and breaking his heart? Fourth, what in the goddamn fuck does he mean about Johnny's fucking lips being the goddamn motherfucking same?!

Johnny decides to play it up like he always does. "Well, 'course. Gotta keep my pretty mouth. It's what makes the big bucks. I wouldn't be the same without it."

Kenshi smirks, and thank Liu Kang's weird god siblings that he's blind right now, because Johnny is beet red, mouth agape, with his eyebrows raised (and he's fairly certain that something else also rises).

"That's true. You would not be the same without that infamous mouth." Kenshi accents the compliment(?) with a playful slap to Johnny's cheek, and then his hand is withdrawn entirely, leaving an empty ghost where he should still be holding Johnny's face in his hands.

He bites back the urge to immediately ask if Kenshi wants to know just how infamous the mouth is, and settles for clearing his throat and moving back to sitting against the wall next to Kenshi.

He looks over at him after he's gotten calmed down. His heart is still jackhammering against his ribs, but as long as Kenshi can't feel his pulse, he doesn't have to know. Kenshi seems to sense Johnny's eyes on him because he turns to face him, red blindfold all that stands between the gaping holes where Kenshi's eyes used to be and Johnny's gaze full of adoration.

The yakuza grabs Sento from his lap and hands it back to Johnny.

"Thank you. I appreciate you letting me hold it. And I appreciate your help in grounding me back to reality."

Johnny nods, taking Sento back and putting it where it so wrongfully deserves to be, strapped against Johnny's sore fucking back.

"No problem. Lemme know whenever you get the urge to feel out what an Adonis looks like, I'm happy to oblige." His comment is a means to an end. He plays up the egoism to ignore the shock that courses through him as Kenshi's fingertips touch his one last time.

He resolves then and there to give Sento back as soon as they escape from here, and they will escape.

This cannot be the last time he feels Kenshi's hands on him.

Baraka whispers, about as well as he can without lips or an inside voice, "Do they not realize how much they yearn for one another?"

Kung Lao shakes his head, putting a hand on Baraka's shoulder and immediately regretting it once he feels a spike tear into his palm. "They've just gotta be stupid about it for a bit longer. They'll figure it out."

"Surely their pining has to cause some sort of agony for you as well, does it not, Earthrealmer?" Baraka looks genuinely confused, or as close to it as he can get from what Kung Lao can tell.

Kung Lao hangs his head, sighing languidly. "Of course it does. But what else am I gonna do about it? Tell them? They're not gonna believe me. Trust me, they've got to figure it out on their own time, or they never will."

And as he sees Johnny's hand inch closer to Kenshi's, finally overlapping the tattoos and interlocking their fingers, Kung Lao thinks that maybe the agony won't last much longer.

#johnshi #johnny cage x kenshi #johnny x kenshi #kenshi x johnny #kenshi x johnny cage #johnny cage #kenshi #kenshi takahashi #mk1 #mk1 2023 #mk1 spoilers #mortal kombat 1 2023 #mortal kombat 1 spoilers #mortal kombat #this was also posted to my ao3 but i'm keeping works limited to registered users only bc. protecting my works and whatnot!#cross posted on ao3 #immoralkombat.exe

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hannieehaee · 5 months

Text

18+ / mdi

content: thor au, mingyu has superhuman strength (he's literally a god so), mingyu's kinda a dick, re-imagined plot of the first thor movie for fanfic purposes, mentions of movie characters, afab reader, smut, penetrative sex, etc.

wc: 2203

a/n: thor was my favorite marvel movie growing up so i loved doing this!!! tysm to the person who requested this and im soooo sorry it took me so long T-T also i havent watched the movies in forever so im so sorry for inaccuracies </3

masterlist

mingyu wasnt too sure where he was.

just moments ago he had been fighting with his younger brother, loki, scolding him over yet another mischievous act, but now he was in the middle of nowhere. well, at least that was going off of his surroundings. in the distance, he could see various signs detailing the foreign words 'new mexico'.

he had just been wandering aimlessly around the desert, not paying too much attention to his surroundings as he tried to make sense of where he was. that was until his entire body was pushed forward by a massive object, making him lose most of his ability to process what just had happened. he was only slightly lucid as he laid limp on the ground, barely processing the girl looking down on him, completely freaked out at having just ran over a man in the middle of nowhere. without putting much of a fight, he allowed you and your friend to struggle your way as you dragged him into the back of your van, probably not wanting to leave any evidence that you'd almost committed homicide.

unfortunately for you both, he passed out quickly after that, not allowing you to confirm any information about him, nor giving you a chance to stumble your way through an apology for almost killing him.

seeing as you almost cost him his life, you decided to bring him to your laboratory, where you would let him rest until he was conscious enough for you to find a way to make it up to him. your friend darcy left you on your own, claiming it wasn't much of her problem since you had been the one driving when you crashed into him.

as you waited for him to wake up, you wondered how and why he had survived your van crashing into him. i mean, he didn't sustain any injuries, simply passing out from the impact. he had even left damage on the van itself upon the crash. looking at him, you realized he was very fit, with muscles bulging from the strange armor he had on. you hadn't questioned any of this until now, being mostly freaked out by almost killing him, but it was all now making you wonder the logistics of the situation.

you didn't have too much time to think, as he began to stir, groaning a bit before actually waking up. he jumped in place upon realizing he was in unfamiliar surroundings, staring at you with wide eyes as he backed away a bit.

"hey-"

"you! who are you? where am i?"

"listen, you might be a bit disoriented after the accident, you're in-"

"new mexico? right? i saw a sign earlier today."

"yeah, it's-"

"okay, but where is new mexico? i need to get back to asgard. how can i manage that?"

"asgard? listen, you must be going through a psychic episode, just let me-"

"stay away! i demand you tell me where i am!"

jesus christ, this man was stubborn. not once sentence could leave your lips before he was making demands. he didn't even give you a chance to apologize either. you weren't sure what he meant by his blabbering, which was still going on by now. asgard? was he hallucinating about norse mythology? had you rendered this man insane?

"we're in new mexico! right by texas? are you okay? you seem kind of disoriented. i'm so sorry about what happened, i-"

"my armor! you damaged it with your machine!", he finally looked down at the scratches and missing bits of his armor, eyes widening once more.

he got up from his spot, marching around your laboratory and grabbing at things with curiosity. he eventually came across your globe, reading out the label before gasping loudly.

"earth?! loki told me of this place. that means you're a human," he was mostly speaking to himself before turning to finally direct himself at you, "human. i am mingyu, the god of thunder. you must help me get back to asgard. can you do that?"

you were speechless throughout his entire ransacking of your lab, but even more so now. was this an insane man you were with in the middle of the desert? you had brought him to your secluded lab out of remorse for what you'd done, but now you were alone in the middle of the night with a maniac. a very strong one at that.

"don't look at me like that," he interrupted your thoughts, "i know im not the god your people typically serve, but i still demand your help. you did hit me, after all."

that broke you out of your spell, your niceness peaking out again, "i'm sorry! i-"

"great! so now you're indebted to me," he clapped his hands together, "how shall we begin?"

okay, there was no way you were helping this maniac with his senseless plan, but you needed to think of a sensible way to tell him to fuck off.

"you're mingyu? the god of thunder? why are you reciting norse mythology to me? i cant get you back to asgard. it doesnt exist," okay, not subtle, but it was a start.

"listen, human. your kind would not understand the depth behind my people. you don't believe me? i'll show you."

and with that, he raised his arm, erected and facing to his side as he stared at you directly into your eyes. he stayed like this for a minute before you chose to question him, only to be shushed by him once more, "just give it a minute, human."

it was about three minutes when suddenly a hammer came crashing through the wall, destroying everything in its way in order to arrive to mingyu's hand.

next thing you knew, you were hiding under your table, utterly terrified at whatever the fuck was happening. was he really the mingyu? but those were all a child's tale, were they not? did you truly have a god standing before you, trying to convince you to come out from hiding?

"human, i- im sorry. i shouldve warned you. come out, please? i'll even forgive you for crashing into me. i just need some help," he sounded so defeated, you couldn't help but feel sorry for him, deciding to come out from hiding as long as he put his hammer down, something to which he agreed to with no hesitation.

"o-okay, mingyu. are you- you're real? shit, okay, never mind. you clearly are. but how can i help you? i'm not a god, h-how am i supposed to help you go back home?"

"there's always a way, human. we just need to find an opening. you see ..." he proceeded to explain his entire plan to you, sounding way more intelligent than he had shown himself to be throughout every interaction you'd had with him so far. he was also standing. very. close. it was hard to pay attention when the damage of his suit allowed you such a perfect view at his gigantic muscles. but you needed to focus! you owed it to him to at least try to help him.

the plan had been settled soon after that, agreeing that tomorrow you'd use your 'machine' (re: car) to drive him to a specific spot in which he'd be able to gather enough energy to summon lightning from the sky, which would render him powerful enough to communicate with gandall, who would take him back to asgard. it was too much for the regular person to process, but luckily for him, the person who almost ran him over was a scientist who was very well read on norse mythology.

after that, you had told him he could hit a shower, located in the habitable part of the lab in which you'd stay at sometimes. you let him know you two should also catch some sleep before tomorrow. you offered up your bed, claiming you'd take the couch since you'd caused him all this trouble anyway. he agreed with no argument, making you frown a little at his lack of gallantry.

he came out of the shower soon after, all while you sat on the couch occupied by a book. you heard his arrival, but didn't pay him much mind until doing a double take on him, realizing he was stark naked, with every glorious inch of skin in full display.

"jesus christ! what the hell are you doing?!", you covered your face with your book, extremely flustered at the sight. how was he so bi-

"what? is there no nudity on earth?", he sat on the couch, way too close to you.

"yes! but not like this! you're supposed to warn me beforehand. i-"

"why won't you look at me, human? uncover your face at once."

you weren't sure why, but you followed his direction, removing the book from your face but keeping your eyes closed.

"eyes open too."

you opened them, looking up as to avoid staring at his nether area. although you weren't looking at him, you could tell he had moved to sit even closer, making you anxious about what he'd do next.

"look at me."

you looked down to find him staring directly at you, face at only a few inches from yours. you couldn't help it when your eyes lowered to his lips, noticing him mirror your actions.

"this?" he whispered, "this is what you want?"

it was an ominous and unclear statement, but you still found yourself nodding, too full of a sudden surge of lust to think properly.

he attacked you with his lips, using full force immediately upon kissing you. he was very intense with his movements, almost immediately pinning you down on the couch, an easy feat for a god with his superhuman strength.

you couldn't help how wet you grew almost immediately, having taken a peak at his massive length when he had first approached you on the couch. was he going to put that in you? you were kinda terrified, but also giddy to feel the insane stretch he was about to give you.

you kept keening against him, softly moaning into his lips as he ground his hips against your own, making him groan in return.

"gods, human. you're so fragile ... so delicate. i'm gonna- gonna break you," it sounded like dirty talk, but there was some genuine concert laced in his tone.

"do it! please ... please fuck me," all dignity had left you the moment you saw him in all his naked glory, so any begging was fair game to you by now.

he chuckled, "yeah? pretty princess wants me to fuck her? think you can take it?", he was quite literally dangling his dick in front of your eyes, hands ripping your shorts out of the way as you gasped at the act.

"sorry, princess," he coo'd condescendingly, "they were getting in my way."

he didnt bother to check whether you were wet enough or not before plunging into you, but you had fortunately been dripping for him by then. still, his massive size had you writhing under him, screaming his name to anyone who could hear you from your secluded location.

"oh? now you pray my name? fuck, beautiful human. didn't know humans could be so pretty ..." he was growing delirious at the tightness of your cunt, combined with your much smaller frame. all women in asgard were as big and built as him. this was his first time experiencing anything like this, and it had him rethinking his return to asgard.

'g-gyu ... shit. i'm gonna cum, please!'

he folded you like a pretzel, not caring to conceal his inhuman strength as he pounded madly into you, feeding off your gasps and squeals. you were making him see valhalla.

"pretty princess ... cum for me. let me have yours and i'll give you mine- shit! gonna breed you. gonna come back here and take care of you every time im lonely. g-gonna keep you all to myself. my pretty secret on earth."

the idea of mingyu popping by to fuck you whenever the literal heaven that was asgard became too boring for him had you keening, now grateful you had ran him over as your orgasm attacked you unexpectedly.

you had never felt such a high, almost feeling like you had astral-projected into heaven. mingyu seemed to be in a similar situation, groaning against your mouth as he filled you up with his endless seed. seemed like he was well-endowed in all areas, being a god and all.

"fuck ... thank you for that, human," he thanked you as he got up, at least having the courtesy of helping you clean up, "now i feel kinda bad about leaving."

"then dont," you werent sure why you said that. maybe the high of your orgasm.

"yeah?", he smirked, nearing you once again, "convince me," you noticed his hardness was already back, at a literally inhuman speed.

you weren't sure how you were meant to take him again with no rest in between, but you were willing to take the challenge. you'd worry about how to get the god back to his home tomorrow. for now, you were going to enjoy him while you had him.

a/n: before anyone comes for me, I KNOW this isnt very inaccurate for thor (ive watched the movies too many times) but i wanted to write a short smutty blurb and not go off with too many words so this is what we ended up with

#seventeen fanfic #seventeen x reader #svt fanfic #seventeen #svt #svt x reader #seventeen imagine #seventeen oneshot #seventeen smut #svt smut #mingyu scenario #mingyu imagines #mingyu fanfic #mingyu smut #mingyu oneshot #mingyu x reader

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magicalqueennightmare · 7 months

Text

Not Exactly Lying

Butcher pushes about what exactly happened when he left you to watch after Ben....uh Soldier Boy (Reminder that reader has a nickname/supe name of Blaze due to her power being pyrokinesis)

Part 2 to Not Exactly Babysitting

Cursing, Violence, Alcohol Consumption, lewd acts, NSFW, angry sex, angst (I think that's all)

You were having a hard time keeping up with the news where Annie and Ben were concerned. Every other channel had something containing Starlight or Soldier Boy. You were just trying to stay off the radar. You would text Kimiko or Frenchie when they checked in with you but besides that you hadn't had much contact with any of the boys. Well Butcher had called quite a few times but you always managed to dodge his calls.

You'd been hotel hopping, paying in cash and staying anywhere you could for the simple fact Homelander knew you ran with the boys if he got it into his head that you could be used against any of them? Well you weren't taking the chance. You were supposed to meet Maeve for a drop of cash, she'd been helping you but when she texted instead to tell you she'd dropped the envelope off with Butcher at the office you almost decided to take your chances getting money out of the bank instead.

You walked up the stairs slowly, praying that maybe anyone else would be there also. You would kill to see MM or Frenchie hell even Hughie who you knew would never do anything besides listen to Butcher. You stopped just outside the door and took a deep breath before pushing it open. There was two lamps on so the room was mainly in shadows, Butcher was sitting on the leather couch in front of one of the tall windows working on a bottle of bourbon.

