#its to stab men that get too close to me

[pinkwright]

i love my heels killer n mean

#｡:°ஐ ʚĭɞ. sere's shit talk #just like me #kidding lol #its to stab men that get too close to me

[muertawrites]

Inked (Eddie x Reader x Punk!Steve) [18+]

Summary: tattoos hurt. thankfully your artist is chill about the way you distract yourself from the pain.

Warnings: 18+ minors dni, oral (fem receiving), vouyerism, exhibitionism, male masturbation, explicit descriptions of sex and pain

Read Time: 7 mins

This is possibly the most painful thing you've ever felt. It stings, it burns, and the tip of the gun feels like it's digging under your skin and against the bone beneath. Eddie hisses.

"You're holding me too tight, baby."

You look over to where your hand is gripped around his wrist, fingers white as they curl into his flesh. You release your hold and there are little moon-shaped grooves etched in his skin, blooming red and threatening to bleed.

Steve stops tattooing.

You're laying on the bench in his home studio, having offered yourself as a guinea pig to help him practice working on people for his apprenticeship. He's doing a sternum piece for you, sprawled out over your naked chest while Eddie sits on your other side, one hand massaging your breast while the other gets itself impaled by your clawing grip. It hurts way more than you expected it to. You're lightheaded and nauseous, and your whole body is clammy and feverish. You feel like you might faint.

Steve nervously bites his lip, his gloved thumb stroking over some of the excess ink.

"... It looks really good already," he attempts to console you. "Do you need to take a break?"

You close your eyes and take a few deep breaths. Eddie's hand that cups your breast gives it a gentle squeeze, rolling your nipple between two of his fingers. You moan softly, and all at once you're inspired.

You turn to Steve, asking the question before you can psych yourself out.

"Do you mind if Eddie fucks me?"

The men blink at each other, bewildered. Neither of them says anything for a moment.

"Please," you beg. "It hurts so fucking much and I'm already topless. I think it'll help. I don't want to faint."

Steve stares at Eddie, who stares back at Steve. After a tense pause, Steve shrugs.

"Listen, man, if she's cool with it, I'm cool with it. Just don't move her too much."

Eddie looks down at you, his hand moving to stroke through your hair.

"Is that really what you want, sweetheart?"

He sounds concerned, but the brightness in his eyes and the growing stiffness in his jeans give him away. He's eager. Excited. He gets to bring his favorite pornos to life, and all because it was your idea. This is like Christmas.

You nod, giggling softly.

"Yes, Eddie, just do it. Before I change my mind."

He wastes no time, springing up from his chair and positioning himself at the end of the bench, his hands finding the waistband of your leggings and rolling them down. Steve watches, letting out a soft breath when Eddie exposes your hips, your thighs, the luscious patch of pubic hair between your legs. You grin up at him, gently tapping a finger against his chin.

"Stevie," you remind him. "My tattoo."

He gives you a suave, easy smile as he meets your eyes, a feature left over from his time as a high school womanizer. His cheeks are pink, his pupils consuming his pretty brown irises.

"Right," he chuckles. "Sorry."

He starts up the gun again, and Eddie's tongue finds your clit, pressing flat against you as Steve resumes his work on your chest, the needle stabbing its way back into your skin. The pain is eclipsed by the swirling of Eddie's tongue, the pucker of his lips as he dives in and starts sucking. You moan, focusing on the tingling between your thighs.

"That better?" Steve asks, smirking.

You nod.

"Way better."

Eddie grips your thighs, slinging your legs over his shoulders as he laps and sucks at you, the lewd, wet noises echoing off the walls. You can feel your wetness dripping down your buttocks as he works you towards orgasm. He gazes up at you through his lashes, his cock twitching when he doesn't meet your eyes or your breasts but instead sees Steve leaned over you, glancing his way. Eddie grins.

"How much longer, Harrington?" he wonders.

His lips and chin are glossy. Steve swallows heavily.

"About halfway," he answers.

Eddie nods. He stands, making quick work of his button and zipper and freeing his cock, running his shaft teasingly up the length of your pussy. Steve pauses to watch, his mouth slack at the way you coat Eddie's shaft, how easily it glides against you. Eddie grins as he taps the head of his cock against your clit.

"Her pussy's divine, man," he boasts. "Maybe instead of a tip she'll let you have a taste."

He winks at Steve, his hands moving to your hips as he eases inside of you, letting out a quiet moan. His features contort with the pleasure, succumbing to the heat of your slick walls. He starts to thrust, slow and deep, taking care not to shift you at all so Steve has a stable canvas; his palm presses to your stomach for support.

Steve stares, his cock pressing painfully against the leg of his jeans. After a moment he snaps himself out of it and goes back to work, painfully aware of how close he is to your breasts.

You whimper as Eddie fucks you, gripping the sides of the bench to keep yourself still. Eddie's cock pressing deep inside you, Steve's hot breath fanning over your nipple, the depravity of letting him see you naked and vulnerable has you panting, whining, crying for more. The pain of your sternum tattoo is easily forgotten.

Eddie fucks you for half an hour. Steve fills out the lines of your tattoo, then goes back over them again where they're not dark enough, pausing every so often to watch Eddie plow into you. At one point, you reach your hand between Steve's thighs and palm at him, feeling a rush as he bites his lip to keep from moaning. He whispers that you can take him out if you want. You do, and you haphazardly stroke his cock as he finishes the piece, surprisingly concentrated despite rolling his hips into your palm.

When the tattoo is finished, Steve steps away and lets you and Eddie finish as well. He leans against the counter as Eddie bends over you, his mouth latched to your neck as he rails you with unrelenting force until you cum around him, clenching him tightly and moaning as pleasure shakes your body; he follows close behind. You turn your head and watch as Steve touches himself, pulling on his cock until he reaches his own orgasm, spilling creamy ropes all over his stomach, thighs, and the floor. The skin between your legs is soaked.

Eddie helps Steve clean up while you come to your senses, laying on the bench in a dreamy, fucked out haze as Steve dresses your new tattoo and Eddie wipes the residue of sex off of you, himself, and the furniture. When you finally sit up, you look at Steve and laugh breathlessly, thanking him for a good time.

"How much do I owe you?" you ask.

He shakes his head.

"On the house," he says. He grins. "The private show was payment enough."

🎸eddie masterlist🎸

#eddie munson #steve harrington smut #steve harrington #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader smut #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader smut #punk!steve #punk!steve harrington #punk!steve harrington x reader #steddie x reader #steddie x reader smut #muerta's works

[undercoverpena]

keep you close.

simon 'ghost' riley x fem!reader summary: he's pretty sure he's in love with you. not that he'll admit it, acknowledge it. an: angst with fluff, mentions of injury, war-stuff, cheeky stabbings, just cod things. no smut. just feelings. cause I wanted flangst. word count: 3.6k

masterlist for ghost.

Ghost doesn’t think when his eyes land on you. 

He should. 

He knows he should. 

But he fires his gun all the same, not content with the sound each body makes when they fall to the floor. He wants them to fall harder, almost land and shatter. 

He wants them to hurt.

It’s all he thinks as he slides the metal edge along the throat of the last one. The one who is hissing at him in a language he doesn’t even care to translate. 

Ghost cares about one thing, and one thing only: getting that radio message out of his head. 

It’s an ambush. Do not proceed. Get out—

It has been on a loop since he heard it.

Your radio message. 

The one which made Soap shout, calling for you as the static and crackle came back. The sound which made his blood run cold. The one which made him charge across the base grab the person who confirmed the intel by the shoulder, and made them piss themselves. Accidentally, of course.

It had been Soap who suggested sweeping the place, but it hadn’t been far from his mind.

They found your radio stood on, crushed—likely by your own boot. You’d always been thorough—you also usually wiggled your way out of these situations, 

It’s how you’d earned the moniker Mouse to begin with. 

His eyes caught the dried blood, hoping it didn’t belong to you as his flashlight followed its path until his jaw locked, his muscles tensing. 

Your scrunchie. 

That ridiculous one you bought months ago. The one which you’d found hilarious, and he had found anything but. Black, with tiny ghosts on it, for Halloween. No other reason, you’d said with a smirk. Unless you want to borrow it, sir? 

It’s in his pocket now. 

Has been since he found it. 

As he lets the last man fall, he brushes the pocket with his hand before wiping the blood on his thigh, sheathing his knife.

Turning, nodding in the direction of the other men as they checked them as he moved across the room to you, sliding his gun behind his back, and dropping to his knees. 

We bring Mouse back. By any means necessary. 

He’s thankful you’re alive and breathing. Watching as your head tilts —trying to work out who it is. Cautiously, both for the fact he’s considering it and for the knowledge he could hurt you, his gloved hand slides up your cheek, watching you tense before he pulls down the blindfold with his fingers. 

One eye is swollen, horrid, and puffy. Something which makes him want to put extra holes in each of the men for it. But, he can’t take his eyes from the one of yours, which blinks, and stares at him, taking him in. 

“I’m undoin’ this cuff.” 

You swallow, nodding, trying to keep the eye fixed on him. The handcuff releases from your wrists as your arms drop weakly. 

It’s then he can see the bruises. 

The ones which have formed and the ones about too. 

How the colours vary in spots along your exposed arms, neck and cheeks. Dreading to think of how deep they go, how far they spread under your clothes. 

“Sir…” you whisper, his head moving closer. “You’re a piss poor listener.”

“Almost as bad as you, soldier.”

Cautiously, he moves closer, his knees hitting against your legs as his hand slowly brushes over your arm. 

He’s aware the others have their eyes trained on him, Soap giving orders, busying them. It doesn’t stop him from moving his arm around your shoulders, bringing you close until his chest is close to your side.

“Do you want me to close my eye, make it easier for you?” you cough—sounding like a deflated lung. “You seem the type to hate touching people.”

“Enough.” 

It comes out gruff, but he knows that you don’t take it that way. The side of your busted lip twitching as he pulls you over his lap. 

He’s pretty sure it’s the gentlest he’s ever been, even more so with someone. He doesn’t mean to press his forehead against the side of yours. But, he thought he’d lost you. 

The annoying girl who talked too much, who smiled and had no issues with personal space. Unless you were on the battlefield. Then, you were different—quiet, tactile, mouselike. You scurry, you don’t miss, with a gun, a knife or a computer. 

Ghost knew he was fucked before today. 

But, this confirms it. 

The sharp pang in his chest is a horrid, bitter reminder of how fucked he is—especially with how his heart skips a beat when your hand shakes as it brushes against his mask.

He should look away as he lifts you, breaking the stare he has with you, but you move closer, whispering for him—and him alone. “I knew-w you’d find me.” 

He tightens his jaw, feeling a lump in his throat as he gives a curt nod. “Always.” 

“Always,” you repeat softly, eyelashes fluttering, desperate to close.

“Hey, eyes on me,” he says, and you do your best. You hope he knows that. “Good girl.” 

You hear someone shout for a medic, but it’s not him. 

He’s saying very little, just letting his breath dance across your neck and cheek as he holds you to him.

The next time he sees you, he's visiting you when you’re in recovery.

He’s heard from others you’re improving. Soap nudging him, ensuring he’s heard him—thinking he knows more than he does.

He does go, though. 

You’re smaller than him, but you look so much smaller in the bed. Your face finally regaining some colour, an expression not twisted up in pain. The bruises faded, eyes unswollen. 

It’s a welcomed sight after the last time he saw you.

He crosses the recovery room floor, the room slowly emptying around him. He was glad that the rest of the med bay was without patients. 

His chair squeaks with protest when he sits beside you, eyes glancing over your face, over your arms, checking and checking that everything is where it was supposed to be. 

You say nothing. 

He says nothing. 

He just sits, staring at you, letting his eyes roll over your face. You seem to let him, likely basking in the fact that you’re currently not being boiled alive by him. 

It’s nice. Quiet. 

It’s helping to drown out the whimpers and groans you’d been making all the way back here from your injury. 

Until the tension reaches such a height even if you can’t stomach it. 

“What you doing here, Lt?” 

“Ensuring you don’t act recklessly.” 

“I think I can behave for one night.”  

“Doubtful.” 

You play with the sheets on the bed, rolling them between your fingers as he watches you, knowing what’s coming before you’ve even opened your pretty little mouth. 

“I’d behave for you, if you asked.” 

Sometimes, your brashness even surprises him. 

“I have asked,” he says, stretching his leg out as he watches you smile. “You still disobey me.” 

You nuzzle down into your pillow, not taking your eyes off him. 

“Sleep, Mouse.” 

“With you watching me?” 

He clicks his tongue. “Sleep.” 

You smile softer, eyelashes looking heavy. “Okay.” 

Nodding, he interlocks his gloved fingers over his lap. 

You’d been silent. 

Too silent. 

He knew how you got your Codename. He’d read your file, after all. You sneaked through impossible holes figuratively and literally. Price had informed him how good you were with computers, he hadn’t known how good until he read it himself. 

You were good, capable, and able. 

He knew you could handle yourself, which is why it wasn’t that which concerned him. It’s the silence. 

You’ve been quieter overall since you came back—since he brought you back. Since he helped carry you back to the truck till he watched you get patched up. 

Something inside of you, that annoyingly cheerful part of you, had withered. He knew it, Soap knew it. 

“You following me?” 

“Could say the same to you.”

“Can someone even stalk a ghost?” 

You’d tried to hide it, more so from him than the others. Your body trying to twist from him, but his arm had stopped you.

“Something you need, Lt?” 

“No.”

You’d given him a curt smile. “Goodnight then, sir.” 

He didn’t miss the way you added the sir.

Not that he expects he’s supposed to. Shifting his jaw from side to side, having watched you walk down the corridor, not even bothering to turn to look back at him. 

That had been two days ago. 

Today, you had dark circles around your eyes. A tenseness in your shoulders as you were all briefed. 

He waited, seeing if you approached him, and asked him to stay behind—not entirely sure what his answer would be if you requested it. 

But you didn’t. 

It should have been a warning, your demeanour shifting, darkness descending down over you the closer they got to the location. 

“Mouse, you copy?” 

Silence. 

Even to Soap. 

Often, Ghost knew he warranted your anger. 

He was colder with you, more stern. Especially since he’d allowed himself a moment—when he’d been able to hold you, carry you. When he’d felt your heartbeat and watched your eyes fix on him—warming him. 

He had wanted distance and walls. Many of them, more so. 

Now, he wishes he hadn’t. 

Because with Soap, you were light, never ignorant. And maybe he’d have recognised how your anger and hurt had consumed you. That what happened between you being taken and being found had festered and eaten everything good inside of you.

He could relate. 

More than most. 

“Mouse,” Ghost radios, gruff voice and all. “Fuck.” 

He taps Soap, heading in your direction, almost charging. He knew it before he saw it before his foot kicked open the door and witnessed it with his own eyes. 

He even freezes for the briefest second. 

Half impressed with the number of bodies on the floor. 

But then he reacts, hooking an arm under your hips as he both lifts and moves you against the wall. The knife falling from your fingers, clattering against the stone, the only other sound is your panicked breaths and Soap exclaiming, “Steaming bloody Jesus…” as he enters the room. 

His forearm presses into the wall beside your head, caging you in as his other palm presses into the wall next to your hip. 

Because it was the mission to kill him—once they’d got the information. 

The information he couldn’t currently prove you had—but he’d hoped you did. Because otherwise, he wouldn’t be able to contain his anger, his fury. Right now, it simmered, being kept back by that vacant look in your eyes he doesn’t recognise. Not in you, at least. 

You’re not looking at him. Not meeting his eyes. 

Too busy staring at the body on the floor, the one which has scarlet seeping from each hole you’d inflicted with a knife. His knife. 

“Mouse.” 

You don’t move, staring as if transfixed in the knowledge he’s dead. 

So he whispers your name. 

Your real name. 

Your eyelashes flutter into a blink, head-turning, finally pulling from the man who kidnapped you on the floor. 

“Got the drive,” you say in a tone void of emotion. 

Ghost didn’t want to shout, he didn’t want to scream at you, but he did all the same. 

Both in anger that you disobeyed an order and in a panic because he couldn’t stop the way his mind unravelled when you didn’t respond. 

That it took him back to that moment all over again. Where you were taken from him. Where he lost you. Where he should have protected you. 

“You wanna explain what the fuck happened back there?” 

You don’t look at him, folding your arms over your chest, suddenly finding the floor interesting. Pressing the sole of your foot against the wall as you leant, seemingly unbothered.

“That’s an order, Soldier—“

“I collected the information, and I stabbed him. Mission complete. Sir.” 

Sir. 

Fucking sir. 

He hated how it made him hard. Little bitch. 

“You disobeyed a direct order—“

“—The mission—“

“—You were supposed to wait for backup.” 

“I couldn’t risk it.” 

He rounds on you, forehead pressing against yours. “You couldn’t risk it?” 

Your eyes don’t soften. They hold his gaze, full of fire, ash and destruction. “Well. We’ve both seen the evidence of bad intel, haven’t we?” 

He stills. 

Blinking, staring into your eyes, seeing the darkness still swirling. The anger has lessened but still remains. 

“You need to let it go.” 

“I need to… what?” You look hurt, more than he thought you could, and then it vanishes, swept away by anger. “…fuck you, Ghost.” 

Moving from him, turning your back on him 

“Fuck me? If you continue down this path—“

Then you turn, your eyes burying into him. “It’ll what? Keep me up at night? Consume me? Well, guess what, Simon, it already has.” Your chest rises and falls rapidly, a tremor to your outstretched arm before you snap it back to your side. “For days, they asked me who we were. They had ideas. They did… inklings. But, they… they knew my fucking name, Simon. They…told me what they’d do, and I had nothing, not a single thing to drown it out as they described all the ways they’d kill Johnny, how they’d break Gaz, how they’d hurt…” 

You. 

The unspoken word hanging in the room. 

“I got it before, I did,” you say, words shaky at your almost declaration, “but I understand why you wear that mask—why you keep people out…” 

Your eyes fill with tears, one’s he wishes he could wipe away before they even meet your cheeks. 

“People you know can hurt you the most… right? That's what you said.” 

His head reeling back an inch, but it feels like he’s been hit. And then you leave, storming out of the room, and he doesn’t stop you. 

Because he knows he shouldn’t. 

Because you’d called him Simon. 

Not Ghost. 

He hates that you’re not here. 

You’ve been avoiding him. Outside of briefings and necessity, you’re nowhere else to be found. 

The rest of them are around a table, beers in their hands. His mask lifted just enough to enjoy his—if it didn’t taste like nothingness. 

Because there were no kind eyes on him. No jesting coming from a soft, sweet voice. 

Especially right now, when it’s needed as they discuss who they’re currently fucking their fist over. He hears someone ask him, something he ignores. 

And then Soap speaks for him. “I think Ghost here has his eyes on—“

“That’ll do.”

The others snigger, mumbling about getting some air as he cracks his neck. Hoping if he ignores Soap enough, he’ll vanish too. 

“Talk to her.” 

