#fic 2007
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
Text
A Night To Dismember
Pairing: Michael Myers x Fem!Reader
TW: Detailed Gore, Mentions of Murder, Mentions of Sexual Assault [Not by Michael], Slightly Possessive Michael, Protective Michael, Mature Audience only!
A/N: Requested by my bestie @prettywhenibleed! I really hope you enjoy this and it was an absolute pleasure to write this for you!! Love you, my favorite slasher whore! ❤️ This isn't my best work, I'm afraid, forgive me.
The Smith's Grove Sanitarium operated according to a schedule that was consistently set in motion without interruption. No authorized doctor employed by the sanitarium, however, would have foreseen this. Medical specialists thought they were completely familiar with Michael Myers' behavior. He was docile and kept to himself, despite being the most dangerous and threatening patient in the hospital.
But if you left him alone, there was a chance he would treat you in a similar fashion. The sole exception would be if touching his masks or otherwise bothered him. Even being among other patients was something he never enjoyed.
You were a new patient, recently exiled from society and your family because of your dreadful infatuation with fire and burning objects of interest. Your arrival left the building in absolute shock. On your first day, you were assigned to the recreation room. When you entered the room, your initial instinct was to walk over to the largest and most dangerous man within the sanatorium while grinning brightly. You only watched him work on a paper mache mask while standing over his hunched figure in the corner of the room, his hospital-approved supplies scattered along the table.
You thought the colors were stunning, which you happily expressed.
As a precaution against Michael harming you, guards stood by the recreation room's entrance wielding batons. Michael, on the other hand, did the exact opposite, giving you a cursory glance before grunting and slackly pointing for you to sit next to him.
It was like you and Michael had your own timetable inside the sanitarium, and this went on for the next few months without fail. As directed by his psychiatrist, Michael was permitted to create his masks in the recreation area in the mornings. You would follow not far behind and take your normal seat beside him at a table chosen at random, apart from the other patients. You would merely watch him create his masks and ramble about whatever was on your mind. Michael never responded to the conversation, but that didn't stop you from talking to him because he had his own style of doing so without words. You have grown accustomed to deciphering his thoughts from his basic grunts and gestures.
"Hey, Mikey." You said with a smile, taking a seat at your usual spot next to Michael's side, placing your tray of food onto the table.
Michael was in the middle of placing wet paper mache on the face mold for his mask, his fingers caked in colors of paint and residue from the paper mache. He paused for a moment, giving you a small grunt as acknowledgement before returning to his activity.
You smiled more, chuckling at his usual ways of communicating as you watched him craft. You've always been interested in his masks and the variety of patterns he would use for each one. Many of his masks had their own unique qualities. However, you knew to only look, not touch.
"I see you're adding bright colors this time; are those happy pills finally working?" You teased him, nudging him softly with your body.
Michael huffed through his nose, which you learned was his way of chuckling as he shook his head at you. In the past, It took a while, but you had a better understanding of Michael's gestures and emotions than the doctors.
Simply because you treated him like a person, not an experiment.
"Maybe next time then." You replied, turning towards your tray before glancing at his project once more. "You're really good at that, Mikey. You're really talented."
Once again, Michael paused his movements, his stained fingers holding the paper mache while his eyes remained downcast. His fingers twitched before he resumed, and you almost thought you said something wrong.
"I didn't mean-"
You were cut off as Michael grabbed another mold from the table, pushing it in your direction. Your eyes widened slightly as you pushed your tray out of the way as Michael's slow movements brought other materials in your direction.
Still in slight awe, you watched him turn towards you, and your eyes connected through his favorite orange mask. You couldn't help the way your heart skipped a beat at the way his eyes stared into your own, seemingly piercing into your own soul.
The doctors were wrong; his eyes weren't soulless, nor were they black, resembling a massive void of nothingness. They were blue, similar to a clear sky or the glimmering waves of the ocean.
He huffed before pointing a finger at the materials and then towards you. He wanted you to mold with him.
"Thank you, Mikey." You said softly, a bright smile on your face.
When your eyes met Michael's, he was unable to comprehend the sensation in his chest. Usually, when his sight fell on their figures, individuals would tremble or turn away. He wasn't concerned by their fear of the facility's most dangerous patient. He actually benefited from the fear he instilled in the hearts of many who came to the sanitarium.
Yet you didn't...and he liked that.
He liked that you weren't scared of him, speaking to him, or even touching him like you've been these past few months. The thought of you being scared of him made him feel...hollow.
When you started working on your own mask using the materials that were laid out on the table, Michael couldn't help but covertly place a palm on his chest to feel how his heart was refusing to settle down. He almost wanted to groan in annoyance, hating the way he liked being around you and having your attention.
He had been content with his solitude for a long time, He preferred being alone and had been for many years. However, the notion of you leaving him made the murderous itch inside him threaten to resurface.
He decided that he would keep you with him, protect you with everything he has, and extinguish anyone who threatened to ruin that. With darkened eyes, he returned to working on his mask.
On that day, you and Michael became closer.
You weren't born yesterday and you certainly weren't born stupid. Trouble was afoot in the institution and it was either happening under the doctors' noses or they simply didn't care enough to investigate. Over the past week, you would hear feminine screams down the hallway in the women's section of the institution during the late hours of the night. Last night, the screams could be heard two doors down from your room.
The screams and cries began when a new guard was appointed to the institution, supposedly replacing a well-known guard who was at the age of retirement. Due to your paranoia, you would sit on the edge of your bed, watching the door in the chance of someone entering your room when they weren't supposed to.
During the days, you would spend all you could with Michael, hoping that your association with him would make you seem off limits to mess with, or you hoped. Yet, Michael couldn't protect you when the sun went down and the men and women would return to their respective cells on opposite sides of the institution.
Tonight, you were following the same routine, sitting on the edge of your bed and watching the door. Your mind was in shambles, trying to come up with a plan in that chance, that horrid chance of the new guard coming for you. You hoped it wasn't what you were thinking, and for once, you prayed.
God never heard your prayers, and he certainly didn't now, especially when the jingling of keys were heading down the hallway, towards your room.
Michael couldn't sleep and when he couldn't sleep, he would simply pass the time by creating more masks or painting designs onto them. He was sitting at his desk, the surface covered in paper mache, markers, paint, and crayons. He was in the middle of adding a touch of red when he heard the distant sound of screaming.
His annoyance was disguised under his mask as he sighed and tightened his grip on the crayon in his hand to the point that it almost broke in half. He puffed again at the commotion and went on, indifferent to the screams. Perhaps a patient was making a scene during the nightly check-ins.
In order to block out the noises, Michael withdrew within the walls of his mind. It was a way that allowed Michael to escape freely from the confinement of his cell. He would always imagine a life outside the institution, with you. He would imagine the way he would protect you and provide for you. The thought used to sicken himn, but now he enjoyed it, the possibility. The sound of keys jingling, seemingly opening his cage, caused him to pause, though. With a loud crash, the cell door swung open, and shouting could now be heard outside of his room.
"Want some, freak?" The guard asked him in an mocking manner while Michael remained at his desk, his back to the guard. Michael immediately understood what the guard was pulling when he heard the feminine screams and intended to ignore it.
He continued to ignore his surroundings, ignoring the rage building within his chest. The sound of his bed creaking didn't deter him from continuing on with his activity. However, it all changed when the victim screamed one word.
"Michael!"
You.
Your trapped figure on his bed, with your nightgown pushed up so that only your thighs were visible, caught Michael's attention as his head whirled around. Your eyes were filled to the brim with tears, which streamed down your cheeks as you sobbed and struggled. His eyes quickly shifted to the guard hovering over you, and he developed tunnel vision instinctively.
A ferocious roar erupts from Michael's mouth and takes hold of the guard by the neck and collar of his shirt, throwing him off balance. In the midst, you shakily brought yourself to a sitting position, fixing the bottom of your nightgown to cover yourself. Your eyes watched as Michael picked up the guard, pinning him to the wall with eerie silence. The man in his grasp was yelling in pain and fear as Michael kept him pinned, his legs dangling in the air.
"L-Let go! Let go, you fucking punk!" The guard cried out.
Michael did not like that, not at all. Without a second thought, Michael hurled him into his desk, his art supplies falling to the ground in a cluster of clangs while the man groaned in pain. Like a predator stalking his prey, Michael's towering form stalked over to the smaller male, his eyes black as night and void of any life or mercy within. His large hand reached out to grab the same red colored pencil,
Michael's next action seemed to be a blur, he body launching onto the guard and stabbing him with the colored pencil, his resiliant strength making the pencil tear through flesh and muscle.
You watched in a sickening twist of fascination and awe, watching as Michael stabbed the guard over and over, leaving no body part untouched, the man;s screams filling the room. Your heart felt warm, knowing that Michael was willing enough to kill someone for you.
Lastly, Michael stabbed him until his chest, stomach, and face was shrouded in punctures, cuts, and wounds. With one last jab, the colored pencil stabbed into his neck, making the man gurgle on his own blood.
"Michael..." You whispered, your eyes taking in his bloodied form as he slowly turned to you, heaving himself up and moving towards you. It was as if he was a trained dog hoping he made his master proud. However, you were nothing of the sort. When he was close enough, you wrapped your arms around him, pressing yourself into his strong form. "Thank you..."
Michael gave a small huff, hesitantly touching your head with his bloody palm, staining your strands with the bodily fluid. Without another word, Michael pushed you away and grabbed your hand, pulling you off the bed and heading towards the door.
"Where we are going?" You asked in confusion, following behind the behemoth of a man down the stark white hallway.
In response, Michael tugged on your hand and you decided to go along with whatever he had in his mind. He saved you after all; even when he didn't have to, he did. It made you feel safe and protected in his presence.
"Alright, Alright." You muttered, your figures turning a corner and out of sight.
Red and white.
Those were the colors you would never forget. The way the walls were coated in blood and bodily fluids of various nurses and guards that laid along the floor in mangled messes.
Michael was strong, very strong. You remembered the way he smashed a guard's skull in with his fingers alone. You shuddered at the thought, crossing your arms and staring at the wall in front of you as you waited for Michael to finish off his last victim. A nurse arriving at the right place at the wrong time as Michael ambushed her, his hands around her throat as he strangled her.
Michael walked over to you, his muffled huffing practically hovering over your ear as he showed you shoes and coat. You stared at the items with a blank expression, wondering what he wanted you to do with these.
He huffed before shaking the items in his hands, motioning the items towards you. You sighed before taking the items with a small smile, throwing on the shoes and coat. You felt the warmth of the fabric soothe your cold figure.
"Thank you..." You muttered softly, looking up at him as he stared down at you.
He couldn't help but think you looked...cute.
He offered you his bloodied hand, which you instantly took and followed him to the exit. You both were finally going to be free and it was all thanks to him.
After a few hours of walking, your feet were beginning to ache and the adrenaline from earlier was wearing off.
After your fifth yawn, Michael stopped in his tracks, turning towards you in the middle of the field. He simply stared at you as you bent forward to rest your hands on your knees.
Michael, I need to rest for a moment. Please my-" Your words were cut off when Michael stormed over to you, grabbing you roughly around the hips, hoisting you into his arms. His arm went around your waist, while the other held your back in a bridal style fashion.
Your eyes widened from his sudden roughness, however you couldn't complain as you basked in his warmth, nuzzling your face in the bloodied fabric of his robe.
"Thank you." You said, closing your eyes and allowing yourself to finally relax for the first time tonight. You didn't notice the way Michael was staring at you in his arms, his darkened eyes filled with something unknown, dangerous...maybe even a little bit of caring.
Silently, he turned and resumed walking through the field, making sure to keep you safe as you began to doze in his arms.
Finally, you were his.
Spam Liking W/O Reblogging = Blocked
Tagging: Comment to be added!!
@prettywhenibleed @ghoulgeousimmaculate @britany1997 @rottent33th @slaasherslut @bluecoolr @the-pinstriped-hood @flower-crowned-lady @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @azzy-ozborn @strrvnge @repostingmyfavs
#rz!michael myers#rob zombie michael myers#rz michael myers#michael myers#rz michael myers x reader#michael myers x reader#michael myers x fem!reader#michael myers x fem reader#michael myers x you#michael myers x y/n#michael myers fanfiction#michael myers fanfic#michael myers fic#rob zombie halloween#halloween#halloween franchise#halloween 2007#slasher#slashers#slashers x reader#slasher x reader
3K notes
·
View notes
Text

saw this tumblr quote and thought of that GODDAMN orange turtle from that GODDAMN fic AGAIN💔
#oh tdtwb mikey my son my moon#tdtwb art#tdtwb fic#tottmnt#tmnt mm#mutant mayhem#tmnt mutant mayhem#but i can also tag#rottmnt mikey#rise mikey#rottmnt#2012 mikey#tmnt 2012 mikey#tmnt 2012#tmnt 2k12#2k12 mikey#tmnt mikey#tmnt 2023#tmnt 2003#tmnt 2003 mikey#tmnt 2007#tmnt 2007 mikey#tmnt bayverse#tmnt 2014#bayverse mikey#“BECAUSE MIKEYS UNPARALLELED RESILIENCE TRANSCENDS ALL UNIVERSES AND ITERATIONS” we all said in unison#not quite spoilers because this is fine standalone but. spoilers (?)
219 notes
·
View notes
Text

PAIRING: clayton beresford x f!reader
𝓕𝓛𝓤𝓕𝓕 ❦
CLAYTON BERESFORD JR. wasn’t prepared for any of this. Not for the way your mood swings had him walking on eggshells, or the way you clung to him like he was your only survival—and certainly not for the out-of-nowhere, "Would you still love me if I was a bug?" question.
He froze mid-step, towel slung over his shoulder, just trying to make it to the bathroom to wash up after his late meeting at work. But there you were, pressed to his side, your bump nudging against him, face smushed into his bare bicep like you couldn’t bear to let him go.
“A bug?” he asked, a soft chuckle slipping out from his throat
Big. Mistake.
Your head immediately shot up, frown already forming. “Clayton,” you huffed, your voice tinged with the beginnings of that dangerous tone. “I’m being serious.”
His laughter died instantly, wide, innocent eyes locking onto your narrowing ones. “I—of course, sweetheart. I mean, yes! Absolutely. A bug. No question.” He stumbled over his words, shaking his head for emphasis
You weren’t convinced, lips pursing. “You hesitated.”
“No, no hesitation,” he insisted quickly, hand coming up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing over the soft skin there. “I’d still love you. I’d even marry you if you were a bug. The fanciest wedding a bug’s ever had.”
“Like, what kind of bug?” you pressed, still eyeing him suspiciously, clearly not ready to drop it.
Clayton paused, panic flickering across his face. He knew this was a minefield. “Uh—a butterfly?”
Your expression softened slightly, but you weren’t done. “What if I was an ugly bug? Like...a cockroach?”
His jaw slackened, and for a second, you thought he might actually laugh again—but he caught himself, shifting with the kind of sharp reflex you only get when you’re trying to survive pregnancy mood swings. “Then I’d still love you. You’d be the cutest cockroach,” voice dripping with affection.
You stared at him for a moment, lips twitching, and then finally, you let out a little sigh, leaning into his chest. “Good. That’s all I needed to hear,” you mumbled.
Relieved, Clayton pressed a kiss to your temple, hand sliding to rest on your bump, rubbing soothing circles. “You’re my everything, bug or not,” he murmured, smiling softly against your skin.
You relaxed, sinking further into him, and for a moment, all was calm.
Until your voice broke the silence. “Clayton.”
“Yeah?” he sighed
“What kind of wedding dress would a cockroach even wear?”
