#I hate my brain though. My cheek was covered in blood and my first thought was 'lol me after making out with the f/o' instead of just...

[neckromancy]

I ordered a second mug of my self ship.

I noticed I was not using the one I already had out of fear for the print fading or dropping it, so buying a second one was an inevitable solution. The second one actually came out better than the first (darker red), so that will definitely be my display version, but more importantly... I can now show both sides at once with this picture, haha.

I love physical products!

[noobsoconfusing]

‘pothead? more like pot no head!’ hamzahthefantastic

summary: hamzah and you get high together very often, however this time is different, as you both take too much and end up greening out in different ways.

warnings: awkwardness, inexperienced hamzah and reader, cum, cringe.

>_<

“holy shit! holy f-fuck!” hamzah rubbed his heavy eyes, staring half lidded at your limp body passed out on his lap.

damn, he felt so overstimulated. his senses failing on him, per usual.

the smoke surrounding the living room –and yourselves– felt thick, almost like he could munch on it if he wanted to, and each time he breathed in he felt even more zooted.

and ow, fuck! you looked so beautiful. the light freckles, almost invisible, surrounding specific areas of your face, and then some imperfections that hamzah considered perfect on you –the same he considered ugly on him– you had dark circles under your eyes, and messy hair that covered your face almost entirely, but still he was able to peek at your flushed cheeks.

‘no! hamzah, stop! she could be fucking dead!’ –he thought to himself, regaining an ounce of consciousness through the warm haze that filled his brain and body.

“hey…” he shook your body, trying to keep his eyes off of your torso, though it was almost impossible for him. hamzah’s eyes drifted down, sheepishly admiring how the oversized shirt you were wearing –that yeah, in fact was his– rode up..

but as he kept shaking your body with his bigger hands, he realised you were far gone. that, of course, scared him shitless.

“oh my god..!” hamzah considered calling martin, but it was roughly 4 am, he wouldn’t be awake.

hamzah felt like he was losing the ability to breathe properly. his heart was beating so fast and blood going to every single direction inside of his body.

literally every single direction. fuck. oh no.

“y/n, are you… are you awake?” hamzah saw double lines, so fucking high. “oh god she’s dead, she’s fucking dead…” he felt like crying he was so fucking panicked.

and the scene was quite funny, tense even. how was he going to tell the police that you guys got super high that you probably had a heart attack? even worse! how was he going to explain the stupid fucking hard-on he had been resisting to beat since the fucking weed settled on him?

crying with a stupid hard-on was pathetic. crying stoned out of his damn head, with his possibly dead roomie laying next to him was dumb.

everything was dumb! nothing made sense to him at that moment, ugh, so confusing!

crying next to the girl he yearned for, the girl he liked since he first saw in that roommate application was beyond pathetic. and you were both high.

“oh god, please!” he yelled so fucking loud, which made you scramble out of your slumber. “i know you hate me! doesn’t matter cause you’re uh, like, you’re dead, but oh god! i like you.. so much and.. man i just…wanted to smoke with you… maybe make out… maybe even dip it! but y/n please don’t, uh, don’t kill me in my sleep too! oh my fucking god!” he rambled as he slurred his words from how high he was.

hamzah had this problem. one of many. where he would overthink and panick and talk his brain off as if his body had no power over him, only his thoughts. that maximised when he was zooted.

due to his extreme yapping, you found yourself awake on the couch, but you couldn’t move or speak. your limbs felt floaty and numb and your body felt so lightweight that you wondered if you were human still.

but hamzah’s greened out voice was getting on your stoned nerves

“mmm…” you slowly opened your eyes, red as fuck. “hamzah, a-are you tweaking?” your voice groggy after smoking only turned him on even more, and he felt so bad for thinking lewd stuff about you.

his eyes blew up wide, like two round red leds. he threw himself into your smaller frame, engulfing you in a big hug. he groaned out of satisfaction.

groaned again when he felt your body so close to his. so warm. so soft.

“holy fuck! you’re not dead! oh shit, y/n i fucking love you, i love you i love you, god i was scared shitless..” as high as he was, he meant it, he had been wanting to admit that for such a long time but sober he didn’t have the balls to.

you gave into the embrace and snuggled closer to his warmth. his words vague, though you cherished them and how sincere he sounded, it was almost impossible to concentrate in that state of mind. all you could do was enjoy the proximity.

so comfortable, so nice, and..

“im sorry im hard..!” hamzah pulled away from the hug to look down at his almost unbearable boner. his eyes wide and glossy like marbles looked at you like a kicked dog asking for help.

you see, in his right mind he wouldn’t even mention it, he wouldn’t even look at its direction. but he was definitely not in his right mind, right?

he surely knew how to silence a room.

“huh?” you stared at him confused and rubbing your right eye, pouting. looking like a fucking goddess. so cute. so beautiful it made hamzah wanna just explode.

here comes the world vomit. high trait of his.

“im sorry i have a boner. like, okay, it’s so painfully hard that i feel sorry because weed, well, weed makes me super fucking horny and on top of that you’re here and i think you’re so pretty and i love you so oddly much… im sorry i got a boner,” he swallowed the knot inside his throat. “i am sorry, so sorry. i love you though? is that weird? do you think it’s weird?..”

seconds that felt like hours passed and you would just switch stares between hamzah’s reddened face and the notorious bulge inside his grey sweats.

he felt like dying. and you were just sitting there, looking fuckable and so pretty, and he was just melting there waiting for a reaction from you, trying not to burst like a teen.

hamzah almost felt as if the high was gone from how nervous he got, but feeling sober was way worse.

you got closer, but it was like you were being pushed by an invisible force. like a magnet attracting you to hamzah’s shivering body.

your hands trembled badly.

no, you did not know what possessed you to crawl over him and caress his face, he was sweating cold, and his eyes far gone intoxicated.

“w-what are you…?” you laughed at how he pronounced the sentence, your giggles almost like a whisper.

tension so dense it could be cut with a knife

the eye contact was stupidly intense, both of your gazes drowsy and tired, eyes heavy and itchy from the smoke around you.

when your hand moved south, hamzah’s eyebrows knitted together and his mouth fell open wide, choking a whine. it was extremely weird how a little touch could make him feel so excited, and got him even harder, if it was even possible…

“dude, you’re bricked…” you said, feeling him up through the grey sweats.

he subconsciously thrusted his hips upwards to your hand, which you quickly moved away, earning a pathetic moan from him.

“nooo, owww!” he pouted, eyes teary.

it was funny.

“no! hey!..” he pleaded, grabbing your hand and trying to place it over his boner again, but you giggled at his impatience and swatted his bigger palm away. “y/n! p-please, h-hey, you can’t just..” he shrieked desperately. “please?”

hamzah was willing to jerk off right then and there, not minding your presence. even better for him, he would cum to your image, to your feel, to your sight.

that would totally cross the roommate line, wouldn’t it?

neither of you were experienced though, and as fucked up as you were, you also didn’t wanna ruin it, ruin whatever was going on between you two.

you got too nervous. nervous at the sight of him so fucked out over nothing. you never had a guy like that, never so desperate for you. or a guy at all. hamzah made you feel so stupid, so weird inside. so warm.

oh, so nervous…

“uh, do you want another hit?” suddenly, you got up looking for the rest of the blunt. too lightheaded to function. too nervous to continue. a good excuse.

hamzah stared at you in disbelief. then down at his pants. then at you again. he smiled, but it was such a hot smile. he looked so good, so fucked up.

“we are pretty cooked though, don’t you think?”

you shrugged. “whats the worst that could happen?”

so you grabbed the special blunt on the night table, and the lighter too. slid it into your mouth and lighted the pre rolled, you inhaled and swallowed the smoke in, turning over to hamzah and then blowing out the smoke on his face.

he stared at you with his mouth wide open, trying to take some of you in. so drunk on you.

and so, the worst thing that could happen, happened.

hamzah felt like he lost balance, his eyes rolled back into his skull and tried to reach for your hand to hold while a gutural moan erupted from the back of his throat, just as he emptied himself in his sweats..

came untouched. just at the sight of you blowing smoke out on his face.

“f-fuck, im so so so sorry, i didn’t… i- i just, i don’t know… you’re so pretty and…” he started rambling yet again and you felt so silly.

your gaze softened on him, and hamzah felt less embarrassed when he realised you weren’t angry or grossed out. your soft eyes felt gentle and he knew you weren’t judging him.

“it’s fine… i guess.” you avoided staring at the wet puddle forming inside his pants, and he giggled nervously too.

time passed by, maybe not really. you felt as time flew by too slowly, and found yourself lost in hamzah’s big eyes again. both of you staring at each other while sitting on the couch, the blunt consuming itself far forgotten but still creating smoke.

hamzah cleared his throat. “i feel sticky.”

“i bet you do.” you replied.

“have you ever…” he started but you quickly interrupted him.

“no head, hamzah!”

>_<

yay first small fanfic here ^_^ unbelievably cringe though, might have to kms.

[hope-you-brought-kneepads-bitch]

Venom!Reader headcannons

Just a few headcannons to tie people over until my next fic, let me know if you guys have any or if you want to ask any questions about Venom!Reader 🥰☺️

-You didn’t realise Venom was speaking aloud until you were in a restaurant with Wanda and Venom wanted bloody raw steak and kept demanding it, you ignored them until Wanda caught your intention telling you people could actually hear them too not just you. You two never went back to the restaurant

-Venom chose you and claimed it was because you were a powerful vessel and could handle them but in reality you were weak and easy to manipulate, you weren’t happy with that answer and refused them any brains for a week

-Venom hates citrus fruits, lemon, grapefruit, key lime anything like that, they won’t eat them because they’re too sour which is a shame because you really lemony stuff and now you can’t eat it or venom makes you throw it up instantly

-When Venom first found you, you were about 5ft but after a while with Venom you were 6ft 2 and strong as hell, Wanda definitely wasn’t complaining but you did have to buy a whole new wardrobe

-You’re single-handedly keeping the shop around the corner running with the amount of chocolate you keep buying, but it helped keep Venom from killing everyone they see so you guessed it wasn’t that bad

-Natasha thought it was great when you first got Venom, she finally had someone good to spar with, someone who wouldn’t start complaining about being tired, well you complained but Venom couldn’t get enough, they love fighting with “the scary Russian lady”

-Anger issues, Venom gave you so many anger issues. When you first snapped it was so sudden that the group you were with were in silence for about 40 minutes

-Wanda loves cuddling with you even more than what she did, it felt like she was being wrapped in a big tar blanket, although Venom did try and make it more comfortable for the witch, they did want to make sure their queen was comfortable

-Speaking of Queen Wanda, since Venom’s an extension of your feelings their feelings about Wanda are 10 times more intense than yours (if that’s possible)

-in the beginning you’d often fall asleep in the day and wake up either not where you fell asleep or covered in blood and other liquids, Venom never offered any explanation but they did feel guilty sometimes so they stopped taking advantage of your tiredness, only sometimes though

-You sometimes forget Venom’s there in your head, when you were sat quietly reading and suddenly hear “I want to go eat someone!” You’re constantly falling off the couch when that happens

-Wanda struggled to kiss you for the first few months after Venom came into your lives, obviously venom has a long tongue and very sharp rows of teeth and it was a little difficult trying to navigate that, Venom claimed they were trying to help but they definitely weren’t, Wanda just kissed you on the cheek for a while

-Venom gets jealous, not of Wanda or you because of Wanda but when you or Wanda talk to or hug someone too long, they think you’re full attention should be on them 100% of the time, it’s like having an attention seeking puppy inside your head

[marvelcvte]

forbidden touch - steve rogers

*The above image is not intended to force the reader to identify with any of the people in it. Its purpose is to present the concept of the story.*

pairing: steve rogers x f!reader theme: smut warnings: heavy smut (18+, minors dni), handjob (f receiving), oral job (f receiving), edging, praise kink word count: 1,2k summary: you have a crush on steve and he hears you. a/n: hope you like it!! feedback is always appreciated (:

»»————-　　————-««

The feeling of the much needed rest finally assails you as you get comfortable in your bed. The silk sheet embrace you just as perfectly as it always does.

Working out with Steve Rogers is something that you never thought of doing before, but as soon as you joined S.H.I.E.L.D. and Nick Fury, that was the first thing they made you do. And apparently they wouldn't let you on a mission without having completed all the sessions.

You weren't complaining at first, since you had a crush on Captain America since the attack of New York. You didn't know him personally yet and you dreamed about him everyday. But after many, many work out sessions you started to hate him.

Not an enemy-like hate, I mean, you don't want him dead. It's more like you-make-me-horny hate. He is so bossy and demanding, and the fact that he turns you on makes you sick.

Of course, seeing him shirtless for four hours straight wasn't helping either. The hand-to-hand combats are the worst. Seeing him so close to you and smelling those nose-filling pheromones and testosterone is why you ended each session horny.

Today is no different. As your head meets the pillow, the only thing you can think about is him. You still imagine those sweaty pecs bouncing every time he jumped, or his arm flexing every time he took a break and drank from his water bottle.

At those thoughts, you find yourself sliding your hand towards your throbbing core. You are not wearing much, just a pair of panties and a sport bra, and this facilitates your eager hands.

Your fingers run on the fabric of your underwear and your legs begin to shake just at the clothed touch. Not so much time passes, that your hand is in your bare, wet folds.

The index finger finds the little button that gives access to your orgasms and it starts to give it round caresses. All your blood rushes between your legs as you speed up the movement. Your lips are parted, but you don't dare make a sound, at the risk of being heard by someone.

As soon as you pick a good rhythm, muffled words exit your mouth. You can't control your vocal cords anymore, since less and less silent moans flood the room.

For this reason, you can't hear the squeaking of the door and the panting of the person resting on the doorjamb. Steve had heard you and he quietly opened the door to see. He is prying on you even though he knew you wouldn't be happy about it.

But something makes him loose his mind and fully enter the room. As soon as he hears you repeat his rank more and more, he decides to get close to you and touch your thigh, without taking his eyes off what you're doing.

"Do you think of me when you touch yourself?" you hear him say as soon as you open your eyes, frightened. The first thing you do is sitting down and covering your shame with the blanket.

"Steve... I mean, Mr. Rogers, what are you doing here? You scared me," you stutter. Your blood rush from your core to your cheeks.

"I'm sorry, it wasn't my intention," he replies, staring directly at your face. "Please, continue what you were doing," he adds at the end.

"What?" the word leaves your mouth too quickly.

"You heard me. Do it, or I'll do it."

His demanding voice enters your ears and then that part of your brain that makes you obey, too clouded by excitement and shame. Your hand returns between your legs and starts moving as fast as before.

You muffle your moans directly down your throat and you close your eyes so as not to look at the Captain. But this is not what he wanted and that's why he wraps his hand around your neck, making your eyes meet his.

Your lips are parted again, this time letting your cries being heard. "That's more like it," he says.

"Now, tell me, do you think of me when you touch yourself?" he asks again. You whine in response, but he growls at you. "Use your words."

And that's what you do. You moan a breathless "yes". The tremor of your thighs increases more and more every time your hand collides with your clit. Tears of excitement form in your eyes and they are fighting to not roll down your cheeks.

"Let me see," Steve says in a very rough voice that should be illegal. With a big gesture, he takes off your blanket, admiring all your lust.

Without further ado, he sits in front of you and his hand takes the place of yours. The wetness of your flesh slips between his fingers as he opens your folds. In a jiffy, his head is between your thighs, testing your flavor.

Your head, instead, is brought back again on your pillow. The room is spinning as the man under you is licking the fuck out of you. His tongue is quick and experienced, as if he had already done what he is doing a thousand times more.

He englobes your clit between his lips, all while his arm is resting on your stomach, holding you still. Your hand travels down your body, into his hair. At this touch, his eyes light up and he stops the pleasure.

You stare down at him with a questioning look. But as soon as he moves away, his fingers enters you without warning. They curl up inside of you, touching every right spot.

"That's what were you dreaming about, uh? You waited for this for so long, didn't you?" he asks you, staring at you, while you can't even utter a word. His movement are fast and your wetness is his natural lube. They come in and out with ease.

Your moans fill the room, and for Steve they're music to his ears. "What's my name, princess?" he asks you.

His fingers speed up, spurring you to answer. His other hand returns on you neck, making your faces too much close. You can feel his breath fanning your open mouth.

"Steve," you finally answer.

"Again," he says.

You repeat it again and again and with every word Steve's fingers increase in speed. From two fingers, to three, until there are four.

Your little hole is stretching around his hand and he can feel your walls clenching as you're near your high.

"I'm close," you warn him, hugging his arm still resting on your neck. In hearing these words, the Captain stops. You give him a nasty look, but he smiles and sits not so far from you.

At the lack of contact your body trembles. "Go ahead and finish what you started," the same commanding voice that you hear in those training session is now used to make you come.

He watches you as your hand is back again on your clit. "Yes, just like that, good job."

It looks like you're back in the gym, but you're sweating for something else. It takes little for you to pour yourself on the bed. You feel relieved and invigorated after an exhausting evening that never seemed to end.

As you open your eyes, coming down from your high, you find Steve still watching you.

"You did great. Next time, keep your voice down if you don't want me to hear you. Or don't."

[descendantofthesparrow]

Days in the sun - Walter Deville x Reader -OUAD alt fic!

=

Will I tremble again, To my dear one's gorgeous refrain? Will you now forever remain Out of reach of my arms? -

“(Y/N)-NO-(Y/N)!!!!” I screamed out her name, her hand having just slipped from mine-her ring now sitting in the palm of my hand as her form crumbled to the ground-her head hitting something hard-I flinched as I heard her skull crack. I called her name over and over again, my castle staff holding me back from leaping off the cart and going back to save her-I would be no use to her or them dead from the townsfolk.

She wasn’t there when we came back after everything calmed down-I desperately searched for her throughout the forest-calling for her-her ring clutched to my chest, tears streaming down my face. “(y/n)!!!” I screamed and screamed and screamed.

She never responded.

All I found was the rock that was stained with her blood-where her head had been cracked open. I collapsed over it, curling into myself as I cried my heart out, my throat getting sore and dry with how much I cried.

I think I cried out all my emotions that day-because-after that-I felt…nothing. just-emptiness.

Things stayed that way for the next 900 years.

-

There's not a day that goes by that I don’t miss her. My beloved.

My (y/n).

It had been over 900 years since she disappeared, since I last held her hand, since I last heard her voice. At some point-you’d think I lose count of the days, the months, the years since that fateful day. But I hadn’t, my brain constantly reminded me of her, of how long it’s been.

328,777 days. 900 years, two months, three days. That’s how long it had been since I lost my heart-my soulmate. I sighed, leaning back from my current paperwork, reaching up and taking the thin silver chain from around my neck, bringing (y/n)’s wedding ring out to rest in my palm.

To this day-I had, no clue-to where she had gone. She wasn’t dead-I knew that, if she had been killed I would’ve become human again-maybe even died with her. But instead, it was almost as if my heart was taken and locked away, only to be released when I thought of her.

I sighed again, bringing her ring to my lips and closing my eyes; wondering what the villagers had done with my beloved so many centuries ago. Had they buried her? Locked her away? Was she chained to the bottom of a lake-wasting away, waiting for me to find her?

I hated the thought, hated the thought that she might still be waiting for me; waiting to be rescued by her beloved. I covered my eyes at the thought, biting the inside of my cheek as my chest felt heavy all of a sudden. I forced that feeling away as my butler knocked on my study door and I sat up in my chair, taking a deep breath before calling him to come in, hiding her ring behind my shirt.

“yes?” I asked him, a bit tiredly, the current week had been a bit exhausting-with the news of a suddenly appearing Alexander female that was of marital age, there was a shortage of something within the town that apparently needed my attention, Viktoria was being oddly clingy in way that wasn’t exactly-endurable, and the sudden waves of paining guilt that were piercing my chest before, during, and after each meal I ate.

That had happened more often-first starting 10 years ago now. I couldn’t quite place why-for the last 900 years-after she disappeared-it felt like my emotions were locked behind my own heart. I never had time to dwell on why it was happening.

My mind was brought back to the present as Mr. Field stood in front of my desk, handing me a file with Ms. Evelyn ‘Alexander’ Jackson’s information in it. “oh, good” I muttered, taking the file and opening it, pulling out a printed version of Evelyn’s Facebook profile. She was quite the specimen, dark curling hair with piercing brown eyes, a nose ring complimenting her facial structure and lips. She was beautiful-though no-one would ever match my darling (y/n). I looked up, seeing Mr. Field still standing there. “Anything else?”

“Oliver Alexander called, he said Ms. Alexander did agree to fly in for the wedding, she thinks it’s a wedding for their cousin and your niece at the moment” I chuckled, sipping at the scotch that sat on my right-hand side. Niece, I was the only Deville left-neither of my sisters wished for children and I never had the opportunity to…well, I did-but the person I wanted kids with wasn’t around anymore. “but, she requests to bring a friend of hers along”

I nearly choked on my drink, looking up at my butler in shock. “really?” I asked, calming myself and setting my drink down, licking my lips as he nodded “and-who is this friend?” maybe this friend of Evelyn could be her first meal as a vampire-as a proper goodbye to her human life(I felt a sharp pain in my chest at that idea, what was this feeling?!)

“Oliver says her name is (y/n).”

My heart skipped a beat.

No….no it-it couldn't be-it couldn’t.

It would be impossible.

There were millions of (y/n)’s in the world-there had to be-it-it couldn't be my (y/n). It would be impossible.

Her ring sitting on my chest suddenly felt so present-even more so than usual. I didn’t realize I was zoning out, Mr. Field looking down at me concerned, tilting his head slightly “Sir? Master Deville?” I looked up at him, clearing my throat, waving my hand in dismissal. “yes-of course. This, (y/n)-” my mouth felt dry at the name-and my body felt warm-but I forced myself to believe that it wasn’t my (y/n).

It couldn’t be.

She was gone. I had to accept that.