Ghost rolls his head on his shoulders, meeting his sergeant's expecting face.

Soap slaps his hand on his back. “Trust me, Lt, talk to her.” He tries to think of something, anything, to respond with. He hasn’t got anything until he continues, “Didn’t think you had a heart.” 

“A cold one. I have a cold one.” 

Soap smirks. “I doubt it’ll remain that way.” 

It doesn’t take him long to find you, seeing you huddled over papers and a computer. 

He considers watching you, but he steps in before he’s caught, offering you a mug, one you stare at suspiciously before taking it. 

You prefer a milky tea, one sugar. 

A person after his own heart. 

Right now, he imagines you need something different, so he chose coffee.

“What’s this?” 

“A boost. You need it.”

“Thanks?” 

He doesn’t know what to say. 

Letting himself see how dark the bags under your eyes have gotten. 

“You’re not sleepin’.” 

“Can’t.” 

He taps the desk with two fingers, your eyes lifting up to face him. Slowly, he retracts his hand, holding your stare as he takes his glove from his hand. He knows his sleeve has risen, the ends of his tattoo showing as he offers you his hand.

“You made me a drink, and now you want me to what, leave it?” 

Slowly, he nods. 

Your huff sounds before you stand, slapping your hand into his. It isn’t until your fingers are in his does he watch your eyes flicker, realising that you're touching him—really touching him. 

“Ghost…” 

“C’mon. Now.” 

He doesn’t let go or lessen his hold, not even when you slide your fingers between his. Not when everything inside of him tells him to run, to tell you to run. 

His mouth doesn’t open, it remains shut as he brings you to his room, opening the door, letting it swing open before he lets his eyes meet yours. 

Letting your eyes take it in before he nudged you forward. 

“Ghost…” 

“Simon,” he says gruffly. “My name is Simon.”

He shuts the door slowly behind the two of you, releasing your hand, moving it to his neck. 

Your eyes follow him, the air thickening—he can feel it. The hairs on the back of his neck standing, the ones on his arms standing. He’s even sure time is ticking slowly. 

Especially when he begins to slide his mask up, slowly showing you his chin, his cheeks, and his nose. 

Your lips parting, mouth falling open as he pulls it off that last bit. Nothing hidden, not from you. 

Swallowing, you make a noise, a squeak as if you’re about to say something, before clamping your mouth shut. 

“Hi.” 

Your lips twitch. “Hi.” 

His fingers brush yours ever so slightly, forcing your eyes to dip before landing back on his with so much adoration—he’s not sure how he deserves it. Any of it.

“What does this mean?” 

“It means you go to sleep. Here.” 

You raise a brow, and he almost smirks. Almost.

“Not like that.” 

Shrugging, you smile. “Coulda fooled me.”

Sighing, he lets go of your fingers. “You can’t sleep because you’re alone. But, if I’m here—“

“You’ll keep the ghosts away?” 

He runs his tongue over the front of his teeth. 

“Anything else this… declaration means? 

“Means you can trust me.”

He watches your head tilt, a scrunch to your brows and your forehead as you look at him. “I trusted you anyway.”

“Then get in bed.” 

He wonders if your cheeks are warm if they’re full or blush. More so when your eyes land on the floor, and he turns his back, moving to his things, finding you a t-shirt. 

On you, it’ll bury you. 

Which makes it perfect, just as perfect as the sound of you undoing your belt is to him and the faint sound of your trousers hitting the floor. 

“Here,” he says, holding the T-shirt behind his back, not wanting to look. 

Not even when he feels your fingers slide down his forearm, over his ink. When he feels your index and middle slide along his pulse, over his wrist and palm before taking it. 

It’s not until he feels your hands on his sides does he turn, your eyes looking up at him—somewhat close to the eyes he knew, the ones which first had his heart pulsing furiously as it is now. 

“Do you snore?” 

“Don’t think so.” 

“Sleep naked?” 

“Not all the time.” 

“Good,” you comment, loosening your grip as he turns to face you. “Hate for you to have gone to all this effort to not let me get a wink of sleep.” 

The double meaning of your words isn’t lost on him. 

Especially when he sees the twinkle in your eye, the grin desperate to blossom over your lips. 

“Unless…”

“Another time,” he says, even if he hates himself for it just a bit. “Now, get in bed.” 

You nod, smiling, “Yes, Sir.” 

Fucking hell. “Less of that.” 

“Any reason?” 

He snorts, turning to watch you climb into his bed, slowly pulling his T-shirt over his head, hearing you inhale as if your mouth was next to his ear. 

“I’m tryin’ to be a gentleman.”

He flicks the light off, wondering if your heart is hammering as much as his. Each step towards you feels like a mile, but he’d do it again and again. Feeling for your hand and the sheets you’re offering him, sliding in beside you.

For a moment, he’s tense. 

Just as you are. 

Especially as his bare legs find yours, your back to his chest, hair tickling his nose. He waits, letting you make the first move for comfort, feeling you breathe heavily before shuffling against him. Fingers trying to keep your hair out of his way, pulling it, twisting it.

And he remembers sliding his hand under his pillow, pulling it out slowly, the fabric rolling between his thumb and finger before he finds your hand over the sheets. He feels you tense, likely recognising it instantly, slowly taking it from him as you move, turning to face him.

Even in the darkness, he makes out your features. 

His hand reaches up, touching his chin before fingers spread up your cheeks. His thumb rolls over your bottom lip, wanting to kiss you desperately. 

“You found it?” 

He says nothing.

“You kept it?” 

He breathes out. “I did.” 

You must feel his heart hammering. You have to. 

Your body slowly comes down, arms sliding around his chest before hands find themselves on the back of his neck. 

His head turns as you let hug him, as your body says everything without so much as speaking. And all he can think is he’s an inch away from your lips. 

He’s within reach. 

He could. He should. 

“Simon…” you whisper. 

His throat goes dry, and then you kiss him. 

Silencing his mind, silencing everything that doesn’t matter—doubt, worry and the sound of that radio message—as he runs his hands over his T-shirt that covers your body. 

Pulling you close. 

Keeping you close.

I’m with you : read part two

#simon 'ghost' riley #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x f!reader #ghost riley #ghost riley x reader #ghost riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon riley angst #simon ghost riley angst #ghost cod #call of duty modern warfare 2 #ghost cod mw2 #simon ghost #cod x reader

[glader13]

Saudade

Bi-Han x reader

Saudade: a nostalgic longing to be near again to something or someone that is distant, or has been loved and then lost; "the love that remains"

You didn’t know why you agreed to go to the Summer Festival, the last time being four years ago. You didn’t know why you agreed to go to the festival when all your friends were married, though not intentionally, and would barely have time for you. You sighed, staring at yourself in the mirror, as you put on the last of your makeup. Your jewelry box caught your eye, flashing in the light of your room as you slowly put away the makeup supplies, your heart twisting. The last time your ring saw the light was four years ago. 

You opened the box, tracing the ring. Its diamonds, shined as you turned it over in your hand, tilting it to see the engraving: for my love. Simple, but beautiful. You softly laughed to yourself, who knew people could miss being in an arranged marriage? You put the ring on, holding your hand out, an old thrill running through your heart. 

I wonder if Bi-Han does this? If he misses me? Before you could dwell on the thought, a knock on your bedroom door gave the news that your friends had arrived. You softly kissed your ring, wishing that it was his lips instead. But the heat on your face ran cold, the thrill gone as his words remerged in your heart. Your night began at Madam Bo’s, a dinner, great. You awkwardly sat at the end of the table, watching your girlfriends practically lie on top of their husbands. You felt yourself staring at their husbands’ faces, noticing how his eyes tracked their movements, their lips always curled in a smile of pride. You even noticed their arm position, around their wife, holding her close, how his lips would grace her ear or neck, whispering words of intimacy. 

The scene reminded you all too much of Bi-Han and how you met him through forced proximity. The political parties that you were forced to go to with your parents and brothers, always seeing him there, his dark eyes observant. The red drink at your table you watched being poured and then shared with your friends and their husbands, reminding you of when you actually talked to Bi-Han. You were bored of the party, and sneaking glances in his direction, you decided to walk out for some fresh air. 

You didn’t see him and neither did he see you, it was like running into a wall. His drink ruined your white dress, and you found it cute how his face, usually so stoic as you have noticed at past parties, matched the color of his drink. Your first words to him, “You can apologize by helping me get this out of my dress.” The next day, he personally delivered you a new white dress, and you now had someone to talk to at parties. This didn’t go unnoticed by your parents and his father, who watched the two of you talk. 

You stabbed at your food, smiling your way through the dinner as Bi-Han occupied your mind and jealousy clawed at your heart. You mindlessly listened to the conversations around you: someone was going off on vacation, one of your friends decided to have a summer home in the countryside and one is expecting, again. You remember your friends' confusion as to why you were so upset over the ending of your arranged marriage, though Bi-Han called things off before the ceremony could happen. 

You weren’t surprised when your parents told you that you were going to marry him, it made sense. They were trying to expand their political power, and what better way to do so than by marrying into the most powerful clan? The only aspect of your life that you were able to control was your desire for medicine, and becoming a physician. You let out a sigh, heart twisting again. 

“I’m going to the bar,” you announced, though you only got a nod and a half-hearted question asking if you were okay. The bar was no better, surrounded by men whose actions reminded you of teenagers, lacking the respect that Bi-Han has. Their stares were unashamed, some even sat close to you, the smell of alcohol on their breath making you thankful for the days that you trained with Bi-Han. His reason: “The grandmaster's wife should at least know how to protect herself.”

The festival was no better, trailing behind your friends, and dodging children escaping from their parents. You had no one to light firecrackers with, to share sweets with. Your friends and family were confused by why you refused to have another. Maybe it was because you were haunted by him at night. Feeling his phantom hands around your body, the ghosts of his kisses on your lips. He may have been cold, and hard to talk to, but he made up for it in a love that seemed to undo you at your core. So tender was his love, that it was a gift from a divine power, a gift that only his mother could have given. 

No man can come near it, no man can replace it. No matter how hard you try to convince those around you, they can never understand. You snuck away from your group, making your way back to your home, unnoticed. You slipped past your parents, who were in deep conversation, no doubt about you and how you aren’t married, and upstairs to your room. You slip out of your shoes, your hands immediately finding the jewelry box with your engagement ring. You stared at the ring, thinking of the moment when he proposed to you. 

Sitting in your shared room, you on the bed and him on the floor in between your legs, you were rubbing ointment on his shoulders and back trying to soothe the pain of his bruises and scratches. You remember the silence being loud and tense, each time his hand idly touched your leg, heat rushed through your body, stealing your breath. 

“You’re overstrained,” you said, “Take some time to rest.” He only grumbled in response. 

“I’m the doctor here,” you smiled, causing him to squeeze your leg. 

“As the future grandmaster, weakness will not be tolerated or shown,” he says. You nod, hearing him sigh in relief as you relieve a tight spot in his back. 

He reached up, taking one of your hands in his, “As the future grandmaster, I will also need someone by my side. Someone who is steadfast and loyal,” his hand tightened, slightly becoming cold. 

“You have those qualities and more. Treating me with patience and love when I deserved to be yelled at,” he finally turned around, his face a light red, “You always know what to say, and when you’re not next to me I know that I need you.”

“Your love transcends the nature of our marriage, it rubbed off on me. I’m thankful that I spilled my drink on you,” you remember the pounding of your heart as he shakily placed the ring on your finger. He didn’t need to propose, but the fact that he did overwhelm your heart. 

You wiped your eyes, watching the water fall from your finger, your mind wondering if he ever thinks back on that moment. He probably doesn’t, you frown, thinking of the slow breakdown of your relationship. In the planning phase of the marriage, his mother died, putting things on hold. You remember the night that he woke you, tears streaming down his eyes, it was the first and only time that you saw him cry. Just as he was beginning to recover and tentatively plan the wedding, his father died in an attack. 

That was when your relationship died when he officially became grandmaster. Shutting you out completely, your bedroom filled with silence. The only time that he would have acknowledged you was when you had sex, though even that was impersonal. He watched you leave that day, and it felt like he stabbed you through your chest. You still don’t know if you hate him, a part of you wishes that he would burn, that his frozen heart would stop. But the other part wants nothing more than to hold him, to be in his heart. 

The thump on your floor, caused you to jump out of bed. “I need you,” you straightened, hearing his voice. 

Bi-Han leaned against the wall, next to your open window. He was breathing heavily, his arm was bloody from a wound, as he held his side, which was coating his fingers red. You led him to your bed, taking off his top, before running downstairs to get your medical supplies. You cleaned his wound on his side first, the only noise was his sharp breathing. He didn’t look at you, well he only did when he thought you weren’t looking at his face. 

“What happened?” you found the courage to talk. 

“It doesn’t concern you,” he says, causing you to sigh. 

“But you came into my room instead of going to your home to get medical help,” you said, “So, it does concern me.”

You felt proud for sticking up for yourself, despite the eye roll that he gave you. You worked in silence again after that, moving to his arm. The steadiness of your hands was a disguise for the erratic pace of your mind and heart. There’s so much you wanted to say, but no words could translate the emotions that you felt, how much you ached for him. 

“It was during a mission,” he finally admitted, “Kuai Liang, Tomas, and I were being chased. I distracted the pursuers.”

“Are they alright?” You asked, to which he nodded, saying that they escaped. 

You smiled, saying there, as you wrapped his arm. The silence was less tense as you began to put away your supplies, the setting reminding you of the moments when you would tend to his injuries after practices and missions. You felt his eyes track you, throughout the whole process, even as you quickly picked up your ring, placing it in your jewelry box. Once everything was clean, you sat next to him, a frown forming when he slightly moved away from you. 

You finally looked at him, and his dark eyes were focused on you. You felt yourself getting lost in the hue, practically drowning, and it felt so good. So good to be lost in those eyes, it felt so good to talk to him. You found yourself feeling like the first time you saw him: staring too hard into his eyes, taking in his facial features, though older still just as handsome as when you first saw him those years ago. 

“You went to the festival,” his words were a statement, and you nodded. 

  You felt him drawing into you. His eyes focused too long on your lips, taking in the specs of your eyes. His eyes were drawn to the small scar on your neck that he accidentally gave you while training. Your face warmed thinking of the times when the two of you would make love and how he always made it a habit to kiss you there. The scar seemed to be connected to your heart because each kiss caused you to become weak. Your sweet perfume of strawberries and peach nectar reminded him of the nights the two of you spent tangled together. You looked beautiful, the red on your dress bringing out your skin. He felt a sting in his heart at the thought of you going out without him, and he didn’t know why. 

“I went with my girlfriends,” you say, feeling an odd need to clarify who you went with, “But I left early, a good thing for you.”

Bi-Han slightly relaxed, giving you another nod. You kicked off your shoes and then began to take off your jewelry. Starting with your gold earrings, and rings. You then began to unclasp your necklace, but the lock slipped through your fingers each time you tried. You sighed each time you failed, fighting with yourself to not ask Bi-Han for help. But, you felt the weight of the bed lift before coming back again as he sat behind you. He undid your necklace, quietly saying there. 

You thanked him, watching him slightly nod at you. He then began to gather his clothing, causing you to jump up. You grabbed his arm, causing him to pause, “Where are you going?”

“Home,” he said.

“You’re in no condition to leave,” you said, pulling him back. 

“I’m fine y/n,” he said, “I don’t need you to baby me.”

You rolled your eyes, feeling annoyance wash over you, yet you didn’t open your mouth. Along with the annoyance, there was something desperate in you trying to keep him there for a little bit longer. He didn’t fight you, though he did tense under your touch, unknowingly to you, but there was something in him that made him keep his arm in your hands. 

“You need to stay the night,” you said, “You’re hurt and it’s late. Those people could still be looking for you.”

Gently, you led him back to your bed, as if testing how far you’ll be able to go. He didn’t resist, and that made your heart soar even more. He sat on the edge once again, scarcely meeting your eyes as he asked for blankets to sleep on the floor. 

“You’re on the bed,” you say, digging through your drawer to find your sleeping clothes, “I’m not going to let you do that.”

“Besides, we aren’t strangers,” you smiled, “And we did much more than share a bed, remember?”

“We aren’t married y/n,” Bi-Han stated, causing you to frown, “And that alone makes us strangers.”

“Yeah, I wonder why?” Your frown returned as you walked into your bathing room to change. Bi-Han sighed, watching you leave in silence, again. 

He walked around your room, trying to busy himself. He looked at the paintings on your wall, and the flowers in the vases. He wandered to your drawer, staring at his reflection, thinking of the time when his eyes weren’t pools of darkness, of loneliness. He lifted your rose-colored jewelry box, his eyes immediately being drawn to the Lin Kuei pendant, to your ring. You didn’t throw it out, you didn’t sell it, and that alone had his heart jump. Though, he didn’t know if it was out of joy that you still keep pieces of him, or out of shame. He wants to find out, but not tonight. 

You found him sitting on one side of your bed, facing the window. He was more relaxed, his dark hair falling over his shoulders as he briefly looked at you. You pretended not to notice the small patches of ice underneath his hands, as you blew out the candles. In bed, the two of you slept with your backs facing each other, the word goodnight stuck in your throat. You snuggled deeper into your blanket, the silence allowing your brain to scream as you thought of his last words to you, how his lips curled in indifference. 

“Do you even care about me?” You asked, “You changed so much, so different from the person who spilled their drink on me.”

“What’s your point?” He asked, “People change.”

“But people don’t shut out their lover, their wife,” you walked closer to him. 

“A wife that I didn’t choose,” his words were worse than being injured, “A marriage that is in line with my responsibility of being grandmaster.”

“Is that all that I am now? What happened to the words that you said when you proposed?” You remember feeling the pain swell in your chest, like an angry sea, “Did you mean those words? Do you even love me anymore?”

He never answered you. 

He never gave a damn, you thought, I was just another responsibility. But you hoped that you were more, and there was a time that you were. You finally slept cleaning the stray tear, wondering if he was sleeping or staring at you in the dark. 

Bi-Han woke up at the first light, quietly groaning from his injuries. He immediately looked at you, sometime during the night you turned to face him, your hand slightly reaching outward. Reminding him of the sunlight-soaked mornings when he would get up for training as you still slept. He leaned forward, noticing a slight flutter of your eyes, how the soft orange light made your skin glow. He would have leaned forward even further, kissing your face, whispering that he was going to train.  

Would’ve. 

He quickly got dressed, leaving as quietly as he came. Back at home, he stalked to his room, ignoring his brothers’ questions. He pulled open his drawer, dug through his clothes, and pulled out a ring. He stared at it, turning it in his hand. He clutched it in his hand, resting his forehead. He thought that he would be free from the ghosts of regrets, he believed that he conquered them all. Until that night with you, wanting to talk, but not being able to. But he wanted to, so desperately. He wanted to fix the words that caused you to leave him, that ruined his life. But he doesn’t how to talk, at least that’s what he tells himself as he places his ring back in the drawer. 

