#and not daring to leave his apartment before he has the pits more under control

[mokulule]

The Number You Have Called Cannot Be Reached 7

Part 1|Part 2|Part 3|Part 4|Part 5|Part 6

Ship: Dead on Main (Danny/Jason) Warnings: angst/depression and canon typical violence

I had wanted to do some tag appreciation for the previous part before uploading this but well stuff happened and I need to leave for work soon, so priorities and all that, and I bet ya'll rather want the update than my chatter XD But know that I really appreciate the comments and tags you guys leave me <3

Damian sat in a corner of the library, knees drawn up to his chest. The crumbled up piece of paper burned in his left hand. It shouldn’t. He’d had a hunch and he’d followed it. He’d been right! This was pertinent information. He should have informed Father immediately and yet… He breathed slowly out his nose. He turned his hand around palm up so he could glare at the offending ball of paper resting there.

He was right, but then why was he so uncertain? Why was he hesitating? He was Damian Wayne! Son of the Batman! He should not dawdle, that is not how he was trained!

No matter how much his so called siblings would tease him for his height, there were advantages. Like how when Todd had pulled the dazed Ghost to his feet, the short man had never really looked up which meant that Damian who was shorter had seen the way his eyes glowed green, unlike his father. Because a short while later, when he pushed away from Todd his eyes had been blue. Father would assume the ghost’s eyes were blue, because he hadn’t seen the green. Father would have no idea to look into what Damian had, because he’d missed a vital clue. A clue Damian had been withholding. Damian let his head fall down onto the arm holding the paper and sighed. He was withholding far worse than a clue now:

There were traces of Lazarus Water in the blood sample. Damian felt the childish urge to scream, but he would not give in, he hadn’t fallen that far. It always came back to this, always; like a curse on Damian’s family, one thing after another and it always ended up back there - by the sickly green glow of the pits.

Father wasn’t always exactly rational when it came to the Lazarus Pits or the League of Assassins or Todd.

And maybe Damian had gotten a little bit used to Father looking at him like his son. Maybe he just wasn’t all that excited for Father to look at him like Ra’s Al Ghul’s grandson again…

Alfred, the cat, slinked around the door left open a crack, instantly drawing Damian’s eyes. The tuxedo cat padded silently over to him and stopped. He looked expectantly at Damian with the same unimpressed gaze of his namesake. Damian cracked a fragile smile, and uncurled into a crosslegged position.Satisfied Alfred jumped into his lap. He started batting at the paper ball and Damian quickly stuffed it into a pocket and acquiesced to the demand for pets. It was barely a moment before Damian’s effort was rewarded and the purring started. Slowly, Damian relaxed back against the wall and his shoulders gradually came down from their tensed position. Animals were so much easier to understand than people.

The Ghost had purred…

The sound had been just at the edge of his hearing, but it definitely had sounded like purring. Father hadn’t heard it. Damian had asked him if he’d heard the cat, but he’d dismissed him as if he thought Damian had heard a real cat. There was no way he would have done that if he’d actually heard. The sound… it had been something else; there had been this inherent happiness to it.

Damian would admit he’d been startled. He’d never heard a human purr before. Not even Catwoman, his father’s illicit paramour, actually purred, not really. She did something with her voice at times, probably the closest a human could come to a purr, but not like the almost continuous sound of a real cat. Humans just weren’t built for it.

Which pondered the question, what exactly was the Ghost? He had reacted very oddly to Todd (Damian would admit in the privacy of his mind that he’d been alarmed to see the man nuzzle into Todd’s chest as if he was actually an overgrown cat in disguise). There was Lazarus in his blood, so maybe the reaction to Todd wasn’t so strange. He hadn’t reacted in any way special to Damian, but that wasn’t so odd either. Damian knew Todd was different. There was a reason Grandfather feared him. The Pits hadn’t revived him, they may have brought his mind back online and brought some lasting effects, but Todd had crawled out of his grave months before that; Todd was something else.

Maybe Todd and the Ghost were something similar?

Todd had definitely heard the purring. He had been completely unlike himself, there had been a complete lack of the usual hostility from him afterwards. Todd must have also seen the eyes, he had to have made the Lazarus connection. He hadn’t reported anything about it either. But again this was Todd, he wouldn’t share information with Father unless he thought someone’s life depended on it.

Whatever DNA had been in the blood sample was useless for analysis, it had been too damaged, so that didn’t bring them any closer to figuring out what he was.

Then there were the powers, Todd didn’t have those. Invisibility and intangibility… No, the Ghost couldn’t actually be a ghost, could he?

Alfred nudged the hand that had stopped the petting and Damian dutifully started back up again.

Richard often acted like he didn’t have two brain cells to rub together, something that fooled even Damian in the beginning, but he was surprisingly astute if he let you see if. Damian had presumed the Ghost codename had been merely a ploy to annoy Drake and Gordon, but Richard was not beneath hiding a theory as a joke. If he was correct, he would have all the power, if it wasn’t it was after all just a joke - it was a good strategy.

As if summoned, Richard stuck his head into the library and glanced around. He seemed just about leave when he caught sight of Damian’s nook.“There you are Dames-“ he strolled inside, “I wanted to say bye before heading home, so I’m glad I found you.” He crouched down next to him and smiled widely eyes crinkling with it. It was so effortless for him.

Damian frowned.

“Hey, you okay?”

Damian glanced up briefly. It wasn’t something he wanted to talk about, but maybe Richard could answer something else.

“Do you think the Ghost could actually be a ghost?”

And there was that sharpness behind the kindness, that moment of calculation of what might have brought this on, whether Damian knew something, before it was hidden behind a smile again.

“Dami-“ he started and lovingly ruffled Damian’s hair. Damian quickly batted his hands away, before he got the misconception that he liked it; because he didn’t! Blue eyes crinkled further and then he continued, “we’ve seen stranger, haven’t we?”

And that brought Damian to a stop, hands still raised protectively over his head. Alfred looked between the two of them and gave an affronted mrauwp.

“So sorry Alfred, old boy, didn’t mean to disturb you.”

While Richard appeased Alfred, Damian slowly lowered his arms. Richard was right of course, but there was something else too, the assurance in the flippancy. Whatever the Ghost was, it didn’t really matter, they would deal with it, like they did everything; everything had some sort of weakness. And the Ghost hadn’t actually been hostile.

The core of the issue was the Lazarus Water. Lazarus Water didn’t enter people’s blood on their own and Grandfather kept a sharp watch on all the pools. There was a very big risk the Ghost was affiliated with the League. Coerced? Created? Murdered?

Damian narrowed his eyes, it was useless to ponder without more information, but the League at least was something Damian could look into discreetly. If there was increased activity in Gotham he would find it. He didn’t have to tell anyone yet.

“You work out what was bothering you?”“Tt.” He quickly looked away from Richard’s knowing eyes. Unfortunately that left him open for another hair ruffle. Richard laughed and jumped away and back to a standing position in one smooth motion, before Damian could retaliate somehow. Damian glared and only got a soft smile and wave in return.

“See you in some days, baby bat.”

Damian pressed his lips together and waved dismissively. “Go, before I decide revenge is worth removing Alfred.”

Richard’s laughter followed him out the door and down the hall. Damian finally allowed the small smile to form. Whatever happened, whatever Father may think of him keeping secrets, he could at least count on his big brother to stay the same. Oo o oO

Tim had been reviewing the new proposals from R&D when Bruce had stopped by.

The spectral calibrator team had obviously been disappointed to learn they would be reassigned and that the larger project to tune into electromagnetic signals from other dimensions had been put on indefinite hold without the calibrator, but they were a professional bunch and they had quickly come up with some fresh ideas.

Tim really didn’t want to consider what use the thief would have had with the calibrator, but it was kinda his job. It was meant to help hone into the (for lack of better term) frequency of a given dimension and remove the noise from the various other planes of reality - he just really hoped they weren’t dealing with a science portal to Hell scenario. Magical portals were at least usually temporary in nature but most importantly they were the JLD’s problem, not Tim’s.

Maybe the thief just really wanted to listen to some alternate universe rock?

Yeah, fat chance.

Tim had not found signs of the stolen items being resold, which pointed towards the thief having specific buyers or he was building something himself. At least the spectral calibrator was safe in the Cave.

A small beep notified Tim that the decryption program had a match on the passcode for the phone Bruce had dropped off, and he rolled over to have a look. The phone was not a brand Tim recognized, it was from the pre-smartphone era and didn’t even have a camera. It had been easier for Tim to just take it apart and hook it to power to get it up and running - it was then he noticed that someone had modded the receiver and transmitter, it also didn’t have a sim card.

Despite the lack of sim-card, when Tim looked at the now open phone it claimed to have a full signal from the most prominent telecompany in the larger bay area. Tim raised an eyebrow - curious. The text messages were empty, and a root around in the settings found that read messages were automatically deleted after 24 hours - the thief were really keen on keeping his secrets.

In the “phone book” which was a rather quaint old school term for the contact list, Tim finally found something that alluded to a normal life. Something that could maybe give them some information: Dad, Jazz, Mom, Sam, Tuck, Val - pretty sparse contact list. All the numbers had the same area code, which put them somewhere in the Midwest, if Tim was remembering correctly.

Tim considered for a moment then pressed the up button until he reached “Mom” again and pressed enter. Butt calls had been a real problem with this phone type if people forgot to lock them, it wouldn’t be so strange if Tim didn’t say anything. With any luck they’d get confirmation on the name Danny.