No one else was in the room and you felt your stomach knot. He glanced up at you and half smiled "Hello Luv. I'm guessing you're here for what Maeve dropped off?" You nodded, walking past the empty desks to come to stand in front of him "You, Annie and Ben are making headlines. I don't need that asshole deciding I'm worth going after again" he cut his eyes up at your words. The metal of the pendant he wore was a stark contrast to the black button up shirt he had on.

----------------

Your eyes flicked down to his chest, taking in the expanse of chest that was visible. Butcher was a lot of things, unattractive was not one of them. "Ben, huh?" You realized your slip up but shrugged nonchalantly "Him and Annie both kind of have Homelander staying on his toes" he nodded, raising his eyes to meet yours "I never did ask how you and him passed the time when I got you to watch after him"

You refused to let yourself squirm under his harsh gaze, you'd faced worse than an interrogation by Billy Butcher. His hazel eyes studied your face and you knew he was looking for the slightest of slip as to if you were lying to him. You reached for his glass which he let you take, quickly downing the rest of the bourbon. "I read a few books, he watched a few movies. We went through like six takeout place menus and then I took the bed and he took the couch"

-----------

He nodded before standing up. You tracked his movements the entire time, stepping back a half step to give a bit of room between the two of you. The height difference and the way your stomach flipped at the look in his eyes made an entirely different face flash through your memory. "Can I ask one thing then Blaze" you raised an eye at him calling you Blaze instead of your name or a simple Luv or sweetheart. "Ask Butch"

He took a step towards you and you forced your feet to remain in place. You weren't in any actual danger from Billy, you knew that for a fact. He was standing over you, your faces mere inches from each other as he asked "Why was there scorch marks on the bed?"

You knew your features were schooled but your mind raced. Damn Ben had promised he'd make a believable lie. "Don't know, must have had a nightmare" he nodded "That's what he said too" you shrugged "See? So what's your issue here Billy? What's the attitude and the whole sitting in a darkened room waiting on me to show up?" He took a deep breath "Did he hurt you?"

--------------

You felt yourself deflate, the anger you'd felt building quickly dissolved. That was why he'd called you so much, why he had others checking in so much. You shook your head "No Billy. Ben didn't hurt me" He nodded slowly "Did ya fuck that cunt?" Damn, that anger of yours managed to flare right back up in that instant "What?"

He took another step towards you, close enough you weren't sure if the bourbon you tasted was on your own tongue or if it was from his breath. You felt your power threaten to flow out and it took everything in you to reign it in as you said "So let me get this straight, you haven't sought me out face to face in weeks then you sit here all melodramatic and acting like you care if I'd been hurt just to in turn ask me if I fucked him?"

He gave you a slight smirk "I do care about you luv. That's why I asked if he hurt ya. But I know ya too, if ya hadn't fucked him you would've already swung on me" your hands were practically trembling with how angry you were, flames began to dance across your fingertips. "Since when is it any of your business what I do Billy? As long as I answer when you call that's all you give a damn about right?"

He grabbed your hand and you started to snatch away, despite your anger you didn't want to hurt him but the flames weren't effecting him even as they danced over his skin. Your eyes went from your hand to his face "What the fuck did you do?" "Give us an edge over Homelander. Make sure that bastard burns for what he did to Becca, what he did to you"

You snatched away from him finally, shaking your head "You took that temp v shit Annie told me about" He smiled "It works" You shoved him back with both hands on his chest, he slid backwards but not as much as he should've had he not been using that shit. He was a supe, temp or not. Never thought you'd see the day.

"That shit is experimental, you don't know what the fuck it could be doing to your insides! Billy it could fucking kill you!" The bastard had the nerve to shrug one shoulder and throw your own words back at you "Since when is it any of your business what I do?"

Without thinking you swung on him and connected a hard punch to his jaw. He stumbled just slightly and rubbed a hand over his jaw "Damn I'm glad I've never pissed you off bad enough before, would've broke my damn jaw" "I should break your fucking jaw! God dammit Butcher you know better than to fuck around with bullshit from Vought!"

--------------

He smirked "I don't know I've been fucking around with you for a while now" you started to swing on him again but he caught your wrist. You stared him down and noticed how his eyes flicked down towards your lips, was this turning the asshole on?

"That what the issue is here isn't it Butch?" He raised an eyebrow in question so you pushed "You're not mad I fucked Ben, you could give a damn less as long as it was consensual. You're mad I fucked him and turned you down when you got back that day. You're mad that had you kissed me you would've been tasting Ben's cock" considering he still had your wrist you decided to see how far you could push him.

You used your free hand to slip around his neck, pulling him closer to you "That the problem Billy? Do you want to fuck me so bad that you'd go through all the dramatics instead of just asking for a fuck? Or are you worried I'll be comparing you to Ben, thinking about his cock while yours is inside of me"

A sinister grin slipped onto his face "Luv I'd fuck the thought of good old soldier boy right out of ya" "Don't think you're man enough for the job" you raised an eyebrow as you taunted him.

He dropped your wrist in favor of slipping an arm around your waist, pulling you to his chest "Say what you want here Blaze" you pulled him down to where your lips were almost touching "At the moment? I want you" he smirked slightly before his lips crashed against yours in a searing kiss.

---------------

He groaned into your mouth when you tugged roughly at the hair at the back of his head, deepening the kiss. Both of his hands went to your hips pulling a gasp from you when he slipped them under your ass and easily lifted you into his arms. Billy had always been strong as hell but the temp v made it where lifting you was as easy as lifting a feather. You wrapped your legs around his waist, never breaking the kiss as he walked backwards to the couch he'd been sitting on and dropped you roughly onto the cushions.

You pulled him down with you, fumbling for the buttons on his shirt while he found the hem of yours. The two of you broke away from each other long enough for Billy to toss his shirt across the room then pull yours over your head and toss it as well. The look in his eyes darkened even more as he looked down at you, the chain around his neck dangling as he left another kiss against your lips before then across your jaw to attack your neck, kissing and biting across the sensitive skin there in a way that had your hips bucking up against his.

"Easy luv. Don't want ya screaming my name just yet" he muttered against your skin and you swallowed twice before biting back "Don't flatter yourself Butch" when his lips found your clothed breast he bit down harshly on one of them causing you to bite into your bottom lip in an effort to not make any sound yet.

He glanced up at you as he pushed the cloth down off your breast, exposing the skin to his lips. He gingerly kissed the area he'd bit maintaining eye contact with you "I know you better than that cunt ever could. I know everything you like and just how to get you off" You moved your hips impatiently "Less talking" he chuckled darkly as he kissed down your stomach stopping just shy of the waistband of your jeans.

---------------

He unbuttoned your jeans and tapped your hips so you would raise them off the couch far enough he could slip your jeans off along with your panties. He gave you one of those smiles you'd always hated and loved from him before he lowered his mouth to your core.

The first lick was tentative, teasing but when the bastard managed to pull a whimper from your lips he gripped your hips roughly, holding them down to the couch and effectively keeping them spread. "Easy Butch. You have supe strength" you reminded him breathlessly and his grip loosened just a bit before he attacked your clit, licking and sucking the spot that made your eyes roll back into your head.

You moaned his name as he worked you closer to that edge and damn him when that building tension finally burst and your legs began to shake he didn't slow his movements any. Before you could come down fully from one orgasm he slipped two fingers in along with his tongue and found that spot deep inside of you, curling his fingers to tease over it.

"Fuck Billy" you moaned, pleasure making your vision go soft around the edges as another orgasm washed over you. You felt flames flicker to life on your fingertips but Billy simply moved his hands from your hips to your hands, smothering the flames with his skin as he worked you through your orgasm then finally broke away from your body.

---------------

You stared down at him feeling your entire lower half quivering from his touch "God damn you Butcher" he ran his thumbs over your hands, a slight smile slipping onto his face "You are always such a sweet talker Y/N"

You groaned flipping your hands up to grip his wrist "You want sweet talk? Get your pants off and fuck me like you mean it" he didn't say another word, simply leaned up far enough to kick his pants off then was moving back up your body to catch your lips in a rough kiss that was all teeth and tongue.

You felt his hard cock pressing against your thigh and reached down between your bodies to run your fingers across him, he broke away from your lips to bury his face into your neck "Like that luv"

You wrapped your hand around him, lining him up with your opening "Fuck me Billy" when he pushed into you a low moan escaped you both "Feel fucking amazing" he cursed as he started to roll his hips against yours, testing to see if you were ready for him to move. When your response was to wrap your legs around his waist that must have been the go ahead he needed because he pulled almost all the way out just to slam back into you.

---------------

He gave you a few hard thrusts but when he moved his hips just right the angle meant the head of his cock had found that spot inside of you. He bit down on your neck as he groaned "There's no way you're coming again" you couldn't exactly form a coherent response so you simply moaned "Fuck, just don't stop Butch"

You were so damn close, that familiar knot began to build in your stomach and when Billy slipped a hand between you to rub tight circles onto your clit your vision went white as another orgasm washed over you.

He fucked you through that orgasm and when your head cleared you could feel that he was holding back. You reached a hand up to cup the side of his face, nails grazing his beard "Fuck me harder Billy. You know me, I'm not gonna fucking break. I want you to come"

"Tell me if it's too much?" He asked through gritted teeth and you nodded. His thrusts got harder and deeper, he hooked your legs over his arms giving himself an even better angle. You knew he was close by how his thrusts began to stutter and could feel yourself heading for another orgasm.

When he finally came, burying himself deep inside of you the feeling of him finding his release was enough to shove you over that edge a fourth time.

---------------

He was holding his weight on his arms and your lower half to avoid crushing you as both of you worked to catch your breath. He leaned down to press another kiss to your lips before pulling out. You groaned at the loss of contact but gave yourself a few breaths before you sat up looking around for your clothes.

Billy watched you as you gathered your clothes and headed for the bathroom. You weren't expecting meaningful conversation but neither of you spoke a word.

---------------

Once you were cleaned up and fully dressed down to your boots you walked back out of the bathroom to find Billy standing just outside the door. He had a big envelope in his hand and held it out "I care enough that I don't like the thought of someone hurting you. We may need you when this all comes to a head" You took the envelope and nodded "If Ben's certain he can burn the compound v out that asshole it would be my pleasure to be there when he dies"

He nodded and stepped closer to you "Watch your back and if you need anything call" You half smiled "Is this where I'm supposed to believe you'd answer?" A look of almost guilt passed through his eyes "Am I that bad you think I wouldn't help you if you needed it?"

You shook your head "No Billy. I just know if it comes to vengeance for Becca or helping me I come second. We all know that and have for years. I don't take it to heart Billy. It just is what it is" you kissed his cheek before turning to walk out.

You heard him call himself a cunt under his breath but kept walking. You needed a shower and some sleep.

The next night you were nearly asleep when your phone started ringing. You fumbled for it half expecting to see Frenchie or MM's caller id. When you didn't recognize the number you answered it with a cautious "Hello?"

Ben's voice hit your ears "Y/N, we need to talk" you swallowed hard "Face to face or over the phone good?" You asked and he said "Can you meet me at Butchers office?" You nodded then thought about the fact that you were on the phone "Yeah. Meet ya in twenty" then hung up

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You hadn't expected Ben to look so damn normal. He was wearing jeans, a black t-shirt under a leather jacket with boots. He was leaning against the doorway and pushed off when he saw you "Thanks for coming" you nodded then motioned at the door "I have a key if you wanna go in?" He shook his head "I found something out and it only seemed right to tell you"

You nodded "What is it?" He seemed almost nervous? Which was weird in itself. "They did a lot of experiments on me, took samples of everything. I didn't know what it was for until me, Butcher and Hughie went after Mindstorm" "ok?" You asked and he took a deep breath "He's my kid" "Who?" You started to ask but stopped dead in your tracks, the icy realization hitting you hard.

You stumbled a few steps back from him "That son of a bitch is your son?" He reached for your arm but flames flicked up it, your powers trying to protect you without you even trying "Blaze I'm not going to hurt you" you shook your head "Your kid already hurt me enough. Are you turning on Butcher? On all of us? Are you gonna go save your rapist son?"

He shook his head "Hell no. For one, I'm a man of my word, I said I'd help take him down and I will. For two, I've seen the scars of what he did to you. I'm going to kill him son or not but I wanted you to know" "Why?" You asked concentrating on snuffing the flames out on your skin as he shrugged "Just felt like I should" you nodded slowly "What now?"

"I'm headed back to the hotel I'm crashing at. Are you safe to get back to yours?" You nodded "Yeah" he reached for your arm and this time you let him. When his fingers closed around your arm he used the other hand to brush your hair back out of your face "You'll see him dead. I promise" you finally met his gaze, those green eyes holding you in place "I'll hold you to it" he almost smiled at your words "I wouldn't expect any less out of you"

@deans-spinster-witch

@what-the-hellamidoing

#billy butcher x you #billy butcher x female reader #billy butcher x reader #the boys fanfic #the boys fandom #previous #soldier boy x female reader

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quintinh43 · 1 month

Note

Throwing away their piles of tissues when they have a cold.

With Nico hischier!!

Thank you for requesting 🥰 I know yall probably wanted to see nico taking care of reader, but as yall know I'm a slut for reader taking care of the boys and this just felt so perfect.

Nico was arguably the most stubborn mother fucker you had ever have the pleasure of meeting in your entire damn life. He was strong and kind and loving. He prioratized everyone before himself. Whether it be you, his family, his team, or a random fucking stranger on the street.

Which is how he ended up with the fucking plague. (It wasn't the plague, but your dramatics tended to get the better of you when you were mad at your boyfriend.)

"Nico Hischier, get your ass back in bed before I douse you with chloroform," you threatened, pushing his chest firmly back towards the bedroom.

"I'm fine, schatz-" he was cut off by a coughing fit that had him doubling over. Your demeanor did a complete 180° as you stood beside him, rubbing his back soothingly and muttering sweet words.

"Seriously nico, my love," you say, cupping his face between both hands after his coughing fit had passed, "you need rest,"

"But the team-"

"The team will be fine. They are in good hands. Plus, the faster you rest up, the faster you can get back to it." You say, stroking your thumbs over his cheekbones. He's burning up, and it makes your heart pang in your chest.

"But Schatz i- "

"Nico, please." You beg with a sigh, "if not for your sake, then for mine, so I'm not worried about you?"

Nico concedes with a sigh, walking back to the bedroom, "Let it be known this is to ease your worries and, not because I am sick,"

You roll your eyes fondly, tucking him into bed, "Of course, my love. Thank you for resting, for me" you plant a tender kiss on his forehead.

"Schatz! Dont kiss me, what if you my germs?" He says hoarsely, trying to fight off another coughing fit.

You cross your arms, staring down at him smugly, "I thought you weren't sick?" You tease.

He pales, realizing his admission. He opens his mouth to try and form an excuse but breaks out coughing again. You shake your head and brush his head back from his forehead. "I'm going to get you some cough medicine."

Nico tried to protest, but he's too busy hacking his lungs out. You wince and hurry to the kitchen, scrambling through the medicine cabinet for the cough syrup. You grab a bottle of water and Gatorade and go back to the bedroom, where, thankfully, Nico's coughing fit is over.