TAG LIST: @kingdomhate @divineani @haydensprettyprincess @skyguys-princess @catnipaddictt @heartscone @haydensbbg @inneedsoffanfics @jediavengers @literally-izzy @anisluvrgirl @slutforfinnickodair @xhunnybeeex @fuckmyskywalker @gallerygourmet @deceptiive @ysrjune @anakinskwkler @bimbo-baggins17-deactivated2025 @cookybananas @emotionallybruisedx @diorvalentina @sevinax @throughparisallthroughrome @aniiuv @ritosparty @ninastyless @lily-strnlo @thesassypadawan @awhhayden @sydkneez @anisangeldust @l1ttle-misssunsh1ne @anakinca @rubiesarepretty
#hayden christensen#clayton beresford x reader#clay beresford imagines#clayton#clay beresford x reader#clayton beresford#clay beresford#clay beresford x you#awake movie#awake 2007#christensen hayden#haydenchristensen#hayden christensen characters#hayden christensen x you#hayden christensen x reader#hayden christensen x female reader#hayden christensen fluff#fluff#hayden christensen fic#hayden christensen fanfiction
126 notes
·
View notes
Text
Why me?
Summary: Their reaction to reader asking them why did they chose them as a partner.
SFW / Gender neutral reader / Fluff / General verses
Leo:
He's stunned just for a single heartbeat before a warm smile spreads across his face.
Why you? Because not even a thousand years of profuse meditation could soothe him as much as your voice does.
Because he's hopelessly captivated by your courage and authenticity.
Because the determination flaring in your eyes makes him tremble. Don't ever think for a second that he could choose anyone else.
"You're one in a million, and I'm never letting you go."
Raph:
"You kick ass like nobody, baby!" he jokes. But the blaze in his eyes tells you there's more to it. And there is.
After he collects himself enough, Raph goes on.
Why you? Because you manage to drown the fire before it spreads.
You're there for him whenever he needs you.
Because as strong as he is, there's no place he feels safer than in your arms. And that's worth more than anything in the world for him.
Donnie:
He wants to pour the reassurance you crave from every fiber of his being.
But how? How can Don gaze into your eyes and articulate that he recognized you as 'the one' upon noting you possess the power to shatter him with a single goodbye?
Despite the perspiration, Don responds tenderly.
"Because you authentically care for me and for the things that hold significance in my life. Your brilliance matches your humor, and I can't fathom revealing this depth of myself to anyone else. You— you are the one.'"
Mikey
Why you?
Because you never underestimate his strength, even in the light of his gentle nature.
You truly see him.
It's something Mikey struggles to put into words. It's as if your hearts instinctively recognize each other.
Being with you is like soaring in a hot air balloon that never descends.
And Mikey tells you as much while he tenderly showers your face with gentle kisses.
#it's soooo late#I'm heading to bed after this one#and maybe a sick Leo fic that's been in my drafts for much longer I'm willing to admit lol#tmnt bayverse#tmnt x reader#tmnt 2007#tmnt 2k16#tmnt 2012#tmnt leo x reader#tmnt raph x reader#tmnt donatello 2003#tmnt donnie 2007#tmnt donnie x reader#tmnt mikey#tmnt donnie#tmnt leo#tmnt raph#tmnt mikey x reader#tmnt 2003#tmnt leo 2007#tmnt raph 2007#tmnt raph 2012#tmnt 2k7#teenage mutant ninja turtles
699 notes
·
View notes
Text
To Go With You



Summary: After the defeat of a vicious Mononoke haunting your household, your only wish is to leave everything behind.
Content: gn!reader, based off the TV show Mononoke (no plot line spoilers), all dark themes are left up to the reader's imagination for the most part, none graphic death talked about, Medicine Seller being a big tease
Word Count: 1.6K
A/N: I'm in love and because of that have more fic lol. I hope you enjoy!
↞ to Mononoke Masterlist | Request Rules | Blog Navigation ↠
Your father was dead.
As was your uncle.
And your grandfather.
Your mother had done it.
Your mother, though, was dead. Had been dead for months.
But she’s come back. Come back as a vicious mononoke to take revenge on the people who took part in her death.
As they died by her hand, you’d watched. Watched and did nothing to try and stop it.
They deserved it, you had thought.
They deserved it, they deserved it, they deserv--
But he did not deserve it--the Medicine Seller that had come to badger your household. He had come not merely to sell his wares but had come by some strange calling your mother’s vengeful spirit gave off. Had come to defend the entirety of your household even when many of them hadn’t earned such protection.
Your mother seemed to agree with you on that. Though her poor soul seemed to have had its fill of men, whether they be helpful or not.
But you liked this one.
You liked his humor and all the interesting things he had been teaching you while trying to figure out the mystery of the Mononoke. A mystery you gave him in three steps upon your mother turning on him. Steps that freed that seemingly unusable sword he carried and sent him bursting with gold light.
He was--glorious. Like some god or saint from legend and you couldn’t help but fall prey to his majesty.
When the light died and your mother was sent to rest once more, you were on your feet rushing through the place you had once called home. Rushed about as your aunt and cousins shouted and screamed in terror at what had just happened.
Kitchen staff gave yelps in fear at your appearance. They asked after the spirit and if it had been defeated, to which you gave a rushed “yes!” as you grabbed up a water skin and whatever foods you could get your hands on.
Once your bag was overflown with clothes, food, and things you thought you couldn’t part with, you were back in your parent's former chambers. Your aunts and cousins were still there, terrified noise still annoyingly spilling from their lips.
“Where did he go?” You called through the clamor. While your cousin’s uproar hardly ceased, your aunt’s certainly did only to turn it onto you.
“What is that?” She snapped, rising to her feet as she motioned towards the bag on your back.
“Where is he?” You firmly asked once more, keeping your features steady even as she rushed for you.
“You think you can leave us?” She grabbed hold of the front of your outfit, giving you sharp shakes as her anger rose. “After what just happened? No, no.” She gave you a great shake once more. “You helped her. You let her kill my husband, you ungrateful--” You shoved your aunt away, a shout spilling from her lips as she stumbled backward.
You rushed out of the room and back through your home, finding wide-eyed housemaids peeking their heads out of doorways to watch you go. Few you had grown to call friends gave you weak smiles as you passed.
You shoved through the front entrance and found him walking unhurriedly down the path.
Walking away.
“Wait!” You shouted, heaving your bag higher up your back as you sprinted his way. “Please--wait!” The Medicine Seller paused, though didn’t turn to face you.
You huffed and puffed from the small excursion you had just rushed, watching his back as you tried to calm yourself. You watched the large wooden box strapped to his back full of so many grand mysteries. Watched his purple banana and the bits of ashy blond hair that pulled up into it. Watched the pointed ends of his ears as you silently begged him to turn his eyes onto you.
Begged him to watch you like how you were watching him.
“I--I wish to go with you.” You fell to your knees then, uncaring if the path dirtied your clothes. “My mother was the only person keeping me here. I would have left months ago had I not known something disgraceful had happened.” The palms of your hands joined your knees on the ground, the cold stone of the path biting at your skin.
“Get up!” Your aunt screeched. “How unbecoming--disgraceful--undeserving--” A foot stomped into your side, causing a pained sound to spill from your lips. Another foot was quick to stomp on you, swaying you from your position.
“I can cook.” You continued, keeping yourself steady against the onslaught of assaults your aunt was pounding into you. “And I can wash clothes. I am fast to learn--willing to be taught just--” Your aunt grabbed at the clothes on your back and pulled. Pulled hard enough you nearly came off the ground. You gave a frustrated shout, whipping around to a now surprised aunt. You gave her yet another shove. Harder this time. A shove that sent her flat to her ass on a howling yowl.
You resumed your position, breath heavy in your chest as you pressed your forehead against the rock path.
“Please allow me to follow you. At least until I have reached a land far, far from this one.” You finished your plea.
The air fell still--still except for that of the hissed curses and dishonors shot at you by your aunt.
The faint sound of a pair of getas moving closer had your breath catching in your throat.
Was he--truly?
“That would be quite…” You felt the pads of cool fingertips brush over the skin of your temple…then your cheek…then lower to tap at your chin. To tilt it upward and gaze upon his face. A face that seemed to once again steal the very air from your lungs. “Unorthodox.”
You took a moment to bask in his lovely features. In the sharpness of them. In the paleness of his skin and the powder blue of his eyes. In the red marking painted on that skin. In the purple that delictated lined his upper lip--lips that were just as delicate as its lip lining. Lips you couldn’t stop but focus on the longest. They looked so soft--like the wind or sun hadn’t touched them once in his life.
“Would it?” You found the strength to say. The peddler smirked down at you, eyes lighting in what you could only call humor.
“You are of--” He paused to lean down, the movement bringing your attention right back to his lips. “High respectability. You’re family would disagree.” You scoffed at his words, an action that only seemed to make that amusement shine brighter.
“No matter how they tried to hide it I am illegitimate--a bastard child born from the wickedness that had brewed in this house for far too long. I lay outside their silly names and the foolish respects put on them.”
He watched you. For a long while he watched you, those blue eyes seeming to peer so deeply into your soul.
Had anyone else peered through you in such a way, you would have shrunk away. Would have snapped at them to stop--but not him. When he did it, you only felt drawn in further. Felt the tip of his index and middle finger still resting under your chin spark and burn at the skin it touched.
“Mononoke,” He started, thumb pulling upward to brush just beneath your lip. You sucked in a shuddery breath, lips parting shamelessly. “All have their own truths. Truths as dark and darker still than that of your mothers.” His near-purred words sucked you in. Because the only thing you could and would hear in that moment was his voice. “Many people deserve their wrath, but that is not something we are allowed to decide. We save the living, no matter how wicked.”
He knew you had held out till the last moment to share your mother's three secrets. Knew you had turned a blind eye till the ones that hurt her had perished.
“I will not be meant to feel shamed for such a thing.” He gave a title of his head in a small nod.
“No. But you must learn,” Again his thumb smoothed over your chin. Soothed so close to your lips. Just inches away, “if you wish to go with me.” You nodded. And nodded again as excitement sparked in your chest.
“I will. It won’t happen again.” He watched you once more. Watched you in a way that wasn’t so deep and calculating as before. In a way that had your body shivering and aching to be blessed by it over and over again.
The peddler leaned even closer. So close you felt his steady breath against your cheeks. So close you couldn’t help your neck from arching just that much further as if you could steal even more.
“Ask me once more.” A shaky breath spilled from your lips. Your eyes drank in his mouth. A mouth that always looked so mischievous, but was truly matching its painted mask then.
“Please. Allow me to go with you.” Those fingers dragged under your chin slowly. Longer, purple-painted nails scratched lightly at your skin there before falling away altogether. You couldn’t help the little whine that bubbled in your throat as he moved away from you.
You watched him stand to his full height, the glow of the sun washing him in gold that nearly matched that of light his sword gifted him. A light the sun could not compare to. Could never dream of comparing itself to.
“Come,” He spoke, turning away from you once more. “We have long to travel.” You rushed to your feet, your excitement so strong you could hardly feel anything else.
Your aunt shouted and screamed and cursed at you as you rushed to the Medicine Seller's side. He glanced down at you just as you glanced up at him and you found you were all too ready to start this new chapter of your life. All too ready to go with him.
#mononoke#mononoke kusuriuri#mononoke 2007#mononoke fic#mononoke 2007 fic#mononoke 2006#kusuriuri x you#kusuriuri x reader#medicince seller#medicine seller fic#medicine seller x you#medicine seller x reader#ri kusuriuri x reader#ri kusuriuri x you#kusuriuri#kusuriuri fic#ri kusuriuri fic#ri kusuriuri#mononoke movie#mononoke 2024#dividers by thecutestgrotto#dividers by sweetmelodygraphics#my fics
108 notes
·
View notes
Text


sebastian vettel and lewis hamilton visit the stewards regarding a crash during the japanese grand prix, china - october 5, 2007 📷 greg baker / apimages.com
#lewis hamilton#sebastian vettel#f1#formula 1#chinese gp 2007#flashback fic ref#flashback fic ref 2007#china#china 2007#china 2007 friday#sewis#(note to self: lewis was accused of braking under the sc which made seb rear-end webber)
138 notes
·
View notes
Text
I Want You to Want Me



Pairing: Neil Lewis x F!Reader
Fandom: Watching the Detectives
Summary: Neil receives a frantic call and finds you outside of Gumshoe after a date night gone wrong. Secretly habouring feelings for you ever since the two of you met, he finds you oddly irresistable in your tears and torn fishnets.
Warnings: SMUT, mutual pining, dub-con touching, dryhumping, riding, foreplay, teasing, begging (m), masturbation (m), clothed sex (semi), Neil being a wet paper towel, so just Neil being Neil, pervy Neil, switch!Neil, slight dom but mostly sub!Neil because c'mon guys it's NEIL, slight dom!reader, body worship, public sex (technically?), premature ejaculation (sort of?), angst, some fluff? by my standards anyway lol so take that with a grain of salt -- this ended up being more wholesome than I thought it would be
Inspired by this cover of I Want You To Want Me (the reader's song) and Creep (Neil's song) by Radiohead.
Huge thanks to @your-nanas-house for getting me started with a prompt for this and cheering me on!
Totally nicked the "jock boyfriend" inspo from @cillianmesoftlyyy's fic here; go check that out if you want more spicy Neil content, because it was fantastic!
And thank you and also fuck you to @rysko for dramatically beta reading this in my ear WHILE I WAS TRYING TO MAKE THE HEADER
And now that I'm done thanking every fic writer on tumblr, my parents, the Royal Society for the Prevention of Birds, and Saturn and all of its rings, enjoy your filth!
WC: 4239

He found you outside the back door of Gumshoe, huddled against the concrete step, the cool air of the spring night nipping at the wet tears that streaked your cheeks, the slight breeze stirring a shiver from one fretful limb to the next. The whites of your eyes burned red beneath the faint glow of the lanterns atop the neighbour’s picket fence. It wasn’t exactly the most incognito place to cry your eyes out, but you didn’t have a key to Neil’s store, and it was nearly three in the morning.
“Hey, I got your call. What’s going on?” A familiar voice broke the pitiful sounds of your sobbing, and the tension of your shoulders eased if only slightly at the mere sound.
You tried to answer past your sobs, but found that your words came only in hiccups, in broken fragments of your splintered heart, and it didn’t take long for him to sweep an arm around your shoulders, lowering himself to sit beside you on the cold step. Instinctively, you found yourself leaning into his touch, trembling against the warmth of his body.
Neil was never really great at these sorts of things to begin with, but it certainly didn’t help that his attention was drawn to the low-cut top where a tear streaked down the groove of your breasts, to the fishnets that you’d torn on your way out the door of your boyfriend’s, to the short skirt that rode up just enough for him to catch a glimpse of the lace hem of your panties.
He swallowed, his throat suddenly dry, and he tried to keep his eyes on the face you so desperately tried to hide with your trembling fingers, for you were ashamed of your unkempt appearance. You must’ve looked like a cheap whore – a mess of one, no less. You couldn’t tell what was more embarrassing: the way you were dressed, like you were begging for attention, or the way your emotions seized you so cruelly that you could scarcely breathe.
“Hey.” His warm, careful touch landed on your wrist, and as you pulled your fingers from your lashes, they came away black with smudged mascara. “I’m here,” your friend said. “Tell me what happened.”
You could still only speak in hiccups and broken vowels.
“Shhh,” Neil soothed you, fingers running up and down your spine, sending tiny shivers through each nerve as the fabric of your shirt bunched and his skin brushed yours. “Shhh. I’m here.”
Resting your head on his shoulder, your hair spilled in sticky threads over the jacket that, judging by the slight musty scent that lingered in the weave of the corduroy, had probably missed one too many washes. But you didn’t care. You’d come to appreciate the little imperfections about him, the details of his scent that made Neil Neil. Like the waxy tinge that seemed to always cling to his fingers after a long shift of rolling back tapes. Like the silk cream and smoke of the vanilla candle you’d gifted him last week. Like the artificial scent of cheap shaving cream and the slightest hint of blood where he’d nicked himself with the razor. The musk of his sweat and skin, buried beneath all these little things that you’d come to know almost as intimately as your own.