There was a single dial tone then a feminine voice announced:

“The number you have called cannot be reached.”

-

Woohooo yay, I think we're done with "the detectives detective-ing" for now which was the extend of my notes before writing the last two parts (parts 6 and 7 are going to be a single chapter once they go on Ao3). Hope you enjoyed, I got a serious case of Damian feels while rewriting chapter 1 for Ao3 (here's a link if you missed it), so that's the explanation for why Damian decided we needed his pov Next

Masterpost for subscription

[ladyluscinia]

Tashi/Patrick + No Art = disaster fling. Tashi withholds easy (non-sexual) affection like vulnerability will kill her instantly. Patrick has massive commitment issues and defensively frames everything as a joke that he can pull back from at any time. It's impossible to resolve how your relationship is failing to meet your emotional needs if both parties are allergic to treating it more seriously than fuck buddies who could go find someone else at any time. They are constantly on the edge of a blowout fight because they understand each other instinctively but use that understanding mostly for sex and knowing who wins more points in the argument. On a tennis level, Patrick gets it but he is too comfortable as is and lacks a guiding reason to strive, which is even more infuriating than if he didn't get it at all because the wasted potential is constant. And Art in this situation is swallowed by jealousy, like a big ugly pit in his center. His inferiority complex is at an all time high (the second choice twice) and while it does give him some motivation to improve, mostly the spikes of envy/rage derail his focus and trap him in his own negative spirals. He seethes at tennis because he feels like he's always losing before he even steps on the court.

Tashi/Art + No Patrick = cracking under pressure. Tashi's withholding becomes a long term problem when pitted against Art's inferiority issues because she won't be able to stop doing so when it slips over the line from giving him something to strive for to enabling his negative spirals when he really just needs some reassurance. Art is pliable and willing to take direction, but he's also prone to being passive and simply losing energy when Tashi wants him to push back. His quips rarely turn into rallies. He builds low-grade resentment for decisions he's not willing to actually challenge. Tashi likes control but loves a certain kind of adrenaline-junkie spontaneity that gets ground out of Art the longer they are locked in on enabling each other to tunnel vision on optimizing him into the best tennis player ever. On a tennis level, Art is an eternal exercise in frustration because his emotional investment and technical skill are usually a trade-off instead of Tashi's ideal harmony, and she's constantly (and increasingly resentfully) fighting his mental fires for just a spark of real tennis to make it onto the court. Patrick, meanwhile, goes into near permanent flop era because he can't admit he's emotionally starved and his issues make him refuse to chase their coattails out of spite. He embraces the carefree loser persona and lets his own, smaller inferiority complex tell him he won't ever catch up, so why try?

Patrick & Art + No Tashi = I knew that guy in high school. Both deciding against pushing their homoerotic thing too far, and different life goals would probably have just drifted them apart.

Patrick/Art + No Tashi = potential murder-suicide. Patrick is once again non-committal and joking, and Art once again has a lot of jealousy and needs reassurance in the security of his relationship. But where Tashi's withholding at least has an element of she would just leave him if she wanted to, Patrick's eternal hints that there could be a punchline dropping any moment makes Art angrier, not depressed. Art is inclined to compete with Patrick but he doesn't find it as fun and low stakes, and also how do you meaningfully "win" against the guy you are dating and who refuses to take you seriously as a competitor or partner (bringing out the uglier side of the inferiority complex again). Patrick doesn't meaningfully distinguish between when Art is playfully mad at him and genuinely mad at him until he gets his feelings hurt about it, and he still can't talk about those feelings directly. Either a fight goes ugly and they have a messy breakup or Art gets mad enough to kill them both and Patrick just dares him to do it. Tashi probably continues with her life trying to find some other tennis player that can understand the convoluted prism through which she expresses love, but odds are not great because usually romantic partners like it when you can say the words "I love you" and not sound sarcastic about it.

[gh0stbled]

So Don't You Stop Being a Man.

closed starter for @d1ss0lv3 // 𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐘 𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐒.

The   Inferno   Event   simmers,   a   haze   of   heat   and   shadow,   wrapped   in   the   low   hum   of   conversation   and   the   pulse   of   distant   music.   The   room   is   alive   with   temptation—eyes   catching   on   glimmers   of   satin   and   the   glitter   of   champagne,   the   air   thick   with   intrigue.   And   in   the   midst   of   it   all   is   Ryn,   moving   through   the   crowd   like   a   dark   secret.   Her   latex   body-con   gown   clings   to   her   every   curve,   as   if   the   night   has   draped   itself   over   her   curvaceous   body,   whispering   promises   only   the   daring   can   hear.   She   is   a   symphony   of   soft   danger,   each   step   a   note   in   the   song   she   plays   without   saying   a   word.

She   finds   him,   just   as   she   knew   she   would—Lesley,   standing   there   with   that   familiar   calm   charm   that   used   to   fool   her.   Yet   when   their   eyes   meet,   she   can   see   the   way   his   composure   cracks,   just   a   little.   She   smiles   to   herself,   remembering   the   last   time   they’d   seen   each   other   at   her   apartment.   The   way   his   gaze   had   faltered   under   hers,   like   a   candle   flickering   in   a   strong   wind.   The   way   she   had   played   with   his   nerves,   letting   her   words   and   glances   linger   just   long   enough   to   leave   him   wondering   if   she   was   teasing   or   something   more—but   the   pretense   was   there   back   then.   The   need.

And   now,   here   they   are   again.   The   game   continues.

Ryn   slips   through   the   crowd,   her   movements   smooth   and   unhurried,   like   a   panther   weaving   through   the   jungle.   She   stops   beside   him,   her   shoulder   brushing   his,   letting   the   connection   spark   between   them.   The   scent   of   her   perfume—something   warm,   dark,   like   spiced   amber—wraps   around   her,   subtle   but   lingering.   She   tilts   her   head,   her   lips   curving   into   a   smile,   playful   and   predatory   all   at   once.   Reminiscent   of   when   they   would   hunt   back   home.

"Lesley,"   she   purrs,   her   voice   low,   velvet-soft,   "we   really   should   stop   meeting   like   this…   though   I   won't   lie,   I   do   like   watching   you   squirm   a   little."   Her   gaze   drifts   lazily   over   him,   taking   in   his   own   state   of   dress,   ever   so   handsome   with   that   cowboy   hat, and how easily he towers over her.   "But   I   hope   I   don't   make   you   too   nervous   this   time,"   she   adds,   a   note   of   amusement   in   her   voice,   "wouldn't   want   you   losing   your   nerve   before   you   even   have   a   chance   to   look   me   in   the   eye."

She   leans   in   just   enough   for   her   breath   to   graze   his   skin,   her   lips   near   the   curve   of   his   jaw,   close   enough   to   possibly   stir   something   deep   in   the   pit   of   his   stomach.   "You   know,   I   went   to   see   the   movie   again   like   I   said   I   would   and   this   time   I   did...   indulge   myself,"   she   whispers,   her   words   a   soft   caress.   "It’s   funny,   isn’t   it?   How   the   smallest   things   can   unravel   the   strongest   composure.   It   felt   damn   good,   actually."

Her   hand   rests   lightly   on   the   bar   beside   him,   fingers   tracing   invisible   patterns,   every   gesture   deliberate,   teasing.   She   lets   the   silence   settle   between   them,   heavy   with   tension,   before   she   pulls   back   just   enough   to   catch   his   eyes,   her   own   gaze   steady,   unwavering.

"I   like   how   it   felt   in   that   scene,   how   you   took   control,"   she   muses,   her   voice   dipping   into   something   more   thoughtful,   though   the   teasing   edge   remains.   "But   control’s   a   fragile   thing,   isn’t   it?   All   it   takes   is   a   whisper   in   the   right   ear…   a   glance   held   just   a   second   too   long.   And   suddenly,   you’re   not   so   sure   anymore.   Kinda   like   the   last   time   we   saw   each   other.   Still   made   me   wonder   if   I'd   been   able   to   do   that   to   the   real   you."

Her   smile   widens,   catlike,   as   she   leans   back,   giving   him   a   moment   to   breathe—though   not   too   much.   "But   don’t   worry,"   she   adds,   her   tone   light   but   laced   with   challenge.   "I   wouldn’t   want   to   make   you   too   uncomfortable.   After   all,   I   wouldn’t   want   you   to   miss   the   fun…   and   I   know   you   wouldn’t   want   to   miss   me."

Her   eyes   glint   in   the   low   light,   playful   but   predatory,   as   though   daring   him   to   match   her.   "So   tell   me,   Les,"   she   whispers,   voice   soft   as   silk   but   sharp   as   a   blade,   "how have you been since we last saw each other?"

[moonknightly]

now all you see is red : santiago garcia x reader

Word Count: 3.6k+

Excerpt: “There’s you, and God, Santi would let you completely ruin him.”

Warnings: Smut (18+), choking, spanking, light bondage, dom/sub dynamic, light degradation/humiliation, rough sex, angry sex, dirty talk

Santiago is familiar with anger.

He knows it well, he’s used to the bitter taste it leaves in his mouth, the smoke he can never fully push from his lungs, the way flames lick at his fingertips as his blood boils in his veins. He’s used to the sharp bite and unrelenting sting, he knows the exact sound his fist is going to make when it meets drywall, can hear each bone crack on impact and can feel the sensation of his knuckles splitting open, can visualize the black and blue bruises that will mark his skin for weeks to come.

