#he’s built in a way that he needs his space

[undercoverpena]

14. soft periwinkle

frankie morales x f!reader | chapter fourteen of do me yourself

summary: a meet-cute in a hardware store? impossible, out of the question. except, that's exactly what happens. a need for screws leads you to a broad-shouldered, brown-eyed man who you're sure is about to change your day, never mind your life.

wordcount: 3.8k chapter warnings: dad!frankie, luca appears. frankie calls you 'rainy' (paint-related from chp.1) no other descriptions or name used. no use of y/n. brief mention of frankie’s sobriety. an: thank you so much for being patient for this chapter, things are still odd at home but I've missed this pair so much <3

prev chapter | series masterlist

key: frankie is in bold, you are in italics

Limbs stretching out, sheets rustling, your smile grows as your hand remains clasped around the phone as you bring it to your ear—

Good morning, baby.

It’s a sound that's so perfect. Just for you.

It's a sound that's so perfect. Just for you. A treat to enjoy each day—sometimes this way, sometimes in person. Still, it's almost cruel when a day starts so perfectly but doesn't end that way. You whisper your response back, even though there's no one in the house you need to be quiet for.

But it’s instinct, just like loving him is.

I love you, Frankie whispers—deep, a little gruff, voice muddled still with sleep. I love you, you repeat back, eyes staring at the photograph on your bedside table.

The one on his side of the bed. Because you have sides now.

You’d printed it the other week and chose the frame a week before that. Eyes flicking over photo-him, how his chin is raised, eyes closed, little lines in the corners from how much he’s laughing as one arm keeps you close, and he rests his other hand on the top of his abdomen.

You hadn’t taken it, Benny had. Sent it to you thirty minutes after he’d snapped it without the two of you knowing.

When will you be here? Frankie's honeyed voice asks, making you sit up from the pillows, push down the duvet. Once it’s delivered, I’ll head right to yours. I’ll be there soon, you whisper—hearing him groan as he stretches.

But soon hadn't needed to feel this long.

Busying yourself, mug in hand—warm against your palm—you lean in the doorway of the office he's built, noticing the time. How it rudely ticks on, widening the gap from the end of the call to the moment you'd hoped to be with him.

You’ve found yourself lingering in this doorway a lot lately, piecing it together, almost trying to recall what it looked like before he’d gotten his magic touch on it. The final touches are almost ready to be made, with the blinds due to be fitted soon.

And this morning, the sun has been trying to show, ready to drape the space in warm gold—little rays of light trying to break through clouds, show more than just spots of cyan between the fluffiest white.

Phone buzzing, you pull it from your back pocket, finding you’re the next stop. A thing you already knew from tracking it since you’d risen. Glancing at the little dot as it bounced around the streets as you checked your emails, showered, dressed and made coffee.

His coffee. Not able to go back now you’ve tried it.

The bubble of anxiety in your chest flares as you drain your cup. It doubles when you place it in the sink. Wiping your hands on a dishcloth, you linger close to the front window, hoping it’s perfect—knowing it needs to be.

Not that there’s any time to fix it if it isn’t.

Not even a backup plan made, a thing you half-kick yourself for as the truck pulls up outside. As your fingers flex and you dig your nails into your thighs—not wanting to open the door and wait, appear impatient; but also not wanting to spare any seconds from not being able to check it.

Not that you’d even needed to worry.

A thing that made you grin the entire drive over, keys jangling up his drive, pushing open Frankie’s front door, closing it behind you as you shout, “Luca?”

There’s a pause.

Then you hear him.

Excited bare feet slapping against the floor, thrill filling your chest, eroding all earlier worries as you move to the living room, kneel on the rug as the little boy runs to you dressed in a white onesie, various shades of dinosaurs at all angles covering it.

An outfit you remember Frankie telling you about the other week.

“Oh, well don’t you look cool?”

Grinning, spotting the smallest gap in his smile, remembering the panicked conversation Frankie had reenacted when he’d called Sam, as the man himself waves at you from the kitchen.

“You like?”

“Of course, you look so cool, Luca!”

“Cooler than Daddy?”

Flicking your eyes to Frankie, half-smirking. “Don’t tell him, but yes. Anyway, I’ve got something for you.”

Pointing at himself, he grins even wider—if that is at all possible. “For me?”

Crouching down, you slide onto your knees, before pulling open the paper bag that crinkles as you gently take out the white t-shirt inside, unfolding it, showing it to him.

And the look, as you expected, is priceless. His eyes widen, joy exploding in them as his finger gently, all but cautiously, scratches at the drawn image now ink-printed on. All you can do is watch, practically fixated on his little brown eyes tracing every element of the thing the two of you had huddled around your laptop over. How a few weeks ago, he had huddled close, dug his knees into your thigh and let you show him how he could arrange it all. His little finger guided by yours until the drawn image he’d crayoned into paper sat where he wanted on the screen, joined by the photo Frankie had found of Luca and Sam were in position. Wanna add some dinosaurs? you’d asked, aiding him in choosing cartoon dinosaurs and stars until he was happy.

“You made this! Can you believe it?”

Nodding, he continues to stare, finger-stroking at one particular photo on the t-shirt. “Mommy will like I thinks.”

“I think she’s going to love it. I bought some gift wrap—do you want to try and do it with me later?”

Nodding again, but more enthusiastically, his hands interlock in front of him. Doing a little wiggle as he stares, as he moves from the t-shirt to you.

“Thank you.”

“Anytime,” you say. “I’m going to fold this up—just so we don’t get it dirty. And then later, we can wrap all the other things for Mommy before she picks you up.”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” you repeat, watching him hesitate.

A beat occurs. The t-shirt slid safely back into its bag before you feel it—little arms, the familiar scent of laundry and the softness of new fleece. A warmth exploding in you that makes you almost well up, a desperation to cling a little tighter when your arms instinctively move around him, hugging him back as little breaths tickle your ear.

“Thank you, Rainy.”

Your face shifts, trying not to choke up at the nickname coming from his mouth as your eyes meet Frankie’s in the doorway—the biggest smirk on his face.

“You’re welcome, Luca,” you whisper, as the two of you release.

It’s not even a second, barely a moment to take in what has happened before Luca shouts (enthusiastically) that he has a new toy—running back off, barely aware of the size or significance of his hug.

Fingers wiping your eyes, giving Frankie a don’t start expression as he offers his hand out to you.

“Coffee?”

Laughing, letting him pull you up, you nod, “Please.”

Sliding your arm around his back, half walking and half being led to the kitchen, unsure how you could ever begin to describe the content feeling pulsing inside of you.

“You okay?”

Nodding, you wipe another tear, staring at him, before you press a kiss to his lips. “Hi.”

“Hi, baby.”

Have I told you how happy it makes me when I get the notification that you've posted and I find you looking so good?

Do I need to know how to build decking in Will's yard? No. Do I suddenly want you to dick me? Yes.

When did you start uploading hour-long videos?

Morales, I don't think you know how hot you look laying planks of wood.

Didn't know laying decking would get you so worked up.

Anything you do gets me worked up, keep up.

How worked up are you?

Worked up enough that I'm wondering if your lunch can be extended or whether I should go for an afternoon nap.

Your code for naps is broken. I know what that means now.

I trust you with my secret. Especially since you love my naps.

I do. But then I love everything about you.

Am I going for a nap alone, Morales?

No, but start without me, but do not finish.

Did you send flowers to my house?

The card saying Frankie didn’t give it away?

I got a card saying Maurice. Are you telling me your name is Maurice Francisco Morales?

Fuck. They must have misheard me when I called them at drop-off.

Well, they’re lovely, Maurice. I’m very excited to be wined and dined by you—are you sure 8pm isn’t too late for you?

Hilarious.

Do you have to be careful of what you eat? In case you’re up all night.

I’m hoping to be up all night anyway.

You mean with me right? Not with indigestion.

Have I told you how funny you are?

Not today. They are really pretty, Frankie.

I can’t wait to pick you up tonight.

I can’t wait to forget to put underwear on.

Fuck.

For the amount of time it’s taken for the two of you to get here, as soon as he holds the door for you, you can see it was worth it.

A thing you feel you should have known before now, when he’d showed up to pick you up with flowers in a nice shirt and a pair of slacks eyes widening at the sight of you—a scratchy, syllable broken fuck, you look beautiful leaving his lips as you try not to drag him into your home.

You only stop yourself from doing so because he’d insisted on treating this like a real date, and not just going out for food. Something you’d reminded him when his mouth slid over yours, when your spine met the front of your door and his knee tried to slot itself between your legs—hitching the fabric further and further up your knees. Chest heaving, already sure that the thin fabric between your legs is damp with want.

“If you do this now, you’ll ruin your surprise,” you say against his parted lips, eyes flicking up, finding pupils almost swallowing brown. “It’s a good surprise too. Lacy. New.”

You were still thinking of the groan he emitted when he told the hostess his name.

Tearing your eyes away from his, you sweep them slowly over the restaurant, the urge to tighten your fingers around his hand almost unbearable as your heart swells with a tender ache.

Because the restaurant is nice, really nice. It’s nothing short of warm, romantic—cosy. Each table is graced with a flickering candle, casting a gentle, golden glow that pirouettes on the walls. Fairy lights drape like delicate garlands over the bar area, the twinkling reflections like constellations in a night sky.

The deep red walls are decorated with local art, each piece telling a story with little tags beneath them highlighting the name and price of the creators as your gaze lingers on a particular painting. It’s a street, one a few blocks from here, Harold’s in the corner, nestled close to the edge, yet it holds its presence with quiet confidence.

By the time you’re seated, the sounds and murmurs of other diners have blended into a soft, melodic hum that mixes with the soft acoustic music. The air is tinged with rosemary with cooked dishes that flutter past on trays with swirling steam.

You can understand why it’s a place he’d wanted to bring you. Why there had been nothing but disappointment in his voice when he’d had to cancel all those months ago.

Your eyes gaze at him as he sits, dropping the stare when you brush your fingers over the leather menu—lips curling into your cheek at the sight of the candle flickering between the two of you.

“Big enough for you?”

Smirking, you bite down a laugh as you unfold your menu. “More than appropriately sized—you undersold yourself.”

Reaching across for you, your hand slides into his—finding itself home as his thumb slides over yours. Staring at the appetisers, the mains, it all sounds far too good, making it far too hard to choose. Eyes scanning over each, unsure what it is that you both want to eat or feel safe to eat—not sure if you’ve packed mints or if there’s a convenient way to brush your teeth between getting back and taking him to bed.

“I think I mentioned it, but you look good.”

“Oh, do I? I… I was not aware. Must have gotten lost in you pressing me against my front door.”

Snorting, he shakes his head, eyes lingering, something there etched and hanging.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

You don’t buy it, gripping his hand a little tighter—tilting your head to ensure your eyes lock onto his. “Frankie,” you say softly. Silently letting tell me to be spoken wordlessly.

“Sometimes I can’t believe that you’re mine.”

Tightening your hold on his hand, ignoring how your neck is warm, your chest and ears, you let a smile broaden out. More so, when his palm twists, interlocking your fingers.

“Believe it, I'm not going anywhere.”

Your lips remain parted, more words wishing to fall, willing themselves to. But you stop, staring at his thumb as it circles over your knuckles.

“Not… even to the bathroom?”

Laughing softly, you squeeze his hand again, feeling the warmth of his skin against yours. “Well, maybe for that. But I promise to come straight back.”

Smiling, it sliding into his cheek, he swallows before whispering okay.

“Can’t believe I met you because I decided to be spontaneous and try and dabble at DIY.”

Brushing his thumb over your fingers, he grins—that one which crinkles his eyes and makes his teeth show. “Can’t believe I gave such good service you stalked me a few days later.”

“I did not.”

“I don’t blame you Rainy, I look good in an apron.”

Shaking your head, exhaling loudly you lower your gaze to your menu. “Look better in just your hat, Morales.”

“Glad I’ve got it in the truck then.”

Just finished the project, I’m done. All signed off. No more Mr Grump. So, how’s the second grump in my life?

I’m not grumpy.

It’s okay that you are, your son is on vacation.

I ate chicken nuggets and waffle fries for dinner.

Oh, baby. But was it good?

Ridiculously good. No wonder the kid is mad for them.

Do you want me to come over? I know you have work early and I can bring my laptop, work from yours tomorrow while you’re out.

I’d like that. But only if you want to.

Yeah, of course I do! I get to use my key!

You still at home?

It shouldn’t make you smile, but it does.

Blooms over your face, makes you feel ridiculous, like you want to kick your feet out from under his blanket and shriek with joy. Because it’s simple; you know it’s a slip-up as he likely rushes from thing to thing.

I am. You/we are running low on groceries? Wanna go grocery shopping with me Rainy? Only if you let me push the cart.

He’d already called you on his lunch, told you how Harold had struggled with his breathing again, that he should be done in an hour, maybe two. I’m not going anywhere. Yeah? You’d only realised you’d been nodding when he called out your name and you quickly responded with a year.

In truth, you hadn’t left his home in four days.

A thing you’re beginning to feel increasingly guilty about. Like you’d moved in without as much as asking. Your things had found themselves even more with his, and deep down—later confirmed when you’d called a friend to catch up—you realised you didn’t even really miss your own place.

A thing which should feel odder than it does; a thing you turn over when you lock his door and head out to him as he pulls up to grab you. It turns over and over, almost folding in on itself by the time he’s parked up and exiting, still telling you about how he’d helped a man who knew even less than you—a thing he hadn’t known was possible.

It isn’t until he collects a cart, and wheels it to you with ease, do you realise he’s made you. Known right under your smile and humour that you’ve been thinking something.

“Tell me.”

Smirking, you exhale, walking in with him through the automatic doors as you’re both washed over in air-conditioning. “I’m wondering whether I go back to mine tonight for just underwear and clothes or…?”

Adjusting his curls under this hat, he steps behind you to avoid shoppers leaving the store. “Do you... want to go home?”

You’re thankful his hand doesn’t move from your back, allowing you to root yourself to it, letting him lead you to the fresh produce.

“I don’t want to overstay my welcome, that’s all.” You watch as he grabs a plastic bag, glancing at you. An unreadable expression gliding across his face. “What?”

“Baby, if I could have my way, I’d never let you leave.”

“You’re just saying that.”

“I’m really fuckin' not.”

Swallowing, you feel a flutter. A spread of warmth slides out across your chest and through your lungs—the same one you feel when he looks at you for a little longer than normal. When his smile catches yours when you’re talking to Benny and he’s fetching drinks with Will.

Watching him tie the bag, placing it down carefully, he straightens back up.

“Do you want to go home tonight?”

Biting your lip, you shake your head. “I’m also worried if I stay for another week, like I want to, it’ll be really hard when I do go back.”

Snorting, he ties another bag—an assortment of shades beginning to make a pile in one corner. “So, for your sake—and mine—I should tie you to my bed?”

Glancing around, mouth open and eyes wide, you smirk. “Francisco.”

Shrugging, he grins, grabbing the end of the cart, leading you to another aisle—one quieter, fewer people.

“If I had brought my croissant pajamas, you’d want me to go home.”

Holding up two items to you, you point at one as he nods in agreement, shelving the other where he found it and adding the other to the cart. “Your croissant pajamas?”

Licking your lips, you pretend to be enamoured with some dried sauces. “Well, I have my sexy ones where I aim to be naked, then my cute-but-he-could-still-make-me-naked ones, and then I have my food ones.”

“The fact you’ve not shown me these before now upsets me.”

Laughing, you feel him tug on the cart, as you reluctantly follow. “Because you want to laugh?”

“No, because I think you’ll look hot in them and then I can see how many puns I can do before my mouth is between your thighs.”

He makes sure to look over his shoulder at the last part. A thing you both like and rather loathe all at once, especially here—in a place with people. Where you can smother your little tells, but likely not hide them well enough from him and the way he knows you so well.

“I do really like your cockiness.”

“Oh, Rainy. I know you like the first four letters of that last word.”

Nudging the cart into him, his laugh makes your chest bloom. Almost explode. A sound you’ve had the chance to experience in person more lately—a treat, a thing you’re not sure if you can so easily give back up.

“You fancy something in particular for dinner?”

“Not sure—we should buy dinosaur-shaped nuggies, though.”

Adjusting his hat, he comes to a stop before some frozen doors. “I can grab those before Luca is back—”

“For us, Morales.”

Narrowing his eyes, Frankie slowly tilts his head. “You been eating dinosaur nuggies, Rainy?”

“I cannot confirm or deny. But I will say there’s not an age on dinosaur nuggies.”

“Fuck, you have! You like dinosaur nuggets.”

Shrugging, mirroring him from before, his gooey smile slides up into one cheek—making that dimple appear, making it hard not to reach out and brush it with your finger and then your lips.

“We should buy some granola—maybe fruit? Be adult-like.”

Rocking his head from side to side, he shrugs, nodding,

“Hey,” you say, passing some cakes—large ones, lots of frosting, “It’s your birthday soon, isn’t it?”

Tearing his eyes from a shelf, thinking, he slowly nods.

“And, does that mean it’ll be your sixth year too?”

Fingers sliding over the cart handle, waiting, not pushing, he slowly grabs a box, placing it down with the other things, before moving closer around the cart. “You remembered?”

“Well, I love you, Morales. What’s important to you is important to me.”

Nodding, he scratches at his arm, momentarily looking lost in the cereal aisle. Like he's shrunk, lost. The shadow of his smile having faded, almost flattening to a thin line.

“Frankie?” you ask, watching in real-time as he comes back to you.

Like the world goes from black and white to colour.

“Do you... want to do anything for it?”

“My birthday?”

Smiling, you look down briefly before meeting his gaze. “No, your six years.”

Shrugging, he picks up a box, stares at the back of it, likely pretending to read it. To be in awe of it.

“What if I said I wanted to do something for it? To celebrate you. Would that be too much?” You wait a beat, watching him re-shelve the box, and his Adam's apple bobs in his neck. “It can be small. Just us. I can even just get you a cake, but no candle, of course.”

Snorting, he runs his palm along his chin. “Of course.”

“Think about it. Let me know,” you say, pushing the cart closer, nudging him with the end of it as he flicks his eyes to you.

And then it's slow, cautious.

Begins with a gradual lift of his knuckles under your chin when he's beside you, tipping your mouth up to meet his—and you swear you taste a thank you on your lips as he kisses you. As he places another, and another. Your hand slips to his lower back, feeling yourself want to turn and momentarily forget how public the two of you are, when you feel him ghost his mouth over yours, eyes slowly opening, practically drinking you in.

“Don’t go home just yet,” he says, your lips rolling together, fingers slowly splaying out on his back. “Unless you want to go, that is.”