You woke up with the smell of him in your nose, the smell comforting. However, as you reached out, you were met with air. You turned over letting out a sigh, not knowing why you were expecting him to be there when you woke up. That morning and even that day, you spent it in a haze, thinking of your night with Bi-Han. He was constantly on your mind, as you checked in on patients, and had lunch with your friends. With every word about her new countryside home and the annoyances with the building process, it went through one ear as you thought of when he sat so close behind you, the coldness from his body radiating off of him. You couldn’t help but wish that last night led to something more. That he said something more. But he left, again, he’s always leaving. Despite the hurt, you wanted to see him again, you would do anything to see him again. You don’t know why your love is so stubborn when it has all the right to leave. But you hoped to see him again, to say the words that you couldn’t say.

#x fem!reader #mk1 #mk1 2023 #bi han #bi han sub zero #sub zero #mortal kombat #mortal kombat 1 #mk1 x reader #mk1 x you #mk1 x y/n #bi han x reader #bi han x you #sub zero x reader #sub zero x y/n #mk1 fanfic #bi han x afab reader #x female y/n #sub zero x you #afab reader #angst #fanfic #bi han mk #bi han mortal kombat #bi han x fem!reader #mk1 sub zero x reader #bi han mk1 #bi han mk1 x reader

[reriart]

While Your Lips Are Still Red

Summary: You suffer for what's happening in your life and you tried to put an end to it, but Astarion saved you.

Notes/TW: I wrote this fanfiction thinking about my Tav (female), but I wrote it gender-neutral so you can think about your OC (or you!) without any problems. The theme of suicide is the focus of this story, so if you are particularly sensitive to the theme and don't feel okay, please don't read it! I chose this topic because it is particularly dear and close to me. No one deserves to suffer and if you need it don't hesitate to contact a hotline. You are not alone!

There's also a bit of romance.

Please remember that English is not my native language.

Your sight grew darker and blurrier.

The bright stars in the sky, your only companions on nights when nightmares seemed to prevail, now seemed like many small, confused, and meaningless dots — the last, silent judges of your ruthless act.

You had decided to end everything: the story of the tadpoles, the absolute, the emperor... it was too much.

Your life had never been peaceful from the beginning, but the limit to how you could tolerate pain had become increasingly thin. You had tried every loophole possible, including considering joining Shadowheart in her crusade for Shar's honor; but just a few days before, you had convinced her to abandon the Lady of Loss and embrace her loving sister Selune. Because for her, your best friend, there was still hope, a glimmer of divine light ready to welcome her.

But not for you. Each fight had become more exhausting, each rescue mission more violent, soaked in innocent blood. The harpists, the tieflings. Children who would never play again, men and women who would never love again.

You should have rejoiced that you were still alive. To still be able to enjoy that great gift that life was. Yet now, cradled by the cold waters of the lake, not far from your sleeping companions, unaware of everything, your injured wrists let the red blood stain that crystalline liquid.

After making sure everyone was asleep (or in a trance, or on patrol, in Astarion's case), you had pulled your dagger from its sheath and used it on yourself right on the shore. You wanted to stab yourself and get it over with as quickly as possible, but you couldn't.

And now, at the mercy of the sweet waves, you waited for your moment. The moment when it would all end. You had managed to isolate the Emperor thanks to Gale, with the excuse of "I need a spell that silence everything for a few hours, or I won't even sleep tonight". A little suspicious, the wizard of Waterdeep finally granted your request. This way, none of your group would have the slightest signal from the tadpoles.

Your head felt lighter… it was like being drunk. A bitter smile spread across your face as your limbs grew numb, and your body grew colder and colder. The eyelids, however, became extremely heavy, as if there were a stone holding them down, and his heartbeat pounded in the eardrums like a war drum. The body became lighter and lighter but also heavier. The arms wanted only to go down, further down, towards the depths of the lake.

Your vision became almost completely blurred, your heartbeat infinitely slow: it was the end. One last breath and everything would have ended, if it hadn't been the rippling water and the cold hands (but warmer than your skin) that tore you away from the agonized embrace of death.

Thump-sounding words filled your head, but you didn't understand their meaning. A pale blob stood in front of you, squirming like a madman. A gasp came from your mouth as you recognized the figure. It was Astarion, visibly panicking. Perhaps thanks to the adrenaline of seeing him so agitated, you managed to understand his words.

"What the hell did you think?!" he almost screamed, lifting you out of the water to hold you. His gaze fell to your wrists which continued to bleed and you saw him swallow and clench his jaw. "I… one thing at a time. Now I have to think about getting you out of here, damn it." He rolled his eyes so as not to focus too much on your wounds, a temptation for him, especially after his failed hunt earlier. You didn't have the energy to reply, so you just let the elf pick you up, your eyelids too numb to allow you to look at him. You could only see his worried look, his milky white eyebrows furrowed.

Once you reached the shore, you felt Astarion spinning around. “If I take you to camp like this they'll think I bled you dry before you even let me explain,” he whispered. The companions were not within earshot, although relatively close, but it was normal for the vampire to operate in the shadows. You felt your body hit the ground and when you had enough strength to open your eyes, you noticed that he had found shelter in the forest. Your back was leaning against a large log, your legs stretched out on the damp ground.

“A…Astarion?” you whispered. "What…?"

“We'll leave the explanations for later, darling. Give me your wrists,” he ordered. Your tired eyes reflected fear. Did he want to bite you? Finish you there?

Noticing your hesitation, he took them both in his cold hands. "I do not want to hurt. Let me save you." His voice was calm, but his eyes hid a nervousness you had rarely seen. He swallowed, and bringing your wrists to his mouth, he licked them. His red eyes glowed like rubies and his breath trembled against your veins as a short, strangled moan escaped his throat. He seemed to struggle against himself, before placing your wrists on the ground, perhaps with a little too much force. You almost heard him growl as his jaw muscles clenched and his fingers trembled.

The wounds were gone. You blinked several times, lifting your arms with difficulty. It was as if they had never existed!

“I… thank you, Astarion. For saving me. Because of this. It must have been diff…”. Your head was spinning fast, so fast. You felt like the ground was disappearing from underneath your body and you almost fell to the side, if it weren't for the vampire, who grabbed you, preventing your head from hitting a stone.

“Do you want… me to hold you?” he asked with an apprehensive look, his voice a little more serious than usual. Maybe it was the lack of blood that made you see misleading things because he didn't look like Astarion at all. However, by now you didn't care about anything anymore, for all you knew he might as well be a shape-shifting monster ready to make a single morsel of you. You nodded your head and Astarion pulled you into his arms, resting your back against his chest.

"Better?" he asked. His breath tickled your neck.

“Mh hm” you replied. "Listen…"

You felt his arms become firmer around you.

"I am sorry." His voice was a whisper. “I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner. Maybe all this wouldn't have happened."

You frowned, tilting your head slightly, which made it spin even more than before, confusing you to the point of making you feel drunk. "What…? What didn't you tell me...?”

The pale elf peered at the now distant black lake through the trunks of the forest. He didn't have the courage to meet your gaze.

“That I love you, my dear. Or rather, I told you that time as a joke, at the camp. Those words that I said to all the victims before taking them to Cazador." His gaze finally found its way to yours, glossy for the tears you were trying to hold back. Your heart, slow at first, began to thunder in your skull like a hammer, your breath became shorter and you tried to move away from him.

It wasn’t possible. It couldn't be. Was he taking advantage of that situation? Was he joking? Was it a demon, perhaps Raphael, ready to extort some contract from you?

"I do not believe you". Your voice trembled with fear and weakness, but even if you wanted to, you couldn't escape. You couldn't feel your legs anymore and the breath burned in your lungs. Even if you wanted to scream no one would have heard you.

Your panic didn't come from the fear of being eaten, but from the fact that Astarion had been the last bastion of salvation for you before you thought about harming yourself. You had feelings for him for a long time now, and your eyes often drifted over his slender frame as you tried to fall asleep in your bedroll as he drifted further into the darkness. When you allowed him to drink your blood, his bites and lips continued to torment you in the night, but far from unpleasant reasons. However, convinced that you were not reciprocated and considering his ambition for power and the constant flirting during missions even with bears, those words looked fake to you. You bit your lip, curling up as much as you could.

“No, no, don't be like that... look at me,” he said while lifting your chin with one hand. You didn't want to, you didn't want to accept the reality and feel terribly stupid for almost throwing your life away when the one you loved maybe actually reciprocated your feelings. When your eyes finally met, you saw him for what he truly was.

A fragile creature. His look was desperate, the mouth curved in an expression of infinite sadness. His other hand caressed your hair... a pleasant contact, which made you relax a little. "Listen to me. I know I don't have the easiest of temperament” he confessed, a bitter laugh, with his typical accent, changed his expression for a moment. “And I want you to know that everything you see of me is not… true. It's that bastard Cazador who turned me into a monster. But you made me feel something that in two hundred years, under his control, I had never felt.”

You rested your face in his hand, now cupping your cheek. You decided to trust. If it was a dream or a near-death hallucination, you wanted to live every minute of it.

"What?"

"Free. I feel free” he murmured, and his lips rested on yours in a sweet, delicate kiss. They were surprisingly soft and tasted vaguely of iron and mulberry, but that contact was enough to feel a new, powerful rush of adrenaline bringing you back to the present.

It was really happening. You were in his arms and he had saved you from certain death. And now he was kissing you in the sweetest way possible, both of his hands cupping your face as if you were in danger of breaking at any moment.

It seemed like an eternal, perfect kiss that you wanted to leave suspended in time. When you opened your eyes again, you found his. So vulnerable, so desperate. He ran a finger over your lip, before being grabbed and hugged like his life depended on it.

"Stay with me. Forever."

#baldur's gate 3 #astarion #baldur's gate iii #baldur's gate 3 oc #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion x you

[themurphyoccult]

WHEN THE CAMERA CUTS // CILLIAN MURPHY X READER

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x actress reader

Summary: A successful academy award actress is bound to be professional during intimate scenes, especially with someone equally as talented as Cillian Murphy. The recently divorced actor has yet to be touched by another woman since his separation and it just so happens that the role he picked up in the latest romantic comedy has a steamy shower scene that lets his desires towards the actress run wild. Physically reacting to her touch and nudity while the camera rolls can only lead to raw passion once the camera cuts.

Warnings: Age gap, smut, nothing too extreme a little vanilla tbh, butt stuff, mirror sex, vaping / alcohol drinking, dry humping, shower play, Oral, not too much personality from Y/N in this its focused on his pleasure

—————

Of course Y/N had done intimate scenes before in her last few films, kissing attractive actors and rubbing up all against them was barely something she could complain about. This time around she was a little nervous, never actually exposing any nudity in front of cameras or the men she’d work with. Not to mention this time she’d be baring it all to the hottest man she’d ever seen, Cillian Murphy. Those piercing blue eyes stabbed right through her, sending chills and bumps across her skin every time he’d look into her. It had all been professional, even striking up a near friendship with the older actor. Sometimes, she almost felt embarrassed to be in his presence. Someone who was so talented, powerful and experienced had no right to be standing next to the trying to make it, short resume actress. Not to mention be kissing her and staring at her bare tits as they trickled in freezing cold shower water. The film was based on roommates who eventually fall in love and fuck but the fucking was the last scene to be filmed. So here she sat, preparing for the final scene to wrap up the movie.

“Are you nervous?” The makeup artist questioned as she dabbed the liquid foundation over the crown of her forehead down to the tips of her jaw.

“A little, I’ve never shown my body on screen before” Y/N eyes stared as the closeness of the artist was mare inches away, feeling her hot breath as she focused on covering the slight blemish perked on her cheek.

“I get that, but I mean with you know… Cillian and all” The makeup artist stood up and sighed as her fingers raised Y/N’s chin to get a better look at her final result.

“You could say that again. It’s threatening but I know it’s professional.” Y/N turned her head to check herself in the mirror.

“I hear you, you’re better than me though. I’d be squirming knowing I was about to twirl tongues with him” They both giggled. “Well… my work here is done. You look fabulous. Just remember, he’s probably seen a million pair of boobs in his life time, on and off screen. You’ve got this.” With a pat on the shoulder, the lady walked out the caravan and left Y/N alone with her reflection.

The last piece of advice didn’t help of course, for some reason Y/N wanted to be the most attractive girl he’d do an on scene with. She secretly hoped he’d be attracted to her bare body, her perked tits staring right at him. She’d be lying if she said she hadn’t thought of him in a sexual way before, who could blame her? A gorgeous Irish man with a deep voice that played with her ears and cheekbones that bounced light off like glass. Pouring herself a shot of tequila for liquid courage, in one gulp the sting of the liquid shot down the back of her throat, wincing at the cheap taste.

With a final twirl in the mirror, the best she could give herself was a ‘you’ve got this’.

—————

“Action!” The director stood out of sight behind large, obnoxious cameras that hid the rest of the small crew allowed to be on set. Y/N faced the shower head and felt the freezing water seduce her skin. The cooling effect of the water made her nipples erect and obvious, begging to be stared at. In some ways she was grateful for the freezing cold, feeling the internal burn of arousal and embarrassment of what was about to be filmed and shared for the world to see.

The water continued to fall gracefully over her, coating her hair in a slick wet as her hands rubbed from her cheeks up to her forehead and down the the tips of her hair. Standing in nothing but a nude colour thong, all that was left to do was wait for his arrival onto the scene.

Seconds later, a large pair of hands snaked round her waist, resulting in the faked shocked reaction that formed on her face.

“Jesus Neil! How did you get in here?” Covering her breasts for a sense of security, she snapped around to face Cillian, who was staring down at her with an expression she’d never seen in his eyes before.

“I thought I’d join you, I’ve waited so long to touch you, you know? I know how you feel about me… the way you stare. C’mon- let me see you” With that, he removed her hands from her chest, the moment she’d been dreading, exposing herself fully to the man in front of her. Her nipples pointed right at him, his eyes falling and meeting them in acceptance. A twinge of smirk lured in his eyes as he brought them back up to hers. “Fuck, you’re perfect” He said still keeping centimetres apart.

A silence filled the shower as the water drops slammed against the marble floor, the lines leaving her memory as she stared up at the actor she so desperately wished he meant the words he was saying.

“Touch me, Neil. Touch me hard.” Her voice laced with anticipation and persuasion.

In a split second his lips crashed against hers, pushing them both under the shower head. Her back strongly pinned against the wall as the water now fell over his head and covered him in wetness. His hand held her steady in a hungry fashion kneading against her waist, his other wrapped around her cheek as their tongues fought in circles. A gasp left Y/N’s lips from the sudden dominance he had applied onto her, returning her a low groan from his own.

The smacking sounds had now overpowered the water drops, false moans of pleasure leaving each others lips. His hips bucked towards her stomach and she felt a sudden hardness twitch against her navel.

‘Oh my god. Is that what I think it is?’ She thought. Her suspicion correct when another pulse bounced off her stomach. He has a boner. Taken aback by his arousal, she panted heavier against his lips as the kiss became more intense and real. Wavering off script, his hand fell from her face to her left boob, gripping and pulling at her. An uncontrollable moan had mustered at the sudden contact, not expecting him to get so physical with the cameras rolling. Pressing his erection harder into her, he pulled back his face to look her dead in the eye.

“Oh baby, I’ve wanted you for so long” The words he spoke almost fell off as a whine, a plea or a beg to be set free to unleash his desires.

“Take me Neil, I’m all yours” He grabbed her by the hips and spun her around, almost slipping as the swiftness of her forced movements moved her faster than she could comprehend. Her face had landed on the wall and a quiet whimper had left her, slightly spinning to look at him through the corner of her eye.

She watched as his gaze dropped from hers to her lower back to her ass, moving his thumbs into the dips in her lower back.

“Mmm, just how I want you” Her eyes continued to fall as they landed on his crotch, now soaked in his material of the thin nude boxer he was wearing. The water had suffocated his cock, outlining so obviously each vein that was pulsing for her. It looked as if it was in prisoned, twitching to be set free. The size of him made her eyes widen as he wasn’t a large man yet he hung his masculinity so strikingly. As the cameras couldn’t see below waist level, he pretended to enter himself into her, dry humping against her ass and much too evidently purposely making her feel his arousal. A series of moans and whimpers left the pair and he continued to hump her through the thin material that separated them both. With each grab and slam, she could feel his cock pulsing against her, him even leaving himself attached to her as he continued to pretend fuck her. His head swung back as his face curled in dissatisfaction, getting angrier and angrier with each hump. Arousal and stickiness had also began to form in her slit, feeling herself wanting to feel him fill her up.

“Just like that, fuck you feel so good” He grabbed a fistful of her hair and brought her torso up to him, snaking his other hand around her tit again. Kneading and pulling her at breast his hips never detached hers, pressing both of them against the shower wall now and humping harder and harder. Of course in this moment, her line was too agree how good he felt too but the intensity of what was happening had her mind blank in shock and anticipation. The wet slapping noises became louder as he began to reach his fake climax, pretending to pour himself into her as he slowed his pace and panted heavily. He lent over her shoulder and mustered a low, loud groan that swirled through her ear, bringing himself to a fake orgasm.

Still feeling his hardness pressed against the in between of her cheeks, she couldn’t help but feel flustered at the actions that had just taken place. Both of them didn’t move but stayed attached to one another as their eyes matched and a smirk plastered his expression, pulling back and looking at himself still pressed against her. There was a thin line between whether or not the pants leaving their chests were real or not, but something told Y/N that line was crossed before the scene even started.

“Cut! That was beautiful. Break in ten!”

—————

Later that evening in her trailer, a half drank bottle of red wine laid on her dresser and had her vape in her hand. Loosely covered in her silk robe that hid lacy matching black underwear underneath, she sprawled along the blue velvet couch in the corner of the car. Swiping on her phone on social media platforms and hitting puffs every so often was her ideal way to wind down after a long day of shooting, especially today after the shower scene. What had actually happened was incomprehensible, they hadn’t even spoken since. She was unsure of the nature of his erection as he was such an incredible actor she couldn’t believe his moans of pleasure were real, as much as she wanted to. The events repeated more and more as the bottle emptied itself. Her trail of thoughts were interrupted as a slight knock on the trailer door echoed through the walls. Standing up and lacing up her robe tighter, small steps were made to open the door.

There he stood, hands in front of himself looking sheepish yet mischievous.

“Hi… can I come in?” His Irish accent was thick and low, stern and blunt.

“I-yeah-sure.” She stood to the side and widened the door, each of them watching themselves as he walked past her and stopped in the middle of the trailer.

“Ha, wine huh? Again?” He chuckled at his observation.

“Yeah… helps me wind down I guess.” She stood awkwardly as she grabbed one arm, the room thick with tension that crushed the chest and made it hard to breath.

His gaze fell to her hand and he pointed at the colourful tube she held. “You need to stop smoking that thing, it’s so bad for you”

“We all die anyways, helps with stress too” Her eyes glued on the ground unsure where to look.

“Ah” He swayed back and fourth on his feet.

The silence could’ve been cut with a knife, each not knowing what to do or say.