My mind went to the pocket watch that sat in my bedroom desk drawer, our song sitting locked within its gears. “-is welcomed to come along with Evelyn.” Mr. Field nodded, a bit-concerned-at my current reactions to this friend of Evelyn. But he bowed out with a wave of my hand, leaving me to practically sink to the floor out of my chair, my heart suddenly beating out of my chest-something it hadn’t done in decades. Centuries even.

Just her name sent me into a whirlwind like this.

“it’s not her, it’s not” I whispered to myself, covering my face with both hands and taking a slow sobbing breath. “it’s not. She’s gone.” I bit the inside of my lip-I hated admitting that to myself, but-the man who she loved was gone, so reasonably-she was gone too. The man who clung to her had been left behind in the abandoned castle-I needed to let her go.

I touched my cheek-it was blazing warm-my eyes burning with tears. “fuck” I cursed, tipping my head back and taking several deep breaths; i needed to gain control of myself-all while wondering where all this had come from.

Guilt for feeding on innocent people, pain when I remembered my dear (y/n), and all this-blubbering-over her name.

What had happened? What had happened to the emotionless Walter Deville?

-

Mr. Field stopped as he made his way through the halls, feeling as if he had forgotten to ask the master something about the new Alexander brides friend. He brushed the thought off-he was sure it wasn’t important.

-

In the next three weeks-the household of new Carfax abbey got ready for the arrival of the new lady Alexander, and her friend. An extra guest room was made up, and the Alexander suite was readied for a new generation-fitted for a young woman like Evelyn. Soon came the day of her arrival-only five days before the wedding. Only she didn’t know it was hers just yet.

I brushed my shirt clean-running my hands through my lightly gelled hair to smooth it back. My eyes caught onto the painting that hung above the doors that led into my room-(y/n)’s ever-kind eyes staring back at me. I sighed, feeling her ring press warmly against my chest-I blew her painting a kiss and exited my room-it was around the time Evelyn would arrive along with her friend so I should get going. I frowned at the odd-tugging sensation that pulled at my chest-a wisping wind at my back-pushing me towards the front yard.

I shook the feeling off, doing one last check of the house before I began making my way downstairs, huffing to myself as I read through the report Mr. Field had given me for the wedding. “of course, the flowers are all messed up-and then her dress won’t be here till Saturday-only a day before the wedding.” It was Wednesday now, and I hated cutting things close-I preferred everything to be on time-maybe even early.

“You’re going to give yourself grey hairs worrying like that” I sighed, turning to see Viktoria, her dark hair pulled halfway back into a bun-the rest of her hair framing her face. “and you’re supposed to be in your room” I muttered back, looking down at the papers and signing a few with a pen I had taken along for the ride. “Evelyn has no idea about all this-so technically-you shouldn't exist quite yet, not till the cocktail party.”

Viktoria clicked her tongue, making her way down to me-meeting me halfway on the staircase “oh don’t worry, I’ll be away from your blushing bride in just a moment, I was just wondering if the food had arrived?”

The maids, she meant the maids-but Viktoria had always been easygoing about what we fed on-even if I was beginning to feel queasy about it. I cursed at the feeling, not 10 years ago I could ravage several women within a day and feel nothing for them-yet now I could hardly kill a mouse and not feel guilt. I-I didn’t necessarily mind feeling this way-it…it made me feel like (y/n) was around again. But it was useless for the life I lived now.

“They should be out front,” I muttered instead of revealing my inner thoughts to my eldest bride, folding away the papers and going to put them inside my study “now go. Evelyn should be here any minute.” Viktoria huffed at the mention of the new bride, she was jealous-of course she was- but she obeyed and stalked away. But I knew later there would be some complaints from her.

I made my way outside to check with the gardener-when a voice caught my attention-a new one. And she sounded quite perturbed with my butler, I sighed, having a feeling he had gotten a bit cruel with the maid staff that had arrived-if I recall-I heard one of them drop a case of champagne glasses.

I began to make my way over-hoping to smooth over Evelyn’s first interaction with my staff and make sure her initial impression with the manor wasn’t on such a sour note. “Did I stutter?” Evelyn snapped, holding an intricately made vase to her chest, glaring at my butler who seemed ready to spout some words that neither I nor Evelyn would have liked to hear.

He was a good butler-but gods he was a bit of an asshole. “At ease Mr. Field” I quickly called out, hands in my pockets as I approached my new bride, her dark brown eyes turning over to me-the thinly laced anger in her eyes not disappearing at the sight of me. Though I didn’t expect it to-from her files-she was a bit of a spitfire. “I believe this is one of our important guests” I ended with a soft smile aimed at Evelyn-though something-I didn’t know what-was screaming at me to look just behind my new bride.

I only glanced, holding back a frown as I felt my heart skip a beat as I looked at the new person that had arrived with Evelyn, she was holding her finger in her mouth-her back turned to me. I looked back at Evelyn, smelling blood from this new person-she must’ve been Evelyn’s friend; (y/n). My heart skipped another beat at the thought of her name.

“And that makes a difference?” Evelyn muttered, glaring at me a bit-at the notion that her new connections to the Alexander family made a difference in how she was treated by my staff. Mr. Fields bowed-all but confirmed Evelyn had made a correct assumption “my sincerest apologies ma’am.” Evelyn just glared, and I glanced at my butler-who quickly bowed off, realizing he wasn’t welcome anymore.

Why was my heart going crazy-what the hell was happening? I could feel it beating out of my chest like I was alive again-the last time this happened was-was when I saw (y/n) in her wedding dress. “Apologies,” I said instead of focusing on my odd feelings, turning to watch as my butler walked away “he can be a bit demanding.”

Evie grumbled to herself, glaring after my butler “More like an asshole,” I couldn’t help but chuckle, smirking at my new bride-she was quite amusing “Ah, so you must be Evelyn~” she furrowed her brows at me, moving her hair out of the way as squared her shoulders slightly. “Evie. And you are?” I was about to introduce myself, my eyes flickering back over to Evie’s friend, something kept drawing me to her-and I couldn’t figure out why.

I felt like I knew her.

“Walter!” Evie’s friend’s shoulders dropped slightly, as if disappointed by my name, slightly glancing at me as she continued to nurse her finger-I couldn't see her eyes just yet but I could feel them on me-and my heart continued to beat like a hummingbird's wings. What was going on with me? Oliver jogged over to stand next to Evie’s friend, taking my hand and smiling at Evie “You beat me to the punch,” Oliver joked, pulling back and putting his hands in his pockets. “you’ve been introduced?”

Evie gave a very disappointed sounding “Yes.” while I said no, so I just grinned in that way I knew made every girl melt and tilted my head slightly “Well, not formally” I muttered, I watched as Evie clicked her jaw and stepped back towards her friend-who finally turned to look at me. And I locked eyes with her-and

And-

And-

Oh, oh my gods.

No-it-it-

It was impossible-it couldn’t be?....

(y/n)?

That-this was my (y/n), my darling (y/n), it had to be-no one could ever match her beauty so well as this woman did-she had the same eyes-the same lips-the same face, the same shining hair-this…

How-how was she here?

What had I done to earn her presence again?

I felt my heart stop again-my hands shaking in my pockets-my lungs unable to function as I took my long-lost beloved in. It-had to be her, it had to be-this had been what my body was pushing me towards-begging me to reunite with my beloved, to be with my darling (y/n). every part of me screamed to take her in my arms, to hold her, and never let her go again.

I forced myself to look back at Evie, trying to convince myself that this wasn’t (y/n), that I was forcing her visage upon Evie’s friend. But every time I looked at her-that visage never faded, and that pull I felt never left. Oliver introduced Evie and her friend; (y/n), and I could only try to keep my eyes on Evie while my hands trembled, unable to focus as my mind speed-ran the stages of grief and disbelief.

This had to be a-a dream of some sorts-a trick-a nightmare-(y/n)-my darling, my dearest-couldn’t have just-shown up suddenly. I was going to wake up in my bed-and restart the day-and this (y/n) wouldn’t be my (y/n). Oliver introduced me, and when (y/n) heard my last name-she perked up, and-and that gave me just a bit of hope.

Did she recognize me? Maybe this was my (y/n). I kept switching up on myself, telling myself it wasn’t my (y/n), and then the next moment I believed it truly was my darling.

Then It hit me- I should probably talk again, and so I told Evie she could just call me Walt-teasing her for telling me I could call her Evie instead of her full name. (y/n) licked her lips at that, pulling out her sliced finger from her mouth, frowning down at it as Evie finally noticed the injury-as did i-and pulled (y/n)s hand into her face “(y/n)! when did that happen?!” (y/n) was about to answer but I stepped forward and took her hand-and the moment I touched her skin-it was like lightning went down my spine.

Her eyes met mine-and I felt my body come alive again, my mind a flurry of emotions I hadn’t felt for years.

It was truly her-this was my (y/n), my beloved. My lady. I could hear the blood rushing to her cheeks as I examined her cut, frowning at the blood that began to pour from it again “glass-shard-cut” (y/n) stuttered out, her cheeks flaring to life as I held her hand gently.

Oh gods-how I had missed the sound of her voice-like soft snow bells on a winter evening, calm waves on the shore, songbirds in spring-oh how I could listen to her for hours on end, wishing to bury myself within her voice. I blinked back to reality as I realized I should get her taken care of quickly and started tugging her into the manor, leading her towards the kitchens-she resisted for only a moment, glancing back at Evie-who shrugged, looking just as confused as Oliver did-wondering why I had taken a shine to this ‘random’ girl.

I wondered when (y/n) would drop the act, and smirk at me like she used to when she played teasing tricks on me-like she always did when she helped my little sister prank me. Probably once we were alone-then that look in her eyes that she reserved for only me would return-and I would shower her in the affection I had missed giving her these last 900 years.

But as I cleaned her wound, and placed a Band-Aid on it-that look never appeared, instead, there was only confusion. There was no spark of familiarity-and I realized-I hadn’t seen it once from her. Why was she acting as if she didn’t know me? “There we go,” I muttered as I finished dressing her wound, stepping back to give her some space-watching carefully as she curled her hands into her chest-looking up at me through her lashes. “All better” she thanked me quietly, bowing her head as she did.

“you didn’t have to do that” she muttered, and I nearly scoffed, shaking my head-how could she say that? I would do anything for her. “no worries,” I said instead, my eyes drawn down to the leather chord that laced around her neck, her fingers fiddling with it-could that be? “so how do you know Evie?” I asked, genuinely curious on how my beloved had come to know my new bride…okay that sentence was very weird to me now that (y/n) was back.

Might have to make a major change of plans.

As (y/n) explained how she had met Evie-and became friends-my mind was stuck on the fact that she had been homeless for six years. I could only imagine her scared and alone-shivering as the night chill settled in. my gaze settled back on her as she tucked her chin into her chest-something she always did when she felt shy or uncomfortable.

“Why were you homeless, if-if that’s not an invasive question?” I needed to know, why had she been alone? Lost in a world she had been missing from for 900 years-when had she appeared? How long had she been just out of reach? (y/n) laughed awkwardly, fiddling with her necklace as she glanced to the side, shrugging a bit. “oh! Uh, this is-going to sound strange but uh,” she bit her lip, as if unsure she should tell me something “I woke up about ten years ago, with no memories.”

She…..she didn’t remember anything?

She-she didn’t remember me?

I felt the brimming hope in my body die out at that, my shoulders dropping as I looked at my beloved, who had finally returned to me after 900 years…only to not know who I was, and who she was to me. “I barely knew my name, I really only remember it thanks to this-voice,” I perked up at that, a voice? “I remember calling for me but uh-yeah, I was just-wandering around by a town and this-old couple brought me in and gave me a place to recuperate for a week, and then…I was in New York.”

She shrugged after she finished her sentence, as if it wasn’t a big deal-but all I could feel was a resounding ache in my chest, (y/n) didn’t remember me, or our past-or what she had done. And-and I didn’t know if she would ever remember me. I licked my lips, glancing down at my feet before she caught my attention again, bringing out the necklace that was hidden by her shirt.

“But,” and there it was, the necklace-the blood red gem held by silver and leather hanging from her neck, my first initial and last name carved into the side. Our eternal bond, her spell, my soul.

This was truly my (y/n).

“I do have one clue, and that’s H. Deville….” She looked up at me, biting the inside of her lip, as if unsure she should ask me something. “i-I was wondering if you knew him? or her?...them?” I couldn’t help but just stare, my tight grip on the kitchen counter about to break the marble-wishing to just-take her in my arms and hold her tight, wishing for the universe to never take her away again. Half of me expected to wake up, as if this was just a dream-that I would wake up to her missing from my life again.

But it wasn’t, she was here-my darling was here-I just had to find a way to get her memories back. “You really are her,” I whispered instead, running my hands through my hair, my bangs falling into my face “Holy shit, I thought you died.” (y/n)’s entire face lit up and she stepped towards me, our faces about a foot apart-I didn’t move, just staring into her wonderful eyes. “You know me!? You actually know me?!” she nearly squealed, and I felt awful for what I was about to do-I couldn't just-tell her I was Harrison-her beloved-her husband-for that was who I was-or who I used to be.

Everyone in the manor knew an entirely different person-and If I told her the truth-it would could break her-I didn’t know if she could handle it all right now. She only just got here-assuming H. Deville was someone other than i. “Yes, H.Deville” I nodded at her question, pointing at her necklace that meant so much more than she realized “Harrison Deville” it felt so odd to talk about myself as if Harrison was a completely different person-as if he wasn’t me. “he uh, was a close family member, my uh” quick what was he to me? What could I use that would be close enough to him so I could keep close to her? “my brother in fact”

Perfect-and if she asked-we were twins. I would apologize later if she regained her memories but for now-this story would have to do-I could only hope no-one got in her face about it because I had never had a brother-only sisters-and not even my wives knew that fact. I smiled through the pain of lying to her-watching as she took a breath and covered her smile with her hands-her eyes so full of hope and life.

Oh my beloved (y/n), if only you remembered.

“Harrison” she whispered my name so sweetly, and I wanted to cry, I hadn’t heard my name since before…all of this, since she disappeared. Oh, gods I wanted to hear it from her over and over again. I wanted to take her and run away, live as we used to, I-I wanted to love her again, as she deserved. “Is-is he here? can I see him?” she asked, looking so excited to see the name behind her necklace.

‘You’re looking at him’ I wanted to say, I wanted to tell the truth, to tell her I was her beloved, and she was mine. But I didn’t, holding the pain behind my heart and shaking my head-biting the inside of my lip as her shoulders dropped, looking so disappointed-a look I wanted to throw into an inferno. “why not?” she asked, furrowing her brows. I had already cornered myself, telling her the name of the man she had been looking for and then telling her she couldn’t see him.

I didn’t want to lie to her again, so I told her a half-truth-since he had died 900 years ago-when she disappeared. “he’s uh…” I sighed, tipping my head down “he died a long time ago, just after you disappeared” I whispered, watching as her entire demeanor dropped-looking so…disappointed, and sad-like her heart had been repaired only for it to be shattered…by me.

Oh my darling-I’m so sorry, how I wish I could tuck you away in my arms, and keep you safe, like I couldn’t 900 years ago.

“Who was I to him?” she asked, voice soft and unsure, those gleaming eyes looking into mine-eyes I had missed so much. Who was she to Harrison? Oh, darling;

She was sweet cream on a bitter day, a spring breeze in a cruel winter, a rose in a garden of thorns, the full moon in a blanket of stars, sweet rum on a snowy night, snowflakes in a sweet snowfall, songbirds on a battleground, warm blankets on a rainy night, sweet kisses through heartbreak.

My beloved, my true love-my soulmate. My savior.

“You were his beloved, his first and last true love,” I said instead, forcing away the crack in my voice as (y/n) flushed at the thought of her being someone’s beloved, I held back a smile as she bit her lip, fiddling with the necklace. “Come,” I said, holding out my hand to her “there's something I have to show you”

She tilted her head at me, then took my hand-lightning going down my spine again as I led her out of the kitchens and upstairs, taking a right at the hallway split and towards the master suites-where my room was.

And a room I had hoped to be used one day-but never thought it would be. Her room.

-end of p1-

Well-hope yall enjoyed p1~~~~ be prepared for a whole lotta angst-longing inner monologues, simpness, and Walter/harry being a sweetheart/protective asshole. More to come soon!!!

taglist! (so far, if u want to be added just ask~!)

@sessediz @reallystressedhoneybee @reallysparklychaos

[aki-draws-things]

So, my ability to write crossovers still works, I guess. Here, have a MCU/M:I crossover with Clint and Will being the same person (and having forgot what is the real name, so he keeps switching between the two at random times/when he's with one team or another.).

Yes, I know, Avengers would cover for Clint and all, and they do care, Benji is just pissed that he ended up hurt again when he wasn't with the IMF, that's all, plus the whole "they wouldn't catch you when you jump/fall like I do."

Enjoy~~

Shield missions were hard, and dangerous, but Clint Barton liked to think of himself as a specialist. Actually, that was exactly what he was. A highly trained and high level shield agent specialist. But no matter the danger he trusted his team. He trusted Natasha, with his life.

Avengers type of missions were dangerous, most likely deadly, and he was, thank you very much, human. In a team made of superheroes and Gods and supersoldiers and whatever the fuck was around these days. He was human, and humanly breakable, but he also was the best. They were a tight team, they cared for each other, deeply, Clint knew. But the stakes were always high, so high, way higher than he or his clearance level, or even his importance. So Clint never complained about not having a back up all the time, not after the first time, after which Captain America scoffed and said "we were all saving the world, Hawkeye", like Clint was the last recruit and still had to grasp at what they did. But Clint knew. He knew that if they had an eye, an arm or a weapon to spare, they would cover him.

Not cover, though, was the reason he landed, once again, in the bed of a too crowded hospital, with not enough nurses. Sure, there was shield hospital too, and Clint knew he would be transferred there soon enough, just give time for the team to regroup and--

"I hate them."

Clint blinked, a voice cut through the fog surrounding his brain and he smiled.

"no, you don't, you fan boy over all of them." he whispered. Talking hurt. Talking made something inside of him shift in the wrong way. He couldn't catch a proper breath.

"once, perhaps."

The voice got closer, a hand brushed over his forehead and Clint closed his eyes.

"why are you hurt?"

He wasn't asking him what the mission was, hell, everyone saw the avengers fight, he knew. Clint knew exactly what he was asking.

"had to jump... I jumped." he wheezed. Oh, God... That sounded wrong. Wrong on so many levels. He felt something wet in his throat.

"and where were they, Will?"

Will. Clint smiled. He liked when people remembered his real name. Though his shield and avengers teams thought his name was Clint. But it wasn't. Was it? Or perhaps it was Will the wrong, fake one? Could be... He couldn't remember. He couldn't remember - - he couldn't--- he coughed. Blood dripping from his lips.

"hey... Hey, Will, easy. It's okay, it's okay. I'm here. I'll call someone, yeah? We're gonna take care of you."

There was worry latched to the other man's words, and protectiveness, and a hand petting his head as he turned and screamed for help. Clint-- Will couldn't breath without chocking on his blood, he couldn't speak, and his vision gradually turned darker and darker and distant.

"B-- Ben---" he tried, the man turned again to him with tears falling down his cheeks.

Tears? Oh. Oh, no... He hated that. He hated when his team got so worried about him. He hated that they cared to the point of--

"it's okay. I'm here. I'm here. You'll be alright Will. I promise. I promise. Oh, God... I promise. Just stay with me. I--"

Benji babbled before screaming for a nurse again, with more panic.

"trust... You..." Will wheezed letting his eyes fall shut.

The IMF missions were, well... Impossibles. Agent Chief Analyst William Brandt knew what he was getting into every time he accepted, but he wasn't worried. He had his team, he trusted his team to cover for him and to catch him when he fell. Or jumped. Because they were team. They were family.

Yes.

Will trusted them with his eyes closed and his ears ringing and with blood leaking out of his body.

When he woke up again, in a obviously shield hospital room, Captain America was talking quietly with someone, arguing, actually, and clint had a hand wrapped in a warmer pair. He barely turned his head to notice Ethan snoring lightly on a chair next to the bed.

"I don't care who you are. That's a shield facility, Mr Barton is not allowed visitors from outside beside his team."

Briefly Will, or Clint, thought he would see Benji jump and try to strangle the super soldier.

"we are his team." he spit, in an anger that sounded so foreign on his voice. It made Will feel warm as he slowly drifted back to sleep.

"where was the great American hero when his teammate was dying and chocking on his blood?" was the last thing he heard before sleep took him again.

He was safe. He would be okay, just like Benji promised.

Clint, or Will perhaps, turned and stared at the Stark Tower elevator opening, Ethan and Benji entering the hall without even looking impressed and stopping a few steps from the elevator's door.

"who are they? J. Who gave them permission to--"

Clint tried, and failed, not to chuckle.

"tell me you didn't reroute the system. Ben, please---" he chuckled at his cheeks turning a slightly darker pink.

"his idea was to enter from the glass roof. With me." he said, outraged.

He crossed the room, spared just one look at Steve, who frowned briefly before recognizing the two men who didn't leave Clint's bedside at the hospital and grabbed him by both hands, dragging him to his feet.

"come." he sounded sweet. Sweet as the smile now playing on his lips as he dragged him and Clint let himself be dragged. "let's go home."

They stopped an instant when reaching Ethan, when he brought a hand up to caress his cheek, and the back of his neck, before pulling him closer and stealing a kiss.

"Eth--?"

"what Ben said. Let's go home, Agent Brandt."

And yet, despite the use of a title and his last name, his voice was the softest and fondest sound, making Will melt just a little bit.

[theship-thewalrus]

can i request the alternate ending to this fic

considering in my thoughts after reader died i don't think aegon will even let rhaenyra touch a strand of the baby and im also want to see jace and luke reaction jejdjejejj

Hi anons! I put both of these together, hope you don't mind! I must say I love some sadness. Hope its what you are looking for :)

aegon ii targaryen x niece! wife! reader

pretty much the ask

word count: 1034 words reading time: about 6 minutes warnings: death, le sadness

Part 1 || Part 2 || Ending 1 || Ending 3 || Ending 4 || Headcanon 1 || Headcanon 2

The hurried footsteps of the small group echoed through the hall. Unlike before it was deathly silent, no more did your screams bounce off the walls, your voice was no longer heard and it was as though the world stopped moving. Not hearing you anymore made Aegon speed up, jogging past Rhaenyra and her sons.