“I don’t.”

“Then stay.”

“Okay.”

He doesn’t step back, not immediately, whispering an okay himself as his eyes flick from one of yours to the other. “Please bring your food pajamas.”

“You gonna promise me you’ll still love me?”

Pressing a kiss to your forehead, sliding your other hand from the cart as he steals it from under you, he grins. “Forever and ever.”

“I might hold you to that.”

He just grins. A knowing grin.

You find you don't hate the look one bit.

NEXT CHAPTER ->

we're almost to the end of this pair, and that hurts my soul. i'm going to miss them so much. thank you for all the support until now, and going forward. i adore each of you for coming along this ride with me, even if all i gave you was hardware frankie and some texts.

#frankie morales x reader #francisco morales x reader #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales x you #pedro pascal character fanfiction #triple frontier x reader #francisco morales fanfiction #frankie morales #triple frontier fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #francisco catfish morales x reader #catfish morales x reader #pedrostories #jo: dmy #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal #francisco morales #francisco catfish morales

[justbelievinginmagic]

ariadne's thread ⎯ pt. 6: the hunter and the hunted.

pairing(s): hyunjin x fem!reader, bang chan & fem!reader, jisung & fem!reader series summary: when tempted by an intoxicating offer by hyunjin the goblin king of the underground, you fight against him to find your own sense of self once more while in his labyrinth. glimpse: the gardens hold the beauty of the labyrinth . . . as well as its horrors. creeping forward without jisung's companionship, you face the roars and growls ahead, alone. warnings/tags: inspired by the 1986' movie Labyrinth, follows majority of the movie's plot points with lore divergence, 3rd person POV, use of Y/N, bang chan is referred to as chris, mild violence, cruel punishment, injuries, blood, fear, fights, strong language, faerie lore!!, world building, hyunsung tension, let me know if there needs to be more tags! word count: 7.8k series masterlist

Roars echoed through the Labyrinth, shaking the greenery around her. Some rogue flowers curled into themselves, hiding away like sea creatures returning to their shells. Startled bird-like creatures croaked and crowed as they flew off with leathery-sounding wings. There was a rustling within the hedges like the leaves themselves were crawling away from the frightful sounds. Yet here she crept forward, holding her breath as she finally reached the entry-way, a grand hedge archway shadowing her as it opened into a courtyard.

This courtyard was different from the others. Instead of being encompassed by the hedges, the immediate space in front of her were evenly spaced porcelain columns holding up the large rotunda above them. It was only then she realized she was closer to the edge of the Gardens than she had thought – the false sunlight was still bright overhead, making sweat drip down her neck but, she could also see the rest of the Labyrinth in front of her, maze after maze crawling over large undulating hills. It looked like it was made for an ant, how far away and never-ending the maze felt from this perspective. Looming over it all was the Castle, ever present and ever far away. She swore she saw a light twinkle from the highest tower, like a winking eye. The Runner looked away and peered towards the cacophony filling the air.

There was a maze of columns now, scattered in no exact pattern she could distinguish, but providing cover as she crept forward. The floor was between cobblestone and dirt, uneven and changing in its consistency. Yes, this wasn’t the well-maintained Gardens of before – it felt like she was off the chosen path once more. Creeping forward, each pillar seemed to hide what was happening purposely, shifting to prevent her from moving forward fast enough– growls and roars only increasing but also screeches of giggles from squeaky-goblin voices. The same tones she had hear in her bedroom chanting and snickering from underneath her bed. That felt like ages ago…

In the shadow of one of the columns holding the grand rotunda up, she could see a man hung by his wrists, high above small furry goblin creatures wielding weaponry of all sorts. He was well-built, shirtless, his white linen shirt torn to shreds below him where it soaked in a puddle of his own purple blood and sweat. Injuries and bruises painted his skin like a mosaic of muddy emerald, inflamed vermillion, and bloody purple-violet. His head was thrown back in pain as he bellowed out an animalistic noise, too deep and monstrous to truly be human. It almost didn’t process that it was coming from his chest, yet she could see his human-pecs vibrate faintly with the sound. That was when Y/N noticed the ram-like horns curling out of his temple, framed by messy, sweat-plastered brown curls.

Yes, he was certainly not human. (But what here was?)

The fine muscles in his neck and shoulders strained and bulged as he swung by the iron chains looped around his hands. All his weight on just his wrists must’ve been torture. The fae-man took a deep breath, his stomach concaving and expanding, before he heaved himself upwards as he tried to adjust the weight on his wrists. He only had a moment to breath out a hiss before he slumped down, groaning from the pain of holding his weight. Shoulder bones popped and creaked inhumanely.

Even worse were the goblins surrounding him that took joy in his agony, giggling and cackling with sharpened fangs.  Each one held a different sort of weapon – a spear with a sharpened tip dripping in violet, a javelin with some sort of creature tied atop with millions of fangs and blood-stained claws at the ready, a flower-esque whip with red-thorns lining the long strip of vine, the list went on. One by one, the goblin creatures dressed in miniature knight-wear would approach with giggles and chatterings, egging one another on. They poked and prodded the man, who grunt and struggled.

A particular strong bite to his ribs by the javelined-creature made him roar out in pain. Inhuman noises broke free from his gnashing teeth, bearing chipped fangs at the guards who tormented him.

It wasn’t right.

The horned man was dripping in purple blood, the violaceous rivulets staining his bared skin. His eyes squeezed shut as he groaned out a growl. The clash of a whip went against his bared back, and Y/N flinched back at the sound.

She had to help; she just wasn’t sure how. Glancing about she tried to find something to defend herself with. The goblins were small but there were five of them and only one of her. Five armed, one unarmed.

“Take this,” she heard a voice squeak out as a spear prodded the fae man’s chest and he let out a wail, head thrown forward now. As if he could somehow protect his chest. Breathing heavily, he glared at the little creatures, struggling against his bonds once more as he twisted and swung in a slow circle. Eyes wild as he spun and spun. She thought for a moment, their eyes locked. But he soon was groaning out in agony.

The Runner glanced at the jewels on her waist. Would one of these be large enough to throw or cause damage? No, not truly. Perhaps—

She felt a nudge against her shoe. Holding in a yelp, a hand over her own mouth, she looked down to see… a rock. Nothing magical about it. Not a bauble of light, a bubble she had seen the King tempt her with time and time again. Just a sandy-looking rock, large enough to be a softball size. It nudged her again slowly and intentionally. It kept a snails’ pace but it nudged and nudged and nudged. Insistently. As if called to her. It took her a moment of awe before she heard another cry of anguish, and her eyes flashed back to look at the captured fae-man.

Her heart squeezed to see tears drip down his cheeks as his teeth gritted into a scowl. This wasn’t right; she had to try something. Squatting, she grabbed the rock that inched forward slower and slower, and brushed her thumb over the rough edges; it didn’t look magical, or living, but this place had made her question things before. The Runner glanced back up to see all five of the ‘knights’ count down, preparing to rush forward the weapons ready to strike the poor trapped fae. It was now or never!

It was then she aimed and threw the rock, aiming for one of their heads. With a clank, she hit her target. The rock bounced off of one of the guard’s helmets, swinging it around almost comically until it covered their eyes. With loud squeaking words in a language she couldn’t decipher, the creature spun about with their weapon tilted before it pierced through another guard’s chainmail. Shrieks of chaos, bickering and moans of pain came from their pile of fur and claws.

“You hit me!”

“No, you did!”

“I’m reporting this to our commander!”

“No, you won’t!”

They spoke over one another in a hurried mess.

Most goblins weren’t clever; they followed their instincts and forgot things. Like their prisoner and the rock that had hit their comrade in the first place. Off they marched, babbling over one another still, until the prisoner and the Runner were alone.

Y/N let out a breath.

That was surprisingly easy. What wasn’t easy was finding out how to get the injured man down now! Rushing forward, she heard a low growl shake the ground.

She slowed, hands rising as she took in his appearance. He was huffing and puffing, his ribs expanding and decompressing rapidly. He had finally stopped swaying in the wind, but it only seemed to trap him more. His body huffed and puffed, eyes wild as they eyed her and snarled.

He looked uncanny in this moment – less human than he had been a minute ago. His mouth too large for his face as he let out a menacing growl, rows of fangs as if he were a shark were visible as he glared at her. There were far too many sharpened fangs for her to feel comfortable and yet she still tried to soothe him.

Those goblin guards had been torturing him for fun.

She wouldn’t.

(She surely hoped that would mean he wouldn’t hurt her in return.)

He growled again and she paused – doubting herself for a moment. She met his eyes and saw how they were shaking. The irises were trembling, jumping from her form to the environment around them. Maybe he was just… scared, overwhelmed.

She offered a gentle smile, hands held up in defense.

“I won’t hurt you!” she called out softly. “I promise.”

Before she continued forwards carefully. He jolted backwards and growled. His movement made him spin from his wrists once more.

He was afraid – that was the only explanation. But she could feel his pain as he spun once, twice, three times. He squirmed and tried to readjust again only to swing wildly. His chest heaved and there was a whine of pain escaping his throat.

“Oh no,” the Runner rushed forward quick, hoping he’d be facing away and not startle too badly as her hands rose to stop him from spinning. Two small hands resting on his broad back with care, sliding to settle on his ribs to avoid any of his wounds. His body was cold as stone and sturdy as rock. She felt his muscles jump as she minded his injuries the best she could. He stopped swaying and she took in his restraints from up close for the first time. Far too many chains of iron curled around his form. There was a shackle around his neck, a chain looped around his lean waist, wrapped chains around each of his biceps and finally a myriad of overlapping chains around his wrists from which he hung from. She gently turned him around, trying to keep it slow and gentle.

She met his eyes, grey and stone-cold. They were piercingly heavy and she couldn’t help but stare. His face was all masculine angles, sharp jaw, rectangular face. His nose was broad and bore a large scar, like an animal scratch starting from his right cheekbone traveling across its bridge to the other cheekbone. His teeth were snarling at her, perpetually stuck in this growl. His bottom canines were sharpened and chipped in places as if he had used them to fight before. Her eyes flickered back to his eyes that seemed to speak for him now. It was commanding but not in a way that was magical – it was a brute strength, cold-stone glare.

“Down,” he finally spoke to her, more like growled out to her; his tone still edging towards animalistic still.

She nodded agreeing. “I’m trying.” She reassured, her hands leaving his form after a moment. “Trust me.”

“Before they get back,” he rumbled.

“I know. I’m trying to find how they strung you up,” she relayed as she followed the chains high above them. Like his own bonded wrists, the chains linked and overlaid one another in a patterned mess. They stretched up across the columns, criss-crossing like a spider’s web. She could even see some bird nests in between the chains, making their home there and weighing down sections. Her gaze went one way and then another. This way and that, that way and this. Twisting around columns, decorating it in intricate weave work. Until they came to the end. Which was thankfully not too far. The last end of the chair curled around a column like ivy before hitching over a hook in the rockwork.

Rushing over to the end of the lead, she quickly released it, unwinding it and letting go as it tugged ferociously. The man crashed to the ground with a heavy thud. He hissed out but remained still on the ground for a moment. Huffing and puffing.

“Oh! I’m so sorry!” she cried out, rushing over to him and falling to her knees beside the fae-man.

She watched, cautiously, as his body heaved and huffed. His muscles finally had a break, his joints cracking loudly as he shifted this way and that. He pressed his forehead to the ground beneath him, his horns digging into the soil. Skin to raw earth, he seemed to relax. His shuddering stopped as he took in deep slow breaths.

“Are—are you okay?” The Labyrinth-Runner queried. She didn’t touch his bare back nor move from her spot beside him.

He breathed in before nodding.

“Yes,” he replied, sounding different. More whole now. His voice was no longer a rumbling growl but instead it was shifting into something far softer. He cleared it gently.

“Thank you for helping me.”

Rising up onto his knees, his hair fell over his forehead in mussy natural curls with leaves and twigs from the ground tangled in his locks and dirt clinging to his forehead, but what caught her off guard was his eyes. They were no longer stone-cold but instead a gentle grey. Sparkling and gentle as he took her in. He leaned back onto his legs, matching her kneeling position as he blinked owlishly at her.

“I’m… I’m Chris,” his voice was careful, soft. Tinged with an accent Y/N couldn’t place but felt far different from the others’ she had met so far. But what had shocked her so far was his sincerity.

Despite everything - the mussed curls plastered to his sweatied forehead, the overwhelming chains wrapping around his form, the claw marks, goblin bites, and cuts oozing violet-purple blood across his torso, the layered scars up and down his arms and shoulders, the prominent slice across the bridge of his broad nose, the dirt across his brow – his grey eyes felt soft and real. Honest. His lips twitched into a careful smile, far from the uncanny rows of fangs she had sworn she saw while he was trapped.

She would take this in stride she thought. Not everything is as it seems but… if she was honest, he seemed to be different from what meets the eye.

“It’s nice to meet you, Chris,” she greeted, a hand slowly going to pick the leaves and sticks from his chocolate hair carefully. He flinched away at her movements at first, his overcast eyes dilating before focusing back in on her like a big cat as he froze and allowed her to pick a pine needle from his hair carefully.

“I’m Y/N.”

He repeated the name with a softness. “I’ve never heard of a Y/N in the Labyrinth before.” Chris murmured.

“Is there only one person for each name here?” she queried as she continued her picking and fluffing of his curly hair. He blushed an otherworldly purple, the color high on his cheekbones.

“Names are special here. No one is ever named the same,” he informed her.

If he had been even more honest, he’d mention that names held power. (There was a reason Jisung never gave her his, nor did Hyunjin. Learning names from other sources gave them less power than someone giving it to them but it was still power. Naming a fae was entering a pact with them.)

She hummed in acknowledgement before taking the final loose leaf from his hair with a satisfied smile.

“I’m trying to beat the Labyrinth,” she told him, hands going to her knees. “I’m trying to get home. Do you know the way to the Castle?”

There’s a glance towards to the looming image of Hyunjin’s castle – it somehow was able to look so close yet so far away in one blink, as if it were an optical illusion. Chris pressed his lips together and swallowed, looking away from the centerpiece of the maze.

Despite his strength, in that moment, he looked small. Hand going to scratch at a wound on his arm as he shook his head softly. Eyes downcast, almost child-like. Frightened, she realized.

Maybe it was due to the King’s cruel guards, or maybe the King had declared this sort of punishment.

It made her blood boil – the King was frightening. A tyrant king. She had yet to meet one person with a positive view of him. It was guards long forgotten at posts deep in uncared for mazes, remains of Runners scattered in the Labyrinth like forgotten toys, trolls left to rot in oubliettes, power-lusting goblin guards torturing a man. All away from the castle and yet shadowed in Hyunjin’s power.

She glared up at the Castle she was trying to get to. What would become of her if she fails? If this is how he keeps his Labyrinth’s order? She knew he wanted her to be his – but if this was his Kingdom, was she to become nothing but another ghost in the many twisted paths of his Labyrinth?

“Okay,” she buzzed. Too much energy in the word to sound calm. But she didn’t push him, not when he winced after grazing over a wound too closely. Her gaze settled back on Chris, taking in the way the iron chains wrapped around his body. They cut into his skin harshly, his wrists dripping with deep-violet blood, and even his biceps had rivulets of blood running down his arms with every movement. That had to hurt.

“Let’s try to get these off, okay?” she changed the subject, hands moving from her lap to brush tenderly over a chained bicep before fingering the ones around his wrists. The chains were heavy and criss-crossing like snakes around his wrists. She couldn’t see where one chain started and ended.

Chris couldn’t help but let the awe in his eyes gleam as she touched his shackles with ease. (Iron is cursed to fae – remember this. Iron-metal burns with a thousand suns to weak faeries; why do you think the human realm is made up of it?) Chris had grown used to the ache and sizzle where the metal laid but every push and pull made his eyes water in agony. But she touched them easily.

“It’ll hurt.” Chris rumbled - eyes wide as he pulled back from her grasp. His hands going towards his chest protectively.

“But, doesn’t it hurt now?” Y/N asked, eying the cuts carefully.

Chris visibly gulped as he tried to shrug.

“It’ll be over in a second,” she promised. “We’ll tug them over your hands and figure out what to do next.”

The horned man shook his head, eyes wide like a pup’s. “No, no way; it’ll hurt!” he pleaded.

“Trust me?” she asked. “Like before? I helped you then and I want to help you now.”

He swallowed. “I do trust you. . .”

“Good, here let me see,” she soothed as she took his hands once more in hers.

The chains wrapped over and over around his wrists, weaving in and out. They were made slippery with his magenta-hued blood. It took time and each time she unwound it further, each time she found a new give in the chain, she’d apologize quietly. The push and pull of metal had to hurt against his irritated skin.

“I’m sorry, I know it hurts; it’ll be better once its off,” she apologized once more as she tugged and tore at the shackles from his wrists. He whimpered, the sounds escaping from his clenched fanged mouth.

As they continued to unravel, the iron digging into his skin became more and more rusted and sharpened. There were odd-crystal structures of rust piercing into his skin, like thorns, and it made her only gasp in horror as she continued to pull at the irons.

“Oh, my God,” she murmured softly as she saw how torn up his wrists were. It only made her want them off quicker. He sniveled, eyes shutting tightly. She quickly continued onwards, flinching as these crystallizations scratched her own hands up. But they were almost unraveled, more and more bare skin visible. Puffy and inflamed, deep-violet and navy spiderweb bruises bloomed where the chains had rested.

“I’ve got it I promise.” she quickly slipped the cuffs away.

His violet and her ruby blood mixed together on their skin as she dropped the cuffs to the ground.

“There,” she smiled proudly before looking over his hands. “Oh Chris, are you alright?”

Only, he was staring down at her own hands, covered in red and purple.

“I’m okay.” his voice was strained. “You’re bleeding, Y/N.”

His nostrils were flared. His chest rose and fell harshly as he smelt the blood billow into the air.

Her hands stung but she simply shook her them as if its rid them of the pain. Chris’ large hands went to grasp hers, his touch harsh at first as if he wasn’t used to his own strength. Her furrowed brow, soft gasp, and clenched teeth were cues enough and he held them gentler, tenderly. His eyes were sad, almost like a kicked puppy dog.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured.

“I’m okay,” she reassured. “Just some cuts and scrapes.”

His fingers brushed over some of her wounds with the carefulness of a parent, not wanting to cause her any more pain. She squeezed a finger gently, trying to let him know it was fine.

“Let’s get these off too,” she nodded to his arms. They looked easier to wiggle off, less wrapped and more like a singular chain that dug into his skin. With some effort and Chris flexing and twisting his arm, they too fell away to the cobblestone floor.