They might as well be permanent, he never feels like himself without those damn bruises anymore. They’ve become an integral part of him, just like the scar on the back of his neck and the weight he carries on his shoulders day in and day out.

Just like his anger.

He needs it, he doesn’t remember how to get through without it. Anger isn’t a stranger to the ex soldier, but a lover.

It’s a dance so intimate, one he’s performed thousands and thousands of times before. It keeps him grounded, reminds him that he’s real, that he’s here. He’s alive and he’s breathing, he’s not lying at the bottom of a ditch in a foreign country with a bullet in his side, rotting. He made it out, he’s earned his temper.

He’s in control. He has the power, and nothing is going to hurt him again. He won’t let it.

Except, that’s not entirely true.

There’s you, and God, Santi would let you completely ruin him.

And you have, you so have. You’ve fucking wrecked him, but he refuses to let you see it, he doesn’t even fully understand it himself. In all of the years you’ve known each other, Santi’s been able to keep that little secret to himself, and he’s not about to give it up now, he doesn’t need that shit.

What he needs is the control back in the palm of his hand after losing it for the last week. He needs to feel some sense of power after spending seven days in unfamiliar territory, feeling utterly torn apart by grief and worry.

They’d lost contact with you on your last assignment, and an entire week had gone by without so much as a word until you suddenly showed up at base, seemingly fine. Santi hadn’t been able to find even a scratch on your perfect skin, and he’d checked several times just to be sure. You’re fine.

But Santi isn’t. Fuck, he is so fucking far from fine, he feels like he’s going to be sick. His initial relief is fading fast, threatening to turn into something that he has no desire to feel, something he doesn’t know how to handle. He doesn’t want it, doesn’t need it.

He needs his control, his power. He needs familiarity.

So he latches onto the subtlest spark of anger the moment it strikes. He takes it and he fucking runs.

“What the fuck were you thinking?”

His voice is eerily calm, almost chilling and it doesn’t waiver for even a second. It’s collected while the rest of him isn’t, but it’s enough to get him through. It’ll do.

“What do you mean?”

You’re sitting at the end of the bed, unlacing your boots, desperate to get out of them and into something comfortable. Santi keeps his eyes glued to you, tracking your every movement with expert precision that he’s spent his entire life mastering.

“A week. You went a fucking week without report.”

You seem almost annoyed, and really, you are — you’d spent the last hour getting the same lecture from your boss, you don’t need it from your boyfriend too even though it’s inevitable, so you shrug in response, and Santiago feels another white hot flash.

It’s perfect. He’ll take it.

“It would’ve compromised the mission, he was onto me. I’m fine.”

You’re fine. He laughs bitterly at that.

“I’m glad you’re fine, princesa,” he hums, not thinking about how he enunciates his words as he stalks towards you, painstakingly slow, brown eyes never straying from his target.

He’s quick, his reflexes sharp, and he has your chin between his fingers before you even register his hand moving.

“But that’s not a fucking excuse. You know your safety comes before anything else and we had no way to help you.”

“But I was safe.”

“But how were we supposed to know that, huh?” He shakes your head in his grip, like it’s enough to get you to see his way. “You could’ve been dead for all we knew. Do you have any idea what-”

He stops himself. That unfamiliar emotion is bubbling in the pit of his stomach again, and he pushes it away, down, down, down where it can’t touch him, can’t hurt him.

He needs another spark.

But now, he’s struggling to find it, and it’s clear. Your eyebrows are furrowed as you watch him wrestle with himself and hesitate, and he panics when your lips part because he knows you’re getting ready to ask him if he’s okay and he doesn’t fucking want you to. He doesn’t want to answer you.

So he just growls again, his hand moving to the back of your neck where he pushes your head forward until your lips meet his in a kiss that’s anything but gentle.

It’s all teeth and desperation and frustration and just like your annoyance, it’s perfect. Santi clings to that frustration to fuel his anger again, and he’s satisfied when it works and he feels the familiar tendrils of rage wrap themselves around his body. His free hand moves to your shirt, and he uses his grip to haul you to your feet only to shove you towards the dresser. You catch yourself, knocking a few things off in the process but you don’t care. You love it when he gets like this.

“Santi-”

“No.” He’s behind you again, his fingers tangling in your hair, pulling your head back so your neck is perfectly exposed to him, breath hot against your skin. “Don’t you dare say a fuckin’ word, understand?”

You nod obediently — you’ve always taken orders as well as he gives him.

“Good girl.”

He nips at your neck once, twice, three times before he sinks his teeth in, biting down, marking you and he smirks when he feels your knees buckle just slightly. You’re struggling to hold yourself up already and he’s hardly touched you.

His hand travels around to the front of your neck and he wraps his fingers around your throat, not applying any pressure, simply just holding them there. He feels your pulse thrum under his fingertips and he counts along for a moment, smirking at just how quick your heart is beating.

“Nervous baby?”

You hesitate, and he feels you gulp, feels the way you shift just slightly under his touch.

“No.”

He tsks, sighing in your ear almost disapprovingly. He lets his grip tighten around your throat, and he revels in the sound of you trying to pull in air before he cuts you off completely.

“Maybe you should be.”

His free hand slams between your shoulder blades and you’re suddenly flat against the dresser, the force of it knocking what little air you had left in your lungs out. He gives you a second, just a second to use your safeword or to tell him to go a little easy, but you don’t.

He knows you’ll tell him if he needs to take it down a notch.

There’s nothing slow or patient about Santiago’s touch. It’s urgent, each movement made with purpose, never lingering, he doesn’t have time for that. He just wants to feel you, just wants to feel that anger and the pleasure and nothing else.

He pulls your jeans down your thighs, not bothering to get them all the way off or worry about your shirt. His eyes are immediately on your ass, and he growls when he sees that you’re wearing his favorite color — red. He loves you in red.

Not enough to save the panties for another day though. He rips them clean off your body, the stretching, tearing sound of fabric making him groan alongside your gasp.

“Open your mouth.”

You don’t hear him the first time, too absorbed in the feeling running through you. He smacks your ass, hard, the sound reverberating through the quiet room. The moan that leaves your lips might just be the most sinful sound Santi has ever heard.

“Open your fucking mouth.”

This time, you hear him, and you obey just like he knew you would, opening your mouth for him to stuff your panties into.

“Fuck I can smell you on them from here princesa.”

He loves it. He loves it so fucking much. He smacks your ass a second time, feeling it turn hot under his touch, then he does it again and again and again until he’s satisfied with the way you flinch, until you’re laying limp against the dresser with tears running down your cheeks.

“Color?”

Like he said before, your safety means more to him than anything else, and through his anger he still always checks in to make sure you’re okay to continue. He never wants it to get to a point where he actually hurts you, even though he knows what your body can take, even though he knows you’d let him, you’d even ask him to.

You can’t speak with your panties in your mouth, but one finger means green, two means yellow, and three means red. You hold up one, and he lands one final blow just to see if your answer changes. You still only hold up one.

“Good girl.”

He grabs your wrists and drags you back towards the mattress, and you immediately fall face down ass up just how you know he likes, but now he hesitates.

His knees are bothering him today, more so than usual, and he doesn’t know if he can kneel behind you long enough to fuck you how he wants to.

That only makes him angrier, feeling like he can’t perform. Feeling like he’s not good enough, like he’s failing in a field where he’s always personally felt like he’s excelled.

All he sees is red and you and it’s the exact distraction he’s been looking for, the perfect combination. His blood burns, his fingers burn, his mind is fucking screaming your name and nothing else. There’s nothing but you and the rage boiling in the pit of his stomach.

It’s intoxicating, it’s everything, it’s familiar.

“No, no no,” he laughs, shaking his head as he undoes his belt, hastily pulling it through the loops of his jeans. “On your side, hands behind your back.”

He’s on you the second you're in position, tightening his belt around your wrists so you can’t move them, can’t touch him. He chuckles darkly when your fingers wiggle around in search of something to hold onto.

“Poor baby,” he hums, voice completely condescending and he loves the way your eyes roll at the tone of his voice. He loves that you get off on this just as much as he does, he loves that you dance with his temper, that you know it almost as well.

He’s so fucking hard. He can’t wait any longer.

He doesn’t check with his fingers to make sure you’re wet enough to take him, he knows you are. He can smell you, he can see your juices glisten when he hoists your leg up to reveal your pussy to him. You’re always so wet, always so ready for him.

And he’s more than ready for you, stroking himself in the palm of his hand while he looks you over with hungry, dark eyes. His hand is nothing compared to the warmth and pleasure he knows you’ll bring him, there’s not a damn thing in this world that can make him come as hard as you.

He lays behind you, continuing to pump his length as he drags the tip of his cock through your folds, nudging at your clit and smearing his precome all around. He can feel you clench, can feel you try to pull him in as you start rocking your hips against him.

“Jesus Christ, you’re acting like a fuckin’ whore for my cock babygirl. You need it, huh? You need me?”

You immediately start trying to beg through your makeshift gag and normally, that would only earn you more teasing but just like you, he can’t take it. He needs you just as much, if not more.

His nails dig into your left hip as he pushes himself against your entrance, leaving little crescent shaped indents in your skin, his grip so tight you both know it’ll bruise but it’s more than fine, it’s so good. He stops, wanting to drag it out for just a moment longer and your begging only continues, growing louder and louder until Santiago finally gives in.