The doors were thrown over with little regard to whoever may be close to them. Aegon's eyes roam around the room before they finally land on his wife. The first thing he noticed was the dark red blood that covered the white of the sheets. His mother's sobs filled his ears next, his eyes drifting to the side of the bed where her face was covered by her hands. But it was clear she was crying by how her body moved with each cry. He then registered how pale you were, almost the color of the sheet.

No words were uttered for him to understand what happened. The maesters had failed you, they allowed you to die. The man flew to your side, hands clutching yours as though his will alone would bring you back. But you were cold to the touch, your usual warmth had left you. Tears began to well up in his eyes as his brain began to realise what happened. "no...no, no, no, no," the words poured out of his mouth like a string of prays.

When Rhaenrya saw the scene in front of her she broke, tears welled up in her eyes but they did not fall. Her fists clenched by her side as she takes in the two cryings next to you. Her sweet child, her little girl, was gone. She remembered the day you were born, how she held you in her arms as you wailed. How she swore to protect you from all the worries and pressures of the world. Yet she had failed you, her only daughter. You died thinking she hated you, that you no longer held a place in her heart. All because she was too stubborn to speak to you.

Jacaerys was beside himself with grief, like his mother he had not spoken to you since arriving. He believed you slighted them in some way, siding with his mother instead of his little sister. He should have not cared about this stupid rivalry, you were his sister above all else. He felt like he failed you. Tears streamed down his cheeks, unlike his mother, he held no reservations about crying in front of these people. He would come up beside Alicent, not wanting to get caught up in Aegon's grief.

Similarly to his older brother, Lucerys was distraught. He stood there frozen in place, simply looking at your pale and bloodied body. Despite being so young the boy had witnessed so much death, yet it never got easier. Especially when he gazed at his sister, only adding to the bodies.

Alicent lifted her head from her hands to see Jacaerys standing there. The woman sniffled softly, standing up from her stead before moving over to the other side where her son sat. Jacaerys took Alicent's seat, grabbing onto his sister's cold and limp hand. A delicate hand began to rub Aegon's back, trying her best to comfort her distraught and broken son.

A high-pitched wail took everyone's attention away from the bed for a moment. The door opens and shows a timid and frightened maid holding a newborn child. It had been washed and wrapped up in a blanket, the maid trying her best to calm it. The Maester instructed her to show the child to the Queen and its father, but there was no indication that so many people would be there. The little boy in her arms was crying his heart out, little face contorted and fists balled up. Whisps of white hair adored his little head, the hair was still slightly damp.

Rhaenyra was the closest to the maid and the first person to move. Wanting to see her grandson, to hold him in her arms and maybe even take him away from here. To raise the child herself and away from the claws of the vultures here. But Aegon shoot up, face pulled into a murderous glare. "Don't you dare touch him!" His voice shocked everyone, the maid nearly jumping out of her skin. Rhaenyra stops in her tracks, her hand returning to her side. Turning to her half-brother she spoke loudly, in order to be heard over the small child. "He is my daughter's son, my bloo-" Aegon marched forwards anger blazing in his eyes. "He is my son! My blood! My wife's child!" He screamed, the fire inside him burning brightly.

Everyone was taken aback Lucerys moved to his mother's side, not only to get a better look at his nephew but to also support her. Jacaerys took longer to move to his mother's side, not wanting to leave you just yet. He was not ready to let you go just yet, to leave you cold and alone. But he joined his brother and mother. Alicent moved to her son's side, standing behind him just slightly.

Rhaenyra's eyes burn at Aegon, but she would not fight him right now. Not in front of her daughter's body and certainly not in front of your child. Glancing at you she moves across the room quickly, bending down slightly and placing a small kiss on your forehead. A wordless goodbye and display of the affection she should have been showing you all along. A single tear slips past her eyes and lands on your forehead. "My sweet child, I have always loved you. I pray to the gods you knew that." Her voice was soft and kind, pouring her grief into her words. Wishing her words could bring you back, even just for a moment so she could tell you how much she loved you.

"I will see my grandson. Perhaps not today, but soon." The woman says power is portrayed in her voice. Moving to the door her sons follow. Leaving Aegon and Alicetn along with you and your son. There was an underlying threat in her voice, one that may come soon.

[lunarbuck]

I Know (You Promised Pt. 3)

~ people change, people grow ~

pairing: Bucky Barnes x f!reader (any race)

WC: 3.6k

Warnings: angst with a hopeful ending, swearing, description of injuries

A/N: This is part three of You Promised :) y’all i hate doing the whole injured reader thing but i couldn’t think of anything else lol also i apologize if the hospital protocol is incorrect, i’m going solely off of the one time i was in the hospital haha please let me know what you think!! <3

Part 1: You promised Part 2: I Tried

series masterlist | main masterlist | one shot masterlist

His phone rings, and Bucky feels around on his bed for the offending object. When he checks the caller ID, he doesn’t recognize the number, but he knows to answer, better to be safe than sorry.

“This is Bucky,” he says, voice still a little gruff from just waking up.

“Hello, Mr. Barnes. My name is Sierra, and I’m calling from St. Mary’s Hospital. You are listed as the emergency contact for–” Bucky’s brain catches up to what he’s hearing, and before he can stop himself, he cuts off the woman on the other line.

“What happened?” He shoots out of bed and quickly pulls on a pair of pants while carefully balancing his phone between his cheek and shoulder. His thoughts race; what happened to you?

“I cannot discuss the details with you over the phone, Sir. I need you to come in as soon as possible.” Bucky scrambles to put his shoes on, tripping over himself as he makes his way to the front door.

“Is she okay?” Sierra takes a moment to respond, and Bucky resists the urge to ask again.

��As I said, Mr. Barnes, I cannot discuss the details over the phone. The doctor will fill you in when you arrive. When do you think you’ll be available to come by?” Bucky slams the door behind him and stomps down the stairs, he doesn’t live too far from St. Mary’s, but it’s too far to walk. He’ll have to get a car.

“I’m on my way.”

When Bucky walks through the doors of the hospital, he’s hit with the smell of rubbing alcohol and cleaning chemicals. He hates hospitals, and he hates doctors. He walks up to the front desk and shoves his gloved hands into his pockets.

“Uh, I got a call about needing to come in,” he says apprehensively to the woman behind the desk. The medical mask she wears covers most of her face but judging by the crinkles in the corners of her eyes she smiles a lot. Her name tag reads Sierra, and Bucky releases a breath.

“Hello, Sir, what’s the name of the patient?”

“Y/N Y/L/N,” he replies. Sierra nods and types the information into her computer.

“Perfect, can I see some ID?” Bucky pulls his wallet out of his pocket with shaky hands and struggles for a moment to grab his ID before handing it to Sierra. She glances over it and types more into her computer. When she hands the ID back to Bucky, her eyes linger for a moment on his gloves, but she says nothing.

“Is she okay?” Bucky asks, not able to help himself.

“I’ll let the doctor know you’re here; she’ll come out and explain things to you. For now, please take a seat.” Even though all he wants to do is run through the hospital and look for you, Bucky sits down in the waiting room.

It feels like he can’t get a full breath. No matter how hard he tries, his lungs won’t fill all the way. It’s as if something is pressing on his chest, preventing air from getting in. He pulls out his phone and attempts to distract himself, but it doesn’t work. There isn’t anything more important than your wellbeing; nothing can take his mind off that.

After what feels like an eternity, a woman in a white coat comes out, glancing down at her clipboard. She calls Bucky’s name, and he shoots up, blood rushing to his head. The doctor walks toward him and motions for him to follow her.

“Good morning, Mr. Barnes,” she says kindly, giving Bucky a small smile. It strikes Bucky that this is one of the first times a doctor has spoken to him nicely. “Thank you for coming in. My name is Dr. Jean Abbott. I’ve been assigned to Ms. Y/N’s case. I’m sure you’re confused and worried, but we can’t give details about patients over the phone.” Dr. Abbott leads Bucky through a set of swinging doors and into a stark white hallway.

“That’s what Sierra said.” He feels like he’s in a trance; none of this feels real.

“Yes. About an hour ago, Y/N was admitted to the hospital. She was involved in a vehicle collision and brought in by an ambulance.” Bucky’s heart stops beating, and his steps falter. Dr. Abbott turns and places a gentle hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “Considering what happened, she’s in good condition. She’s injured and was in quite a bit of pain when she came in, but she’s strong, Mr. Barnes.”

They turn a corner, and Dr. Abbott stops in front of a closed door. There’s a small window, and inside, Bucky can see you, eyes shut, on the bed. The weight of the world crashes down on his shoulders.

“Fuck,” he whispers, reaching for the door handle.

“Mr. Barnes,” Dr. Abbott says, stopping Bucky from opening the door. “She’s been given medication to help with the pain. She’s asleep, and before you ask, yes, it’s safe. She’s gone through all the proper scans, and she’s being closely monitored. When she wakes up, she will be disoriented, and she may not even remember what happened.” Bucky nods. He just needs to be next to you, to hold you and keep you safe.

Dr. Abbott pushes the door open, and Bucky steps inside. The sight of you with the IV in your arm, the sensors on your body, wires connecting you to the machines makes him feel sick. There’s a chair beside your bed, but Bucky opts to just stand beside you. He gently runs his fingers along your hairline, where he sees a bruise forming.

A nurse steps into the room and speaks with Dr. Abbott for a moment, they glance at your chart and discuss treatment, but Bucky tunes them out.

“Sir, does she have insurance?” Bucky moves in slow motion as he reacts to the nurse’s words. His eyes never leave your face, slack from unconsciousness.

“Yes,” he replies quietly. He holds your hand in his, ungloved, so you’re skin to skin with him. Bucky knows he should keep his distance; the two of you aren’t in the place you used to be, but he needs to know that you’re okay, that you’re alive.

“Do you know if she keeps the card in her wallet?” Bucky nods. He remembers you pestering him about the fact that he never travels with any of his important information. The nurse prompts Bucky to grab your insurance card out of your wallet, so he does with shaky hands.

As he fingers through the pockets of your wallet, he finds your insurance card but what catches his eye is the crumpled piece of paper tucked behind your ID. He hands the insurance card to the nurse who steps out of the room. Then, Bucky pulls out the folded note.

He sits down in the uncomfortable plastic chair beside your bed and unfolds the paper. He finds your scrawling handwriting, faded and light in some spots. Bucky isn’t sure what it is; he doesn’t remember ever seeing you write something like this. You prefer to keep journals, so everything is in one place. When he reads the first words, his heart sinks.

Thank you all for coming today. It means more to me than I can say. As you all know, Bucky Barnes was indescribable. As I’m writing this, I can’t think of one word that can capture his spirit, his love, his soul accurately. He was defined by the people he loved, by us.

Tears brim in his eyes; he can’t believe you wrote a eulogy for him. He thinks back to the day the two of you planned his funeral, how your hands wouldn’t stop shaking. You’d been strong for him, but he saw how hard it was for you.

James Buchanan Barnes was born March 10, 1917, to Winnifred and George Barnes in Brooklyn, New York. He was an incredible son, brother, and friend. He loved hard and protected fiercely, standing up for what he believed in even when no one else would.

He cries freely now, not caring that people passing by stare at him strangely. He’s visited the grave his family made for him, he’s seen his name carved in stone with a birth and death date, but this is so different. He never got to hear his mother or family talk about him like this. He never heard the mourning words of the people he loved.

Bucky keeps reading, keeps tearing his heart apart with each word.

Loving Bucky was different. It wasn’t easy; it wasn’t all smooth sailing. There were hard days, days when I wasn’t sure he was going to come home in one piece. But it was worth it. Every minute, every tear I shed, every sleepless night. It was all worth it. Because without Bucky, my life would have been colorless. He brought light to my world after years of darkness. He showed me how to live, how to breathe. Even on the hard days when part of me wished he had kept his distance, I knew that this was how I was meant to spend my life.

Bucky courted me the old-fashioned way, flowers on my doorstep every morning and candlelit dinners. He was slow to open up to me, but once he did, I knew I was a goner. Bucky Barnes lived thousands of lives, not all of them his own, but they made him the man he was. I never doubted his devotion, and he never let me forget how much he cared. Bucky Barnes had so much love to give, and I was lucky to have a place in his heart.

He thinks back to the day you ended things, the way you wished he wouldn’t come home. He wonders why you’ve kept the eulogy if you felt that way. Bucky sets down the paper and turns his eyes toward you. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think you were just taking one of your daily naps. Before the breakup, he’d always compare you to a cat, sleeping in the sun.

One of your fingers twitches, and Bucky places your hand in his. He can’t believe he let this happen, that he let you slip away. He tells himself he’ll never leave your side again. He’ll prove it to you that he loves you, that he always has and always will. ‘Till the end of the line.

You feel heavy; something is sitting on your chest, preventing you from taking a full breath. Your eyes are glued shut, resisting every time you try to peel them open. Someone says your name, and you try to focus on it. The voice sounds far off, underwater.

Fingers sweep over your cheeks, brushing over one of your eyes, and it gives you the strength to fully awaken.

The lights in the room are too bright, the smell of chemicals is too powerful. You immediately shut your eyes again when the voice calls to you again, but this time it’s much closer. It’s familiar, warm, and welcoming. It’s sweet, comforting, and kind.

The voice is what coaxes your eyes open once more, but this time something has moved to block the light from your eyes. Blue eyes, brown hair, a scruffy beard, and deep-set worry lines.

Bucky.

He must see the recognition in your eyes because he smiles gently. His fingers continue to brush over your cheeks, your hair, and your nose. Whispers of touch bringing you back to reality.

“Bucky?” You croak, voice scratchy and dry. Emotion swims in Bucky’s eyes, and the heaviness in your chest lifts. “Bucky.” You say his name as if it could convey all the words in your head.

“I’m here, sweetie,” he whispers, leaning down to press his forehead to yours. The past few months come flooding back to you, the fighting, the feelings, the lunch meetings. You know you should tell him to step away, to give you space, but that’s not what you want right now.

Right now, you want nothing more than to wrap yourself up in his embrace and let him hold you. You want him to tell you that everything is going to be okay, that he’s got you. You lift your chin and bump your nose to his, calling a truce. Bucky nods; he understands.

He shifts, and as he does, you hear paper crinkling. You furrow your brow as the color drains from Bucky’s face. He glances down, and when he returns his gaze to you, he’s holding his eulogy.

You want to feel upset that he’s gone through your things and found it, but at the same time, a small part of you always hoped he’d find it. Maybe he’d finally understand your feelings, maybe he’d finally feel bad.

“I found it when I was looking for your insurance card,” he says quietly, folding the paper along its seams. “I didn’t mean to pry; I just saw what it said at the beginning, and I –” his voice gets thick as if he’s about to cry, and he cuts himself off.

“I wrote it after we planned your funeral.” Your words aren’t emotional; you’re just stating a fact. “I didn’t want to be caught off guard and have to write it once you were already gone.” Bucky drops his head and sucks in a shaky breath.

“Fuck.” A light knock on the door pulls your attention, and you clear your throat before telling them to come in.

A woman in a white coat walks in and heads straight for the sink, washing her hands. “Ah,” she breathes, giving you a once over. “It’s good to see you’re awake.” She dries her hands and walks to the side of your bed.

“She woke up a few minutes ago,” Bucky says to the woman, barely meeting her eyes.

“Good,” she replies before turning to face you. “My name is Dr. Jean Abbott. We briefly spoke before you fell asleep though I doubt you remember that.” You shake your head; you don’t remember it. “That’s to be expected. I’m just going to do a quick evaluation, and then we’ll talk about next steps.” You nod while Bucky shifts off the bed into the plastic chair beside you.

Dr. Abbott’s examination lasts only a few minutes, and when she’s done, she reports that everything looks good. You ask a few questions about what happened, if you’ll have permanent damage and the like, but Dr. Abbott assures you that despite how everything looks, you’ll be okay. In fact, you’ll be discharged by the end of the day. Bucky tries to fight her on that, insisting that you need to be monitored and taken care of for longer, but you remind him that hospitals are expensive and you probably can’t afford it.

Eventually, Bucky accepts that Dr. Abbott knows best and lets the woman get to her other patients. When she leaves, the air in the room shifts. She’d interrupted an emotional moment and provided a brief distraction, but with her gone, it all comes rushing back.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky says quietly, still sitting in the too-small hospital chair. “Fuck, I’m sorry.” You’re sitting upright, leaning against the plastic headboard of the bed, but despite your elevated position, you’re only a little bit higher than Bucky.

“Why are you sorry?” You can think of a few reasons why, but you want to hear it from him.

“Where do I even start?” He asks with a sarcastic laugh. “I’m sorry that you had to write a eulogy for my funeral. I’m sorry that I made you plan a funeral. I’m sorry that I stood you up when it counted. I’m sorry for being such an asshole.” He pauses and takes a deep breath, dropping his eyes from yours. When he returns your gaze, he continues. “I’m sorry for choosing work over you every time. That wasn’t fair to you. I should’ve told Sam no.”

Your heart thunders in your chest; it’s about to break out and fly away. Apologies don’t fix everything; they are bandaids on stab wounds. But they help a little, and with time and effort, you’ll heal.

You keep eye contact with Bucky as you shift yourself on the bed, swinging your legs down, so your toes brush the cold tile floor.

“Are you only apologizing because you saw the eulogy?” You need to know this isn’t just because he feels bad in this moment. This needs to be real.

“No.” His hand finishes like he’s about to touch you, but he holds himself back. “Ever since the day we broke up, I’ve been sorry. I was sorry when you helped me with my stitches. I was sorry when we went out to lunch every week. I was sorry every time I thought of you. Seeing the eulogy was the tipping point. I knew that I couldn’t let you go on not knowing.” Tears brim in his eyes, and you know he’s being genuine.

You reach out, and Bucky’s hand meets you halfway, gently gripping your fingers. That touch conveys more emotion than your words ever could. “Thank you.”

Three months later and the only reminder of your trip to the hospital is a scar on your head that’s fading fast. You don’t see much of Bucky outside of your weekly lunch meetings. You can tell he’s planning something; he’s fidgety and scatter-brained.

It isn’t until month four that you find out what he’s been hiding. After a particularly big bust of a weapons trafficking ring, Sam is speaking at a press conference. Bucky sits beside him, pensive and broody as ever. Sam answers questions charismatically, flashing his million-watt smile for the press. You’ve always thought the differences between Sam and Bucky are laughable, they’re two very different men, but they work so well together.

You’re watching the press conference on your TV, though you can’t seem to think of why you turned it on in the first place. The cameras pan to Bucky; someone must have asked him a question. He shifts closer to the microphone and clears his throat.

“Uh, yeah, this kind of thing isn’t isolated. It’s gonna take a long time to take them all out.” Bucky looks so uncomfortable, his eyes seek out something in the crowd, but when he doesn’t find it, he opts to just turn to Sam, who gives him a nod.

“Mr. Barnes, do you have a comment on–” The reporter doesn’t get to finish her question, getting cut off by Bucky raising his hand to silence her.

“I need to say something.” He looks straight into the camera, and you feel like he’s staring at you. “I’ve been going non-stop since 1941. I’ve lost a lot, and what I’ve gained I’ve managed to lose as well. I just wanted to put it out there that I’m done.” You furrow your brow as the press chatters, shouting more questions. A camera focuses on Sam, who just smiles.

“What do you mean, you’re done?” A reporter asks, shouting louder than the others.

“It means I’m done. I’m retired. There’s always something else, and I want to live my life for once. Good luck, Sam. It’s been good.” Bucky stands, gives an off-putting smile to the camera, then walks out of the camera’s line of sight.

Retired. You grab your computer and find that social media is already exploding with the news. “Bucky Barnes the Winter Soldier announces surprise retirement” is everywhere. People speculate why he’d retire; what did he mean when he said he’s lost what he’d gained?

A hurried knock on your door halts your search, but you have a feeling you’ll get some answers. When you open the door, Bucky Barnes greets you with puppy dog eyes and a gentle smile.

“Retired?” You ask, opening the door more so he can step inside. Instead of following you in, he stays in the hallway.

“Retired,” he replies, rocking on his heels.

“Why don’t you come inside?” Bucky shakes his head, and you notice his hands are behind his back. You raise an eyebrow, but he stands his ground.

“If it’s okay with you, I’d like to start over.” You tilt your head when he reveals a bouquet of flowers that he’d been hiding behind his back. They’re beautiful, light shades of pastels and full blooms.

“Bucky,” you say quietly, shocked by the gesture.

“I’m sorry if this is strange; I’m kinda rusty,” he says, repeating the words he’d said to you the first time he’d spoken to you. “My name is James Buchanan Barnes, and you are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” A tear slips down Bucky’s cheek, and you know you’re not too far behind.

“How forward of you,” you say, just like you did all those years ago.

“Let me take you to dinner.” He places the flowers in your arms, and you shake your head.

“I don’t even know you, James Buchanan Barnes.” He smiles; it’s teary but hopeful.

“Well, let me fix that.” You step out into the hallway and walk down the stairs with him. You already know where he’s taking you. You know that over the next three weeks, he will send you flowers every day, he’ll write a sweet note on each one, and he’ll win your heart all over again.

Falling in love with Bucky Barnes will be different this time. You know more; you’re wiser. Nothing is promised, nothing is guaranteed, but for the first time in a long time, you’re ready to give it a shot.

People change, people grow. Maybe you and Bucky can grow together.

Please let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future works!

Series tags: @peaches1958 @scxrletrecsmarvel @prettylittlepluviophile @writerwrites @w0nderw0mansw0rld @thefandomplace @kotlclover2021 @alitterayof-pitchblack @littlebodybigbrain

general tags: @/peaches1958 @/scxrletrecsmarvel @/prettylittlepluviophile @/writerwrites @/w0nderw0mansw0rld @hawsx3

[rcksmith]

Dream a little of me — Kaz Brekker

Resume: One bed and two hearts.