His biceps were ringed in irritated-inflamed violet while remnants of magic-infused blood, sparkling and shimmering like amethysts in the Gardens’ light, dripped down his tanned skin.

“Do you want us to try to remove the neck and waist chains?” she queried, wiping her hands on her pants (luckily, they were dark and wouldn’t show the blood that now painted her fingers a pinky-purple color.) Each brush of fabric made her flinch.

Chris looked down at his bound waist, long chains of iron wrapping around him and draping to the floor, tumbling around his legs.

“No, let me try; I can move my arms,” he tested the strength of the chain, gripping it by his sides. Gritting his teeth, he held the shackle’s chain in his hand and pulled. Pulled, pulled, pulled until the link shattered. The shackles fell from his waist like it was a paper chain.

Y/N’s eyes widened at the display of strength.

“Wow.” She murmured. “You’re really strong.”

Chris smiled, his eyes squinting into half-moons as his cheeks flushed.

“You're strong too," he complimented, because in his eyes, she was.

"I was a Hunter before this,” he admitted to her.

“What happened to get you caught up in this?” her chin nodded to the shattered remains of the chains and his shredded shirt on the ground beside them.

He frowned. “I failed a mission set by the King,” he replied. “He cursed me to a hundred years of imprisonment.”

“That’s horrible,” she replied. “What was the mission? Nothing is worth a hundred years of imprisonment if it was just a task he gave you.”

“I was sent off to destroy a beast – a monster in the desert sea, but when I found it—him—I realized it was just living peacefully,” he commented. “He hadn’t caused any destruction or deaths. So, I spared him.”

Her brows crinkled. “So, the King punished you for mercy?” she queried.

Her blood boiled. Hyunjin was becoming more and more unsavory to her. How dare he! How dare he punish someone for mercy!

“He wasn’t himself after—I thought maybe a courtier had planned it, made the plot to blame the destruction onto someone else – he didn’t believe me.” He murmured, fingers brushing over his no-longer aching wrists. “The Prince had tried to help me.” Chris admitted after a moment, head tilting in acknowledgement. 

Prince… King… wait. Y/N’s eyes widened.

“How long have you been captured, Chris?” she asked.

“I can’t remember—maybe a few years.” He admitted. “Minutes can feel like days.”

She feared it had been much longer if there was a Prince when Chris was put into chains and now there were none. Unless Hyunjin had a son running around in the looming Castle but there were never any tales of that in her storybooks.

“I’m sorry that you’ve been stuck for so long – especially with those goblins looking over you,” she nodded in the direction the ‘guards’ had scurried off to. Her eyes flashed over his bared skin, the cuts and bites and bruises looking gnarly on him.

“I’ll heal,” he promised, smiling at her kindly. “The pain will leave soon; thanks to you.”

She smiled gently. At least she helped him in her quest. He seemed kind. There was a warmth to him and bigness that felt like he was sturdy and true in himself. Confident but quietly so. Comforting like the way mountains were comforting in their ever-presence.

“I need to keep going now,” she admitted. “I need to make it to the Castle – will you be alright?”

His grey eyes widened, soft pouty lips pursing into a frown.

“Without me?” he murmured. “Can’t I go with you?”

It didn’t feel like a ploy. It felt like he was genuinely sad you were parting.

“I mean, we will be going against the King,” she told him. “I don’t want you to get into any more trouble, Chris.”

He shook his head firmly. His lips now falling into a disapproving line rather than a pout.

“Nah, nah, nah,” he said. “I can help you – like you helped me.”

Her own eyes were soft and gentle as she looked at the hulking man before her and yet his words were gentle and kind.

“Are you sure?” she clarified.

“I can’t let you leave without me,” he insisted. “We—I’m here for you now.”

It was insistent and genuine. Not insistent and obsessive. It felt like for once… she had someone truly on her side. Not won over by prettied jewelry or by loneliness in the middle of a maze with only their lover. But for her and her actions.

Her smile made her cheeks ache with how large it was.

“Okay. We’re friends now,” she told him sincerely.

“Friends,” Chris beamed back as he took her hand in his giant one.

His hand encompassed hers easily, but he held it with care of a gentleman.

“So where to?” he asked.

The path onwards felt counterintuitive. They were led away from the Castle, their backs to it as they settled on the now-dirt path. Light from the rotunda above them still glared down but now felt more like a sunset’s rays rather than a noontime sun. Perhaps it was due to them being so close to the edge of the false sky-light.

They had walked only for a short time before Chris queried.

“Why do you want to get to the Castle?”

“I’m a Runner,” she said. “I’m in the middle of a deal with the King.”

He shivered faintly from the corner of her eye. “I’m surprised he took upon a Runner.”

Her brows crinkled. “Why?”

“His Champion-Queen fled to the human-realm a few years ago.” He hummed. “He hasn’t been the same since.”

“That’s interesting,” she mumbled, glancing around and winding around a column.

There was now just a large bank to her right and the Gardens and their large columns to her left. The gorge was dark. Misty and shadowed as the light of the garden’s rotunda failed to reach it. There were no fantastical floating lamps and no fire pits in this part of the Labyrinth. Just darkness. Trees seem to sprout into existences as they continued onwards, large piney trees that crept higher and higher, growing denser and denser. This shadowy darkness spilled over onto the path like an oil slick leak.

“Can you tell me more about the royals?” she asked after a moment.

Chris offered a bashful look. “I don’t know them that well,” he admitted scratching his neck. “I grew up in the Shadow of the Castle; I know the Royals by face not name; I doubt anyone really does. There’s the Goblin King, the Heir Prince, the Queen-Consort. We all know of the Champion-Queen but I’ve never seen her.” He shrugged a bit.

“I don’t know what else to say – they are the rulers of the Underground? The Prince loves celebrations; the King loved the Labyrinth once.” He tried to find anything else to say but it seemed to be difficult. Was it the topic or was it something more?

“Tell me about you then,” she conceded, hoping maybe she’d grasp some more information about this world.

Her eyes stayed locked on their surroundings, watching as the dark shadow-like trees of the forest beside them shifted and bent in the wind.

“I was the King’s Hunter – my father was their Hunter before me. My brood will be their Hunter after me,” he said easily, shrugging. “I’m tasked with maintaining the peace in the Kingdom when it comes to unrulier creatures.”

She nodded slowly. So, there was supposedly order here and Chris was once their enforcer, which felt like he was higher than the guards that were poking and prodding him.

“What will you do now?” she asked.

He nudged her playfully with his shoulder, having to dip to nudge her with his muscular shoulder. It made her smile.

“I’m with you now!” he chimed. “You got me, Runner, in your graces. I’ll travel with you and make sure you are safe like you have for me.”

(Blood for blood. Life for life. He was here until his debt was paid.)

“But… after I leave. . . “, she wondered. “What then?”

Chris pursed his lips, looking off into the distance. There were faint hazy orange-light over the horizon – from what she could only assume was the entrance of the Labyrinth, the way she came. It looked so far away now. She couldn’t help but feel optimistic that they were making progress even as they approached where she came while following this path.

“I could go back –”

There was a scuffle in the brush. Chris’ hand reached out to grasp her shoulder. She wished he had a weapon but his bared teeth reminded her that he always had a weapon with him.

“Y/N,” he began before there was a hissing sound and flash of color in the dim light.

He shifted her to the side, pressing her behind him as his large arm blocked an attack. There was a loud thud as the creature was tossed aside. It thudded to the ground, a pile of red. Another flash of light was to its right.

It didn’t look humanistic. The way it shivered and shuddered with technicolor light, too bright and too flashy to really grasp onto its features. It was more of a shifting, shimmering light leak.

Chris grunted as he stood fully in front of her as a screech escaped the creature on the ground. In a blink, all she could see was red dripping down the creature- with its long talons and dripping crimson rivulets down his forehead. Large antlers pierced through its skull and his eyes gleamed a burning red.

Meanwhile, the entity of light danced this way and that, around the crimson creature, around Chris, and around her. Like it was dancing in a waltz amongst a battle. Chris hissed.

She shifted this way and that as she batted off the tendril of light and color. It didn’t harm her, didn’t even touch her, but it was almost observing her as she backed into the hedges of the Gardens. It hovered beside her and she tried to maintain a distance while keeping her eyes on the fight.

A low growl rumbled from Chris and the creature shifted low on the ground. Her back pressed against the leaves of the Gardens, ivy scratching at her ears and neck as Chris’ posture shifted.

(Faeries all had glamour. Some wielded it; some didn’t. Some wielded it quite well.)

Chris seemed to have great control over his glamour as the same uncanny features appeared. Larger mouth, his form felt larger even if was the same height as before and there was a fearful aura around him as he dug a hand into the ground.

The crimson creature jumped and jittered about, long limbs cracking inhumanly as it crept forwards. Its gaze was locked on Chris before they rose to linger on her. There was a deep chuckle, humming through the threads of existence.

Chris rumbled again, a warning hiss. There was a jolt and movements too fast for her human eyes to follow. In a blink of an eye, the creature was gone from her vision. Chris turned and swiped towards her; the crimson creature far too close to her now. The entity of dancing-lights seemed to swerve in front of her, an inhuman type noise pushing out of its existence. She stumbled back as the two grappled one another. Antlers against horns, their feet slid in the dirt and mulch of the path. She shrieked as her feet fell deep into loosen soil by the bank and she yelped, trying to escape the cave-in of their path along the gorge. Nails dug into the remaining solid rock, her head only above their path now.

“Chris!”

Chris’ muscles strained, wounds dripping purple, before he grabbed both creatures and tossing them aside like they were nothing but a leaf.  He turned to find her amongst the concaving dirt.

Mud and mulch kicked up into the air and a blur of color rushed towards her. Chris quickly leapt into action, pushing the creature away as the Runner was shoved to the side, out of breath. There was only a moment of calm before she was slipping off the path. The bank crumbling from her weight and becoming nothing but mulch and loose dirt beneath her shoes. She scrambled, trying to grasp onto something as the crimson creature roared from overhead. The entity of dancing technicolor light swirled and whirled as it danced in and out of existence until it was gone.

“Chris!” she screeched out. “Han!” the name left her throat in fear. “Help – please! Jisung!”

A barking noise, like a creature whining and running off, pierced the air before there was a huffing puffing Chris in her vision.

“Y/N, I’m here!” he cried out, reaching a hand out.

There was no time for relief as her shoes sunk into the dirt and she slid further down the gorge. Hands scrambling against tree roots and dead brush as she tried to climb towards her friend. But the dirt was too loose, too damp. She kept sliding down and falling. The wind was knocked out of her as a log buried in the dirt nudged her stomach painfully. It dislodged her from her clawing, making her tumble onto her back.

“Chris!” she screeched out as she fell, her feet gripping nothing as she slid fully now.

She tried to grasp onto something, a root, the dirt, but everything was so fast and the fall was so steep she was soon tumbling down faster and faster until she was far below the Gardens in the darkness of a forest.

-

“She’s so dumb – I can’t believe she’d- just,”

Jisung was wandering around the last of the Gardens’ hedges – huffing and puffing about the Runner and her stupidity. His clothes were clearly ruffled from maybe, possibly, probably forcibly-pushing his way through the hedges to get back onto the main path. His curls were messed with twigs and flower petals. He stomped a bit as he passed into a new part of the Labyrinth.

The cobblestone had faded back into a dirt path. There were destroyed arches of stone, large sculptures that were tumbled over, and cobwebs casting a haze of fuzz across near everything. Old trees and barren hedges of rot framed this place. A dried fountain ached for water in the nearby courtyard of an abandoned castle. The Old Castle. This was a place for ghosts and dust. Dust sprites huddled together by a barely lit fire. In the corners, abandoned shadows clung to concrete columns and broken hunks of fire-eaten wood.

There was a large sculpture of a familiar face – strong jawbone, pout familiar, and a glowering brow – half destroyed as if by a blast of magic. Jisung passed by it without a second glance.

“Running towards roars – she isn’t going to last long; why would she do that?” he grumbled and muttered, fussing with the bracelet on his wrist. “Why would she do that?”

He didn’t understand it; he didnt understand her. But he wanted to, itched to. He couldn't help but feel so so...

“Han!” he heard her cry in the distance and he froze, jeweled eyes widening. “Help, please!”

It felt like liquid ice was injected in his veins. She needed him. She was hurt or in pain or about to be in pain and he left her. Left her. He left her alone in a place that was just built to prey upon her. His only friend. . . 

“I’m coming, Y/N!” he breathed, turning to race back to the Runner only to run into a sturdy chest. The smell of fire-smoke and honeyed-mead flooded his nose. 

“Where are you off to, Jisung?” the King hissed.

“Hyunjin,” the goblin-fae breathed out, startled by his appearance.

Dressed in a white silken shirt that was lazily open to reveal his chest, leathered pants, and a dragon-scaled purple cloak. He wore a fine halo-like crown of kingly-gold, intricate and delicately embellished with rubies. His face was one of annoyance, his lips drawn into a line and his brows furrowed.

It was a surprise to see the King in a place like this. Even the solidarity shadows hid away from their corners and pillars of stone, far away from the King of the Underground. Hyunjin glanced aside, looking over the ruins with a curled lip.

“Jisung, what did we agree upon last time we spoke privately?” he queried, remaining ever close to Jisung even as the goblin-fae continued to back away until his back hit the statue’s remaining face.

Hyunjin’s gaze flickered over the half-desecrated face of the King of old, his eyes squinting in disdain before settling back onto Han’s pout.

“Lead the Labyrinth Runner away to the beginning – which-which I was going to go do, like you told me to. She simply, uh, escaped me. Got too eager.” Jisung replied. “I’ll go lead her back right now!” He wiggled against the press of the King’s body. Hyunjin held Jisung’s shoulder down harshly, digging him into the sharp cheekbone of the Old King’s statue.

“I see; I thought you were running off to help her,” he mocked.

Jisung snorted out, the sound forced as he let out a strained smile. His shoulder-blade ached with the way Hyunjin pinned him to the stone. 

“No, no,” he smiled, pleadingly. “Not me, Hyune.”

There was almost a look of fondness in Hyunjin’s eyes at the nickname. His hand rose from the other’s shoulder to squeeze Han’s cheeks. The metal claws that Hyunjin wore pricked his skin and Han grimaced. There was a beat before Hyunjin pulled away, a glaring smile on his lips.

“Of course,” Hyunjin hummed before letting go of the goblin-fae with a rough hand. “Not after my warnings, no.”

Jisung stumbled away as he rubbed at his cheeks. His gaze flickered upwards, looking at the other through his messed curls.

“Poor, poor Jisungie,” the King condescended, sighing out. “I noticed your jewels are missing,” Hyunjin noted.

Jisung’s hand instinctively went to wear they usually weighed on his waist. They were absent; his bracelet thudding against his belt with a plastic scrape.

“Oh, oh.” He stuttered.

“Jisung!” there was a distant cry from the Runner, so far off in the distance it was barely audible. She needed him. Hyunjin was quick to speak over her and her following yells.

“How’d that happen? After all you went through to obtain them, you’d think you’d be more… careful with your treasures,” Hyunjin commented.

The goblin-fae’s hand rose to itch at the back of his neck, fiddling over the raised scales that resided there. “I—You’re right—something must’ve—I’ll have to look for them,” Jisung stumbled over his words.  “But, first, I’ll go and whisk the Runner back to the beginning!”

Jisung bowed slightly as he began to back away, step after step, heading towards Y/N. Y/N needed him. He had to find her. His fingers fiddled with the charms of his bracelet, rubbing one charm back and forth as he tried to sneak away only to feel the world stop. Birds shushed; the brush ceased to shift in the air; sounds and squeaks of the world tumbling along quieted. The air chilled to a freezing temperature and he froze.

“Wait, Jisung.”

It was an odd thing – a power only the High Fae had with their pure-connection to magic, blessed by the Underground to be able to control time and reality at whim. Hyunjin didn’t do so often, and only when it benefitted him.

It had been a while since Jisung had felt the effects of his power. Time stopping was useful when you wanted to avoid something or prolong another thing. He has memories of forever parties where time refused to tick forward, air frozen cold from magic being warmed by his body pressed to Hyunjin’s and other courtiers, and paused moments around the Castle, just him and Hyunjin, locked in embraces and pleasantries beyond Time’s eye.

Jisung’s eyes shut before he turned and falsified a smile to his King.

“I have a better plan.” The King mused. “Give her this.”

Hyunjin commanded with a flare of his fingers. Suddenly, a fruit was daintily perched in between his clawed fingers before he tossed it to Jisung quickly. The goblin-fae reacted and caught it easily.

“What is it?” He hummed, holding the thing carefully.

“It’s a present,” Hyunjin’s voice was sharp as he paced a few steps forward.

He didn’t like that he had to stoop to such levels, but she was progressing far too quickly. He couldn’t help the rise of defensiveness. He had expected her to be cowering in his shadow by now – he had expected her to be at his knees, sweet and pliant. 

“It won’t harm her… will it?” Jisung queried, quietly.

The peach was abnormally heavy for such a small thing. It reeked of magic like honey-suckle with a sour-undertone, like something was fermenting within it.

“Now, why would you care?” Hyunjin paused, glancing over his shoulder at the goblin-man.

Jisung’s lips pressed into a fine line. Silence struck him. He was truly a coward after all that has happened. He couldn’t say what he truly thought even now. If he did, what if it hurt him – what if it hurt Y/N, too? It was odd feeling care for someone else after all these years. It made him swallow roughly.

Hyunjin’s smile was sharpened fangs and rolled eyes.

“Don’t tell me – you like the girl?” the King mocked.

It was foolish but expected of Jisung. He always wanted what wasn’t his. And the Labyrinth-Runner was his. Not Jisung’s. His.

Jisung’s voice was a stutter as he glanced towards a nearby shimmering tree and avoiding the King’s gaze. His throat felt dry as he swallowed. His hands fiddled with the bracelet – her bracelet he was reminded cruelly by a voice in his head. Her bracelet she gave him after he promised to help her. But here he was… discussing her with the King. Betrayer, betrayer, betrayer. Coward, coward, coward. His thumb brushed over the charm he favored the most – the smoothness easing his rising anxiety as he felt a roil of bile climb in his throat. He felt like he was back to the dunes outside the Labyrinth, banished and alone, with only the sands of time as his company and the taste of dust on his lips. He licked his lips – it didn’t taste of grit or death. He wasn’t there.

The King made him anxious and ever-cowardly. A long while ago, he was believed to be the King’s favorite – but it is true that Hyunjin’s blood was cruel, and no one knew that more than Jisung.

“Do you love her?” Hyunjin pressed on, turning fully to look at Jisung.