“So… is there anything I could help you with?” He sighed at her question and made his way to her sofa, placing himself down and spreading his legs in classic male fashion, his fingers running through the mess his hair had become after a long day of work.

“I know you felt it today… felt me- I mean.” Y/N lent against the dresser and watched him as he spoke.

“Yeah I-“ She began but was interrupted “are you uncomfortable?” His question catching her off guard.

“Um, no? I guess I just didn’t expect it. Were you… uncomfortable?” He huffed.

“Clearly not. I felt you too you know. Not the fecking, freezing water but warm… you know. On me.” His neck slowly turned towards her. The silence felt like hours, neither knowing how to break it.

“Come here- sit on my lap” Y/N made her way slowly over to him and straddled over his crotch, their faces inches apart and chests breathing so heavily it filled the room. He lifted the back of his palm and grazed her cheek, pushing her hair behind her ear.

“I’m too old for you, honey” His eyes never leaving hers. The weight of her on top of him already began to turn him on, feeling a cold rush leave his body to his cock.

“I don’t think so Cillian.” She blushed at the nickname he gave her, nuzzling her face into his palm.

“You don’t? You wouldn’t mind an old cock fucking you?” His voice soft and serious for the words he spoke. As the words left his lips, she felt a pulse in her clit and a warmth grow in her core.

“Not if it was yours” He chuckled. With that he latched his lips softly onto hers, pressing them onto her and in synch slotting his tongue around hers. The kiss was steamy and growing passionate, her hips circling his crotch to feel his erection hardening beneath her. A moan fell into her mouth from his and his fingers gripped desperately at her hips, pushing her down harder as she grind on him. The fabric of his jeans was a texture that rubbed on her opening, wincing at the hardness mixed with pleasure. Her hips circulated faster and faster as he began to hold her in place while bucking up into her, pressing himself to his satisfaction to feel her. He detached his lips and stared at her face, lips now puffy from suction and eyes watery with desire.

“You feel what you do to me?” He pressed her down further onto him. “You make me so hard- I- I can’t take it anymore” His head dropped back as he groaned, still latching his fingers deep into the flesh of her sides. Her fingers snaked to his zip, eagerly eyeing his manhood as she unzipped his jeans. He lifted his hips and hooked his pants down to his thighs, revealing the tent in his boxers pointed directly at her.

“Let me see you” His hands raised to the tie of her robe, undoing the half-assed knot and slowly dropped the silk from her shoulders, watching as the material fell from her body. His mouth fell open agape at the lingerie she wore under, his cock beginning to throb at the sight in front of him. He threw the robe to the side of the sofa and grabbed her tits in hunger.

“God, so beautiful” His lips locked onto her neck, sucking and darting with his tongue to leave marks of territory upon her body. She pulled away and fell to her knees in front of him sitting on the sofa, ripping away at his jeans that now laid next to her on the floor. Grabbing his erection in her hand through his boxers, she placed wet kisses on his clothed part he left out a sigh. Reaching under the seam by his hips, his cock popped out onto her hand and she slowly began to stroke him. Spitting into her palm for more lubrication, she felt his tip ooze with precum.

“Fuck… Y/N” His eyes stared into hers at the slight touch he was receiving. Taking his tip in her mouth she flattened her tongue underneath the underside of his cock, earning a wince from him. Taking more and more of his shaft in with each suck she found he was too big to take all in, using her hands to pump at the base she couldn’t reach. Flicking her wrist in small circles and sucking hard at his tip almost sent him over the edge, his hips twitching up at his pleasure.

“Just like that, such a good girl” His cock was so hard it felt like wood in her hands, hollowing out her cheeks and filling the room with sucking sounds and moans from him hitting the back of her throat. He grabbed a fistful of her hair and pushed her even further down, tears swelling in her eyes and her mascara running. She felt his orgasm forming as he began to twitch in her mouth as his breathing became irregularly heavy. Her own arousal had now coated the entirety of her slit and had smeared to the sides of her thighs, clenching them together for a short moment of release. Grabbing her head up and his tip making a loud pop as it left her mouth, she sat with her hands on his thighs and saliva spread across the sides of her mouth, grinning in satisfaction from the dazed look on his face.

“Such a pretty girl for me, stand up” He guided her to the dresser and bent her over slowly onto the desk, her watching his every move in the mirror in front of them. She watched as his eyes and hands trailed from her neck down her back and dug into her sides. With one swift aggressive movement he hooked his fingers into her lacy underwear, pulling them down and letting them pool at her feet.

“M’gonna fuck you good. So good…” His eyes left her ass and met hers in the mirror “Do you want that Y/N? Hm?”

“I do Cillian, please fuck me! Fuck me hard” With that said he left a quick sharp slap on her ass that left a sting.

“How hard?” Another slap repeating the pain over the first strike.

“So hard… please Cillian I can’t wait any longer” Her knees becoming weak from desperation.

“Mm… good girl.” He placed his tip at her entrance and slapped it a few times on her swollen clit, a wince leaving her lips from sensitivity. He traced her slit with himself and groaned at the feeling. “So wet for me” A few more slides up and down her entrance and he slowly held himself in, pushing slowly to feel the stretch of her walls clenching around him.

“Oh god-oh fuck Y/N” His head swung back in pleasure, barely halfway into her. Y/N’s legs began to shake and give in to the feeling of his size, feeling herself accommodate him roughly as she was soaking but he was too big to fit. Pausing halfway to look down at his cock in her pussy, he slammed his hips into hers and filled her up completely. Y/N screamed in pain and pleasure at the sharp pressure that filled her core, a heat building up inside her and swallowing him.

“Fuck- you’re so big” Y/N moaned, gripping onto her glass dresser. Cillian looked up and stared at her face in the mirror.

“Look at me baby… look at me” Y/N opened her squeezed eyes through the harsh pace he was slamming into her and saw herself being fucked useless in the mirror. A second wave of arousal followed suit as she creamed a ring around his cock at the sight of them.

“You like watching me fuck you huh? You like the way you look when I control you hm?” His words became puffed out as the oxygen started to leave his brain. He placed his thumb of the outside of her anus and plunged his nail in, filling himself into all her holes at once. He groaned at the tightness that surrounded his finger.

“Oh fuck! Cillian- I-I love it” The foreign feeling of his thumb sent shockwaves through her system, her hips roughly slamming against the edge of her dresser in a way that would sure leave bruises the next day. Yet again, he intertwined his fingers into her hair and pulled her up to get her close to him, his other hand latching onto the skin on her neck and grabbing her harshly. He pumped shorter but faster strokes into her pussy and felt a knot forming in the base of his core.

“Fuck… I’m gonna cum” His voice exasperated from pleasure. His actions became weaker and sloppier as his cock twitched aggressively into her, ropes of thick white cum coating her walls. She clenched around him as he filled her up, his strokes slower and weaker as he felt his balls empty into her.

He lent her back down onto the dresser and laid on top of her, their sweat sticking them together and their gasps for air filling the room. Pulling his hips back, he stood up and dragged her sides, standing her up against the dresser and turning her around. Pushing her hair back behind her ear once again, he grabbed her cheek and planted a wet kiss onto her lips.

The press tour would be a million times more interesting now.

#cillian murphy #cillian murphy smut #cillian smut #jonathan crane #jonathan crane smut #jonathan crane x reader #smut #oppenheimer #neil lewis

[ramblers-lets-get-ramblin]

Surrendered Innocence- Chapter 1

Series Masterlist | Series Playlist | Series Warnings (spoilers included in these warnings)

This entire fic is dedicated to my friend @romana-after-dark. Thank you for your inspiration and encouragement! I love you!

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!babysitter!reader

Summary: You’ve wanted Joel Miller to kiss you for over a year, ever since he hired you to babysit his daughters. One night while giving you a ride home, he does

Word Count: 1878

Rating: E MDNI 18+

Warnings: oral sex f receiving, joel miller has a FILTHY mouth, power imbalance, innocent reader, age gap (reader is 19, joel is in his 40s) other warnings are very spoiler-y but not too bad

Author’s Notes: honestly i don’t have anything to say for myself. I have Joel Miller Brain Rot. This is just 2k words of porn. I’m (not) sorry

If you enjoy this please reblog! Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist!

Dividers courtesy of @saradika

You shouldn’t be doing this. You shouldn’t be in his room, touching his things. But you just can’t help yourself. Mr. Miller has taken root inside your mind, your heart, your body. Being in his house, caring for his daughters makes you itch to have him. Have him in a way you’ve never had a man. The kiss he gave you last night when he drove you home was the first time you had ever been kissed, really kissed. It’s something you’ve been thinking about for an entire year, ever since you’d been hired to babysit Sarah and Ellie. 

True evil is, above all things, seductive. 

You wondered what his lips would feel like slotted between yours. If his mustache would tickle your face. What his tongue would taste like. You’d never been brave enough to try to find out for yourself. Just being around him made you swoon. Your body vibrates with nerves every time you get into the passenger seat of his truck. He insists on driving you home even though it’s close enough to walk. “I jus’ worry about ya, Angel. There’s a lotta bad men out there jus’ waitin’ on a pretty little thing like you to walk by.” He says. 

Being close enough to reach out and touch him night after night was killing you. An ache had settled between your legs that wasn’t there before you met Mr. Miller. A throb that you are sure only he can cure. Since he kissed you last night that ache has turned into a sharp stab, right in your core. You wonder if it’s strong enough to tear you apart. 

“I really appreciate you takin’ such good care of my girls. They jus’ love having you ‘round.” He had said, tucking your hair behind your ear. “I love them too Mr. Miller. Couldn’t dream of babysitting such well behaved kids.” 

“You’re such a sweet little thing, ain’t ya?” He asked. He hadn't removed his hand from your face yet. Your breath caught in your throat when you realized he had leaned in. His lips were just an inch or two from your own. “You ever been kissed before, Angel?” He asked. “A few times. Boys from school.” You reply. Your voice was so quiet Joel had to lean in even further to hear you. “No, Sugar. I mean a real kiss. From a man?” You shook your head gently and suddenly his other hand came up to mirror its mate, cupping your cheeks. 

He closed the space between you and pressed a soft kiss to your lips. When you gasped he took the opportunity to slide his lips in between yours. You weren’t totally sure what to do but you followed his lead, sucking his bottom lip between your teeth. His tongue slid over yours, the heat from it setting a fire below your belly. The porch light came on just then. Your dad knew what time to expect you home. You jumped back quickly from Mr. Miller. “I hope that was okay.” He said as he smiled softly. You just nodded at him and said “Goodnight, Mr. Miller. See you tomorrow.” You hopped out and turn to close the door. “You sure will, Angel.” He said with a wink before you scurried inside. 

A key turning in the front door interrupts your reverie. You drop the framed photo you had been looking at and slink out of his bedroom, quietly shutting the door. You are able to rush into the bathroom before he makes it inside. He never needs to know you were in his bedroom. You hear him taking his boots off at the door so you turn the sink on while checking your appearance in the mirror. You’d worn the same outfit as usual. One of your pleated skirts that you had been a part of your high school uniform, though it fit a little shorter since you’d grown two inches since you graduated last year, and a white v-neck shirt. You adjust your high ponytail until it was just right and smooth your skirt. Perfect. You turn off the sink and bounce out of the bathroom. Mr. Miller is sitting on the arm of the couch. “Where’s the girls?” He asked, looking around. It was too damn quiet for Sarah and Ellie to be anywhere in this house. 

“They are next door playing with the Adlers’ granddaughters. They just went over about twenty minutes ago.” You start towards the front door. “I can go grab them if you want, Mr. Miller.” His arm catches you around the waist and draws you in close to him. “That’s alright, Angel. Let ‘em have some fun.” There’s a dark glint in his eyes. “Maybe we can have some fun of our own.” He whispers in your ear. A shiver runs through your body. 

“What kind of fun did you have in mind?” You ask nervously. You’re so close you can feel the way he twitches beneath his jeans. “I thought you’d never ask, Sugar.” Suddenly he stands and whirls you around. “Sit right there for me, baby.” He plops you down on the arm of the couch and you can still feel the warmth from his body. He cups your cheek the way he had the night before. “I was wonderin’ if I could kiss you again.” He says as he brushes his thumb across your bottom lip. You nod slowly. You still haven’t adjusted to this new dynamic. You never dreamed a man his age would be interested in you. What do you have to offer? You have no experience, with men or with life. You took this babysitting job as a way to make money while you figured out what to do with your life. 

“Well the thing is, I was wonderin’ if I could kiss you somewhere else.” He drawls. He steps forward, slotting one of his legs between yours and your knees spread to accommodate him. You cock your head in confusion. “What do you mean, Mr. Miller?” You pant. Its hard to think with his hands on you this way. Hard to breathe. He trails his thumb down your throat and chest, between your breasts, to the top of your skirt. He slips the tip of his index finger beneath the waistband. “Can I kiss you down here?” He asks. You can see the pleading in his eyes. Your eyes widen. Nobody has ever even looked at you there. “Um, I’m not sure.” You stammer. He chuckles lightly. “You don’t have to do anything’ you don’t wanna, Angel. I jus’ thought it might be fun.” Something flashes in his eyes. Disappointment?

“What does it feel like?” You ask him. “It feels just like a kiss on the lips. ‘Cept better.” He raises his eyebrows. “I promise, baby. I’ll make you feel real good.” He presses a kiss to your lips and drops to his knees. He looks up at you expectantly, waiting for you to say yes. “Okay.” You nod. He puts a hand on each of your knees and spreads them far apart.

“Oh, Angel. Looks like you’ve just been waitin’ for me.” He says when he sees the wet spot on your white panties. He says it so softly you aren’t sure he’s even talking to you. He pushes the bottom of your skirt all the way up, exposing your thighs and clothed center to the cool air in the house. He shuffles on his knees, further between your own. He looks up at you one more time, before he presses a soft kiss over the wet cotton. He watches as your breath hitches and your legs part slightly farther. 

His big hands move under your skirt to the waistband of your underwear. “Can I take these off?” He asks? You nod and he shakes his head. “Need to hear you say it, Sugar. Tell me you want this.” 

“Yes, Mr. Miller. I want this.” You reply. Before you know it your panties are around your ankles and he’s gently pulling them over your shoes. He never breaks eye contact with you so you don’t see him slip them into his back pocket. “You’re just as pretty as I pictured, baby.” He groans as he licks his lips. His hand moves between your legs and he, once again, checks to make sure it's ok. “Yes, Mr. Miller.” You respond. You’re so lightheaded you can barely form a thought. You just know that you don’t want him to stop. He spreads your lips with two fingers and takes a moment to just look. The sight of your beautiful pussy spread open for him, glistening, is almost too much to take. “Goddamn baby, I’ve been thinking about this for a long time.” He dives in and presses a kiss to your clit. The sensation pulls an involuntary moan from your mouth. “See, told ya it feels good.” He kisses you once more and then his tongue is out of his mouth and circling the tight bundle of nerves. Your hips jerk, pushing you further into his face and the vibrations from the groan that falls out of his mouth make you dizzy. His tongue moves farther down, and he licks into your core. You tangle your hand into his hair and he growls. Actually growls. 

His tongue invades your hole and he can’t believe how tight you are. It takes a few tries for him to get the full length of it into you. As your walls squeeze his tongue his thumb finds your clit. He can feel it throbbing as he rubs light circles, fucking into you with his tongue. “Mr. Miller…I feel…something’s happening.” You cry, pulling his thick curls. He doesn’t let up. He needs this. He needs to feel you cum all over his face. “Oh god. Oh my g—-“ You cum with a strangled cry and a gush right into his mouth. He cums in his jeans at the same time. He slows his pace but doesn’t stop until you’ve caught your breath. 

He stands in between your legs and presses a kiss to your temple. “Good girl, Angel. You did so good for me.” He breathes into your ear. “I’ll be right back.” He says as he slips into his bedroom. You stand and walk to the kitchen on wobbly legs. He’s walking towards you in gray sweatpants as you drink from a bottle of water. Just as he opens his mouth to say something, probably something dirty, a car door shutting in the driveway makes you both jump. You rush to gather your things and start towards the door when it opens. “Hey baby, how was your day? You’re home early.” Mr. Miller say as he gives his wife a kiss. “Mmm, it was terrible honestly, Joel.” She replies and leans in for another kiss. 

“Goodnight Mrs. Miller, Mr. Miller.” You say. “Do you need a ride tonight?” Mrs. Miller asks. “Joel is happy to take you.” You shake your head. “No ma’am. It’s still light out so I’m just gonna enjoy the walk.” You needed to clear your head. “Goodnight then, dear. You be safe. We’ll see you tomorrow.” She starts walking towards their bedroom and Mr. Miller blows you a kiss. 

Tag list: @romana-after-dark @megamindsecretlair @anxiousnoodles

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #joel tlou #joel miller x you #tlou fic #the last of us #tlou fanfiction #joel miller hbo x you #joel the last of us #joel miller x female reader #joel x reader #joel miller is a menace #joel miller has a filthy mouth #joel miller tlou #dark tlou #tlou fanfic #tlou smut #dark joel miller #dark joel #the last of us joel #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us hbo #the last of us fanfic #the last of us smut #the last of us fic #surrendered innocence

[farfromstrange]

Ease The Pain | Matt Murdock x Reader

Pairing: Matt Murdock x afab!Reader

Summary: Matt helps to ease your period pains.

Warnings: SMUT (MINORS DNI), vaginal fingering, description of blood and period pain, use of "Good girl", hurt/comfort, praise kink

Word count: ≈ 3.1k

a/n: I love how Tumblr just keeps not showing my works in the tags so I have to post them again. Fun. Anyway! My period pains are the fucking worst. I hate my life. If men like him were real I'd sure feel a lot better. Anyway, I wrote this in like an hour or so because I'm that desperate. Hope you enjoy!

Pain. 

That’s all you can feel in every inch of your body. The core of that pain lies in your lower stomach and back, but it has already spread to your head and the rest of your muscles, even your legs, and feet. 

It’s Saturday, and you should be up and enjoying your free time but instead, you’re bound to the bed while the worst cramps of your existence ripple through your uterus as it brutally sheds its lining just because you chose not to get pregnant again this month. 

Every position you try feels only comfortable for a split second before another surge of pain appears somewhere in your body, mostly your stomach, but every time a cramp hits, your head seems to explode too, and shifting is futile. 

You’ve tried everything you could think of. Painkillers, heat, curling up into a fetal position, standing up, sitting down, you even took a hot shower, but none of it managed to take the pain away for more than a minute or two. So you have accepted defeat, realizing you don’t stand a chance against the monster that is mother nature. You decide to suffer in silence until the cramps ease up, which could take another day or two. 

Every once in a while, your eyes flutter close and you find yourself blinking back to life a few minutes later disoriented and almost shaking from the pain. Another wave of cramps tears through your body, keeping you wide awake as you roll onto your side and pull your legs up to your chest. 