Requests :”Hello, darling! Could I request sleeping with kaz? Imagine or general headcanons, as you like. No nsfw (no need of touching tho, do what you like with it!), just sleeping in the same bed - maybe for the first time. Also bonus points if one of them will have a nightmare👀Have a good night/day, hun!🧚‍♀️🧚‍♀️🧚‍♀️✨✨✨💗💗💗”

“My heart asks for all the angst of touch starved reader falling for Kaz Brekker... 😭😭😭 - 🐕‍🦺”

Couple: Kaz Brekker/ Grisha Fem!Reader

Warnings: swearing, mention of post-traumatic stress, angst, fluff.

Word count: 3k.

A/N: Thank you💖 I hope you guys like.

Normal Rules.

English is not my first language, so I so sorry if have a mistake. Requests are open. Love you❤️

— — — — —

The rain was pouring down in torrents, in a fierce storm that roared into the shadowy forest like a hideous, unearthly animal. Platinum lightning’s streaked the midnight sky and thunder rumbled like as giants footsteps crashing into the ground and shaking the earth. Everything had been orchestrated to work. But nothing could have gone more wrong.

Unfortunately, not even Kaz Brekker's millions of tricks and plans could defeat the force of nature. And even you, an Infernal Entherealki, hadn't mastered the art of controlling fire or keeping warm while under a torrent of icy, biting cold water.

Your teeth started chattering, your lips turned purple, and you wondered if you could run another inch. Your muscles felt like stones and for someone who had lived with the heat of the flames his whole life, being under freezing water was extremely painful. But Kaz wouldn't let you stop. And you, as excruciating as the pain was, didn't want to stop either. The pain was strong but the desire not to let him down was more.

The two of you part of the plan that night was to go through the forest with the diamonds in pockets and find the rest of the Crows on the other side. You two would have to spend the night in that place. But all of Brekker's machinations were washed away by the treacherous and atrocious rain.

The only alternative was to run. Run to the direction where there was a small civilization and pray to find an inn or not die of hypothermia.

The angry drops of icy water were enough to steal Kaz's breath. Not because the cold was unbearable, but because his own demons, his past, were ghosts that gripped his ankles like monsters from horror stories. He didn't feel the rain, didn't feel the biting wind, Kaz just felt the sensation of the freezing, oppressive ocean drowning him. And for a second, when he looked at the small strip of fur on he wrist that wasn't hidden by his glove and coat, he swore he saw Jordie's dead skin in place of his.

He had to get out of there. But when the storm started, and Kaz run his eyes at you, your face wet from the rain, your skin constantly whipped by the cold droplets, and your cheeks extremely red from the cold, it made him gasp in a very different way. Blood pooled in your cheeks. Pulsing. Alive. He had to get you out of there.

Finding hiding places was one of his specialties, and he focused his mind entirely on it. When an inn came into view, a small relief rumbled in both of you. And Kaz looked in your direction to make sure you were okay. Alive.

As the receptionist gave the key from the last spare room to the two of you, Kaz couldn't help but feel that there was no longer any heat pulsing in your body. That made him feel miserable.

The night was cold. Unusually cool for the time of year.

"I don't think it's a good idea to carry out a robbery like that in these climatic temperatures." Inej said, walking down the stairs after Kaz "One of the Dregs caught a serious cold too while you were away."

Kaz had to be away for two days to sort out some matters of his own. Check some ship ports and finding out the weaknesses of some new merchants. And as much as he ordered his thoughts to focus solely on that purpose, he found himself daydreaming at certain times about…

"It got very serious after a few hours." Inej completed.

Kaz felt a trickle of worry trace his veins, tighten his throat But it wasn't for some bruteman of his Dregs. His source of concern was more serious, deeper, and for someone he didn't want to think about too much. Even though he told himself to keep every nerve in his body under control, in the end he was Kaz Brekker, he couldn't help but notice he picked up his pace to get faster to the live room that was strictly reserved for the Crows.

And when he walked in, following by Inej, the tree branches hit the windows, blown by the wind, tinkling. The cold was oppressive and biting, but not enough to stop Jesper from playing cards with Wylan, nor enough for Nina not to eat her candy and listen to Matthias tell of his people's legends. But the eyes of Kaz, that treacherous and treacherous organ, ran to you first. Magnetically, inevitably.

And he felt like he could breathe again.

The sight of you sitting on the black velvet sofa, with a book in your hands and your legs stretched out on the padded stool in front of you, calmed Kaz's heartbeat as nothing had ever done.

As much as he denies, in those two days his mind has swarmed over you more often than he thought wise. Brekker liked to justify that action with the fact that you were part of the gang. As close and important as Jesper or Inej. It was normal for him to be worried about the Dregs.

But why did he only see you? Why did the questions about your well-being and comfort stood out so much from any other concerns with others?

It was you. Always late at night, when Brekker was a sigh away from sleep. You were what someone he was thinking.

"Who is alive always appears." Nina announced he arrival and Kaz was pulled out of his reverie.

"Did you kill anyone these two days?" Jesper placed a letter on the table and Inej sat beside Nina.

Kaz left his hat on one of the dark marble tables. “Does it matter?"

There were other seats available in the room. A leather armchair next to the burning fireplace - Brekker were sure that you was controlling the temperature - an extra chair around the table where Jesper and Wylan were play, and a small divan beside Matthias. But Kaz sat beside you on the couch.

You marked the page with your finger, lowering the book gently. He didn't need to see the cover to know what it was. It was a romance clichéd eighteenth-century. He had given it to you before he left.

"Everything worked?" You smiled and Kaz had the feeling that he wanted to memorize that smile in a painting to always appreciate it.

"And doesn't always do?"

Even with the biting cold that wasn't stopped by the fireplace, Brekker could feel the heat from your body emanating, like a delicious temptation. You were always so hot. Bathed in the sun's rays. He didn't know if infernal grisha like you gave off so much heat too, because it was impossible for that to be human. Were so intense...delicious. Even with multiple layers of clothing, if Kaz approached you he could feel the warmth of a tropical pirate island.

Was that why he always unconsciously sat beside you? Why did you radiate so much causticity that it made Kaz forget about the ocean's cold? Why were you like a piece of life and Kaz felt dead for a long time?

Or was it because, heat or not, you were the only thing worth being around?

All the questions were too disturbing. And Kaz Brekker didn't want to know the answer.

Now, even climbing the stairs to the room beside you, Kaz couldn't feel anything radiating from you body. Just the cold. And he hated it with every force of his being.

You're not made to take the rain, felling deadly cold, or turn your lips a bluish hue.You were not made to be cold as a corpse, with muscles stiff and sore like a dead. You were not made to look like Jordie. You were meant to be alive. To look alive. Exhale the heat of the most ardent fire and heat a room just with your presence. You were meant to scare off Kaz's winter with your summer.

For a second, Kaz wanted to hug you to give you the warmth of his own body.

You felt exhausted. The remnants of what you once day were. Every inch of your body protested, aching and tearing at muscles. The cold, sharp water did you no good. You didn't know if it was were something of your species or a trait unique to you. But it didn't do any good to you. You hated looking so miserable in that appearance, especially in front of the one man you always wanted to look beautiful to. But at that moment you were in too much pain to worry so much about it.

As soon as Kaz had put the key in the doorknob, his gloved fingers stiff from the cold, what you expected to find was a cozy room, promising a heat shower and a good, well-deserved night's sleep. But that wasn't it. You stared at the wide double bed with white sheets, perplexed. Shock competed with your pain and put your brain to work, and all your breath lurked in throat as your realized the situation.

Oh my fucking God.

You didn't have to look at Kaz to feel his entire body be rigid, in a way far more potent than the effects the rain had caused. As if the prospect of sleeping next to you was more whorse than dying of hypothermia.

You closed your expression. Half because your mood was already bad and half because the rejection was brutal. You didn't expect your passionate feelings for Kaz to be returned, nor did you expect him to feel the same longing to be close to you as you felt for him. But no woman wanted to see that a man would rather die of hypothermia than share a bed with her. Even more if he was a man she was in love with.

You entered in room first, the pain in your body clouding your thoughts.

"Do you mind if I shower first?"

Your voice was weak, and you didn't have the heart to look at Kaz. He hissed a “no” that hung in the air, and that was the last thing you heard before closing yourself in the bathroom.

His heart was beating eerily fast in his chest. As loud as the thunder outside and as unsettling as the chill of rain. His breath began to burn heavily in his throat, and suddenly his entire body was fully aware of the situation.

One bed.

Even when he took the diamonds out of his pocket and placed them on a small table, even when you came out of the bathroom and he walked in, even as he basked in the hot water, his heart still pounded wildly. Like a generator.

Kaz Brekker liked puzzles, challenges. Of things he could unravel and understand. Piece by piece. He played to win and to cheat, and the world knelt at his feet before the insight of his mind. Still, he didn't know what to do. You were like a fascinating and maddening riddle. The one thing that, no matter how hard Kaz tried, could never unravel yours mysteries. Or maybe, just, what he would never be able to do was unravel what he felling whenever he was by your side.

His heartbeat grew stronger.

Brekker remembered every deck of cards, every card played. He could keep up with the distribution of up to five decks, unlock any lock, and devise the most insane plans. But he couldn't stop the way his soul trembled whenever he laid eyes on you.

In those moments, when you looked at Kaz like he was someone much better than he actually was, Kaz wanted to be good. He wanted to be born again to become a damn decent man. For you. He wished he didn't have his demons and erase his past. Because that way, when the sun's rays hit your face and you were close enough for your scent of happiness to flood his senses, Kaz wouldn't back down. He would lean down and seal his lips in yours with the promise of a glorious future.

His heart beat faster.

Why did he feel that his whole life was always suspended whenever he were away from you? And why did he have the feeling his life could change forever if he walked out that door?

Kaz turned off the shower. The heart running like a horse. He fished out the towel and wrapped it around his waist, finding a small hamper that held neat, folded pajamas for guests. He was surprised he didn't notice you in those pajamas. You made him lose focus.

As soon as he dressed and walked out of the bathroom, his eyes immediately went to your figure. Sitting on the bed, your legs under the covers, your hands clasped together in a cupped shape with a small, flare of fire burning in the center.

You looked up at Kaz. “I managed to do something to warm you up.”

The phrase was: No for warm me up. No for warm us up. For warm you up.

Kaz lost his breath and his soul trembled. The air felt different since he stepped out of the shower, not just from the recent gust of heat. But there was something else, something lyrical, pink and lush. Something...beautiful. He did not say anything. First because he didn't trust his own words and second because he didn't know what to say. He sat beside you, a considerable distance away, but this time his fear was that you would hear the loud, racing beat of his heart.

You turned gently towards him, reaching out your hands towards him, not noticing how his hands trembled as they stretched under the hot flame. Kaz swallowed hard.

He knew how weak and drained you were, but he also knew you were aware that he loathed cold. Hated icy water. You didn't know the depth of his traumas, but the fact that you cared to the point that you were willing to use your last shred of strength to end his torment was something that reverberated in his soul.

You two didn't say anything else after that. After Kaz removed his hands from the flame, you understood that as the end of your two interactions. You two shared a mutual answer that neither would sleep on the floor. You two were adults and in no condition to be lashed by any colder.

The night moon bathed the dark room with lights in distilled silver, almost flickering through the windswept tree branches. You were back-to-back, blankets pulled up to your shoulders, breathing gently quickened. As exhausted as you two were, neither of you could sleep.

Suddenly, the whole atmosphere in room seemed to change. Like a private, enchanted piece of the world. The wind howled softly, on a calm note. The rain was still falling in torrents, but now it seemed to be adopted in a passionate tone. As if it had fulfilled its purpose and now hovered in the world with a romantic veil of water. Stars shining bright above the bedroom window, glittering like hundreds of tiny diamonds, accompanied by moonlight. Although the light was dim, it seemed to capture the lyrical essence, seem to whisper “Dream a little dream of me.”

Everything felt different, like the two of you had entered a rift in the world. A part inhabited romance, pure magic, love.

Your soul shivered, and as much as you could never prove it, you felt that Kaz's soul shivered too. Your breath hitched, burning in lungs, your body seized by a caustic tingle that snaked through every inch.

You didn't know why, but your body shifted gently on the bed, turning slightly towards the ceiling. The racing pulse in your veins. A second felt like an eternity. Kaz's body moved too, and you knew, just knew, that he was looking at the ceiling too.

Two hearts beating in the same time. Synchronized. And, by some magic or deity, you two knew that your heartbeat would never again beat another way. Always connected.

Your body moved a little more, now on belly up. And Kaz's seemed to do the same move, even without seeing you or your movements. His chest rising and falling with intensity. The rain calmed outside, turning the symphony of droplets hitting the roof into mysterious, passionate music. As if the world were plotting a whispering favor for you two.

Kaz could feel your body heat radiating once more, grazing his skin with rays of sunlight. Everything in that bedroom became poignant and intense and lyrical, inflicting sensations on him that Kaz never thought existed before. Later, it would be a shock for him to see that he was at the mercy of his own passions. Overcome by sensations that robbed him of control of his body. Later he would think about it. Later.

His soul tingled, sending gusts of heat from the inside out. The feeling was that, after 28 years of deep sleep, he had awakened. Awake. Alive.

His body moved once more, now completely on belly up. Kaz didn't have to look at you to know that you too had placed yourself in the same position. It was as if he felt the movements of your soul. His pulse was racing now, hot and boiling in his blood. And Kaz wondered if all the money in the world would bring half the sensations he was feeling right now.

What was he so afraid all this time? That question echoed through all the corridors of his soul. And Brekker feared for the answer. What kept him from having everything he craved?

Money? Pekka? Jordie's ghost and the cold ocean? Kaz feared never touching you any more than he feared his demons? Was that why he always walked away from you? Why was wanting to slide his fingers into your hot skin and not being able to fell you, be worse than any sensation he'd ever felt? Because, maybe, admitting it can change everything?

His breath hitched.

Would it be worse to be alone for the rest of his life? Doomed and cursing to a fate of revenge, death and red hate? Or, even worse for his heart, finding a girl with lovely eyes, sunny smiles and the smell of happiness? A girl that made him laugh, come out of his hiding. You. What do he will do with that? What if you open up the door that he can't close it? And If when you hold he and his heart is set in motion?

Would that be so bad? No.

His body became very aware of the approximation it was on to your. Your heat radiating into his. For some reason, Kaz was sure you was in the same condition as he was. Sharing the same feelings. The same passion hidden for so long.

Kaz should have thought of his brother, of revenge against Pekka Rollins, of the cold of the ocean. He should have weighed of his own traumas. Instead, he thought: What if I get a little closer?

The result of this was his fingertips brushing yours. And he knew the exact moment your heart sped up even more. Because his followed the same beat. Maybe following yours for the rest of his life.

You brought your eyes to him, calmly, as if that moment might disintegrate. and the world seemed suspended in that moment. Kaz slid his eyes to you as well, sharing sensations and emotions that didn't need to be put into words. It was all there, in the gaze.

His fingers crept higher, going to your hand, and plunging his touch - and his soul - into that contact. All your heat was too strong. Too intense. Doing Kaz wouldn't be able to think or feel, for the first few minutes, about anything but light, heat, summer and…happiness.

That's when you gave him a shaky, emotional smile. I would do anything for you. That's what that smile said. And Kaz answered, his hand tight with yours before letting go. Me too.

- -

As the sun's rays, shy and buttery, flooded the bedroom in soft color, Kaz's eyelids fluttered. The sound of birds reached his ears, and the scent of flowers and happiness invaded his nose.

It was nothing like waking up in Ketterdam.

That thought back him to reality. A reality in which he had stolen many diamonds, taken the rain and had to share the calm. A reality where Kaz Brekker touched you.

You.

Kaz opened his eyes immediately, his heart racing again. He looked frantically around the room, past the simple furniture, the closed bathroom door, the window where the light came in, and then looked to his side on the bed. That's when he realized what position he was in.

His soul heated up.

You had your back to him, your hair spread out on the white pillow, your back showing by your pajama top, your shoulder rising and falling softly with your resonant breathing. You were close. Very close. And Kaz finds, perplexed, that he is facing you. One arm rests around your waist, over the thick blankets, in an intimate and…romantic gesture.

He lost his breath. His warm, hope-shining soul whispered to him: what if it was like this every day? What if he woke up with you by his side forever? What if in time he learned to be a decent man? Trying to be normal?

Would Kaz do this for you?

You shifted in bed, turning onto his side, front for him, snuggling deeper under his touch and moving closer, as if Kaz were your oasis in the desert. No skin was actually touching, your breath hit his warm chest, and if Kaz lowered his lips even further, he could feel your lips on his.

Yes. He would.

[raggaraddy]

Intruders.

Request from @dramaclub-thin: Mafia BTS where the reader is shot for/because of them.

A/N: Another long one. This one doesn't have so much of the worried reaction, cause I wrote it to fit the Mafia! Jungkook character. It's still fun though ^-^ Thanks again for the request. 💜💜💜

If anyone else wants to request, you can here.

Other parts:

Namjoon

Yoongi

Jimin

Taehyung

Summary: When a loose end breaks into Jungkooks house with guns drawn, you get a first-hand lesson that maybe Jungkook isn't as invulnerable as you had thought.

Trigger Warnings: Graphic violence, gun usage, blood, murder.

Jungkook

Mafia! Jungkook

Fighting to get free, you're kicking your legs. Squirming. Squealing as you shove your hands against Jungkook's chest, pushing him back as hard as you can. Tears starting to fill your eye line.

"Stop, stop, stop," you shout, with no effect. Struggling harder.

"Admit it!" He yells back, a smile on his face.

"Never," You scream. Not able to hold it back anymore. Your screech morphs into forceful laughter as Jungkook continues to tickle you. Your cheeks aching from how widely you're smiling. Your sides hurting as you keep thrashing for release.

"Admit I could beat up the Hulk, and I'll let you go." He insists again, pressing you down with a massive grin.

"Okay, okay!" You squeal, finally conceding. Groaning in relief, when his fingers stop tickling your stomach. Your limbs dropping down to rest. "You could totally kick the Hulk's ass." You chuckle, rolling your eyes.

"Damn right I could!" He bursts into laughter also. Easing back with a sigh now that he no longer has to hold you still. Neither of you phased by the movie that started the debate still blaring in the background.

Roughly you punch your fist into his chest, intentionally knocking the air out of him. Taking advantage while he is caught off guard to push him flat onto the carpet beside you. Straddling his lap, you lean over him pinning his arms to the floor before he has a chance to argue. Not that you think he would. The fun-filled smile doesn't leave his face for a moment. Completely amused by you, while you try your best to put on an intimidating act. Trying to stop yourself from smiling again.

"Jeon Jungkook. You cheated." You playfully scold, "And if you can't have a grown-up discussion, then you can't do other grown-up things either." You accentuate your point by grinding down. Feeling his hips push up as you tease him. Lifting up right away, shaking your head as you remove the contact. "Nah uh. Cheaters don't get that." You smirk.

"Don't be mean just cause I won." He runs his tongue inside his cheek. His gaze showing desire and a want for you to continue. But you're not done toying with him.

"You didn't win." You poke your tongue out, rocking your hips a single time more, "Confessions under duress are not admissible anyway."

"No, but it's good leverage to have." He answers a little too honestly and without thinking. Not entirely talking about your play fight anymore.

Chuckling awkwardly, you shake off the train of thought that wants to evaluate what he just said. Not wanting to let your mind remember that part of him right now. Trying instead, to return to your spirited banter. But he gets in before you.

"Nope," He easily breaks out and overpowers your hold wrapping his arm around your waist, carrying you as he stands up. "you admitted I'm stronger than the Hulk, and I'm never gonna let that go." Bending down, he throws you over his shoulder, slapping your ass to tease you back.

His shoulder digging into your gut stops you from taking a full breath or making a snippy comeback. So you slap his ass in retaliation instead.

"Come on Kitten, you have to give me a prize for winning." He purs suggestively, carrying you out of the living room into the foyer.

He's going to take you upstairs, but you don't make it to them before both of your heads snap towards the entrance. A flurry of gunshots exploding just beyond the front door. The commotion silencing as quickly as it started.

Jungkook slings you off his shoulder. Becoming another person in an instant. Purely focused. Opening the coat closet, he pulls a Glock from his jacket.

"Get upstairs, now." He barks.

You don't have to be asked twice, running to the stairs. Gasping as the garage door next to the steps opens, two hooded men storming in with guns drawn. Jungkook reacts quickly, firing past you. Shooting one of them, missing the second who ducks instead of firing back.

At the same time, blowing open to the left of you, the front door is kicked in. Swinging wide, four more masked men rush the house. Firing rapidly and wildly. Scarcely missing Jungkook who is moving preemptively and is 3 steps ahead. Running forward he shoots the second man in front of you. Grabbing your arm, dragging you over their dead bodies into the garage with him.

Shutting you in just as bullets explode through the wood door at your back.

Jungkook forces you to keep up, throwing you behind the car. The automatic shots continuing to decimate. The four-wheel-drive being the only thing that keeps either of you from getting shot.

Panting and on the verge of tears, you're crouched beside Jungkook. Watching him, waiting to react to anything he says. Knowing he is all that stands between you and death. But also knowing that with him in this mindset he could do just as much damage to you as one of those other men might.

The gunfire stops. Distorted voices shouting behind the door's remains. Jungkook cautiously raises up, leaning over the hood. He lines up a shot as the door opens warily, taking down another of them. Slouching behind the car as a new wave of bullets comes in response.

In front of you, the shelves covered in storage boxes and the workbench full of tools is ripped to shreds. Things erupting in every direction. Covering you in debris.

Pulling his phone from his pocket he shoves it in your lap.

"Call the first number!"

Your brain is stalling, your hands are shaking, but you follow the order as best as you can. The way your fingers are vibrating making it so much harder.

"What's up Boss?" You can hear the faint sound of his first lieutenant, as the firing ceasing again. Jungkook snatches the phone, speaking lowly and calmly.

"My house is breached and we're under fire. At least 3 guys. Semi-autos. We're held up in the garage and I've got maybe 15 rounds left." He passes the information over precisely. Remaining organized and in control.