Head tilting like a predator sizing up his prey, he took slow steps with his long legs. His deep purple coat didn’t dare touch the dusty ground – it was as if small dust sprites lifted it just enough so it wouldn’t tarnish the fabric. It made him look more unearthly, more slowly unhinging at the thought that Jisung wanted her. His Runner.

“Do you think she loves you?” he commented, voice deep and low like a tiger’s growl.

It held an air of warning but also ridicule. As if the idea was fictious – unbelievable. Hyunjin’s eyes stormed as Jisung’s gaze rose at the other’s words. At the sight of the hurricane building, Jisung glanced aside once more as he found his voice.

“She’s my friend,” Jisung finally murmured, glancing down at his feet. “I don’t want to harm her.”

His eyes focused in on the bracelet that jingled lightly. The metal didn’t burn him – despite its iron and silver appearance. He liked that. It made him feel powerful. His other hand’s thumb brushed over a different charm.

“Oh Jisung,” his true name was like a dog’s lead around his throat. His head snapped up to meet the King’s gaze. He was oh so very close now; his smell of fire-smoke and honeyed rosemary burning Jisung’s nose.

“We were friends once, too,” Hyunjin reminded the shorter man.

And he had hurt the King was unspoken but loud and clear. Betrayal bit at the lesser-goblin’s spine. There was a hum in the King’s throat, a soft tut before, with the polished specter, he tilted Jisung’s chin up.

“Jisungie, if she ever kisses you,” Hyunjin was close, the king invading the space of his once-Gentleman-In-Waiting, his estranged best friend, “I’ll make you a Prince.”

Jisung couldn’t help the glow of wonder from sparkling in his eyes. Confusion and awe. He was a greedy soul through and through. Perhaps his blood was of dragon-fae long passed considering how he exceled in green envy and the need for a hoard of pretty things.

If he was a Prince of the Underground, he’d have all the jewels and finery and wondrousness that a fae like himself deserved. Even more than when he was a Gentleman-In-Waiting. All because of a human kiss? No, no, not just a human’s kiss – it was Y/N. Brave, stupid, charming Y/N. She’d probably like him more and--

“The Prince of the Land of Eternal Stench,” Hyunjin finished with a cruel smirk. He loved to watch the awe fade from his subject’s eyes – how Jisung’s Adam’s apple stuttered with a swallow. Hyunjin’s fingers rose to pinch the fair goblin’s chin. “Don’t make me do such a thing, my pet.”

Jisung trembled as he nodded. “Yes--yes, your Majesty.”

“Good boy,” the Goblin King hummed before letting go of Jisung’s chin and stepping away with a scowl.

“Give my gift to the Runner; she’s making too much progress.”

#skz x reader #jisung x reader #han jisung x reader #skz imagines #stray kids x reader #stray kids imagines #hyunjin imagines #hyunjin angst #hyunjin reactions #stray kids scenarios #stray kids fanfic #stray kids fantasy au #han jisung imagines #jisung imagines #jisung reactions #han jisung reactions #jisung angst #han jisung angst #bang chan x reader #chan x reader #bang chan imagines #bang chan fluff #written by haley #hyunjin x reader #hwang hyunjin x reader

[slasherscream]

the absolute INSANITY of the pushing your s/o away thing with the crazy ass boy gang… it’s like triggering a dog’s prey drive but for serial killers w abandonment issues

CRAZY ASS BOYS GANG + PUSHING THEIR HAND AWAY/REJECTING AFFECTION

❥ who gets pissed the fuck off ❥

Billy Loomis - Is irritated off rip. Billy plays it cool but he needs physical affection from you. He’s casual about it so he flies under the radar, but this is a stage five clinger. He’s always doing something small. Touching your fingers. A hand on your back. Neck. Sitting behind you instead of putting you directly in his lap. It’s little stuff. Hovering. Smack his hand away one of these times and his jaw clenches right away. “What the hell is your problem?” Please snuggle up to him and don’t start world war 3. It’s not worth the joke. 

Kevin Khatchadourian - Quick question, why do this to yourself? Kevin does not need, nor does he particularly enjoy, physical contact. Period. He is gracious enough to give you physical contact because he knows you’re built different (pathetic). For you to then turn around and spit in the face of him being kind enough to meet your needs? …. Quite crazy of you. The look he gives you is pure confusion because he’s honest to God baffled. What do you want to accomplish here? Go ahead and start begging now, because he’s not touching you for a long while. 

Sparrow!Ben Hargreeves - Swings wildly between damn near dodging any physical affection you attempt to give him to hanging off you like a squid on a ship. No in-between. For you to have the audacity to reject him when he’s feeling clingy? How dare you. He doesn’t have to beg anyone for attention! Did you forget who you’re dating? Doesn’t even care if you did it with obvious playfulness. He’s sensitive. He’s tender. He’s a bitch. He goes to get up and leave entirely and you have to grab him and beg him to cuddle so this doesn’t become a week long cold war. Happy ego stroking! 

Stu Macher - What you’re not about to do is ruin his mood. Baby, he’s about to ruin yours. How about that? If you push his hands off you once he enjoys a little playful bitchiness. Playing hard to get. He likes to chase, it’s cool. Twice? Okay…. We’re irritating him. Three times? He’s gonna grab your hand, stop smiling, and stare at you. When he places his hand back where it belongs, on your thigh, don’t act up again. He could make your whole week go to shit. Don’t start wars you won’t win. He’s the king of playing stupid games and winning stupid prizes. 

Nathan Prescott - Has to bluster and get visibly pissed off because he is rejection sensitive to a degree that is astounding, frankly. Let you see him upset after he tried to be affectionate and you said no? Hah! Not fucking likely. Being physically affectionate in the first place doesn’t come easy to him. Quality time is more his speed. Even worse if it wasn’t a sexual advance he was making. He tried to wrap an arm around you and you shrug him off? You’ll be lucky to get a hello out of him for the next week. Good luck soldier.

David Mccall - Outwardly, he pretends to be despondent and sheepish when you bat his hand away. He’s using sadness as a shield. If he’s sad then you might feel bad and give in. He’ll use any tool in his arsenal to get his way. One of his greatest skills is speaking in a soft voice, just shy of how you’d speak to a toddler, and telling you: “I didn’t mean to upset you, sweetheart. I’m sorry.” This is all to hide the fact that you rejecting him in any way, shape, or form makes him so angry he can barely think. You might be able to catch the rage hidden behind the veil. If you’re quick enough. David puts on a convincing show, but his gentle smile is twitching at the edges.

❥ who gets sad and mopey ❥

Jordan Li - Oh you pushed them away? No, that’s cool, it’s totally fine. You can want space. Everyone’s entitled to their own space bubble. Of course. Are you having a bad day? Are you mad at them? Did they do something wrong? Did they piss you off? These are the types of questions Jordan is going to “casually” ask for the next ten minutes while they sit really close to you. They’re not touching you! They always sit with their legs spread so wide. Their arm isn’t around you, it’s on the back of the couch. You’re nitpicking here, babe. They’re staring at you with their big brown eyes. No, they didn’t get any closer while you weren’t looking. 

Josh Washington - Why would you do this to him? Don’t push his hand off you unless you mean it or you’re being obviously playful about it. If you pretend to be mad at him while you do it, no matter how unconvincing of an actor you are, he will believe you. Sensitive king. He also won’t go to touch you again until you initiate the contact. Physical touch is reassuring and comforting to him but even he (category five clinger) gets touch aversion at times. As observant as he is, he knows some people are uncomfortable asserting their boundaries, so they’ll try to soften the blow of saying no by being “playful”. He cannot take the risk! You could mean it but don’t want to hurt his feelings. Josh interprets many playful no’s as real ones. Better safe than sorry.

❥ secret third worse thing ❥

Sebastian Valmont - Doesn’t take it for anything more than what it is. If you’re being playful he recognizes it. If you’re seriously not wanting to be touched at any given moment he understands that as well. However, in the case of being playful, you’ve started a war you can’t win. Because, as much as Sebastian enjoys chasing you…  Sebastian also likes to be chased. Ten minutes from now you’ll go to give Sebastian’s cheek a kiss and he’s going to dodge you. Hard. To such an extent it’s bordering on insult. He’ll be wearing a cat that got the canary grin all the while. 

Jason Dean/JD - Doesn’t take you seriously even if you are dead serious. I’m sorry, you’ve discovered his worst character trait by far. Most boundaries are a joke to him. He always wants to touch you. He loves you! He craves you like a drug. You should feel the same for him, in equal measure and desperation. So why wouldn’t you want him touching you? Holding you close. He’s so gentle with you (usually). His arms should feel like home. No matter how long a day you’ve had. No matter how overwhelmed you might be with sound, sight, touch. In JD’s eyes you’re one soul in two bodies. He always wants you near. He knows you want the same. You’re just a little dramatic sometimes.

#crazy ass boys gang #this was SOOOOO fucking fun to write nonny #i remembered how scary some of these fucking attack dogs are midway through writing #billy loomis x reader #stu macher x reader #jordan li x reader #josh washington x reader #kevin khatchadourian x reader #black!reader #jd x reader #sebastian valmont x reader #nathan prescott x reader #david mccall x reader #ben hargreeves x reader #umbrella academy imagine #jordan li imagine #gender neutral reader

[galexibrain]

WIP WEDNESDAY!

“You’re injured.” He has a huge bruise on his left cheek. His armor is gone but the suit underneath is mostly intact save for a few tears here and there. A few bloody cuts are visible underneath but Bulma has seen worse. It’s definitely nothing compared to the gaping hole in Trunks’ armor … Bulma should be used to death by now, but knowing this version of her own son has died once already … and more so … “Barely,” Vegeta retorts and continues on his way. Bulma sighs and gets up to follow him after getting some cold packs from the freezer. She catches up with him at the entrance of the bathroom. “Come on, let’s sort you out.” “Leave me alone, I don’t need you.” And yet you keep coming back here. “I know. But you might need this cold pack, or else your face will look like a pumpkin tomorrow.” She throws him the pack which he catches less effortlessly than usual which means that, while not being mortally wounded, he’s still pretty fucking thrashed. ____ “I am the Prince of the Saiyans, born to be the most powerful being in the universe,” he whispers, eyes burning with indignant rage. “I will not be thrown out.”  “Are you threatening me?” Bulma doesn’t know why she’s not afraid of him. She used to be, back on Namek, but here on Earth, with his entire life taken from him she quickly realized he was no threat. Not to her.  And now he can glare at her all he wants, balling his fists, twitching his muscles, and she feels not threatened at all.  It’s not like she trusts him. Heaven knows she doesn’t. But she knows with a certainty she can’t explain that Vegeta, maybe the most dangerous man on this entire planet, isn’t going to lay a hand on her no matter what.  But how about the other way round?  Instead of stepping back, she closes in on him too until their faces are uncomfortable close.  Vegeta already leans back. Non-violent physical proximity unsettles him.  “I don’t need you,” Bulma says to his face. “I have everything. A family, a son who is going to grow up into a hero, friends I would give my own life for, more money than I can spend, and I’m the smartest person on this planet. Gero built machines that gave you and Goku some serious trouble. I have building plans of several of them. Do you really think I couldn’t reproduce what he did? If I wanted I could build myself an android that single-handedly throws you into space. I’m not afraid of you. All you are right now is a nuisance. Getting rid of you would make my life a lot easier.” 

Some post-Cell Games Vegebul get-together. It's a rocky ride.

#dbz #dragon ball #dragon ball z #vegebul #vegeta #bulma #dbz fanfic #my fanfic

[daydreamerdrew]

The Defenders (1972) #73

#ohh I love the Hulk soo much 😭 #so Kyle has to go deal with a personal crisis and the girls all decide to hang out at the riding academy and listen to Patsy’s records #(side note that I like that while Kyle has this crisis going on he still offers to give Clea a ride home) #and after their long hectic adventure the Hulk hasn’t got it in him to listen to music #it’s too much sensory simulation for him right now #so he goes to sit in the peaceful quiet outside #and because the Hulk’s always had a hard time dealing with his emotions his mind is going to places like #why does Hulk need friends? #and Hulk just wants to be alone #when really the Hulk does like having friends and he doesn’t like being alone all of the time #it’s just that often his interactions with other people are deeply unpleasant for him #and he’s not equipped to be around people all the time #he’s built in a way that he needs his space #but this is genuinely a good moment for him like I don’t think he’s even leaving the riding academy property #he’s still in this safe place that the Defenders provides for him #he’s able to remove himself from a stressful situation and process his emotions on his own #and his friends don’t try to get him to stay and I really don’t think they’re bothered by his bluntness cause they’re used to him #so this isn’t blowing up into a situation where he lashes out at them #the Hulk still has a lot of room to grow #but I think that his time with the Defenders is where he’s done the most learning on how to mantain relationships with people #marvel #bruce banner #kyle richmond #patsy walker #valkyrie #clea strange #my posts #comic panels

[carbonateddelusion]

I have. Thoughts. I am going to explode with cartoonish sound effects that accompany my demise. play the juggalo step song at my funeral and make my old-ass relatives dance to it

#[rotates edgar in my mind] a hee hee hooo #funy ... man... #isaac was the first to meet him n was hired there bc they're much more of a people person than eddie #then noah stayed a night or two... and ended up wanting to stick around so he was eventually hired too #just. funy tall man all alone in his hainted motel/hotel.... #the way the ghosts work has changed a lot so he has to do stuff like.. channel them. perform certain rituals so they're audible and visible #...to people who aren't him that is #the first time he built up enough strength to let isaac and noah see the kids ended up with him trying to focus #for as long as he could #so that isaac can see and talk to his lil sister... #and then he kept pushing himself and fucking fainted. so instead of having a normal emotional time #NOW isaac is freaking out because 1. ghosts exist 2. psychics are real 3. my dead baby sister is a ghost 4. my friend is a psychic #5. he just went unconscious and i don't know if he hurt himself or if he's breathing or anything 6. IF GHOSTS AND PSYCHICS ARE REAL DOES #-THAT MEAN THAT I WAS WRONG ABOUT OTHER THINGS LIKE HEAVEN AND HELL #and noah's just like. 'i'll. make sure eddie's okay you clearly need some space' #on one hand it's 'of course edgar did that. of course he pushed himself to the point of fainting to help someone' and #on the other it's 'you just made this way worse by trying to help' KSHQKBSKS. #mind you noah and isaac are both pretty.. critical? people when it comes to religion and spirituality #noah had a big crisis of faith when he was in his 20s bc of his dad dying #and isaac stopped believing in anything religious or spiritual altogether some time after them being a bb #noah believes in capital G God but not in things like ghosts #so when edgar tries to tell them they're like. 'oh no he's even more mentally ill than we thought' #and then they question everything they've ever believed in when he shows them the kiddos #you should totally ask me things abt how the ghosts work btw <3

[ketchuppee]

During the 2008 recession, my aunt lost her job. Her, her partner, and my three cousins moved across the country to stay with us while they got back on their feet. My house turned from a family of four to a family of nine overnight, complete with three dogs and five cats between us.

It took a few years for them to get a place of their own, but after a few rentals and apartments, they now own a split level ranch in a town nearby. I’ve lost track of how many coworkers and friends have stayed with them when they were in a tight spot. A mother and son getting out of an abusive relationship, a divorcee trying to stay local for his kids while they work out a custody agreement, you name it. My aunt and uncle knew first hand what that kindness meant, and always find space for someone who needed it, the way my parents had for them.

That same aunt and uncle visited me in [redacted] city last year. They are prolific drinkers, so we spent most of the day bar hopping. As we wandered the city, any time we passed a homeless person, my uncle would pull out a fresh cigarette and ask them if they had a light. Regardless of if they had a lighter on hand or not, he offered them a few bucks in exchange, which he explained to me after was because he felt it would be easier for them to accept in exchange for a service, no matter how small.

I work for a company that produces a lot of fabric waste. Every few weeks, I bring two big black trash bags full of discarded material over to a woman who works down the hall. She distributes them to local churches, quilting clubs, and teachers who can use them for crafts. She’s currently in the process of working with our building to set up a recycling program for the smaller pieces of fabric that are harder to find use for.

One of my best friends gives monthly donations to four or five local organizations. She’s fortunate enough to have a tech job that gives her a good salary, and she knows that a recurring donation is more valuable to a non-profit because they can rely on that money month after month, and can plan ways to stretch that dollar for maximum impact. One of those organizations is a native plant trust, and once she’s out of her apartment complex and in a home with a yard, she has plans to convert it into a haven of local flora.

My partner works for a company that is working to help regulate crypto and hold the current bad actors in the space accountable for their actions. We unfortunately live in a time where technology develops far too fast for bureaucracy to keep up with, but just because people use a technology for ill gain doesn’t mean the technology itself is bad. The blockchain is something that she finds fascinating and powerful, and she is using her degree and her expertise to turn it into a tool for good.

I knew someone who always had a bag of treats in their purse, on the odd chance they came across a stray cat or dog, they had something to offer them.

I follow artists who post about every local election they know of, because they know their platform gives them more reach than the average person, and that they can leverage that platform to encourage people to vote in elections that get less attention, but in many ways have more impact on the direction our country is going to go.

All of this to say, there’s more than one way to do good in the world. Social media leads us to believe that the loudest, the most vocal, the most prolific poster is the most virtuous, but they are only a piece of the puzzle. (And if virtue for virtues sake is your end goal, you’ve already lost, but that’s a different post). Community is built of people leveraging their privileges to help those without them. We need people doing all of those things and more, because no individual can or should do all of it. You would be stretched too thin, your efforts valiant, but less effective in your ambition.

None of this is to encourage inaction. Identify your unique strengths, skills, and privileges, and put them to use. Determine what causes are important to you, and commit to doing what you can to help them. Collective action is how change is made, but don’t forget that we need diversity in actions taken.