The door to the bedroom opens and it creaks, which makes you grind your teeth. You feel the sudden urge to tear the glass apart, nerves thin from exhaustion, and the noise only adds to your pain.

“Sweetheart,” Matt’s voice is gentle from where he’s standing against the door frame. 

You bury your face in your pillow. “Go away!” you groan. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine,” he says. 

“You’re right, I’m not, but there’s nothing you can do about it. I just hate my fucking body right now and it hates me.”

“Well, at least you’re not pregnant.”

You lift your head to glare at his stupidly attractive person. He’s not wearing a shirt, that bastard, and his grey sweatpants are hanging dangerously low on his hips. 

He ducks when you toss a pillow at his head. “Fuck off!”

He wants to laugh, but the sound of your pained moan into the pillow has him sprinting toward you. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m so sorry. If it’s that bad, maybe you should take some more Advil.”

He strokes over your upper arms, pulls the hair out of your face, and presses feather-light kisses to your shoulder blade, which feel soothing at first, but the cramps ruin it for you once again. You’re forced to switch positions, curling up on the other side of the bed. 

Matt follows, sitting up against the headboard on his - previously your - side of the bed.

“I’ve already taken the full dose today,” you tell him. “If I take any more, I’m gonna have more problems than my fucking uterus stabbing me to death. Ugh!”

You hate this. You’re in pain, exhausted, and bleeding so badly, you’re sure you’re going to have to go to the bathroom soon. Every last contraction of your uterus has you cursing Eve for eating that stupid apple. 

His hand moves from your arm to your lower back. Gently forcing you onto your stomach, he starts digging his fingers into the sore muscles of your pelvis. You sigh. Now that is something you haven’t tried yet, too embarrassed to ask him for help with something like this, but he doesn’t seem to mind. You keen into his touch, letting him loosen your muscles one by one. The cramps continue in the front, but the tension in your back finally releases and gives you a second to breathe. 

“You need anything?” he asks, leaning over to nuzzle his face into your neck. “Tea, maybe? More pillows? Or do you want me to run you a bath?”

Sleep threatens to take over. “No,” you slur. His hands are working wonders and you start to question how you even deserve him. “Keep going. Feels good.”

Your approval is all he needs to knead firmer at the flesh protecting the bone of your pelvis. You melt into the mattress. His lips move back to your shoulder, leaving messy kisses over your heated skin.

“Ow, fuck!” The next sharp cramp directs itself toward your entire front, tearing your abdomen apart. “Why does this keep happening?” you cry. “I hate this!”

You’ve been suffering from periods for so long, you should have gotten used to it, but every month feels different, and sometimes worse.

“I’m sorry,” Matt says. “I wish I could help you.”

“Yeah, but you can’t. Too bad!”

That was rude.

You whimper a small apology into your pillow.

“It’s okay, I know you’re in pain. If it helps to yell at me, go right ahead.”

You want to laugh, but you’re too worn out to make any other sound than pained puffs of air from deep within your chest.

Another harsh cramp has him moving his arm around your body, his hand continuing the massage on your stomach now, and you can’t help it; The pressure offers sweet, sweet relief for the pain that has kept you on edge for the past eight hours and his touch sets every fiber of your being on fire. You push your hips back, wanting him to push his fingers deeper into the flesh. In response, his other arm comes to rest around your shoulders from the front, and he pulls you flush against him. 

In his attempt to make you more comfortable though, he accidentally brushes over your sensitive nipples, and you moan, so oversensitive from the hormone outburst, it hurts. 

He “accidentally” does it again, just to test a theory, and when you moan again, louder and higher this time, Matt realizes he just opened Pandora's box. You wouldn’t have asked him to even if it killed you, which it might, and he read somewhere that orgasms produce enough oxytocin to help with period cramps. He knows you don’t care much about studies, but he can’t deny that there is something plausible about this theory. Most importantly though, he just wants to help you. Hearing how much pain you are in hurts him, and he wants to stop your suffering in whatever way he can. 

“I have an idea,” he breathes into your ear, fingers moving lower until he reaches the hem of your sleep shorts that you haven’t bothered taking off. “Do you trust me?”

Goosebumps erupt on your skin. He keeps sending electrical shocks down your spine with his touch alone and no matter how hard you try to refuse yourself such a lucrative treat, your body has a mind of its own during this particular time of the month. Even though you’re in pain, the arousal is only a foot away. 

He pulls at the waistband when you don’t answer, letting it slap against your skin. It’s not painful, but you can feel the burn spread from your stomach straight to your core.

“But-” you try to interject. 

He won’t let you. “Do you trust me, angel?” he asks. 

“Always,” you say without hesitation. 

“Then let me help you.”

You’ve never done this before. You’ve never let him touch you during your period before, ever, not since you got together. You’ve always felt far from sexy, bloated and bleeding, and moody most of the time, if you’re not uncontrollably eating whatever you’re craving before puking from the pain, but you can’t help the whimper that passes your lips this time when a certain gush of wetness that isn’t blood starts coating the walls of your cunt. 

He’s shirtless and so incredibly hot, he looks almost biteable. His muscles flex, you can see every last dent in his bicep, and it grows seemingly two sizes every time he moves his hand to touch you. 

The way he’s almost choking you with his elbow has you clenching around nothing. And it hurts because God, you’ve never been this sensitive, not even after several rounds of sex with him, but you don’t care. Your clit pulsates and it rubs against whatever fabric is closest. The friction is bittersweet. You try to move your hips to feel the same jolt of electricity again, to get rid of the pressure resting between the sore folds of your cunt, but you can’t seem to find relief.

Matt grows confident in his actions and starts to cup your breast ever so slightly. You gasp, tears shooting into your eyes. Your brain is fuzzy. Your body tingles. Your nipples get hard the second he brushes them, and the more he squeezes, the harder they seem to get. Your skin flashes hot. You’re not sure what feels better – the hand on your stomach or the one on your breast. 

“Do you want to stay like this or can you sit up against the headboard for me?” you hear him ask. 

In your state, you can either nod or shake your head, and you’re not sure which one is the better option. The curled-up position is the only one you can feel comfortable in, but if you don’t sit up, he can barely touch you. It’s a desperate situation and you’re so overwhelmed, you want to cry — but it’s not a question of wanting anymore, you need to cry because your body is a bundle of hormones and your mind isn’t yours to command. 

He tilts your head toward him to kiss you. “It’s okay,” he whispers, “I’ve got you.”

You whimper again, tasting the coffee on his lips. 

Slowly, the hand that once rested on your stomach inches lower and lower and lower until… you throw your head back into the crook of his neck and he tightens his grip to make sure you don’t slip away. 

The moment he presses his calloused fingers to your clit, your vision explodes. You try to spread your legs while at the same time scratching at his arms and pulling at the dark hairs that adorn them. Your muscles are too sore to throw your leg over his hip, a familiar position from the many lazy mornings spent drowning in each other, and you can’t seem to find another way to get his hand closer either. He’s already cupping your pussy with his entire hand, drawing circles on your clit, and with how swollen it is you jolt with every stroke, but it’s still not enough. You need more space. 

“Wait,” you say. “I need… can you…”

The systems in your head completely shut down. 

He reads your mind. His hand slips away, pulling you up with him against the headboard. Instead of forcing you to sit up though, he places you over his lap, a pillow under your stomach, and your legs spread over his thighs. The slight bow in your back from the positioning of his knee works better than any position you could have thought of. 

“Better?” he asks.

You spread your legs wider. There’s enough space now, you can move freely and still roll over if you need to, and the sheets can easily muffle your moans.

“Sweetheart, talk to me,” he strokes a hand over your exposed ass cheeks, “are you okay?” 

You don’t want to imagine the mess you’re making, lying naked over his lap while actively bleeding out of the very folds he’s touching with his skilled fingers now. You’re wet enough for him to slide across them, returning to your clit. 

“Just touch me,” you whine. “Please, Matthew, just touch me.”

And for the love of God, you think, don’t think about the sheets. 

“Anything you want, baby. This is about you,” he says and finally, God finally, he gets to work.

There has to be something he takes to make his fingers feel so amazing every time he touches you. He never fails to amaze you with his skills. The fingers he uses as fists more often than not to beat criminals senselessly only do good for you. They comfort you and bring you pleasure where and whenever you need it most. He would never hurt you, especially not with his hands.

You cry out when he picks up the pace. “Matt,” his name is only but a breath on your lips, “Your fingers…”

“What about them?”

“I need them,” you say.

His thumb stays on your clit while he circles your entrance with his ring and index finger, pushing in only slightly and you hiss, as he expected, from the soreness of your walls.

“Fuck!”

“Relax,” he tells you. 

He moves his fingers deeper, slipping right in, the wetness and heat of you engulfing and hugging him like you were made to take him. He sighs and curls his fingers inside, finding your g-spot with ease. He knows exactly where to press to have you crying out in ecstasy, and you have to bite down on the sheets to keep yourself from screaming. 

Pain is the last thing you can think about. All you feel is the burning pleasure in your core, the electricity that spreads through your cunt like an explosion and rests in your lower stomach as the biggest knot you’ve ever felt, and it doesn’t take long for you to feel the pressure that has your legs shaking as it waits to be released.

All the while Matt keeps massaging your back with his other hand, matching the circles he draws on your clit and the thrusts of the two fingers that he has shoved deep inside of you. With every painting he draws, you inch closer to the edge of release. It’s only moments away, you can feel it. 

The sounds you’re making are incoherent, muffled through the sheets, but he can tell from the way you’re bucking into his hand that you’re closer than ever. 

“You’re doing so well for me, sweetheart,” he’s purring the gentlest of praises into your ear, “You’re such a good girl, letting me take care of you. You deserve it. You deserve to feel good.”

You moan, reach for his shoulder, and cling to his skin for dear life. Your legs start to shake around his hand, locking him in place. You’re thrashing around wildly, not letting him finger you but rather riding him in a way that has you coming faster than you thought possible. 

Matt only chuckles. “That’s it, take what you need. You can come whenever you need to,” he says. “And I know you need to, baby, so do it. Let go for me and come.”

“Oh, fuck, Matthew!”

Your walls spasm around his fingers as you come apart. You’re crying, moaning, possibly even screaming and you clench so hard around his fingers, you’re scared you might break them.

His tongue is silver, trained, and too damn good at articulating words that drag out your orgasm to the point it hurts, especially now. “That’s it. Let it out. I’ve got you.”

It wouldn’t stop. You’re wasted, exhausted, and spent, but you can’t stop from pulsating heavily around him. 

Only when the pleasure turns into an uncomfortable soreness does the wave of the orgasm start to ease back into the ocean. 

Your clit is aching, swollen, and wet from how coated his fingers are, and you can already feel the wetness trickling down your thigh. The blood, you think. It’s not just arousal or your cum, you’re sure of that. 

The bed probably looks like a crime scene now. You have to change the sheets. Not even as you’re crying, quivering from the intense orgasm, you can help the shame from swallowing you whole. He can’t see it but he can smell the copper. It has to be more than uncomfortable.

You whimper when you finally come down from your high, still holding onto his arm.

“The sheets,” you manage to choke out. “Matt, I’m so sorry…”

He shushes you. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I can’t not worry about it. I just bled all over your sheets.” 

He helps you sit up and into his lap where he holds you close to his chest.

“It’s just blood, baby,” he reminds you with a gentle kiss on your lips. “I don’t care. It’s natural. Besides, have you ever seen me not covered in blood?”

The crinkle in his eyes is playful and you manage to laugh softly.

“Hm?”

“No, I guess not,” you say. “But still…”

“Sweetheart, it’s okay. There’s nothing to be ashamed of. Nothing.”

Your head drops to his shoulder. “I love you.” There are a million other things you want to say, but for now, those have to be enough. 

The pain is gone, finally, and you can breathe again without getting an excruciating headache. He hugs you tight to him, stroking your hair and kissing your scalp to make sure you’re okay, that you know you’re safe and that he wouldn’t go anywhere. He’s with you, until the end of the line.

“C’mon.” He manages to tear himself away from you eventually. “Let’s take a shower, yeah?”

You pout, feeling his dick more than hard in his sweatpants underneath you. “What about you?” you ask.

Matt shrugs, pulling you in for another kiss. “I’ll take care of that.”

“We can-“

“No,” he cuts you off with a finger to your very tired lips, “You’re too sensitive for that. Let’s wait another day and then we can think about it, okay? I don’t want you to be in any more pain than you already are.” 

Thanks to your hormones, his considerate nature has you crying like a baby in seconds.

He is confused at first, touching your contorted features in worry before he reminds himself that it’s normal. You’re more emotional than usual, but it’s okay because your body is doing unspeakable things that no man could ever understand, and you’re going to feel better soon enough. The world just sucks for now, then maybe again in the next twenty minutes if you happen to come across the picture of a very cute dog or watch one of your comfort movies, but you’re going to be fine. 

So instead of making fun of you for something you can’t control, which he never would but he knows that some of the men in your life have and it scarred you for life, he holds you to his chest and tells you, “You’re going to be okay.” And he keeps telling you this until you manage to stop crying and are smiling again, thankful and so in love, you forget how fucking awful you feel for just a second. 

It wouldn’t take long for the pain to reappear, but until then you could enjoy the relief in the arms of the man you love.

Having Matt Murdock by your side is much better than painkillers, and much more effective, too.  

And as you lie there on his lap, his arms around you and his lips on yours, you can’t help but keep wondering,

How did I get so lucky? 

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock smut #afab!reader #matt murdock #daredevil #daredevil x reader #hurt/comfort #matt murdock imagines #matthew manwhore murdock #ficlet #netflix daredevil

[pacifymebby]

Peaky Blinders Headcannons

Tommy

🌿Calls you his angel

🌿He comes across as stoney and cold, struggles to show his adoration, but it all comes out when he says thay word. "Cmere angel," "You're my angel," "behave yourself angel,"

🌿Sometimes he really does believe you were sent from heaven to save him

🌿Or to test him... He's so hellbent on protecting you, preserving your innocence, not letting you get close to the darker side of him and his business that he almost loses you

🌿You're always trying to soothe him, to get under his skin, heal him. You're not stupid, you've heard he's a bad man and you know it too

🌿But even bad men deserve love and you adore him

🌿So you keep trying to look after him. At night when he has his terrors you hold his head to your chest and let him fall asleep there, your hands combing through his hair. You'll fall asleep with him resting there like that and in the morning when you wake up, he's usually woken up before you and moved so that its you resting on him. His hands playing with your hair. You know hes trying to pretend the terrors didnt happen, but you let him pretened. Its slow work getting a man like Tommy to open up, the fact that he let you hold him at all is miracle enough for now.

🌿He's killed for you, he thinks you don't know but you do. Of course you know, he's done it so many times, too many times to hide it. The first time it happened you put it down to coincidence. The man who groped you in the Garrison, he was an unpleasant man, exactly the type of man you could imagine would get himself into a fight he couldnt win. When he got stabbed with a broken bottle in a bar fight no one had been surprised. But when it keeps happening? Its hard to ignore the fact that any man who so much as looks at you for too long seems to end up dead or blind.

🌿Is haunted by dreams of you dying, morbidly convinced hes going to lose you, that youre going to be stolen from him. This is why hes so possesive.

🌿 Nothings going to happen to you because hes not going to let you out of his sight, there will always be peaky boys guarding Tommy's angel. But...

🌿 If something does happen to you, Tommy's calculating the cruelest revenge, the slowest most painful method of killing. Hes militant about it. He'll hunt them down. But he'll be so caught up in planning his revemge that instead of being gentle with you and holding you/comforting you, he'll sit at your bedside with a face of thunder, holding your hand too tightly, his mind far away, plotting the finer details of revenge. He will not sleep until the bastard who harmed his angel is dead.

🌿 He doesn't involve you in business at all, if he had it his way he'd keep you at home in the country forever, never let you leave the sanctuary of the home he's built for you.

🌿And why would you want to? Your doting Tommy has done everything he can to craft a little piece of heaven on earth for his little angel.

Alfie

🐻 You're far too young, precious and pretty to be sitting in this old mans lap but

🐻 Theres nowhere else youd rather be

🐻 An unforgiving brute to everyone but you, his "ziskeit" (sweetness). He goes 0 to 100 and then straight back down to 0 for you. By this i mean, he's threatening a man's life in one breath, evil in his eyes, cold and cruel with all that sadistic humor mixed in, but then upon turning to see you've slipped into his office by mistake, he drops his tone, speaks to you calm and quiet and soft.

🐻 Has a habbit of beckoning you over to him so that he can whisper instructions for you. He loves how obedient you are and how delicate you look when you tread soft and quick/nimble across the room to be by his side.

🐻 "shikseleh, go wait outside for your old man, thats a good girl, you wait for me and I'll come find you as soon as i can" "patience ziskeit, will you do me a favour? I want you to go find olly for me right, and you tell him, that i told you, that if he doesn't come get this selfish little bastard out of my office I'll kill him...."

🐻 Sending you on your way with a little pat on the cheek only to stop you as you get to the door... "wait a minute, wait... I forgot something very important didnt I... Don't swear..."

🐻 He knows he can't protect you and he doesn't want you to be too innocent - after all hes a dirty old man and there are things he wants to do with you that innocent girls just can't do...

🐻 But he likes to pretend you're innocent and hes determined to keep you good so there are rules. Alfie loves rules.

🐻 No swearing, no answering back, you're to do as you're told by him, youre not to speak to the men in the bakery (they aren't even allowed to look at you) and if you're going to sit down? Well you must sit in your old mans lap.

🐻 He hasnt had to kill anyone over you yet but thats only because he strikes the fear of god into everyone he meets. No one in their right mind would lay a finger on you. The men in the bakery know to turn their heads away and avert their gaze when you walk in looking for your old man.

🐻 He has thought about it many times however... What he'd do if anything were to happen to you. Thats why he wakes you sometimes in the middle of the night, his fingers stroking your cheek, his lips skimming your hair. He'll lie on his back, the weight of your sleeping body on top of his, his fingers tracing down your spine, your head held in the palm of his hand. And he'll hold you all night, thinking about the violence hed commit if anyone ever even threatened you.

John

🌼 Brings you flowers all the time, buys you so many pretty things. He doesnt think he's good enough to win you over with looks/charm and personality so this is how he tries to attract you. With gifts.

🌼 But you adore him, and you don't need all these gifts to attract you to him because youve only ever had eyes for him.

🌼 He's a little insecure, so he's always getting into fights over you. Nothing serious really, but if anyone dares to observe how beautiful you are, John takes offense. "She's too good for me aye? That what youre saying?" "Reckon you'd like to try a piece of my girl?"

🌼 Calls you all manner of sweet little pet names but his favourite is "little flower,"

🌼 You bring out the child in him, he's boyish and careless with you, will play fight, sneak up on you and make you jump just to hear you shriek and jump into his arms. Will chase you and sling you over his shoulder when he catches you.

🌼 Can't take his eyes off you, you really really ruin his cool. His brothers and sister take the piss and he often finds himself embarassed and blushing because they've caught him watching you again.