Setting everything on the night stand you pour the cough syrup into the spoon and feed it to him gently.

"Egh," he sticks out his tongue in disgust. You can't help but giggle.

"I'm gonna make some fresh ginger tea and some soup, and you'll be right as rain in no time, ok honey?" You say smoothing the crease between his eyebrows.

Nico has given up the tough guy act. He nuzzels his head against your hand, and you place another kiss on his forehead, much to his disdain. "Do you want me to turn on a movie?"

Nico shakes his head, "I just want you," he says tugging on your arm.

"I know, honey, I know," you coo, "As soon as I'm done making you soup, ok?"

"Ok, don't take too long," he flashes his infamous puppy dog eyes, and you're practically melting at the seams. "Keep drinking lots of liquids, ok?"

He nods, "And I'm right in the kitchen, so just shout if you need anything,"

He nods again, and you press one last kiss to his forehead before turning on 101 Dalmatians for him on the TV.

The soup doesn't take long. It's your mom's famous chicken noodle soup recipe. You ladle the soup into a bowl and grind fresh ginger, turmeric, cinnamon, and honey into a paste and fill the rest of the cup with hot water.

Nico looks worse than before. His skin is pale and clammy, There's a pile of tissues on the nightstand. His nose looks red and irritated, and he's sniffling consistently. He has the duvet pulled all the way up to his chin, and it's tucked around his shoulders to keep the cold out. Your poor Nico.

You set the soup on the nightstand, along with the tea, and gather his pile of tissues to throw them out. "Come on, Nico, sit up for me," you nudge gently.

"Can't Schatz," he murmurs "too cold,"

You pad to the closet with a sigh and pull out one of Nicos fleece hoodies. "Put this on, baby." You say handing it to him. He reluctantly removes himself from his blanket cocoon and pulls the hoodie over his head. He takes the bowl of soup gratefully, and you slip under the blankets beside him, curling against his side.

"Thank you, my love," he murmurs, pressing a kiss against your forehead.

You wrinkle your nose, "Ew, I don't want your germs Neeks!" You squeak, dramatically rubbing his kiss off your forehead.

He chuckles and then coughs. After he finishes his soup and complains the entire time he drinks the tea, the two of you fall asleep curled into one another. And if a week a later Nico is the one spoon feeding you medicine, and disposing of your snotty tissues well...

That's what love is.

#guess who's still not doing her assignment 🤪#feeling silly goofy #its due in an hour!#and instead here i am!#nico hischier #nico hischer x reader #nh13 #nhl imagines #nhl blurb #nico hischer blurb #nico hischer imagine #hes so precious

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gatorbites-imagines · 8 months

Note

Hello~!

So may I request a poly ghost face (from 1996) where they have an autistic trans!reader. Ik a lot (I'm projecting) the reader stims vocally by mimicking what they say, and they have a special interest (am like bugs, gore, sharks, dinosaurs, something around those lines yk? I feel like gore would fit) the reader rambles and rants Abt their special interest a lot! Just those kinds of things. I feel like you'd be able to capture this perfectly, thank you! Have a wonderful time zone :)

Poly Ghostface x autistic trans male reader

Headcanons

I always headcanon Stu as having something like ADHD, or just more hyperactive autism.

Been a while since I wrote about these two, huh? I’ve kinda missed em, ngl. Hope it’s alright I took some liberties with the hyperfixations :)

I can imagine that maybe you were friends with Stu when you were kids, because you were both “weird” in other people’s opinion. Stu because he was too hyperactive and could never sit still, and you because of your weird interests and how you were quite antisocial at times.

Time would pass, you guys would grow older. Stu would become someone popular, as his erratic and hyper personality becomes something others admire because he’s fun, whilst you stay being the weirdo with too much interest in medical texts, insects, and decomposition.

Neither of you meant to do it, but you would grow apart. Stu would get his new friends, specifically Billy, and you would stay by yourself burying yourself in your special interests. Its not strange to find you flipping through medical books or books about the horrors of war and medical malpractice. The more pictures the better.

When its not medical texts and war pictures with as much gorey detail as possible in the text and pictures, you can be found reading about death and the work of being a mortician, the way a body decays, and all that.

And when its neither of those things, you can be found looks at bugs, lifting rocks or moving trash to see what critters you can find. You have a sketchbook you like to draw in, three ones at that, one for each hyperfixation since you don’t wanna mix the information in them.

Its in the many niche medical books you learn about being transgender, and suddenly how uncomfortable you are in your own body makes sense. You don’t need any friends, or your families support to transition, that’s what you tell yourself at least.

You haven’t really had any real friends since you split form Stu when you were kids, and your creepy interests chase off anyone who might attempt to befriend you.

So, when you show up one day to school and openly tell people you are now a boy, no one really questions it, because why would they? You’re already weird, and compared to all your other quirks, being a boy is probably the most normal thing about you.

Through all these years you haven’t experienced as much bullying as you probably would have anywhere else, all thanks to Billy and Stu.

Stu because he still sees you as his friend in some way, and Billy because he’s fascinated by you. One day after you had come out, he walked behind you and saw you drawing detailed diagrams of top surgery in grotesque detail, and Billy has been hooked since.

At some point you and Billy would end up talking, one way or another. Maybe it was at the video store around Halloween one night, maybe the year Sidney’s mom died, and Billy would ask your opinion on the horror movie selection.

Youd grimace and say they sucked since the gore was so unrealistic, which Billy, the freak, would definitely ask into why you thought so. This would lead to you infodumping to him for a long time, going through multiple movies and explaining how its unrealistic and what would have made it better.

As infodumping goes, you don’t even realize how long you’ve been standing there talking to one of the hottest guy at your school about fictional gore, until Randy has to tell you guys that the store is closing soon.

You end up getting real embarrassed about wasting his time like that, which Billy is quick to tell you that nothing was wasted because he loved talking about it with you and hearing what you had to say. He would love to talk again some time.

You don’t really believe him, until he searches you out the next day in your shared free period when you are sitting outside drawing bugs and beetles, dragging Stu with him of all people. You haven’t actually interacted with Stu in a while, so you cringe and get jitters when he hugs you and gets into your personal space.

Its Billy who has to remind him of personal space, and before you know it, they’ve asked in about your special interests, and then they just sit back as you infodump and show them the pictures and drawings you have in all three of your sketchbooks, making the two Woodsboro killers fall for you harder and harder.

Time would pass and you three would start spending a lot of time together, Billy and Stu always hanging around you to listen to what you have to say, never growing tired no matter how much you infodump.

Stu would be the first to confess his feelings, as he feels fast and he feels strong, so one day when you two are laying on his bed and you’re talking about the difference between two beetles who look almost the exact same, whilst also talking about lungs and how they’re built, Stu just leans over and kisses you.

You would be so confused, until Stu tells you that he really likes you, he would even spill the beans that Billy feels the same way too. As if summoned, Billy would show up and Stu would be all like “right Billy? You like him too, right?” and Billy would facepalm cuz he planned on confessing in a much better way.

But hed agree and say he fell pretty damn hard for you, but neither rushes you in your decision as they know it’s a big step. I can imagine Stu also rambling about how hes always liked you since you were kids, even before you transitioned, and how he actually started liking you even more afterwards because you looked so much more comfortable with yourself and who you were.

At some point you would come to the conclusion that you felt the same way, and boom, now you got two boyfriends who like you for who you are, and would stab a bitch if they tried to disrespect you in any way, shape, or form.

When the ghostface killings happen, you wouldn’t be at the party since they are super overstimulating, but you would go to the hospital to check on Billy and Stu since they are the only “survivors”.

I thought it would be funny if you developed a special interest in the ghostface killers and started a fourth sketchbook filled with your notes and theories, but you would keep it hidden form Billy and Stu because you fear it would trigger their trauma, since you don’t know they are the killers.

The fourth sketchbook would also have rants you can’t put anywhere else, like how certain people have hatecrimed you because of your gender, or because you are “weird”, and how some dark sick part of your brain wants the ghostface killers to kill them.

At some point your boyfriends would find the sketchbook and go through it together, whistling as they see the detailed analysis made for each kill, and how you are so close to figuring it out. But when they read all the stuff you’ve written you never told them, it angers them that people have been hurting you without them knowing.

You wouldn’t have told them since you didn’t want to worry them, and it wasn’t their fight in your opinion. Billy and Stu decide that they have to pull out the masks once more, seems they have a couple of horrible people to get rid of for mistreating you.

Imagine your surprise when one night you walk into your room stimming with both your hands and repeating stuff that Billy and Stu said earlier that day, only to find not one, but two people wearing ghostface gear in your room.

It takes you a little too long to even spot them as you were scribbling in your death sketchbook, having gotten a sudden spark of inspiration on the way home from your apprenticeship as the local funeral home.

You almost get to scream before they pounce, never actually hurting you but clamping a hand over your mouth, their gloves wet with what you can smell is blood. After they make you promise to stay quiet, they unmask and reveal who they are.

You buffer like an old computer for a little too long, before smacking the shit out of both of them, wacking them in the chest for not telling you. Your opinion on death and murder are probably really twisted, and the people they’ve killed have either hurt you or you had no relationship with them.

It does light up every light in your hyperfixations though, and you might demand them to explain what killing someone is like, or what a freshly killed body looks like for your sketchbooks.

Billy would grin and try to kiss you, because how can you be so perfect? But you’d wave him off with a grimace and demand Stu explain once again what it was like stabbing someone so you can get it all down in your book.

I don’t know if youd join them as a third Ghostface, but they might take you along every now and then, letting you roam the place after they’ve done their thing if the chance is there. I could imagine them taking pictures of things for you too.

I’m imagining them both dressed up as ghostface, except no mask, both kissing at your cheeks and neck and being all lovey dovey and almost purring, whilst you are sketching down the different pictures and notes about them.

They love you so much, its insane. You’re gonna have them hanging on you for the rest of your life, sorry man, I don’t make the rules. Even if you move to another city and start studying to be a professor or like, investigator for the FBI, they would go with you. It would even help them in their Ghostface work as you are an expert in them not getting caught.

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feelbokkie · 8 months

Text

When reader is touch starved

☀️Feelbokkie M.list☀️

genre: vomiting inducing fluff

pov: 2nd person

description: different scenarios that happen when reader is touch starved

pairing: bf!skz x reader (Chan, Changbin, Hyunjin, Felix, Seungmin, Jeongin); bff!Minho x reader; bff!Jisung x reader

warnings: swearing (what's new)

word count: 2,274 words in total

방 찬 (Bang Chan) (414 words)

You checked the time on your phone again, seeing that not even a minute had passed. You sigh, looking up at the arrivals. Chan's home, the green "arrived" sign next to his flight number lets you know that. He's been on tour for several months and this is the longest stretch you've gone without seeing him. Without breathing him in. Without holding him. Without him.

You stand in the crowd of other people waiting for their loved ones to exit the terminal. Chan managed to get on a flight back earlier without the fans finding out. As much as he loves the boys and his fans, he just wanted to come home to you as soon as possible. To avoid the fuss that he knows will come when the rest of the boys come home tomorrow. How the company will deal with the drama that will ensue when he isn't at the airport with the others later isn't his problem. His priority is you.

You stand up straight as a crowd of people pour out of one of the terminals. Your eyes scan the crowd trying to find Chan. You know he's probably going to be wearing a hat and mask to protect his identity, both black no doubt. Unfortunately for you, a few people are wearing black hats and masks, making your job a bit more difficult.

Your eyes lock on familiar ones, who have yet to discover yours. It's almost like a movie. You're almost positive you're hallucinating it, too many sleepless nights in anticipation for today. It's almost like a single spotlight fell from the ceiling and lit him up, you couldn't see anyone other than him. Before you even realize it, you're making a mad dash toward him, dodging everyone in the process. You've never been so coordinated in your life. You take Chan by surprise as you tackle him, causing him to freeze in fear at the sudden contact. You're not stronger than him, but the tackle and the fact that he wasn't paying attention caused him to lose his balance, sending you both tumbling to the ground.

"Holy, shit, that scared me," He breathes.

"You're home," You mumble into his chest, squeezing him tighter.

"I missed you too, but if you squeeze me any tighter, you're going to break my ribs." He laughs, hugging you back equally as tight while the two of you lay on the floor of the airport, passersby staring at the two of you.

이 민 호 (Lee Min-Ho) (416 words)

To be fair, this is entirely your fault. You convinced your best friend, Minho, to go out with you to a local fair, promising that it wouldn't be too crowded because of the time of day it was. What you hadn't accounted for was the fact that today is a holiday. A minor one that allowed people to not be at school or work.

It was so crowded, that the two of you could hardly move, let alone avoid getting separated. You know that Minho rather stay home or be in places where there aren't a lot of people. But you two hadn't seen each other in a while and thought this would be a cute hang-out.

"Shit," You mutter under your breath. You and Minho got separated again, and a crowd of people pushed their way through the two of you. You're turned around and have no idea which.

"Minho!" You shout as you try to pull your phone out of your pocket. Surely he'd notice that you weren't behind him anymore.

You freeze when you feel a hand wrap around your arm, pulling you towards them. You turn to face Minho, who has an annoyed concerned look on his face. He pulls the two of you to the side where it isn't too crowded.

"Are you okay?" He asks, quickly checking you over while still holding your arm.

"Yeah, I'm fine." You breathe, relieved that he was able to find you quickly.

"C'mon, you said you wanted to go on the Ferris wheel, right?" He asks, sliding his hand down your arm to your hand, intertwining your fingers together. Your breath gets caught in your throat and your brain stops functioning at the simple actions.

"Huh?" You question, not fully being able to process what just happened.

"The Ferris wheel. You still want to ride it, right?" He quirks an eyebrow at your reaction.

"Huh? Ferris...wheel? Oh, y-y-yeah, I want to go on the Ferris wheel." You stammer, trying to get your brain to function again.

"Did I break your brain because I'm holding your hand?" He smirks, amused by your reaction.

"N-no! It's just hot and crowded!" You can feel your face going red from embarrassment.

"I might have to rethink kissing you later. It might kill you." He grins, having fun as you squirm.

"W-what? Kiss?" You stammer again.

"Nothing," He laughs and pulls you back to the crowd, "Let's go to the Ferris wheel before the line gets too long."

서 창 빈 (Seo Chang-Bin) (154 words)

"Ah, what's this?" Changbin asks as you suddenly walk into your shared room and climb on top of him.

You just lay your head on his chest and close your eyes. You had a rough day at work, you're not even sure why everyone was being rude to you. It drained you mentally and physically. All you wanted to do was be with Changbin.

You don't answer him, you just nestle deeper into his chest. He shuts off his phone and drops it next to him, gently rubbing your back, waiting to see if you are going to answer. He quickly assesses the situation, realizing that something must have happened and you just need to hug him right now.

“We don’t have to talk about yet it if you don’t want to. We can just lay here like this, just relax in my arms.” Changbin whispers into your ear as he squeezes you tighter.

황 현 진 (Hwang Hyun-Jin) (175 words)

"Are...are you dying?" You ask, freezing as Hyunjin suddenly comes behind you and wraps you in a hug.