All it takes is one sharp thrust and he’s so deep inside of you, spreading you open on his cock, tearing your walls apart to make room for his length, your bodies flush against each other. His free arm is wrapped underneath your body, his hand finding your neck again as he quickly sets his pace, not giving you more than a single second to even attempt to adjust to him.

It’s hard, it’s fast, it’s dirty and your cunt is squelching around him so deliciously, the sound only pushing him further — he doesn’t know if he wants to slow down so he can listen to it properly or if he wants to go faster.

“Fuck,” he grunts into your ear, his voice gravely and rough and he thrills in the way it makes you shiver. “Fuck you’re so tight, you’re squeezing my fucking dick baby. How’re you this tight?”

You only let out a moan that’s somewhere between a sob and a scream, and that sound alone is so entirely hot in itself, it’s enough to make his toes curl. He wants to pull that noise from you again and again and again, he wants you shaking and gasping and writhing. He starts using your hips for more leverage, knowing that he can get you to cry and whine for him this way.

You squirm and jolt each time he brings you back onto his cock, every time he hits that spot you didn’t believe existed until he fucked you for the first time and he wants to explode as he watches you struggle to take it.

He knows you’ll hold up your fingers if you need him to stop, but he still pulls your panties out of your mouth just so he can hear it, just so can listen for your words. You never say them, you only scream and cry and moan about how good it feels, how he’s pounding your pussy better than anyone ever has and how you never want him to stop.

“Yeah baby?” he purrs, nipping at your earlobe, tugging on it as he thrusts harder and harder. “This my pussy princesa? Tell me.”

“It’s yours,” you sob, clenching around him over and over. “God Santi, it’s yours, I’m yours.”

“That’s fuckin’ right baby, that’s it.”

He tightens his grip around your neck, his left hand moving from your hip to your clit, fingers matching the pace of his thrusts. He’s rubbing you so hard, he’s almost surprised when you angle yourself closer, but that’s his girl. That’s his fucking girl.

Santi can tell you’re close when your sounds grow higher in pitch and when he no longer needs to drag you back into his thrusts — you’re doing all the work for him, moving on your own accord, searching for that last little push you need to get over the edge and he lets you.

He lets you control the pace, lets you take what you need and that’s when that unfamiliar, unwelcome feeling enters his stomach again. He tries to ignore it, tries to push it away, tries to tap back into the anger but once it’s gone, it’s gone.

Now he’s just frustrated, but he doesn’t let himself get distracted, not when you’re on his cock, bringing yourself closer and closer to an orgasm he doesn’t want to miss a second of.

He rolls onto his back suddenly, catching you off guard but he steadies you on top of him and uses your bound wrists to continue rocking you on his length while you get adjusted again. He brings his free hand back to your clit, just like before and it’s not long before you’re right on the brink of coming again. Santi’s right there with you, watching you roll your hips and bounce on his cock, impaling yourself on him again and again. You’re so full of him, he only wants to fill you more.

He thinks he might actually let go first, but then you’re falling apart on top of him in a matter of seconds, sobbing his name so loudly while your thighs quiver and your body trembles. That’s what finally does it for him, and he comes inside of you with a deep groan that echoes in his chest, his back arching completely off the bed in an attempt to get even closer to you. He quickly grabs your hips again so he can continue to piston himself up into you, watching your combined release leak out of your pussy and coat his cock in glistening white. He only moans, quieter this time, and fucks it back into you, his pace slowing as his cock twitches over and over and quickly becomes oversensitive.

He doesn’t forget to undo your hands before he pulls you back onto his chest, wrapping his arms tightly around you and burying his face into your neck. He’s working hard to catch his breath, and he hopes that that’s all you think he’s doing when really, he’s having to put twice as much effort into not falling apart.

His chest is heaving with emotion, his eyes are filling with tears that he refuses to let spill over. His anger is completely gone and only this remains. He doesn’t know how to control it, doesn’t know what to do with it and he hates it. He hates it so much.

And you notice, of course you fucking notice. He’s slow to launch into aftercare and it’s obvious that he’s distracted through it, something heavy weighing on his mind.

“Santi, what is it? Did I do something wrong?”

“You didn’t fucking call.”

His voice waivers and cracks and his cheeks immediately turn red, though he’s not sure if it’s from embarrassment or this feeling settling in the pit of his stomach.

“What if something happened to you? You didn’t call.”

“Santi,” you sigh, running a hand through your hair, and he’s frustrated all over again. Usually he’s so good at reading you, he knows you like the back of his hand, but again he’s unsure about the emotion. He doesn’t know if you’re exasperated or if you’re concerned. He doesn’t wait to find out.

“You have any idea what was going through my head,” he bites, wiping furiously at his eyes. “I thought you were dead.”

He doesn’t see the expression on your face, doesn’t see how his words hit you right in the chest and shatter your heart. He misses the way you swallow the lump in your throat and he doesn’t see your hands start to shake, but he feels them when they cup his cheeks. His shoulders slump at the contact, and then Santi just breaks.

“You didn’t fucking call, why didn’t you fucking call?”

He chokes on a sob, coughing to try and rid himself of it but it doesn’t work. He hides his face into his hands, shoulders shaking as he softly cries and he’s just happy that he’s able to keep himself quiet.

“Oh sweet boy, come here.”

Santi let’s you pull him into your arms, he lets you comfort him in a way he didn’t know he needed, in a way he never even imagined wanting.

And he lets himself feel all of that unwanted emotion, because he needs to get it the fuck out. He doesn’t want to hold onto it like he does with his anger, he doesn’t want it dancing in his veins. He never, ever wants to feel this way again.

Santiago is familiar with anger.

But he’s completely unfamiliar with the fear of losing you. He’s not used to the nausea or the way his hands shake with panic, the way his chest feels like it’s going to collapse in on itself. He’s not used to any of it, he doesn’t know how to handle it.

He doesn’t know what the fuck is wrong with him.

But at some point in the middle of the night, he looks up and he sees you, still holding him, still comforting him, and it suddenly hits. Suddenly, he understands.

It’s you.

This is how you’ve ruined him.

You’ve made him feel things he’s been pushing away for so long, things he’s tried so desperately to keep under lock and key where it can never hurt him.

You’ve stripped him of his control, his power. You’ve taken away his anger and you’ve replaced the throbbing bruises on his knuckles, the smoke in his lungs and the blood that paints his vision.

He doesn’t see red, he only sees you.

Santiago is familiar with you.

[ellsbclls]

The Fire Escape

warnings ➛ A couple of swear words here and there, mentions of death, endgame spoilers, and a dash of far from home erasure.

word count ➛ 4.7K

synopsis ➛ After the events of End Game, Peter Parker takes a break from his crime fighting persona, but when Spider-Man is called to a mission in Sokovia, he realizes that you might not be ready to handle the life of an Avenger’s girlfriend. There’s a little bit of angst, but not enough to keep you up at night.

“Y/N… Earth to Y/N.”

Peter ropes you back to reality with a light squeeze of your hand, a simple gesture that you return two-fold. On normal dates, the competition would ignite almost immediately, squeezing each other’s hands back and forth, under varying degrees of pressure, until one of you cried uncle — but this is far from a normal date.

It had started innocently enough. Peter had begged Dr.Banner to let him leave his “internship” an hour early just so he could surprise you at work. You assumed — after some superb groveling on Peter’s part — that Bruce agreed, because the end of your shift was met with a parchment wrapped dozen of blushing roses, accompanied by your equally blushing boyfriend. The two of you were able to snag one of the emptier carts on the N train, and were accompanied by a small Greek woman who sent a warm smile when you nestled your head into Peter’s shoulder. The smile disappeared as soon as he started using the poles as his personal jungle gym, but your laugh made up for its loss as he offered his hand out, begging you to join him with a Gene Kelly-esque flair. He ushered you into one of your favorite ramen places during your stroll down Ditmars, pulling out your chair when you were given a table, pretending not to notice how you snuck a noodle or two from his bowl when he wasn’t looking. Your heart felt so warm, you’re surprised it didn’t melt.

So why does everything seem so off now? You and Peter are walking side by side down 37th avenue, he’s rambling excitedly about some new enhancement he made to his web slingers, the evening breeze is kissing your cheeks as it waltzes around the autumn foliage, and somehow, you feel like you’re in the eye of a hurricane.

“Where’d you go?” Peter tries to reel you back in once more and succeeds, craning his head to meet your gaze.

“Oh, just a quick jog.” you tease. There’s a thin edge underlying your sarcasm, and you wonder if he can hear it, too. You’re only a block away from your apartment, and the tiny voice in the back of your mind rationalizes that nothing could ruin your impromptu date night if you were tucked away in your home — because you always feel safe when you’re home. Yet, with no solid evidence to confirm or deny the thought, you’re in a race with the block to dig through your purse.

“Oh, well don’t forget to warm up.” he teases back. His caramel hues, once alight with a mirthful glint, start to descend into an uneasy resolve that only confirms your suspicions, but you’re too occupied by the whereabouts of your keys to notice. “Speaking of warm up, actually, there’s something I have to ask you.”

“Shoot.” you reply offhandedly.

“Well, I- I don’t know how to say this.” The tremor in his voice is subtle, but just present enough to pull you from your search.   “There’s- uh- there’s something going on in Sokovia, or at least what’s left of it. There’s a lot of feedback coming off the maps, like a… a hotplate of cosmic activity, so Captain wants the entire team there.”