"We're 10 out," the first confirms back, yelling orders to people on his end of the phone.

Your head jolts towards the garage door as it heavily clunks, starting to lift along the tracks. Exposing you on two sides.

"Fuck," Jungkook exclaims. "We don't have 10 minutes."

He stands, staying low. Opening the car door, tossing the phone in, followed by you. Your limbs hitting everything as you try to keep up with his pace. Making it onto the seat in an awkward heap.

"Stay down," he growls, slamming it, sealing you in. You're ahead of him this time, already kneeling under the steering wheel. Pressing your chest and head into the seat as flat as possible.

Inside the car, you can only hear the sounds of blasts for a few moments. Heavy things being thrown in every direction amid tense silences.

Outside the car, Jungkook fires off 3 shots, aiming for the legs he sees as the garage opens. The angle is wrong, and he doesn't hit them. Having to retreat back. Throwing the workbench down, using it as a meagre form of barricade. Blocking himself into the corner, hunched behind it. It's barely wide enough to protect him at the front and on the side. The height of the desk only just covering his head. He aims over the bench, hoping to keep the front two from coming in with suppression fire.

However, his attempt is unsuccessful. As he raises up, a bullet wings his right arm. Involuntarily dropping his gun, he shouts in pain. The Glock falling on the wrong side of the table.

It only takes him a second to compose himself, lunging over to pick up the weapon. But it's a second too late.

One of the men charges from inside the house. Booting the table into Jungkook, throwing him off balance. Holding him at gunpoint as he hits the floor.

Briefly, you see the other two men through the window as they pass the car. You're too terrified to move. Your hand cupped over your mouth, muffling the panicked breathes and whimpers that you can't hold in.

Working as a unit, one of the men clears the table out of the way, another picks up Jungkook's gun, while the third ushers him out of the corner and onto his feet, keeping the sights tightly fixed on him.

Getting in his face, the lead man removes his balaclava. Seething hate filling his expression. "You remember me?"

While he isn't going to give him the satisfaction of a reaction, Jungkook is certainly perturbed by the reveal.

It was nearly 5 months ago that he had ordered this man and his family killed. It drew far too much attention when he refused a deal Jungkook made him. So an example has to be set. The man's wife, two children and his visiting brother were murdered in the gruesome display. And Jungkook was told that the man standing in front of him now was also killed. But it seems the men charged with the hit got complacent. They didn't confirm the kill.

Mentally, Jungkook was already recalling the four men on task. If he made it out of this they were going to suffer greatly for their mistake.

Seeming infuriated by Jungkook's lack of fear and stoic glowering, the unmasked man slams his fist into the Mafia King's face. Shouting as he does.

Methodically, the three intruders begin to tear Jungkook apart. He put's up a fight as best as he can, but the men are trained and three against one isn't fair odds in this situation. Knocking him between them, they strike with their knees, fists, feet, hurting him in any way they can manage. Beating him into the ground. Pulling him back onto his knees whenever he drops back or falls forward.

Biting your palm you're trying to stop yourself from crying out as you sob into your hand. You can hear the hits. The thumps from him being tossed around. His groans of pain. The slough of abuse they spit at him while they work him over. Cursing him. Mocking him.

Suddenly, the car door jerks open. One of the masked men dragging you out by your hair. Making you produce an ear-shattering scream. One he silences with a fist to the face. Your body collapsing, slapping into the concrete.

Groaning in pain, your sobs can no longer be restrained. Loudly bawling, tear stream your face, hardly able to breathe as you panic.

Your heart aching as you see Jungkook across from you. Hunched over on his knees, he's gushing blood. It's running down his face. Matting his hair to his forehead with the sheer volume of it. He's splitting it up, his mouth dripping with it. His shirt soaked in it. Flowing down his arm from the bullet wound also.

You'd never have thought you would see your Boyfriend in such a state. You've witnessed first-hand the power he has when he's the one responsible for this kind of damage. In your mind, you saw him as invincible. Unbeatable. A cruel monster driven by hubris that could never be stopped.

The times you'd seen him beat people like this, the times he hit you like this, you had privately desired for him to suffer the same fate one day. For karma to return everything he had dished out.

But now that he was, now that he was the one being treated without mercy, even with it being justified, you can't feel anything but fear and sadness. Regretting ever having wished this upon him.

"Jungkook," you gently call.

He's disoriented. Too many headshots having made him dizzy and unfocused. But your soft voice cuts through all of that. Looking up from the ground to you, his eyes go wide seeing you in harm's way again.

"Y/-" he starts to get up, only to be interrupted and held down. The unmasked man's hand coming down on his shoulder. The barrel of Jungkook's own gun being aimed at his chest as the man hovers over him.

"You know, your guys didn't kill my wife right away." He digs the gun tip into the bullet wound on his arm. Twisting and stabbing into the raw flesh making him grit his teeth to bear the pain. "They shot her where he knew it wouldn't kill her. Then they let her bleed out. While I could only watch. While my kids watched." The pure rage in the man's voice is finally softened. Instead, sounding horribly grieved and agonized over the memory. "Someone like you, you're probably not capable of love," he spits, pushing off Jungkook to stand straight. "But whether you love her or not, I still want you to watch her die."

The words register, but you can't absorb them. You can't react.

"Wait. Wait!" Jungkook yells after him.

Your body is throbbing in terror. Watching him advance on you. Watching him raise the gun at you.

The shot hits you in the stomach.

"No!" Jungkook howls. The two men punting him back down as he climbs to his feet. Extending the barrage of hits to impress upon him that he shouldn't try to get up again.

In shock, you delicately dab at the hole in your side. Blood pulsing out of you. The pain is more than you could have imagined. You can't pull in a full breath. Short gasps are all you can manage. Doubling over onto your hands and knees, you weakly shriek unable to deliver a solid scream.

They drag you by your arm, hurling you at Jungkook, your torso landing in his lap. He clings to you, drawing you in tight. His face twisted in anger.

"Y/n." He growls. "Don't you dare-" he can't bring himself to finish that thought.

"Don't worry darling. It won't take long." The leader says above you, sounding genuinely sympathetic. "You though," he redirects, snarling at Jungkook. "you're gonna die slow."

Not able to breathe and the blood loss is making your head light. The room feels like it's spinning. Your eyes rolling back as they close. The reprieve of rest calling you into unconsciousness. And you can't resist.

With his hand held to your heart and his chest tight, Jungkook feels for a beat. The irregular rhythm assuring him you're still alive at least.

"I hope you really did love her. Like how I loved my girl and my boy. My wife. I hope you can feel that type of pain."

Jungkook is shaking. Unfiltered loathing ravaging his thoughts. A murderous expression concealing his heartache as he feels your pulse gradually start to slow.

Moving begrudgingly like it's his duty, the leader pulls one of the few remaining tools from its place on the wall. Wringing the handle of a large Philips Head screwdriver.

Working together, the three of them rip your unconscious body apart from Jungkook. His efforts to keep you close having little impact. Numerous injuries having sapped his strength.

Stretching him out, holding him down, they pin him with their weight. One of them securing his legs. Another holding his arm and torso, the majority of his heft used to force Jungkook's face into the cement. The leader kneeling all of his weight on his left arm to keep it flat.

As the tip of the screwdriver is pressed into his palm, Jungkook grapples to keep his hand closed to no avail. The shank piercing the meat of his palm. Screaming as the length is stabbed in and yanked out. Hissing through his teeth while the sharp point trails up. Reaching about halfway up his forearm it digs into the muscle. The blade slowly forcing its way into the skin, causing him to roar again.

All at once, a shot rings out. One of the intruders taking a bullet in the back. An assault of gunfire spreading across the height of the garage, sending the other two into a panic. Scrambling for their guns. Releasing Jungkook in the frenzy, who cradles his wounded hand for a moment before jumping on the attack. Finally having sufficient reinforcement to fight back.

Picking up the screwdriver with his good hand, he lunges at the surviving masked man. Dragging him off balance. Straddling his side. Stabbing down and around to drive the tool into his chest over and over. Burying the metal in the man's throat as a final strike. His damaged hand slamming down on the top of the screwdriver, forcing it through the other side of the man's neck.

Some of Jungkook's rage having been vented, he falls away panting watching the man, satisfied as he quickly bleeds to death.

The leader of the assailants, the source of all of this woe, is completely unmatched by the dozen men who suddenly surround him. They don't grant him the opportunity to even raise his weapon, shooting him in the shoulder, knocking him down. Incapacitating him and restraining him swiftly as he tries desperately to get loose.

There are a few seconds when the dust settles, where everything is quiet again. Only the sounds of wheezed breathing and footsteps taking any space.

Apart from the few men busy with securing the house and the area, all of them are at attention looking to assist their battered leader. Wanting to help. Waiting on an order.

"Her," he signals in your direction. "Get her to a hospital."

"You too, Boss." His second lieutenant leans down, helping Jungkook stand. Getting him to solid footing.

"I'm not dying in the next 20 minutes. Let's wrap this shit up first." He dismisses the gesture. Shirking off the pain at risk of appearing weak.

"And this one?" His first aims a gun at the intruders head.

"Patch him up. He's gonna die slowly," Jungkook's voice deepens as he repeats the man's own threat back at him.

His eyes following as he gets picked up and thrown into the trunk of one of the cars. The Mafia leader in him already, concocting ruthless plans in specific detail over all the ways he is going to torture him. And how he's going to silence any doubts about his strength that this attack may have caused.

Carried in another man's arms, you're taken to the back seat of a car. The movement string you awake. The pain keeping you immobilized and dazed.

Jungkook limping slightly follows after you. He presses his hand to your chest again, relieved as he feels your heart still beating, as he sees your eyes fluttering.

Your head laying on the seat, he leans over resting his forehead upside down on yours. "I'm so sorry baby." He whispers. His hands bunch tightly around your arms, pulling at your skin. The war of both sides of him crashing together. His eyes going cold, his breath becoming ragged.

Struggling to remain conscious, your eyes close again. Jungkook's bloody hand slapping down on your face, shocking your eyes back open. Tears instantly returning to your cheeks.

"Don't you dare die!" He hisses. His hand curls around your jaw, his fingers digging into your cheeks. "I'm not going to let other people think they can come at me. Take my things. Try to hurt me." He growls, speaking just loud enough for only you and him. "So you're gonna keep living Y/n. Cause until I give you permission, you don't have the right to die."

[ptergwen]

favorite crime

w/c: 1.6k

warnings: swearing, mentions of blood / death, lots n lots of angst

summary: you convince peter to go on the run after he’s framed for murdering mysterio, but he doesn’t want to drag you into his mess

a/n: this was completely based off the song by olivia lfmbsjfhs it’s so beautiful and i’ve wanted to write something for it for a while now so yee i hope y’all like ! pls lmk what you think <3

-

“we have to get you out of here, peter! come on!” you shout back to your boyfriend and tug his hand that’s laced with yours.

peter doesn’t budge. even when your grip on him tightens, when you pull him forward with all your might, he remains stoic.

there’s something he needs to do, and he’s been contemplating it since the day he met you.

it’s time to let you go.

“please, peter. i’m begging. i know you’re tired of running, but if we don’t leave now… they’ll find you,” you desperately choke out. peter squeezes his eyes shut, dreading what’s to come. “i can’t do this to you anymore, y/n. i… i’m sorry.”

emergency sirens and flashing lights approach the old apartment building serving as yours and peter’s latest hideout. the whole world is on the lookout for him, so you two stowed yourselves away in brooklyn for a bit.

you were hopeful the rumors would pass eventually — about how peter shot the beloved mysterio and left him to die in cold blood. they’re merely talk, of course. you’d personally seen the events of that day unfold on the tower bridge. hell, your class was right at the center of them.

quentin beck was pure evil, so rotten he defamed both peter and spider-man with a charge as cruel as murder. he’s wreaking havoc on him from beyond the grave, over a complete misunderstanding that peter had nothing to do with.

beck’s true source of anger is stark industries. yet, once again, peter ended up the collateral damage.

he was deemed a wanted murderer. posters revealing his name and face were plastered up around the city, a reward even being offered to whoever who turns him in.

you’d proposed the idea of skipping town until things settled. the way you saw it, it was peter’s only option other than prison for twenty-five to life. peter was panicking and couldn’t think straight, so he went along with your getaway plan.

a few weeks later, he’s regretting it.

you’ve been the one person he could trust through this madness. you’re right there to console him, to protect him just like he does you. through sickness and health, life and clearly death, you stick by peter’s side. you left everything behind without a second thought, for him.

peter loves you more than you’ll ever fully be able to comprehend, which is why he can’t ask you to do that. this is his battle to fight, not yours or anyone else’s. his.

you suddenly freeze in your tracks, turning around to look at peter. “what are you talking about? you’re fine, pete.”

his eyes roam everywhere except to yours as they water. blinking back tears, he fixes his gaze on your intertwined hands. you notice a stray tear fall down his cheek and use one of your thumbs to wipe it away, then press a reassuring kiss to his lips. peter lets himself reciprocate momentarily before jerking back.

“please just… stop being so nice to me. you’re making this way harder than i wanted to to be,” he rasps and squeezes your hand tighter. you’re still lost, absolutely clueless about what he’s referring to.

“look, pete. i wanna hear you out, baby. but… i think it should wait until we get to jersey.” you keep your voice as calm as possible, though you’re terrified for both of you. since the feds know your location, they’ll have the place surrounded any minute.

hopping cities isn’t cutting it anymore, so you’ll have to change states this time. new jersey is next on your list.

using his strength to his advantage to hold you in place, peter seizes both your shoulders. his bloodshot eyes lock with yours. a stern expression coats his features, one you’ve seen from him yet never been on the receiving end of.

“we’re not going to jersey, y/n/n,” he declares, the sirens starting to grow louder. you feel a pit forming in your stomach. “we have to!” you immediately protest. “it’s not gonna be easy finding our way, but it’s the last-“

peter cuts you off, voice softer now. “no, no. that’s not what i meant.” he waits a beat and inhales a deep breath, aiming to settle his nerves. it doesn’t.

“i’m going to jersey. you’re staying.”

tears cloud your vision the second those words leave his mouth. you shake your head furiously back and forth, willing him to take them back.

part of you was always afraid peter would get second thoughts. not only about running away with you, about ever being with you. you’re both so young. your entire lives are ahead of you, and peter won’t allow you to risk your own because this isn’t worth a single bit of it.

he’d warned you how dangerous it was to be associated with spider-man. it’s why he held off on telling you about his alias for the longest he could. you naturally began asking questions whenever peter bailed on dates and showed up to school covered in bruises. he hated lying to you, using his stark internship as an excuse, so he finally came out and said it.

peter sometimes wonders if you’d be better off not knowing at all. it’s too late now, though.

“wait, what? why- why can’t i go with you?” you plead, peter’s fingers coming up to cup your cheek. his fingertips lightly caress your skin. “i’m a criminal, y/n. you’d be my accessory.”

it takes everything in him not to break down and sob along with you.

you lean into his palm, already missing his touch. “i don’t care... i don’t give a fuck. i just wanna be with you, peter.” peter literally has to bite his tongue to fight the urge to cry. hands grabbing either side of his head, your fingers twist in his hair roughly. “i’ll do anything, pete. i really will, i swear. name it.”

peter threads his own fingers through yours again, bringing your hands to his chest.

“i’m so sorry, angel. i never should’ve gotten you involved,” he murmurs out and pecks your forehead. “you have nothing to prove to me, okay? you’ve done more than enough. i’m gonna return the favor.”

you let out a strangled whine, your knees buckling as you come to terms with the gravity of your situation.

this is it. this is the end of yours and peter’s story.

“hey, none of that. it’s okay,” peter coos, neither of you convinced. the tastes of salt and metal flood both your senses. he helps you back up and hugs your waist, peppering your cheeks in more kisses. you’re bawling now, arms wound around his neck, clutching at his tattered jacket.

free tears escape peter’s eyes at last. “i love you. i love you so goddamn much, y/n. never forget it,” he nearly whispers. you sniffle and push your forehead against his. “i’m not saying it back ‘cuz that feels like a goodbye, and i- i can’t say goodbye to you yet.”

“it’s not a goodbye,” peter reassures you, rubbing circles on your lower back. “it’s, uh, it’s a see you later. i’m gonna figure something out and be back to you before you know it. can’t get rid of me that easy.”

that earns a faint giggle from you, peter managing a grin. you two attempt to ignore everything happening beyond these walls, only focusing on the other.

“then, um…” you clear your throat. “i love you.” his smile dwindling slightly, peter nods and meets your gaze. “i love you too, baby. you should probably get going soon.”

affirming his advice, a booming voice that sounds from a microphone commands peter to come out with his hands up.

your worry spikes, instinctively drawing peter in closer. he forces himself to put on a brave face for you.

“i’m scared, pete. where… where am i supposed to go?” you rush to ask him. “home, y/n/n. go home,” peter decides, pressing a final kiss to the top of your head. “just don’t get caught, and you’ll be fine.” carding your fingers in his undone curls, you sigh. “easier said than done, but i’ll try not to.”

you’d never pictured that the sweet boy with a heart too big and brain even bigger, who sings you to sleep even though his voice sucks and spends his last dollar buying you flowers, would be accused of first degree murder. it isn’t true or fucking fair.

what’s worse, he has to bare this storm alone now.

you lift your heavy backpack off the cold ground, slinging it onto your shoulders. peter stares out the window and down at the assembly of swarm troops crowded together.

“are you gonna be okay?” you catch his attention. he snaps back into reality, pulling your hood up so it covers your head. you’re wearing a sweatshirt of his, after having gone through all your own clothes. “i hope so. are you?” peter repeats your question. “i hope so,” you echo.

tying your hoodie strings tight, peter offers a smile. “say hi to may for me. ned and mj, too.” it’s going to be tough to face his family and friends after this. “i will. i’ll let them know you’re alright.” you kiss his cheek, placing a hand on his chest. peter lets your touch distract him from the mess he’s about to be hit with.

“thank you, y/n. i’ll see you soon, baby. you have my word,” he promises, stepping back so you two can go your separate ways.

you watch him with fresh tears threatening to spill.

“i’m gonna hold you to it. be safe, spidey.”

[bruhstories]

You Truly are Beautiful when You Cry

Summary: Y/N leaves a party only to find Eren in front of her apartment. Shit happens. Pairing: Eren Jaeger x Fem!Reader, mentioned Eren x Mikasa (modern AU) Warnings: language, mentions of loss of virginity, unprotected sex, fingering, oral sex (male receiving), masochist!Reader, toxic and dominant Eren, sadist!Eren, face slapping, mentions of blood, mention of toxic relationships, dacryphillia — Eren’s nuts, just fiy Word Count: 2.5 k

A/N: I just wanna say, I have absolutely nothing against Mikasa, I like her a lot, but for the purpose of this fic, Y/N hates her. Also, shameless smut y’all. I feel like this needs a part two  — who knows, maybe one day.

You and Eren have been friends since childhood — not inseparable, like he was with Mikasa and Armin, but good friends nonetheless. It came as a shock to you when him and Mikasa started dating, almost feeling disgusted, considering they were practically siblings. You tried your best to be supportive of their relationship, but Eren knew you too well for your own good, and sometimes you had to swallow down the vomit when you saw them together. It was even more shocking when you left Connie's party and found Eren on the stairs leading up to your apartment. He had a blank stare, not a single hint of emotion behind his emerald eyes, his lips pursed and waiting for you. You almost didn't recognise him in the dim light, his bun dishevelled, locks of hair covering his face.

"Jaeger? Is that you?" You asked, keys between your fingers, ready to hit.

"In the flesh, Y/L/N." He replied, his voice empty. You two had a habit of calling each other by your last names ever since you met in kindergarten. You lowered your hand and rushed to him, wondering if something happened tonight.

"Are you okay? You disappeared from the party all of a sudden. Armin was worried sick-"

"We broke up." The words caught you off guard, but in a sick twist of events, you were happy to hear that. In a way, you knew their relationship was doomed from the very beginning, surprised that it even lasted three full years.

"Shit." You chewed your lip in the darkness of the hallway. "Come on, let's go inside, you can tell me everything."

Eren looked at the hand you extended and gripped it tightly, helping himself up. The two of you had an odd friendship, to say the least. Before Mikasa, Eren would tease you, sexual innuendos all over the place, he'd seen you naked countless times, you caught him jacking off once. You both lost your virginities to one another, no strings attached. But you did get attached. You got so attached when him and Mikasa started dating and the rotten feeling ate you from the inside out.

You flipped the switch inside your flat and threw your backpack on a chair, along with your jacket. Eren kicked his boots off and threw himself on the couch with a growl while you pulled out a bottle of vodka from the fridge. He always acted like your apartment was his.

"Food?"

"No."

"Alright. Now tell me, what happened?" You asked, seating beside him and passing him the alcoholic beverage. He took a sip to wet his dry throat and threw his head back.

"We went in a room at Connie's. I wanted to tie her up with that stupid scarf she keeps wearing — my scarf — and she kept saying no." Eren explained before taking a few more sips. You nodded, eager to hear the rest of the story and trying your best to contain your giddiness. "I didn't force her or anything. She started spewing shit about how I changed, how I'm always angry and aggressive, how we don’t make love anymore. How I'm not the pure, innocent boy she fell in love with." He practically mocked the sentence. "And then that was it. Said we aren't compatible anymore and that she wants out of this 'toxic' relationship." Eren gestured quotation marks in the air while you took the bottle and downed some vodka yourself.

"Man, I'm really sorry to hear this." You lied. The sound of his dark laughter sent shivers down your spine, the little hair on your arms and the back of your neck standing up. "Something funny, Jaeger?"

"You're such a terrible liar, Y/N." Eren slightly turned his head to look you in the eye. Your own name rolling down his tongue sounded so natural, so perfect. You tried to speak, but the words stopped in your throat when he moved closer, his figure hovering above your petite frame. "What, you think I didn't know?"

"K-know what?" You finally managed, a short-circuit in your brain.

"That you're so obviously in love with me." Eren flashed you a sneer.