"Hm, not that I know of," He hums, nestling his face in the crook of your neck.

"Then why..." Your voice trails off.

It's not that Hyunjin is never affectionate with you. He is, just minimally. You love skinship--hell, you'd probably live in Hyunjin's skin if he let you. But you also know that he's not big on physical touch unless he's the one initiating it. Even then, he's been more affectionate towards you lately.

Knowing that he doesn't necessarily love physical contact, you've limited how much and often you touch him. The amount of times you had to physically retrain yourself the past few days alone was a bit much, but you don't want to come off as clingy and scare Hyunjin away.

"You love skinship, right?" He mumbles against your neck.

"Yeah, I do, but you don't so--"

"If it's you, it's alright. I'm not forcing myself or anything so don't worry, okay?"

한 지 성 (Han Ji-Sung) (225 words)

“Y/n, over here!" Jisung whispers. The two of you were playing hide and seek with the rest of the boys and you couldn't find somewhere to hide.

You crawl into the ridiculous hiding space that Jisung found, which was fine for him alone but it incredibly small for two adults. You were impossibly close, you're sure he could hear your heart beating. You have a crush on Jisung, you have for a while. Being alone with him is a dream, you just wish you weren't a nervous laugher.

"Y/n, please shut up," He whispers, worried that Chan will find you guys quickly.

"I...I can't help it. You know I g-giggle when I'm nervous. Do you remember the h-haunted house?"

"Oh, Y/n is around here?" You hear Chan call from the outside.

You can't help but giggle more, and slightly louder. Jisung quickly covers your mouth with his hand and pushes your back against the wall, effectively shutting you up. Your eyes widen and you feel the heat rushing to your cheeks.

"Please, please, please shut the fuck up. I can't lose, I don't want to pay for dinner again." He whines softly, you can imagine the puppy dog eyes he is almost definitely giving you right now. If he couldn't hear your heart beating earlier, he can probably feel it now.

이 용 복 (Lee Felix Yong-Bok) (425 words)

You lay supine, staring at the ceiling. You've been tossing and turning for the past couple of hours trying to sleep. You are exhausted, both mentally and physically, but sleep refuses to come to you.

It's a problem with how dependent on Felix you are, you know that. Since you two moved in together, you've gotten accustomed to falling asleep in his arms or him falling asleep in yours. You didn't realize how bad it was until he went on tour and you couldn't sleep the entire first week. You were more prepared this time, you bought sleeping pills and made sure to take one a little while before you needed to go to bed. Unfortunately, you ran out of pills the night before and forgot to buy a new bottle before heading home.

You grab your phone and check the time. It's 2 a.m. but you know it's midday in the city where Felix is currently. You try to think back to see if he mentioned about having a busy schedule today. You dial his number, remembering the boys have the day off. The dial of the phone rings in your ear as you turn and stare at Felix's empty side of the bed.

"Y/n!" Felix shouts excitedly into the phone. You can hear some of the other kids in the background.

“Hey, Lix,” you can’t help but smile at the sound of his voice. You talked to him yesterday but it feels like forever.

“What are you doing up? Is it like almost 3 a.m. back home?” He asks, a bit of concern in his voice.

“Yeah, couldn’t sleep.” You leave it at that. If you told him you missed him or that you couldn’t sleep without him, he’d feel guilty for leaving you home while he was on tour.

“Hm, you tried the usual tricks?” He asks softly.

“Yeah. They’re not helping. Ran out of sleeping pills and it's way too late to get more.” You explain.

“Do you want to just talk until you fall asleep?” He suggests.

“That’d be nice. We don’t get to talk much lately too.”

“What do you want to talk about? Ask me anything,” You put your phone on speaker and put it on Felix’s pillow.

“How was your day?” You yawn. Felix’s deep voice already soothing your mind.

“You can ask me about anything and you want to know about my day?” He chuckles.

“Yeah. Tell me what you did.”

“Anything for you. It was really cold when I woke up so…”

김 승 민 (Kim Seung-Min) (236 words)

You shut the bedroom light before climbing into bed, knowing full well that Seungmin needed the light to see. Part of you feels bad about it, the other part hopes he trips.

You two got into a heated argument a few hours ago and were currently not speaking to each other. Since the two of you are stubborn, neither of you were going to sacrifice sleep by not sleeping in your bed.

You hear Seungmin stumble into the room, huffing in annoyance when he sees that you turned off the lights while he was in the bathroom. A few seconds later, you feel the bed dip down as Seungmin climbs in. Not long after, you feel Seungmin's arm snack across your waist.

"What are you doing?" You question, confused.

"Shut up and go to sleep." He mumbles, pulling you closer, your back pressing into his chest.

"But why are you--"

"You and I both know you'll have trouble sleeping if I don't do this, so shut up. I'm protecting my peace, I don't need to hear you complain about how you couldn't sleep." He mumbles angrily against the back of your neck.

You're glad the lights are off and he can't see your face, or else Seungmin would see the head rushing to your face right now. How can you stay mad at him when he's still looking out for you despite how mad he is.

양 정 인 (Yang Jeong-In) (229 word)

"Are you not feeling well?" In asks, a look of concern suddenly taking over his face.

"I-I'm fine," You stammer, flustered by In's hand taking yours under the table.

"You just turned three different shades of red in the last 5 minutes."

You are at lunch with In and the rest of the kids. Your schedules have been hectic for the past few weeks so you hardly had time to see any of the boys, let alone your boyfriend. In isn't big on public displays of affection or skinship, which you're fine with. You never want to push him. But when Jeongin's hand snaked under the table and grabbed your hand, you couldn't help but blush at the innocent interaction.

"I'm just hot," You take your free hand and fan yourself, trying to quickly return to your normal skin color.

"It's the dead of winter, what are you talking about?" He frowns, releasing your hand. He quickly cups your face and presses his lips to your forehead. You know he's just checking to see if you have a fever. He's done it enough times over the course of your relationship that he's just checking on you.

"Hm," He pulls away, still concerned, "you don't have a fever, but you got even redder. Should we go home?"

"Oh look, Y/n is all red because In kissed--"

"Shut up, Hyunjin!"

—

Buy me a coffee?

—

Permanent Taglist

Red means that it wouldn't let me tag you (either at all or properly)

@berryblog @jaydebow @junebug032 @boiohboii @heistheavatar @lieslab @rainbae-anon @k-cock @hamburgers101 @mrswolfiechan @soulboundauthor @weird-bookworm @thisisnotjacinta @seungmyynie @halesandy @kpopsstuffs @honeydew93 @dandycharmer @stay278 @jaiuneamesolitaiire @babrieeee @brain-empty-only-draken @tenmii @tattywood @blueforte @jihanlovic @felixglow @alyszaen @nuronhe @soonyoungblr @hello-2-u-from-me @jinnixxn @phtogravi

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notjustjavierpena · 10 months

Note

Love you fluff and spicy fics! They are the best kinds ;) can I request dates with Husband!Javi or DILF!Joel? (Would love to read them both but I’ll let you take the rein ;))

First: Date

A/N: Enjoy, anon!

Summary: With the way your relationship started, you’ve never been on a first date. You do a fake first date.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader/You (No y/n)

Tags: +18 Smut (MDNI!), PIV sex, unprotected sex, clit stim, creampie, dirty talk, hot and desperate sex

Word count: 3.1k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48689506/chapters/122820544#workskin

Date

“We never actually had a first date, did we?”

Joel looks down at you as you rest your head on his shoulder, his lips pressed into your hair. You cuddle up to him even more than before because he has just put a blanket over the both of you. He furrows his brow at the question, trying to understand what you are playing at.

You’re not playing at anything. In fact, a very large part of you is happy that you never had to go through the torturous process of getting to know a stranger by taking them places and forcing them to answer uncomfortably personal questions.

“No, we didn’t…” he says into your hair as if awaiting further instructions or explanations, “Why?”

You grab the remote to press play on your movie, then shrug nonchalantly, “No reason. The thought just came to me, popped into my head.”

“Is it something you want?” He continues as if treading carefully.

“God no,” you turn your body a little in his arm to kiss him on the lips a few times, “I’m thankful that we skipped the heart palpitations and clammy hands, the painful silences.”

“I had nothing but clammy hands the first two weeks of just seeing you in the street,” he admits, bumping your noses together with red cheeks at his confession, “Felt like a fuckin’ teenager. Sarah near laughed her ass off.”

“And you didn’t ask me out,” you tut, then get an idea that has your face lighting up, “Wait… How would you have asked me out? How is your game?”

“Let me take you to dinner and you’ll find out,” he teases, focusing on turning back to the TV screen.

“Oooh, alright. You’re on. Pick me up at six.”

You agree on Friday at 6 pm. As soon as the roleplay is on, a ton of butterflies erupt inside your stomach at the thought of being wined and dined by Joel Miller. You don’t expect too much though, because the poor guy has previously already told you that the number of dates he has been on since Sarah’s mother passed can be counted on one hand. Despite no one having died, the same goes for you and that fact will surely make the evening a comical one.

At six o’clock your doorbell rings and you fix the straps of your dress for the millionth time in the hallway mirror before opening the door.

Joel looks good. He has his usual jeans on, but has added a belt, and the t-shirt that he always wears has been substituted with one of his nice button-up shirts and it’s been neatly tucked into his pants. The wristwatch is still there, and the intoxicating smell of his cologne too, but despite all this grabbing your attention, it’s nothing compared to the handful of smaller sunflowers that he is holding out for you.

“Oh, you sly bastard,” you grin, realizing now just how fun the night out will be. If Joel is doing this, you might as well roleplay along. You step forward to take the very homemade bouquet, “These are gorgeous, Joel, my favorite.”

“Figured roses were too cliche,” he states shyly.

“Let me just put these in water,” you step away from the door to hold it open for him, “Come in. I’ll be ready in five.”

Joel steps silently inside, following you into the kitchen where you get a vase from on top of your refrigerator and start filling it with water. With a pair of kitchen scissors, you cut the stems at an angle.

“Nice place you got here,” Joel small-talks. He tries not to smile, but you can see that he fights the urge to chuckle at the silliness of the situation.

“Thanks, yeah, a super cute guy helped me a lot over the summer,” you put the sunflowers into the vase, placing it on your kitchen island to be able to admire them in the morning light.

“Oh?” Joel questions, placing a hand on the counter as he watches you fluff the sunflowers to make them look less messy after you’ve handled them, “Should I be concerned by competition?”

“Not if you knock it out of the park tonight, starting by telling me I look beautiful,” you say with a smile, walking up to him and trying not to kiss his stupid face.

You are wearing Joel’s favorite dress of yours that hugs your chest and ass in a way that makes a few people turn their heads every time you go outside wearing it.

“You look stunning,” he says as he looks down at you, then grins, “I have a few things planned for tonight, and I think you’ll like ‘em.”

“Lead the way.”

Joel takes you to a restaurant in the city of Austin. It is Italian in a cliché way; checkered tablecloths, candles in wine bottles, and, to top it off, a picture of Lady and the Tramp on the wall. It’s nothing that seems to appeal to Joel, but you cannot help but love it in the most wonderful childlike way and point it out as you enter the place.

Though to save him the pain of getting embarrassed, you order a pizza instead of the classic spaghetti. He orders a pizza himself, furrowing his brow as he realizes that the proper way of eating pizza here is by using a knife and fork.

“So,” you say after a mouthful of food, taking a sip of your wine, “Texas born and raised?”

“Yeah, my folks live half an hour out of town,” Joel replies, resting his wrists on the edge of the table, “And Sarah, my daughter… We've been in that house since forever. Sarah doesn’t know much else than that street.”

“You have a daughter?” You tilt your head curiously, challenging him with a little smile.

“Oh yeah, fifteen years old. Love of my life,” he tells you, and your heart swells because you know exactly how he looks at her with wonder and love, “Does that bother you?”

“Not at all, I just don’t have any kids of my own,” you reply.

“Is that… something you can see yourself in? Kids?”

You figure that it’s a fair question for a date, but it’s a little overwhelming when you’re already in too deep. Months deep into this relationship actually.

“Well, yeah,” you say after a pause, somehow so certain, “Yeah… I want the whole thing; white picket fence and nauseating suburban lifestyle.”

You can see Joel visibly relax.

“Is it hard being a single dad?” You ask gently.

Joel tenses up once more, resting his hand on the tabletop and tapping his fingers slightly. He avoids your gaze, “Sometimes. I mean… I’m terrified that I will end up in a situation where I can’t be what she needs. Additionally, it’s hard to imagine getting something you want for yourself when all you think of is soccer practice, boy bands, birthdays, and tampons.”

You place your hand on top of his, fingertips slowly running up and down Joel’s wrist, “That sounds hard.”

It’s nice to get to know Joel like this, and as you sip your wine, conversation flows easily between the two of you. Date-night Joel is funny and charming, exactly how you pictured him, and more. He compliments you throughout the evening, makes you laugh to the point where you can see his eyes soften and cause another compliment to spill from his mouth.

“Got any moves?” You ask before cutting into the last slice of your pizza. Joel finished his own a little while ago.

“Moves?” He questions, absentmindedly reaching out for your hand on the table again. You place your palm in his and he rubs his thumb over your knuckles.

“Yeah, date moves? I bet you’re going to lend me your jacket later. That sorta stuff.”

“I actually was,” he chuckles with slightly red cheeks that might as well have been from the bottle of red wine that you’ve shared, then running his free hand over his hair and leaning back into his seat, “I figured since we should've had our first date in June, it was the right time to do a summer activity, so we’re getting ice cream after this. And I know it’d get you chilly.''

“Seriously?”

“Seriously. And what about you?”

“I haven’t used any moves on you tonight,” you lie.

“Liar,” he laughs, shaking his head disapprovingly, “Tell me.”

“I asked you about your daughter,” you shrug and try brushing it off.

“That’s a move?” He raises a brow.

“Well, got me touching you, didn’t it?” You nod down at where you are holding hands, causing Joel to sit up a little straighter as he realizes.

“I think we need to get out of here before you manipulate me further,” he jokes, letting go of your hand to raise his own to signal a waiter.

You get ice cream cones after dinner at a charming little parlor. Joel gets strawberry and you get hazelnut. It seems like the perfect end to your date.

The sky is speckled with stars as you walk through a dimly lit area with Joel’s jacket wrapped around your shoulders. In your hand, your ice cream cone is melting slowly, but you manage to catch each dribble with the flat of your tongue. Joel’s eyes are on you the whole time.

“Do you have work tomorrow?” You ask casually.

“Yeah,” he replies, eating his ice cream, “Not early in the morning though. Why?”

“Just wondered if you were going to follow me home after this,” you say with another lick. You’ll invite him inside too; Joel knows this but it’s part of the fun to not say anything.

He hums, “Sure, of course. I wouldn’t want you taking the bus alone at this hour anyway.”

“Ever the gentleman.”

Joel smiles to himself. Definitely not going to be a gentleman. He then dares to reach between you to find your hand. He entwines your fingers, says nothing and you walk without conversation for a while until you fake a yawn.