There it is — that dark cloud that hung over your head this evening finally drenches you in a sharp, cold blanket of realization. Your heart stops, aches, and then crumbles to the pit of your stomach, waiting to be washed away by the waves of terror that crash upon your airways, and despite the wash cycle of emotions you’ve just endured, you feel far from clean. In fact, everything feels heavy — from the weight of your heart to your ragged breath — paralyzed by the idea that each thump, each exhale, brings you closer to the moment where Peter has to leave.

You started dating a year and a half ago, and two years have passed since half of the population was restored to its rightful plane of existence. Iron Man’s death left a massive hole in Peter’s morale, as well as a nagging doubt that he would never be able to take on the mantle he was left with. So, for the first time since he was bitten by that radioactive spider, he cowered in the face of adversity. Not only had he lost a mentor, he had lost his friend — and when Tony Stark sacrificed his life, he was under the impression that the heroes he saved would continue to protect the world, but sometimes Peter wonders if that still reigns true. If Mr.Stark knew just how easily the team had crumbled, how easily he had crumbled, would he still leave? Three and a half years later and Peter still can’t find the answer.

Meanwhile, when it seemed like the world needed him most, Spiderman slipped into obscurity. Now he only makes an appearance when the newscast is a little too bleak to ignore, and even then, he usually sticks to the rogue bank heist or back alley mugging.

You try not to pry, knowing that each time you ask about his brief hiatus is like poking an open wound, and, albeit selfishly, you relish in the fact that your boyfriend isn’t throwing himself in harm's way. However, now seems like a better time than ever for an interrogation, seeing as this is not only the first Avengers mission he’s attended in your relationship, but the first mission to ever span past the Hudson.

No obstacle prior has conjured a looming sense of dread and anxiety as palpable as the one you’re toting now. You can already feel it bubbling in your chest, like a cauldron of endless toils, expelling a hazy fog that makes your head spin.

“Hey, hey, hey, don’t give out on me now.” You don’t realize that your knees buckled beneath you until Peter comes to your rescue, and you silently wish that all of his heroic excursions could be this simple. The warmth of his hand bleeds past your winter coat and business casual blouse as it settles against the small of your back, and your body betrays you as it melts into his touch. “Contrary to popular belief, I’m actually not CPR certified.”

“I- I’m sorry.” Your mouth is bone dry, and you can barely muster a laugh convincing enough to counter his attempt at humor, so you don’t. You opt on settling your gaze upon the entrance of your building, just over Peter’s shoulder, and trying to ground yourself enough to stand without his help.

Peter’s hand still lingers on your form when you shuffle away from him, moving from the small of your back to the curve of your elbow. He can tell that you’re shaken, he expected that much from the get go, so he doesn’t leave your side, encroaching on the space you so obviously seek.  

“I don’t know- I don’t…” You muster just enough courage to counter his gaze, and a tiny frown creases between your brows, confusion riddling every other feature. “What exactly are you asking me?”

He pauses, searching for the answer himself. “Well, I guess- I just wanna know how you’re feeling.”

You chalk it up to your sudden sense of irritability, but his question just pisses you off. How dare he throw out a semblance of hope, a faulty impression, that you’d have any choice in this matter. You climb the three steps up to the front door, dolled up in dismay, and still try to find purchase in the illusion that you have any control in the matter. Maybe that’s what pushes you over the deep end, your once honeyed voice now curdled by venom — the hopelessness of it all. “Oh, I’m fine! I’m amazing, Peter. After the way you buttered me up all evening, how could I possibly be upset?”

“Y/N, that’s not fair-” Peter’s visibly taken aback, his features mimicking your own. You can see the cogs turning in his head, formulating some way to diffuse this situation before it really begins, but now that the gates are opened, it’s too late for you to hold anything back.

“Why not? Cause it’s the truth?” You cut him off, freshly manicured nails digging into your palms in an attempt to keep your tone even. “Let me tell you what’s not fair — You don’t even know how long you’re gonna be gone, do you?”

You’re met with a mutual silence, which confirms just how equally unaware you both are.

“Exactly.” At this point, your nerves are getting the best of you. Whether you lay all of your feelings out to him tonight or not, a sickening thought will remain — Peter is going to leave, and there’s a chance he won’t come back. So you persist, your hues boring into his own with each word. “You don’t know what it’s like to sit in our bed and wonder if you’re gonna be in it the next morning. You don’t know how terrifying it is to watch the news and pray to god that you’re not a part of it. You’re never going to be in my shoes when it comes to all of this, and I pray to god that you never have to be because I never want you to feel this way. That’s what’s not fair.” You wish your voice hadn’t grown weaker with each blow, you wish you could utter your last few thoughts with an unwavering certainty, but you know you can’t — not when a sob threatens to bubble up from the back of your throat. “That you can just decide to swing across the globe and put your life in danger while I sit at home and worry about you, and the worst part is that it only makes me love you more.”

“Y/N, do you think this is easy for me?” he’s never raised his voice at you, especially not like this, but it looks like tonight is a series of firsts for the both of you. “I haven’t been on a mission with the Avengers since high school, since —” Since Mr.Stark died. You know.

It’s not like he didn’t try to say it, he did, but the name just felt so foreign on his tongue. After years of inactivity, the threat of unearthing all those memories, all those bright eyed, bushy tailed endeavors, was almost as bad as remembering that he was gone — or even worse, not remembering them at all. But where could he retreat to now? He’s stuck between a rock and a hard place, forced to choose between the thought of losing Mr.Stark, or the thought of losing you. His thoughts are raw and earnest as he tries to placate the latter. “I don’t want to leave you. It terrifies me to think of all the things that could happen to you while I’m gone —”

“Obviously it doesn’t scare you enough, because you’re still going!” You punch the last two words, as if you’re suddenly trying to talk to him from across the street.

“I don’t have a choice, Y/N! I don’t-”

Your argument skids to a screeching halt, rivaling the groan of the metal door that guards your apartment complex, and with it appears Ms.Nunez — the single mother that lives a floor below you, whose ability to juggle her graveyard shifts at the hospital with her two rambunctious toddlers is almost as impeccable as her timing.

She appears to be in a rush as she skirts past you, but not enough to stop her from sending Peter an all too knowing look — one that screams “what did you do to that poor girl?”, with only the view of your red, puffy eyes and guarded stance to back up her assumption.

And with an opportunity so golden laying at your feet, who are you to ignore it? You catch the door before it hits the frame and slip into the yellowed entryway, barreling up the stairwell before he can question her weighted stare. You leave Peter no choice but to slip past Ms.Nunez in your pursuit, without so much as a goodbye, but a few choice words still sit on the back of his tongue, waiting to be swallowed.

Normally, the five stories of stairs leaves you winded by the third, but you chalk your superhuman stamina up to adrenaline. Luckily for you, you’re able to reach the last flight of stairs as Peter climbs up the first. Unluckily for you, you seem to forget that your boyfriend actually does have superhuman stamina, and you swear to fucking god that he’s flying up the stairwell by the time you shut the door behind you.

The door slams twice more after that, one loud bang to signal Peter’s entrance and one to punctuate it. His voice pierces through the apartment, firm and unyielding. “This conversation isn’t over, Y/N.”

He has no idea where you’ve run off to, ruling out the kitchen once he drapes his jacket over the center island. All he can hear is your voice, muffled behind one of the walls, calling out to him with little emotion to spare. “Oh, yes it is. I’m over it. It’s over.”

“Well, that’s mature.” He mutters under his breath, not expecting you to hear him, let alone respond.

“Oh, I’m so glad you think so!” You chuckle dryly, ”‘Cause your judgment of maturity is oh so rational and not at all fucking batshit.” And he thought he had enhanced hearing.

“You know what? You’re right.” He scoffs, letting the slam of the bathroom door punctuate his final words. “I’m over this, too.”

🕷 🕷 🕷

“Y/N?” Peter calls out, but to no avail. It’s on nights like these where he wishes you weren’t fighting, knowing fully well that you would command him to the bed with a downward pointing finger and the best glare you could muster. You’ve always loved the way his hair curled into soft, chestnut waves, so you didn’t mind weaving through his damp tresses before he went to sleep. You would make up some excuse about how the process helped give his curls definition, and he would always end up way too tired and relaxed to call you out on it.

You’re nowhere to be found, though. Your comforter is still as haphazard as it was this morning, and the kitchen is void of your late night snack ravaging. The only sign of your presence is found in the open window next to you bed, and way the curtains float against the evening breeze, leaving him to ponder your whereabouts at a breakneck speed. 

A million visions of paranoia screen through his mind all at once, but he’s quick to dismiss them, oddly familiar with the prospect of losing someone, and all the fretting that comes with it.

And you know better than to wander the streets of the city so late at night — but with all of the venom being spewed throughout the apartment, Peter wouldn’t be surprised if you needed a small reprieve. Even for just a quick trip to the corner market. He’s well aware of the eagle eye you sport in the moonlit streets, as well as the switchblade that sits in the side pocket of your bag, but he knows better than anyone that you have to expect the unexpected in these streets.

He pulls out his phone, ready to shoot you a quick text when the bars of the fire escape let out a metallic groan. Despite your apartment’s... adequate amenities, you’d never had a problem with the fire escape. The finicky oven? Maybe, but never the fire escape.

Even without his spidey senses tingling, he has no choice but to poke his head through the window pane, and to his surprise, he ends up killing two birds with one stone.