But there was something else, something you couldn’t quite pinpoint. And its unfamiliarity unnerved you.
His other hand came to rest on your knee, hot as fire in the cold of night. He thumbed at the tear in your fishnets and looked at you with bright, concerned eyes, but he used this as an excuse to touch you.
“Did he hurt you?” Neil asked. His hand stayed on your knee. In a way, it felt comforting; it grounded you enough so that, finally, after lulled by the rise and fall of his shoulder and the unique blend of his scent, you could speak.
“Is that cologne?” You wrinkled your nose and drew back to look him in the eye, your tangled hair peeling reluctantly from his corduroy jacket.
A rose blush came upon Neil’s cheeks, and he smiled nervously. He’d been sure to spritz himself with a good helping of it before he left, despite his hurried state. He needed to impress you; ever since you’d started dating that jock from across the street, he’d been trying to find more ways to steal your attention back.
“Yeah, it’s new,” he said, a little flustered, in a way that made your stomach flutter. “I wanted to ask for your opinion on what I should get, but you – well…” His voice cracked a bit as a hint of sadness crept into his tone. “… you’ve been pretty busy lately.”
“It’s awful,” you told him, laughing slightly, and your words seemed to cheer him up; his lips tugged into that playful grin of his again, and a deep chuckle rumbled from his throat.
And then you both fell into silence, and he looked back to your knee, still thumbing the skin where the fabric had torn.
“You didn’t answer my question,” Neil said.
You swallowed, another lump forming in your throat, and when you looked at him, bottom lip in your teeth, reddened eyes pouting, rimmed by your messed mascara, his heart sped in his chest in both fear and arousal. The thought of James even touching you boiled his blood, made his skin crawl and tightened a noose round his neck, but seeing you like this, baring your soul to him with those tear-brimmed eyes and mournfully upturned brows, it made him want you even more.
If he’d been the one to take you out tonight, he would’ve brought you home to his bed, worshipped each inch of your hallowed skin and made love to you like you were the only woman in the world, splayed his fingers across your thighs and parted them like a sea, dropped to his knees and prayed with the hungered strokes of his tongue and lapped at your holy waters.
He’d started reading poetry lately. It had felt right; it was the only thing that seemed to express just how he felt about you. Echoed the words in private like they were gospel; chanted your name from desperate lips as he palmed himself each night – and morning – to your photographs, to the vanilla of the candle that reminded him so much of you, to the fantasy of your sweat-slicked thighs wrapped around his waist, your walls clenched around him as he bucked his hips against your weight and finally let himself go, spilling himself inside you and hearing you moan so sweetly for him from those heavenly lips, feeling his own cum dampen his stomach as you collapsed over him. He always knew you’d be so tight, that you’d fit so perfect around him.
But sitting here, staring at your shivering, impotent form in your torn fishnets and your skimpy attire, he could barely contain the urge to tear open your knees and fuck you against the concrete. It had been so long since he’d even been this close to you; James took up all of your time nowadays, and gone were the late movie nights and stolen games of basketball on the breaks he took so liberally.
He missed you. So much.
And you knew it. You knew it, deep in your chest where the remnants of your heart twisted, still hearing the words, “You’ve been pretty busy lately.”
You shook your head, choking out another sob as shame crept along your skin, and you shivered at its grotesque touch. “No, he didn’t hurt me… not – not in that way.”
You couldn’t look at him; his pearlescent blue eyes and his sun-kissed freckles and his boyish brown locks all fading into memory as you buried your face in his chest, inhaling once more the faint scent of his laundry detergent and the musk of him beneath the shirt that was flipped inside-out but still outlined the blatant logo of Back to the Future. Whether he hadn’t realised he’d put it on backwards or he’d been shy about it, you couldn’t be sure, but it lightened your heart all the same, your sobs turning to giggles.
Neil pulled you closer, his chin resting along the nape of your neck and his hand running up your thigh; you barely noticed how near his hand was to your panties as you tugged at his shirt, nails sinking past the fabric as if to keep him and never let him go.
You regretted all that time you’d spent with James, when you should have been spending it with him instead. Everything felt so much easier with him; your smiles were broader, your laughter more carefree.
But you wanted more – selfish and lovesick, you wanted more than what he already gave you. You needed more than his attention and his friendship.
You needed him to want you.
“I thought that…” You sniffled. “… I thought that James wanted me. I dressed up all… nice… fucking whorish… and I thought tonight was finally the night and that he would’ve… that he would’ve…”
The words twisted in your throat, and you squeezed your eyes shut. Two hours ago, when you did up your makeup and clothes for your date with James, you’d felt sexy. Powerful, even.
Now, you just felt worthless.
Neil nestled his nose in the crook of your neck, brushed the silk strands of your hair aside, breathed your scent in so deeply that for a moment, the butterflies came back to the pit of your stomach.
“I just want to be wanted,” you admitted, losing it, sobbing uncontrollably into the now-damp shirt that clung to his thin frame. “I just want to be desired. That was the only reason I was with him, Neil. The way he looked at me that day when he came into the store, I…”
With a bitter pang in his chest, Neil remembered that day. The way James had looked at you like you were a piece of meat. The way he’d asked you if had any recommendations on which sports film he should rent and Neil had practically wedged himself between the two of you and started chattering to James about every little piece of trivia he knew about Chariots of Fire and Rocky. How, despite his efforts, James had still gone home with your number as well as the tapes. How you’d come in the next morning with a hickey on your neck and Neil had just known that where James had paused one of the tapes was when your movie night was likely cut short by… things he’d rather not think about ever again.
It should’ve been his couch you’d been curled up on, should’ve been him watching the movie with you. His mark on your neck.
And he would’ve picked something a little more fitting for the mood, too. Something more like Casablanca or Sin City. It was as if James didn’t even have to try to get you drooling over him. What was so special about him, anyway?
I wish I was special, Neil thought.
Neil’s grip on you tightened at the memory, nails digging in to the flesh of your thigh in a way that stirred a little gasp from your lungs, huffing against his collarbone as you tilted your head up to look at him.
“Y/N.” His breath caught in his throat, and he reluctantly pulled from your neck to look you in the eye, locks of messy hair falling across his forehead and his eyes half-lidded. His fingers ghosted up your thigh, and you blinked past the sharp mint of his mouthwash – it burned your eyes slightly, but you didn’t care. You were so close to him, your breaths became one, a few threads of his hair tickling your cheeks and his nose brushing yours.
“Neil,” you breathed, the slightest of smiles tugging at your lip as your heart thudded between your legs, dangerously close to his fingers. Warmth spread across each fevered limb, taking you somewhere past the cold concrete and bitter chill of the wind, somewhere away from the graffiti-painted alley and the reek of broken booze bottles. Somewhere safe, and warm, and thrilling all at once.
“You’re so fucking beautiful.” Neil’s voice cracked around the words, a nervous laugh huffing against your fluttering lashes as his freckled cheeks darkened another shade of red. The hand that wasn’t between your legs played with a lock of your hair, twirling it in his finger but still supporting you beneath a quivering arm.
You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t believe this was real.
He had to have been playing some sick joke, right?
But the whimper that fell from his lips was very real, as his nails dug into your flesh again and he tugged you closer, his hips arching upward against your outer thigh.
“You look more than nice. You’re so fucking hot in this skirt, in anything you wear. That asshole is fucking blind,” he breathed, fingers grazing your panties and landing over your hipbone, testing the waters more and more as he tried not to rock his growing arousal too obviously against you.
But you noticed. You noticed the way his cock hardened and twitched beneath your weight; you noticed how even despite his body trembling from his attempts to resist his primal urges, his hips still gave little bucks upward, seeking friction. Seeking the heat that flared between your thighs, that ached for him so desperately that it was all you could do not to return the favour.
He couldn’t take it anymore. Staring into those gorgeous, bright eyes. Looking up at him with anything but innocence. So he scooped both hands around your ass, squeezing the flesh and lace and tugging you properly onto his lap with an alluring squeal tearing from your full lips.
“I want you, Y/N.” His hot breath pooled at your collarbone as he trailed wet, sloppy kisses along your jaw, your neck, and your lips parted in another gasp, back arching and thighs clenching around his waist as you ground wet panties against the bulge in his trousers.
“I fucking need you,” he whined, nipping like a needy puppy at the delicate skin of your neck. “Always have.” Another kiss. “Ever since I first saw you. Long before James.” A possessive growl stirred from his throat at that, the flare of dominance sending a jolt through your core.
“Neil, I – oh my God.” A moan broke your words as his fingers moved up your spine and his teeth grazed your collarbone, hovering over your pulse point.
“Fuck, baby. Say that again. Just like that.” His fingers began rolling your shirt up over the lip of your breasts, the sight enough to make him whine again in need. He couldn’t help himself from groping you, squeezing your breasts and rolling one nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Bending his neck to trail more sloppy kisses down your torso, they were his next destination.
“Oh my – Neil. Neil, I – “ You had so much to tell him, so much you needed off your chest, but his hips bucked sharply against you at the sound of his name moaned so beautifully, a low groan in his throat and his cock digging slightly inside your heat, the fabric of your panties scraping almost painfully against your walls.
“Please, Y/N, please don’t make me stop. Please let me keep touching you like this. I wanna worship you.” His hot breath shattered against a pert nipple. “Wanna fucking prove to you how much I want you.”
For a few moments, you were rendered speechless, mind whirring like the wheels on a VHS. Everything was happening so fast, and the warmth of his touch was seeping into you like honey, inundating you in a sort of comforting flame.
He could almost smell the vanilla of the candle wick burning.
You left nail marks down his chest where you clawed at the collar of his shirt, but he didn’t care. He sucked a nipple past his teeth and moaned around the taste of you, the sound so filthy that your eyes nearly rolled back in your skull as your parted lips tipped to the heavens. His name outlined by their perfect shape.
Reality came crashing down around you as you jumped, another squeal leaving your tongue as his teeth bit at your nipple and pain shot along your nerve endings.
“I’m sorry,” he breathed, chest heaving, looking up at you with reverent eyes. “I didn’t mean to, I – “
You cupped his chin in your palm and shook your head. “No, Neil. I’m sorry.” A tear streaked down your cheek, beaded on your jawline. “I’m so, so sorry.” You were beginning to sob again, and his brow furrowed in concern, thumb beginning to trace small circles along your spine. “I’m sorry I abandoned you for James, I didn’t… I shouldn’t have. I didn’t know you felt this way, I – I’m so sorry.”
“Nothing to be sorry for,” he told you, his words sinking into your skin like a warm tide. With one hand, he brushed the tear from your jaw and wove his fingers into your hair, pulling you closer. “Just let me keep touching you. Please.”
When you didn’t respond for a moment, caught up in the way his blue eyes seemed to hollow with a certain hunger, the way his chest rose and fell beneath the bare flesh of your stomach, he uttered that word again:
“Please.”
You smiled, elated and giddy with joy, blood pounding with arousal, and kissed him, threading your own fingers into the fluffy locks of his hair.
Another tear streaked across your lips as they met his, and you tasted like salt and vanilla, slightly waxy from your chap-stick but the sweetest thing he’d tasted nonetheless. At first, he was embarrassed by the noises he made, the way he’d accidentally called you “baby” because he’d always wanted to do so, but he melted beneath you like butter. Nothing mattered anymore except the fact that you were finally his, that you were in his arms and grinding against his cock.
Neil broke the kiss to pull your shirt over your head, tossing it aside somewhere on the concrete – he would buy you a new one. His hands flattened against your back and pulled you flush to his chest, taking any excuse he could to hear that little squeal you made each time.
“Please, baby, please let me be inside you,” he whined, biting his lip as he stared up at you with those powder-blue eyes. Nails dug into your skin. Hips bucked against yours.
Your heart soared with his words, his worship, his want; you’d never been this ecstatic in your whole life. Part of you wanted to keep teasing him, make him beg, while another part of you ached to feel him buried to the hilt inside you.
“Patience, Neil,” you giggled, as you undid his trousers. You worked them down to his knees and your eyes widened as your hand brushed his cock, bare and springing flush against his stomach. You hadn’t expected him to not wear boxers.
Neil smiled sheepishly up at you, eyes still lidded, mouth still panting out a fevered breath. “I was in a rush getting dressed. I…” His cheeks reddened, and there was something so cute about how pathetic he looked in that moment. “You wanna know how much I want you, Y/N? I was touching myself thinking of you when you called.”
Creep, some voice in the back of his head hissed.
You bit your lip to suppress a moan, trying to ward off thoughts of Neil stroking himself to you, finishing to the thought of you. Oh, how you wished you could have witnessed the sight.
“Did you come?” you asked, a devious grin pulling at your lips as you took him in your hand, massaging a bead of pre-cum into his sensitive flesh.
His eyes fluttered, and he shook his head, his words coming out as a breathy whine,
“No, I promise. I didn’t come. Not yet.”
“Will you?” You dipped your head to let your words tickle his neck, your grip on him tightening.
“Yes,” he moaned. “Yes, yes, oh God, I will. Fuck, baby. Fuck, gonna come if you don’t stop that, need to come inside you, please, please…”
His mutterings trailed off into a low hiss of a whine, and your movements stilled, dragging him to his peak and letting him teeter at the edge as you both caught your breaths, chest heaving and a cold chill racing down your sweat-slicked back, thighs trembling around him.
“You sure you can handle this?” you purred against his ear before pulling back once more to witness the shivering mess you’d made him, priding yourself in your accomplishment. Lining his cock up with your entrance, the fabric of your panties scraped his tip teasingly as you slotted them to the side.
Neil looked up at you like you were some kind of goddess, his breathing coming laboured, his throat stripped of words. The dazed, blissful look he gave you was all the answer you needed. But you wanted to reap him of every last praise he had.
“Use your words, Neil,” you giggled, smirking.
“Ah…” His lips parted, near soundless. You watched intently as they formed the word “Please”.
You almost felt bad for him.
But it wasn’t pity that brought your hips down around him, slowly, teasingly, savouring the stretch of him against your walls and the fullness in your belly, but rather, your own need.
Neil’s head rolled back against the brick wall, blood welling at his lip where he bit it to keep himself from toppling over his peak; he nearly did it to himself when he bucked his hips upward, burying himself inside you, making you whimper at the pain that blended so sordidly with the pleasure. Your fingers tugged at his hair, and your nails grazed his scalp, and every little sensation sent him into overdrive. He used these little things to ground himself, as you had his tangled scents; he focused on how smooth your stomach felt against his own, his shirt hiking up so that you were skin to skin; he focused on the noises you made, huffing and whimpering, as you began to ride him; he focused on the softness of the breast that he cupped in his hand. Tried not to think about how you felt better than he’d imagined, how you clenched so tightly around his cock that he was almost pushed out each time you elevated your hips, but were so wet for him that he slid back inside so seamlessly each time.
“Neil,” you moaned as you fucked yourself on his cock, breast bouncing beneath his thumb, skirt fluttering around the bareness of his thighs. “Neil, fuck. Fuck.”
“Baby, I’m s—sorry. I’m gonna…”
You yelped again as pain shot deep inside your core, his hips bucking against yours with a violence you hadn’t known sweet Neil from the VHS store to possess, bottoming out inside you as his nails dug into the now-abused skin of your back and pulling you close, so close you were panting over his shoulder and his breath shattered against your ear. The hand that had been cupping your breast shot up to cradle your head, petting your hair.
He held you to him so tight, you didn’t think he’d ever let go. And you couldn’t have been happier.
Warmth spilled around his cock, sticky against your thighs, painting your insides white. You shuddered around him, balling his hair into a fist and digging your own, sharper nails, against his back.
“I didn’t mean it to be over so fast,” he mumbled into your neck. “I just… you’re so… fuck, I’ve been waiting for this for so long.”