“I should get home.”

“I know the quickest way to the car.”

You find yourself on your front porch not long after. It seems ridiculous how many times Joel has been standing behind you like this, breathing down your neck as you unlock your front door.

With a shy smile, you stop trying to unlock the door and let the key sit in the lock. You dare to turn around to look up at Joel’s big brown eyes that are watching you with the glazed expression he gets whenever he wants to clear his head and kiss you.

It reminds you of your first kiss as he dips down, searching out your mouth with his own, and whilst you want to give in, you also want to make him work for it, play out the scene.

“I had a really good time tonight,” you interrupt him as he is just about to kiss you.

“Right,” he looks like someone trying to refrain from rolling his eyes. He hesitates but then replies, “Can I see you again?”

“Yes, I’d like that a lot. Thank you for letting me fall in love with you a little more tonight.”

Something changes at that.

“And can I kiss you?” He asks a little impatiently. Something is brewing.

You animatedly tap your chin and giggle as he sighs at your silliness. It earns you a kiss, short and sweet and definitely not enough. You pull him down to your mouth again when he tries to pull away.

There haven’t been many women before you in the years after Sarah’s mother, and it results in a starving man who cannot get enough when he knows that he has you. You like it when he snaps; as if the dam that holds back all of his pent-up need for you since seeing you in his favorite dress crumbles.

You kiss each other so hard that he suddenly loses himself and grips your shoulders roughly, shoving you into the door until the knob is pressing painfully into your lower back. Joel’s mouth is warm and inviting and tastes like strawberry ice cream as he practically eats at your mouth, swallowing down his name as it drips like honey from your lips. It makes up for how he manhandles you against the door until you can, albeit blindly, reach behind you and finally open it.

The door gives way behind you and you both fall through, completely losing balance without trying to regain it in the slightest. There’s something exciting about the utter desperation, something charming about the giggles you let out as you hit the floor with a thump. At least the door swings shut behind you.

You shrug Joel’s jacket off your shoulders, trying to get comfortable on the floorboards. It messes up the kiss and has Joel growling, but then he takes the opportunity to bury his face in your neck and breathe in your perfume.

You can feel his teeth graze over the skin of your throat, not quite biting down yet. He kisses open-mouthed and hot along your main artery instead, leaving a trail of shiny saliva until he is by your ear. He whispers, “You always invite guys in on the first date?”

He reaches down to tug your dress up. You help him by lifting your hips off the ground and he responds by grabbing your ass in his hands, squeezing and yanking you up against the bulge in his jeans only to grind right back down into you.

“Only contractors in their late thirties who are named Joel Miller,” you say with a chuckle interrupted by a moan as you feel the rough fabric of his jeans against your clothed cunt.

“Guess I’m really fuckin’ lucky that I fit that description perfectly then.”

“I need you,” you add with a groan, reaching for the top button on Joel’s shirt that’s too nice for you to start ripping off. You struggle to undo the buttons though, feeling embarrassed at how much your fingers fumble out of want, “Please, Joel. Off, take this off.”

“So fuckin’ needy indeed,” he kisses you again, doesn’t even bother breaking the kiss as he reaches up, swiftly unbuttoning his shirt and then throwing it onto the floor.

You whimper against his lips, reaching down to pull at his pants. You need more, need to see him in all his glory, need to touch, suck him, feel him inside of you. Either will do. It is almost too much, “You’re so hot, fuck, help me with these.”

Joel makes quick work of pushing off his jeans and then underwear. He groans softly in relief, his cock finally free, already so hard there is a pearl of precum beading at his tip.

“Now mine,” you pant, pushing the flats of your feet into the floor to lift yourself up again, “Please, please, you have to fuck me.”

He runs his hands from your ankles up your calves, stopping at your thighs to give them a firm squeeze and groan with unrestrained desire. Then, unceremoniously, he simply grips the fabric of your panties in his hands and yanks them down. Having you splayed out before him, he doesn’t waste any more time. He hoists you up a bit, grabbing his dick and positioning himself, and then thrusts into you all the way in one go.

You both moan at the same time, but whereas yours is a soft sound, his is a low throaty one. You hook your legs around his waist as you wait for him to move inside of you. You find his gaze too, meeting it with pleading eyes, slack mouth, and furrowed brows, “Fuck me. Please just–”

Joel does not keep you waiting for a goddamn second. He grips you tightly under your right thigh and braces his other hand flat against the floor for support, and then in the next moment, he is pounding you ruthlessly into the floorboards. No hesitation, no build-up. It is mercilessly perfect, the floorboards creaking slightly at you being pressed into them. If you didn’t have your legs around Joel’s waist, you are sure that the force of the way you are being fucked would create burns from the friction again the wood.

Joel buries his face in your neck next. He finally bites down like you have waited for, causing you to tilt back your head with a high-pitched moan. Your hands come up to rest on the back of his head and you slide your fingers into his hair, tugging ever so slightly as the tension below your belly button builds. It feels like fire, like electricity.

"Pretty. You sound so fuckin’ pretty when you take my cock," he murmurs against your neck. He then straightens a bit again to let go of your thigh in favor of sliding his hand under you, pressing it against the small of your back, and holding you closer to his own body. He watches your face as your head swims with desire, “Look pretty too, oh, fuck, baby.”

Your right hand reaches down, but you don’t get a chance to touch yourself, because, with his other hand, Joel reaches down to place his thumb on your swollen clit, immediately setting a blinding pace. You see stars, ecstatic moans giving you away.

“I’m gonna—“

“And you’re gonna come on my dick now too?” He groans, already chasing his own pleasure with each thrust of his hips, “Lucky fuckin’ me.”

Fireworks erupt below your belly button as you come with a wanton shout. The pleasure is fast and intense, your muscles squeezing around Joel’s cock which suddenly spurts thick ropes of come inside of you. He feels so good as you pulse around him, cunt greedily milking everything into yourself.

“You’ll be the death of me,” Joel says with an exhausted chuckle as he flops down beside you. The both of you try catching your breaths, but the dopamine rush won’t let either of you settle down quite yet.

Your legs fall against each other, collapsing from exhaustion. You can feel your back start to ache already, “God.”

“Just Joel.”

You slap his arm.

“Are you okay though?” He asks genuinely.

“My back is going to be sore like hell from this. It already is. Other than that? I don’t think you’ve ever fucked me like that before,” you run a hand over your face, staring up at the ceiling afterwards.

“Sounds about right,” he says, pauses for a moment, then, “So when can I see you again?”

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #pedro pascal characters #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #the last of us #my writing #joel x reader #joel x you #dilf!joel #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfic

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bengiyo · 3 months

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Hi, i'm a newish bl drama watcher from thailand that just started watching thai bls. i'm a bit ashamed to say that for a long time as a gay man living here i've been avoiding bl shows like the plague cuz of both the fandom reputation and of misconception from my yaoi era which i leave far behind. i'm just want to ask how did you got into watching thai bls and what were you preconception before you got into it.

Welcome to the Tumblr side of BL fandom. I'd actually like to also hear more of your experience with yaoi and BL as a gay person growing up in Thailand if you're willing to share.

For me, I'm a Black American from the Gulf Coast (the South). I grew up in a Catholic city and spent my entire adolescence in the closet. Despite having a sense of who I was as early as 8 years old, I kept most of that to myself. Because I didn't talk about it much with people, I found out most information about queer media and queerness from the internet.

I entered BL via queer cinema. I think the first explicitly gay character that I remember from TV was Marco from Degrassi: The Next Generation. There were probably others, and definitely more subtle expressions, but when I think about the oldest gay character I remember and connect to, it's Marco. I don't like counting things like shipping Shawn and Corey on Boy Meets World or Tai and Matt on Digimon for oldest gay characters. Sailor Moon can't even count because we got a censored version of it in America.

I got access to satellite television away from observing eyes around age 16 and started watching content on Logo back when they aired gay content regularly. I watched basically whatever I could late at night. It's how I saw movies like Get Real (1998), Beautiful Thing (1996), and Bent (1997). It's also how I saw Queer as Folk (2000-2005) Noah's Arc (2005-06).

After hitting adulthood I mostly got lost in video games and standard American TV for a while, but I did basically show up to any Gay Event in TV. I appreciate that Stef and Lena from The Fosters (2013-2018) were some of the only TV lesbians to survive the horror of 2016.

I watched a bunch of movies in this time, many of which appear on the Queer Cinema Syllabus I made for a hypothetical Westerner new to BL and queer cinema, which @wen-kexing-apologist has decided to try to complete.

I got into Thai BL in 2018 accidentally. I started seeing gifsets of Kongpob telling Arthit he'll make him his wife passing around Tumblr and was basically like, "Right, what's all this then?"

I had watched a few Thai gay films, mostly notably Love of Siam (2007), Bangkok Love Story (2007), How to Win at Checkers Every Time (2015), and The Blue Hour (2015), but this was the first time I was seeing a long series made available so easily from any Asian country.

From there I got into Make It Right (2016-17) and Love Sick the series (2014). Once I realized that yaoi had moved beyond manga and a few anime adaptations, I went looking for a lot more. I basically haven't left since I started in about 2016 with SOTUS.

There's my basic entry into the genre. I don't think I was as worried about fandom and worries at the time because so much of being a fan of queer cinema was a mostly-private experience for me for so long. I didn't realize that BL fans active in the space would predominantly be women or queers figuring themselves out. It took a while to adjust to that, and also to adjust my expectations of the kinds of queer stories BL distributors were willing to fund.

That being said, I tend to agree with @absolutebl that BL has a useful role in normalization for non-queer audiences who encounter it. I like cheering BL when it does things I think work really well, and also deriding it when I think it does things that are offensive to help nudge the genre and offer my perspective as a gay man.

I like the place we're at right now where there's way too much to watch for any person with other hobbies and responsibilities because it means that people can pick and choose what's to their tastes.

More often than not, I'm probably most-invested in something airing from Japan because of my melancholy nature, but there's so much variety these days that it's okay if you don't like everything. I certainly don't!

I'm glad you joined us on Tumblr and look forward to your thoughts!

#answered #thai bl #fandom life #about me

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cuckoo-on-a-string · 1 year

Text

Civilian Asset 2.

Polyamorous/femme/female reader x multiple

Summary: Things go from bad to worse.

Master List (coming soon) / Prev chapter

Warnings: Mild/brief self harm (over-washing hands), peril, violence, kidnapping, torture, corpses, gore, extremely brief threat of SA

Tagging: A couple folks have asked about tagging. Unfortunately tagging breaks my posts, so I don't keep lists. But I DO reply to each comment on each chapter when I post something new. So it's like a hand-written invitation delivered by butler to your inbox.

A/N: Thank you so much for the support! I hope you enjoy the ride!

When you remember how your legs work, you find your way to the bathroom. Away from the windows, it’s pitch black, and you have to flick on a light to see your hand in front of your face, but the yellow glow itches over your skin, and you work fast, turning the tap to cold and using the little bar of hand soap to attack the lingering rust red hiding in the creases where skin meets nail.

You wish for a big, bristly brush. Or some steel wool. You’d scrape the skin off and start over again if you could. Without so much as a washcloth, you’re forced to pick at yourself, scratching until your flesh is raw and fresh blood seeps up to hide the old.

Once you’re sure the handler’s blood is gone, you slurp a few handfuls of water, sure you’ll feel the affects of dehydration after so much vomiting soon if you don’t. Passing out is never fun, but in the current circumstances, a little dizziness at the wrong moment could be a death sentence.

A little voice whispers in the back of your head that everything tastes like iron as you sip, and you drown it by throwing the next scoop of water directly in your face.

The makeup you wore to the club has not faired well, and you’d rather be the idiot civilian in need of rescuing without mascara tracks streaking your face.

The cold water and hand soap leaves your skin flushed and red, but you’re clean. Maybe even a little refreshed.

Breathing comes easier.

It’s easy to pretend this is just an unplanned sleepover. This isn’t the first time you’ve spent an evening puking up your soul and washing your face without proper skincare products because your drunk ass never made it home.

This is okay.

This is livable.

All you have to do is sit tight and keep behind a locked door. Easy enough.

The light stays on. Even if it makes you uncomfortable, you can’t resign yourself to the total dark again. But you step out. Better to enjoy the illumination from a distance.

You wedge yourself into a corner between the empty living area and the hall to the bath and bedrooms, keeping away from the windows. No one said anything about snipers, but you have seen movies, and even if there isn’t a ghost out there with a gun, windows are an opportunity for the wrong person to see you moving around.

In the day, windows are eyes looking out. At night, the eyes turn in. It’s the kind of lesson you learned as a girl. Be aware, because someone wants to take a look without asking. Someone is hiding in the car beside yours, so be careful where you park. Don’t walk with headphones in. Kidnappers like to grab long hair and ponytails. There’s always someone who wants to hurt you, and they’re always going to be bigger and stronger, so the only way to win is to see them before they strike. This is definitely not the situation you grew up imagining, but you’ll take the intrinsic paranoia of being a woman in public as the gift it is in the moment.

Headlights from passing cars sweep the room from time to time, and you freeze like a deer as the LEDs paint the walls white. The beams cutting through the empty windows feels like a countdown, gears in a clock turning, and as the number of cars grows, you gradually notice some of the light stays behind, weakening the shadows where you hide. It’s closer to dawn than you realized, and soon this awful fucking night will end.

A knock shatters the silence, and your hand falls to your pocket, where your phone waits. Didn’t the woman say she would call? Could she have forgotten, or…?

Another series of knocks interrupts your train of thought, and you wrestle with the urge to leap towards the door the way you lunge to a ringing landline. Habit.

You get to your feet, backpack slung over one shoulder, trying to decide whether to approach the door or go hide deeper in the safehouse. It’s a Choose Your Own Adventure story from hell with no way to turn back to the previous page if you get shot.

In the end, someone else makes the choice for you.

A key rattles in the lock, and grey morning light floods the space as the door swings open to reveal three tall, clearly male silhouettes. They file through and shut the door quickly – too quickly? A smiling blond in the front approaches, hands up, trying to put you at ease.

“Hey, ready to go?” He talks like he knows you, but you most definitely do not know him. It tugs at your stranger danger trigger, and your hands flex against the urge to raise defensive fists. He’s American. The woman on the phone was American, too. Maybe that’s a good thing. “We’re here to get you somewhere secure, okay? Got a car out front.”

The other two sweep the room, move down the hall, clearing the rest of the safehouse with handguns easily hidden under their casual civilian clothing. The leader sounds like he’s from Boston. The other two have a bit of South in the mouth from what you catch of their brief commands and replies. It’s all very official. They’re professionals. There’s no reason to think they’re anything other than what they claim.

The smiling man knew where to find a key, so logically, someone in command told him. They knew where to look. They know you’re supposed to go somewhere with them.

So why do the hairs on the back of neck prickle?

Another lesson from your teen years pops to mind: If it feels wrong, it probably is.

Your phone jumps to life in your pocket, and you seize it with dread and hope as the man’s eyes dart to your hand, his smile suddenly and mysteriously missing.