“I didn’t know you were out here.” Peter balances on the window sill, crouching in a near feline stance as he surveys your position — bundled between the metal grates of the fire escape and your downy comforter. Your lips are parted in a tiny “o”, eyelids blanketing your hues, and with the street lights flickering to life across the seam of thirty-eighth avenue, you’re nothing short of angelic — features now outlined in a seraphic, dewy haze.

If he wasn’t feeling guilty beforehand, the sight before him guarantees he is now.

“Yeah, that was kind of the point.” you murmur. You don’t bother to open your eyes, not even when the iron beams start to squeak under Peter’s weight. “Can I help you with something? I’m pretty sure this thing has a weight limit, and this is a weighted blanket.”

You’re met with silence, and you hate to admit it, but you’d take his silent presence over your self-induced isolation any day. Despite the fact that you only moved in together four months prior, your body has grown accustomed to his presence, subconsciously weaving it into your daily routine. There were nights when you would splay out like a starfish in your childhood bedroom, waiting restlessly for the gentle wrap of his knuckles at the window pane, and that same restlessness bleeds into nights in your shared apartment,  which then bleeds into now. Sure, you can trick your body into sleeping, but rest seems to be boroughs and islands away when Peter’s not there to wish you a good night.

A terse silence settles between the two of you, and you blink up at Peter, expecting him to break it since you surely wouldn’t.

“Why here?” Peter exceeds your expectations with his query. His gaze is fixed on Manhattan’s skyline — even from the tippy top of the complex, he can still make out the jagged glittering, crust of the city’s bustling core — and it’s then he finds the answer to his very own question.

“I used to sneak onto the fire escape at my parents place, too.” you reminisce, the corners of your lips curling into a bittersweet grin. “The apartment walls were thin, and whenever they would fight, or talk shit about something I did that day, I would just sit on the fire escape until I fell asleep.”

“How?” He breaks yet another lengthy pause, and you fight the urge to chuckle at his candor, settling with a lazy grin. “I mean, no offense, but Astoria isn’t exactly a library.”

“Yeah, but inside, I knew exactly what they were saying, how they were feeling — it was all in the air. At least out here everything just… blends together. It’s kind of peaceful in a way.”

Your voice is so timid and gentle as you recall your childhood, reflecting on moments that seem lifetimes away despite the handful of years in between. Peter’s gaze is transfixed on your profile, skating down the slope of your nose and skirting the curves of your lips until he realizes just how small you are. He tends to hold you on a pedestal, a habit he’s retained since the very beginning of your relationship, so sometimes it still baffles him to know that you can be anything but perfect — that you too can be human, and make human mistakes.

“How come I’ve never seen you out here before?” He feels like a little kid, question after question slipping past his lips before he even has the chance to filter them.

“‘Cause I haven’t had a reason to hide since I moved in with you.”

And just when he thought he couldn’t feel even guiltier, he’s soon overflowing with it. It kills him to know that you felt the need to escape, and you’ll never admit it after tonight, but he was the one who pushed you toward it.

“I’m sorry.” Peter blurts out, not expecting you to say —

“I’m sorry.”

You furrow your brows, cutting him off before he can even open his mouth to protest. “I’m just so used to my Peter. Sometimes it’s hard to remember that I’m sharing him with the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.”

“Hey, hey — look at me.” His thumb traces the spot right under your eye, using his pinky to nudge the curve of your jaw upward, toward his gaze — heavy and drenched in a type of resoluteness that leaves your mouth bone dry. “It may not always seem like it, but trust me when I tell you that you’re always going to be my top priority.”

“Peter, you’re being dramatic.” You sigh, finding it hard to believe that your life could take any precedence over the safety of mankind itself.

“No, I’m being honest.” His voice, his gaze, they leave no room for protest. You feel a little awkward being the center of their attention, and so it’s a relief when they shift to the city’s skyline once more. “Look over there, you know what that is?”

“Central Park?”

“Mhm, good girl.” Crimson blooms across the valley of your cheeks at his choice of nickname, no matter how innocently he uttered it, but your attention still remains undivided. “I figured out that I can get home quicker if I cut through it.”

You quirk a brow, and he doesn’t need to ask to know exactly what you’re thinking — So what if he hasn’t figured out which trains he needs to board in order to make a dent in his homebound commute? It’s the thought that counts.

“Sometimes like to just stop for a second and watch some of the people in the park, but not in, like, a creepy way? You know what I mean?” A subtle hint of embarrassment tinges his features, but dissolves once he notices your understanding nod.  “Is there a word for that?”

“Yeah, it’s called people watching.” You snickered, trying to imagine your boyfriend and his attempts at roasting the New York natives. “MJ and I do it all the time.”

“No, but with less… shit talking.” He counters.

Ouch.

“Oh…” You’re stumped, unsure of where he’s heading and, quite frankly, a little humbled by his read. “Hmm… Carry on?”

“Well,” Peter lets his hand rest palm forward on his knee, fingers gently curled, and you’re well acquainted with the gesture. Almost instinctively, you hover your hand above his own, digits clumsily dancing with one another as he speaks, and for a fleeting second, everything is back to normal. “It’s just… mind-blowing sometimes. There’s so much life there, all at once. All of these people are just living their lives, making their way home, falling in love, falling out of love, buying overpriced hotdogs from the street vendors — The other day I saw this mom fishing her two toddlers out of that fountain on Terrace road and honestly, if they don’t end up with superpowers, I’ll be shocked.” He can tell he’s drifted wildly off track by the way you nod, slowly and unsure, as to not offend him and his train of thought. “The point is… I used to protect all of that, and it used to make me so happy.”

“You still do,” You murmur, not one to discredit the risks he does take in the name of New York. Just because his enemies aren’t held to the same caliber as, say, Thanos, doesn’t mean they aren’t worthwhile. “All that matters is that you’re doing what you can.”

You hesitantly intertwine your fingers with his, in just a delicate enough hold to let him reject it if he so chooses. Your lips softly quirk upward when he only tightens the grip.

“Thank you.” He offers a comforting smile, one that barely reaches his eyes, and you can tell that he has more to say. So, you squeeze his hand, silently urging him to continue. “Well, I just- after Mr.Stark… passed away… it was really hard to remember why I started doing all of it in the first place. Like- I hate saying this, but why do we keep protecting all of these strangers when all the people we do know just keep getting hurt?” He winces at his own words, so far removed from such bitterness that he can barely believe he once thought such selfish things. “But then- then I get to see all of the people that I’ve been protecting, and suddenly it all makes sense again. All I want to do is make sure people are safe, and happy, and hopefully… Hopefully, when we’re older, and we have kids that jump in the fountains at Central Park, someone like me will be watching… and they’ll feel the exact same way.”

When we’re older, When we have kids... Those promises of marriage, of a loving family, of a future — they bounce off your eardrums like a mantra. Soon, you can’t even imagine thinking about anything but Peter’s words, and how much you love him right now, and how you’ll love him until your heart can’t possibly take it anymore. You can read what he’s trying to portray loud and clear — He loves you, he can see a future with you, and if there’s ever a doubt in your mind that his feelings may have changed, you can look out into the world and find pieces of his heart in every passing face.

“I haven’t been doing everything I can to make sure that’s possible, though.” He breaches your lovesick trance, reminding you that there’s still a thread of discord dangling between you. One that you can see rapidly disappearing with each passing second. “I have to go on this mission, Y/N. I wanna start helping people again. I wanna do right by him.”

“I know.” You whisper, conceding to the fact that you will always want what’s best for him, even if you aren’t a fan of the circumstances. “It doesn’t make it any less sucky.”

“C’mere.” He can barely pat his thighs before you’re crawling toward him. He passes a warm hand under your thigh once you straddle his waist, scooping you further into his lap, and uses his free hand to encompass the nape of your neck. You feel like you could melt, being cradled between his strong, toned  arms, and the feeling only intensifies when his lips seek out yours. His lips are soft, and warm, and taste like listerine, and you couldn’t ask for anything more perfectly suited for you.    

“I love you.” He murmurs against your lips, without a trace of uncertainty. His thumb wipes the corner of your mouth, and he continues to plant a series of sweet, soft butterfly kisses over every patch of skin he can get his lips on — your cheeks, your nose, your temple.

He’s so wrapped up in his gentle ministrations that he barely hears you return the sentiment, eyes fluttering to a close as you breathe out, “I love you.”

“Please come inside,'' he whispers against your forehead, punctuating his plea with a chaste kiss.

You pretend to entertain the thought, tapping your index finger against your chin, before shaking your head with a waggish simper. Fortunately for you, it doesn’t take long for him to take the bait, and he disappears through the window. You can just barely make out the harmony of wild rustling and hushed obscenities coming from your room before Peter is returning to your makeshift bed, clad in the cheesy “The Floor is Lava!” hoodie you snagged from a street vendor during your trip to Pompeii the summer beforehand.

“I’m not gonna lie to you, Y/N,” Peter’s voice is tight, shuffling his knees across the fretted ground as he crawls into your lap. It takes him all of three seconds to make himself comfortable, collapsing between your thighs, and you seize the opportunity to weave your fingers through his soft, chestnut locks. “I don’t think I can make this a recurring thing. I can already feel the scoliosis forming.”

“You’re such a drama queen,” you scoff, only to be met with a scandalized set of caramel hues. “I think you can make it through the night without any permanent damage to your spine.” With droopy eyes, your body starts to hum with the tell-tale signs of sleep, and your voice drips with drowsiness as you murmur, “And I wanna savor as many nights with you as I can.”