🌼 Worries about you, worries you will get hurt because of his deeds with the peakys, naively thinks he can protect you from everything.

🌼 When you are hurt he's both full of guilt/shame and desperate for revenge. Whoever hurt you is going to pay with their life... But his first worry is you, he won't leave your side until youre better, or unless you manage to convince him to go.

🌼 Is always always big spoon, even when really hes the one who needs hugging. He likes to wrap you up in his arms, hold onto you and bury his face in your neck. This way when hes hurt you wont know hes crying (you know but you let him pretend)

Arthur

🍂 Kind of whipped?? Dotes on you completely, his brothers think its imasculating but he just worships you.

🍂 Anything you want or need, he'll get/do/give

🍂 Knows he should do more to protect you from business but feels hopeless to do so.

🍂 More than this though he wants to keep you safe from himself... He tries to keep a distance from you, and when hes angry he wont see you, he'll avoid you... Which you hate...

🍂 He has it in his head that youre more innocent than you are until one day you catch him when hes feeling violently angry... Hes in the most tumultuous mood, his brothers pissed him off and he's all riled up on snow...

🍂 Hes storming down the night time street, going to find a whore to use up all his anger on before he goes to meet you... Just so he can calm down... Really hes doing it for you...

🍂 But you catch him and tell him to take it out on you... You tell him not to hold back but he does, he can't do that to you...

🍂 But now youve been together so long and he knows he wont hurt you... That you like it when hes violent with you. He'll be so rough with you, he'll choke you, slap you, throw you over the table, treat you so harsh, but he'll always say the sweetest things to you. He'll fuck you real hard whilst grunting the most complimentary and gentle things. "Youre my fucking cherub darling, my fucking little cherub..."

🍂 He. Has. Killed. So. Many. Men. Over. You. So many. Even before you were his, if he saw someone look at you, or flirt with you, or just talk about you, he'd cut in and tell them to watch their tongue. Hes been known to lose his temper over almost nothing, beat a man half to death over one glance.... But you, in your own fucked up way, kind of love that.

🍂 Likes to take baths with you, in the bath hes gentle with you. Will sit between your legs and have you wash his hair, your fingers massaging his scalp make him feel so calm.

🍂 You are the only person who can really calm him down and dull his pain.

🍂 He calls you his angel, his saving grace, because he believes youve been sent to save him, to heal him.

🍂 Lets you hold him when he's calmed down from a rage and is upset, lets you see him cry but isnt shy about telling you it bothers him. You are often big spoon at night, wrapped around him comfortingly. He will take your hands and bring them to his lips, kiss every one of your fingers and hold them close to his face.

Bonnie

🍀 You are his little dove, he hasn't used your real name since the day he learnt it, you have just always been his little dove.

🍀 Tries very hard to keep his innocent dove away from the peaky blinders. You haven't met them yet and Bonnie doesn't intend for you to.

🍀 He just feels so protective of you. Youre much smaller than him, he can pick you up with one arm and your hand feels so small held in his. The thought of you being in the same room as the blinders sends a shudder down his spine. Youre too good, too precious.

🍀 Always holding your hand, whenever he has the chance. Always doing things for you, making sure youre okay. He's absolutely obsessed with how small your hands are in comparison to his.

🍀 Even before you were together he felt protective over you. He would walk you wherever you needed to go, or give you rides on his horse. He socked another lad at the camp once for pulling your hair and trying to tease you.

🍀 It took him absolutely forever to admit to anyone that he actually had feelings for you...even though it was very obvious. He gets far too shy and blushes around you. He thinks the world of you and can't believe his luck. Hes absolutely giddy with pride whenever hes with you.

🍀 Is so sweet, picks you wild flowers, brings you little gifts. He made a little wooden crusifix for you once and threaded it onto a piece of string. Its not the most glamorous jewlery but you never take it off.

🍀 Always holding your hand, playing with your fingers. Likes it when you wear his jackets and shirts. Especially when he has to leave you and go to do work for Tommy. He feels as though having his jacket around your shoulders lets him keep holding you even after hes gone.

🍀 Hasn't killed for you yet... Would kill for you in a heartbeat...even tommy shelby.

🍀 Is nervous for you to see him fight in case it scares you, or makes you scared of him, because youre timid and because you were scared of him when you were younger and before you were friends.

🍀 But he also feels really proud when you come to his fights, he wants to impress you and make you proud.

🍀And he especially likes when you patch him up afterwards and carefully kiss his bruises.

🍀 Dreams of running away with you, the two of you going to live in a vardo together, far away from the peakys, somewhere safe, travelling together, always alone together.

🍀 Desperate to put a baby inside you, tells you all the time.

🍀 There were signs at first which you supposed you missed, but once you're together a little while he has a real soft dom side to him youre not expexting. He's determined to stamp out any insecuroties you might have, praises you all the time, always telling you how beautiful /pretty/adorable you are and...

🍀 They're never said out loud but he has rules for you. They aren't like alfies rules, they're not as jealous. But,

You have to look after yourself, he reminds you when you need to eat, he likes to be the one who washes your hair, he doesn't like it when you leave the camp on your own and especially doesnt want you going into birmingham without him.

🍀 When you look back you realise he always had these rules for you, he'd never let you off on your own, he'd always been over protective... And you also realise youd always complied amd been good for him... You don't know why.

🍀 Absolutely will not sleep unless hes holding you, likes to feel your body pressed against his with you sleeping on top of him. Will play with your hair and draw patterns on your skin. Unless its the night after a fight in which case youre permitted to hold him instead.

Isiah

🐀 Knows he shouldnt but definitely starts fights to try and impress you

🐀Is always a little bit paranoid that if he lets you hang around with finn and michael, one of them will steal you away from him.

🐀Over protective, puts on a front of being a fighter who's tough and quick tempered, but is actually just very sweet and in love with you.

🐀Is quite cocky, always flirting with you, really enjoys showing you off... Very tactile, always touching you. He is especially tactile around you in front of his friends and you know this is because he wants to remind them that you belong to him.

🐀Asks you who you love/who you belong to on a regular basis, multiple times a day. He'll catch your hand as youre leaving the room, pin you down in bed or up against a wall, get all up in your personal space and ask you... Won't let you go until you answer him so sometimes you stall on purpose

🐀And sometimes you hmmm and give him the wrong answer just to see what he'll do...

🐀Poor boy feels he has to prove himself and so usually you end up getting fucked real hard, only allowed to cum when he asks you the question again and you give him the right answer.

🐀Doesnt have to prove he's a man because he's so sure of himself in that specific way. Which is hot... You like the fact he lets you be big spoon sometimes, that he lets you cling onto him and nestle in as close as you can. Secretly he likes the feeling of being held.

🐀Does have a bit of a temper, will get angry with you if you've been flirting with other men, sulks if youve spent a lot of time talking with Michael or Finn. Doesn't like when you join in their teasing of him... Has plenty of ways to punish you for it later. Isn't gentle.

Michael

☘️ When you first met you thought Michael was just a mummys boy. You thought he was too soft for you...

☘️ My god were you mistaken.

☘️ Michael has an underdog complex worse than Tommy Shelby, he is ALWAYS trying to prove something. That he's a man, that he's a bad man, that you're his girl, that he's good enough for you...

☘️ Sometimes he speaks too harshly to you when hes in one of his moods but when he sees the hurt in your eyes he apologises, makes you come to him so he can kiss you and stroke your cheek. He never tells you he's sorry though and you always know hes going to do it again.

☘️ But you kind of like it like that. You like hos angry streak, it excites you, you want to know how far he'd go if you pissed him off. He wouldn't kill you, youre almost certain of that.

☘️ And besides you have the temper to match... If he ever slapped you he knows you'd hit him back twice as hard. Sometimes That is the only thing that stops him hitting you... Not his deeply ingrained principles about hitting girls.

☘️ You watch him change, no longer soft and easily bullied, but fierce, just as cruel, just as rotten as the rest of them... Part of you is sad to see his sweet side leave him but another part of you, and not a small part of you, finds it hot, exciting.

☘️ You like pushing him to his limits, arguing back until he snaps. You like seeing his temper flare and youll do anything in your power to make him snap.

☘️ He's unnaturally loyal for a peaky boy, at first you don't believe it when other people tell you they've seen him turn girls down because of you, then you think it's just a phase, he's got that new love obsession. But after awhile you realise his obsession with you is all consuming... He won't cheat on you because to him theres no point in fucking someone who isnt you. He wouldn't get any pleasure or satisfaction from dominating and owning someone else... Only you...

☘️ You argue and fight a lot, you both have sharp tempers and the relationship looks toxic... It probably is toxic, but you don't care. You set eachother on fire, breath life into eachother. You like getting into trouble with Michael. It started as partners in crime, the two of you against the world, and in many ways it is, youre ride or die, no one can come between you...

☘️ Except you love to make him angry. You love to push him over the edge so that he grabs you by the throat and squeezes, choking you whilst he tells you youre his, "you belong to me so be-fucking-have yourself you ungrateful little brat"

☘️ Youre spoilt because he spoils you and he loves to remind you. Hes proud that he can. He was raised a gentleman remember and he knows exactly how to treat a woman. When you're good you get showered in gifts and praise and kisses.

☘️ He likes to control you completely, down to the way you wear your hair and the clothes you dress. He tells you what to put on in the morning and if he doesnt like what youve chosen he demands you change.

☘️ And this is where his softer side comes out... If he doesnt like what youre wearing he demands you change, but he's the one who changes you. He undresses you, he helps you into your new outfit. If he doesnt like your hair he takes it out gently and fixes it the way he wants to see it. He wipes your make up off, tells you you look too much like a whore... His words are always so harsh but his actions so gentle and caring.

☘️ When hes done he'll say something like "there, thats better," and kiss you sweetly.

☘️ Hates it when other men talk to you, most men don't because theyve seen what has happened in the past but Tommy has no respect for Michael and no respect for your relationship. He doesn't even really find you attractive, but he will touch you, flirt with you, try to make you blush, just to piss his cousin off. And it works. And you'd be lying if you said you didnt try to encourage that behaviour because when Michael has something to prove...

☘️ Its delicious.

#peaky blinders headcanon #peaky blinders imagine #tommy shelby x reader #Arthur shelby x reader #Bonnie gold x reader #john shelby x reader

[reds-skull]

Not Alive, Nor Dead

[PREV PART] [AO3]

We're getting close to another favorite moment of mine... I can't wait to write it lol

“Rudy, Vargas.” Ghost greets them, sitting down to eat his breakfast. 

The two Vaqueros nod, Rudy speaking with a mouthful, “Fantasma, slept well?”

He lifts his mask just enough to take a bite of the eggs, “no.”

“Oh.” Rudy swallows the food, “sorry to hear that?”

Alejandro snorts at his awkwardness, “what got you uneasy, hermano?”

Ghost sighs, scanning the room for stray Shadows. He leans in closer to quietly tell them, “caught a Shadow following me and Johnny last night.”

The men’s gaze darkens, “I’ve had a bad feeling about the Gringo for a while now…” Alejandro stabs a tomato angrily, “I’m starting to think he’s not here to support us.”

“What’s your theory?” Ghost indulges.

“He’s the Americans’ way into whatever this mess will lead us.” Rudy nods, continuing for the Colonel. It seems like this isn’t the first time they discuss this, “Shepherd wants his name on our success, and Graves is his toy soldier.” He frowns, “making his Shadows stalk you and Soap, however…”

Ghost finishes his meal, “Shepherd might want to eat the cake and leave it whole. I’d suggest watching each other’s back. Cheers.”

“Keep yourself safe, hermano. Thank you.” Alejandro gives him a sharp nod, mind undoubtedly swirling with all possible scenarios.

Ghost returns the nod, leaving mess. 

If Graves turns his back on them, the fallout will fuck up more than just taskforce 141. The Vaqueros, Commander Karim and Keller, Laswell…

He knows too much. If he betrays them… Ghost will make sure he keeps his mouth shut.

Whether it’s on earth or Limbo, Graves won’t escape him.

Johnny waits for him when he leaves for the training grounds, grinning cheerfully when he spots Ghost.

He falls into step beside him, “goin’ to let Limbo out for a spin?”

His gruff accent sands down the tension he accumulated while talking about Graves, “need to take off the edge, don’t want them too wild on the mission.”

Ghost looks down at Soap, deciding to kick a little at his boots, “you sure you want to follow me to the field? Limbo still wants to take a bite off you.”

Johnny stumbles for a second, pouting up before smirking, “I’ll follow you anywhere, LT”

Ghost gazes at his eyes, the reflection of the sky encompassed within them. He’s only half joking when he murmurs, “that’s what I’m afraid of.” 

He makes Soap stand far, perhaps a little over worrying, but Ghost rather having to shout for his Sergeant to hear than risk his life yet again.

As he lets Limbo loose, he thinks back to his Last conversation with his Reaper. How Johnny is supposed to kill him.

Ghost wishes he believed it more wholeheartedly. It could’ve helped with his constant concerns, his nightmares, the visions so real he can almost see Soap in Limbo now, vacant eyes chasing his light.

Ghost shakes the illusion away, Johnny isn’t here. No reason to torture himself with those ‘what-ifs’.

Limbo has returned to its usual state, his victims all screaming and crying, reaching for the protective light surrounding him. Things have been turbulent for the residents in these last couple of months. Ghost almost feels bad, if he ever let himself feel anything towards his eternally trapped victims.

It’s a slippery slope he rather not go down on.

When he steps out of Limbo, streams of blackened dirt point at Johnny, stopping only a few meters from the Scot.

Ghost huffs when Johnny waves over eagerly, calling out that he’s ‘faster than the creepy gits, LT!’ and that Ghost has nothing to worry about. Maybe once that was true, but the way his lips curl into a smile tells him otherwise.

They part ways when Soap has to go to yet another debrief, not before he taps his shoulder and promises to find him afterwards. Ghost’s heart practically sings when he murmurs, “you better, Sergeant.”

Garrick catches him while he’s still gliding on the high of those promises, a horrified face pulling him back to earth, “Gaz? What’s-”

“I need to talk to you.” his eyes flicker around, “privately.”

Ghost nods, instantly snapping back into business mode, “follow me.”

They silently make their way to the roof, the 4-storey building and the single access point, making for the most secluded place in the entire base.

Gaz walks over to watch the fields, avoiding eye contact with him. Ghost impatiently waits for him to spill whatever got him so frightened.

“Do you know someone called Kirill Bogomolov?” the Sergeant mutters, his back still towards Ghost.

He opens his mouth to give the negative, when he stops. Bogomolov… he has heard the name before.

Ghost inhales sharply. Konchar.

“Yes.” 

Gaz’s head snaps around to gawk at him, “where? Who is he??”

“You first, Sergeant. How do you know Bogomolov?”

Garrick’s voice is somewhat desperate when he speaks, “my Reaper. It said… fuck, Ghost. Kirill was its, strongest Revenant of the Pull ever created.”

“Konchar was Reaped by the same Reaper that got you?” Ghost exclaims in surprise.

Gaz’s eyebrows furrow in confusion, and Ghost exhales, “Konchar is the callsign of Bogomolov. Why did your Reaper bring him up?”

“It said…” Garrick looks down, “it warned me about Soap. Told me I should stay away from him. That it won’t lose another revenant to ‘the Reaper of Destruction’.” Gaz’s eyes look at his, “Soap didn’t kill Konchar, right? Tell me my Reaper’s wrong, Ghost.”

Ghost narrows his eyes, “I heard about Konchar first when Soap lost his memory. He said Konchar killed his squad.”

Gaz’s face scrunches, “fuck…”

“Official reports state Konchar died from the explosion in Verdansk six years ago. Soap, allegedly, was Reaped in the same event.” Ghost’s mind races faster than he could speak, “Reapers don’t lie, Garrick. Soap must’ve…”

The Sergeant rubs his temples, exhaling a shaky breath, “killed Konchar because of that. But you said they couldn’t have met?”

Ghost goes over the timeline again, “if we assume the reports are faked, which they are since your Reaper won’t lie…” things are still so disconnected… “Konchar didn’t die in the explosion. Which means Soap was Reaped before it.”

Gaz floats a few inches of ground, “what do we know on the mission Soap and his squad were on in Verdansk?”

“Nothing. His file is fucking blacked out.”

He drops to the ground again, “couldn’t you ask Soap? You two are close-”

“Johnny won’t say shit.” Ghost almost snarls, frustrations building, “whatever happened there, it made him scream and ask his Reaper why it didn’t fucking kill him.”

“Jesus…” shock spreads on Garrick’s face, and he groans, “what do we do, Ghost? First your Reaper tells you Soap will be ‘your demise’, then mine shows up for the first time in months to warn me it will not lose another revenant.”

“Parra’s Reaper warned him about me as well.” Ghost recounts the memory, “they seem to do that when a strong revenant is around.” he sizes Gaz up, looking for any signs of fear. “We’ll bring it up to the Captain, but if it were up to me… I won’t let that change anything. Although…”

Garrick perks up, “we’ll keep a distance from Johnny when he uses his powers extensively. Don’t underestimate him.” Ghost finishes.

The Sergeant nods, “yes sir. I’ll go inform Price.”

Ghost stays behind on the roof a little longer. If Johnny and Konchar have met after his Reaping…

Is there anything on his file he could truly trust?

The revenant in question finds him while he haunts the halls around the meeting rooms, waiting for him to show up.

Johnny seemed surprised to see him there, and the expression quickly melts into a pleased sort of joy.

“Missed me that much, Ghostie?” he teases.

Ghost can’t stop his eyes from rolling, “in your dreams, MacTavish.”

Soap raises an eyebrow, saying with a lop-sided smile, “oh, you do a lot more in my dreams, LT.”

His face feels on fire under the mask, Ghost stiffens, “that so?”

“Aye” Johnny gives him a shit eating grin, “last night ye took me teh a fancy restaurant, treated me right. If only you were such a gentleman in my waking hours, LT” he puts a hand over his heart, shaking his head in disappointment.

Ghost cuffs him over the head, “don’t see you taking me anywhere nice, Sergeant. You get what you give.”

Soap rubs at the back of his head, frowning up at Ghost, “Oi! You know what, I’ll take ye somewhere real good next time we get leave. You won’t have any excuses after that!”

“I’ll hold you to it, Johnny.”

Soap smiles, the two of them gazing just a little too long at each other’s eyes (not his fault Johnny got pretty ones) when Price’s voice echos in their minds, “I’m truly sorry for interrupting you lovebirds, but we need you two here.”

A comically grief-stricken expression washes over Johnny’s features, “I just got out of debrief…” he whines.

“Won’t be long, Sergeant, just need to verify something.” Price sighs in their head.

Ghost takes hold of Soap’s drooping shoulder, “up and at ‘em, Johnny. The sooner we go, the sooner we finish.”

His Sergeant sighs loudly, “Aye sir…”

“No…” Soap takes a step back, voice shaking, “your Reaper too…? I-I don’t… I would never…”

Ghost takes a hold of his arm, stopping him from running away. He can feel the tension coiling up in Johnny. He knew his Sergeant won’t take the news well, that yet another person is now in danger of him.