“So have I,” you breathed. You practically hugged each other, shivering in the night air but content in each other’s warmth. “Don’t worry.” Pulling away slightly, you smiled down at him, cheeks flushing bright red. “If anything, it… it’s endearing.”
“Really?” he chuffed out a laugh.
“It…” you looked down, unable to meet that crystalline gaze. “It makes me feel wanted.” You pecked a quick kiss to his jaw, and could’ve sworn you saw love in his eyes when you pulled away.
“God, you’re perfect.” His voice broke again as his lips sought yours, and his breath hitched in his chest when the action caused you to rock your hips forward, a new sensation he’d never felt before buzzing along his skin. His mouth hung open and you laid kisses to his lips, his jaw, the Adam’s apple that bobbed along his throat. He felt his cock stiffen again inside you, already eager for Round Two.
“I should take you home,” he murmured, hands running up and down your sides. “You must be so cold.” As if just realising that he still had his jacket on, Neil shrugged it off in haste and wrapped the heavy material around your shoulders. A chill ran down your spine, as the material was damp with sweat – you smiled at how predictably forgettable he was when he had a woman on his lap, just as you’d imagined –, but his scent soothed you.
Though you were cold, it was a small sacrifice to make to stay here, with him buried so deep inside you that you felt dizzy in the head. Depleted of your energy and sinking into his warmth, you smirked, and rested your chin on his shoulder.
“I was thinking of just staying like this a while,” you admitted.
“Whatever makes you happy,” he breathed, hugging you even tighter. “Whatever you want.”

A.N. Sorry if this was a bit rough, guys. I smashed this one out the other day because I was tired of my writer's block.
I actually laid into some themes that I was planning on using for a Dark!Neil fic based on the song "Creep" which I don't know when I'll get around to writing, but let me know if you guys would like to hear more about the idea for the series or are interested.
MASTERLIST • REQUEST

Please let me know if you would like to be added/removed to any of my taglists and notified of new works!
Taglist: @emotionalcadaver @zablife @shelbydelrey @look-at-the-soul @brummiereader @mrkdvidal1989 @fiercelittlemouse @ohwellthatslifesstuff @purplesnorlaxplush @henrywintersdearestgirl @goblinjnr @mizzbel @s0urmarvel @onasmoko @elenavampire21 @rysko @chris-seb-marvel @muhahaha303 @novemberschy @thatonesinglefriend @forgottenpeakywriter @youbyradiohead @your-nanas-house @onehornedbeast @kiss-me-cill-me @ilovefictionalpsychopaths @birminghamshelbyboys @sometimes-i-sing

#neil lewis#neil lewis x reader#neil lewis x you#neil lewis smut#neil lewis imagines#neil lewis fanfic#neil lewis fic#cillian murphy x reader#cillian murphy x you#cillian murphy smut#cillian murphy fanfic#cillian murphy#neil lewis watching the detectives#watching the detectives 2007#watching the detectives#fuck james#all my homies hate james#s: i want you to want me
600 notes
·
View notes
Text
sebastian vettel and michael schumacher during the race of champions, london - december 14, 2007 📷 andrew ferraro / motorsport images
#sebastian vettel#michael schumacher#f1#formula 1#flashback fic ref#flashback fic ref 2007#not a race#2007 not a race#post-season#post-season 2007#roc#roc 2007#race of champions#race of champions 2007#with michael
112 notes
·
View notes
Text




07 to me.
#tmnt#tmnt 2007#tmnt donatello#mikey tmnt#tmnt leonardo#tmnt raphael#incorrect quotes#family issues#fix it fic#tmnt incorrect quotes
285 notes
·
View notes
Note
Uhuuh if you don't mind for the injury promo maybe 12 with splinter/lou and his boys, pls?
dialogue prompts
12. “Where are they? Where are they?!”
this one got away from me :') rise/2012 crossover babyyyyyyy
x
Splinter’s counterpart reacted to the news of their sons’ abduction with a level of dramatics that he would never ascribe to his own self.
“What?” the shorter rat (“Call me Lou,” he had said, and then proceeded not to explain why) squawked at the disheveled humans still trying to collect their breath at the entrance of the lair. “When did this happen? How did this happen? There were TEN of you!”
Casey and April both winced in face of the not-unwarranted scolding. The children had had perhaps too much confidence as they left together earlier that evening. Donatello’s computer had alerted him in the middle of dinner to a new lead on the gang whose activity they had been following for the past weeks. Raphael had smashed his fists together, a wicked grin on his face, and said they should strike while their forces were doubled and make those ‘goons’ regret robbing every pharmacy in Manhattan north of The Battery.
“Tiny feral Raph is hilarious,” Lou’s Purple had said in a deadpan. “And also alarmingly down to commit atrocities. I want to ride with him.”
And now, not even two full hours later, their human companions returned to report a resounding failure.
Casey, scowling at the floor, said, “They got the drop on us. The door sealed as soon as we were in and the room started filling up with gas.”
“They said they were chemists,” April added. She couldn’t lift her head enough to look Splinter in the eye, staring hard somewhere near his shoulder instead. “One of their colleagues was mutated about a year ago and they’ve been studying the mutagen ever since. I don’t know what they want with the boys, but they made it sound like the gas was made with the turtle’s physiology in mind. That it would outright kill me and Casey, but shouldn’t harm them.”
Lou was bristling, tail lashing. “‘Shouldn’t’ is the word they used?” he gritted out.
“Yeah. It hit them hard in seconds. But Blue—uh, your Leo—” Casey said, with an uncomfortable sideways look at Lou, “—he managed to get one of his swords out and portaled me and April away. We waited for like five minutes to see if he’d get anyone else out, but…”
But no one came goes unsaid.
Splinter tapped his walking stick on the floor once to recall their focus, warm affection filling his chest for these little Hamato adoptees who fell haphazardly into his clan.
“Lou is correct,” he said. “It is unfortunate that your team was so quickly overwhelmed. We will discuss how to better handle situations like this another time.”
Both humans stood a little taller when it became clear that that conversation would be tabled for the time being, and April finally found it within herself to meet Splinter’s eyes.
“For now—” he started, only for Lou to cut him off with a sound not unlike a cat whose tail had just been stepped on.
“Don’t put words in my mouth,” the shorter rat snapped. “I don’t care if they lost within two minutes, let alone two hours. I only meant,” he went on, with a hard look at the teenagers, “that you should have called the instant you were in danger! Why on earth would you run all the way home like this without letting us know what had happened, putting yourselves at unnecessary risk? This organization could have had additional members waiting to pick you off when you were alone! You could have at least made time to send a text!”
Casey and April looked absolutely bewildered. Their respect for Splinter was so deeply ingrained by now that it carried over to this odd likeness of him but they did not seem to know what to do with this manner of reprimand.
“Uh,” Casey said eloquently. “Splinter doesn’t have a phone.”
“There was the cheese phone,” April interjected. “Sorry, I mean, he had a landline. But the wiring got messed up awhile ago and Donnie never got around to fixing it.”
“You have seven children,” Lou seethed, narrowing his eyes at Splinter, “and you don’t see the importance of having a working phone?”
Splinter frowned. He was taken aback by the number seven, but more so by this hostility that seemed to have sprung up from nowhere.
“We have gotten along just fine. Donatello’s inclination towards technology was not inherited from me.”
“There’s no time to continue this conversation, and if we do I am liable to start screaming profanities anyway. Jones, O’Neil, take me to my boys.”
Lou was still bristling with anger, only now that Splinter was looking closer, he saw that the shorter rat was actually bristling. His fur was standing up as though with electric static.
“If even one scale on their shells has been harmed,” he added darkly, to no one in particular, “there will be hell to pay.”
April led the way to the garage at a sprint, hopping up without breaking stride to grab the keys from their hook on the wall just inside the door. She tossed the keys to Casey and claimed the front passenger seat for herself, leaving the two fathers to pile into the back of the van.
It wasn’t until she was still that Splinter noticed her fingertips were red and raw from where she had bitten the nails down to the quick. As Casey started the engine, her thumbnail found its way back between her teeth, blue eyes feverish with worry as she stared into the middle distance.
She was very anxious, for all that she seemed determined to keep it to herself in present company. Her sideways glance at Casey made it clear that she wanted to share her thoughts with him; a flick of her eyes toward the rearview mirror decided her continued silence.
On the bench seat beside him, Splinter watched Lou take out his own phone. It was a thin flat device, held in a protective case that looked like it would probably survive an apocalypse. The caller ID on the screen was a picture of that behemoth snapping turtle in a fuzzy pink hoodie, squeezed cheek-to-cheek with his tiny spotted brother so they both fit into the frame.
“Red, this is no time to screen my calls!” Lou said when the tinny automated voice encouraged him to leave a message. “Contact me at once or you are grounded for a month! No, two months!”
“They are probably in no position to answer,” Splinter pointed out, Lou’s restlessness leaving him feeling ill-at-ease. “I am sure they are fine. My sons have been in situations like this countless times.”
Lou pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yoshi, I’m going to level with you. I don’t know how to explain that it’s weird you have become desensitized to the news that your children are in danger. My Baby Blue once locked himself inside a prison dimension with an evil killing machine, and less than a year after that he almost cracked his foolish head open on that ridiculous half-pipe mimicking some superstar skater, and my soul left my body in exactly the same manner both times. That never changes. It has never gone away.”
It was disingenuous of Lou to presume that Splinter did not worry after his sons. Of course he did. They were his greatest pride and it was a privilege he did not deserve to have raised them.
But they were not the clumsy toddlers they once were; at some point, the parent must let go of the bicycle and step back, or the child will never learn to ride it.
Splinter could not say he had ever taken the time to consider what it might have been like to meet another version of himself—one who had lived a similar life but had made different choices. He almost did not recognize himself at all in the fussy, short-tempered mutant sitting beside him.
Lou checked his phone no less than eleven more times during the twenty-minute drive. By the time Casey finally announced, “This is it,” Lou was out of the van before it had even begun to slow.
“The two of you must remain here,” Splinter told the teenagers in the front firmly. He couldn’t help but think of Lou’s scolding from earlier, and added, “If there is any sign of danger, escape at once and go to the Mutanimals. They will help.”
“I texted the group chat earlier and they haven’t seen it yet,” Casey said, flicking through his phone to double-check.
“We can’t just leave you,” April added with enough stubborn loyalty that she could have been Raphael’s twin sister.
“You absolutely can leave us, or you will be grounded, too,” Lou interjected from over by the door, his voice taking on that sharp no-nonsense tone Splinter had last heard directed at Blue over breakfast to curb his relentless teasing of Donatello.
‘It is just how he and Purple show affection to each other,’ Lou had explained to Donatello, whose shoulders had begun to creep up towards his ears the longer Blue carried on. ‘That does not make it any less irritating for the rest of us though!’
‘Skill issue,’ his twins said in unison.
‘I will cram all three of you into the get-along shirt! Do not test me!’ Lou had snapped in that particular tone that caused his children to grumble and sulk but ultimately obediently subside.
Similarly, April scowled but did not seem willing to argue any further. Splinter would have expected her to give a Miwa-worthy retort that she was too old to be grounded and not Splinter’s daughter to discipline besides, but she only jerked her chin in a barely passable nod and said nothing more. An equally unhappy but unargumentative Casey turned off the headlights and twirled the steering wheel, backing the van up and parking it by the access road.
Lou had already kicked the reinforced door down by the time Splinter joined him, and he barely had a moment to think My seventeen-year-olds are stealthier than that before he realized Lou had not come with stealth in mind.
He had the first unfortunate human within his line of sight pinned to the ground with a knife in seconds, barking, “Where are they? Where are they?”
The human, caught unawares, coughed at the unforgiving pressure on her windpipe, and managed to wheeze out, “Wh-who do you—”
“You are a scientist, and therefore I know you are not an idiot,” Lou hissed, much like the animal he had been mutated with. “Do not waste my time acting like one.”
The woman scrabbled at his arms, for what little good it did. Her eyes, behind the clear visor of the gas mask, were wide with fear. To her credit, she steeled herself enough to cling to whatever mission she and her associates seemed to have rallied behind, saying, “So many incredible things could be—be accomplished—if we had a chance to study the mutagen more closely, if we had test subjects with human-like intelligence. It’s closer to magic than science, and we could do so much—”
“You would experiment on children? My children? Turn them into lab rats?” The last he said with a very personal sort of dark anger. The scientist coughed again, and her renewed struggles were a desperate, animalistic thing as she lost the last of her air beneath the unrelenting press of Lou’s hand. “Is that what you think you should be saying to me? Is that what you think will save you—an appeal to the greater good?”
Splinter dispatched the handful of people who streamed into the room in a series of swift strikes. They were unconscious before they hit the ground.
“Lou,” he said, “that is enough. We are here for our sons.”
He was not unsettled by the shorter rat’s capacity for violence. He knew himself better than that. But he did not understand Lou’s hair-trigger temper, his turtle-shaped blind spot. He couldn’t speak for the other’s students, but Splinter’s own were experienced, and tempered, and incredibly skilled. After everything they survived and accomplished together up until now, he found it hard to believe that an organization of regular humans could pose much of a threat to their well-being.
From the way Lou was acting, it was as if he was any ordinary parent whose ordinary children had been taken in the night.
Splinter shifted to intervene when the woman Lou had pinned continued to choke. Finally, Lou released her enough that she could heave in desperate breaths.
“You would not actually kill her,” Splinter chided him, no fan of theatrics.
“Someone has not been paying attention,” Lou replied shortly. “If my boys are hurt, I will burn this building down with everyone inside it. Honor can go hang itself.”
With that, he removed the woman’s gas mask and informed her that she would lead them to the turtles without making a scene, or she would bleed to death on the floor and they would find the turtles on their own. White-faced, she wisely settled for the first option.
Leading them toward the back of the building, where rooms that were once offices had since been repurposed into labs and testing areas, the woman said hoarsely, “I didn’t know they were kids.”
Like clockwork, Lou’s fur bristled with offense. “They are wearing matching Sanrio hoodies. They speak in memes. I am sure at least one of them called you a boomer to your face.”
“No, I meant,” she said, touching her bruised throat briefly before dropping her hand, “I meant I didn’t know they were someone’s kids. I’m—I wouldn’t have—sorry. We were trying to do good. I’m sorry.”
“Hmph. I will consider forgiving you in roughly one hundred years as long as my turtles are completely fine. This door here?”
He kicked it down before she could move her head more than one half-inch in a nod. There was a flurry of excitement inside, and then Blue’s voice rang out, “Daddy!”
He sounded ecstatic to see his father, but not at all shocked. His words were a little slurred as he went on, “I told them you’d be here any minute. Our cousins over there wanted to stage a break-out, and I was like. Just nap. You know? Just take five. See, Miguel’s got the right idea.”
“Hush, silly turtle,” Lou said, his tone now a complete departure from how he had sounded for the last half hour. “Come here, let me look at you all. I need to be absolutely certain no one in this building deserves to die before we leave.”
Splinter joined him inside the room in time to take in the sight of the shorter rat attempting to hold all four of his much larger sons in his arms. Orange was deeply asleep in Red’s lap, his smaller stature probably contributing to the higher concentration of the drug in his system. The twins were upright at a forty-five degree angle, and Red himself seemed groggy but alert for the most part. They were smiling as they absorbed their father's fussy attention, leaning into his hands.
Comparatively, Splinter’s own sons were swaying where they sat. Michelangelo’s eyes were open, but his head was resting on Donatello’s shoulder, Donatello’s cheek propped on the crown of his little brother’s head. Raphael was wired, digging fingers into his thighs to keep himself awake, while Leonardo seemed to have been startled out of a meditation by the door crashing down.
They all lurched with surprise to see Splinter standing there. Leonardo in particular gazed up at him with wide eyes, as if he didn’t know what to do now that the task of rescuing the seven others was no longer his responsibility. As if he had no experience with a burden being lifted away once he had decided it was his to carry.
For the first time all night, Splinter faltered.