"Am not—" slap

His palm met your cheek, hard enough to flush it crimson, but not hard enough to hurt. Mouth agape, you just couldn't respond. For three long years you waited for this man to come to his senses and realise how much you truly loved him, how much you devoted yourself to him, how much you support him. Not Mikasa, you.

"You don't have to hide anymore, Y/N." Eren kissed your forehead and you were putty in his hands. "I know you’ve loved me since we first fucked. I know how much you yearn for me to fuck you again."

"You're delusional!" You finally told him, despite how correct he was.

"Prove me wrong then. Go on, yell at me, shove me. Do it." But you couldn't do it, could you? Your luscious lips parted open, then they closed. "That's what I thought." He crushed his lips onto yours in a sloppy, wet kiss, your hands tangling in his messy hair, the bun long gone. Eren's calloused hands snaked around your waist and under your shirt and, in a moment of clarity, you stopped him.

"W-wait, you two just broke up! I don't want to be your rebound—"

"Who said anything about that?"

"Are you insane? You loved her!"

"Have I?"

The simple question made you realise that Mikasa bight have been right all along. That something was indeed wrong with Eren. The lack of empathy and emotion, the aggressive behaviour, the manipulation. Yet, it didn't bother you, because he came to you specifically. He could've hooked up with any other girl from the party, but he wanted you.

"Don't spoil the moment, Y/N. I might change my mind."

"No, please!" The words came out of your mouth without a warning, strengthening the fact that you were completely and hopelessly desperate.

"Perfect." Eren purred in your ear. That was all he needed to hear before his shirt was on the floor and his hands on your thighs. You tentatively pulled your skirt up, spreading your legs for him, just for him. "Good slut."

The degrading praise earned him a mewl from you, your hips thrusting into his touch, wanting more. Eren didn't waste any more time, and his fingers rubbed your wet folds through the fabric of your thongs. Your muscles instinctively flexed at the touch, your body burning with need and lust. His other hand trailed off to find your perfectly soft, round breasts. Your own hands roamed through his black hair, fingers tangling in the locks as you merely whispered 'more', unable to speak louder.

"Tell me, have you been whoring around these last years?" Eren demanded, fingers pushing your panties to the side. It slightly bothered you how much he talked during this, but, as always, Jaeger got what he wanted.

"N-no..." You told him, quiet as a mouse, but he wouldn't have any of that. Like a maniac, he ripped the lace lingerie off of you, scratching your thighs in the process. You could feel the burning sensation in the markings he left.

"I told you, Y/N, no fucking lies. I wanna know every single man who's touched you."

"W-why? Why does it m-matter?" You stuttered, your eyes searching his. Why did it matter, though? It wasn't like he cared about who you fucked. Unless... unless he did care. And his relationship with Mikasa was nothing but a mistake on his part.

"Because," Eren oh so slowly caressed your folds with his long fingers, "you're mine. Always have been, always will be." He easily slipped his index finger inside of you. "And I won't fuck you unless you tell me who else you slept with."

"Ah– w-with Jean!"

"And?"

"And R-Reiner!" You whimpered, frantically fucking yourself with his hand. You were a sight for sore eyes, sprawled on the couch and longing for his touch.

"And?" The word accentuated so hard that you thought he was about to kill you on the spot.

"Fuck– P-Porco and Ah-Annie! I swear, that's it!" You promised, your breath hitching, heartbeat raising.

"One more thing, Y/N. Did you think of me while you fucked them?"

"Yes! Always! P-please, Eren, please fuck m-me! I'm begging you!"

The little plea seemed to satisfy Jaeger. Or so you thought, because he grabbed a fistful of your hair and dragged you all the way across the apartment to your bedroom, unbothered and unphased by you screaming how much it hurt. He threw you on the shaggy rug in your room, and as you scrambled to gain your composure, you heard Eren's belt hit the floor.

"You should be an expert in sucking cock by now. Prove me how much you want me." He commanded. His voice was low and dangerous, he didn't have to yell to make you scared shitless. Obediently and afraid, you crawled to the bed on all fours, removed your shirt and palmed his hot, hard member. It was already leaking precum, and so your tongue sensually licked the droplets, the saltiness mixed with the aftertaste of vodka in your mouth sending you in a frenzy. He scared you — no, he terrified you, but you couldn't deny you were enjoying this. Mikasa didn't like it rough? Fuck that, you would let Eren kill you if it pleased him. You swirled your tongue around the tip of his cock and worked your way down his shaft, guttural sounds coming from his throat. His hand found its way to your head, and he forcefully pushed it down, stuffing your mouth and throat with his (too) thick member. Tears from pleasure and pain pooled at your Y/E/C eyes and he held you there for a good ten seconds before releasing you.

"Did I make you cry?" Eren asked, his voice almost concerned.

"Mhm." You sobbed with a nod, and he once again grabbed you by the hair, pulled you up and bent you over the wooden bedframe. So much for concern.

"Good." Jaeger slapped your ass so hard you screeched and dug your fingernails in the wood. "Remember what I told you first time I saw you cry?" He asked before positioning himself at your entrance. You nodded — how could you forget? You were both 13 and you got a bad grade, crying your eyes out and thinking that was the end of the world. Normal people would have tried to comfort you and tell you to stop crying. But not Eren. He told you he's never seen anything more beautiful. That should've been a red flag. That should've been a sign to run. Instead, you kept crying as he told you he wanted to see more. A sadist from the very beginning, and you — nothing but a slave.

Eren's thrust woke you up from the distant memory and you arched your back in response. He stretched your walls and it felt like his cock was made for you.

"You don't happen to have any rope, do you?" He asked so nonchalantly.

"N-no-"

"'S alright, we'll just use my belt." Jaeger pulled out and a sense of emptiness filled you. He belonged inside of you — you knew that for a fact — he was meant to be with you. Eren cracked the belt and whipped it all over your exposed ass, your pain-filled scream bringing joy to his ears. You couldn’t see him, but you could feel his sadistic smile burning like the sun on your nape. Before you knew it, he had your wrists tied behind your back, the thin wooden frame pushing into your skin.

"Much better." He decided as he thrusted back inside. You whimpered, moaned, groaned, all sorts of sounds came out of you as his fingers dug into your flesh. As much as you wanted, you couldn't move, gravity pulling you down. You didn't know what hurt more: the bedframe sinking deeper into your abdomen, his deeper thrusts or the tight belt around your wrists. It was safe to say your knees were wobbly, and you could feel the climax getting closer. God, you were pathetic. He barely fucked you and yet you were done for.

"E-Eren! I'm c-coming!"

"I know." He told you absentmindedly, his hand moving from your hip in-between your thighs. "I want you to be good and cum, alright?"

"Yes! Oh, fuck!! Harder – faster!" You moaned as Eren rubbed your swollen clit. A wave of pleasure took over your entire body, your legs trembling as you came all over his cock. He didn't stop, despite you begging him you couldn't take it anymore, instead he kept fucking your numbing cunt, longing for release. It hurt like a bitch to feel his thrusts, and you really wanted him to pull out, but at the same time, you had to do it — for him.

"Whoever told you that you get to tell me when to stop?" Eren bent over and grabbed you by the neck, bringing you closer to him. The fingers around tour soft neck would definitely leave a mark next day. "I'm your god, Y/N!" He groaned in your ear with one final thrust. You both sighed as he pulled out, cum leaking from your folds. You were extremely thankful to be on the fucking pill. He untied your wrists and gathered his underwear and jeans from the floor.

When you noticed him getting dressed, anxiety seeped into your veins. Wasn't he going to stay over? At least for the night? Take a shower? Anything!

"You're leaving?" You asked him, surprising yourself with the condescending tone of your voice.

"Yes?" Eren retorted, baffled by the audacity of your question.

"B-but, where are you going??" Now you just sounded desperate. “We can stay in silenc—"

"To get back with Mikasa."

Your heart sank to your stomach. To do what? Mikasa? How could he do this to you? Shit, it would've been better if you were his rebound, but this? This hurt worse. Your entire body shivered, and not from your climax. You were trembling with anger, disappointment.

"N-no, you're not!" You ran to the front door, despite the pain in your abdomen caused by the wooden bedframe. "Eren, plase! She'll never love you like I do! Please don't go, I'm begging you!"

"Don't be pathetic, Y/N." He rolled his eyes. That stupid brain in your head made you fall down your knees in front of a fully dressed Eren, tears rolling down your cheeks and trying everything in your power to stall him from leaving. "You truly are beautiful when you cry." He pushed you with his leg and walked past you. You tried to grab his sleeve, his hand, anything, but it was too late.

When the door closed behind him, he didn't know what he'd created. There, on the floor, you swung your body back and forth, knees to your chin, makeup ruined, matted hair. Your fingernails clawed at the wood underneath you until the nail polish chipped and blood seeped at the tip of your fingers. Eren Jaeger broke you into a million pieces, he ripped your heart out of your chest and ate it. But it’s alright, you told yourself between indiscernible words. The only word that you could coherently say over and over again was revenge.

[thewistlingbadger]

Sleep tight, don't fight.

Summary: Morgan hasn't lived in Las Vegas for that long and he already was a popular kid and he already had a boyfriend. But he was also already getting into fights, and Spencer is getting tired of always having to clean up the aftermath.

CW: mentions of blood, Derek got beat up, Spencer cleans his wounds, hurt/comfort, highschool au, fluffy, super short, Spencer Reid cursing, Derek being a stubborn bitch who will do anything for his boyfriend.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/37558279

"Thank fuck" Spencer sighed while closing his door. His mom had an episode and at long last, he was finally able make it to his room. He ran his fingers through his wet hair, having just gotten out of the shower, and yawned. As he grabbed his pajama pants from the drawer, he heard a thud at the window.

He whipped around to see what the noise was. He pulled on his pants and scrambled towards the window.

"What the hell, Derek what are you doing here it is so late does your mom know you're here what's going on-" he yanked Derek inside causing both of them to crash onto the carpet floor. When they both got up, the answers to Spencer's questions looked him dead in the face.

He couldn't tell outside but in the light, it was very clear that Derek was covered in bruises and blood. Spencer let out an irritated sigh as he told the other boy to sit on his bed. Spencer came back with a first aid kit and a couple of ice packs.

The more wounds Spencer cleaned up, the more his anger began to burn. What made him fume even more was that while he was lecturing Derek's ears off, he wasn't even looking at him, let alone paying attention.

"You need to be more careful Derek! How many times do I have to tell you the same shit? How many times are you gonna come to me all bloody and broken? I keep telling you that one of these days you're not gonna come out of it so okay. One day this shit's gonna send you to the hospital- or worse, you hear? And then what's gonna happen to me? I- i can't loose you Derek." Spencer said defeatedly.

At the detection of sadness, Derek looked at Spencer. "I'm sorry." His voice hoarse. He grabbed Spencer's hands and rubbed them lovingly. "I'm sorry" he repeated desperately. Spencer sat on Derek's lap and wrapped his legs around his boyfriend's waist, giving him a big hug. He made sure to be careful, to avoid bruises.

"I know you're strong Derek. I know you have abs I know you're on almost every sports team at the school. You don't need to do this every damn time." He sucked in a breath as his voice broke. "You have a brain damn it. You get straight A's. Why do you act so stupid?" Spencer heard his boyfriend laugh into his neck. "It's not funny Morgan-" "I know", He simply said.

Because he did know. He knew that his sisters were asleep right now and his mom was at work. He knew that Spencer was able to yell as loud he wanted to at Derek because his mom was a hot mess, to say the least. He knew that he was popular in school even though he was the new kid and Spencer, who had lived there all his life, was getting shoved into lockers every damn day. And he hated it. He hated how in his heart, he felt like Spencer was his other half and yet there were treated oppositely at school. It didn't matter how many times Derek came in to save Spencer's day, Spencer was still treated like shit and Derek was treated like a god damn hero.

"Was defending your honor." He sniffled into his pretty boy's neck. He didn't even realize that tears were rolling down his cheeks. He held on to him tighter. Spencer sighed again. "My 'honor' is not worth you getting hurt okay?" He grabbed the other boy's chin so he can see his face. "You don't see me picking a fight with every bully in school do you?" Derek chuckled at the thought of Spencer fighting and rested his forehead on Spencer's. He looked like a pipe cleaner with eyes, he could barely stand straight without loosing his balance. Could you imagine what he would look like swinging at someone?

But the silly image didn't stop his tears from shamelessly departing his eyes. Spencer kissed Derek's forehead then caressed the sides of his face. "You wear your heart on your sleeve baby and that's what makes you different from everyone else. But it also makes you an easy target. It makes it easier for them to push your buttons and get hurt." He wiped his boyfriend's tears away.

"It's you and me against the world." He hummed against Derek's ear. "Just you and me."

He said it as though it was meant only for the both of them. Their little secret. Derek smiled in content, leaning into the hand that was cupping his face.

"Yeah and anyone who tries to fuck with you, I'll knock their teeth out." He grumbled. Spencer scoffed and rolled his eyes.

The two had become very comfortable in their cuddly positions and it was still very late at night. "You gonna stay the night or are you going back home, because if you're staying you need to call your mom to let her know you're here." He said quietly into his boyfriend's hoodie.

"Mm-hmm" was all Derek could manage as he got out the bed to call his mom.

By: Mic

[mypoisonedvine]

Seeing Red | bodyguard!Bucky Barnes x actress!reader (part 2)

(part 1)

series summary: bucky used to brag that he didn’t have a celebrity crush, or really care about famous people at all, which is what made him the perfect person to start working for a celebrity like yourself.  except, of course, it’s just his luck that he’d fall for you.  

word count: 3k

chapter warnings: kinda smut? (male masturbation), stalking (not bucky lol), a bit a violence, angst

It had been a month.  Well, 29 days, to be exact; he’d been counting them.  29 days since he’d seen so much more than he was supposed to, and he was pretty sure you’d seen him too.  29 days of tense silence as he wondered if you were ever going to say anything about it.

It must have been that you hadn’t seen him, if you hadn’t said anything for so long.  But god, it really did feel like you were looking right into his eyes as you came that night.  He knew the reality was that it was a horrible mistake and he was a terrible person for looking at you like that, and that he was never going to be any closer to you than watching someone else pleasure you; he knew that truly.  But regardless, that moment had been playing on repeat in his mind for 29 days.

And now, as he took his shower, he prepared to finish off day 29 and start day 30.

“Fuck,” he hissed under his breath, head falling back against the cool tile as his hand stroked slowly over his cock.  He’d dreamt about you (again) and woken up so hard that it actually hurt; so this wasn’t a continuation of his perversion, or his unhealthy obsession, no, it was pain relief.  It was medicine, really.

In his dream, like always, it had been him between your legs in the back of the car and not that other guy— who he’d seen on TV the other day, dying in the first five minutes of an episode of some awful CW drama, by the way.  It killed him that he couldn’t know how you really taste, or how you really would sound saying his name, but the best guess of his subconscious would have to do.  He tried to conjure in his mind how you sounded that night, each frame of the memory burned into his brain until it was what he saw every time it closed his eyes.

Baby.

That was what you’d said first, and it still made his heart stop every time it echoed in his head.  Baby.

The word itself was sort of innocuous, but it was the way you said it— just below your breath, deep but airy— and what it meant.  It was a plea: you were begging him to touch you, to make you feel good, to help you.  Bucky could listen to you beg for hours, it would be like music to his ears; like poetry, even.  

Later that night, when he’d given you the rest of his sandwich, he’d gotten the closest he ever would to hearing you moan his name.  What you’d said originally was just ‘oh my god, Bucky, this is so good’ and it was just generic enough that he could imagine it being a little more specific.  Sure, it was stupid to get off on memories of you praising a sandwich (that you ate while drunk in the shower) but it still did wonders for him as his hand pumped his length faster and faster.

Oh my god, Bucky, it feels so good— you feel so good.  You’re so good.  Oh my god, Bucky—

He bit down on his lip, already so close to the edge that there was no turning back, toes curling underneath the stream of hot water as his breathing moved just as quick as his thoughts— thoughts of you in the back of the car, or in the shower with your foggy silhouette just barely visible to him, or doing all sorts of things that he’d never seen you do but he’d love to pretend he had.  

“Oh my god, Bucky!” you yelled as you swung open the door, a choked moan jumping out of his throat in shock as his eyes shot open, come starting to spill down over his hand.

You couldn’t see him through his shower curtain, thank all that’s holy, but it was a sort of sensory overload as he tried to process what was going on mid-orgasm.

“What?!” he yelped, voice clearly rougher but hopefully not in a way you would find suspicious.

“Come quick,” you requested.

Already did, he thought to himself with a shudder of guilt.

“What’s going on?”

“There’s somebody in the yard,” you explained frantically, “it’s probably nothing, but I don’t know how they got past the gate—”

Your mitigation was lost to him as he was already turning off the flow of water, the evidence of his misdeed already washed away, leaving only the ringing in his ears and the burning in his cheeks as reminders.

You stepped out into the hall to give him just enough privacy to slip on a robe, which he was certain he looked ridiculous in but he really had no choice.  Storming out of the bathroom, he wasn’t sure he was ready to confront a potential threat while dripping wet and barefoot, but the whole point of him living here most of the week was so he could keep you safe at all times— apparently, shower time included.  

“Stay inside,” he instructed you quickly, “and stay out of the line of sight of any windows and doors, got it?” 

You nodded, and he could tell you were scared.  He hated that you had to worry about this sort of stuff.  He was glad to be there to help, yes, but he would rather this line of work didn’t need to exist at all even if it put him out of a job.  You waited for him there as he pushed past you and moved through the living room, considering whether or not he should grab a weapon from the safe he kept hidden in this room— but then he glanced to his left arm, drying quicker than the rest of him, and remembered he already had a weapon.

By the time he reached the door he could hear someone shouting your name outside.  As Bucky flipped on the damn-near-blinding security light on your porch and entered the yard, he saw a guy— smaller than him, but not exactly tiny— who seemed to ignore him and the light completely as he continued his desperate attempts to get your attention.  

“This is private property, you need to leave,” Bucky told the man in his best ‘stern but not quite yelling’ voice. 

“Is she home?” he asked him instead, totally unfazed by the warning.  As the fan looked back up and called your name again, Bucky shivered with the realization that he was looking up at your bedroom window.  Had he already seen you there?  Or, worse, did he have some other way of knowing which window was your bedroom?

“You need to get out of here before I call the police.  You’re trespassing,” Bucky continued, pushing the man back towards the gate.  Sadly, Bucky knew from experience the police weren’t that concerned about celebrity stalkers— you and him had both called to no avail once they learned the name of the homeowner.  It made his blood boil just to think about it.

“Hey, let go of me!” the man resisted, pushing Bucky back.  He seemed to sober up a bit when Bucky’s face changed, though, but it was too late.  He tried to duck but totally missed, and Bucky’s right fist made contact with his jaw.  “Ow!” he screeched, cowering and trying to cover his face.  “What the fuck?!  That’s assault— you just assaulted me!”

“And you’re trespassing.  And harassing.  And probably stalking,” Bucky listed, continuing to guide the man back towards the gate.  “Tell me how you got in here.  Did you hop the fence?”

He couldn’t go any further back as the man was pressed back against a stone column, squirming a bit but otherwise putting up little fight— or maybe he was actually trying his best, and it was just lost on someone as strong as Bucky.  

Unamused by his stammering and lack of an answer, Bucky brought his metal fist to the column right beside the man’s face, hitting hard enough to break off a sizable chunk of the stone.  “Tell me!” he demanded.

“There’s a tree out back, I climbed it!” he explained with a whimper, “I’m sorry!”

“Don’t come back here, you hear me?  Or this—” Bucky pointed to the dent in the column that he’d made— “will be your face!”

Letting him go and swinging open the gate a bit, the man ran away of his own volition, stumbling down the street and out of the glowing light of the streetlamps.  Bucky let out a low sigh, hoping it was the last of him but terrified that it wouldn’t be.  He made a mental note to call a landscaper about trimming this mysterious tree in the back, or maybe chopping it down altogether, as he made his way back inside.  He found you in the living room, chewing your nails nervously and watching him step closer with wide, watery eyes.

“He’s gone,” Bucky informed you quickly.

“Thank you,” you mumbled.

“You okay?” he asked gently.

“Um, yeah,” you decided, but you didn’t seem so confident.  Even so, he wasn’t sure what more he could do.  

“Oh, I broke your pillar, by the way.  Sorry.”

“I saw that,” you smiled a little, but he frowned.

“I told you to stay out of sight of the windows,” he reminded you.

You sighed.   “I know, I know, I just…” you trailed off, lip quivering a little as you got emotional again.  “I know it’s stupid but—”

“No, don’t say that,” he interjected.

“— but I was so scared,” you finished, voice wavering as you ran towards him, suddenly pulling him into a tight hug.  It took him by surprise, but he figured it was okay to hug you back.  He was only wearing a robe, he suddenly remembered, and your face was against the exposed portion of his bare chest.  If he hadn’t gotten off just minutes ago, he certainly would’ve gotten hard just from that (embarrassingly enough).

“Hey, it’s okay,” he soothed gently, indulging himself in resting his chin on top of your head as he stroked your hair.  

“Thank you,” you mumbled against his skin, pulling him even closer, “god, I don’t even know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t been here.”

A pang of guilt rattled in his chest; you trusted him so completely and he was crushing on you, spying on you (only the once, but still), taking advantage of your need for protection, staying in your guest bedroom and jerking off to you in your shower— when had he turned into an unstoppable pervert?

“Will you stay in my room tonight?” you asked him suddenly, looking up at him with those big shiny eyes and a pouty lip.

“Oh nonononono,” he shook his head, instantly recognizing that trap.

“No, Bucky, please,” you whimpered, “that guy might come back, I don’t want you all the way across the house.”

“I shouldn’t— I’d be overstepping—” he stammered.

“Please,” you sighed, and he sighed too, because when you said it like that, he couldn’t say no to you.

//

Bucky had insisted on staying on the floor as opposed to getting up on your bed, which was a drag but whatever.  At least you had a lot of good spare blankets and pillows to make him a comfy-looking pallet.  He seemed to agree when he appeared behind you in the doorway to find you on your knees on the floor, putting it all together.