“Don’t.” A flat command with a threat rippling under the surface like a riptide.

You hesitate, locking in place like he’s drawn a gun on you. “Why?”

He smiles again, more forced than before. “Because you don’t need to. We’re already here.”

His bullshit steams in the morning sun as it drops from his lips.

It feels wrong.

It is wrong.

You leap back and accept the call.

“Team’s five min – ”

You shout over her as the man lunges, talking faster than you realized you could. “Three men! Had a key! Americ-”

The blond tackles you, his shoulder in your diaphragm, and the air leaves you with a squeak as your back slams into the thin carpet. He’s heavy, and you hit the ground hard. As you blink away stars, you distantly hear the woman’s voice from where the phone has fallen a few feet away.

“Shut-up,” the man growls, driving his palm into your face.

His hand pushes over your mouth, and you don’t stop to think before sinking your teeth into the asshole’s skin. It isn’t the first time you’ve had reason to bite a bitch, and you hope it won’t be the last.

He jerks away with his own yelp.

You haven’t quite gotten your breath back, and you barely manage to bleat, “Help,” before the window of opportunity closes again.

A backhanded strike sends your vision spinning, leaving you discombobulated long enough for all three of the men – all shouting over each other – to roll you over and zip tie your hands behind your back. A heavy stomp and distinct crunch tell the fate of your phone.

You’ll tell the woman at the end of the line no more secrets. That tie is severed. You scream again anyway, because maybe someone is close enough to hear you. This is a residential neighborhood. Someone may wake up and feel heroic.

“Shut-up.” The leader smacks your head into the floor to make a point, and your teeth catch on the inside of your cheek. “We could’ve done this nice and easy. Painless. Quiet. But you wanna be a bitch? You wanna play games? Fuck it. Fine.”

You pull against your restraints, trying to get up on your knees as the blond addresses his friends, “We’ll do this at the warehouse. Grab her.”

Swearing, the other two heave you onto your feet and start dragging you out of the safehouse. One makes an attempt to fling you over his shoulder, but you kick and writhe until you tumble off, so they make due with hauling you by the arms as your heels scrabble across the carpet, the doorway, the concrete. You’re losing ground. They’re taking you away. And your mind is full of frantic thoughts about kidnappers and secondary locations and dropping survival rates.

One keeps a gloved hand over your mouth when it’s clear you won’t stop screaming no matter how many times they tell you to. Well-behaved women seldom make history, and well-behaved hostages rarely live to tell about it. There is no reason to go quietly into that good night, and fuck if you won’t fight them every inch of the way.

But they’re bigger, and stronger, and they get you to the car.

The blond leader waits by the trunk, holding it open with one hand while he cradles the one you bit near his chest. You get a glimpse of red teeth marks before his teammates literally toss you into the trunk and slam it shut.

It’s darker than the safehouse, and with your hands trapped, you can’t find any of the emergency pulls designed to help people in just this situation. One of the simplest horrors – losing control of your own body – tightens your throat. You can’t defend yourself. Can’t even put your arms over your face the next time one of the bastards takes a swing at you.

The engine rumbles to life, and your kidnappers peel away, flying over speedbumps and taking tight corners in their rush to leave before the real escorts arrived. You roll and slip at the mercy of inertia. Both fortunately and unfortunately, there’s nothing sliding around with you in the dark. While a crowbar or tire iron could’ve stabbed you or given you a concussion as you bounced and crashed around the narrow space, they might’ve helped free your hands. The best you can do is guess at where the taillights are and try to stomp through the corners.

You do not succeed.

But you keep trying as the coarse flooring scours a rug burn into your cheek.

This could be your last chance to get away, and if you can get the trunk open, you’ll gladly jump into the freeway. Tied hands and all. Living with one less limb or a broken spine is better than dying slowly in a warehouse. Right?

You don’t get to make that decision.

The road turns rough under the wheels, and you nearly vibrate to pieces, collecting bruises as you collide with the ceiling, floor, and walls.

You taste blood, probably from where you bit your cheek. Or maybe from the slap. Or any of the dozen times your head struck something during the ride.

It isn’t a big deal. It shouldn’t be, at least. But you’re bleeding. You just got the blood off your hands, and now it’s on your tongue. Your wrists sting where the plastic zip ties cut too tight. These men will kill you. They will hurt you until you’ve told them whatever they want to know, and then they’ll throw your body somewhere filthy for scavengers to tear apart.

You’re helpless.

The feeling sits like uneasy bile in your gut, churning with raw fear and howling anxiety as you fight back tears.

Shocky. Is that a word? You feel shocky.

The facts of your reality are a little too much right now, so your consciousness pulls back half a step. It’s happening to you, yes, but not in an immediate way. It could be a vivid thought experiment, or a dream you’ll realize is a nightmare when someone shoots you in the head and you don’t die. Your mind just lets all the feelings slip between open fingers to fall in a pile at your feet. The writhing miasma of panic and discomfort screams, trying to crawl back up your knees, but it doesn’t hurt so much down there.

You’re distancing yourself. That’s the word. Maybe it will help when they take you apart.

The car rolls to a stop. Your heart nearly stops with it. You hold your breath as the engine shuts off, listening to each shift the men make as they exit the car. The squeaks of old seats and aging suspension echoes through the trunk, and slamming doors send shockwaves through your bones as the men crunch over gravel to reach the back. The hatch pops open, and the fully-risen sun blinds you.

How long was the drive? Hours? Minutes? The sky is awfully bright.

As you squint, tears automatically beading in the corners of your eyes, the leader speaks up.

“We done playing games, or you gonna make this difficult?”

You lash out. Even if your hands are bound, your legs are still free, and you kick like a mule when the first man reaches for you. You miss him on the upswing, but he’s balancing with one hand on the trunk’s lip, and your heel slams down hard on his knuckles.

He wheels back, cursing, but you don’t have time to celebrate. Before you get your leg back into the deep, dark depths of the trunk, the leader grabs you by the ankle and yanks you out. The latch digs into your back, and you shriek as you go face-first into the gravel.

You’ve taken your pound of flesh from all three. The leader has your bite on his hand, you hopefully fucked up one goon’s fingers, and both of the supporting meatheads should have good bruises from your resistance on the way out of the safehouse.

None of them are well pleased.

“Fucking fine then.”

Still holding your ankle, the leader moves towards the decrepit building they’ve parked behind. He’s a bulky guy, but he’s got a bad case of vanity muscles. He can’t walk and pull at the same time. It’s step – drag – step – drag – step.

The little stones jab through your clothes, slicking into exposed skin and grinding deep bruises along your hips. Growling, you kick and wriggle, aiming for the asshole’s wrist and knee as you try to inch away like a worm.

He loses his grip, and for a blessed instant you think you’re free. Then meathead one and two each take an arm and haul you inside before their leader loses any more face. They don’t give you a chance to get on your feet, clearly frustrated with the whole ordeal. You aren’t a threat, but you’re a pain in the ass, so they treat you like the problem you are.

Spotty sunshine cuts through broken windows like dozens of spotlights in the wide storage room. The remaining glass is too filthy for anything but a muted glow to creep through. Still, there’s enough light for stubby grass to grow in the cracks. The place has seen better days, and rustling wings answer the thugs’ heavy steps as a flock of nesting pigeons take to the air. Everything smells like bird shit and mold.

The leader drags a rickety wooden stool to the center of the room, and the goons force you up to sit on it. Like most stools you’ve encountered, this one is a little too tall, and your toes don’t quite scrape the ground. The support rungs where you might’ve rested your feet for balance have rotted away to splintered stumps, and your sneakers paw the air, trying to balance, before you realize your escorts aren’t letting go.

Blondie steps in front of you, insincere smile back on his face. Clearly, he feels in control again, now that he has two grown men holding you down so you can’t run, can’t fight back.

“We know the hand-off didn’t happen,” he says, almost friendly. “We know you met with the handler, though, and he definitely had time to tell you something.” Leaning in, he lifts his brows, feigning an open expression as hands squeeze the blood from your bound arms. “I need you to tell me two things. I need you to tell me exactly what the handler said to you, and I need to know exactly how much you’ve told Laswell. That’s it. You can still make this easier on yourself. Just tell me the truth.”

Your jaw clenches shut. Your lips seal closed in a frown. It’s instinctive, almost defensive, like crossing your legs and leaning away when a man crowds you in a bar. He can’t have what he wants. You won’t give it to him.

You don’t even know who Laswell is, but you assume she’s the one who directed you to the safehouse.

A flicker of irritation warps the leader’s face again, and he says, saccharine sweet like fruit about to rot, “We could always do a cavity search to make sure you didn’t receive anything.”

You don’t take time to think. Following your gut, you sneer, giving the bastard elevator eyes even his goons will notice. Meeting his gaze again, you simply say “Gross.”

The following slap leaves your ears ringing. It jogs some of your disassociated mind back into your body, and you blink rapidly, searching for your equilibrium as you stare into the corner of the room, where his strike turned your head. Something wet wells over your upper lip, and when you try licking it away, you get a mouthful of copper.

“Fine. Fine!” The leader moves behind you, throwing up his hands. He rustles through something where you can’t see, muttering under his breath, and you wonder if he’s ever done this before.

Maybe he’ll give up. Maybe, if you keep quiet a little longer, they’ll just…

Rough hands force your left pinky straight, and something cold presses against your fingertip, pinching the nail.

Oh.

Fuck.

He’s gonna rip it off.

It doesn’t even hurt yet, but you can’t catch your breath. It’s evacuated your lungs before the screaming starts, and you go deathly still as you try to brace yourself.

The pliers lift and tug in a quick but ruthless motion, ripping the nail from the bed, and your vision goes white.

Pain too intense to stay in your finger crackles through your shattered nerves, and you struggle to fold in on yourself as every muscle tries to get away, to physically disconnect and run from your own hand. Your lungs won’t expand, and squeaky, stuttered cries punch out as you try to breathe.

“Just tell me what you know! It’s not that hard! Jesus!”

The pliers settle on the next nail, and you start hyperventilating. It’s just pain. It will pass. It’s just pain. It will pass. A friend once confided he’d studied torture-endurance tactics when he started running. You cling to them as the second nail lifts and whimper through a desperate inhale. The key is time. Nothing lasts forever. One way or another, it has to stop eventually. It isn’t as effective as it probably was for your friend, though, because his torture ended in a good shower and cool glass of water.

You aren’t ready to die.

But you don’t talk, either.

The asshole on your left jerks you hard to get you to quit shaking so his leader can grasp the next fingernail, but it’s not something you can voluntarily stop. “She’s not talking. Just shoot her so we can get out of here.”

The leader throws down the pliers, and they clatter across the brittle concrete. He paces behind you. Each step sounds like the second hand of a clock ticking away his patience, ticking away the minutes you have left to live. “He wants to know the extent of the breach. Our mess. We clean it up.”

His teammate scoffs, “Just because you want to impress him –”

“This isn’t about impression anyone, dumbass!” The leader’s voice pings around the empty warehouse, and you flinch, ready for that anger to turn on you. He marches back from the corner his pacing took him to, snapping at his associate over the top of your head. “What do you think happens if we don’t meet his expectations? If we don’t fucking exceed them? Think he’ll just shrug and call it a learning experience? Fucking – dumbass!”

“Bet he’d be angrier if we get caught because you wanted to exceed his expectations.”

Silence. A full thirty seconds. You count them in your head, like you’re playing hide and seek.

“We’re running out of time.”

The leader sighs. A rustle. Something clicks, something you imagine is the safety of a gun, and the men holding you in place lean away without letting go.

You struggle, jerking and swaying so you almost knock over the stool, but the men anticipated your fight against the end, and their bruising grips crush to the bone.

Something brushes the hair on the back of your head, gentle as a kiss. Oh, it’s definitely a gun.

“Last chance.” The leader still acts like he’s being reasonable, that his inconvenience is greater than your entire life. Like he ever could’ve been the hero in this scenario.

Now that he’s shown his hand, you have no reason to speak, even if you had planned to. Caving to his demands won’t buy back your life. It might not even win another hour. You didn’t get the message out, so you’ve already failed. And you’re going to die.

Doesn’t mean you aren’t terrified. Your face drips with tears and blood. The salty tracks sting what you assume is a cut on the side of your face, and every breath of wind stirs the naked nerves on the tips of your fingers to fresh agony.

You don’t want to cry, and you sure as hell won’t beg these assholes for anything. But you can’t bear to watch, so you close your eyes like a child, face screwed up as you wonder how much the bullet will hurt on its way through your brain, how much you’ll feel before it ends you.

The hands on your arms tense. The barrel of the gun presses firm and cool against your scalp.

A crack like thunder shatters the stillness, and it’s amazing that you can still hear the men holding you down yell and jump after you’ve been shot.

Another bang, and the man on your left lets go as something warm sprays your face.

Your eyes pop open.

That shouldn’t happen. You’re supposed to be dead.

The man to your right yanks you off the stool and pins you to his front with an arm across your throat. Using you as a human shield. Because.

He’s the one in danger.

You register the dead bodies of the blond leader and the one who argued for your execution on the floor. Blooming pools of red seep from wide holes in their skulls. Something greyish oozes from the hollow of the goon’s former expression.

The last surviving teammate has you facing some of the high, broken windows, and you recall your fears of a sniper when you cowered in the dark safehouse.

A new gun pushes into your temple, and you try to twist away only for the man to squeeze your neck so hard he cuts off your air. You aren’t sure if means to choke you, but you can’t fucking breathe. Unbalanced, with your hands still tied behind your back and a gun to your head, there’s nothing you can do but slip and stumble where he pulls you – presumably out of the sniper’s line of sight.

As he tries to drag you towards an exit, the door falls in with a boom, and two large men with much bigger guns than your kidnapper’s rush him.

“Drop it now! Get on your knees!”

Your kidnapper doesn’t comply. He whips back and forth, putting so much pressure on your throat your vision dances with black spots, and your feet drag, almost entirely limp, over the floor.

“I’ll do it! Back off! I’ll shoot her!”

The two men move in concert, orchestrated like a pack of wolves as they split up and gradually move on the hostage-taker. The man drifts back towards the stool and his dead friends without realizing, far too involved with the nearer guns to remember who’d killed the others.

He grinds the gun against your face, and you squeeze your eyes shut again. How many death threats can you survive in one day? If the approaching team doesn’t move faster, you’ll suffocate before you get shot.

Your shoe slips in blood, and as you feebly scramble to keep your feet under you, a third shot reverberates through the room, and you’re falling. The man holding you tumbles forward, pinning you under literal dead weight with his arm still twisted around your neck.

You only have a moment to panic, and then big hands are tugging the corpse away, and the light seems as bright as it did when your kidnappers opened the trunk. You can breathe, and the oxygen shudders into you like a punch to the sternum. Coughing, you try to remember how this breathing shit is supposed to work.

One of the men quickly but carefully rolls you onto your side so he can cut off the zip ties, and your hands ache with the rush of blood to your fingers. Including your mangled nailbeds. Ah, fuck. Those smart.

The second man kneels in front of you, pausing to speak into a radio while his partner gets you free.