On the other side of the room, Blue said, “I’m, uh, sorry. I wanted to get us out, but I didn’t have time for more than one door.”
“Dum-dum,” Purple said succinctly. “O’Neil and Jones would be dead if they were still here.”
“Dee’s right for once, Leon,” Red rumbled, “you made the only call you could.”
“But I should have been able to save everyone, right?” Blue said. “I’m the leader.”
“You,” Lou said sternly, holding Blue’s face in both hands, “are seventeen.”
That’s right, Splinter found himself thinking, looking down at his eldest son. The brilliant boy he taught to read, the one he taught to fold origami flowers for his mother and sister’s shrine, the one he had stopped holding one day without even realizing it. He is.
#rottmnt#rise of the tmnt#tmnt 2012#splinter#hamato yoshi#lou jitsu#ratdad#hamato leonardo#disaster twins#tmnt 2k12#my writing#prompt#tmnt fic#wandering-between-the-stars#i have been awake for almost a full 24 hours#i almost made this a 2007 crossover instead because 07 splinter is my least favorite#but it would have been too easy for me to be unfair towards 07 splinter i think
172 notes
·
View notes
Text
How to Calm a Man - Robert Capa
Capa!Patient(29) x Fem!Psychologist!Reader(25)
Plot: (kind of a silly plot and beginning but trust it’s good) On the Icarus II ship, physicist Robert Capa meets the Gardner and psychologist aboard and can’t resist her ‘man calming’ treatment.
Content: smut, handjob (m), riding, therapy sex, slight teasing, cream-pie, unprotected pv, oral (f), face riding, semi public setting
Aboard the Icarus II, I join the group of the ‘real’ scientists as they say while they discuss a new radiation detection device currently being manufactured. I sit next to a long haired man in a tank top at the back of the room. He was the physicist, the one who created this idea for a radiation detector.
His head turned to me as I sat next to him in my tight, colourful, tank top and yoga pants. Though I hadn’t been looking straight at him, I could feel his eyes glaring to the side of my face.
“I don’t believe we've been properly introduced yet.” I turned to him, breaking the awkwardness of his stare. “Dr Y/L/N.” I grinned warmly, holding my hand out to him. He took my hand in his and shook it lightly.
“Capa, Robert Capa.” He replied shyly, “You’re positioned in the greenhouse.” He nodded, taking recognition of me. His flashing blue eyes analyzed my every feature.
“Yes I am a horticulturist, but I also have a degree and work in psychology.”
Capa leaned back slightly, intrigued by what I had said. “I wouldn’t have expected to see a psychologist working on a space mission.”
“It’s quite common that being so distanced from civilization can cause astronauts to grow severely unwell, mentally. Specifically, most suffer with anxiety and isolation caused depression, which as you probably know can cause difficulty in completing the mission.” I smiled and chuckled as I explained the best I could my reasoning for being on this mission.
“I suppose you’ve met the majority of the crew then.” He smiled while he fidgeted with his hands. “All of these intelligently complicated minds putting together one of the most important humanity saving missions sure can cause some to lose their minds.”
“Oh yeah,” I chuckled. “If you ever wanted to stop by and do some yoga, just let me know.” I winked. “Just kidding, I know guys like you probably wouldn’t be into that.”
“Can’t say I am.” He laughed along and shrugged.
“Well it’s more used in calming women… but do you know the best way to calm a man down?” I leaned closer to his anxious, handsome face, and my voice turned seductive, sounding like silk through his ears.
Capa paused, staring deep into my eyes. He regained his composure and the rest of the crew began to part to their stations, leaving us alone as last. “I’m not sure I do,” He grinned awkwardly. “How?”
“Well you don’t seem necessarily stressed.” I tiled my head, making him want to beg for the answer.
He chuckled and his expression turned to amusement as he played along. He couldn’t help but be drawn in by me, and my power. “Are you offering to fix that for me?”
“If you were stressed, yes.”
Capa smirked and leaned back against the cushion. His tone is still teasing through my game with his sarcasm. “Is that so?... Well I suppose I am feeling a bit stressed. Now that you mention it.”
I giggled and moved myself closer next to him. My hand slowly rubbed up his thigh to the center of his lap. I looked into his eyes as his cheeks went red and his breath got caught in his throat. The look in his eyes became serious, and lustful.
I looked over my shoulder around the empty area, then grabbed his hand in mine and stood from the sofa. “I’d like to see you in my office, Mr Capa.” I winked and pulled his tall, lanky body off the sofa.
Capa followed behind me, his mind going out of sorts and his eyes moving quickly up and down the backside of my body. He felt a sudden eagerness for what it was that I had planned. What it was that truly calmed a man.
Walking through the narrow halls I brought Capa to my bedroom, which was also my office where I would ease these poor, stressed men on ship. In my room I locked the door and continued to drag him to my bed, pushing him down onto the colourful, mandela patterned duvet.
He stared up at me while I crawled over his slim body. My hand returned to message the bulge beneath his track pants. His breath hitched and his body began to slowly loosen from my gentle touch. The suddenness of it all caused his mind to fog up with nothing but mindless pleasure, and need.
“So… what is it that’s making you so stressed?” I said mockingly as I continued to gently rub him.
He inhaled deeply, a silent whimper escaping his lips as I squeezed the tightening fabric beneath my hand. “I think you know what’s making me tense.” His voice was sarcastic and seductive.
“For sure something is tense.” I winked feeling the hardness of his cock in my hand, lightly stroking it through the fabric.
Capa blushed at my words and his body quivered slightly under my touch. He struggled to keep his voice and breath even with the growing pleasure I caused him. “Maybe you should do something about that then.” He groaned.
“That's my job.” My hand traveled up under his tank top to the hem of his pants. “How else would I heal these men here?” I smirked.
He swallowed hard, “That’s your speciality? Taking care of the physical ailment of your patients?”
“It heals both mental and physical health as it is a full body release.” My fingers glazed his bare, hot skin. “Also known as the best way to calm a man.” I wrapped my smooth hand around his pulsing, hard cock. Capa’s eyes closed and he inhaled deeply. I -while taking his cock from his pants- moved to straddle him.
I stared into his eyes while I stroked him with a therapeutic touch. The sight in my hands, and the length of his cock was the biggest -longest- compared to the other men aboard. It excited me in a way no other man has.
“Does this seem to be an effective treatment, or is there still more that you need?” I asked hoping he’d let me take this further, or even deeper by chance.
He stifled a groan and just barely opened his eyes to look up at me on his thighs. His eyes holding a look of need and lust “There's definitely… more I need.” He panted through a moan.
“Good…” I purred. And with the room dimly rit, I lifted the tight tank top over my head. My breasts falling out and bouncing against my chest. Suddenly his eyes were now wide open, scanning down my body as I began to strip down my pants. Revealing no bra, and no panties underneath.
His eyes roamed from between my legs to my breasts, to every curve and contour of my body above him. I stroked him faster while moving my hips up closer. Close enough I could rub his cock with my soft, wet pussy. The touch made him twitch and groan with arousal. His eyes became unable to look away.
Slowly lifting my hips while holding eye contact, I sat my pussy down onto his thick cock. He groaned as my soft, hot flesh wrapped around him tightly. His needy cock bucked up into me, and his hands grasped around my plushy hips.
My hands lifted beneath his shirt as I felt his sweaty, slim torso and chest. My tight walls squeezed against him the further my hands lifted. I kept lifting his shirt until it was fully over his head and thrown to the floor.
Capa’s eyes closed tightly and his body arched desperately into me. He tried, and struggled to hold that little bit of control he still had.
“Does that feel good?” I bit my lip and began to slowly grind and twirl my hips around his throbbing cock. He became overwhelmed by the slow pace, and could hardly speak through his soft groans.
“Mhm…” Was all he was able to moan out.
As my wet arousal began to spread over his length, my speed increased and I jumped hungrily down onto him. His groans grew louder as I rode him and clenched my walls around his needy cock. Both of our breaths came out as heavy gasps and moans. His cock hit everywheres I needed and wanted it to. My insides twisted and ached with pleasure.
Luckily with the thick, steel, sound proof walls, I could scream for him and slap my pussy against his cock as hard as I wanted.
Capa eyes stayed glued at the sight between us. He became completely immersed in the moment. His twitching became more frequent, as did his low groans. Instinctively, his hips began to buck up into mine. The double amount of force made both of us incredibly close.
I rode harder and bit my lip, “Mh, you feel so good.” I moaned.
Capa gasped and groaned, his cock twitching and beating inside of me. Hot cum shot up deep inside me. I too felt as though I were going to cum and continued to fuck his cock. Tremors shook through his body. The sensitivity made him whimper and shake as he still continued to cum all the way until I did.
His breath was laboured and ragged as I finally began to slow down. Both his and I’s cum dripping heavily from between my thighs. But I didn’t move, nor did I get off yet.
I hadn’t said anything but leaned down towards him, pulling his face into a rough kiss. He immediately sank into it and his body reacted eagerly to my silky lips. His sweet moans filled my mouth before he paused and pulled back to say, “I want you sitting on my face…” With the most sexy, low voice.
I giggled and my expression turned to pure excitement. There's nothing I wanted more than to rub my pussy on his beautiful face. “Is that a yes?” He smirked.
“If it helps my patient.” I winked and sat up away from his face.
“It will help me a lot.”
Instantly I moved myself to have my thighs either side of his head. His hands came eagerly around my thighs, pulling my soaked pussy down to his lips. He closed his eyes and flicked his tongue hungrily over my clit. I shivered and whimpered over him, my hands latching onto his hair. His tongue never slowed. He licked and sucked as if he were a pro.
He held my hips tightly, being sure I wouldn’t move until I came on his tongue. I desperately -the best I could- tried to grind against his face as my insides began to tighten. Capa hadn’t even been thinking of anything but the taste of my sopping pussy on his lips. A taste he’d continue to crave.
I looked down at his beautiful face, seeing him lick me so perfectly made everything come out all at once. I shook profusely against his face. Screaming and moaning, I came like I’ve never had on his lips and tongue. He groaned deeply against me as he continued to lick me all the way through my orgasm.
His eyes glared up at me with satisfaction, and perfection. With the look on his face alone I knew he’d be getting stressed a lot more often. And with a cock -long and thick- like his, so would I.
#cillian murphy#cillian murphy x reader#cillian x reader#cillian murphy smut#cillian x fem!reader#cillian murphy x y/n#cillian fanfic#cillian murphy fanfiction#robert capa#sunshine#sunshine 2007#Capa#cillian fic#cillian murphy x you
81 notes
·
View notes
Text
What Are You Doing New Year's Eve (Clay x Wife!Reader)
Summary: It was a sweet, simple question. One that you really didn’t take seriously at the time. Considering it came for the lips of your charming, loving husband. However after the twins had been put down, along with their newborn (2-week-old) sister, and the champagne began to flow freely. The wholesome, quiet night in you had planned on…quickly transformed into…
Warnings: 18+ (mdni), because there’s sooo much of the smut. Oral (fem receiving), premature postpartum oral (implied penetrative) smex, hint of a breeding kink, manipulative/possessive Clay, and… his skilled tongue/thick, long dick.
Notes: Happy Holidays, lovelies! Welcome to track nine of my special holiday mix, What Are You Doing New Year’s Eve! ❤️💚
(Merry Christmas and Happy Belated Birthday, @fuckmyskywalker! 🎅)
- “What are you doing New Year’s Eve?” Words muttered against the soft, crimson streaked skin of your soft tummy. Gravelly voice rumbling through your tired, bloated body. Sending sparks of apprehensive excitement to your neglected sore core. “Mmmh…I can think a few things, angel.”
- Hands massage and knead your ample, plush love handles greedily. “Clay…” Lips trailing, placing reverent kisses along the intricate web of stretch marks. “It’s t-too soon…” Descending lower, drawing ever closer to that quivering, pudgy mound. “I can’t…we can’t…”
- Tongue glides across the delicate, see-through fabric. Wetting, saturating. Making it stick to your freshly shaven skin, together with your tacky arousal. “Don’t be ridiculous…” While his teeth graze over, canines nip lightly. Gather up, grab hold of that band of frilly lace. Pulling and tugging. Tearing the scanty pair he had ‘lovingly’ gifted you for Christmas. “Of course we can…”
- Hovering mere inches above. His hot breath fans and washes over your swollen, soaked silt. “Tonight is for celebrating…” A hungry look flickering behind those cool, blue orbs. As he gazes fiercely up at you from his place nestled between your thick thighs. “And that’s exactly what we’re going to do…”
- Burying his face, he licks and laps…prods and teases. Pushing past your velvety folds to wrap around, envelope your sensitive bud with his warm tongue. Sucking lightly, groaning in contentment…unknowingly vibrating, stimulating that little bundle of nerves. In a way that has your…
- Small hands fumble, lace through his golden curls. Back arches slightly, hips rock shyly against his face. “More, m-more…” Weakly you mewl, eyes sliding shut. Quickly losing yourself in how he rubs you deliciously, rolls your cute clit perfectly. “P-please, more…” So sloppy, so messy; oh, so wonderful. “P-please, p-pretty please…”
- “Hmmh…since you asked nicely.” Answering your desperate pleas; mouth suctions, seals over your tiny hole. Tongue delves deeply, reaches those place that your stubby ones could never manage. Coaxing the sweetest, filthiest moans from your parted lips.
- Cheeks go flushed. That familiar heat rises up inside of you, begins to grow overwhelming. “I…I…” Arms and thighs start to tremble, shake. Pace stutters and falters, becomes uneven. “Ooooh, I…I…” Gummy walls flutter and clench. Breaths come out in feeble, shallow pants. “Hub-Hubby…”
- Palms migrate, cup your full cheeks. Squeezing them harshly, firmly. Anchoring you to him, keeping you securely in place. All the while guiding, moving you faster. His tongue circling, plunging fervently. Growling low…into your creamy center…
- Yanking on his locks, pathetic cry escapes… Legs lock tightly, squishing and smothering Clay’s head with your pillowy flesh…. Gushing, convulsing… Completely coming unraveled, undone…
- Spent, exhausted…you lay shaking, spread out on the lavish rug. The heat from the crackling fire seeping into aching muscles. Casting an orange glow on your sweat covered body. Milky chest heaving slowly up and down. “Th-that was amazing, but I don’t think-”
- “What are you doing New Year’s Eve,” he chuckles, muses. Running his fingers through your puffy lips. Gathering your sticky slick. Covering and coating his painfully hard, leaking length in it. His eyes locking, never leaving yours the whole time. “Simple. I’ll be doing the same as last year and the year after that…and after that.”
- Easily hooking your legs over his broad shoulders. “Pumping you full, making sure you give me another kid.” He bullies, forces his fat tip in. “Don’t care what the doctor says” And all you can do is take it, because… “It’s how we ring in the New Year, our little tradition…”
Tag List: @espinathena-17, @myheartwillgoon2022, @laylaplease, @princessswifie, @kenobiskywalker16, @loverforoldermen, @anakinstwinklebunny, @beresfordsgirl, @kenmaiica, @sythethecarrot, @xx-ttamaraa, @everydaydreamer, @rafeswifeyy2, @laoif, @xhunnybeeex, @jediavengers, @anisangeldust, @fredswrite, @reaperr-of-souls, @erosmutt, @r0ttenz0mb1e, @anisdolly, @milliesrealgf, @ala2ilas-s
@hearts4sammonroe, @pitas-star, @sythethecarrot, @naberriess, @steven-grants-world, @valyna27, @elcaballerodragon, @yayyy5678, @anakinsrilgirlfriend, @padme-urlove, @brattyyybbg, @mrschr1stensen, @rosie-chan92, @beresfordsgirl, @darthdaddi, @icosmiclou, @whoisgiinaa, @kentaviax, @arcj, @harley-kalani
#hayden christensen#hayden christensen x reader#hayden christensen fanfiction#hayden christensen smut#hayden christensen x you#hayden christensen fanfic#hayden christensen fic#hayden christensen imagine#clay beresford x you#clay beresford fanfic#clay beresford fic#clay beresford imagine#clay beresford#clay beresford x reader#clay beresford fanfiction#clay beresford smut#awake 2007#awake#awake fanfiction#awake smut#awake fanfic#awake fic#new years eve#new years eve 2024#naughty or nice#naughty or nice 2024
133 notes
·
View notes
Text
Izuna gets hit by a car asmr
Still warring states feudal Japan era btw this is like The only car and it appears just to hit him.