“You didn’t need to do that, I’m pretty good at sleeping on floors as-is,” he dismissed.

“No, I’m happy to!” you beamed, turning around and choking a bit when you looked up at him in his pajamas.  Even though they were still pretty conservative, specifically sweats and a scoop neck sweater-y sort of top, it was probably more than you’d ever seen of him since his uniform was very concealing.  You were kind of hoping to catch a glimpse of his metal hand— you didn’t get to see it much because he wore driving gloves the vast majority of the time, and you hadn’t really been paying attention when it was exposed earlier by his just being in a robe— but he was noticeably leaning against the doorframe in such a way that you couldn’t see it.  The thing that really got a reaction out of you was his dog tags, though; you’d never seen him wear them before and there was something perfect about the way the silver chain dangled over the slight peek of collarbone visible above his neckline.  “Aren’t you warm wearing that much to bed?”

“No, it’s fine,” he dismissed.  You hoped he wasn’t wearing more just for your benefit.  Shirtlessness would’ve benefited you more, certainly.  In fact, now you felt kind of bad that you were just wearing a thin, silky short-and-tank set.  Hopefully it didn’t make him uncomfortable.

Getting up from the floor, you slipped under your covers and motioned for him to do the same.  He turned off your lamp first, stealing your last chance at a good view of the hand, and you heard him get comfortable on the floor.

“Thank you for this,” you mumbled quickly into the darkness.  “I don’t think I’d be able to fall asleep if you weren’t in here.

“Oh, of course,” he replied softly.  

“Goodnight,” you whispered.

“Goodnight,” he answered back, and his low, sleepy voice was somehow both soothing and energizing.

You weren’t sure if you even tried to fall asleep, or how long you laid staring out into the void of the darkness.  It was so dark in your room that you saw purple spots dancing in the corners like static as your eyes adjusted, incomprehensible shapes forming to make up for the lack of visual stimulation.  You wished that there was enough ambient light to be able to see Bucky’s shape on the floor and know he was there; instead, you settled for the subtle sound of his slow breathing.  When you heard him adjust slightly, you decided maybe just the breathing wasn’t enough to be sure it was really safe.

“Bucky?” you whispered under your breath.  “Are you awake?”

“Yes,” he answered, making you sigh with relief.

“I can’t sleep.”

“I thought you said you wouldn’t be able to sleep if I wasn’t here.”

“But I never said you being here would make me sleep,” you pointed out.

“Then I should go,” he decided.

“No, please,” you hissed, “don’t go.”

“Okay.”

You took a deep breath.  “Tell me something,” you requested.

“Tell you what?”

“I don’t know, anything.”

He paused for a moment.  “Will it help you sleep?”

“Maybe,” you shrugged.

Bucky sighed, and you heard him turn on his side.  “Want me to tell you a bedtime story?” he asked, sarcasm noticeable even in a whisper.

“Yes,” you announced with a smile.

“Okay,” he pondered, “um… once upon a time—”

“Good start,” you rolled your eyes.

“No interrupting!” he scolded.

“Sorry…”

“Anyways, once upon a time there was a princess, who lived in a castle in the Isle of Manhattan.”

“A castle?” you asked excitedly.

“A somewhat modest castle, but yes.  One with big golden gates and marble columns.  The princess didn’t live all alone in her castle though— at least, not all the time.  She had many royal attendants, and servants, and plenty of friends of course.  But the problem with being a beautiful, kind, generous princess is that sometimes people get too friendly and want to visit her in the castle when she’d rather be alone.  Thankfully, the princess had a last line of defense—”

“Let me guess, a knight in shining armor?”  Or more like knight with shining arm.

“Wish I could say so,” he disagreed.  “No, this princess needed something a little fiercer, and that was why a dragon guarded the castle.”

“A dragon?!”

“Mhmm.  A big, scary dragon with sharp teeth and big wings, that breathed fire on anyone who got in his way.  The thing about knights is that they’re noble, and handsome, and righteous.  But righteousness prevents people from doing bad things, and sometimes bad things need to be done to protect good things.  So, knights can’t protect princesses like they should.  That’s what dragons are for.  They’re mean and nasty— it’s their nature, after all— and sometimes you need somebody burnt up, so you call a dragon and he’ll deal with it for you.  And this dragon was the meanest and nastiest of them all, and he’d burnt a lot of people in his time.  Oddly enough, the princess was still nice to him, but she had a lot of knights and princes and kings who wanted her hand.  Good thing the dragon was there to pick off the worst ones.”

You giggled a little, even though your heart was racing.

“The dragon watched over the castle every night— well, five nights a week… cause the princess wanted weekends to herself— but, still, he was very dedicated and did his best to keep her safe.  Sometimes he would take her to whatever lavish ball she had been invited to that week; she would ride on his back as he flew there, even though he was pretty scared she would fall off or something.  And sometimes…”

Your breath caught at the pause, waiting anxiously for what would come next.  

“Sometimes the dragon wished he wasn’t a monster.  But if he wasn’t a monster, then he couldn’t keep her safe.  So, he resigned himself to a life outside the castle, because at least he could be near her— even if she was impossibly far away.”

You swallowed as you tried to process it, finding yourself at a complete loss for words.

“The end,” he whispered gently, before giving you a goodnight and saying your name in a way that he’d never said it before— at least, you’d never heard him say it that way before.  But you really, really hoped you’d get to hear it again.  You did manage to fall asleep eventually, dreaming about flying and wishing you didn’t have to wake up.

[softscummymammon]

€Unexpected Acquaintance€

Assisted by:: @jinjinjinjin

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Sukuna just wanted this day to end. He was already in a bad mood from the storm last night, where he got little of his much needed sleep, and his mood had only gotten worse when he was faced with a bunch of "nature friendly" bastards protesting near the docks where his boat was tied down.

Now, he just wanted to get his daily load of fish for the market, and have a nap without dealing with any other goody two shoe hypocrites. He could already feel the headache building up behind his eyes.

Though the gentle rocking of the boat over the surface of the water did ease him slightly. People besides other fishermen were always so confused when he actually said something about himself and it happened to his be career in fishing. They were always so astounded when he said he could stay on a boat for a whole day. Weaklings, all of them.

Rubbing at his sore eyes, Sukuna glared at the surface of the horizon and took a sip of the alcohol in his canteen. Tucking the tin back into his wader's pocket, he patted the pocket for safe keeping.

Walking to the front of the boat, he checked his net markers he left a few days ago. Sukuna gasped when he saw his marker bobbing up and down frantically. Getting his equipment ready, he tugged on some gloves and grabbed at the net right under the marker.

Taking a breath, Sukuna started tugged on the net. Grabbing every piece of net coming from the water, Sukuna huffs as he pulls the net further and further from the water. The sound of splashing water reached his ears and he smirked in victory.

Putting all the access netting into one hand, Sukuna quickly reaches behind him for the mechanical hook. The machinery on his boat was built and bought by him only, so only he knew how it worked. By reaching for the net first, he can easily tie the access onto the hook and pull up the rest of it out of the water.

Doing exactly what was needed, he tied the net to the hook and grabbed onto the leaver and started cranking the leaver clockwise. The machinery raised the net out of the water better than he ever could. The load he hauled onto his deck made him smile and rub his hands together gleefully.

" This shipment is definitely worth a pretty penny. Now, all I gotta do it sort you out, fish sticks. "

*Slap* "Who you callin' fish sticks, blubber mouth?! "

Sukuna froze. Looking up, he raised his hand to his face and wiped away some water the fish that had been thrown at him left on his cheek. Peering down at the fish now flopping on his deck, he gave the thing a death glare; as if that would give him any answers. He must really be going crazy-

"Up here, blubber-for-brains. "

His eyes snapped up towards the voice. But the air in his lungs escaped as if they were punched out of him. A human(?)'s upper torso was visible at the top of the net. It was leaning against the hook of the machinery and was throwing and catching a fish in its hand.

Sukuna raised a brow, " What the fuck? "

The thing raised one of its brows back, " Nice use of language, Oh Smart One. I thought you humans were supposed to be intelligent. Though, every one of your kind I've encountered uses fowl language, so smarts must just be a myth. "

Sukuna growled at the things snarky commentary, " Oh yeah? And what kind of intelligent creature like you gets stuck in a fishing net, huh? So much for being smart. "

The thing snarled, showing off rust colored stained teeth dyed by no doubt blood as sharp as many of Sukuna's own fileting knives. It held tightly onto the fish in its hand, " Watch your mouth, human, I still got a whole lotta of ammo here, and your face is lookin' like a big ol' target from where I'm sittin'. "

Sukuna rose an unimpressed eyebrow and pulled out a harpoon gun he kept in the captain's quarters, " Mine hurts worse. "

The thing flinched back and hissed at the gun, but slowly set down the poor he probably squeezed to death in his panic. The thing made a whiny sound in the back of its throat, " I didn't choose to get stuck here. I was getting chased by some shark mers. Those nasty ones only know the smell of blood and the next potential meal. I'd choose to be anywhere else right now, trust me. "

Sukuna huffed, " Yeah, sure. " Putting away the gun, Sukuna sighed and looked back up to the sulking thing. Looking closer, he was the slightest shine of scales decorating the cheeks, neck, and forearms of the thing. Its eyes were steely and sunken in, as if it's seen things beyond it's life time.

Sukuna chuckled upon realization, " You're a mermaid, aren't you? "

The mer scoffed, " Merman, thank. But 'mer' is just fine. I still don't get why ya humans always gotta gender code things. Damn, just call us what we are? "

Sukuna chuckled again, " What? Nuisances? "

The mer hissed again, " We wouldn't be if ya humans knew to keep to yerselves. Ain't this section of the coast off limits to fishers like yerself? "

Sukuna shrugged, not giving an answer. The mer scoffed and crossed it's arms over it's chest. Sukuna looked at it up and down, taking in everything he could. He hummed delightfully.

The mer must have caught on, " What'cha lookin at me fer? Think I'm some sorta snack for yer to eat? "

Sukuna shook his head no, " Nah, I was just rememberin how much one of your kind goes to sell on the blackmarket. You gotta be worth something. No rich bastard would give up the opportunity to call a thing like you pet. "

The mer's eyes went thin, but already creamy skin paled considerably, " You wouldn't... "

Sukuna rose a brow, " Oh, and why wouldn't I? I could definitely use the money. "

The thing stayed quiet, before it soon started to shake. Sukuna was about to sneer and comment about it being weak, but paused when a face formed from agony and rage shot up to glare at him. Sukuna had to keep himself from tensing and tried to look as calm as he could be.

The mer growled, " That's all that ya humans are. Selfish and greedy monsters only willing to do something if you get money in return. Do you know how many of our kind is sacrificed, hunted, and killed just so the others can live? Just so you humans can play god and reap what we mer's sew. "

Sukuna gulped, remembering the auction show he was emailed an invite to since he contributed a large amount of fish to the CEO of the company. It was a disgusting show of wealth. How millionaires and billionaires fought over a small little thing that held a resemblance to the one right in front of him.

The mer wasn't done, but tears of grief started to roll down it's eyes, " How many of our guppies, our children, are pulled from our arms to be sold like live stock?! You are no better! "

Sukuna had enough of this tantrum, " Do not bundle me with those people! I'd never harm a child, even if I am considered a monster by other people. I will not allow it to be done by a fish like you! "

The mer shrunk back, breathing irregular and struggling, like a faint wheeze. It swallowed roughly and looked away. Sukuna rumbled, now over flowing with guilt he felt he should not harbor. Looking back up, he became slightly alarmed at the shallow and wheezy breaths the mer was taking.

Mer's need water, his mind supplied. Sukuna growled, and hackles raising when he caught the mer flinching again. Walking away from the net, he went down below deck on got out a giant glass tank he kept in case he needed to keep a fish alive for more profit.

Taking it up the stairs and on to the deck, he set it down on some secure boxes and grabbed a bucket to start filling it with water. He had to make haste though, or the mer would die from drownin? Suffocation? And all of this work would be for waste.

Once the tank was full and covered from the beating ray of the sun, Sukuna walked over to the leaver controlling the hook and rotated it counter clockwise. He watched as the machine lowered the net onto the deck and he let go of the leaver. Once the machine stopped, he stepped up to the net and untied it.

Being this up close and personal to the mer, he watched as the sun made the scales look iridescent. Slipping his arms underneath the torso of the fish being, he pulled it out of the other fish and dragged it towards the tank. The mer roused slightly, trying to fruitlessly push Sukuna away. The bigger man scoffed and dropped the mer into the tank.

The reaction was instant, the mer took a deep breath through the large gills covering it's side and it slumped against the rim of the glass tank. Sukuna watched, looking at the mer's tail that could he classified as art in itself. It was beautiful, though he would never admit it. The thin tarp Sukuna draped over some boxes didn't stop the light from the sun bouncing off the glittering scales.

Sukuna's gaze went back up to the mer's face, startling to see the mer was also looking at him. It's hair fell in it's face, blocking out most of it. It puffed, blowing some of the strands out of it's eyes to get a better look.

Sukuna hated the way his chest constricted at the show. The mer raised a webbed hand, and Sukuna slowly took it and shook it. He made a face when he pulled it back and fake gagged at the slimy feeling left on his skin. The thing laughed at his disgust and shook it's head, getting water everywhere.

It smirked, " The name's _____ _____. What's yours, blubber man? "

Sukuna sneered at the nickname, " That's not my name. It'd Sukuna Ryoumen, nothing else. "

The mer smirked, " Well now I gotta call you that every time I address ya. "

Sukuna growled, " Don't you dare. " The glint in the fish's eyes didn't quell any of the building dread that sat in the bottom of his stomach. He really debated on if he should sell the fish or not.

❃.✮:▹»»——⍟——««◃:✮.❃

[bunnykawa]

i’m better than you! (oikawa x f. reader)

summary: If there was one thing Oikawa hated more than geniuses, it was your boyfriend.

a/n: thought about oikawa with a glock and it had me feeling some type of way. so here’s 6.2k words of what’s been in my head. also if you love iwa-chan, i’m deeply sorry. (btw someone replied to my last fic saying they were gonna move to the states with iwa-chan and...yeah that was funny cs this was sitting my drafts) 

warnings: 18+, yandere themes, implied character death, mentions of blood/gore, GUNPLAY!!, violence, noncon/dubcon/rape, little bit of exhibitionism?, mentions of cheating, brief mentions of stalking, abusive language/cursing

Oikawa didn’t know when it started.

It could’ve been the first time he ever saw you in school, so quiet and shy, with a pink tinge across your face when you glanced in his direction. Or it could’ve been the first time you spoke to him, with a little tremble to your lips as you struggled to form the right words that would leave a lasting impression. Maybe it was when he started noticing you were always attending his volleyball games, cheering on your school with a big stupid grin on your face.

Or maybe it was a mixture of all these little moments that made Oikawa feel what he felt. It didn’t matter what started it. All Oikawa really knew was that he was so in love with you. 

You ended up spending so much time together and blossoming such a beautiful friendship that others didn't expect to happen. It was a dream for him—seeing you smile and laugh, not caring about how you looked. And when you would tease him, it would make him laugh rather than upset him. Yes, he loved you for that. He loves everything about you. From the way you fiddled with your fingers when you had nothing else to do to your weird outbursts when you get excited. You were nothing like the girls who threw themselves at him in hopes of getting his attention. 

Often times, after you would hang out, Oikawa would pull down his pants in the privacy of his bedroom and desperately fist his cock until thick spurts of white would shoot onto anything that he was able to steal from your room from all the times he came over to your house. A picture, a shirt, his favorite pair of panties that smelled so deliciously like you, one of your socks that he wrapped around his length as he fucked his hand—absolutely anything he got his hands on that once belonged to you—was enough to have him dizzy with lust, desire, and love.

You became everything to him. If he was ever able to hold you close with his own fingertips, he would be able to die happily. He would even suffice with just a sniff of your hair while you’re actually awake instead of when you’re dead asleep in the middle of the night and he sneaks into your room through the window you always forget to lock. You couldn’t know that, though. Not like he would have been able to make a move on you so soon to make you completely his anyway.

But he would do anything for you. You were his best friend after all.

So when for the first time ever in your close friendship, you suddenly show up to his house unannounced with tears running down your cheeks and shamelessly throwing yourself into his arms, Oikawa was frozen in place for a second. 

“He cheated on me, Tooru,” you sobbed into his chest. Oh...all he could do was hold you close, bring you inside, and kiss the top of your head lovingly as your shoulders shook.

“It’s okay, Princess. Let it all out. I’m here,” he cooed.

And, wow...you smelled so good when you were awake. So sweet and pure. Absolutely beautiful...

So why the fuck would he cheat on you? 

Oikawa was angry. He was so angry he could laugh at how incredulous the situation was to him. How could he willingly treat you like shit?

After letting him take you away so easily, so Oikawa was forced to resort to pretending that he wasn’t devastatingly in love with you. After being forced to trust him with your heart, convincing himself that he would never hurt you. After having to deal with the fact that every single moment that you shared with Oikawa, that made him fall so deeply for you, was also shared with him. After hearing you scream his name at every single volleyball game you ever attended instead of "Go Tooru!"

It was true—you really were nothing like Oikawa’s fangirls. You didn’t love Oikawa like the fangirls loved him. Never yearned for Oikawa like how his fangirls did. 

You loved Iwaizumi, the former ace of Seijoh and the target of most of Oikawa’s sets. And you broke poor Oikawa’s heart every single time he witnessed a loving moment between you and Iwaizumi. He didn’t understand. He was taller, maybe even more cuter, just so much better than Iwaizumi. So why didn’t you choose him?

That’s how you ended up here; shivering in fear on Iwaizumi’s bed as he sat on the swivel chair he usually kept in his bedroom. Iwaizumi's hands and feet were tied together and the ghost of a blue bruise was forming on his right eye. The rest of his face was slightly swollen and there was a smudge of dried blood under his nose. Whenever you glance up at him, he was staring down at his hands in guilt, shame, and maybe anger and pain. But he made no move to try to get out of his restraints. It was no use.

Can we talk? Come over soon.

You received that text from Iwaizumi's number, assuming it was him. Anxiety-ridden and curious, you came to Iwaizumi's house, wondering what he could possibly say after hurting you so bad. The door was unlocked so you let yourself in, but you didn't expect a shirtless Oikawa—your best friend ever since you met him—to be sitting on the couch looking as relaxed as ever with Iwaizumi's phone in his lap. The little dry splatters of crimson liquid that kissed his skin were easy to notice.

As he led you to Iwaizumi's bedroom, your heart was pounding. And when you saw Iwaizumi in such a disheveled state, you were frozen in fear. Oikawa forced you to sit down on the bed, and you would've started screaming for help—you could've, but a metal handle sticking out of Oikawa's pocket caught your eye.

"God, I fucking hate you. Ever since you got with (Y/N), you’ve made it so hard not to rip your skull apart.”

Oikawa was standing a few feet away from Iwaizumi. A million thoughts ran through your head and every single one of them was wondering how this happened.

When did your best friend become so violent?

And when the fuck did he own a gun?

"I know. I made a goddamn mistake," Iwaizumi grunts in pain, "It's over now. We're not together anymore so-...so you don't need to be doing this dumb shit."

Oikawa laughs loudly, "That's not the point, Iwa-chan! The point is you hurt her." He's clenching and unclenching his fists in anger.

"I said I fucking know!" Iwaizumi barks. He was breathing heavily, his chest was rising and falling deeply.

Oikawa's face forms into a deep scowl. Suddenly, he pulls the black pistol out of his pocket and strikes Iwaizumi's cheek with it, making him jerk his face to the side, before pressing it against his temple. Blood drips from the side of his mouth from the sudden impact.

"Tooru," you whimper. You were shaking so bad, trying hard to stay as calm as possible in case he would try to turn the gun on you. The sight of blood made you feel sick. This whole situation was disgusting.

"You're lucky I haven't blown your brains out for stealing my girl. But hurting her, too? I should fucking shoot you right now." Maybe Iwaizumi was scared, just like you. One pull of the trigger and he would be gone in an instant. But he also looked so furious, with his jaw clenched and his eyes ablaze.

"Then shoot me, Shittykawa. Fucking do it," Iwaizumi taunts him, "Let (Y/N) see how fucked up you are. Traumatize her."

Oikawa pulls away and presses the pistol underneath his own chin in thought, before he carelessly waves it around as if it was just a toy. Every single time he moved, you jumped in your seat and your heart beat eratically. He was unpredictable. "Fuck that, I don't wanna kill you in front of (Y/N) yet. I'd rather blow her back out than blow your brains out first."

His words send a fearful shiver down your spine and makes your skin crawl. You’ve never seen this side of him before—never even expected him to be like this.

Iwaizumi growls, "You're sick."

"I'm not sick, Iwa-chan. I'm doing what's right for my girl," he said firmly. He spun the weapon between his fingers.

"She's not 'your girl.' She was never your girl!" Oikawa and Iwaizumi continued to argue, as if one of them wasn't holding a gun capable of killing everyone in the room instantly. “If this is what you consider right, then you’re just a fucking psycho!”

Why did you have to be here? In between this mess?

You cover your face with the collar of your shirt, crying and trembling with your heart threatening to pound until it jumps out of your chest and leaves you dying. The thought of someone just... getting their life stolen in the hands of someone else right in front of you was destroying your mind. Somehow, even if this was all Oikawa's twisted idea, it felt like it was your fault. 

"Tooru, I don't wanna be h-here. I... I don't want you to kill him..." you hiccup through your tears. Without you noticing, he slowly walks towards you so that he's directly in front of you, watching you break down. “I wan-wanna go h-home.”

"Put the fucking gun down, dumbass," Iwaizumi warns him.

Looking up from your shirt and desperately brushing away the tears as they fell, you're faced with the muzzle of the barrel pointed straight at you, only a mere few inches away from your terrified face. Behind the pistol was, of course, the man you thought would always protect you.

"Oikawa," Iwaizumi snarled, "Don't you dare fucking hurt her. Are you crazy?"

"Shut up, Iwa-chan! Since when did you ever care about her like I do?" Oikawa snaps at him. You stay focused on the shiny barrel of the pistol.