Ghost wants to shout at all the Reapers in the world beyond, explain Johnny is the last person to hurt his teammates, that he’s righteous and self sacrificial to a fault.

He knows it won’t matter to them. They don’t care for such small, insignificant details of their human servants.

“We know, son.” Price attempts to calm him, “we’ll change the plan as much as we can, but you’ll have to use your powers to some extent. I’m sorry, but you’re irreplaceable.”

Soap tries to back away again, “no! I can’t- just make me do something else, I’ll be fine with exploding again, I can heal, I-”

“Johnny”, Ghost tightens his hold on him.

Soap stares at him, eyes terrified, “I can’t LT… If I kill any of ye… I wouldn’t forgive myself.”

Price looks between them, crossing his arms. Ghost thinks over the plan again, of the most recent iteration. Soap and Gaz were supposed to create a distraction, make the PMC revenant run away, only to be caught by the rest of their forces, and slowly be pushed back from all fronts.

He turns his head to glare at Price, “swap me and Garrick out, sir.”

Soap and Gaz both exclaim as one, “what?!”

“Go on.” Price squints.

“Me and Soap are the strongest revenants in our forces. If anyone could push the target, it’s us.”

“You two are not immune to each other, Lieutenant. It will be risky to send my best soldiers together.” Price comments.

Ghost feels Soap turn to stare at him, “if Soap is far enough, I can use Limbo safely.”

“And if you get caught in an explosion?”

Johnny takes the arm on him with his hand, squeezing and shaking his head lightly. Ghost ignores him.

“Limbo would stop them.”

Price’s eyebrows raise, Soap gapes at him from the corner of his vision.

The Captain's voice asks in his head, “have you done it before?”

He looks down at Johnny, “no” he whispers in his thoughts.

“Simon…”

Blue eyes shine up at him, skies that hold stars in their depth, “I trust him, John. With my life, with my death, with everything left in me.”

Price tilts his head, something sad softening his features, “...don’t make me regret this, Lieutenant.” he says out loud.

“I won’t, sir.” he doesn’t avert his eyes from Johnny’s.

Plot twist! Konchar and Gaz have the same Reaper!

#call of duty modern warfare 2 #cod mw2 #cod ghost #cod soap #cod gaz #cod price #rodolfo parra #alejandro vargas #revenant au #call of duty fic #call of duty fanfic #call of duty modern warfare #cod fic #cod fanfic #ghostsoap #soapghost #ghoap #when i say favorite moment #yall should already know its angst... lmao

[mejomonster]

Guardian really set my expectations of "censored bl cdramas" and man that was a high bar and probably not fair of me to expect.

Guardian really opens with Zhao Yunlan asking Shen Wei "are you married? You're such a catch. Can I take you out to eat? Here's my number A-Lan call me" which like even on face value id say thats called flirting (unless I guess ur so straight Straight blinders on that 2 men have to physically fuck in front of u to consider something gay)

Then of course there's shen weis pining shit but like, that's not Hammer down obvious to I guess the most oblivious person in denial

But Zhu Hong saying she likes Zhao Yunlan, Zhao Yunlan repeatedly refusing her and feeling bad about it, Zhu Hong repeatedly acknowledging he picked SHEN WEI over her (making it fairly clear it was a romantic pick and she Lost it to a guy) and shen Wei, brick that he can be at times, tells her it will only take a few years for the feelings to fade when she'll get over Zhao yunlan. The guy in love with him, instead of her. Yeah shen wei, she's definitely not wishing she could stab you for that insensitive remark. But she's too good of a person to.

Which. I'd say the above two points establish fairly overtly that: Zhao Yunlan is into men, that his colleagues assume he's also into women (if Zhu Hong thinks she has a chance), and that Shen Wei is Zhao Yunlans romantic pick. So Shen Weis sexuality? Well he doesn't dispute being Zhao Yunlans romantic pick, and Lin Jing assumes they're lovers with dialogue (yes he's saying opposite day stuff but his opposite day is just not being a liar and spy). So Shen Weis sexuality includes Zhao Yunlan.

And so like that's just. Fairly overt explicit stuff about their relationship. There's also the "a very oblivious person could argue its only implied" flirting. (And everything going on with Lao Chu and Xiao Guo, the side couple... oh my heart ;-; when they almost froze... the family dinner at Xiao guos... Lao chu admiring how kind Xiao Guo is, scaring him trying to say he's a cannibal and Xiao Guo not running away)

There's the coat sharing macho trying to be the man helping the damsel both of those fuckers do galore, shen wei moving in across the hall (which is either stalker or deeply in love or - as is true, both), shen wei implicitly moving in (this one's vague ill admit to be fair), the fucking "You're good with your hands" line from Zhao yunlan which is absolutely a porn line, every villain in the show viscerally aware Zhao Yunlan is who Shen Wei wants to protect, Ye Zun pretending to be Shen Wei by calling Zhao Yunlan cute names and asking if his outfit looks nice (and all of That), Zhao yunlans romantic ass hit me through the heart line of "if you're trouble I want a lifetime of you" at the wedding (not ever over it), the fucking lollipop scene in ye old haixing. Just a bunch of flirty type scenes, romantic tropes galore. And that's not even covering the actual genuine subtext of ALL the cases paralleling how shen wei and/or how Zhao yunlan feel implicitly (which are just subtext to be fair... how shen wei thinks he lost kunlun, how Zhao yunlan ISNT him so it hurts he's a stranger or he IS in which case he's a liar and shen weis grieving, the case where a dixingren and human love each other and Zhao yunlan notices he wants to be close to shen wei even though shen weis lying etc).

Like. They felt as canon as Tara X Willow in Buffy. Or at least as much as Xena x Gabrielle, the center relationship of the show where all stories of the episodes are always at least in some way about them.

#guardian #weilan #meta #rant #to be fair: word of honor cdrama did JUST as much as guardian on feeling basically canonically explicitly gay #as long as u can interpret overt flirting with men and them being soulmates as love. #cause yeah there are no kisses. but still like... yeah theyre in love. #and like.. man zhu hongs love triangle plot is Central in making the Guardian romance as overt as it is #obviously irs easy to put in: its a girl love interest for zhao yunlan #but its also a love interest he Rejects for shen wei. so like. cdrama land says he cant say i love you to a man? #but he can say he doesnt love a girl and hes picked the man instead. im just saying it works well to make that overtly clear #dont even get me started on chuguo ;-; i love them so much and acting defijitely helped intensify it

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Even Deeper Waters | Yandere Merman (Part 2)

“Alright boys let’s get our old cruiser moving!” 

“Aye Aye!” 

The muffled sounds of yelling men rang through your ears along with various pounding of boots sending vibrations along the surface you lied against. You felt yourself moving. Swaying like a baby in a swing, you almost succumbed to sleep’s seductive pull at your eye-lids. Trying to settle once more you found yourself nuzzling against something firm…and….cold. It was then that a painful stab of pain climbed up your spine that had you snapping up to nurse the boney system. Only to bring another flash of pain as you smashed your head against a similar surface. You blinked your eyes with vengeance, desperately trying to make out your assailant only to just barely register the badly lit environment. 

A small eye-sized window let the smallest beam of natural light illuminate the steely quarters you were kept in. Showing the metal bunk beds hanging along, its very close together walls spread apart just wide enough for a knobless door. Metallic and unlabeled all you could make out was a panel, a dip in the surface of an otherwise blank door. 

Squinting your eye with great difficulty you eyed the contrasting textures of blue rapidly moving, told apart by the splotches of fluffy white wisps and flying birds.

“The…ocean?” 

You cringed at the hoarseness of your voice, rubbing at your throat as you collected your thoughts. The memories of Vain and the fear pumping your heart, had you stilling in disbelief. 

Was it real? 

That he killed all the staff of the Aquatic center? That he feasted on humans in general? And that he had full intentions of bringing you to wherever he was from? 

It couldn’t have been a dream. The pinpointed pain in your arm said so. Recalling the spine that sneakily shot out from under his skin to inject you with something. A shiver ran up your back, making you rub at sore spot with defeat. 

What now?

The sound of multiple metal clicks from behind the door had you sitting up straight. Wondering if it’d be Vain to release you or some old-fashioned pirate; at this point either was expected. When the door swung open it revealed a grimy man scanning the small room before landing on you. With a sniff he waved to someone beyond, an exhausted look on his face.

“Come on then your cargo is awake.” 

His accented voice called to the mysterious person who seemed to make a face as the round-bellied man stayed perched in the door way. With a groan the man moved revealing an uncannily familiar face. 

“My darling! I’m so glad you’re okay!”

“Va-”

“Shhh I know your throat hurts just give me a second.” 

He shuffled some things in his hands: a thermos, a container, and a rag. Too bewildered to process anything you watch him, almost frantically, put the other items down to open the thermos. You reached for it only for him to move over them to hold your chin as he made you drink. His quick movements bypassed your own, leaving you to flounder and focus on guzzling the drink down. 

“That’s it baby! Good job.”

You hated the way he said that, looking up at him with a glare. He continued to smile down at you, eyes squinted in a sadistic fashion. Wordlessly you both seem to make the connection of the roles reversed; one of you giddy at the thought and the other disgusted. 

You finished the drink, unable to actually pull away as he moved his hold from your chin to your head. Forced to drink so fast you barely registered what it was you were drinking, only able to lick your lips in an attempt to recall the flavor. Opening your mouth to question him you were stopped by him shoving food into your mouth. Similarly he hand fed you the finger friendly food gleefully swatting your fighting hands and letting his finger dance around your lips. 

With a full belly you sat back, finally registering the non-human humming in satisfaction. He looked different. His face was softer. Plump around the cheeks and hair much longer than before. It meant he had eaten well and could avoid being directly recognized. Convenient for man eating merman.+

“What is–”

“Are ya done?! I’m getting tired of your lovey-dovey crap!” 

The  man had crossed his arms and puffed his chest as if Vain was already protesting. Vain wasn’t even looking at him when his pleased smile dropped and his eyes narrowed in a deadly glare. 

“Right, right. Sorry to hold you Captain, you have a whole ship to command.”

Before following the grumbling human he flashed you a smile; a smile that showed a minor resemblance to pinchers he used to threatened you with before.

“Rest easy (Y/n) we’ll be home soon.”

At the sound of the metal door slamming and locking you were once again encapsulated in near darkness. Forced to succumb to the tiredness only food brings, you settled into the uncomfy frame, dwelling on those words before drifting off. 

‘Home, huh?’

____________________________________________________________

Something must have been in that food. 

Or maybe it was the drink he was so insistent that you finish. It might’ve been unintentional, to have a meal that had your whole body aching while having you fade in an out from a restless sleep. Plagued with nightmares of your time with the captive-mermaid Vain and your imagination’s retelling of your coworker’s end. Only this time, you couldn’t sit up and clutched your pillow in the comfort of your room. No you were in a cold, uncomfortable cell, unable to even hold yourself to rock yourself back to sleep. The only comfort you had was the apparent rocking of the ship.

The strange swaying of a boat on ocean waves could be equated to the comfort of a rocking babe or by the drunken driving of car in wild winds. Teetering between soothing and anxiety-inducing you didn’t fight your eyelids shutting in the darkness of the cell. Like a weighted ball and chain your consciousness began to slip, dipping deeper into the realm of sleep despite the outlying factors. The rocking. The muffled shouts. The roaring waves. 

It didn’t stop you from falling asleep once more.

________________________________________________

When you awoke again the aching in your limbs had subsided and you were able to sit up. Still feeling a haze of tiredness you hazingly collected the remnants of your spotted memory. Sluggishly you stood, leaning on the bunked beds to the small space of wall. You looked out the eyeglass, taking in the cloudless blue sky against the dark moving waters of the ocean. Blinking away from the myriad of blue you turned around, straightening up when you registered the crack in the door.

“V-vain?”

You couldn’t imagine this was done on purpose by the grody Captain who snarked about ‘not messing with the cargo.’ No doubt a strict but crooked sailor that was keen on getting paid, he reminded you of the executives at your job. Who would sooner put their life on the line then sully the ‘integrity’ of their objectives. Which fanned the festering nervousness in the deepness of your gut. 

With hesitation you stepped out only now registering the creaking wood against your bare feet. Leaning against the walls of the ship’s hull, scanning for any signs of life, you focused on the light coming from a swinging door. Finding no one it only urged you further to the light. Climbing the stairwell you couldn’t help but squint at the sudden exposure to the sun. Holding your hand up to shield your eyes as you scanned for some sign of life. Dropping your hand as you enjoyed the salty sea breeze, letting your eyes close as you relished in the sun’s heat.

“Ah I’m glad to see you up, I honestly didn’t expect you’ll be able to move.”

You turned swiftly fully aware of that inspid voice only to step back at his appearance.

He was a foot taller, his hair longer, and his skin had a tint of blue. His teeth were much sharper, making for a smile that was more intimidating then anything. 

“...You ate again didn’t you?”

He chuckled holding a finger to his chin, “Was it that obvious?”

He hopped a little, making you flinch. He laughed again stepping closer to you and you stepped back, bumping into the railing of the sailboat. Finned arms caged you in purposefully squeezing himself against your person, giving you a ghastly whiff of his breath. 

“How have you been feeling? Ready to go home?”

“H-home?”

“My home…our home silly-darling!” 

“Is that–”, you looked over your shoulder at the waving water.

A deep trill or something reverberated from his chest, feeling it within your own. Moving closer to you, you turned from him leaning as close as you could to the railing, unintentionally urging the Mer-man to tighten his hold around you. He put his head on your shoulder looking at your eyes as you glared at the sea. 

“It is.”

“But I can’t breathe underwater, you'll kill me…Is that what you wanted?”

He took a deep inhale against your skin, leaving you no room to pull away as he peppered your neck with kisses.

“Of course not, you’re ready enough.”

“W-what?!”

Before you could say anymore he easily wrapped his hands around your waist launching you into the water. Naturally you flailed in an attempt to tread but you weren’t aware of how hard it was to do that. Reaching out to the smiling Vain it wasn’t long before you fell under the water’s surface. Expecting to feel water feel your lungs you didn’t fight closing your eyes as you lost sight of the sun’s rays reaching through the water.

‘Hold on?’

You weren’t dead. You could breath. You could see. 

You attempted to move around but your legs and arms weren’t much help. Especially not in comparison to Vain who dived in with tails and dorsal fins swimming towards you with ease.

“Come on, (Y/n). You didn’t think I’d let you die like that easily, did you? You’re mine darling and I said we were going home…didn’t I?”

#yandere oc x reader #yandere oc #yandere merman #yandere mermaid #yandere merman x reader #yandere merman oc #yandere story #yandere merman part 2 #Maybe I'll continue this one after all

[steddie-my-love]

You’re Our Kid

Dads!Blackbonnet x Daughter!Reader

Cw: Angst, (light) Canon Typical Violence, Harsh self image, not being beta read

—

Izzy Hands was pissed off. Granted, Izzy Hands is always pissed about everything but today was unlike anything the crew of the revenge had seen so far.

In these past few months he had watched Blackbeard, the most feared pirate in the world change before his very eyes. He was cheerful, having people call him ed and falling for Stede Bonnet. It wasn’t right.

Pirates weren't supposed to have attachments. The only thing you could trust was that they were always plotting against each other. Always ready to stab each other in the back or the side. But now ed had a kid and the whole world was upside down.

“Izzy” you called running onto the deck to greet the man “Sorry i’m late, i was helping frenchie with making dinner and I lost track of time. Are you ready for sword practice?”

He looked you up and down with cold eyes. Despite the hours of work you were still happy, still smiling, still the thing that had turned the most feared captain on the seven seas soft.

You had to go.

“Okay kid. We’re going to start with dueling technique” he rasped, drawing his scabbard from his waist and cleaning off the blade. “You’re going to have to face down all sorts and it’s your job to find your way out of it without help.”

You nodded dutifully, listening as the grizzled man eyed you up and down like a cat eyeing a mouse.

“The key is to catch your target off guard,” he continued “never expect a fair fight and never expect backup. In this life you only have yourself to rely on.”

In a sharp movement, Izzy swung his sword, cutting your wrist as your sword spun out of your hand. You glimpsed to the side to see where it had fallen but in the second you had looked away it was already too late.

You fell to the deck, head slamming against the wood hull. The world spun as you looked up, the sun stinging your eyes as you blearily looked at the world. Any mercy that Izzy had shown before had fallen away and as you stared up at what he really was; he was a killer.

Your sword was too far away. “Ste-” you started to call, desperate for some, any kind of help but were cut off as the the sharp point of izzy’s sword began to dig into your neck.

“Oh no you don’t” Izzy sneered “you don’t get to call for their help every time you’re stuck. Do you really think that they care for you? That they see you as anything but a nuisance? You are a passing fancy, and once they get bored of you, they’ll cast you off just like everything else.”

Izzy raised his arms again, scabbard in hand. This time the blow was meant to be deadly. You raised your hands to your face, waiting for the cut of the blade.

“IZZY” a booming voice called from behind the man. Izzy turned his gaze to see Ed running at him full speed, eyes practically glowing with rage as he disarmed his first mate and tackled him to the ground.

As the men fought, you could feel stede hoist you up to your feet. “Its okay my dear, you’re safe now. We’ve got you” he said gently.

The world seemed to sway as the blonde lifted you up. Closing your eyes, you let your head fall against his chest. Everything seemed to hurt and the world was fading further and further away from you.

“My dear i need you to stay awake” Stede said, tenderly stroking your jaw until your eyes opened again. His eyes seemed wilder than you had ever seen before, usual silky timber thick with anxiety. “What did he do darling? What happened?”

You blinked your eyes blearily, your pupils moving in and out of focus. “Me n’ Izzy were training. Said i made you two soft and that I had to go. Next thing I knew I was knocked to the ground.”

Stede’s heart had never broken more than in that moment. You looked so broken, and could not seem to stop shaking beside your best efforts.

“You son of a bitch” Ed snarled, finally pinning Izzy to the ground “what the fuck did you think you were doing? You could have killed her!”

Izzy’s face hardened “I’m doing what has to be done. What you don’t have the courage to do.”

If Ed hadn’t been mad before, he was furious now. He saw your crumpled form clinging onto stede to stay up, the fear in your eyes as you watched ed’s wrath come forward in unholy waves.

“You’re lucky I didn't kill you right here, right now.” Ed spoke, voice dangerously low, his face pushing into Izzy's “If you ever so much as think about hurting my daughter I won't stop at the toes next time.”

Ed pushed himself off, signaling to two of the crew to secure the first mate. “Lock him up in the brig. Bastard needs some time to rot”

It was just as he said this that your legs finally gave out, the world fading to inky black as you faded down into oblivion in the care of two leatherbound arms.

—

The gentle rocking of the boat stirred you from your sleep, your eyes opening to the dim captain’s quarters. Gingerly, you began to raise your head up off of the couch but tendrils of white hot pain reached up your neck.