“I know,” he whispers back, the aftertaste of guilt intermingling with the abashment that follows your sleepy confession. ”I know. I’m right here, babe.”

And he swore, in that very moment, that nothing would change that.

[saintorchid]

The Missing Slipper

You search your entire apartment looking for your missing slipper. Your boyfriend, Nanami Kento, decides to have a bit of fun.

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

A/N: This is my first ever fic. So please be nice but I am open to criticism. Minors DNI !!!!!!!!!!!!

I love Nanami Kento, he lives in my mind rent free. Anyways enjoy!

You search your entire apartment, trying to find you're missing slipper. You look into your bathroom. No, not there. Under your bed? Not there either. You were about to give up when you remembered that you forgot to check the living room. You walk into the living room seeing your boyfriend, Nanami Kento, reading a new book he bought at the bookstore last week. Not wanting to disturb him with your little problem, you slowly move past him. Checking the floor around you and looking under the coffee table. You were about to give up until you see a bright purple slipper under the couch across from Nanami's lounge chair. You bend over to reach for the bright purple slipper that hid under the couch.

Nanami sees you from the corner of his eye, and suddenly, the book in his hand doesn't seem that interesting anymore. He saves the page, puts his book down, and heads towards you. Your ass in full view, and you’re wearing nothing but blue lace panties and a large white shirt. You were about to reach for the slipper you lost. However, Nanami grabs your waist and placed you down on the couch with his chest pressed to your back. Shocked at the sudden action, you turn your head to face him and ask him what is wrong. Your innocent eyes drink him in. Nanami suddenly pries your legs open, and his hand reaches underneath your shirt and massages your breast. You lean into him, kissing his neck and face until you’re locking your lips with him. “His lips soft and his hands warm”, “I’m excited for what comes next~.” These thoughts race in your mind. 

His fingers slowly move to the inside of your thigh, rubbing small circles. You whimper into his mouth at the action. You tried to move your body closer to the place that desperately needed his attention. He noticed you squirming close to his fingers and gives in. He rubs your folds up and down. He reaches for your nipples, rolling and pinching them softly. He moves to the crook of your neck littering them with kisses before sucking harshly. Your mind becomes foggy at the sensation. 

He then moves your panties to the side and pushes one finger into your hole. You arch your back, and with a desperate pant, you say, "K-Kento, please, I need more". He happily obliges as he pushes another finger in. He alternates between your nipples, rolling and pinching them. You hear his breathy moans, which only turns you on more. You unconsciously squeeze his fingers and feel his member rubbing your lower back. He lets go of your breast and attacks your needy clit. Your body lights up at the sensation. You are so wet that your juices leak out on the couch. Moaning his name and whimpering only fuels him. He is on cloud 9 right now, seeing you arch your back and your face contouring. "My love, is your mind filled with me?" Nanami says in a kind tone. You turn your head to look at him. He breathes heavily, his lips swollen from making out. You answer in pants, "Yes, Yes, a thousand times Yes". You lean into his neck, moaning. He smiles. Nothing brings him more joy than seeing you drown in pleasure. Knowing that he can get you into such a needy state makes his member even harder. 

He quickens his pace, and your mind goes blank. He keeps going, fucking you with his fingers, riding out your orgasm. Your hands reach out for a pillow squeezing it until your knuckles turn white. He takes his cum coated fingers out of you. Before he can lick them clean, you grab his hand and suck his fingers, not letting a single drop of cum escape. Seeing you suck off his hard work, makes his eyes turn dark. 

He immediately flips you over now with your legs straddling his waist. You feel his member through his shorts, leaving a wet spot on them. You kiss him hard. He moans into you, allowing you to shove your tongue in his mouth. He can't take it anymore. You stop, leaving him panting, searching for your eyes. You palm him through his shorts while nibbling his ear. He rubs his hands up and down your body. You stop your ministrations, and Nanami looks at you worried with half-lidded eyes. You place your hand on the side of his cheek and say, "You are the only one I want to spend the rest of my life with. I love you, Nanami Kento". Hearing his name come out of your mouth breathlessly makes him blush hard. The tips of his ears are red, and his heart swells when he sees you smile. He removes his shorts below his hips just enough to free his member. You remove his shirt, tossing it to the side. He then removes your (his really, but he doesn't mind) shirt, quickly throwing it on the floor. You reach for your panties to pull them off of you, but Nanami quickly grabs them and rips them off of you. You look at him wide-eyed; before you can say anything, he beats you to it, "It's easier to rip them off, takes less time.” Your cheeks turn pink while Nanami smirks. 

Nanami then lifts you lining himself to your deprived hole. You slowly move down, appreciating the stretch. Nanami is in total bliss when you finally bottom out. Both of you bask in each other. You look down to see him fully inside you and look back at him. He reaches for your face and cusps it gently, telling you, "I feel completely lost without you by my side. All I want is you, you, you, just you and only you, I love you (Y/N).” You immediately hug him and  pepper his face with your kisses. His hand slowly goes back to your waist and starts moving you up and down slowly. You kiss him deeply, moaning into his mouth. Your hips meet every thrust causing you to squeeze him tightly. He thrusts himself deeper into hitting your cervix, and your body becomes electrified. 

Your hair starts to stick to your face, and a bead of sweat starts forming on Nanami's forehead. He licks your breasts attacking them with such fever that you will definitely have a couple of hickeys. Your eyes are closed, focused on how Nanami is hitting every sweet spot. He stares at you, completely under your spell. He then grabs your neck and crashes his lips against yours, both of your teeth, clattering for a split second. Your eyes fling wide open before you can speak. Nanami's lips hover over yours; his voice suddenly fills the air around you in a hushed tone. Nanami says, "Keep your eyes on me, only on me, don't you dare look away.” Surprised by his command, you obliged because you knew if you didn't follow his orders, he would deny your orgasm until you lost your voice, begging him to fuck you until you see stars. His thrusts, become harder and faster. You lost control of your voice and started screaming, letting yourself be consumed by the pleasure. 

Nanami couldn't believe that a pretty, no beautiful woman was coming undone on top of him while screaming his name. Tears started to brim at the corner of your eyes. You felt close to your climax. Nanami sensed that you were close. He stares at you and, with a breathy moan, "My love, I am so close, and I know you are too, so let's come together". You squeezed him hard, and he mentally battles with himself not to lose the rhythm he has set. He reaches for your clit and rubs it rapidly. You are a complete mess, but Nanami sees you as an angel sent from the heavens. You can feel your climax coming around the corner, so so close. Nanami is already at his limit. The sounds of your sex, your moans, your breasts covered in hickeys, and your thighs squeezing his waist are making him go crazy. 

"My Love, I am going to countdown from 10, and at the end, we will come together.” You nod your head rapidly, thankful that the both of you will reach nirvana together. “10,” Drool starts to escape from your mouth while kissing Nanami. “9,” Nanami's hand leaves your clit to roll your nipple. “8,” The sensation of everything happening to you is surreal. “7,” You start to whisper "Kento" like a prayer. “6,” Nanami focuses on your other nipple giving it the same attention. “5,” The pit in your lower stomach becomes almost unbearable. “4,” Nanami feels his balls clenching tight, he is close. “3,” The sounds of your sex becomes even louder, breaths even hotter. “2,” You feel your thighs trembling and your toes curling. “Kento, KENTO, IM SO CLOSE,” your words spill out of your mouth. 

“You are so so good to me, my love, let's come together,” and with a final whisper, Nanami says one. He attacks your clit, and you scream his name loud enough for your next-door neighbors to hear. You squeeze him so hard with the intent not to waste a single drop of his cum. His thrusts become erratic, and he pushes himself even deeper and immediately lets loose. You come hard, while Nanami spills his cum into you. It feels heavenly to have him inside you. You collapse into the crook of his neck while he does the same to you. With what's left of your voice, you tell him, "Kento, I love you so much," while breathing heavily against his neck. He immediately pulls you into a tight hug. Nanami looks at you with his face flushed, "Y/N, you are my dear, my angel, my love. I love you, Y/N, every year, every month, every week, every day, every hour, every minute, every second. I will never stop loving you." Both of you look into each other, admiring each other's bodies before ending the session with a final kiss. Nanami smiles into the kiss, which makes you giggle. 

With the help of Nanami, he gently lifts you off of him, whining about the sudden loss; he kisses your forehead. He picks you up effortlessly and heads over to your shared bathroom. You found yourself surprised that he has the strength to pick you up after a delicious fucking. He places you on the bathroom counter while he prepares a bath for both of you. You decided to play some late-night jazz music on your cd player that you kept in the bathroom. Nanami lit up some candles while the bath was filling up. He carefully placed the candles at the edge of the bathtub. You reached out for him, and he picked you up, heading towards the bathtub. He slowly placed you into the tub filled with bubbles. Relaxing in the warmth of the water, Nanami couldn't help but smile seeing you with your eyes closed in total bliss. You opened your eyes, catching Nanami staring at you. "Honey, what's wrong?" Nanami shook himself out of his daze and told you that nothing was wrong. He then proceeds to tell you that you look ethereal. Your face immediately goes red; how does this man know what to say to make you easily flustered? He laughs at your reaction, and you end up laughing with him. His laugh was the best sound in the world, you thought to yourself. "Well, are you going to join me or just stand there?" You asked with a hint of teasing. "I'm coming, I'm coming", Nanami says while walking towards you. 