“Good shot, LT. Target down. Securing the package now and moving to exfil.”

He is very Scottish, and that puts some little, anxious voice in your head at ease. The group who took you was American. This is not the same club. As if shooting the kidnappers wasn’t enough to prove that. But for whatever reason, the accent matters more to your rattled mind.

The man behind you helps you sit up, and as you flex your hands, as happy as you are hurt, he asks, “Are you seriously injured? Can you walk?” A nice, English accent. It has the same effect as the Scot’s voice. These are friends. They’re here to help. Even if they’re even scarier than the men who first took you.

“I’m… fine.” A lie. “I can walk.” In theory.

They hadn’t done anything directly to your legs, but everything feels shaky and unsteady, so you aren’t sure how well they’ll hold once the adrenaline drops.

“Okay.” The Scot pulls you the rest of the way to your feet with the same firm efficiency as his comrade as the Englishman turns with a raised gun to watch the room’s other exits. “I need you to hold onto the back of my vest.” He takes your undamaged hand and guides your grip over the heavy strap covering his shoulder. “Just like that. Very good. Just move when I move and we’ll get you out, yeah?”

You nod, feeling small and strange – he’s bigger than you initially thought, and you feel like a child hanging onto him like this. But you understand what he’s doing, and you’re slightly more confident in your ability to leave on your own two feet now that you have some physical support.

“Okay.” He lifts his gun and signals to the second man. “Let’s move.”

It’s a short, cautious trip back into daylight. The Scot checks corners as you progress, keeping himself between you and potential threats ahead while the Englishman guards the rear, ready for an ambush.

When you escape the shadows of the warehouse, a black SUV races up to meet your little band. You flinch back, but don’t let go of the Scot’s tactical vest, and the young man behind you rushes to assure you all is well before you bolt. “It’s our team. Don’t worry. You’re safe now.”

The Scot opens the door, hops in, and because you’re still holding onto him, you go, too. Behind you, the rearguard leaps in, and the vehicle takes off before he even wrangles the door shut.

It takes a moment and the Scottish gentleman clearing his throat before you realize you haven’t released him, and the hold leaves you kneeling awkwardly on the bench seat between the two… soldiers? Agents?

He does the hard work for you, unfolding your fingers the same way he brought them to the vest. “There you go, hen. You’re alright.”

Anxious, face burning, you slip down to sit like a functional adult with your ass on the leather and your feet on the floor. Two more men sit in the front, one with a rifle. One with a fucking fishing hat. That’s all you can see around the headrests. Nothing sticks in your head as you look around, and you can’t see out the tinted windows very well past the bulky men with their outsized guns.

You’re alive. You’ve been rescued. But every little sensation, every dawning thought and fact make you feel worse. Small. Trapped. Rushing somewhere out of your control.

You feel, once again, very terribly like a civilian caught in the wrong world.

#ghost x reader #captain price x reader #soap mactavish x reader #soap x reader #x reader #poly!reader #cod mw fanfiction

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s1x-foot-deep · 6 months

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FINALLY i have ALL these drawn up.... umm anyways heres designs for a prohibitedwish-centric au where prismo(& "friends") work at/run a roller rink, aka the Time Room, & scarab is an auditor suspicious of how the place even stays open and is obsessed with shutting it down<3 more rambling abt it under the readmore

ok. so basically:

starts in the 70s when the Time Room is doing alright, popularity-wise and financially. it contains an arcade room with a prize counter, a snack bar, a back office, restrooms Obviously and of course, the rink, for skatin'. here there are many events to be seen: parties for holidays, rollerblading contests, birthdays, etc etc...

in this time, pretty early on in the 70s actually, prismo meets Jake(not yet designed 4 the au but i'll get 2 him), who ends up being pretty much his best friend, and stirring up feelings prismo doesnt quite understand himself.... scarab, is assigned to do an audit on the Time Room and notices a name he recognizes, unfortunately. of course, it's prismo, there HAS to be something fishy going on here. so instead of doing his job like normal, how he should, scarab disguises himself and snoops around the rink himself for evidence of anything suspicious.... and of course, skate. can't go to a rink without skating right? it'd look suspicious. its definitely not because he's taking the opportunity to have fun & hang out in the crowd that'd usually shun him. he's not HERE for fun, you know.

in the background all the while, life & death have a budding romance, a beautiful lil opposites attract story... and lich is. well. lich is there and intimidating, and... friends with life? kind of? he doesnt think theyre friends, just that he doesnt hate Life, and they share music and horror movie recommendations. otherwise he loathes to be perceived

timeskip to the 90s, the Time Room is in a decline. less people show up, it looks run down, and prismo is.... not doing his job. he's busy mourning his best friend, who he only now realizes he loved, and he is NOT coping well. hes more apathetic than he was before, nihilistic one could even say, and even his pal Cosmic Owl doesn't know how to help.

during this time, scarab's also dealing with the consequences of someone passing. namely, his Unnamed, Unseen Sibling, who left behind a girl scarab now has to care for. he has mixed feelings-- he was never close with his family, nor does he like kids, but now he has to figure out how best to care for this child he barely knows, but thinks the world of him, for whatever reason. when scarab goes to the time room to keep investigating, like he's been doing for around 20 YEARS now, he's taking Chrysina with him as he can;t really get a babysitter or anything, nor would he trust one. and well, once he sees the sorry state prismo's in, it doesn't feel as great trying to ruin his life. sure, scarab feels a little vindicated to see the time room so dilapidated and empty, but now this mission just feels like kicking an old dog.

prismo, wallowing in his grief and poor coping skills, takes some sort of interest learning how much scarab despises him. people tend to like prismo, why doesn't this guy? he honestly doesnt even care if the guy finds something to shut the place down at this point, so long as he comes back.

ok i typed way more than i meant to here ok thats all for now bye

#adventure time #adventure time au #prismo the wishmaster #cosmic owl #death #life #the lich #scarab the god auditor #uncle scarab #chrysina #jess scribbles #scopophobia//#smoking//#drugs//#alcohol//#time room roller rink au #idk. do i even have a better name idea for it? no. no i dont #long post//

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floralcyanide · 9 months

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𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 - 𝐜𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐦𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐡𝐲

cillian murphy x gn!reader

After a sleepless night, you decide it's finally time to leave your husband, Cillian. Based on the song Every Light in the House is On by Trace Adkins.

warnings: angst, failed marriage, depression

word count: 1583

authors note: this is kinda mehh but I had no idea what kind of angst to write that wouldn't be soul-crushing lol and I didn't want to do that to ya'll just yet!! but if you like this please give feedback <3 (of course I did not proof read I just depend on Grammarly to guide me through the darkness lmao)

main masterlist | cillian murphy masterlist | add yourself to the taglist here

ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ʀᴇᴘʀᴏᴅᴜᴄᴇ, ᴏʀ ᴄʟᴀɪᴍ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀs ᴏɴ ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ, ᴀᴏ3, ᴡᴀᴛᴛᴘᴀᴅ, ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴡᴇʙsɪᴛᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴘᴇʀᴍɪssɪᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ɪɴ ᴀɪ ɢᴇɴᴇʀᴀᴛᴏʀs ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀʀᴛɪғɪᴄɪᴀʟ ɪɴᴛᴇʟʟɪɢᴇɴᴄᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴀʏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ᴛᴏ sᴇʟʟ ғᴏʀ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴏᴡɴ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛɪᴏɴ

“I told you I'd leave a light on in case you ever wanted to come back home. You smiled and said you appreciate the gesture.”

Deciding to leave has been one of the hardest things you’ve ever had to do. But it’s come to the point that you have to go- you’re no longer being treated the way you deserve and loved in the way you desire. Cillian’s career has reached a peak moment, and he’s been swamped for the last few years. He’s been studying J. Robert Oppenheimer for his role as him and has become Oppenheimer in a way. He’s distant, cold, and critical of everything. Cillian being occupied with studying and filming has made him a different person, a person you didn’t know. A person you no longer wanted to be married to.

You decided to wait until after the movie premiered to see if he’d change, but he didn’t. And it took you packing your things for him to begin waking up, metaphorically and literally. It was very early in the morning as you couldn’t sleep, and you finally got up from bed, digging out your luggage from the closet. You had been patiently and neatly folding your belongings and putting them in one of your suitcases for about two hours when Cillian first said something.

“Where are you goin’?” he asks, his accent thick from sleep.

“Away,” you say plainly.

“Away where?” Cillian sits up in bed, rubbing his eyes.

“From you,” you say, holding back tears.

A look of confusion crosses Cillian’s face, “What do you mean, love?”

It’s been ages since he last called you that, and the softness of his voice paired with the name sends tears rolling down your cheeks, “I’m leaving you, Cillian.”

Cillian is now climbing out of bed, all but tearing the covers off his body. He hurries to stand beside you, grabbing hold of your wrists, “What? W-why?”

“You aren’t you anymore. You’re not lively or happy as much as you used to be. I thought maybe you were getting old on me, but now I realize you’re just growing bored.”

“I could never be bored of you, sweetheart,” Cillian looks at you, his eyes softening, his salt and pepper hair tousled in a mess.

“Really? When was the last time we had sex, then?”

Cillian pauses, and a look of defeat crosses his features, “A while.”

“It’s been years, Cillian. At first, it wasn’t a big deal, but as time passed, I realized how long it had been. The last time was when we were in quarantine two years back,” you say, letting your tears fall freely now, “Of course, sex isn’t as important to me as you being you. And you just haven’t been the same for the last few years.”

Cillian nods slowly, taking in your words, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, let me make it up to you. Please?”

“It’s too late,” you frown, finishing your folding and closing the first suitcase, “It’s been so long already. And whenever I tried talking to you about it, it was like talking to a brick wall.”

You pull the suitcase off the bed and place it with the other luggage on the floor. Cillian then realizes you’d been packing for a while during his sleep. He hardly remembers you trying to talk to him about your relationship- hell, he hardly remembers anything from the last three years, really. But he doesn’t doubt that you did. He doesn’t think you’d ever lie to him, even if he probably deserves harsh punishment. You leaving him, he’s decided, is punishment enough.

“Will you ever come back?” Cillian inhales sharply, trying not to get visibly upset as he follows you down the stairs.

“I don’t know.”

If Cillian knows anything about you, it’s that once you’ve made up your mind on something, there’s no going back. And he knows that even if he gets on his knees and begs you to stay or cries his eyes out as he holds you close to him, you are still leaving. There’s nothing he can do about it except give you time.

“It’s still dark out, so be careful,” Cillian says, watching as you bring down the remainder of your things from your shared bedroom, “I’ll leave a light on, you know, in case you change your mind.”

He knew that you wouldn’t change your mind, though. But it was worth a shot.

“I appreciate the gesture,” you say, looking Cillian in the eyes.

Cillian looks down at the floor, and you sigh, unlocking the front door as you move your luggage to the front porch. Your best friend was picking you up, and you’d stay with them for the time being. Being away from Cillian will be hard, as you’ve been together all your lives. But you needed to do this for you.

“Every light in the house is on just in case you ever do get tired of bein' gone.”

“If I should ever start forgettin', I'll turn the lights off one by one. So you can see that I agree, it's over.”

It’s only been a few days since you left, but it’s felt like an eternity for Cillian. The house is eerily silent without you playing his vinyl and singing along or you humming as you clean the house. The TV isn’t playing a documentary or a show you’re binging anymore, mail piles up at the front door where the slot is, and dishes sit in the sink. A layer of dust is already coating photographs and knick-knacks, some of which were yours. Cillian is a mess and a half without you. He kept his promise, though. He left the porch light on for you. Also, the lamp at the front door, the lamps in the living room, the kitchen nightlight, the hall light, and the lights in the bedroom were kept on, too. You could probably see the glow of the house from the road. The home you two used to share is like a bright sunny day, contrasting with the darkness outside because of all the lights being left on.

Every day, Cillian sits in his office, reading a book and checking the time every five minutes. He also checks the window to see if your best friend’s car is there or if you are approaching the front door. But the car is never there, and you aren’t either.

After a few weeks of no sign or word from you and a higher electric bill, lights in the house slowly begin to be turned off. Cillian is more of a shell himself now than he was when you were together. He realized that he had been exhausted and inside his head too much, and that’s why he didn’t give you the attention you rightfully deserved. Cillian decided he would work on it, and if it would bring you back, then he’d do anything. But slowly, he began to give up on you ever coming back. Even if he did work on himself. So, he turned off the hall light, after that, the kitchen nightlight, and then the lamps in the bedroom.

“Every light in the house is on just in case you ever do get tired of bein' gone.”

The night that the very last light is on- the porch light- Cillian is heading to bed and decides perhaps he should finally turn it off. It’s been months now with no word from you. No calls, no letters, nothing. It’s time. When he goes to the front door, he sees something, no, someone at the door through the side windows. At this time of night, there is only one person it can be, but he won’t believe it until he sees it. He unlocks the door and pulls it open, and there you stand. Cillian can’t believe his eyes.

“You left the light on?” you ask, a tearful smile on your face.

It’s been raining and still is, and you’re soaked from head to toe just from the short walk from your friend’s car to the front door. Your wet hair is sticking to your face, and Cillian thinks you’ve never looked more beautiful than you do right now.

“Of course,” Cillian says, “Every light in the house was on at one point.”

“So I heard,” you chuckle, shaking your head at him and his sweet yet sometimes dramatic gestures.

“Are you here to stay?”

“Maybe,” you say, crossing your arms, “How has it been without me?”

“Horrible,” Cillian says immediately, “Quiet and dreadful. The grass isn’t quite as green without you here, and the birds don’t come to visit anymore.”

You laugh at the sad yet poetic way Cillian has made the house seem without you in it, “That’s too bad.”

“Yeah,” Cillian frowns, “I’ve missed you terribly.”

“I know. That’s why I’ve come to see you,” you say, turning around and waving off your friend so they could leave, “For a little while, at least.”

“Any time with you is time well-spent,” Cillian smiles.

This is the Cillian you’ve been missing, the witty and sweet man who’d do anything to see you smile. You come inside with your bag, and Cillian quickly runs upstairs to run you a warm bath, turning on every light as he goes. You notice there were no lights on in the house until you walked through the front door. Now, the whole place is alight again. You hope it’ll stay that way.

taglist:

@baizzhu @aporiasposts @queenshelby @orijanko @raineeace @nela-cutie @langdons-slut

#cillian murphy #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy x you #cillian murphy x y/n #cillian murphy angst #cillian murphy fanfic #cillian murphy fic #cillian murphy fanfiction #cillian murphy imagine #angst #floralcyanide writes

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annymation · 4 months

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Let me first say, I’m loving your rewrite of “Wish”. It’s the most interesting one out there so far! While I adore the movie we got, I also love the original idea of a Star Romance Story, so know… conflicted feelings.

But I really like seeing and reading peoples own spin to it. And yours definitely has some fascinating twists that I really enjoy! Which is why I've been wondering about something…

What is going to be the time span of the adventure in your rewrite? How long is it going to take for the for Asha and Aster to fall In love? I don’t mean that hastily. But you know that famous line from Elsa, “You can’t marry a man you just met”… Are Asha and Aster a “3 Days Romance” like so many Disney couples, or animated couples in general? Or more like “Beauty and the Beast” where you can only guess how much time has passed?