“Don’t move darling” Stede cooed, pushing your hair back out of your face. “Ed’s gone to fetch some broth and a towel for you. Just relax”

Your head swam, a million questions floating through but one seemed to break through.

“Where’s Izzy?” you asked, your voice tightening suddenly.

Stede’s brows furrowed in confusion “Well, the boys threw him in the brig but i figure Ed wants to throw him in to the bottom of the ocean”

“You should let him out. He was only trying to protect Ed, I wasn't on my mark. I’ll be ready next time.” you spoke, fingers twisting into the fine blanket draped over you.

“He tried to kill you y/n. That man is not walking free any time soon”

“He was right, Stede!” you said, voice cracking as tears began to fill your eyes.

“Right about what little sparrow?” Ed’s voice called from the door.

Silent tears began to stream down your face, the weight of izzy’s words seeming to suddenly flatten you.

“Izzy said i was a bad influence on you. That my being here softened you and that you were better off without me. That you would move on just like everyone else does” you said barely above a whisper, unable to say it any louder before the tears overtook you.

When you looked to the side you expected two sullen faces in stark agreement, but as you looked to the men they had wet eyes taking in everything you had just said.

Ed was the first to break the silence, clearing his throat as it had tightened up. “Is it okay if i touch you y/n?” he asked gently.

You nodded, unable to speak without devolving into a stream of tears. Ed picked up your legs to sit on the couch, slipping them back over him as he took his position on the couch. Stede stayed at your side on the floor, watching you.

“Izzy may have known what i wanted when i was a young man” Ed started, choosing his words carefully as he traced patterns onto your calves “but he hasn’t understood me for a long time. This ship, Stede, You- that’s all I want now.”

You nodded your head slowly “So am i-”

Ed gave out a short laugh “Are you my kid? I’d say in all ways except biologically, yes.”

“And you’re also my kid” Stede interjected, brown eyes darting between the two of you “and as long as me and ed are alive your home is right here with us.”

“Good, that’s exactly where i want to be” you said.

And as the ship sailed on, taking you to unknown places and adventures you knew that there was nothing that would tear the three of you apart.

#blackbonnet fic #blackbonnet #stede x ed #our flag means death #dads!blackbonnet #dad!stede bonnet #dad!ed teach #daughter!reader #dad!blackbonnet x daughter!reader

[lisbeth-kk]

Sherlock fandom.

Where he goes, I follow

The first day of December arrives, not with the desired drizzle of snow, but rain, and lots of it. As the day passes a thick fog sneaks upon the city and standing by the window, I can’t even see the building across the street. The fog is almost like a living creature where it envelopes every house. I bet I could cut it with a knife. 

I sigh when I realise, I must go out to chase a probably invisible criminal through the streets, behind the madman who is now standing impatiently waiting for me to get properly dressed for a night out. 

A night out with the world’s only consulting detective, is a bit different to what most people think of when they hear the phrase. What it specifically means is to dress warm enough so you’re not freezing your balls off, with layers that aren’t making your moves stiff and uncoordinated but leaves you sufficiently agile to run freely and tackle any culprit daring to put said madman in danger. You must also be willing to follow him wherever he leads you, even if you’re sceptical and should know better. 

In short, I live by two rules on these nightly shenanigans: One - until he’s proven wrong, Sherlock Holmes is always right, and two – wherever he goes, I follow. 

***

“Come on, John! I know a shortcut,” Sherlock bellows and makes a sharp turn down a narrow alley. 

How he can even spot it in its nebulous state, is beyond me. I curse his long legs and sprint after him, trying to stay as close as possible so as not to lose sight of him. It doesn’t help matters that it’s late afternoon and no daylight either. The streetlights are few in this area, and several of them aren’t even functioning. 

I hear someone yelp in surprise, and Sherlock’s strangled voice calls my name. A fear I haven’t felt since Afghanistan, rise in me by the sound, but it’s soon replaced with ice-cold rage. I reach for my gun and when I see an unfamiliar male figure strangling Sherlock, I press the gun to his temple. 

“Drop it,” I say in a voice all the men who have served under me would know better than to argue with. 

When the culprit loosens his grip on Sherlock and tries to shove him against me to run off again, my instincts take over. I can’t see much, only shadows even this close, but my battle training surfaces, and I rotate on my right heel and gives him a blow to the back of his head with my gun. He slides down beside Sherlock and my inner doctor emerges immediately, the other man forgotten. 

“Sherlock, can you hear me?” I ask, my voice steady and clear. 

My hands search his face, head, arms and torso before he answers. 

“Did you get him?” 

His voice is hoarse after the pressure to his throat. I roll my eyes, which he probably can’t see, but my answer should give him a clue. 

“Of course, I got him, you git! Or else you wouldn’t have this conversation with me right now.”

When I realise what the last sentence actually means, the adrenaline that’s surged through my body for the last hours, suddenly fades and in its wake a stab-like pain sets in my chest. 

I could’ve lost him!

That thought is scarier than any villain we’ve ever encountered thus far. My silence seems to worry my best friend. 

“John?” he inquires softly. “What’s the matter?”

He knows me too well, but I’m tired of pretending and the eeriness of the weather gets blamed as well when I answer him, hoping that he won’t be appalled by my sentiment. 

“I could’ve lost you, Sherlock,” I whisper. “And I just can’t deal with that thought.”

Sherlock shifts and struggles to take off his right glove. Before I can scold him for such an absurd manoeuvre, his warm palm cups my cheek. 

“You won’t,” he murmurs. 

I place my hand over his and bends down to look into his remarkable eyes. 

“Promise me,” I say earnestly although I know it’s futile. 

No one can make such a promise and keep it. But of course, Sherlock is above all that and promises me anyway. 

“I promise, John Now, let’s go home and I’ll start convincing you,” Sherlock says huskily, his voice full of something new. Something I need to unravel. 

Sally and Greg arrive minutes later, and Sherlock stands close to me when he explains what’s happened, before he takes my hand and leads me out of the sinister passage to flag down a cab. 

@flashfictionfridayofficial @totallysilvergirl @keirgreeneyes @calaisreno @phoenix27884 @a-victorian-girl @safedistancefrombeingsmart @peanitbear @gregorovitchworld @helloliriels @raina-at @sabsi221b

#flash fic friday #sherlock fandom #john watson #sherlock holmes #bbc sherlock #johnlock #nebulous roads

[ashintheairlikesnow]

The Heretic's Confession, Chapter One

CW: Captivity whump, some... implications... references to branding. This is just me getting a feel for the idea and character, though, really.

-

The robes he once kept pristine are caked in dried mud around the hem. Grigory frowns as he inspects them, rubbing along the seam. It flakes away, leaving imprints of itself behind. 

Maudlin, certainly, but it feels like the stain of their sins painting his soul.

Maybe suffering can give even a man of the Goddess the sentiment of a poet. His lip curls in disgust at the very thought.

Please, please speak to me, Dromada. Tell your priest what he must do to escape this nightmare.

She is, and has always been, silent to his pleas for Her assistance. 

The Goddess the people worship may be a paragon of compassion and forgiveness, her sculptures solemn and grave with hands outstretched to embrace even the lowest-born of Her children, but Grigori is beginning to suspect the holy men have got it wrong. 

She isn't gracefully wise. She does not reach Her hand out to hold Her children. No, as each day passes without Her so much as whispering a reassurance, he begins to feel She is th goddess of laughter, and he is Her current favorite joke.

A knock at the door to his room - his cell, really, but of course they all like to pride themselves on keeping him in high style in his gilded cage - has him looking up, a little startled. The moon has only made half of its trek across the night sky, through the looping swirls of galaxies far, far beyond the reach of mere mortal men. That milky spin of stars, everyone knows, is where the gods live.

He wonders how many of them are looking down on him, sipping crystalline waters, and mocking his pain.

He would spit on every last temple step, if he could.

If he could just leave the fucking room-

“Brother Grigori,” His guest singsongs, half-dancing into the room. Grigory turns away from him, laying one palm over one of the iron bars that blocks any escape through the window. His fingers close slowly around it. 

“What do you want.” His voice is curt, it cuts short and sharp. “Bastard.”

“Oh, see you got my name all wrong again.” The leader of this little gang is tall - too tall - and all knees and legs, lean muscle making him heavier than he looks. Grigori is tall enough for a man, but he seems like he’s half-grown, compared to the bandit. The man’s hair is a shock of white atop his head, shaved on the sides, while Grigori’s curly brown grows to the bottom of his ears, as is prescribed for the priests. He swaths himself in black kohl around his equally dark eyes and shining black leather worn back to brown from age and ill-use at the knees and elbows. Grigori’s hazel and his dirtied robes look like a joke, placed next to the bandit’s appearance.  “It’s Bohli, remember? Or that’s what my mother calls me, anyway. Or she would, if she were still alive. She probably uses that when she curses my name from the heavens above, granted. I mean, probably, unless she really is suffering in the Dark After, like she deserves-”

“What do you want, Bohli?” Grigory’s head is already starting to hurt. “I don’t have time for this.”

“Nonsense. You have all the time in the world. You have nothing but time.”

“Not for… you. Please leave.”

“Nope. Not going anywhere. This is my house, remember? I just let you stay here.”

“Let me.” The words are sour in Grigori’s mouth. “Right, of course. Let me. Because I asked to be branded and trapped here in this room-”

“Hush. I take you for walkies every day, little god’s dog.” Bohli winks, and Grigori - who took a vow of pacifism, once - imagines stabbing his own knife through his eyeball until it comes out the other side of his head. “If you don’t want a leash, you just have to prove you won’t run off.”

He would, of course. Run. Outside, the woods stretch far and wide. There’s a path he could take to find a village, to find freedom...

Or… more realistically… to get arrested for being in league with Bohli and his bastards, which he isn’t, but everyone knows the goddess would save Her most faithful, and he’s been here too long. He would be branded a heretic. Everyone knows he’s a heretic. His own fellow priests would turn their backs on him. The people would burn him at the stake, for being defiled, degraded, a paragon of nothing but the filth they have covered him in. Little more than a bandit himself. 

Maybe he is one.

Dromada would have saved him if he were truly Hers to save. And instead, here he is, the infamous giver of absolution to the men and women who massacre whole towns in defiance of - in direct insult to - the power and might of His Majesty, the King.

No. he would be burned as an enemy of the King's, and he would have no standing to defend himself. A captive this long isn't a captive at all, in the eyes of the world.

Just a man who no longer wants to be saved.

Tears prick at his eyes, and he struggles not to let Bohli see them and mock him even more. It’s not like he hasn’t already been marked. It was one of the first things they did. Bohli had given the order and watched while they tied him down. Grigori himself had been made to look as they put the iron in the fire, made to watch them heat it to red. Bohli had been whispering in his ear when when they pressed it to his pelvis, and Bohli had cooed over him while he screamed, stroking through his sweaty hair.

“Just leave,” He whispers, the area aching all over again. They branded him over the symbol of Dromada tattooed, a mark of his vow of chastity.

Another one broken.

Maybe that was when She stopped listening.

“Oh, but I can’t, darling Grigori. I’ve come to make a confession.” Bohli laughs, and his laughter could make you bleed even better than his blade. But somehow Grigori can’t seem to die from the loss. “Isn’t that why I keep a priest of Dromada around, anyway? For to save my poor mortal soul?”

Grigori fights the urge to wish aloud someone would poison the asshole’s food. “You would burn if you touched the Hem of her robe.”

“Maybe.” Bohli shrugs, kicking a chair over and dropping down into it, loose-limbed. His eyes spark with delight as he takes in Grigori’s misery. “But you wear Her robes, and yet I never burn when I touch you-”

“Speak your confession,” Grigory snaps, his heart twisting and going briefly silent and still in his chest. He feels blood rush to his face, and Bohli’s peal of bright, brittle laughter tells him the flush isn’t going unnoticed. 

“Say it.” Bohli watches him, and it’s like being watched by one of the terrifying big cats that roam the woods just beyond this hideous prison. Unblinking, a predator’s stare. “Say the words, priest.”

Each time he does, they feel more bitter on his tongue. 

But still.

Grigori draws the ruins of his robe closer around himself, and sits up straight. He swallows and sets his jaw. “Bohlinde hir Maksma en Ygridsen, the goddess Dromada hears and forgives all from those who love Her. You have only to ask. Speak, child, and be forgiven.”

Bohli licks his lips, leaning forwards. Somehow, Grigori can’t make himself look away. The bandit leader’s teeth are sharp - those canines can rend skin from bone. He’s part-elf, they say, somewhere in his bloodline the half-mindless shrieking hordes of the elven race lurk. You can always tell, so it’s said, from the sharpness of their teeth. From how little they care for the lives of men.

Maybe he’s half-elf.

It would explain why he’s so fucking smug.

“Forgive me, Dromada’s Chosen, for I have sinned against Her,” Bohli says, and he doesn’t even try to feign sincerity. Why he even plays this game, when Dromada isn’t a goddess for the elves of their wretched offspring to begin with, is beyond Grigori’s understanding.

Grigori fights the urge to sigh. He makes Dromada’s Sign, wondering if it even calls to Her any longer. If She even feels the spark of a follower’s call, or if he’s cut off from Her entirely. Who hears him when he prays?

Does anyone?

“How have you sinned against Our Mother, She Who Gave the Waters?” 

Bohli licks his lips. His smile is a little too wide, shows too many of those sharp, sharp teeth. He'd be blisteringly handsome, if it weren’t for the sight of fangs where none should be. “I won’t lie, Brother Grigori. I set some stuff on fire yesterday. And I’m going to do it again. Will I be forgiven?”

Grigori imagines the mud climbing higher and higher up his robes, pulling him into the earth, forcing itself down his mouth and pressing over his eyes. He imagines the gods in the sky, looking down from their stars.

The image shatters with the memory of first sitting at the table with the dozen or so of Bohli's favorites, each of them smiling at him, while he sat in his pure white robes and felt himself bared, as if naked, before them.

Until Bohli had given the order for what to do with him.

“Dromada forgives all who seek Her,” Grigori intones, thoughtless. The words memorized before he was even thirteen years old, before he was old enough to take his vows. Before he was taken, and they were all broken, one by one. Bohli loved breaking Grigori's vows. “You have only to ask.”

“Good.” Bohli’s voice drops low. He has to focus to hear it, which is probably the bastard’s entire point. “Because I really, really love asking, and I love the sound of your answers.”

The bandit stands, walking over to him, putting one finger under his chin and forcing Grigori to look up - and up, and up, and up - to see the demon smile.

Grigori is sure, as Bohli watches him with his head tipped to the side and his black eyes as bright as the stars, that he can hear the goddess laughing.

#whump #new whump #the heretic's confession #captivity #captivity whump #intimate whumper #creepy whumper #fantasy whump #some weird fantasy race stuff happening here #just go with it #religious whump #religion whump #fantasy writing #bohli is a bad bad man #grigori is just a tired blorbo

[lovecanbesostrange]

Please know that since yesterday I am mentally trapped in these two panels. There is actually a lot I will miss Krakoa for, but I also felt a bit of resentment throughout the era and this family is a big reason why. NOW that we are in the last stretch of burning it all down and the new X-launch is in reach, we'll get this wedding special. And we finally have all four together in a panel. NOW?! I bought X-Men Unlimited #4 in either fall of '94 or spring '95, solely because of the cover. 30 years of waiting. Let me live in this moment for a bit.

Look at what they are doing with the art! Oh sure, Mystique and Nightcrawler are the blue ones. Pair up Destiny and Rogue next to that to make them look similar enough as well. Only for my brain to scream "but the personalities are the other way around!!!!!!!!". Irene and Kurt work on faith and believe in possibilities and reaching out to be better. Raven and Anna Marie typing this out makes me feel weird are the ones who will kill a bitch and say they will darken their soul so others don't have to. Plus there is the element that they both have lived more than one life and their sense of self is distorted .

They've come a long way, okay?!

Yes this is exactly what it looks like. For plot reasons Nightcrawler was too weak to teleport and dangling off a cliff next to Mystique. And of course Rogue could only save one and before she made a decision Mystique said "I make this for you" and let go. I still like to believe she flipped them the bird when she fell. Because she is Mystique. "HaHa! Take this, you think I'm the worst mother ever, but you will have to live with a moment of nobility from me!" (Also Destiny knew this would come, and she fucking knows there is something good inside of Mystique. It just comes out... different. And needs very specific circumstances.)

Apart from X-Men Evolution (and the X-Men Forever alternate history comic with its very special vibes), we have never gotten any bigger acknowledgement of this family. And Irene has been cut out. Either conveniently on account of being dead, or because she's an old lady and clearly just a gal pal, ahem. (It's also very funny to me to go back to their first appearances, where the Brotherhood of Evil Mutants has the biggest Three Stooges energy ever. I needed Mystique, Destiny, Rogue, Pyro, Blob and Avalanche to have a drinking contest on Krakoa. That is what Krakoa was supposed to be about!! You needed to give us 200% domestic nonsense, fun and games. So it would hurt everybody when it was inevitably taken away. EVERYBODY needed to find happiness in that place in unconventional ways.)

Sadly not my original thought (I don't have those), but recently I read some comment where somebody said that with Irene being his bio-mother, Kurt should have inherited a type of precog-sense, a sorta spidey-sense for teleportation. A natural ability that he won't teleport into an obstacle. And I would be so on board with that. (Also funny, because Ms Marvel had that type of sense and I could pull up panels where Nightcrawler tried to trigger that in Rogue.) Would it be weird to add that now? Sure. But also super cute and helpful.

My deepest gratitude goes out to the fanartists who have doodled and sketched and painted cute family moments for them out of time. Now canon can catch up. Imagine their dinner conversations. N: "Logan is my best friend." M: "Oh, that reminds me there is this blue furball running around with his and my powers. I don't even remember if we ever had sex or not, we're so close in age and have these memory gaps." N: "Mutter, nein!" D: "You should ask him out, you two would make a cute couple. Trust me." R: "You're setting up Nightcrawler with Wolverine and keep giving me grief over Gambit?" M: "He speaks too much French! Wolverine might be Canadian, but at least he's not a Franco-Canadian!" N: "So I couldn't date Northstar?"

Do not get me wrong though. Mystique and Destiny are horrible people and they will stab others in the back. They have worked for the government, they have plotted assassinations of government people. They have fought alongside and against the X-Men. I don't want them tamed or be reasonable. I want their mess. I want them as anti-villains. Because they don't do heinous things for nothing. They like to create less horrible murder events than what could be... some writers just liked to go overboard with the scheming and forgot the sympathic undertones, which I want to cling to. And we deserved a time of peace on Krakoa. Truly imagine a Mystique who was happy on Krakoa. And the absolut batshit villainous energy when it's burned down against her will... now THAT would have been something. Instead of baking resentment into the foundation.

#X-Men #Rogue #Nightcrawler #Mystique #Irene Destiny Adler #wednesday spoilers #sorry I'm so sorry but I can't get over this... #ramblings