#long post #some thoughts I’ve been having

[eau-duresistance]

My favourite things about the whole OceanGate disaster, in no particular order

That the vessel was originally named Cyclops II but the CEO renamed it to Titan, so it’s even BETTER than the Titanic

He also called it indestructible

The guy piloting the vessel is an ex-naval captain who has been on several titanic manned trips. But the guy is 77 rn

The billionaire from Pakistan is apparently friends with King Charles. You’d think for someone who’s besties with a guy whose job was literally being born, he’d care more about protecting his bloodline. Instead, he brought his 19 year old with him

Meanwhile, the stepson of one of the other billionaires (I think the British one named Hamish) went to a Blink 182 concert. When questioned about this, he basically went “my family would want me to go to the concert”. Today, minutes after posting about asking for thoughts and prayers, he @‘ed an OF model on Twitter, asking her to sit on his face

Bc it’s part of the safety demo & music track list for the trip, there is a VERY good chance that if there’s still some power left in the sub, it’s playing an instrumental of My Heart Will Go On on loop

Also, the vessel is a submersible bc it doesn’t meet literally any of the safety regulations to be called a submarine. Which the CEO knew, because he’s blatantly said that safety regulations get in the way of progress

The CEO once stated that he thought the future of humanity was not in space, but in the ocean when the surface becomes uninhabitable

Apparently the controller he’s using has REAL bad reviews because the connection always fails

These idiots paid $250k EACH but they had to pack their own lunch. Not even a damn charcuterie board

The pilot’s seat is on the toilet. So whenever someone needs to go, the pilot needs to move

There’s 1 window looking out. That’s it

It’s about the size of a minivan

The sub uses texts (but only to the CEO’s phone) to communicate, as well as StarLink, but they can only access that if they surface

The door literally cannot be opened from inside

There is a decent chance that at least 1 person has been cannibalized (my bet was the pilot since he’s not rich, but bc of the banging sounds, he’s probs not dead, so it may be the CEO)

They’re supposed to run out of oxygen tomorrow (22/06/23) at 7 am est, but tbh, the CO2 scrubber system will probs fail before that

The toilet is a plastic bag

This is only the 3rd time in 3 years the vessel has gone to the Titanic. Every other time, there’s an issue and they gotta turn back within like 4 hours

A lot of major news networks are trying to remain positive, but it’s a HILARIOUS comparison when you go to social media and every single person is like “yeah that shit is built like a cardboard boat, they’re fucked”

The company’s name is literally called OceanGate

#oceangate #Titan #titanic #shut up holly #queue du résistance

[the-raindeer-king]

Imagine Simon's mom doesn't die with Tommy and Beth. Maybe she was out of town, or at a friend's house, and Roba's men were sloppy and missed her. Anyway, so it's just Simon and her now, and because he blames himself for what happened, he's pulled away from her.

He pays her rent, even if he wanted her to live in a nicer apartment complex. And he visits during her birthday and Mother's Day, and sometimes just randomly stops by. But he never stays very long, and he doesn't tell her a lot about his new life. It's a very one sided relationship, but she tries to make the best of it.

And then you move in next door, during one of Simon's deployments. You feel bad for the sweet lady that lives next to you. She never seems to have much company, and you take it upon yourself to befriend her, spending more time in her apartment than your own.

You learn about her ex husband, her sons, the tragedy, and most importantly, you learn about Simon. And you hate him. Mrs. Riley (she insists you call her Sarah) is such a lovely woman, and it's clear how much she cares about her living son, how hard she's trying to keep their relationship alive.

It's the second Mother's Day after you move in when you finally meet Simon. Your relationship with your own mother is complicated, so you've opted to spend the day with Mrs. Riley. You'd gotten her a small present, and had planned to spend the day drinking wine and watching historical romance movies.

You're thoroughly shocked when you knock on her door, and a man answers. Six feet, built like a brick house, but under his scowl, you recognize Sarah's eyes.

“You must be Simon.”

His scowl deepens, but before he can say anything, Mama Riley is pushing past him, pulling you into her apartment to fuss over you.

She apologizes for not telling you sooner, but your plans will have to be rescheduled. Simon's back early, and she can't waste a precious second.

You're understanding. You've listened to her worried rants, given her space to cry over how things have turned out. You know she loves spending time with her son, even if the visits are short and he doesn't talk much.

Simon doesn't miss the way you glare at him. There's a fury in your eyes, even as you cheerily wish his mother a happy mother's day. For a moment, he wonders if you're a spy. But that thought is quickly diminished, when you verbally eviscerate him at the door.

You're quiet, not wanting to upset his mom, but your anger is clear. It may not be your business, but Mama Riley is your friend, and you adore the older woman. And you cannot stand by while he treats her like this. She loves her son so much, and he needs to step up and try harder.

As you're chewing him out, Simon's already head over heels, planning your wedding as the seconds tick by.

(A/N: You can read this as a stand alone piece, but I did write 3 more drabbles (four in total!) for this! They're all on my blog under the tag mama riley au. Thank you for reading!)

#simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley imagine #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #we're ignoring canon because this was all i could think about at work today #he'd get his shit together so fast. and his mom would immediately clock him for having a crush. #she'd be more protective of you than him lol #my writing #mama riley au

[oceantornadoo]

your weighted blanket (simon riley x f!reader)

could be part of this two lieutenants series but it’s standalone

—

“you know what i want?”

“wha’?”

“a weighted blanket.”

simon turned away from his bedroom desk to stare at you, his dark eyes squinting incredulously.

“what?! i think it’d help me sleep.”

“wha’ the fuck is a weighted blanket.”

you huffed a sigh. “it’s literally a weighted blanket simon. having weight pressing down on you helps you sleep, it’s scientifically proven.” you rolled your eyes, crossing your arms as you laid back on his bed.

turning off his desk lamp, he made his way to his bed. he joined you on top of the covers, giving you plenty of space. keeping it platonic. not that he wanted to, but that was another thing.

“can’t jus’ have some sop lay on you?” the words hurt coming out, but it was the only thing he could say. desperately looking for a sign that you were talking to someone as you were so tightlipped about your escapades until after they ended.

“i’m on a man break. they all suck.” no one measured up to the unending care simon gave you, even if he was just a friend. just a friend who lets you come into his room every night, talking yourself to sleep. just a friend who never forgets your favorite body wash or candle scent on supply runs.

“they don’t know how to treat a woman like you.” his words echoed in the dark, ideas of what they meant bouncing around in your brain. “a woman like me?” silence. “don’t be mean, si.”

fuck he was so stupid. needed to watch his tone better, like gaz was always telling him. “dove, jus’ meant a smart independent woman like yourself. yer lookin’ for a partner and they’re look for a mother or a fuck. or both.” your jaw dropped. “oh. thanks.” his words thickened the air. no one had ever talked about you like that, like you were something to be treasured, not kept. like he respected you.

“if you really need a weighted blanket i-“ “yeah?” you sounded too eager, but you didn’t care. you turned towards him, catching his eye in the gleam of the base lights outside his window. “could be yers. if you want. strictly platonic.” he scratched his head, looking away. embarrassed. “yeah, platonic. course, yeah. that’s fine. good, i mean.” you needed to get your act together and stop sounding like a teenager, but he just offered to be your blanket. surely that was more than platonic.

“now?”

“sure.”

you sat on his bed like a dead fish, arms at your sides. you were not about to initiate what surely would be the most awkward non-cuddle session in your life. simon pressed one large paw into the mattress, hauling his huge body up on one arm. he moved down farther on the bed, his head parallel to your ribs. then, with the uttermost care, he shifted on top of you, hovering. waiting. “you can lay on me si, it’s okay.” he released his hands slowly, the full force of his body laying on you. 250+ pounds of pure machine, a body honed from years in the military. a soldier, a sniper, a lieutenant, now at your mercy, body covering yours completely.

“not too weighted for you?” you giggled. an actual giggle from his fellow lieutenant. “no, si. not too weighted.” your hand instinctively went to his hair before you could stop yourself. “is this comfortable? you’re on my ribs.” he grunted. it actually hurt like a bitch, your bone pressing into him through layers of fat, but he was laying on you and therefore could not complain. “you can move up, i won’t mind.” well, if you were letting him. he wanted to make the most of this blanket situation, this type of intimacy so foreign to him.

simon scooted up your body and laid his head on your tits. built-in pillows, one might call them. you hand went to his hair again, slowly scratching his scalp. “this ok?” you never touched like this, had never touched him like something precious. he grunted, a yes in “ghost” as you liked to call it. you continued running your hand through his hair, surprised at the softness of his locks. his face was against your breast, and usually you’d be embarrassed, but lines had been crossed and all bets were off. his body was heavy, sure, but the weight of it was comforting. all you could think of was him, not the annoying recruit from this morning, not the bad dinner you had at the mess hall. only the smell of the base shampoo and his natural musk, something uniquely him but not gross.

all simon could hear was your heartbeat. it had quickened when he first laid down, but now it was slowing to a comforting beat. you were here, you were breathing. the gunfire and the smell of bombs in his head meant nothing as long as he had you like this, in his arms where no one could hurt you. he could feel your body relaxing, muscles losing the day’s tension and giving themselves over to sleep. as your breathing slowed and you moved to a lower, more comfortable position on his pillow, he knew time could stop and all that would matter was you, right here, with him.

--

part one part two part three part four

#simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #cod 141 #ghost call of duty #fluff #tornadothoughts #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost imagine #ghost riley #ghost x reader #ghost cod #ghost fanfiction #cod ghost

[evilminji]

Okay, you know how bird don't ACTUALLY look the way we think they do?

They are far more colorful? But only to the eyes of other birds?

And it has to do with how light reflects off them and how their eyes are shaped etc etc.?

Well..... humans can see the most shades of green, right? But! We sure as shit can't see UltaViolet and InfraRed? Or shades BEYOND those. Ectoplasmic colors. Magical ones. Third eye, need to see with your SOUL type ones.

Danny? Could very well still have lil baby "kitten's eyes who haven't open yet" syndrome.

He thinks the Zone is Green and his hair is white.

But it's not.

His hair is Starlight colored. Frost. His suit is specifically "the void between stars" colored. Which looks... different? Then black? No, no, guys. How can you guys not see it? It looks REALLY different! How did he not NOTICE before?! They're not ever CLOSE to the same shade! It's like calling salmon and hot pink the same. You know... if you were to compare an actual fish and some irradiated, violently glowing version of "hot pink".

......guys?

His gloves are.... guys, these ares stars. Pressed so close together there's no gap. His body is the night sky, all rearranged. He's wearing SPACE, guys.

*continues to stare at his gloves for the next five hours*

Now... why is this relevant? Because! Danny slowly, as all humans do, adjusts! It's like finally having glasses after years of blurry vision. He... forgets, what it was like, not NOT See Zone Colors. Not completely, mind you, but enough he has to be reminded.

And the Zone? A Realm of the Dead. Specifically, the great catch-all and highway of the Dead. They get EVERYBODY. Misfits and vagabonds. Those who don't quite fit. Funky lil dudes. And of course, assholes, but everybody has those! See, Zone colors?

Are DIFFERENT.

They're all of um!

It's like looking at the technicolor, stobe light, multi galaxies in one, Sun. Tingly(tm)!!! You get used to it. What helps? Is that as garish as the Zone is? The painting and grand tapestry of it all? Keeps changing. Like weather. If it's too much for you, you can stay inside your Lair until the current Color changes. Until the designs shift. Vibe changes.

There are even glasses for that! "Temperate" areas for people to set up, that get headaches or are just... kinda killjoys. Too each their own. Though the stormy areas? Those guys are freaks. Watch out for those guys. They're the kind who stare directly are stars until their eyes burn out.

Where was I? Oh yeah! Danny!

No longer a wee baby, smol baby, twig-o!

Sad. We miss it.

But he did get used to Seeing The Colors. Got a handle on his powers. And! Finally worked with his parents on how to safely turn the portal OFF. There was much booing. Cries of "kill joy" and "booo! You suck!". But? Like? Dude DID have the right to protect his home. Go to college. What can you do?

Problem with THAT is? Baby grew into his "built like a brick shit house of constantly running off to literally tackle the Supernatural excellence" Fenton genetics. He Tall. Muscles! And he PUMPING out "somethings fucked up with me" Vibes!

Add in his DEEPLY Sus off hand comments. Weird ability to tell when someone has or is about to die. Basic immunity to the cold. Fuckin EYE GLOW?

Ha ha... *Horror movie screams from his college dorm mates*

Clearly a demon!

He gets kicked out. Well... not kicked out. He's a model student and broken no rules. They'd never survive the lawsuit. But... he's? STRONGLY INCOURAGED to finish his education elsewhere. Repeatedly. By like... 15 colleges.

Sam is not just livid, she's actively foaming at the mouth.

Breathe, Sam! Remember what your doctor said! Your mortal body can't handle that kinda Vengance spiral! Think of your blood pressure! Breathe!!! (Were not for the laws of this land... and the weak, fleshy constraints of her mortal form!)

Thankfully? Tucker's been interning, remotely of course, with Wayne Industries. He asked his manager where he could find some of those scholarship forms. (Since Gotham University is just a touch out of Danny's price range.) Manager wanted to know why. And oh! Oh holy shit. Apparently? Danny is the hot new office gossip.

People in the main office are OUTRAGED. Danny's "too spooky"?! Too FUCKIN SPOOKY!? Are you KIDDING THEM? Even juicier, a Meta kid from some wacky ghost hunters turned scientists. From a line of Supernatural hunters. Wants to be a aeronautics engineer.

Ooooooh how SPOOKY! Better watch out! He'll design an ENGINE at yooooou!

Fuckin casuals. Non-Gothamites are WEAK. "Too scary" their collective asses. Yeah, maybe the kid SHOULD come too Gotham. He can be the weird kid. Mildly unsettling or something. His powers won't be SHIT in Gotham. Just remind him to buy a gas mask.

So! Danny gets his Scholarship! Merrily packs his bags for darker, Gothic hellscape hills. Unaware... that Constantine has been following reports of a "demon" that he's? 80% sure is a Banshee but MIGHT be a winter spirt with a shtick? For the past 13 colleges. He's getting closer. And this sucker is a strong one.

Not "this is going to cause me serious, life imperilling danger" strong. But more? "Man, that cat is HUUUUUGE". Could he still get mauled a lil? Yeah. Scratched to all hell and back? Probably! But DIE? Unlikely.

He just needs to know why the FUCK this spirit his hanging around colleges.

Which is made harder... by the fact that what HE sees? And what OTHER people see? When they look at this guy? Separate things. Yeah, he'd LOVE to give you guys a description! IF HE HAD ONE.

@the-witchhunter @hdgnj @hdgnj @spidori @babbling-babull @nerdpoe @lolottes

#dc x dp prompt #dpxdc #dp x dc #dc x dp #dcxdp #minji's writing

[ghostgirl101]

Imagine if Paul Atreides claimed you as his destiny: PART Ⅰ of Ⅱ

|| Word Count: 1.5K || Angst → Fluff ||

A/N: I had this as a big idea that I had to get down before the basic headcanons and stuff, so here's my take on our Lisan al Gaib 😎 if you like this then hit me up for some relationship headcanons and the like, I'm up for it all. Enjoy reading or watching the movie if you haven't already - I'm going again lol, and screen X is the best way to experience it fr Also I feel like I should write a second part to this lmao, if you liked what you read?

You weren't one for dreams of destiny.

The dreams you had seemed meaningless, confusing, nothing to do with what ifs and what could. Not like his.

But you always seemed to feel some kind of atmosphere, an aura you couldn't quite shake off, even when you woke up from the darkness. There was no face to go with the voice, the voice in the dark that called to you in whispers that you didn't understand. Beautiful words that weren't yours, but sounded so soft and gentle and powerful, as they reached out to you from distant lands.

You could never place them, pin them down and study them, understand them, until the day the Emperor was challenged by a ghost of a lost House, thought to be dead, left to be forgotten. You stand near the Emperor and his guards and men, the Great Houses looming and listening from higher above, as the Fremen fill up the space to watch the confrontation in spirited anticipation.

The life debt was paid. The late Emperor was overthrown. The ascendancy of Paul Atreides rose and took from the throne to claim it.

His attention flicks from his eyes boring coldly into the Emperor's, to meet yours, his voice smooth and set, full of conviction and force.

"Our destiny is together. I'll take her."

Your eyes widen slightly as his words sink in, blinking through the shock and incredulity that rushes through you and makes your heart race in apprehension and wonder. Though his voice twins with your wandering dreams, you don't know whether to feel fascination and longing, or fear and cautiousness at some greater force beyond your understanding, playing out before your very eyes.

"I..." your voice falters in uncertainty and disbelief, and you try again. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me well," Paul responds with an undying, stoic certainty that's almost unnerving. "As I know you."

His eyes study you, his Spice-stained blue eyes bleeding into yours, scanning every freckle on your face and curve of your outfit. Assessing you, knowing you, ridiculous throngs of power filling his aura and projecting onto you with his intense stare. You have to fight not to shiver under it, ultimately failing.

"What of me?" is the wisest reply you can think of before the silence stretches into dangerous uncertainty.

"Everything," Paul says evenly, but there's no mistaking the challenge and determination in his tone, almost daring you to reject him, to disagree, a built-up desire of dreamt promises resolving his stand. "I choose you, as my Empress. We will rule together, over the Empire."

Scepticism and bewilderment washes over you and makes your blood heat and stir, retreating into silence as he takes a step closer to you, gazing at you as if you're the most curious, exotic being he's ever seen.

Desire threatens to override Paul Atreides' reason, clinging onto the hope and chance of a narrow way through to light, a light that could only be sought out with you by his side. Without you, there was nothing in sight but pools of blood replacing luscious marine life and oceans running through Arrakis, disarray and disillusion at every turn and infecting every heart.

You were absolutely perfect.

And you were already his, long before this moment, before you and he were born into the world and named. There was no manipulation needed, because everything was laid out for him to take, welcoming him to rule and grow higher and higher. Fate had bonded you and strung you along to here and now, and as you blink up into his bright eyes that narrow slightly at you, frowning softly as if you hadn't understood his demand.

"Do you know what I am?"

You pause for a moment, speaking slowly and cautiously, as the crowd of Fremen and the wary, late Emperor watch on in tense wordlessness. "You are Leto Atreides' son. Former Duke of Caladan."

"What I am," Paul repeats evenly, "not who I am." He stares at you in silence for another beat, before speaking up again. "Do you know of the Bene Gesserit?"

You stop yourself from glancing in Lady Jessica's direction just in time; the runes patterning her skin, her once soft eyes now spiked with an unfamiliar darkness of ages past. Anyone could get trapped in her watchful glare, and her son's holds almost as much intensity.

"No," you decide on hesitantly.

"Kwisatz Hederach," he adds, taking another step forward until you can feel his breath tickling your cheeks, standing above you with unspoken grace and vigor. "I see the future. A part of me is the future."

His hand is suddenly squeezing yours warmly and tightly, making you flinch slightly and glance down at them before looking back up at him.

"In this future, I am with you."

All you can do is stare at him in awe and wariness, not knowing whether to let your curiosity guide you, or distance yourself as far as possible from the boy who reigns over the dunes.

"Why?" you whisper, the crowds seeming to fade around you as you focus on the boy in front of you, his fingers tangling with yours boldly.

"I've seen it," Paul insists, his tone a touch softer in thought and wistfulness. "All of it. When I am with you..." His grip tightens over yours, the fire in his eyes returning. "We're unstoppable."