123 notes
·
View notes
Text
Tired and Torn | William Killick x fem!OC
summary: William Killick wakes up in a London hospital after a bombing raid where he is separated from his date, Vera Phillips. A pretty nurse offers to help him find her but after all their searching, he may not like what he finds and end up missing what he left behind.
He has one month before he goes back.
warnings: Graphic descriptions of war casualties and destruction, blood, and medical care, some misogynist undertones, drinking, getting drunk.
word count: 4615k
Desolation Row- Bob Dylan 🎶
I've Been Let Down- Mazzy Star 🎶
fyi- this will be another one of my famous (and bemoaned) multi-part series
I.
One second she was in his arms, the next, she was dead. Blown up and scattered somewhere, was Vera Phillips. The underground nightclub was supposed to be safe, far from the reach of Nazi bombs and lingering blasts. They had been dancing. Vera had finally said yes to a date with the young, attractive Officer, William Killick. She’d been such a bitch to him, unnecessarily so. After days of pestering her with free drinks and compliments, she still had turned him down with cruel flirtation. When he would give up, she’d reel him in once again with lingering looks and playful teasing. She wanted him to love her, but had no intention of loving him back. But tonight, she’d said yes.
When the explosion happened, Killick was flung through the air and landed roughly on a bar table, but otherwise unharmed. The impact knocked him unconscious and when he came to, the place was dark except for the moonlight that shone through the massive rift in the ground above. He pushed the debris off his body and when he could stand, he searched through the rubble for Vera. Bodies and glass alike littered the ground, the crunching sounds beneath his feet made it hard to distinguish between them. Smoke rose around him and his ears were ringing. War had made him more alert, more adaptable, so he quickly pulled himself together enough to survey the damage. He didn’t see Vera anywhere, though he did see body parts mingled amongst the debris. He expected to find some part of her, somewhere, even to find her alive; but he found nothing. After helping a delirious woman to the street where survivors were congregating, he searched their faces for Vera. She was not among them.
He was crowded into an ambulance with four other people, each lying on a stretcher connected like bunk beds to the wall. He was the only one able to sit up and speak, but he had nothing to say. His mind kept replaying the images of destruction he’d seen. He felt a tremendous amount of anger at himself for not keeping Vera safe. What kind of officer was he if he couldn’t protect just one person? Vera should have been with him in that ambulance. How was it that their fates were so different when they were only inches apart? It could have been him…
Killick’s ears were still ringing when he was carried into the hospital. The dim gas lamps made it hard for him to see as doctors and nurses ran around him into different rooms. Black fabric covered the windows to deter enemy planes from spotting London from the sky. Obviously, they had still been able to see something from the ground or the underground bar would not have been targeted. Vera would not have been dead.
“Officer Killick? Can you hear me?” A woman’s voice coaxed him back to the present. He turned his heavy head, blinked, and managed to nod weakly.
“Yes,” his voice was strained, dampened by smoke and shock. The nurse who stared back at him set down her clipboard and rolled up her powder-blue sleeves. She didn’t smile, though her eyes crinkled as if she were. Maybe she would have smiled at the handsome officer if he hadn’t been there under those circumstances.
“I’m nurse Dark and I’m going to take a look at you, ok?” She asked him softly and pulled on two clean gloves. Her hair was pulled back into a cap, something a nun might wear, but Killick could still make out strands of her hair peeking out from beneath her cap. She was blonde - - not like Vera. When Killick nodded again, she applied her hand gently to his stomach.
“Tell me if there’s any pain.” The nurse moved her hands down his body, checking his face for reactions of pain as she went. He shook his head.
“No pain,” he grunted and looked up at the ceiling.
“Good, now let me check your head.” She carded her gloved fingers through his dark brown hair, checking for cuts and fragments of stray glass. She passed her finger down the side of his head and clucked her tongue when she reached his neck. “You have a pretty nasty cut hiding under your jaw.” She checked the other side and then moved away. Killick watched her wearily, his head now throbbing.
“You need stitches on your neck there but everything else seems fine. No broken bones or anything,” she added and crossed in front of the bed to a cart of medical supplies.
“Nothing else?” Killick muttered, dazed and angry. The nurse turned quickly, catching the tone in his voice.
“I don’t know what to say, sir. I wish there was something comforting I could tell you. God knows you get enough combat on the continent.” She bit her lip awkwardly and then went back to the cart. Eventually, the nurse went to his side again and wiped tenderly at his wound. Killick turned his head slightly to the opposite side, hoping she wouldn’t see his lip quiver.
“I was on a date,” Killick said quietly. He blinked away the tears forming in the corners of his eyes. “What kind of man am I to let her die?”
She withdrew her hand quickly, hovering the cotton pad over his skin.
“I couldn’t find her in the rubble…” he said more to himself than to her, “it was so dark. I couldn’t make anything out.” He clenched his jaw tightly as he felt himself start to cry. He was not the kind of man to cry. He heard the nurse move away from the bed and he looked over. The young woman closed the door to the small room and drew the privacy screen over the window. Once that was done, she returned to his side. Finally meeting his inquisitive look, she shrugged softly and shook her head.
“I thought you could use some privacy, sir. What you just went through, well… I think it's only right that you have a moment to be human, not just a man.” Her words were gentle and kind. His embarrassment wavered as she took up her work again.
“Thank you,” Killick finally responded and cleared his throat. His watery blue eyes darted to the side then returned to the wall.
The nurse took her time cleaning the wound before she stitched it up. The pads of her fingers danced across his skin, poking the tendons in his neck as she worked. She smelled like soap, clean things, and hot water. Killick found the smell oddly comforting and felt himself finally coming out of shock.
“What’s your name?” He asked, trying to keep his neck as still as possible.
“Nurse Dark.”
“I mean your first name, sister.”
She smiled and shook her head lightly, placing a metal instrument back on its tray.
“I’m not allowed to tell you that, sir. It's one of the most important rules of nursing we follow here, never share your Christian name with a patient.”
“You can’t be serious,” he snorted and rolled his eyes.
“Oh but I am, sir.”
“Will I ever know your full name or will you remain my anonymous caretaker?”
“Do you think it’s important to know my Christian name?”
“I think it's one of the most important aspects of who we are as individuals. We lose something to one another without our names.”
It was silent between them again as she considered his response. She watched the ridge of his neck move as he breathed slowly.
“Rebecca, sir. My name is Rebecca.” She whispered her name as if it were a secret, her voice running like a feather over the curve of Killick’s ear.
“It’s nice to meet you, Rebecca.” His voice was low and smooth, reminding her for some reason of a rich espresso. She paused momentarily, her tweezers frozen above the stitch until she remembered herself.
“Until the rescue team has sorted through the remains of the structure, we don’t know for sure that she isn’t alive. It’s possible she escaped and got lost in the aftermath. If you give me her name, I can look for her here.” The nurse offered in a small, distracted voice. She spoke with her tongue held slightly to the right which was how she concentrated. Killick swallowed before answering.
“Vera Phillips.”
“I’ll look once we’re done here, sir.” She assured him.
“Thank you,” he whispered and closed his eyes, willing that the nurse was right and in some miraculous stroke of luck, Vera had managed to get out alive.
“There will be some scarring but it’ll be somewhat hidden by your collar.” Rebecca drew a finger just beneath the stitches, checking her work. “The neck is hard to work with because it moves so much.” She threw away her gloves and wrote a few things down on her clipboard. Killick straightened up and ensured there were no tears on his face.
“You wouldn’t have a mirror would you?” He tried to smile as he asked. His hands were covered in dirt and ash, he could only assume what his face must look like. Rebecca smiled and retrieved a small compact mirror from her pocket.
“Bloody Hell,” Killick muttered when he saw his reflection. Soot and blood were streaked across his face, blood that he assumed wasn’t his own. He gave the mirror back and cleared his throat. “I thought I’d be used to seeing that by now… but it’s so different to see it here. The war feels so foreign to my life in London. It’s almost like I didn’t think blood existed anywhere else.”
“I can imagine,” the nurse nodded and submerged a cloth in the bowl of water by the cart. She squeezed out the excess water and sat on the edge of the officer’s bed. “I sometimes forget that war can touch us here too. It already has,” she met his eyes briefly and wiped the cloth across cheek, removing the grime.
Killick watched her face as she cleaned him. Her face was rounded with dimples in each cheek. Her long eyelashes fluttered as she blinked.
“When do you go back?”
“In a month,” he looked down at his uniform. Even his dark wool uniform seemed in-tact and undamaged beneath the blood. A few of his medals and bars had been dislodged and some were missing but it’s not like any of that mattered to him.
“Army?” She raised a neatly trimmed eyebrow and he smiled.
“Yes.”
“Thank you for your service, sir.” She smiled kindly as she finished cleaning his face and moved to his hands. Killick scoffed but said nothing in response. She worked quickly to clean between his long fingers and the curvatures of joints and bone. When his hands were fairly clean, Rebecca put the cloth back by the bowl and wiped her hands on her apron.
“Sit tight, I’m going to go check our patient list for your girl.” The nurse excused herself and disappeared into the hallway. Killick's eyes followed after her until he could no longer see her.
x
Killick felt his eyes starting to close as he waited for the nurse to return. To deal with the trauma of his evening, his body was trying to lull himself into sleep. He was tempted to give in and pretend nothing had happened. Sleep would make him forget for a while. But as he started to fall asleep, he heard the door open again. The nurse had come back, an apologetic expression on her beautiful features (wait, did he just describe her as ‘beautiful?’).
“They haven’t transported all of the survivors yet but they don’t have a Vera Phillips and there aren’t any patients with that name here. They’re still actively searching the rubble, so she may still show up. I also didn’t see her name on the list of confirmed dead. I know that isn’t much comfort but it means that anything is possible right now.”
Killick closed his eyes slowly and nodded. “Right, thank you.” His strong, British reserve took over as he swung his legs over the side of the hospital bed.
“Are you sure you don’t want to stay at the hospital until morning? While you weren’t seriously injured, I worry about you getting home in your state of shock.”
“I am perfectly capable,” Killick argued as he stood and fixed his uniform, “of getting home.” The nurse stayed by the door, her hands grasped around the doorknob.
“I’m not sure that I believe you,” she observed matter-of-factly and raised one eyebrow. Killick stopped in his tracks and pinched the bridge of his nose. Dark hair fell into his face and he swept it out of the way.
“I appreciate your care but I’d rather be in my own home right now.”
Killick walked a few more steps before losing his balance slightly and bracing himself on the wall behind the nurse. She looked up at him for a brief moment with surprise, their faces close enough to exchange secrets, before looking away and clearing her throat. She stepped aside and opened the door to the hallway.
“Excuse me,” Killick apologized, embarrassed too. He righted himself and ran his hand over his mouth. He stepped through the door and looked back at the nurse, standing in the doorway with her hand resting on the doorframe.
“Thank you, nurse Dark.” He met her eyes and nodded his head curtly. He looked her briefly up and down before he turned away.
“Take care, sir.” The nurse called after him as he walked away from her, down the dark hallway. He could feel her eyes resting on his back as he walked. He could have stayed… he should have stayed the night, he thought. But as soon as he was out of the hospital standing on the dark street, he realized his overwhelming fear for Vera’s life. Was she still out there?
Instead of going back to his lodging he returned to the place of the underground bar, hoping to help aid in their search for survivors. When he neared the site, he saw small torches moving in the pit below and the calls of men as they communicated with one another. Bodies covered with crude materials were lined up along the side of a neighboring building. He approached the bodies and started to remove the cover on one of them when someone stopped him. When the man saw Killick’s uniform he stepped back.
“Oh, sorry officer.”
“I’m looking for my girlfriend,” he heard himself lie, though it wasn’t much of a lie. He was looking for a girl who would have become his girlfriend eventually, if this hadn’t happened.
“Oh, well she wouldn’t be in this group. These were the musicians in the band and the singer. You should check the hospital.”
“I was just there,” he muttered and ran a hand through his hair, overwhelmed again by the memories of the last few hours. He could still hear the music that was being played before the explosion, he knew where it had stopped too.
“Were you here,” the man pointed to the remains of the bar, “when it happened?”
Killick turned slowly to the man and blinked slowly. He felt intoxicated and distant, like he was playing a character in a scene.
“Yes, yes I was.”
“What’s your girlfriend’s name?” The man asked, looking at the Officer with concern.
Killick took a deep breath and closed his eyes, “Uh V-Vera Phillips. Vera Phillips. She must have gotten out. She’s around here somewhere.”
“I’ll keep an eye out. You should sit down, you don’t look well.”
“I told the nurse I would go home,” he whispered deliriously and stumbled away. The man called after him but he was too far gone.
x
“You’re back.”
A familiar voice spoke to him in the darkness. Officer Killick wearily opened his eyes and blinked, adjusting to the light. He was in a hospital room once again though this time, it was day. Sunlight still streamed in through the blacked out windows, an unwelcome guest after so much darkness. Killick tried to sit up but a hand directed him back down against the mattress. It squeaked.
“What…?” He groaned and looked around for the voice.
When his eyes focused, he saw the same nurse from before. She was sitting in a chair beside his bed, with a tired smile.
“You…” he whispered, remembering her face.
“Yes, and you, Officer Killick. You’re supposed to be at home. Do you remember how you got back here?” She asked quietly and offered him a small cup of water. Killick took it and drank slowly. When his throat was less dry, he shook his head.
“I remember walking home after I went back to the bar.”
“You tried to walk home but you collapsed and were taken back here.”
“I’m helpless. They should kick me out of the army,” Killick rubbed his eyes and drank the rest of his water.
“You’re not there quite yet but you do need to rest for a little while longer. You’ve been asleep since they brought you in.”
“Have you heard anything about Vera?” He sighed and set his cup on the table beside his bed.
“No, I’m sorry. If I hear anything, I promise that you will be the first to know,” she patted his hand on instinct before quickly withdrawing her hand and folding it on her lap, blushing. Killick looked from his hand to the nurse and nodded.
“Eh, thank you.”
“Are your ears ringing?” Rebecca changed the subject quickly. Killick paused to listen, a dull vibration sounded through his head. He massaged his temples and nodded.
“A little.”
“I’m afraid you just have to wait for that to go away on its own. Your stitches are fine though, I already checked them. You were lucky you didn’t rip them and bleed out.” She fixed her cap and stood. Killick watched her hips sway slightly as she walked. He was in a large room with a dozen other men. Nurses hurried between beds, following doctors with charts and medications. The nurse stood at the foot of his bed and pulled the cap from her head, annoyed.
“Damn cap keeps getting in my way. I don’t know why they dress us like sisters here.”
“Isn’t that what you are, sister?” Killick tried to laugh but it stopped short. The nurse nodded and rolled her eyes.
“They only call us that here. In America, they’d call me a nurse.”
“Do you have something against the term ‘sister?’” Killick raised his eyebrow tauntingly. The nurse’s hair fell in a short cut that cupped just below her jaw. He tried not to stare as she combed her fingers through it.
“Only that no convents would take me,” she smiled as she re-pinned her cap to her head, “I’m not very good at religion. Failed that subject in school.”
“Catholic?”
“Church of England,” she corrected him and her dimples deepened.
“That makes two of us. There aren’t many convents for the Church of England,” his eyes squinted playfully, the blue disappearing behind the curtains of his dark eyelashes.
“Probably for the best,” she shrugged, “less rejections.”