Already looking forward to the next chapter!

The story will be like 3 days long, of course with time skips from morning time to night time.

Aster and Asha falling in love quickly is kind of a reference to Disney’s old movies, I forgot to mention but even with Aster scaring Asha at first, ya know, like those old princes did all the time back in the day

I find it so funny they all did that, scared their new crush that they JUST saw from the distance, the boys back then wasted no time.

Back when Frozen came out it was a novelty to say that you had to “know someone before marrying” in a Disney movie, but I think now kids kinda get it, so yeah let’s have some “love at first sight” couples again pleeeease, me and my boyfriend fell in love at first sight and we’ve been together for 7 months now, we exist.

Not to mention some of our favorite couples like Eric x Ariel or Rapunzel x Eugene happen quick and are well developed.

Aster already loves Asha from watching her from the sky, tho he doesn’t understand what love even is so for the longest time he assumes that’s just how any star feels about their wish makers, only as the story goes on he realizes what he’s feeling is called love… And Asha thinks Aster is cute, kind and makes her laugh, ya know, I think it’s valid that she fell for him quick, but she’s too insecure to think the feelings are mutual… Even tho Aster makes it painfully clear that the feelings are mutual as heck.

#wish rewrite #wish reimagined #disney wish #asha x star boy #star x asha

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blues824 · 1 year

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I'm a sucker for Marvel so lemme request this and I might ask this for different characters bc I love Mantis

The octotrio, Malleus, Rook, Vil, Trey, Cater and Adeuce with a Mantis like reader? I rlly hope you know what Mantis is like and what her powers are but if not: she can basically feel emotions if she touches someone (not a weird way obviously), and make them do things. Like for example main thing I've seen her do with making them do things with touching is sleep. I'm sure you get the idea, not sure how I can describe her personality..

also if I went overboard on the character limit you can choose whoever you can whoever to this with, I mainly wanna see this with the octotrio, Rook and Trey though. All separate ofc :) have a good day!

🚪🏃💨

Of course I know who Mantis is like! I’ve read the comics and seen both Guardians of the Galaxies movies, as well as Infinity War and End Game.

Trey Clover

You were very naive, which wasn’t a very good thing to be when you’re surrounded by a school full of guys who practice magic. He acts as a guide for you at first, often leading you around the campus to make sure you stay out of trouble as much as possible.

When you tell him about your abilities and what you can do, he is very curious. He offers you his hand so that you can evaluate him and he finds it adorable how small your hands are compared to his. The tips of your antennae glow, and you start to blush.

“...You think I’m adorable?” You asked.

Now it was his turn to blush in embarrassment. He coughed into his fist before nodding, which caused the both of you to become silent. After a few moments, you realized how late it was. You pulled Trey down by the collar to give him a kiss on the cheek and then made your way back to Ramshackle.

When Riddle overblotted, he remembered how your first reaction was to hit the ground and use your powers. Your antennae started glowing again and you shouted ‘sleep’. That knocked Riddle out, but you shouted to everyone that you wouldn’t be able to hold him down for long.

Once the Housewarden was defeated, you passed out due to exhaustion and overexertion. Trey picked you up and carried you to the infirmary, and stayed by yours and Riddle’s sides to make sure you both made a full recovery. You woke up first and Trey couldn’t help but kiss you in pure relief. You were taken by surprise, but reciprocated before separating after hearing Riddle clear his throat. He was a bit disgusted and embarrassed, but glad that Trey could finally focus on his responsibilities as Vice Housewarden.

Cater Diamond

He can be a bit naive as well, but you take the cake. You’re so oblivious, but it’s one of the many qualities he absolutely adores about you. He definitely has a lot of pictures of the both of you on his Magicam, and he scrolls through his pictures a lot.

When you tell him about your powers, he gets super excited and pulls you into a hug. Your antennae start glowing and you catch on how Cater’s heart seems to be beating a lot faster now that he’s hugging you.

“Are you alright? Your heart is beating really fast and your body temperature went up.”

He immediately pulls away with a blush on his face, stuttering through his sentences as he tries to tell you that he was alright. Since you thought he had a fever, you reached to feel his forehead but he pulled away, bidding you a quick goodbye.

When Riddle overblotted, he remembers when you put your hands to the ground and shouted ‘sleep’. You warned everyone that you couldn’t keep him under for long, and Cater could see you shaking and struggling with all your power to give them enough time to defeat him. You passed out afterward

He picks you up on his back and gives you a piggyback ride all the way to the infirmary, where he visited you as much as he could. When you did wake up, Cater was so happy and excited that he placed his hands on the sides of your face and pulled you into a kiss. You could tell that he was very worried about you, so this was kind of confirmation that you were alive and there with him.

Ace Trappola

Kind of like the Drax of this situation, where he will use your naïveté to his advantage but will absolutely throw hands with anyone else who tries to take advantage of you. Eventually, he actually grew to care for you and treated you right (as he already should have).

When you tell him about your powers, he doesn’t believe you at first. Does the whole ‘oh , really? Prove it!’ You grabbed his hand which caused him to blush and closed your eyes. Your antennae started glowing and you focused on trying to read him. He couldn’t help but think you were beautiful.

“You think I’m beautiful?” You asked, suddenly feeling bashful.

Well damn did he feel exposed now. He started blushing before telling you yes, he did find you beautiful. It wasn’t like he could hide anything now, so he fessed up. The conversation ended with you placing a kiss on his cheek.

When Riddle overblotted, Ace watched as you put your hands on the ground and shouted ‘sleep’. You shouted to everyone that they needed to hurry because you couldn’t hold him for long, and that’s when your lover started getting worried. Once they got the housewarden under control, you passed out and Ace ran over to catch you before you completely collapsed.

He personally insisted on taking you to the infirmary. He was glad that P.E. and basketball training came in handy for once because he was able to carry you to the nurse, where he paced back and forth waiting for you to wake up. When you eventually did, he rushed over and just kissed you until you ran out of breath.

Deuce Spade

He acted as your protector because you were just so sweet towards everyone and they had the audacity to try and use it to their advantage. He’s the type to send text messages about you to his mom, asking her for advice on how to win you over.

When you tell him about your powers, he asks a bunch of questions. It got to a point where he was rapidly asking and not giving you the chance to answer, so you quickly grabbed the sides of his face and closed your eyes to try and focus on reading his emotions. His thoughts were running wild.

“Am I standing too close to you, Deuce?” You asked with a small smile.

The first year in question shook his head no and his hands went up to hold yours in place. To be honest, he loved the lack of distance. You both stared into each other’s eyes… before Ace burst in to complain about whatever was bothering him.

When Riddle overblotted, Deuce wanted very badly to get you out of there. But you fell to the ground, placed your hands firmly on the grass, and shouted ‘sleep’. You seemed to be struggling, so he ushered everyone to hurry and get Riddle under control. He stayed by you as you finally let go and you collapsed into his arms.

He carried you to the infirmary, where he stayed for a few hours so that you wouldn’t be alone when you woke up. When you did, he wasted no time in planting his lips on yours. Luckily, no one was able to interrupt you this time.

Azul Ashengrotto

He was originally going to take advantage of you because you were so oblivious to everything. However, you showed him love and kindness that he never felt he deserved, and your powers aren’t magic. You were an alien, so he couldn’t take your abilities away with a contract anyway.

When you do tell him about your powers, you demonstrate by taking ahold of his hand. He became flustered as you closed your eyes to focus. Then you gasped and started blushing. You were about to let go of his hand, but he wrapped his other hand around your wrist.

“You love me, Azul?” You asked.

His face was so red that you tried to bring your free hand up to his forehead to check and see if he had a fever, but he whispered a very soft ‘yes’ to your question. You smiled, turned his head a bit to the side, and placed a kiss on his beauty mark.

When he overblotted, he couldn’t help but notice your sad face that had a hint of betrayal. Surely you still loved him like this, right? You placed your hand on the tentacle that was holding you captive and shouted ‘sleep’. It hurt you to do this, but it was for the greater good (spoken like a true Guardian of the Galaxy).

In the infirmary you woke up before Azul, but you still couldn’t move because his tentacle had squeezed you so tightly. There was bruising on your arms and torso, so it hurt to move. When Azul woke up, walked to your bedside, and saw all the harm he inflicted on you, he started crying. You reached up (in a lot of pain) and pulled him down to kiss him on the lips. Once you separated, you whispered to him that it was going to be okay.

Jade Leech

He’s not the one who benefits from making deals with you, so there really isn’t any reason for him to take advantage of you. In fact, he thinks you’re absolutely adorable and would protect you from being taken advantage of. He even went on a strike of sorts when Azul told him his plan to get you under a contract.

When you tell him about your powers, he asks if you would be so kind as to read his mind. You grasped his hand with both of yours as you closed your eyes and your antennae began to glow. You had such a focused expression that he couldn’t help but admire you.

“Jade, you’re looking at me and all I feel is a warm feeling in my heart. Do I do that to you?”

He brushed some hair out of your face with his free hand as he nodded slowly. You smiled, a bit bashful at his boldness. You both were getting closer and closer to each other… when Floyd burst into the room because he missed his darling brother.

When Azul overblotted, you ran towards one of his tentacles. Jade was about to pull you back and out of danger but you dodged and got a grasp. You shouted ‘sleep’ and you warned everyone else that you wouldn’t be able to keep him asleep for much longer. You collapsed into your beloved eel’s arms once Azul was taken to the infirmary.

Jade decided to bring you to his room, because you seemed to only be asleep. He was trained in first aid due to being an employee in a small-scale restaurant, so he knew that you would gain consciousness soon. Once you did, he was right by your side. He gave you a kiss on the forehead as he told you how proud he was that you helped in battle, but to never do anything like that again.

Floyd Leech

You reminded him a lot of an angler fish, but you had the mind of a jellyfish. You were kind of oblivious, and it was a bit frustrating at times. Didn’t you know he loved you because he spent every waking moment where he wasn’t occupied with you?!

When you tell him about your abilities, he squeezes you so that you can read his mind. As you process through his feelings and emotions, a few stick out. There was one in particular, he felt romantic feelings towards you. He always got excited when he saw you, so it made sense.

“Floyd, I love you too!” You squeezed him back.

Said eel had a dopey smile on his face as you peppered kisses all over his face. The fact that you returned his feelings made him so freaking happy. He was about to pull you into a kiss when Jade burst in with the news that caused you both to follow him out.

Azul was overblotting. Floyd was about to pull you behind him when he saw you running towards his boss. He ran after you, only to see you get swept up by one of the tentacles. You placed your hand on it, activated your powers, and made him fall asleep. You shouted to the others that you couldn’t hold him for long, so they defeated him quickly and Floyd caught you in his arms as you were falling. You were unconscious, so he took you to the infirmary out of panic.

There, he waited by your side until you woke up. You can not imagine the joy and relief he felt, to have his beloved Y/N safe and in his arms. He leaned down and gave you a kiss on the lips that told you what he felt, and you reciprocated it almost immediately. If only that moment could last forever.

Vil Schoenheit

He thought you were absolutely beautiful. Whenever he thought of the word ‘alien’, he thought of weird green creatures, not you. However, you were quite naive. He told you that it would be better for you to stick by him so you wouldn’t get hurt by anyone.

When you tell him about your abilities, he is very intrigued. He offers you his hand, and you delicately take it and close your eyes to focus. He notices how your antennae start to glow and you can essentially see what he’s seeing.

“I didn’t know you thought my eyes were beautiful. Yours are as well!” You said after a while.

He thanked you for the compliment and continued doing your skincare. You see, he loved doing this type of stuff with other people, and you knew this because of your powers. So you agreed to his requests whenever he asked.

When he overblotted, he saw that you looked conflicted about your next move. He loved you dearly, and you were the one person besides maybe Rook that saw him as the fairest of them all. He was distracted and only got back on track when he felt you grab his hand and heard you shout ‘sleep’. The last thing he remembers is you yelling to the others for help.

You were still asleep when Vil woke up in the infirmary. He looked over and saw that there didn’t seem to be any damage besides major exhaustion, and he let out a sigh of relief. He placed a soft kiss upon your forehead and pulled up a chair next to you to wait until you woke up.

Rook Hunt

Another one who was absolutely enamored of you. You showed an other-worldly beauty, and since you caught his eye he took to stalking you. He noticed that you seemed very innocent and sort of clueless, so he stuck by your side (with your consent, of course).

When you tell him about your abilities, he is also very intrigued. He offers to waltz with you in the forest so that you can get a read of him. Since he always had very loving thoughts about you, you started blushing once you reached into the hunter’s mind.

“You are one romantic hunter, Rook. I love you, too.” You said.

The dance ended with him dipping you and looking deep into your eyes. There were so many words that you both had to say, but they were left unsaid. Rather, you already knew what the other had to tell you because you were thinking the exact same thing.

When Vil overblots, Rook wanted to keep you out of the fight and wanted to make sure you were somewhere safe. Instead, you rushed head first into the fight, planted your hands on the ground and screamed ‘sleep’. You shouted at your beloved hunter that you couldn’t keep him under for much longer. Once the Housewarden of Pomefiore was dealt with, you collapsed into your boyfriend’s arms.

He had volunteered to carry you to the infirmary, where he had waited for both you and his housewarden to wake up. When you opened your eyes, Rook was right there. His heart melted when you looked at him and smiled. You lifted your hand to cup his face and he held it there while bending down to kiss you on the lips. He had never been more relieved than he was at that moment.

Malleus Draconia

His dragon instincts told him one thing and one thing only: protect you. You were just so kind and innocent and gentle… how could he not want to watch out for you? The two of you are often seen arm-in-arm, having seemingly delightful conversations.

When you tell him about your ability, he uses this opportunity to get closer to you. He sits down on the ground as he tells you to use his horns. He explains that it’s very personal and intimate to touch a fae’s horns, but he trusts you. You gently place your hands on his head, while placing the parts between your pointer fingers and thumbs around the bottom of his horns.

“Do you harbor romantic feelings for me, Tsunataro?”

He stiffened, before nodding carefully. You knelt down in front of him and held his face in your hands carefully. You both looked into each other’s eyes, before you turned the fae’s head to the side and placed a kiss on his cheek.

When Leona overblotted, he was actually present at the field. He understood what the plan was originally to get Leona back for cheating, but no one predicted the lion’s overblot. He was about to run after you when he saw you running towards the prince of the Sunset Savanna, but just a few feet away you stopped, dropped to the ground, planted your hands down, and shouted ‘sleep’. You warned that you couldn’t keep him under for long, so everyone packed Leona up.

Malleus caught you as you collapsed from exhaustion. He picked you up and took you to the infirmary, where he stayed by your side. He got worried that you weren’t going to wake up, so he decided to do something he only heard in a fairytale. He leaned over you and gently placed a kiss on your lips. He was relieved when you let in a deep breath of air and opened your eyes.

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