"And..." your words dry before you can speak them, and you will yourself to go on, unable to break away from the deep blue hues of his gaze. "And without?"

His jaw visibly clenches at your question, and his hand drops yours, shaking his head only answer as he glances away in slight frustration.

"You don't have the leisure of choice. It's all been made for you, written in the sands and stars, and what you need to do is walk in its path. I will show you the way. You have no other. Do you understand?"

The firmness is strong in his words and glare, making you look away from him too, still in a slight stun over the rush of events. In less than a day, your freedom has been stripped to this young man's desires and destiny, entwined with yours. You, who barely knew him until now, only familiar with his voice, his words, that echoed and rang in your head like a lullaby.

But this feels so harsh and strict. The eyes of the former Emporer linger between the two of you, and Paul's army of Fremen stand behind him attentively, some gazing at you in admiration and hope, of their messiah's promised bride. And she is beautiful.

"That's unfair."

"The future is unfair," Paul says calmly, his collected, cool tone wavering for a moment. "But it will be so much worse without you by my side, and I will not accept that. Not for my people... not for myself."

You stare at him in fascination and caution, lost for words. His fingers rise to brush against the skin of your cheek, sending tingles in their wake and making you fight back the automatic reaction, your eyes following his surprisingly gentle touch. Two fingers trace down the shape of your cheek down to your chin, tilting your head slightly upwards. Just one step closer, and your lips would be touching too.

"Name anything," he murmurs to you, the Fremen straining to hear his voice as it reaches you effortlessly, his expression earnest and determined. "Anything. And it is yours. Only if you willingly wed me in turn. Not as a concubine, nor a mistress."

You blink, then blink again, taken aback as a million thoughts and suggestions race through your mind and make your head spin for a split second. You glance at the elder Emperor, who gazes back at you and the infamous Lisan al Gaib wearily, his eyes clouded with sombreness and light spite.

"I... I don't," you shake your head, overwhelmed by an impossible choice. "I don't know..."

Paul's expression softens into a smile you haven't seen before, one that makes your cheeks flush with colour as you watch him; a gentle, amused smile that's somehow familiar and unfamiliar all at once, one meant just for you, as he disregards his surroundings.

"You will know," he replies quietly, "and I will have you, and protect you, rule with you. Love you. As I am meant to."

Paul suddenly brings you closer, pulling you into a searing kiss without warning. The exotic, earthy taste of the Spice on his tongue floods your senses and sends shudders of ecstasy and heat coursing under your skin and hushing the myriad of thoughts buzzing in your mind in an instant.

When he pulls away, all too soon, you find yourself chasing his lips before you catch yourself, and Paul gives you another soft smile, his forehead resting against yours as your eyes lock.

"And as I long to," he finishes against your lips, his words grounded with a look of protectiveness and desire that makes you instinctively relax further in his hold.

⊹⊹⊹

From beyond you both, his mother smiles slightly at the scene, a hand hovering over her rounded stomach.

The first step has been made.

══════════════⊹⊱≼ part two coming soon ≽⊰⊹══════════════

#paul atreides x reader #paul atreides x you #paul atredies x reader #paul atreides imagine #dune part 2 #dune #dune 2 #dune x reader #dune x you #dune fanfiction #dune fandom #dune imagine #dune 2024 #dune part two #dune movie #timothee x reader #timothee imagine #timothee fanfic #lisan al gaib #paul atreides #house atreides #paul atriedes #x fem reader

[garoujo]

✩ ˛˚ . GETO SUGURU — you always liked taking your boyfriend dress shopping with you, maybe it’s because he always gave all of your options a fair chance.

ஜ ˖ ࣪࿐ྂ warnings! f!reader, bf!geto, public / fitting room / mirror scenes, my questionable characterisation (it’s been a while guys please spare me!) ♡ ˖ ࣪࿐ྂ note! hii! another lil jjk thirst for now, im gonna be working on some more genshin also + a lil nagi post cos ofc it’s me <3

“do you like this one?”

you ask as you brush down the hem of the dress around your hips, meeting the dark, sharp gaze as it’s owner breathes out a low whistle before readjusting himself to sink deeper into his seat with a whisper of a grin.

“mhm, looks real good, pretty girl.”

you don’t know how long you’ve been in this store’s fitting room, but your boyfriend geto looks comfortable as he leans back in the sofa. his thighs are spread and one of his arms thrown haphazardly along the back space behind him as he hums.

anyone else would’ve probably complained by now but he looks content with dragging his gaze along your figure, tracing along the fabric that falls across your body so perfectly that he can’t help but want to peel it back, like he’s following a map to something greater.

“look at you.” geto’s words are like honey with the soft sort of drawl his voice takes with you, accompanied by the smooth twist of his neck as he urges you to do a pretty little spin for him — one that you do so easily as you giggle.

“sugu. you’ve liked all of them.” you feign annoyance, turning back to face him as you rest one of your hands on your hip, earning you a raised brow from your boyfriend before he’s shrugging his shoulders and pushing himself to stand.

you almost roll your eyes with the way geto stretches his arms over his head, deliberately as he watches the way you struggle not to watch the way every muscle seems to twitch as he moves. you pout your lips, and that urges him to take a few long strides towards you before his hands are on your hips.

it’s intimate, gentle, the way he holds you — looking down at you with a slow hum like he’s really thinking your choices over in his head. “have i? maybe it’s the model.” he eventually answers, accompanying it with a quick peck along the exposed skin of your shoulder as he leans over you.

“we need to pick one for the party.” you try again,

“mhm.” but geto’s barely listening, much too enthralled with busying himself in the crook of your neck, suckling and pressing his lips along your collarbones — hands squeezing and kneading at your hips and waist before they trace along the hem of the dress.

he steps into you, urging you back into the fitting room you just pushed yourself out of, like it was built for two and you’d have maybe put up more of a fight if he wasn’t so intoxicating. “how am i supposed to choose.,” you feel dazed with every wet press of his lips on your skin as he speaks, low hum of his voice making the nerves under your skin sing as you press your fingertips into his biceps, trembling with need.

“i’m serious, sugu—“ your words are a mere whisper, you can barely trust your own voice before he’s turning you to face the floor length mirror infront of you both. he allows you a shakey breath before he’s back over you, chest pressed against your back as one of his hands take your chin between his fingers, urging you to make eye contact with him in your reflection this time.

“i mean, see how pretty it looks.” geto’s words are honest, unwavering despite the weight of arousal that hangs in the small room and the press of his clothed cock against your lower back. both of you are only hidden behind the flimsy curtain, there’s not a lot of space in here but it only seems to push you both closer — like you’re hoping you could melt into him entirely.

“had to see it up close for a better opinion.” he grits, jaw tensing as his fingertips swipe experimentally between your thighs — the push of his wrist pulling at the hem of the dress until your panties are just visible in the mirror.

“suguru..” you try, gasp with the way your legs suddenly feel unsteady, readjusting yourself against geto’s chest despite the way you know he’s got you anyway. you can feel his hair trace along your skin as he curls over you, leaning over your shoulder to smear a kiss across your cheek before he’s meeting your gaze infront of you again, urging you to step your legs apart ever so slightly with his fingers.

“hm? i’m just making sure my girl will be comfortable for the party.”

it catches you off guard the way you feel his clothed cock push up against your panties, expertly until you’re so comfortable in him you could melt — letting his strong hold steady you as his free palm squeezes at your tits through the neck of your dress.

you swear you can feel geto throb against you, despite the layers separating you both — you can still feel the outline of his blunt tip, deliberately pushing into your swollen clit as he breathes deep into your skin. you rock into him, like there’s not a whole store of people through the thin curtain separating you both, like you’re the only people in the whole mall before you feel the vibration of his tone drip through you once more, but his sharp eyes remain on yours in the mirror.

“think you’ll have to try them all on again after this.. so they all have a fair chance, pretty girl.”

© 2023 GAROUJO. please do not copy any of my layouts or writing and translate or repost onto any other sites.

#jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x you #geto x you #geto x reader #geto smut #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru x you #geto suguru smut

[sinner-as-saint]

stuck with you

Bucky x Reader au

Run-through: Alone, cold, and stranded in the middle of a small town on top of a mountain. Not the most ideal situation to be in when the weather starts getting bad. No motels or inns have room for you so the locals suggest you reach out to a man named Bucky Barnes for shelter. Apparently, Bucky is known to always help stranded people, or lost hikers. No matter how weird it feels to drive up to a stranger’s house and ask for help, you have on other choice but to do just that. The plan was simple: stay with the strange, kind man for a couple of days until the snowstorm passes. But then you meet him and you find yourself unable to stick to the plan. 

Themes: age gap (reader is in her twenties, Bucky is in his early forties), strangers-to-lovers ish, smut, slight degrading kink, fluff

It felt like the start of a horror movie. 

Unknown town, unknown people. You cursed yourself as you walked out of yet another motel who had no room left for you. 

What the hell were you thinking? After uni, you thought travelling the world on your own would help you with learning the right lessons, having the right experiences, and all that before you joined the family business and began working with your parents for the rest of your life. 

Instead of having fun though, here you were. Stuck on top of an icy mountain, in a small town, and nowhere to sleep for the night. With the snowstorm approaching, you had to find shelter quickly. But none of these motels or inns were free. Every hiker, skier, and tourist had already booked ahead of you apparently. 

“Uh, miss?” A voice called from behind you right as you were about to step outside into the cold evening. 

You turned to look and it was the owner of the motel. The same man who had just turned you down because he had no space left to accommodate you. He looked apologetic as he approached you. 

“Hi.” You said, then patted your pockets quickly, “Did I forget anything on the counter?” 

“No.” The man smiled and shook his head. “Look, I’m sorry you can’t stay. But snowstorms in this area can be dangerous and deadly, and you wouldn’t survive the night if you slept in your car.” He pointed at the rented jeep you had parked right outside the motel. “But there’s a man who can help. His name’s Bucky. Bucky Barnes. He often helps out stranded hikers and stuff, and I already called him and asked if he had room and he said yes.” 

The motel owner proceeded to give you details about Bucky and how to get to his house. From what you’d just learnt, Bucky Barnes was a business mogul who preferred seclusion. He was wealthy, and lived alone in his luxurious cabin that, rumour has it, he built himself. He was in his early forties and had people running his businesses for him all over the world. He moved to this small town after living in lavish cities his entire life. He owned acres upon acres of land, so he was also the local lumberjack and spent his time manually taking down trees whenever anyone needed wood. 

“Don’t worry, miss,” The motel owner reassured you, with a kind smile. “Mr. Barnes is a nice guy. Everyone around here knows him. Just follow the directions I gave you and you’ll find his house not too far from here. It’s a wooden behemoth right on the edge of the forest.” 

When you got back in your car, the first thing you did was google the man really quickly. And the headlines, as you scrolled and read them, made your eyes widen a little each time. They were all basically just about what the motel owner already told you. But you needed to make sure it was all real. 

It was. Bucky Barnes was indeed a filthy rich business mogul who chose to come live all the way up here to get away from busy cities and journalists who always followed him around for quotes to put into their articles. 

And then, you began searching for pictures of this man. Your heart skipped a beat upon finding them. Pictures of him at fancy dinner parties, galas, charity events. Pictures of him shaking hands and clinking glasses with famous faces. Pictures of him on business magazine covers.

Pretty blue eyes, handsome face, and a kind smile. You noted the crinkles by his eyes whenever he smiled or laughed in pictures. Whenever he was photographed with a group of people, everyone seemed charmed by him. He seemed tall too. Oh well, safe to say the man was drop dead gorgeous. 

What if he was a serial killer and the people in this town directed victims to his house like he was some kind of twisted leader of this town?

You cringed at the exaggerated thought, shaking your head. 

Usually you weren’t one to trust strangers quickly but it was getting darker, the wind was beginning to howl and the cold was making you shiver even beneath all the layers you were wearing. The snowstorm was expected to last at least three days, so it was either trust a stranger for a few days or die. 

— 

You stopped your car in front of what the motel owner called a ‘wooden behemoth right on the edge of the forest’. And he was right. 

The luxurious log home was situated higher up on the mountain, looking over the small town. Surrounded by towering trees, mainly pine, and the area around the house was foggier than the rest of the town. It would’ve seemed eerie if it weren’t for the warm, golden lights coming from inside the house. 

The house was indeed massive, with intricate carvings on the huge front doors. The roof was covered with dark, polished slate, and what gave the home a more contemporary touch were the large, floor-to-ceiling windows. It looked like the perfect place for someone who sought seclusion and comfort. 

Or a murderer, your brain added. You hissed at the thought, shoving it away as you got out of your jeep. It was beginning to drizzle, the wind howling louder than earlier. You walked up the front porch and knocked on the large doors. 

Before you could check out the porch, you heard loud footsteps approaching. Then, the front door opened. And on the other side stood a handsome man, slightly different from how he looked in the photographs you’d found online, but just as gorgeous. Well, the photographs were all taken from years ago so it made sense that he looked different. Bucky Barnes hadn’t been photographed ever since he moved here, according to the articles, and it was a shame because he was truly a work of art. 

“Hey,” He said with a deep, confident voice. “You must be the girl I just received a call about from the motel.” He opened the door wider. And for a couple of seconds, you didn’t move. 

You were frozen in place. He was… too pretty. That same handsome face as in the photographs, except he had more facial hair now. And longer hair. So long in fact that he had to put it all up in a messy bun on top of his head. A few strands escaped the bun and fell on either side of his face, making him look beautiful in a rugged way. 

You couldn’t help but let your eyes wander for just a second. He was just as tall as you imagine, but slightly more muscular than he seemed in the pictures. The white t-shirt he was wearing clung to him like a second skin, the jeans clung to his thighs in a way that should be illegal. 

You quickly looked up and cleared your throat before you got caught ogling. “Um, hi Mr. Barnes. I’m sorry for–,” 

He cut you off politely, “There’s no need to apologise,” He signalled for you to come in. And as you walked into his home he said, “And please, call me Bucky.” 

You smiled at him as you stood near the entrance, waiting for him to shut the door. When he turned to you, he asked for your name and asked what you were doing here. While you answered, he led you further into the magnificent house. 

If you thought it was beautiful from the outside, the interior was absolutely breathtaking. Spacious, with high ceilings. Most things inside were wooden, except for the rugs and the plush sofas. It was an open concept, and you could see the more farm-style kitchen from the living room area and it was just as pretty as the rest of the house. The more you looked around, the more you fell in love with the interior. Elegant curved staircase which led upstairs, massive fireplace, accents of stone and metals everywhere. It looked like a lot of thought went into building this home. 

“This looks like a dream.” You commented, standing in the middle of the living room and taking it all in. The owner looks like a dream too. You sighed at the sound of your inner thoughts. It was true. 

Bucky smiled, looking proud. “It took some years to build but…” He sighed, “It’s worth it.” 

You smiled at him, noticing the crinkles by his eyes as he smiled. Fuck, this man was beautiful. 

“Give me your keys, I’ll bring your bags in, then I can show you to your room.” He extended his hand out, waiting for you to drop your keys into his palm. 

“Oh.” Your face got all hot when you realised you’d just walked into his home empty handed. You’d forgotten your bags in the jeep. “I can go get it, it’s–,” 

“No, I’ll get it,” He cut you off again, stepped closer and took the keys from your hand. “It’s getting bad out there.” Then he walked away. 

And you shamelessly watched him leave. His back muscles moved and shifted under the tight shirt as he walked and you felt a shiver travel down your spine. Think about how those warm, hard muscles would feel under your fingertips… 

Shit. This man was being kind to you and here you were being a pervert. 

–

Bucky brought your bags in, all four of them. Carried them through the front door like they weren’t heavy at all. Well, he cuts down trees for fun so maybe he’s used to carrying heavier things. 

He showed you to one of the many guest bedrooms he had. And the room was just as beautiful and perfect as the rest of the home. King-sized bed, large chest drawer, private bathroom which was fully stocked with toiletries. Large windows, and a small balcony which overlooked the dense forest outside. 

“Well then, I’ll leave you to unpack and make yourself comfortable. Dinner will be ready in an hour or so. See you downstairs.” He left with yet another smile which made your heart skip a beat. 

–

You found yourself making your way downstairs after a long, warm shower. You wanted to unpack after your shower but then the smell of dinner cooking forced you out of the room. You followed the delicious scent of what seemed like pasta sauce, sniffing the air quietly until you made your way into the gorgeous kitchen. With an even more gorgeous man in it. 

“There you are,” Bucky smiled at you as you approached the large kitchen island which was also the dining table. “Everything okay with your room?” He asked, stirring some kind of sauce in a pan before resuming chopping some other thing. He looked so comfortable in his kitchen, it was endearing. 

“Yeah, everything’s good.” You answered, lingering by the kitchen counter awkwardly, “You need help with something?” 

“Sure, if you want.” Bucky nodded and pointed at the other side of the kitchen with his knife, and said, “Can you be a doll and grab us a red wine from the cellar?” 

You froze for a quick second at the sound of ‘doll’. It was sweet, but the way it sounded from his deep, smooth voice… you cleared your throat again before your thoughts got inappropriate, turning around and heading for the cellar because of course he had a wine cellar. 

After grabbing what you hoped was a nice wine, you made your way back to the kitchen and found Bucky plating pasta into two plates. He had a slight frown on his face as he focused on the plates. If there was anything you had noticed about Bucky it was that he was very detail oriented. 

Bucky’s frown disappeared the moment he looked up from the plates and saw you standing there. “Hope you like pasta and cheese.” He winked with a maddeningly handsome smile. 

“I do.” You smiled back, ignoring the butterflies in your stomach as you handed him the wax sealed bottle of wine. For a brief moment, his hand brushed against yours and you could’ve sworn it felt like you’d been electrocuted. 

A strange shiver danced down your spine as you took a seat at the table and watched Bucky break the seal, uncork the bottle and pour it into two glasses before pouring the rest into a large decanter. 

All that wood chopping did him good. The man was muscular in all the right places. But his hands… oh his hands. Large, veiny. Imagine those hands all over– 

“So, tell me about yourself.” He said, taking a seat across from you. “And what are you doing on this icy mountain?” 

The conversation flowed perfectly. You told Bucky about how you were travelling to all the places you wanted to see before you moved back home, and he told you all about his life here. He said he liked the peace and quiet. Even the snowstorms, he grew to love them. 

By the time your plates and the decanter were empty, the two of you were laughing and exchanging life stories like you were old friends catching up. 

“So wait,” You chuckled, “You built this entire place out of spite?” 