You could die right now. Right in front of your ex boyfriend and your soon-to-be ex best friend. Bleeding with your brains on the mattress you once shared with the man you spent a whole year loving.

All because of Oikawa.

"Why, Tooru?" you ask in a cracked voice, struggling to swallow the lump in your throat.

Oikawa smiled at you, "I'm gonna make this right, okay? I won't hurt you. I just...follow what I say, okay, Princess?"

“I don’t-” you gulp hard, trying to find your voice, “I really don’t understand any of this. I-...I hate this. I don’t wanna die. Tooru, I’m so-...I-...nng?”

The muzzle is delicately pressed between your lips suddenly, nudging your soft lips apart and cutting you off mid-sentence. You inhale sharply as you stare into Oikawa’s brown eyes, surprised and terrified of his sudden action. It throws you off guard, your body going rigid at the thought of dying at this very second.

What would your parents do? Is anyone even gonna find you? Will Iwaizumi survive? Since when did Oikawa hate you so much that he wanted to stick a gun in your mouth?

“Suck.” 

Wait, what? 

The fear on your face is instantly replaced with bewilderment. Suck? What does he mean suck? You stare at each other, the confusion evident on your face, but Oikawa couldn’t stop smiling evilly. 

“Suck on it, Princess,” Oikawa coos. Is he being serious? Even Iwaizumi, ten feet away and tied up, is looking at him as if he was an alien.

“You heard what I said, (Y/N). I won’t hurt you if you listen to me.” When you don't move, he pulls the gun back only to cock it. Your breath hitches in your throat as he places it back on your lips. "Put those sweet lips around my pistol and suck on it. Make it pretty.”

“What the fuck?” breathes Iwaizumi, gawking at Oikawa’s odd demand. 

With the sound of Oikawa cocking the gun fresh in your mind, and fueling your desire to live, you hesitantly wrap your lips around the gun. You start sucking on it, flicking your tongue against the underside of the barrel and slowly bobbing your head around it as you maintain eye contact with Oikawa through your blurry vision. It wasn’t cold, surprisingly, but the feeling of the metal in your mouth made you wince. You’re squeezing your eyes shut, ignoring your tears and trying to think of the weapon as something else.

Oikawa says nothing, his gaze never leaving you while you take his gun as if it was his own cock. The only thing flashing through his mind is that this view is absolutely perfect. Your saliva leaves a thin coating on the barrel every time you pull your head back, just to nibble on the muzzle and swirl your tongue around it, only to let half of the barrel disappear into your mouth again—and it leaves a satisfied feeling in his lower stomach seeing you attempt to submit to him so you could live. 

Slowly, he starts pushing it deeper into your mouth, almost to the back of your throat, and you recoil before he can reach that point, grabbing onto his hand that was holding the gun with both of your weak hands. “Ah, ah, ah,” he tuts in a disappointed tone, “I wanna see you take in more, Princess.” Instantly, you force yourself to relax your throat to let him invade the rest of your mouth. You hold your breath as he hits the back. You’re still trying to bob your head along the weapon, relying on your nose to give you the air that you need.

There was something really fucked up about this whole situation. A red tint is flushed across your face when you glance over at your ex boyfriend, watching you intently. He’s disgusted, that’s for sure—but when you look up to make eye contact with Oikawa, he’s far from disgusted. And it’s easier to tell, because when you trail your gaze to his lower half...

He’s rock hard—bulging from beneath the fabric of his sweats, sweet smile on his perfect face, absolutely no shame in his erection from getting his pistol sucked.

Iwaizumi always knew he was fucking weird.

But there’s an odd, yet familiar sensation, in your lower stomach—a warmth that you know all too well that only happens when Iwaizumi touches you—that makes you clench your thighs and flutter your eyes shut. Looking up at Oikawa, there’s no doubt that he knows what you’re feeling. A small smirk finds its way across his lips. 

Iwaizumi didn't know you were fucking weird, either.

Yeah, that’s what’s fucked up about this situation. Why was this turning you on, too?

Oikawa suddenly pulls the gun away, leaving a thin string of saliva following your lips to the harsh metal for a second until it disconnects. He leans in, making you hold your breath, and his lips find yours.

Soft—that’s the first thing you think about when he connects your lips. “Kiss me back,” he murmurs. 

So, you do. He feels foreign to you, strange even, and you feel quite awkward kissing him when you never even thought about kissing him before. You were beyond flustered. Despite being in such a stressful situation...he’s gentle. The tip of his tongue trails along the opening of your lips. As a habit, you part your lips and allow him to enter your mouth. 

You’re still scared. Your heart is beating so fast. Your breathing is labored from the anxiety sitting heavily on your chest.  But Oikawa is strangely calm. In fact, if he wasn’t moving against your lips right now and lapping at your tongue with his, he’d be smiling and laughing at Iwaizumi’s face. I’m kissing your ex girlfriend!

And Iwaizumi couldn’t do anything except stare. 

You push your hands against his bare shoulders to pull away. “Tooru, stop it,” you gasp out, “Hajim- Iwaizumi is right there.” You didn’t want him to see you like this. You didn’t even wanna see him in the first place after coming home to find him with another girl.

With his face close to you, he harbors a blank expression. “So, would you rather...do something else?” You pause for a second, remembering that he has a gun that’s a few inches away from you, and you reluctantly nod your head. His expression changes—a small smirk and softer, relaxed eyes, an indication that he definitely has something else in mind. Regret starts to fog your mind, but you also can’t help but be curious.

“What are you planning, Shittykawa?” Iwaizumi asks in an irritated, strained tone. He even sounded a bit...jealous? Was he actually jealous? You furrow your eyebrows in confusion.

Oikawa tilts his head to the side to shoot Iwaizumi an evil smirk.

“I’m gonna fuck your ex girlfriend, Iwa-chan. Right in front of you.”

~

You never thought you'd be in this position.

It's hard to fully take in the situation when you literally feel like you're about to pass out from anxiety and all you want is for everything to be calm. At least go back to the way it used to be or how it should be—spending the rest of your time with Oikawa while eating tubs of ice cream and watching movies until you pass out together.

Instead, you're shaking like a leaf while straddling his thighs, fully exposed, soft skin pressing against his. Oikawa is completely bare, too, and while you always admired his athletic ability and perfect body, you didn't wanna see him like this. Not at all. Especially when his finger is still lazily sitting on the trigger of his pistol with it still pointed towards you, challenging you to do something so he can pull it.

It's that mischievous glint in his eyes that make you tense up the most. You want to be angry. You have every right to be, you think, but it's so difficult.

You're trying to cover up your body with your arms, holding onto the small amount of pride you have left, but it's no use when Oikawa is constantly looking you up and down. At the same time, you're trying to avoid looking down—his cock was sitting upright, hard and pulsating and...bigger than you thought he would be.

Way bigger.

"You can give it a little lick, Princess. If it'll make it easy for you."

You bite your trembling lip, shaking your head side to side, "I don't...I don't feel like it, Tooru." Oikawa moves to place his free hand on your waist, trailing his finger tips up and down, goosebumps rising on your skin.

"Just try it, baby. I won't bite," he muses, "Or would you rather I-" He picks his gun up higher. That small, annoying smile seemed to never leave his face because he knew the power he had over you at this moment.

"No," you quickly interrupt him. A chuckle vibrates in his chest at your response.

"I think I need to take care of you first, hm?" Before you can disagree with him again, he's sitting up to grab your hips. He flips you both over so he's above you. He opens your legs and lifts them up so your thighs are pressing against your stomach, exposing everything to him. You’re embarrassed, covering your face with your hands. 

“Let’s see your face, Princess. Don’t hide,” he insists, “You’re so pretty. I wish I could’ve seen you like this sooner.” You have no choice but to let your hands fall from your face. Oikawa looks so happy. In the corner of the room, Iwaizumi is muttering something under his breath with a flushed, bruised, and bleeding face. 

Oikawa runs his fingers along the skin of the underside of your thighs before placing his palms on each. He was still holding onto the weapon. It’s pressing against one of your thighs. Why did everything feel so cold? 

You flinch when he leans down towards your heat to flatten his tongue and lick a stripe up your slit. Oikawa stifles a groan at the taste of you. This was what he wanted since the first time he met you—an opportunity to make you his. He wraps his lips around the little sensitive nub at the top of your cunt and sucks on it. 

“T-Tooru,” you softly whine in uneasiness. You’re not sure if Oikawa can hear the distaste dripping at your mouth, but he keeps sucking and lapping at you as if you were the last thing he would ever eat. “I really don’t like this, Tooru. This is so embarrassing...”

He looks up at you, locking eyes with you as you silently beg him to stop. He removes one of his hands from your thighs to probe at the entrance of your pussy with his thumb. Your heart drops to your stomach when you hear the familiar slick of your wetness and he spreads it around with the pad of his thumb. “You don’t seem to be that against it, (Y/N).” 

Of course you’d be wet—he’s licking and playing with your cunt. When would he understand that?

You gulp nervously, “I don’t want this, Tooru. Please.”

He hums to myself, seeming to be deep in thought as always, before he mutters, “Oh, I know what you want.” You’re confused for a second, but he moves his other hand to hold the pistol at your entrance and...what the fuck?

What the fuck?

“No! Tooru!” you gasp, moving to sit up. Oikawa quickly pushes you back down by your chest. He’s pushing the gun inside you, slowly, but surely—and you feel every single rough patch and texture on the barrel, breaking through the rings of your cunt. “No, no, no!” You’re trying to reach for him, to stop him before he continues, yet he’s able to hold you back with one arm and pushes the pistol inside your pulsing heat, stretching you with the hard metal. It’s an uncomfortable stretch because of how stiff it is. You can already feel the trigger guard pressing at your asshole from how much he filled you up.

You swear Iwaizumi whispers a “holy shit” from his place.

“This is what you wanted, hm? You wanted to get fucked by my pistol?” Oikawa coos in a sickeningly sweet tone. You’re shaking your head, bracing your arms against the bed sheets and chewing on your lip. No. This can’t be happening. “I saw how you reacted when I let you suck on it, Princess. Bet this sweet pussy was already dripping the second I put it in your mouth. I never knew you were so dirty.” He wanted to laugh. The view from between your legs was incredible. He’s glancing at Iwaizumi, who is trying very hard not to look.

“That’s not true!" you gasp. Oikawa continues to pump the gun in and out of you with slow and deliberate strokes. You hate that you feel every single ridge and dent. He leans down to give a few licks at your clit. You’re suppressing a moan in your throat, because this shouldn’t feel good. Every single time he snaps it back into you, you’re gasping for breath. The walls of your cunt are clenching around the thick barrel and it’s hot—you’re heating up from the unfamiliar object forcing its way inside you, forcing you to react. Forcing you to take it in even if your brain is screaming for mercy.

“I know you better than you know yourself,” Oikawa mutters, “You’ve been mine since the beginning. I just let him have you.” This time, you’re biting down on your fist as he continues his assault. This wasn’t the Oikawa you met and became best friends with; this was an absolute monster. Maybe this was who he was the whole entire time—a liar, a master manipulator, a delusional psychopath who couldn’t understand the chemicals behind truly loving someone. 

But that doesn’t matter right now because fuck—the consistent strokes of Oikawa fucking you with his pistol felt good. The tiny moans you’re letting out proves everything, even as you try to hold them back. It’s so hard to stop your hips from bucking against the hard metal, even harder to stop that stupid fire burning in your pelvis. God, you’re about to fucking explode.

It doesn’t feel good, you’re trying to convince yourself. This is assault. This is rape. This doesn’t feel good. You’re not turned on, you’re just terrified if he pulls the trigger—

“Let it out, baby. The gun’s still fully loaded,” he whispers against your lips with a smirk, suddenly lifting himself up to press his forehead against yours. His words were ringing loudly in your ears, reaching every single nerve in your body. You part your lips in shock, your legs are shaking violently against your chest, and your eyes are finally rolling back into your head. A loud moan erupts from your throat, high-pitched like a scream. Quickly, he connects your lips and forces his tongue inside.

Fuck.

Fuck. 

It almost hurts with how tightly you’re clenching onto the gun still inside you. But it’s one of the best feelings that you’ve ever felt because you’re cumming. You’re actually cumming. Your pussy is hot with so much shame, but you’re still gushing juices, soaking Oikawa’s hand.

You’re cumming on a fucking gun.

The room is silent as you’re coming undone. Iwaizumi is dazed, obvious from the look on his face as he’s staring at the place between your legs and the wet spots soaking the sheets. Oikawa stands upright on his knees, and you notice that his pelvis is wet from your juices. How embarrassing. How utterly fucking embarrassing. He’s pulling the gun out of your cunt and raising it up to his face, examining how your cum is running down to the handle. 

Oh, that’s really satisfying. He could take a picture right now, but he didn’t want to waste anymore time. 

"Cumming just from my pistol?" Oikawa chuckled, "So fucking dirty. I love it. I could get you pregnant right now. Pump you up with my kids, would you like that?" 

“Fuck’s sake, Shittykawa. What the fuck is wrong with you?” Iwaizumi speaks up all of a sudden. Oikawa simply scoffs at the other man before pulling you closer to rest your thighs against his hips. 

You wheeze, completely out of breath, “No, Tooru. I’m done. I need to leave.” With the palms of your hands against the mattress, you weakly try to pull yourself up and away from Oikawa’s grasp. 

“I said I was gonna fuck you, didn’t I?” Oikawa hums, pulling you back against his hips and placing his tip at your entrance. You wanna move away, and you really try to by moving to scoot away from him, but you feel so weak. He’s still holding onto his disgustingly wet gun—wet from you. Has he even put it down at all? 

"I never break promises," Oikawa sighs, with a big smile on his face, "And you’re so beautiful, (Y/N). How did I ever stop myself before? I should've taken you even if that fucker was still with you."

You’re trying to protest. You’ve been trying all night, but Oikawa is so persistent with wanting his revenge—revenge that you never even wanted. But he’s also thinking that this is it—this is the stepping stone of becoming the object of your affection. Not Iwaizumi, the man you loved and who cheated on you. Not anyone else. Just your best friend.

His hands are gripping onto your hips as he arches your back for his hips to meet yours. It’s another uncomfortable stretch as he pushes passed the fleshy walls of your pussy with his throbbing cock. You’re already wet—he has no struggle sinking into your pussy—and the squelching sound your wetness makes and the sharp whine that you let out in response to his movements are music to his ears. 

“Fuck,” he moans, “You’re tight, Princess. I thought Iwa-chan was fucking this pussy every night before.” 

It seemed like Iwaizumi wasn’t in the room at first, even if you were hyper-aware of that fact and it made your whole body become flushed. If you could hear his thoughts right now, he would most definitely be thinking that this fucking sucks. There’s a crack in your voice when you let out a low moan at Oikawa finally sheathing you on his cock. 

“How is it? Bigger than Iwa-chan?” he teases you. He pulls back only to dive deeper into your wetness. The feeling of his cock sliding against your walls makes you tremble. You’re so sensitive from how he fucked you with his gun less than five minutes ago, it’s a surprise that you haven’t passed out from the extra simulation he’s giving you. 

“Shut up,” you groan, looking off to the side. When Oikawa is comfortably settled between your folds, he leans over you to brace his hands on either side of your head. Instinctively, you wrap your small hands around his biceps as he slides in and out of you, squeezing desperately. 

Oikawa cocks his head to the side. “You don’t want to admit it, huh?” He suddenly snaps his hips sharply against yours, jerking your whole body upwards. “You don’t need to say it. I know how you feel, anyway.” It fucking hurts. His cock is longer, thicker, and going deeper than his gun was.

“How would you even know how I feel, Tooru?” you ask in a shaky tone. The anxiety never seemed to go away. Maybe you kept quivering because of your new-found fear of the brown-haired man above you, or maybe it was because you can still feel Iwaizumi burning a hole through you—he probably realized how much he hated you because if it weren’t for you, he wouldn’t be sitting tied up in his own home witnessing his friend rail his ex girlfriend.

Oikawa knew, though, that it was because you couldn’t fight the way your nerves were responding to how he touched you.

“Because if you didn’t like this, you wouldn't be under me right now,” he says lowly. With his hands gripping the sheets next to your head, he forces you deeper into the mattress with his body weight. The gun next to your head would’ve made you nervous, but you were too focused on the way Oikawa’s cock was drilling into your pussy like he was trying to leave an imprint of himself there for you to remember forever.

Every time he thrusts into you with all his strength, you’re gasping and moaning, gripping onto his biceps that flexed so deliciously as he filled you up completely. Your body was betraying you, writhing beneath him, basically begging for him to give you more. To make you cum one more time from just his cock.

“You really think this is funny, Oikawa?” Iwaizumi growls. You tense up at the sound of his voice—the anger dripping in his tone. “Basically raping my ex girlfriend?”

“Yeah,” Oikawa purrs, “It’s so...satisfying.” He’s building up his pace, and pretty soon he’s pounding into you with such a force that you’re struggling to let out moans and end up up letting out breaths of air and whiny squeaks. “Especially since she likes it so much. Right, (Y/N)?” Your eyes are rolling back at the sensation—you’re not even trying to deny it at this point. No matter how fucked up or disgusting you look right now, you couldn’t escape Oikawa and you couldn’t stop your pussy from sucking in his cock hopelessly like he belonged inside you.

“I fucking hate you.”

The area on your pelvis is undeniably hot now. Sweat was appearing on your skin despite being fully naked and exposed to the cold air in Iwaizumi’s bedroom. Oikawa is consistently snapping his hips into yours while you’re trying to control your own hips from trying to buck into his. Trying to hold onto what little sanity you have left before you’re ultimately forced to let go on his veiny cock.

Oikawa is your best friend—was your best friend, you don’t even know anymore. Fuck, he’s evil, giving you a warm, welcoming smile with a gun laying next to your head and ravaging your insides at the same time. This isn’t normal. But damn did this feel so fucking good.

You’re crying now, the tears running down your cheeks in a steady stream. Fuck Iwaizumi. Fuck Oikawa’s gun. Fuck the insecurity, feelings of worthlessness, and guilt that you’ve had inside you for the past few weeks after your failed relationship, crying into Oikawa’s lap every single time. Fuck everything. 

Only his name is forming at your lips, accompanied by wails of pleasure. You’ve never felt like this before, not even with Iwaizumi, who you thought would be the only person making you cum until you’re stupid. 

“F-fuck, Tooru,” you manage to gasp out. All your muscles are clenching involuntarily. It only makes Oikawa groan, your pussy unbelievably squeezing even tighter around him, pulling him inside you.

“Are you okay, my baby? You gonna cum all over my cock?” 

Your head is spinning and you just want it to stop. All you’re thinking about is how roughly Oikawa is fucking into you and the pleasure he’s bringing in waves washing over you. He’s not even touching your clit—the base of his cock is just hitting your swollen nub every time he thrusts inside of you, letting tiny shocks run through you.

“This is my pussy now,” he growls, “I’m gonna fuck this. I’m gonna stretch out this little cunt every day and you’re gonna let me, right? You’re gonna let me fill you up with my cum, too?” 

Let go, every sensor in your body is screaming.

"C'mon, Princess. Tell me. Tell Iwa-chan how much you love my cock inside you. Tell us how much you wanna be filled with my cum," he grins as he shoves his length into you roughly. He nudges your head to the side and attaches his lips to the soft skin on your neck, sucking and biting at the area. You arch your back off the bed and you don't hold back anymore—you're chanting his name, finally, begging for him.

"Tooru-mmm, please," you plead, "Fuck me, please! I'm...I'm gonna cum! I'm gonna cum, Tooru!"

Then Oikawa lifts himself up, bracing himself on one of his arms before bringing his gun against your lips again. You don't hesitate to stick your tongue out, letting it in your mouth this time. God, he could fucking cum at the sight of you willingly sucking on his pistol, swirling your tongue over the metal surface. He won't shoot, he just wants to see you submitting to his gun and his cock like he's a king.

It's taking everything within you to not pass out from violently twitching and spasming on his cock, letting your juices squirt all over him once you open your mouth to cry loudly. His gun is still pressing into the base of your throat, so your scream drawls out into a choking noise. Oikawa is letting out a string of curse words—your juices are coating his skin and spraying all over his cock.

Your thighs feel so sore, and you're a sputtering mess as he pulls his gun away from you. It's covered in your saliva. Oikawa is lifting himself up, panting heavily, observing the erratic movement of your chest and the red flush of your body. He doesn't bother to pull out of your convulsing cunt. Why are you still trembling like that?

But it's okay. Oikawa is so happy, so pleased. You were such a good girl—he knows for sure that you finally accept him and want him.

“Hey, Iwa-chan!” Oikawa sang with delight in his tone to catch Iwaizumi's attention. Damn, you completely forgot he was still there.

Oikawa is finally upright on his knees, leaving you sweating on the bedsheets. Iwaizumi looked up, cringing in disgust and fueled with anger and envy from watching Shittykawa himself take your body so relentlessly as you were cumming beneath him. Oikawa lifts his arm, pointing the shiny metal weapon towards the other man in the room. He was still throbbing inside you, enjoying the feeling of you still twitching gently around his cock from your orgasm. With half-lidded eyes, you look up at him weakly, suddenly admiring his toned, muscular body and the sweat glistening on his abs. You're not sure if he came inside you, but the wetness escaping your hole and the feeling of his length twitching, too, is more than enough proof that he probably did.

"What do you want now, you fucking asshole?" Iwaizumi snarls.

The words that come out next are so snarky, filled with hate and arrogance. "Just wanted to let you know that I’m better than you," Oikawa sneers, "And I don't shoot blanks."

He finally pulls the trigger. The sound of a gunshot is piercing the air and Oikawa jerks slightly from the recoil. Then it's completely silent. Your thighs are still shaking, you’re still struggling to find your voice, and your brain seems to be focusing through the haziness. He leans down to give you the sweetest kiss, as if to say that everything will be okay now. The smell in the air was suddenly pungent—a mixture of sweat, sex, gun powder and...blood? Holy shit.  You're screaming now.

Holy shit, Oikawa.