They laughed quietly until a second nurse stopped to ask her a question. Nurse Dark nodded, her face now serious. When the second nurse left, she turned to Killck and sighed through her nose.
“I get off in an hour but I’ve told the nurses about your situation. They’ll go to you if they hear anything about Vera Phillips.” She grasped her hands together and took a step away from the young Officer.
“Thank you…” he responded quietly as he watched her slowly move away. He tried to think of something to say to bring her back, to delay her further.
“I hope you find her, Officer Killick,” her lips drew together into a pretty bow. She looked down at her hands, trying to hide the feeling of falsity she felt in that statement. How horrible could she be to wish the exact opposite? She saw him nod through her eyelashes and turned on her heels to leave the ward. As she approached the doorway leading out of the men’s ward, she heard the man call after her.
“Sister!” The words left his mouth on an impulse. As soon as he heard himself call after her, he forgot what he’d wanted to say. Killick wasn’t the type to blush so he furrowed his eyebrows, feigning confidence. The nurse turned, looking around to see if anyone noticed the Officer’s outburst. Her heart skipped a beat to hear him call for her. Killick cleared his throat as she came closer and licked his lips nervously.
“Yes?” Rebecca picked at her nails behind her back.
“Perhaps… perhaps I could call your home once I’m discharged?”
Rebecca felt herself blush deeply and bit her lip, trying to hide the way the request made her feel. She knew that she shouldn’t be so excited about the prospect of seeing the man again, especially after he may have just lost a girl he’d been seeing. It felt like the beginning of a bad idea. And yet, she said yes.
She wrote down the number of her home phone and address on a slip of prescription paper and watched as Killick slipped it into his uniform’s breast pocket. He patted it and smiled with his cool, calm eyes that made the nurse’s knees weak.
“That’s the number of the flat I’m renting. If someone else answers, ask for me. Goodbye, Officer Killick,” she put her hands into her apron pockets and left the ward, smiling over her shoulder as attractively as she could.
x
When he was discharged the next day, he collected the few things that he had with him and made for the door to the ward. He was the only man in uniform around which made him feel isolated and different from the rest of the world. He clenched his jaw as he passed the wandering, frightful eyes of those around him. They admired him in his smart toffee-colored uniform and medals, pegging him for someone important. He wasn’t, really. But the way his dark hair fell across his eyebrows and his stern face framed the brightness of his eyes produced a collected sense of expectation… for what?
The lobby of the hospital opened out onto the busy street corner of London. Newspapers in nearby stands proclaimed the fatal bombing of a London nightclub. Twenty people dead or missing. He thought he should probably tell someone, call Vera’s family, her roommate, anyone. Vera was probably dead and no one knew but him. But the obvious problem was that Killick barely knew her, he didn’t even know where she lived. Large red omnibuses passed as he tried to think. He could check a phone book or call the police. He crossed the street quickly and entered a telephone booth. As he patted his pockets for change, his hand brushed the folded note in his breast pocket. The paper with her home number stenciled in pretty cursive still smelled like her skin, her perfume- subtle, savory. He pushed the thought away and waited for the operator to pick up.
The operator gave him the last known address for Vera Phillips, a small studio apartment somewhere downtown. He followed the street signs as he’d followed orders in the army, blindly. He’d been in London before so he knew roughly where he was going but his brain still felt fuzzy and cold as if he’d been frozen and hadn’t yet thawed. When he stepped up to the drab, two story apartment he removed his hat and exhaled heavily through his house. He had no idea if Vera was living with anyone, if she had a landlady, etc. He half-expected to receive no reply as he knocked on the door and rang the bell once. But he heard the sound of heels hurrying over carpet and words exchanged under breath.
The door swung open. Vera.
“William? What are you doing here? How did you get my address?” Vera was smoking a cigarette and fixing her hair at the same time. She sounded distracted. Killick stared back at her, his lips falling open in bewilderment.
“You’re alive?” He whispered, his throat suddenly tight and awkward. Vera looked back at him, focusing now.
“Yes,” she answered simply with a nod.
“Vera… I looked everywhere for you after the bomb fell. I thought you were dead.”
“Well I-I’m not,” she chuckled awkwardly and went back to fixing her hair for what would be her hairdo for her night performance. Killick clenched his jaw and his eyes narrowed.
“Obviously.”
She looked at him for a moment, processing his pointed tone and sighed. “Killick, you really shouldn’t bother. I appreciate your worry and concern, really I do, but we hardly know each other.”
“A bomb fell on us,” he responded shortly, obviously.
“And we survived.”
“I nearly didn’t because I went back to look for you,” he snapped, his anger rising.
“Oh…” she started and looked away awkwardly. Killick watched her and noticed for the first time how mean she really was, how horribly plain.
“Well seeing as you are alive,” he nodded once and stepped down off the doorstep, “goodbye Vera.”
Vera looked after him as he turned and put his officer’s cap back on.
“Killick…” she started before taking a drag. He turned, waiting to hear what she had to say but when she offered nothing else, he shook his head and scoffed.
“I kept looking for you. I was in Hospital twice and kept looking for you because I knew I’d want the same if you were in my position. But you wouldn’t have. You would’ve left me.”
Vera stared back, her glassy eyes wide and ashamed. She still said nothing so Killick left, anger struggling against every other emotion in his body. He crossed the street and kept walking until he found a pub with enough people inside that he could beg anonymity. All he could do was drink. The publican gave him two free pints and space enough to brood by himself at the corner of the bar. He was still in his uniform and stuck out like a sore thumb but his expression deterred even the most desperate young lady. He played with his knuckles against the bar counter, a cigarette resting between his fingers. The pale skin reflected the light shining in from the window behind him. He scowled down at his glass and pinched the bridge of his nose, easing the tension between his eyes. After another two pints he looked over his shoulder to watch the blue-collar men still left in London walk home to their wives after the workday.
“Damn it all,” he muttered, slurring only slightly, and reached into his breast pocket for the note still sitting there. He took it out and rolled it open between his forefinger and his thumb, thinking. He wet his lips, took a long drag, and exhaled slowly. Killick leaned back in his seat and smoked slowly.
Rebecca… Rebecca… Rebecca.
The name echoed back to him like a whisper from a buried memory. He wasn’t a good man for doing what he was about to do. But was he really sober enough to be held accountable for his bad decisions? The nurse… God the nurse. She wouldn’t judge him, maybe she’d even fuck him. He nodded drunkenly to himself and paid for all four drinks when he was required to only pay for two. That made him feel better about himself, poor guy.
#cillian murphy#fanfiction#cillian fanfic#cillian x reader#cillian x fem!reader#smut#cillian fluff#peaky blinders#cillian x y/n#cillian murphy x reader#william killick#officer killick#on the edge of love#keira knightley#atonement#atonement 2007#william killick fanfic#cillian murphy movies#cillian murphy fanfiction#cillian murphy x y/n#cillian murphy fic#cillian fic#thomas shelby#tommy shelby core#wwii london#killick x reader
41 notes
·
View notes
Text
Blame the Chemicals in the Mind
Summary: Mad scientist!Donnie discovers he has developed twisted, unwanted feelings toward his best experimentation specimen.
A/N: General verses, but I placed something about each version of Donnie, let's see if you can find it! Also, I heavily kept in mind 2012verse and Bayverse for some reason? Anyway, this will have multiple parts but it can be read as a one-chapter thing too :)
Please do not spam like. Reblogs are appreciated! ♡
Warnings: NSFW / DARK CONTENT/ smut/fem!Reader/ after the kraang apocalypse/Donatello and reader are both mid to late twenties /dub-con/eventual Yandere topics/experimentation/torture/blood and violence/trauma bonding/Stockholm syndrome/blood extraction/panic attack (reader's)/twisted hurt-comfort/between-the-lines humiliation/ mentions of the use of a feeding probe/sensorial overstimulation and deprivation/ Regarding smut: humping/creampie/DUB-CON/ dead dove do not eat
This is 18+ dark content. If you click on keep reading you have agreed you want to read this content.
His ever-present gaze penetrated the tank's glass, fixating on your orbs. It was a constant company, greeting you upon waking— whether immersed in the computer's screen a few paces ahead or absorbed in a stress ball he kept in hand to stimulate his thoughts. He consistently stared, as if that alone could propel him closer to a cure for the three monstrous things that so closely resembled him.
Donatello observed them through the fortified cells he constructed, initially intended as a security measure. He sighed deeply. The laboratory never felt as desolate as it did now, as if hopelessness swept through, resonating through his body. Gradually, despair eroded small fragments of his sanity, leaving nothing more than a faint echo of who he used to be.
He needed to find a cure soon. And so he pinched, tugged, injected, and inflicted upon your body a distinct form of torment every day. Each one an inch closer. However, despite your best judgment, you lacked the strength to keep on resenting him.
Exhausted from enduring numerous stings and side effects, your brain, perhaps as a survival mechanism, clung to words of reaffirmation. Praise. Approbation. Plaudits. They seemed to breathe sanity back into your inner self, preventing your poor state of mind from sinking deeper into the dark.
Such an exquisite test subject!
So remarkably compliant and subdued, aren't you?
I'll create an antidote, and they'll be back, and it'll be thanks to you.
You seem unwell today.
His voice was distant from under the water but he sounded somehow concerned. "Let's take the day off. You can't die just yet. Finding others like you is proving increasingly challenging."
You didn't want him to ignore you for the rest of the day. You wished he wouldn't. You could endure a slight pinch if it meant feeling something. Lately, the increasing sensory isolation was becoming more and more nerve-wracking. You must have wished too fervently, for just as he had not entirely turned away, the power abruptly ran out.
Donatello gasped. The blue light of your tank framed his face. A menace, yet fixable. The hitch: replacing the lab's battery required using the one in your tank. Both were designed with separate energies after an incident— an unfortunate electrocution during a short-circuit caused by an electric storm. Test subject 83q1q didn’t make it.
The wisest course of action was to empty the tank, replace the battery, and secure you elsewhere until he could find a new one. Your body throbbed with tickles of anxiety and anticipation upon noticing his intent.
As it drained, you descended to the bottom of it. He opened its side, causing all the tubes to tilt down. Donatello pulled them off. You inhaled as soon as he unplugged them from your throat. A coughing fit almost broke your rib cage right after a sharp, reckless gasp for air.
An overwhelming sensation hovered over you. Abruptly, everything was too much. Too much air, too rough floor, too much pressure on your skull, too loud— You can't breathe. You're choking. Your ears are beeping. Someone's screaming. You can't breathe, you can't breathe, you can’t— He's touching you. You tensed. Would he return you to the tank? Where's the needle? The last time he touched you, there was a needle, or something sharp, and it hurt. You brace yourself.
Donatello began making even circles over your bare back.
"Deep breaths," he said. His voice sounded different. Steadier, warmer. "Follow my own, here," he pressed your hand to his plastron. His inhalations were even, soothing.
"That's right, you're doing well—maintain your focus right here."
Your view briefly smeared your palm over his chest before properly adjusting. Your head pulsed as if your skull rejected your brain. Your mind was a jumble of many things barely held together. But you’re breathing, you’re alive, nothing hurts.
"Well done. Now, tell me five things about yourself," he asked.
The piercing cold scraped your bones like long-stirred claws. Nothing hurts, not quite much.
"My name is Donatello,” he began to set an example. “I am a scientist. I aim to fix the Kraang predicament. I like purple,” he paused, realizing there was nothing more about him worth mentioning. Then, against logical reasoning, he added: “I miss my brothers.”
Squatting, embracing your naked, soaked silhouette in a failed attempt to stop shivering, you listened; forcing yourself to clutch onto his voice, scarcely discerning his words but making the effort. On the verge of giving up on obtaining an answer, Donatello motioned back. Your nails dug into his plastron just then. He tensed.
“My name is—” your voice quivered, mind spinning, searching. You told him. “Chest… hurts. Head, hurts. I’m cold.” Your weakling tone disturbed you, hoarse, broken, reduced to a raspy mutter. “I’m… alone.”
You were unexpectedly a jarring mirror he reflected in. Donatello tilted his head, musing.
"Well done. It wasn't so hard, was it?" he articulated, displacing your hand. "Now come here, you ought to wait inside the cell until the battery is efficiently substituted and operational—I still need to find another to power the tank, though.” he added between his teeth, more to himself than to you. “Anyway, be glad, you'll rest," he finished, offering you a towel.
You took it, hesitantly. Soft, cold fingers brushing with rough, calloused ones. Donatello retracted his hand upon the brief contact. For half a second, he seemed misplaced. Something shifted thereafter. As if the lab’s loneliness somehow extinguished just by having another breath residing there. As days elapsed, he worked diligently to replace the burnt pieces and connect the battery. This task, which would have taken only a few hours with all the needed resources, was now hindered by the aftermath of the world nearly ending.
You braced yourself every time he approached your space, yet, pain never came with him. Instead, there was something, something more, something close to a kindle glimpse of a strange fascination. Donatello couldn't grasp why, but he started bringing you food instead of using the feeding probe.
“I help bring them back,” you said one fine day, after long contemplating the scattered photographs of four turtles attired in different colors, enjoying life before the apocalypse.
The sound of the welder stopped, as did the sparks that created different patterns of light around. He looked at you, understanding that it was not a reiteration of your role; it was an express wish, a genuine interest, as if you actually had a saying on the matter. It was, in a way, touching.
“Yes, you will,” he paused briefly, contemplating for the first time going slightly out of his way to give you something. But what? Perhaps something to wear? No, keeping you naked meant you wouldn't dare to set foot outside. It had to be something else, something more.
Donatello pondered for half a heartbeat before pulling the protective lenses up. “Hey, on a scale of one to ten, how cold would you rate your cell?”
***
The day came when he finished fixing the lights. The sudden brightness forced a hiss out of you, too sharp. He adjusted it, toning it down to a level you could bare. He found an extra battery as well, which meant you would return to the tank. You would hurt again, but it’s fine; he gave you purpose. He fed and warmed you, and listened to you. He gave you gentle head pats—
He’s good.
He doesn’t care if he hurts you.
It’s alright. He gave you purpose.
He doesn’t care if you cry.
He keeps you warm.
Donatello took some blood samples, followed by platelets, in between a couple more tests. You felt dizzy jumping off the chair, narrowly holding on to the edge of the table so as not to slam against the floor. The tank light loomed over you. Bit by bit, you gestured towards the two-meter cylindrical vessel, your heart rate suddenly plummeting. The dreadful prospect of sensory deprivation gnawed at your insides. Your breaths became erratic, resonating loudly in your ears, and the sensation of blood swirling in the pit of your stomach heightened. You won't feel, you won't eat, you will hurt. You can't breathe. You gasp for air. It’s alright, it’s alright-
"I was thinking..." Donatello's voice cut through the oppressive atmosphere, and you clung to the sound as if it were a lifeline. "Since you've behaved— what if I don't send you back in the tank? What if you stay here a bit longer?"
You turned, your eyes widening in astonishment.
"Would you like that?" he asked, not facing you, an awkwardness in his demeanor, as if it were the first time in his life he had asked for company.
"Yes," you gasped.
***
You couldn't pinpoint when it happened, but it didn't matter. You lay on his lap, resting as he worked, your body bare, absorbing the warmth of the room he had carefully heated for you. You cherished the rare moments he allowed you this close to him, savoring the seconds of feeling human once again through simple acts like cuddling. It made the aching in your body subside a smidgen.
The embrace elicited subtle signs of contentment, slowly fading into gasps, later morphing into moaning. His breath hitched upon hearing them. Donatello wasn't the best at navigating feelings. But these sensations were not exactly that. They couldn’t be. No, it was more like a palpitation triggering a primal response to your scent, your warmth, and the gentle quiver in your voice.
He scoffed. Deep thought on the matter didn’t change that his cock throbbed with each breath rolling off your mouth. He tried to shake the heat of his head, but why? Why should he resist? There was no purpose for not indulging. In fact, it could be beneficial.