Bucky nodded, laughing as well. “Well, I guess. My friend Sam came to visit when I told him I bought some land out here and he said ‘Well what are you gonna do here, Buck? You can’t just build a house in the middle of nowhere and become a lumberjack providing wood to the locals.’ and I thought, ‘Wait, that’s not a bad idea’, then I did exactly what Sam said.” 

You laughed, the wine made everything funnier. Bucky’s cheeks were now pink, his lips stained due to the wine and you couldn’t look away from him. Fuck, he really was gorgeous. He must have changed before dinner because he was no longer wearing that tight white shirt. He was wearing loose, beige coloured loungewear and looked just as mouth-watering. His hair was just as messy, but made him look effortlessly handsome. 

You eye-fucked him so more before realising that he was checking you out too, and neither of you had said a word for the past minute or two. But it wasn’t awkward. His blue eyes stared into yours and you were suddenly too aware of the thick tension in the air. 

The way he licked his lips, the way he toyed with the stem of his wine glass, the way his hand–

Bucky cleared his throat and looked away first. You tried to blink away the tension too but it remained. Then Bucky asked, “So, you have a boyfriend or something waiting for you at home?” He gave you a playful smirk. 

Oh? 

You shook your head, “Nope. What about you? You came all the way here to live in seclusion, are you running from an ex or something?” 

Bucky chuckled, shaking his head. “No, nothing like that.” 

That tension came back again, filling the air like smoke. You couldn’t ignore it. Neither could he, given how he fidgeted in his seat. 

This is wrong. Isn’t it? 

He was being kind enough to offer you shelter and you were being inappropriate. So before you did something you might regret, you said, “It’s late. I should head to bed. I drove all day and…” You trailed off, looking away and avoiding his eyes. 

“Yeah, yeah of course.” He said quickly, getting up from his seat. He went to reach for your plate but you grabbed it first. 

“Oh I’ll load up the dishwasher, don’t worry.” You moved before he could stop you, grabbing your plate and then his. Then the wine glasses and everything else. 

You could feel Bucky’s eyes on you as you carefully arranged everything in the rack before turning it on. You washed your hands, and wiped it on a tea towel while turning to leave but Bucky’s heated stare stopped you. 

There he was, leaning against the kitchen island and looking even more yummy than the dinner he made. You were glad you had the tea towel in your hands otherwise you wouldn’t know what to do. 

Luckily Bucky spoke up first, “If I had known you were coming I would’ve made dessert.” 

Such a simple sentence yet it sounded like he’d whispered some dirty, filthy secret in your ear the way your body came alive. You refrained from clenching your thighs together. His voice was lower, deeper but just as smooth and it was driving you crazy just imagining how this man must sound in bed. 

And now you were jealous of all the people who had had the chance of hearing what he sounded like, moaning and grunting, whispering out of breath… fuck. 

“Uh…” You struggled to find your words, now that the image of him naked in bed wouldn’t leave your head, “That’s alright. I don’t have much of a sweet tooth anyway.” 

You didn’t know when you moved, but you found yourself standing closer to Bucky now. He turned to face you completely and there were mere inches between your bodies. You felt… hot. Maybe it was the wine, but you were almost certain it was because of the way Bucky looked at you. Like he’d devour you if he could. You had sensed tension between you and other people before, but it had never been this strong. 

“Shame,” He muttered under his breath, his hand coming up to gently touch your face. “I happen to like something sweet before bed.” His voice dropped to a whisper. 

All you could focus on was the way he was touching your face. Gently, like you were made of glass. His hand was warm, but rough. You let out a shaky breath as you wondered how his rough hands would feel all over you– 

“Go to bed.” He said in a voice that made you tingle all over. He didn’t let go of your face. His thumb caressing your cheek, and his eyes staring into your soul. 

You blinked, wondering if you misheard. “What?” You asked softly, leaning into his touch subtly, obviously not wanting to move. 

“Go to bed, doll.” He repeated, still not letting go of your face. 

You frowned slightly, “But–,” 

He cut you off by placing a gentle finger over your lips. His eyes couldn’t look away from where his finger touched your mouth. He leaned in a little, then said, “We shouldn’t.” 

“Why not?” You asked, lips brushing against his finger as you spoke. 

He gave you a soft smile and said, “I should be a good host, not seduce you.” 

You shrugged, “Well I’m nice and seduced, now what do we do?” 

He chuckled, leaning in until his nose brushed against the side of your neck. His simple touches were driving you crazy. 

“You know what happens when there’s a snowstorm in this town, doll? It lasts for days,” He whispered, lazily kissing your neck. “And by the time that’s over, the roads are completely blocked. And this is a small town so it takes a while before the roads are functional again.” 

Your heart fluttered, your body felt too hot and yet you shivered. You gently pulled away to look at him. “So you’re saying I’m stuck with you here for days?” You couldn’t help the smirk on your face. 

He caught the hopeful tone in your voice. Bucky nodded. “And if I touch you right now,” He whispered, cupping your face in his large, rough hands, “I’m not sure I’ll let you leave my bed at all for the next coming days.” 

It was risky because as beautiful as he was, you didn’t know Bucky. But you had never wanted someone this much before. This felt like a new kind of longing and need. You didn’t care what was right, ethical, or risky. “Then don’t.” 

That did it. 

Bucky stopped thinking why he shouldn’t and instead pressed his lips to yours, kissing you like he was tasting his favourite dessert. His tongue easing your own as he tasted you leisurely. “We’re sure about this?” He asked, breathlessly. 

“Yes,” You whispered against his mouth, gasping as his hands trailed up and down your body, sliding under your sweater and fondling your breasts. “We are.” 

Bucky smiled into the kiss, then spoke again. “Aren’t I too old for you, doll?” 

You chuckled, your own hands wandering and sliding up and down his muscular back. You wanted nothing more than to just take off that comfy hoodie he was wearing. “Oh, what’s a decade or two?” You murmured. 

Bucky’s hands dropped down to your waist, caressing your skin, fingers threatening to slip past the waistband of your sweatpants. You had to bite your lip to keep yourself from moaning too loudly. The storm was picking up outside and it would surely drown out all your cries, not that there were any neighbours to hear to begin with. 

“Will you be good for me?” He whispered, kissing down your face as his fingers slowly dipped into your sweatpants. One hand held you at the waist while the other inched dangerously close to where you craved him the most. 

His touch, his words, it was all too much. “I’ll be good,” You replied, your hands sliding under his hoodie to finally touch him, exploring and curious. His body was incredible to the touch, hard muscles and warm skin. 

He finally slipped his hand into your underwear, hissing as he found you dripping wet. He chuckled against your skin as he kissed and licked your throat, “How long have you been this wet, doll?” He asked, sounding cocky. 

You gasped when you felt him sliding a finger inside you, gently. “Since you opened the front door.” You answered honestly. 

Bucky laughed, his warm breath tickling your ear. “That long, huh? I’m sorry.” He cooed, “Let me take care of it for you.” 

You couldn’t help the moan that escaped your mouth when you felt him slide another finger inside you, fucking you slowly with both now. Bucky kissed your neck, your face, your mouth. Licking and biting your skin as he pleased while he finger-fucked you until you were right on the edge. 

“Get up here.” He murmured, pulling his fingers and hand away and pointed at the kitchen island. 

You didn’t move immediately. Probably because your brain was all foggy from his kisses and his touch that it took a second for you to register and process his words. 

Bucky smirked and repeated. “Come on. Take your clothes off and get up here.” 

You did as he asked. Taking off your sweater and sweatpants, followed by your underwear and revealing your bare body. Bucky took a second, letting his fingers trail up and down your stomach and chest before he pointed at the island again. 

“Up.” 

You hopped on the edge with a giggle, hissing upon feeling the cold surface against your warm skin. Once sat on the edge, you wrapped your legs around him, pulling him closer. Bucky smiled as he placed his hands on you again, your arms wrapping around his neck as you stared into his ocean blue eyes. 

“Such a pretty doll,” He whispered, placing his hands on your thighs and spreading them further apart. He looked down at your wet folds, mindlessly dragging a finger up and down your slit, making you shiver all over again. “Now, lie down.” He said. 

You wasted no time. You unwrapped your arms from around him and carefully laid down flat on your back, hissing at the cold again. 

Bucky’s eyes trailed up and down your body, his hands caressing your skin. From your thighs, to your hips, to your breasts where he pinched your nipples, making you cry out again. 

“Can I taste you, doll?” He asked, pulling your legs up to the edge and spreading your thighs as far apart as they would go. The island was high enough where he only had to bend down for his mouth to touch your heated skin. Lips brushing against your lower abdomen, he asked again, “Can I?” 

Your brain was a mess. Yet you managed to mumble a firm, “Yes…” 

With his mouth mere inches away from your throbbing clit, he said, “Keep your legs up just like that for me, okay?”

You nodded, looking down in between your legs as he leaned in and pressed his mouth against your wetness. He looked up immediately, holding your stare as he slid his tongue against, the roughness of his beard against your softness was driving you insane. 

You held yourself up on your elbows as you watched him eat you out. The warmth of his mouth, the slow caress of his hands against your inner thighs, the intense look in his eyes as he tasted you. It made you feel like you were floating. 

It was too much, it was not enough. You wanted him, you wanted more. 

“You taste sweeter than any dessert, doll.” He whispered, kissing around your wet clit before sucking on it hard enough to make you come, your back arched off the surface, riding his face as you cried out in pleasure. “But it’s not enough.” He admitted, pulling away and kissing his way up your body. “Is it?” 

You barely caught your breath, your heart racing as you laid there in front of him. 

“Get down, and bend over for me.” He spoke in that enchanting voice of his which put you under his spell so easily. 

You moved immediately this time. He was still fully dressed and you didn’t have a single article of clothing on and somehow that made you feel hotter. 

You bent over the island in front of him, your front pressed against the edge. You placed your hands down and turned to look at him over your shoulder. You watched how he grabbed your hips and spread your legs, leaning closer to kiss up your spine. 

“So beautiful,” He whispered against the back of your neck. “Now, are you gonna let me fuck you? Hmm? Are you gonna let me put both of us out of our misery, doll?” 

“Yes.” 

“Good.” 

He pulled his hands away from you for a moment, lowering his trousers enough to free his cock. You wished you could see it properly. You wished you could kneel down in front of him and take him into your mouth and– 

You gasped out loud when you felt the tip of his hard, warm cock pressing against you. Nothing mattered in that moment, not when he was gently rubbing his cock up and down your wet slit, parting your folds. 

You squirmed against the hard surface under you, pushing back into him in need. “Please…” You whispered, desperate for him. You had never been this needy for a man before. 

You braced yourself for his thrust, knowing it was coming. 

Slowly, Bucky slid inside you, filling you up and stretching you out as he did. He let out a sigh of pleasure once he was seated deep inside you, gripping on your hips tightly as he gave you both a moment to get used to it. 

You felt so full, like you’ve never been before. So full, you could barely form a coherent thought. All you knew was you wanted more. 

You let out a quiet moan as he started fucking you gently. 

“You feel so fucking good,” He hissed, “So warm and tight for me.” Bucky whispered, fucking into you with a pace that made you want to scream and shout because it felt so good. 

Each time he filled you up, the tip of his cock brushed against your most sensitive spot and you moaned as your walls clenched around him. 

“Poor little doll,” He cooed, “This will be your new routine for the next few days now. Just getting fucked, and caressed all the time while the storm rages on outside.” 

His thrusts got harder. Your moans got louder. His words made you clench around him even more. 

“Look at you,” He growled. “Pretty girl letting a older man she barely knows fuck her like she’s a needy little whore.” His voice was deeper, and as menacing as his words were his touch was just as soft and careful. His fingers circled your clit gently while he pounded into you from behind. “Would you bend over for any man, doll? Hmm? Whoever offered you shelter from the storm, is this how you’d repay him? By letting him fuck your needy little cunt?” 

You couldn’t help but cry out, moaning in pleasure as his words took you higher. You did have a little bit of a degrading kink, who didn’t? But never had anyone ever hit the spot like Bucky did. And given how your wetness dripped down his fingers, he could tell. 

Bucky chuckled darkly. “Does that turn you on, doll? Knowing that I can selfishly take from you now that you’re stuck here with me?” His other hand came up to grab you by the back of your neck as he whispered into your ear, fucking into you hard enough that your body slammed into the kitchen island with each thrust. “Does it turn you on knowing you’ll have to be my little slut for the next few days? That you’ll have to spread those legs for me and let me fuck you whenever I want to?” 

“Yes…” You whimpered as he pounded deeper into you. You didn’t want him to stop. Ever. 

He hissed into your ear, “Is that what you are now? My little slut?” He chuckled, rolling his hips in a way that had you whimpering and squirming in pleasure beneath him. “Well, what a perfect way of repaying me for my kindness, hmm?” 

“Please, Bucky…” You whimpered. 

Bucky hummed, kissing your warm skin, “I know, pretty girl. I know, it feels good, doesn’t it?” 

His words made you feel feverish, and wild. Lust-drunk more than ever. You moaned as he sped up again, a familiar warmth taking over you, and a pressure building in between your hips. 

You whined, “I’m gonna come.” You cried, and you were pretty sure you had tears streaming down your face. 

“Come for me, then. Come all over my cock, doll.” 

Your brain was a foggy mess after that. You came hard though, clenching around him violently as you did. 

“Fuck… look at you,” He whispered, his cock pounding harder into you until he came as well, spilling all over your lower back as he panted in exhaustion. “You okay, doll?” 

You nodded slowly, pressing your forehead down against the cool surface and catching your breath. 

“Come on,” His voice was softer now as he pulled you up and held you against him. Your back to his chest as he wrapped his arms around you, nuzzling your neck and leaving soft kisses all over your neck and the side of your face. “Let’s get you in bed, yeah?” 

You asked in a shaky voice, “And then can we fuck again?” 

Bucky chuckled, hugging you tightly before saying, “Yes we can, pretty girl.”

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes au #bucky x reader #bucky barnes imagine

[alltheirdamn]

DECLINED | Mechanic!Joel x f!reader

PART 2

Summary: After a summer away, you decide to pay a visit to your favorite mechanic. Rating: 18+ Explicit Word Count: 3.7k Warnings: Pre-outbreak (AU), mechanic!joel, car sex, oral (f receiving), fingering, squirting, semi-public sex, multiple orgasms, slight overstimulation, light nipple play, unprotected piv sex, size kink, dirty talk, praise kink, pet names (darlin', babydoll, cowboy), cock riding, rough sex, creampie, joel once again being irresistible and disgustingly sweet, light sprinkle of fluff, porn with no plot (kinda) A/N: I have zero self-restraint and couldn't stop thinking about mechanic!joel soo... you could say, it was so nice she had to come twice ;)

PART 1 | Masterlist | Ko-fi

It wasn’t like you were actually planning on pulling off the highway to head toward that mechanic shop… except you totally were. Summer came and went, and after a few months spent in Tallahassee, it was time to go home. You weren’t in a rush this time, though, so you could afford a quick pit stop at a small mechanic shop. Nothing needed to be fixed in your car, but maybe you’d pop a screw loose just for the hell of it.

Pulling into the familiar garage, your heart thumped in your ears as you threw the car in park and nearly ran inside. The waiting room was disappointingly empty minus a handsome man standing behind the counter…one that wasn’t Joel.

His black curls were slicked back, and with just a white tank top and flannel on, you could tell he was built just like Joel. At your sudden entrance, he glanced your way, giving the cigarette in his hand a quick flick over the ashtray on the counter he leaned on.

“Can I help you with somethin’, miss?” He asked. He had that same drawl in his voice as Joel did.

Taming down your flyaways from the humidity, you walked over to the counter with a friendly smile. You didn’t miss how his eyes did a once-over on your body.

“I was just coming through town, thought I’d stop in to say hi to Joel,” you explained.

He took another drag of his cigarette, the cherry burning at the bottom. After a long inhale, he puffed out an air of smoke, filling the space with that stinging smell of nicotine. You weren’t completely opposed to the smell, and you most definitely appreciated him blowing it to the side so that it didn’t creep up into your nose.

“Joel’s just up at the mini-mart grabbin’ some beers. M’sure he’ll be back soon,” he shrugged. “I’m Tommy by the way, his brother.”

He extended his free hand, and you met him halfway to give him a friendly handshake, introducing yourself as well. Tommy donned that same lopsided grin as Joel; it must be that Southern charm and hospitality.

“So,” he drawled. “How y’know my brother?”

You shifted your weight between legs, trying to come up with some stupid lie to explain how you did know him. Short answer: he fixed your car. Long answer: he gave you the best orgasms of your life. 

“I, uh, came through town a few months ago to get my car fixed, and—.”

“Hey, Tommy! Come help me with the beers, man!” A voice shouted from the side door.

Tommy gave you an apologetic grin, rounding the corner to meet his brother outside. You leaned against the counter, drumming your fingers against it as you waited for them to reemerge. Tommy was walking back through the door moments later, a six-pack of beers in hand and Joel in tow. 

“C’mon man, I told you no smokin’ in the damn shop,” Joel grumbled, smacking the back of Tommy’s head.

Tommy only laughed at his brother's annoyance, walking around the counter to give Joel a clear view of you standing there. As his eyes set on you, Joel stopped in his tracks, a wild grin splitting across his face.

“Well, would y’look at that,” he beamed. “If it ain’t my favorite customer.”

A warmth crept up your skin, your cheeks blushing at his words. He approached you, leaning against the counter to mimic your stance. He still wore that worn-down black t-shirt, the fabric thinned out and stretching over his muscles. You wondered how long those scratches stayed on the skin of his back after you both…

“Ohhhh,” Tommy interrupted, forcing your eyes to tear away from Joel’s. “You’re the girl that’s got my brother out $500!”

Snapping your head back to Joel, you smacked his bicep in embarrassment.

“You told him?!” You shrieked.

Joel doubled over in laughter, clutching the arm you had just whacked.

“Calm down, darlin’. I ain’t ever think I’d see you again! S’all in good fun.”

You buried your face in your hands, letting out a small groan. Of course, he’d tell his fucking brother about you; the girl that didn’t have any fucking money for a car and slept her way out of the debt. You could bet Tommy probably didn’t believe Joel when he told him the story, either.

“Aw, c’mon now babydoll,” Joel crooned, peeling your hands away from your face. “I ain’t meant no harm in tellin’ the story.”

“He hasn’t told another soul,” Tommy said. You glanced over to see him raise a hand in defense. “Scouts honor.”

You smack Joel again for good measure, eliciting a howling laugh from Tommy on the other side of the counter. 

“Tommy, I’ll close up the shop tonight,” Joel said, raising an eyebrow at his brother. “Why don’t you head out and grab Sarah for me? M’sure I’ll be back in time for the game.”

“Fuckin’ better be,” Tommy tossed back. “Ain’t tryna lose my money to you again.”

“Seems like he needs that money,” you chimed in, rolling your eyes.

This time Joel shoved at you playfully, a hearty laugh rumbling through his chest. 

“Now she’s got jokes!” He teased. 

“Ha ha very funny,” Tommy said, scooping up the six-pack into his arms. “Nice meetin’ ya miss. Don’t run up your tab too high while you’re here.”

Tommy was just as good with the jabs as you were, so you threw him a quick smile and wave before he slid out the back door and disappeared. With only Joel and you left, that nervous feeling crept back in. 

“Got another tire blown out or did y’miss me?” Joel teased.

“Don’t let your ego get too big, cowboy,” you said. “I’m just rollin’ back through town.”

“Pretty sure I’m big everywhere, babydoll, but y’already know that.”

Joel took a step towards you, twisting a strand of your hair through his fingers. You could see the midday sun reflecting in his brown eyes, making them sparkle the longer he stared. Your gaze flicked down to his lips, that pouty bottom one quipped up into a slight grin. 

“You’re just so sure of yourself, aren’t you?” You laughed.

“Sure enough to know that pretty pussy is just soakin’ your underwear right now,” he drawled. 

He grabbed your hips, pinning you to his chest with an arm braced around your back. Dipping his hand between your bodies, he slid a finger over the seam of your zipper, teasing your already throbbing clit. Your eyes fluttered shut at the feather-like touch of his finger, your body aching for him.

“Fuckin’ knew it,” he whispered in your ear.

Your breath hitched as he popped open the button on your jeans and tugged down the zipper. Slipping two fingers between your skin and underwear, he drew lazy circles over your clit, watching you with rapt attention as you tried to stifle a moan.

“Mhmm,” he crooned. “Been dreamin’ ‘bout this pussy ever since you left town, darlin’.”

“Yeah?” you exhaled, rolling your hips against his fingers as they worked faster.

“Ain’t ever had my cock so wet.” Joel pressed a kiss against your neck as his fingers slid between your wet folds and teased your entrance. 

“Christ, Joel,” you exhaled. “Maybe we should take this somewhere else.”

Joel glanced around the empty waiting room and shrugged.

“No one’s here, darlin’.”

“Your shop windows are glass,” you argued. “Anyone can see us if they drive by.”

Teasing your wet folds, Joel slid a finger inside you, slowly curling it in an attempt to shut you up—which did work, unfortunately. You leaned into his broad chest, your head resting on his sternum as he continued the movement in slow strokes. 

“Joel,” you whimpered, clutching the fabric of his shirt.

“What, babydoll?” He asked innocently as if he didn’t fucking know what he was doing to you.

“Take me to the garage,” you breathed. “Please.”

“Only ‘cause you asked so nicely, darlin’.”

Pulling his hand out of your jeans, Joel bent to scoop you up, drawing your legs around his waist to carry you out of the waiting room. You wound your arms around his neck, dipping your head down to kiss along the stubble of his jawline. His hands squeezed your ass as he walked you both through the door to the garage, situating himself at the workbench. Still positioned in his lap, you wasted no time and pulled him in for a long, passionate kiss. You could feel the smile on his lips as he kissed you back, his hands roaming up and down your body as you devoured one another. 

“Jesus, babydoll. Y’really did miss me, huh?” he muttered against your open mouth.

“Maybe I did, cowboy.”

Grinding your hips on his lap, you felt the strain of his cock beneath the worn-out fabric of his work jeans. Joel nipped at your bottom lip, groaning as you circled your hips harder. 

“Easy now, darlin’,” he warned. “Don’t wanna ruin my jeans like some middle school boy.”

You laughed and doubled down on your movements against his cock, each drag of your body forcing him to tense up. Joel’s hand came up to cup your breast through your bra, squeezing hard enough to make you whimper. 

“Y’gonna be a good girl for me, babydoll?” he questioned.

You snuck a glance at his face, seeing his pupils blown wide with lust. Nodding quietly, you stilled your movements and focused on the feel of his fingers pinching your hardened nipple through the fabric. Your jaw went slack as he toyed with you, coaxing humiliating sounds from your lips with each twist.

“Hmm,” he mused, leveling you with a dangerous stare. “That's how I get you to behave, huh?”

“Joel,” you whined breathlessly. 

“Use your words, babydoll.”

“I need you to fuck me,” you begged, leaning into his touch.

“Where’s those manners, darlin’?” he taunted.

Giving him the biggest pouty face you could muster, you pushed your bottom lip out and sealed the deal by batting your eyelashes at him.

“Please, cowboy?” 

Joel rolled his eyes and chuckled, bringing his hand down on your ass to deliver a sharp slap. Hoisting you back up, Joel spun your body back against the wall of the garage, shoving your shirt up as he pressed you against it. He wasted no time in dragging down your bra, ravishing your skin with kisses and bites, leaving a trail of marks down your breast and sternum. You ran your hands through his curls, feeling the humidity of the air dampen them the longer you both stayed in the garage. Neither of you seemed to mind, though; you were so wrapped up in each other there was no telling of what was happening in the outside world. 

He took your nipple between his teeth, biting it softly and rewarding your behavior with another trail of kisses back up your chest and neck. He mumbled a slew of curses under his breath as you mewled against his touch, his mouth hot against the underside of your jaw.

“Quite the mouth on you, cowboy,” you teased. 

“Y’already know what this mouth can do, darlin’. Don’t tempt me.”

“Why don’t you remind me?” you asked, a smug grin teasing your lips.

“Fuck, babydoll,” he groaned.

Setting you back down on your feet, Joel nodded towards his black truck, silently instructing you to move. With the truck bed already down, you did a little hop and shimmy onto it, settling back against the warm metal. Joel grabbed a clean towel off his workbench and stalked towards you with a devilish grin.

“Afraid to get your truck messy?” You smirked.

“I already know you’re gonna have the entire bed of it soaked in damn near a minute,” he responded.

Letting impatience get the best of you, you worked yourself out of your jeans and underwear, slingshotting it directly at Joel’s chest as he neared the edge of the truck. Catching it with one hand, he pocketed the black lace effortlessly, offering you the towel to situate yourself onto. Sliding your body into the towel, you dropped your legs open, giving Joel a perfect view to ogle at.

“Like what you see, cowboy?” You giggled, trailing your fingers down your abdomen and towards the wetness between your thighs. 

“Damn right I do, darlin’.”

Joel pressed up against the truck bed, bending over to kiss down your stomach where your hand laid against your aching clit. He brushed his lips over your fingers before drawing them into his mouth, sucking on them gently. Your breath hitched as your eyes connected, his brown eyes sparkling with mischief. Joel pulled your fingers from his mouth and guided your hand through his hair.

“Give them curls a tug if y’need it, darlin’.”

Then his mouth was on you. Devouring you. Lapping at you. Every flick of his tongue sent shockwaves through your body, your veins coursing with an indescribable need to explode. Joel didn’t let up for a single second, his tongue and jaw working at you until your thighs quaked around his neck. He was pushing you closer and closer until that coil inside your stomach was ready to snap. You cried out as he flattened his tongue against your clit, putting pressure at just the right spot to make you see stars.

“Right there… oh my God, Joel,” you whispered, panting as you felt that build-up in your body begin.

With another long draw of his tongue and the brush of his nose against the sensitive bud of your clit, that coil snapped. Hot, warm liquid gushed out of you, covering the entirety of his open mouth and chin. Joel groaned as he continued lapping at you, the disgusting sound of your wet cunt drowning out the heartbeat thudding in your ears. Aftershocks of your orgasm coursed through you, your body pulsing with pleasure with each press of his mouth against you.

You tugged at his curls as he instructed, and Joel lifted his face to reveal what a dripping mess he had become. Your cheeks reddened at the sight of his hooded eyes and wild smile; the look of sheer bliss painting his features. Exhaling, you sagged against the metal of the truck, your chest rising and falling as you tried to regain some semblance of control.

“God, I sure did miss this pussy,” Joel hummed, nudging his nose against your dripping cunt. 

You squirmed against his face, too afraid another orgasm would surge through you and drench him again—which he obviously wouldn’t be opposed to. But you needed his cock buried inside you, now.

“Joel, climb up here,” you said, patting the metal beside you.

“What if I ain’t ready yet?” he argued, kissing the inside of your thighs.

“Joel,” you demanded.

“Alright, alright,” he sighed. “Don’t get all impatient on me now, darlin’.”

Hauling himself onto the truck bed, he crawled over your limp body, kissing up the side of your neck. Using what little strength you had left, you maneuvered yourself over him, flipping you both until you straddled his lap. Joel’s hands came up to your bare hips, his thick fingers squeezing and kneading the supple flesh as you rolled against his hardened cock.

“Gonna let me ride you, cowboy?” You asked.

“Fuck, darlin’,” he groaned, his eyes rolling back. “Boutta be the best ride of my goddamn life.”

Giving him a wink, you hurried to undo his belt and jeans, letting his cock spring free. Christ, you forgot how big it was. Joel chuckled at the way you stalled a moment, bucking his hips upwards in an attempt to get you moving.

“Calm down, cowboy,” you warned. “I’m gettin’ there.”

Wrapping your hand around the base of his cock, you positioned it at your entrance, slowly sinking down until your clit brushed against the curls at the base. Even dripping wet, you were forced to stretch around him, the fullness leaving you breathless for a moment. 

“Y’look so pretty like that, babydoll. S’fuckin full of me,” Joel hummed.

You whimpered at his words, moving your hips up and down finding the right tempo that sent you both into oblivion. The press of your knees against the metal wasn’t the most comfortable thing, but you could ignore it so long as he enjoyed himself. You picked up the pace, your body bouncing up and down as you forced his cock deeper inside you. Joel’s jaw went slack as he watched you, enraptured with the way you moved above him. Your bodies slapped together with each drop of your hips, and his fingers flexed against your waist as he pushed and pulled your body until you were grinding against him. 

“There ya’ go, babydoll,” Joel murmured. “Feel how deep I am?”

You only gave him a pathetic moan, letting his hands guide your body as you pulsed around his cock. You were so fucking full, the tip of his cock spearing up into you with each drag of your hips. Snaking a hand down your body, your fingers found your clit, drawing desperate circles as you tried to chase the orgasm threading through your muscles. 

“Fuck,” Joel groaned. “You’re just desperate to cum again, huh?”

“Yes, Joel,” you whined, putting more pressure on your clit as he drove himself deeper.

“S’fuckin’ pretty like that,” Joel exhaled. “Gonna drench me again, huh? Let’s see it, babydoll, cover me with it.”

Your mouth opened with a soundless cry, your cunt flexing around his cock as another orgasm ruptured through you, soaking your thighs and seeping into his jeans. Hauling you down against his chest, Joel positioned his knees upward, pistoning his hips against yours at a violent pace. 

“Fuck!!” You sobbed as more liquid gushed out of you, the strength of your orgasm amplified at this angle.

“Good fuckin’ girl. That’s it, c’mon,” Joel praised, his lips pressed against your ear. “Keep goin’, babydoll. I know y’can give me more.”

“I—I can’t!” You stammered.

Your orgasm wouldn’t let up, though. Joel’s cock drove into you with such force, that you continued soaking him over and over again despite your wailing protests. Joel continued praising you and talking you through each ripple of your orgasm, hushing you as you cried harder. 

“Just like that, babydoll. Shh… Doin’ so fuckin’ good for me.”

Joel kept a brutal pace, wrecking into you as he chased his own release. His hips snapped up one final time before he was spilling into you with a choked groan falling from his lips. 

Falling limp against his body, you stared at the sides of the truck bed with glazed eyes. Tremors still wracked through your body as you settled into his embrace, his hand rubbing soft circles over your shoulders. Craning his head to the side, Joel captured your lips in a soft kiss, his tongue dancing over yours slow and sweet. 

“Doin’ alright, babydoll?” he asked, breaking away from your lips.

You nodded mindlessly, too blissed out to form words. Nestled into his body, you let your fingers wander up his bicep and over his shoulder. Joel placed a soft kiss at the crown of your head, his muffled words lost in your hair.

“Hmm?” You asked.

“S’nothing,” he whispered. “Just enjoyed the ride, that’s all.”

You rested your head on his sternum, giving him a questioning look. 

“Sounded like you said something else,” you said, cocking a brow.

Joel huffed a laugh, his head falling back against the metal with a soft thud.

“I don’t know, darlin’. Guess I kinda like you.”

“Guess I kinda like you too, cowboy.”

Rolling off of him, you situated yourself against the side of the truck bed, resting your legs over his stomach. Joel’s hand kneaded into the tight muscles of your calves, working at the knots in your legs. His head leaned to the side to catch a glimpse at you, a smile breaking across his face.

“How long are y’staying in town?” he asked.

“I was only passing through,” you sighed.

His smile faltered a moment, that glimmer of hope flickering out in his eyes. Suddenly, the thought of leaving didn’t sound so nice.

“Why don’t y’stay the night?” he offered. “Got myself a big enough bed to sleep in, babydoll.”

“How much is it gonna cost me?” You teased, rubbing your foot over the softest part of his lower stomach.

“I’m thinkin’ a good blowjob,” he mused.

“Whatever you want, cowboy. Count me in.”

You spent a few moments in harmonious silence, basking in the circumstances’ simplicity. After a while, you found yourself climbing off the truck in search of your jeans and underwear. Joel worked his way down, too, stuffing his cock back into his pants and gathering the damp towel off the truck bed.

“You still have my underwear,” you grumbled, shaking out your jeans to slide into.

“And I’m gonna keep ‘em, darlin’,” Joel said, grabbing you by the waist to reel you in for a kiss. “Need me a lil’ souvenir.”

“You’re unbelievable,” you chuckled.

Foregoing underwear, you stuffed yourself back into your jeans and followed Joel to the passenger side of the truck, where he had the door already propped open for you. Helping you in, he reached over to secure your seatbelt, kissing your cheek softly before shutting the door and walking to the driver's side.

Turning the key in the ignition, Joel glanced over at you, his eyes roaming over your messy hair and rosy cheeks. 

“Y’sure are beautiful, babydoll. Wish I could keep ya here,” he sighed.

You rested your chin in your hand, leaning over the center console. 

“I don’t know, cowboy. Your negotiating skills are pretty damn good. Might talk me into staying with all those sweet words.”

“Oh yeah?” he perked up. “Y’know you still got a hefty bill to pay off.”

“Shit, you’re right,” you agreed. “I might have to stay a while to settle that debt.”

Joel cracked a smile, lifting up the console to haul you closer to him. Backing out of the garage, he navigated the truck onto the main road and towards wherever home was for him. Settling into his side, your fingers danced over the zipper of his pants as you waged your brows at him.

“Think I should start paying off that debt now?” You asked.

“I ain’t arguing with that, babydoll,” Joel grinned.

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfic #joel miller one shot #joel miller smut #joel miller x f!reader #mechanic!joel #joel x reader #tlou #tlou fanfiction #one shot #joel miller pre-outbreak

[ichigo-dream]

Leon - Squish - (SFW & NSFW)

Hi everyone!

We still can't get over the fact that this man is built like that and that he put on 40 lbs of pure muscle between RE 2 and RE 4. Honestly we've spent many hours discussing his squish so have some of our fav headcanons:

Every part of this man is rideable - thighs, biceps, throat, ab, face, doesn’t matter, any port in a storm and what a pretty, squishy port he is. 

u love gently pinching and biting his cheeks bc he still has some of his lil baby face from his rookie days 

his lap is the comfiest place to sit 

your throne 

Leon will grab you by the hips and pull you onto his plush thighs at any point 

soft and pillowy but you can feel the muscle when he flexes 

You love his little freckles that come out in the sunshine and the summertime - there’s one on the inside of his beautiful thigh scarily close to his dick and it makes him feral when you kiss or bite at it. 

To Leon, the only benefit of working for the US Government is travel perks - when flying he always flies first class, and it's the only time he can be comfortable on public transport bc he’s a unit of a man 

Any other time, he has to curl in on himself and crush his legs together to not take up more than his designated space. 

can spread his thick delicious thighs as much as he wants 

in the summertime he likes to workout outside

will do push-ups whilst shirtless 

you try not to pass out at the sight of his muscles flexing + slick with sweat 

sometimes you’ll sit on his back as he does this when he wants some extra weight 

baby boy is so strong it makes u drool 

Loves wearing shorts but gets self-conscious if he wears them in public.

Absolutely will steal your sunglasses to wear whilst he’s outside - (we couldn’t get the image of Leon shirtless in little shorts wearing heart shaped sunglasses out of our heads)

one day he wants to surprise you by wearing his old rpd uniform (cute play on all the times you would playfully call him “officer Kennedy”) but you hear him grunting in frustration from the bedroom so u go to check it out 

shit does not fit this man

not even a little 

trousers caught around his legs bc the material won’t fit over his juicy thighs + ass. You’re trying not to drool at the sight. waistband is fr about to snap 

dick bulge bc the trousers don’t fit over that either 

shirt also  doesn’t fit  - buttons are straining within an inch of their life against his broad chest, waiting to pop  

only thing that does fit is the old bulletproof vest - barely. 

“Never got to wear my summer uniform, and I didn’t want to buy a new one so… I tried to make my own but…”

baby boy is blushing in embarrassment at his failed attempt to be sexy 

but oh he has no idea 

what he’s doing to you rn 

have to pick your jaw off the floor at the sight of him 

he’s sweating a little too from the effort 

you want him to choke you out with his thighs or biceps, you’re not picky 

You tell him to turn around and you’ll try to help him pull them up at the back but this is a ruse -  you just want to see his ass jiggle as he tries to force the trousers up. 

“I’m sorry, I can't get them on..” he whines, annoyed that he can’t surprise you anymore. 

“It’s okay, pretty boy, I need you to take them off anyway”  

devouring this man like he’s a piece of cake on god 

strawberry to be precise 

When you’re fucking him, if you grab at his ass it’ll drive him crazy

You have to resist the urge to motorboat him when his bare chest is freely offered to your greedy eyes.

the juiciest tits u ever seen 

Don’t be fooled tho - tho this man is a beast, he ‘s actually a puppy on the inside. 

He absolutely adores getting to cuddle with you and lie on your chest and snooze - because he’s bigger than you he tends to worry about crushing you but you reassure him that it's okay (glory glory what a hell of a way to die). 

We could go all day (much like Leon) but we’ll stop there for now!

Comment “Bingo!” if you made it to the end, and let us know if you’d like more!

Love, 

Ichigo and Dream xoxo

#leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy headcannons #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon s kennedy