He let his hand travel across your back. His touch made you shudder. He puffed, a nerdy sound he hadn’t heard himself make since the first time he watched a porn video.
“Come,” he said, tugging you to sit upright.
You raised your head from the crook on his neck to face him. “To the operating room?”
“No, just here,” he muttered.
Donatello adjusted you over the lower half of his plastron before reclining the chair back. Your nude pussy pressed upon its wetness. He groaned. Warm fingertips clung to the upper sides of his shell, seeking balance. He stroked your hair. You waited. Nothing hurt.
Donatello placed both hands over your love handles, moving you back and forth so your cunt rubbed over his needy slit. It throbbed, his hard cock soon to emerge from it. He whimpered, breath hitching when you followed his lead, hypnotized by the exquisite friction over your clit. A few more humps and it came out, pulling a deep growl from him. You looked in astonishment as it rose against your abdomen. tick, long and glistening in a creamy transparent liquid. Your inner thighs soon soaked in it. Nothing hurts, no…, in fact- it’s good. Fuck, so good. You sighed, unable to stop grinding over his newly released member, absolutely thriving in the delicious way it numbed everything into bliss.
Donatello’s head fell backward. His mouth curved slightly at the corners in a somewhat twisted smile of enjoyment. His earnest, soft moaning mingled with yours feverishly.
“That’s so hot— I want more, I want to be in you, I know you’re so warm inside,” his voice was desperate, drunken-like.
In one motion, Donatello pulled you up. Your back hit the cold desk. You sensed the keyboard under your head. It hurt. You snap back, eyes open wide. He grabbed your waist. Six strong fingers kept you in place as he lined with you. You puff, suddenly tensing.
"You want it too, right? In theory, it should feel good. You're too wet for it not to, don't worry, you've been good. It won't hurt."
The question lingered. You don't know. You don't want to hurt. Would he be angry if you forced him to stop? Could you do that? Would he put you back in the tank? You're dizzy.
He moved the tip of his cock along your soaked cunt, focusing on your soft nub, making circles over it. Your legs opened wider in response. His voice quivered as he whimpered, yours followed. You clenched around nothing.
"You're not saying no, are you?" he panted. "So I assume you must want to, right?"
Your hole stretches with his size sliding in. You groan, dragging your nails over the desk.
"Ah— it hurts! It hurts!" you blurt out.
"Bear it. The ache isn't supposed to- last too long. It'll feel good once you get used to it. You're good, you can bear it, you ca-nm,"
His body steamed, and his mind burnt with it, slowly melting the last drops of rational thinking. "You're so tight," he thrust once, twice, and thrice.
You reached for him, clinging to his quivering voice, his praise, his— fuck he's so deep in you. his pace knocks your breath out. It hurts. It fills you so well. It hurts. Feels hot. His moves are steady, building heat in your belly. Pain's giving out. You clench around him, sucking him deeper.
Donatello jerked forward, mouth gaping, eyes shutting. Both forearms held him up over the desk. He was now close enough for you to embrace him, so you clamped one hand to his shell and the other to his shoulder. Both legs hugged him near. With each new thrust your clit rubbed to his plastron sending waves of volts through your veins.
"Yes," you breathed, barely above your own moaning.
Donatello grinned, "I knew you liked it,”
“Yeah—ah, faster, harder,” you pleaded, head thrown back as he fucked you.
He granted. Making his pace even crueler. His content smile never faded.
“Your little cunt loves this so much! I can feel you squeezing me so tight, fuck, such a good testing subject, about to be my favorite cumdump.”
Your muscles tensed in anticipation, the heat in your core about to burst. The sound of wet skin slapping reached your ears as your toes curled.
His breath staggered as he spoke. "Ah- I can't stop. I'm coming, fuck, yes, yes-mnn,"
The hot loads filled you all the way to your womb. You embraced him, his ragged breath right in your ear. He enjoyed it, you did good, all feels right, more, more— You came with a loud moan, sweet pulsations carried the bliss from your belly through your temples, melting you.
He stayed still for a while, holding you in his arms, absorbing the warmth from your body. You both descended from the high together. Your scent mingled with his own, and for a fleeting moment, something tingled within him—the creeping onset of a feeling. He scoffed. It meant nothing. What are feelings if not chemicals in the mind, fueling instincts?
"Go clean yourself up," he instructed, letting off your legs. "We still have some tests for the day."
#dark content#tw dark content#dub con#dark fic#tmnt dark content#tmnt x reader#tmnt 2007#tmnt 2k16#tmnt 2012#tmnt smut#tmnt dark turtles#tmnt evil donnie#evil donnie#tmnt 2016#tmnt bayverse donnie#tmnt donatello#tmnt bayverse#tmnt x you#tmnt x reader smut#tmnt x y/n#bayverse tmnt x reader#2007 tmnt x reader#tmnt 2007 x reader#tmnt donnie#tmnt 2012 x reader#tmnt donnie x reader#tmnt 2012 donatello#donatello hamato#dead dove do not eat#dead dove fic
373 notes
·
View notes
Note
Hi! Loved your Mononoke fics! Was wondering if I could request fluff of Kusuriuri (either Ri or Kon, love them both) proposing to reader or accepting a proposal from reader? That &/or maybe a who fell first/harder? Totally up to you! Have a good day/night & take care of yourself!

Such Aggravating Emotions
Content: gender-neutral reader, proposal, first kiss, confession of feelings, reader travels with Kusuriuri, one-bed trope, reader can ward Mononoke off, marriage proposal, Kusuriuri struggles with knowing what he feels a bit (but he def knows what he wants), slight talk of murder, Mononoke hunting, based off the Mononoke tv show
Word Count: 2.0K
A/N: sooo.....lol I did both. What can I say, I love Kusuriuri and these prompts were great. Also thank you so much for reading my fics!! It means so much to me!! Sending love your way and I hope you enjoy!!
↞ to Mononoke Masterlist | Request Rules | Blog Navigation ↠
You had a sunny laugh.
It was the first thing Kusuriuri ever took note of from you. He’d heard many laughs, but yours, for whatever reason, grabbed his attention.
You stayed calm when everyone else screamed and squawked about in their fear of the Mononoke haunting the inn you had been staying at. You stayed nearly as calm as he did. A feat not so easy to master.
You knew how to handle yourself against a mononoke. You didn’t just know silly facts on how to keep a spirit at bay, you helped keep it at bay.
When you asked Kusuriuri if you could follow him--learn more from him--he didn’t have to think too long or too hard before agreeing.
There was no harm in allowing you to follow him…
No harm, yes, but the realization that he had come to harbor feelings for you was utter torment.
It tugged at his heart and soul day in and day out. Tugged and tugged so that he couldn't help but leave lingering touches on your hands and shoulders. Couldn’t help but buy you small trinkets and joke with you just so that he might catch a small glimpse of your smile--to hear that laugh that had initially drawn him in.
You were startled when you came to the realization that this always-so-poised medicine seller might have feelings for you. Feelings you also harbored for him. Ones you had held from the moment your eyes had fallen upon his pale, painted face. Feelings you had let grow out of your control the longer you stayed by his side.
Though, you were never too sure. Always toying the line of being too obvious--too touchy. He never seemed to reciprocate but sometimes…sometimes you were steadfast in your assumptions. Times when he would stick close to you, never letting his shoulder waver from your own. Times when he would gift you small things you had been eyeing at market and times when his compliment, oh so sweet, made you feel like flying.
But then he would go right back to being that tranquil, mischievous mystery that he was and your doubts would come crashing right back over you.
Though, all doubts came to a halt after a particularly ruthless mononoke exorcism. You two had stopped for the night in a non-mononoke haunted inn, a room purchased and a single bed shared between the two of you.
It was always easiest to pretend to be a traveling married couple. There was less judgment--less questions, that way.
You’d tried to get used to sharing a bed with Kusuriuri--to not let it trick your heart and mind into being something other than practical but this night was different. Different because the peddler could not seem to find rest. Seemed so utterly unsettled. Like his mind wouldn’t let him rest.
You propped yourself up on your elbow so that you could gaze upon his face more easily, his blue eyes wide open. Eyes clouded in that same restlessness his body exuded.
“Antsy, are we?” You questioned, unable to keep from teasing the typically at-ease peddler. Blue eyes found yours and something like irritation filtered through them.
“You bring out such--” He moved then, propping himself up on his own elbow so he could look right back at you. So that he could tower over you in the way he always did. “Aggravating emotions in me.” You’re stomach twisted in your belly.
You brought emotions out in him?
Emotions?
You?
“I don’t--what do you mean?” You asked, voice coming out more soft than you had wished it.
Your breath hitched near painfully in your throat when he leaned closer to you, those eyes of his scanning over every feature your face had to offer.
“I struggle to know the true words but,” He brought his hand full of purple-painted fingernails to feel over the warming skin of your cheeks. “I wish to do this often. And,” His fingers danced lower. Nails grazed over the outline of your top lip. “Taste these.” Your lips gasped apart at what he was telling you.
Were you--were you right in thinking he felt the same?
No--no this was…a dream. Surely, it was just a dream.
“Oh,” You breathed as he pulled closer. The air in your lungs growing heavier against the racing beating of your heart. “Do you?”
“Yes.” He purred. A purr that sent your body trembling despite yourself. “Do you?” He asked, thumb brushing over your parted lips as he held your chin steady.
“Yes.” Kusuriuri grazed his nose lightly over yours as if to test the waters. Waters you all but plunged straight into as you pressed your nose closer in answer, chin raising so that you might try to find his lips.
Half-hooded blue eyes did one last frustrating look into your own before his lips were claiming yours. Lips just as soft as you had dreamed. Lips that tasted of the very same spices he smelled of. Lips that moved slowly against yours--deeply. As if he wanted to eat you whole. You wanted him to devour you whole. Wanted him to devour you body, mind, and soul.
They were lips you were gifted over and over again as you continued to travel with him. Your tentative relationship with the peddler only grew more powerful the longer you two indulged in each other.
He shared secrets with you that had never seen the light of day before. Secrets of his past and his very purpose on this earth.
You had done the same. Had shared your hopes and dreams and how you’d even come to successfully learn to ward spirits off.
There was nothing you two hadn’t explored and shared together and you found you never wanted it to end.
Another mononoke haunt began some years later. A battle Kusuriuri himself was struggling to win, the frog spirit having slashed into his thigh much to his annoyance.
You had been by his side in moments, having already surrounded those being haunted by the Mononoke in a ring of salt. Though he had been by your side for many years now, he was still entranced with your ability to keep such mononoke away.
“Are you hurt?” You called over the croaking of the spirit before you. One that lashed and clawed and kicked at the invisible barrier you had managed to create.
As Kusuriuri watched you, he couldn’t help but think of how lucky he was to have you by his side. How lucky he was to belong to you…belong…he wanted to be bound to you for as long as this life would allow.
“Marry me.” He spoke, his voice keeping that same even tone despite the weight of emotions raging within him.
You whipped your head around to stare bug-eyed at him. To look at him like he’d gone crazy.
It was a great shock to say the least. One that had allowed the Mononoke to gain an inch on you. You tried to refocus yourself but--
He had never once mentioned marriage. Any and all marriages you both had witnessed had been practically scoffed at by the peddler.
“You--you’ve hit your head.” As you glanced at the peddler still sprawled out on the ground behind you. He was looking in a way that made your heart begin to race. Race like how it’d raced when you two first started this strange relationship of yours.
He looked serious. Very serious.
“I have not.” He said your name slowly. Your heart only gave a fluttering twist. “Marry me.”
“I--why now? You don’t--since when do you care about that? It is a purely human invention.”
“You make me…” He gave a pause, taking note of the way your arms were beginning to strain against the effort of keeping the wild spirit back. “Wish to partake in such human inventions.” He saw your eyes, eyes he could spend hours staring into, begin to bubble with tears at his words.
“You’re serious?” You’re voice came out tight as if still not believing him.
The Mononoke broke through your barrier, then with a roared ribbit. You’re eyes pulled from Kusuriuri and his seemingly impossible question as webbed claws came swiping for your face.
You’re world blurred as strong hands grabbed you up into equally as strong arms, wind whirling around you as you were rushed away. You grabbed hold of Kusuriuri’s colorful kimono for support as he moved with fluid grace through the hauntee’s home.
“Deathy.” He purred, lips brushing over the shell of your ear in a way that made your skin explode with goosebumps.
Your feet had hardly found the ground before he was reaching into the expanse of his outfit to grab a handful of triangle-folded bits of white paper. Kusuriuri threw them in a curving motion, the bits of paper springing into their rectangular shape as they found a temporary home along the floor before you, the walls on either side, and on the ceiling. They flashed a bright red eye as the Mononke rammed itself into yet another invisible barrier.
The masters of the house you had left to stand in a circle of salt gave frightful screams at the sight of it, but neither you nor Kusuriuri paid them too much mind.
“You feel for me that deeply?” You questioned, another ribbit shaking the very ground you all stood on. “To be bound to me in that way for as long as I might live?” Kusuriuri crossed the small distance that lay between you both, thin fingers lacing between your own.
“Yes,” He spoke so surely. “And then some. I wish to be bound to you in this life and the next.” His face grew closer, eyes never once leaving yours. Never once stopped showing you such emotion he so very rarely let run this wild. “Till the skies fall and nothing but dust remains, I wish to belong to you.” You held onto his hand like a lifeline.
“Oh--only for that long?” You couldn’t help the slight tease. Not when you were feeling so--so loved. A love no one had ever shared with you before. A love you only ever wished to be blessed with by him.
Kusuriuri cracked a wide grin, the tips of his fanged canines flashing at you.
“Till the next world is upon us, I wish to love you.” His hand gave yours a squeeze. “Marry me?” He questioned once more.
Your eyes began to burn all over again in your utter joy. Joy you let spur you forward into his awaiting arms. Joy you let guide your lips against his. A joy you wished to express to him in the passion of the kiss you gave him. A kiss Kusuriuri was quick to give back. A joy he was quick to express back.
“Yes.” You murmured against his lips. “I wish all that too. I wish to be bound to you. I wish to love you with my every breath. I wish to love you after the breath has ceased to flow through my lungs.” You grinned so bright it began to sting at your cheeks. “Yes. Yes I will marry you.” Kusuriuri kissed you once more. Kissed you so deeply you almost forgot about the Mononoke ribbiting in bloodthirst your way.
“What are you doing!” The lady of the house screeched. “Proposals?! Now! Get away from each other and kill that thing!”
“Oh, we shouldn’t have thrown her into that bog.” The lord of the house moaned weakly. “We shouldn’t have tossed our little girl into that bog.” A sharp smack sounded as the lady tried to shut her husband up.
“She was a freak!” Kusuriuri smirked against your lips, blue eyes opening only by the smallest amount to share his sparkling amusement with you.
“Truth.” He whispered against your lips. You smirked back as the sword tucked safely in his wooden crate gave a click then a bang against its confines.
“She was five! Such a precious gem.” The lord cried, sobs shaking through his body as the sword gave yet another clicking bang in beg for freedom.
“Humm…it’s shape?” You whispered in question to the peddler you were ecstatic to forever stay with.
“It’s shape.” He agreed, turning his face away from you only to watch the wrathful spirit rage.
“Shall we ask them all the reason?” You again questioned, letting your hand linger in his for a moment longer.
“I believe we shall.”
#kusuriuri x reader#kusuriuri x you#kusuriuri fic#kusuriuri#ri kusuriuri#ri kusuriuri fic#ri kusuriuri x you#ri kusuriuri x reader#mononoke#mononoke fic#mononoke tv show#mononoke 2007#mononoke 2006#medicine seller#medicine seller fic#medicine seller x you#medicine seller x reader#medicine peddler#medicine peddler fic#dividers by thecutestgrotto#dividers by sweetmelodygraphics#my fics#requests
85 notes
·
View notes