He enters the bath while you lay against his chest. The music, candles, and Nanami's soft breathing places you into a state of pure euphoria. Nanami slowly starts rubbing shampoo into your scalp. After he is finishes, you do the same to him, making sure you don't miss a spot. You wish you could stay like this forever, but you don't want each other to look like a prune. After 30 minutes, both of you rinse off and get out of the bath. 

Nanami started to dry your hair with the hairdryer, while you dried him off with a towel. After drying your hair, it was Nanami's turn to dry your body, while you dried his hair with the hairdryer. The whole exchange was silent, but the two of you are on the same wavelength. After the both of you dried off, you both decided to skip putting on pj's and sleep naked. Slipping under the covers, Nanami arms wraps around your waist, he holds you close. The both of you lay in comfortable silence. Usually you would be asking Nanami about his day, but this time the silence between the two of you was sufficient conversation. Nanami broke the silence, which was rare, but you quickly turn your head to face him, letting him know that you have his full attention. He asks, "What were you looking for under the couch?” You look at him while thinking to yourself, what could you be possibly looking for under the couch? You genuinely couldn't remember. Y/N answered, "I don't know, and I'll probably remember in the morning.” Nanami looks at you intently and is satisfied with your answer. Not wanting to press further, he pulls you tighter and whispers into your ear, "I love you Y/N.” Before you can say 'I love you back’, Nanami finally succumbs to sleep. You whisper in his ear, "I love you, Kento," while closing your eyes. You thought about what you were looking for, but you were too tired to think. You finally succumb to sleep in Nanami's arms. 

Your living room is lit up by the moonlight showing Nanami's and your clothes littered across the room. A beam of moonlight lays directly on the bright purple slipper underneath the couch. 

[just-a-creep-babe]

Captive

(Habit x Reader)

Commissioned by @selfshippinglover thank youuu bby <333

Requests are closed

Masterlist: x

Habit wipes the blade of his hatchet on his pants, smearing blotchy crimson on his washed-out jeans

He rolls his shoulders and cracks his neck

Finally home

A grin replaces the sneer on his face as he thinks of his little rabbit waiting for him inside

The thought of seeing your face light up as you rush into his arms is more than enough to coax his sore muscles forwards

He hasn’t been gone for too long, but he knows you‘re always elated to see him—and it goes without saying that the feeling is always mutual, of course

The few steps leading up to the door are speckled with brownish dried blood, almost welcoming him in as he twists the doorknob and steps through the threshold

“I’m back, little rabbit~” he croons into the entrance

His voice is a hint scratchier than it usually is because of his recent… activities, but he knows you’ll be happy to hear the sound regardless

He sets his weapons down on the entrance floor and takes his shoes off as he awaits your reply

He previously never really cared for clean floors and would shamelessly track caked dirt and blood into the house just because he was too lazy to remove his shoes

But after you’d admonished him for giving you even more cleaning to do, he’d been more careful with keeping things somewhat tidy

And, at this point, after living with you for so long, it’s become a sort of habit on its own 

He pauses for a moment as he finishes wiping the filthy dried crimson on his arms with the towel you keep for him by the coat rack

Why didn’t you come to greet him? Did you not hear him come in?

He grunts

He thought he’d taught you better than that

You had to pay attention to your surroundings and stay on guard when he wasn’t there in case anything happened

“Bunny?” he calls out for you again, now making his way into the living room where you should be

But instead of being met with your adorable face, there’s… nothing—no one

His smile drops

Are you sleeping? Did you feel sick and needed to rest?

No, something’s not right—he knows it

He can feel it

His instincts flare up, alarm bells ringing in his mind as he pushes through the empty hallway

“Bunny? You in here? Don’t try to hide from me—“

He rushes to your room, the door slamming open to reveal yet another significant lack of you

The bed’s undone, sheets thrown haphazardly across the mattress, and the curtains are still drawn, like you didn’t have time to properly wake up this morning

His brows furrow

Trepidation spirals through his body, the fear and confusion of you not being there reawakening his overworked muscles like a pure shot of adrenaline

You know better than this

You know to stay put in the house until he comes back—it isn’t like you to just up and leave with no explanation, not even a warning or a note or anything of the sort

A note

He tries to calm himself down, tries to slow his frantic breaths and relax the tension in his jaw

He tells himself that maybe he’s just overreacting

He hasn’t checked the fridge or the counter for any indication of why you might’ve left

Maybe he’s forgetting something, and just needs to think things through before assuming the worst

But then, just as he’s about to turn back for the kitchen, he freezes in his tracks

A note is too optimistic, too hopeful

He has to face the facts; someone‘s taken you

His eyes close shut and he hones in on his superior senses

He sniffs the air once, twice, and a third time

There’s no mistaking the traces of something foul lingering behind

Cold dread licks up his spine

Fists clenched at his sides, his shoulders tense, white hot rage seething through his system at the realization

How could the fucker dare?

He breaths in the scent again, trying to picture its owner, trying to pick it apart from the familiarity of your smell to see what fucking idiot would take you away from him

What imbecile would steal his mate?

The intruding scent is a mix of smoldering charcoals, cinnamon, an expensive cologne and something... husky—definitely masculine

A malignant smile crosses his features as he pinpoints the exact asshole that took you

He lets out a low whistle to himself in the emptiness of the room

“Alright, you wanna play dirty, lapdog? I’ll fucking show you playing dirty”

•••

It doesn’t take long for him to wind up in the middle of the forest where the eldritch prick and most of his lackeys reside

The air is still and stagnant, the musk of rot permeating every direction

Fingers wrapped firmly around the wooden handle of his axe, he moves quietly but quickly—and with steeled purpose—through the withered trees

He knows that walking right into the center of Stick-in-the-Mud’s domain is dangerous

Not to mention that the whole situation reeks of it being a trap

But what other choice does he have?

For you, his one and only beloved mate, he would risk anything

Habit twists his weapon of choice in his hands, maneuvering it through his fingers in an impressive display of skill and control

Besides, he wants to make them pay—he wants to make them regret ever laying a finger on your pretty little head

His lust for revenge churning in the pit of his stomach overpowers any other competing sense

He could picture it in now; how the blade would cut through the entity’s skin like butter, spraying crimson in a beautiful fountain-like gush of his life-force pouring across the dirt

He knows, of course, that he can’t actually kill the bastard so easily, but still, it keeps him content as he weaves through the broken shambles of the path

He has to distract himself, anyways

He doesn’t want his rage to overtake his common-sense, or, at least, whatever’s left of it at this point

Eventually, he finally reaches a clearing where pale, faint traces of sunlight barely peak through the dense thicket of foliage overhead

You’re close, he can feel it

He pauses for a second, closing his eyes and trying to visualize which direction he should head in

Still keeping up with your scent, he lets it guide him between two rotting oak trees until, after a few more paces ahead, he reaches a dilapidated building standing all on its own

From the looks of it, he guesses it was once a hospital, though the windows and doors have long since been removed, and where they once were affixed now lie slits of darkness—the abyss inside peering out into the woods

White chips of paint peel from the exterior, with gnarled twisted vines creeping up the side like fingers caging the structure in place

He can smell your fear and distress from somewhere deep inside of it

The scent overtakes his instincts and he finds himself charging through the entrance without so much as a backup plan

God help whatever stands between him and his mate

The interior of the abandoned hospital still lingers with traces of blood and medicine, coupled with a couple of forgotten operating tables, wheelchairs and other surgical devices

He rushes through every room, every dead-end and vacant hallway—all of them lacking a crucial component; you

Finally, he stumbles across a heavy door reinforced with metal plating, and this time, there’s no mistaking your scent coming through the other side of it

He almost scoffs at the barrier

As if that would be enough to stop him from reaching you

He tugs at the handle and gives it a good pull with all his might, but it doesn’t budge

“Fucking piece of—“ he snarls a few curses under his breath, shifting positions so that he can bash it open with his shoulder

Whap! Smack!

Blow after blow, despite him using all his weight and straining his muscles as hard as he can, the door doesn’t give

He huffs, snarling in frustration

His sight lands on the rusted hinges where the door attaches to the wall

He tugs the axe from the loops in his jeans, twirls it in his hold and smashes it down against the latches

Clang!

The metal bends much more easily than it would’ve if it wasn’t rusted over

One strike after the next, he pictures the hinges as Stick-in-the-Mud’s face, and with only a couple of hits, he manages to tear them off completely

He sheathes his axe back into his jeans, and with one last blow of his shoulder against the door, it flies off into the next room over

The sound of it hitting the ceramic flooring resonates throughout the empty building

He steps over it, and as he walks into this new room, he knows he’s hit the jackpot

A dark silhouetted form is crouched over a figure chained to the floor by their wrists and ankles

A soft, flickering glow emanates from dozens of candles scattered across the room

Before Habit can lunge at the crouched fucker and tear his throat out, he stands up and straightens himself

Slowly, the figure turns, revealing themselves

Candlelight glints off his signature glasses

His expression, as usual, is cloaked in shadow and impossible to read, were it not for the sly smile curling at his lips

“Ah, Habit. I must say, I didn’t expect you so soon. What a shame, really, I was just getting to know your dearest (y/n)~”

He steps to the side—giving just barely enough space to reveal you, eyes wide with a smear of grime on your cheeks, but otherwise apparently unharmed

“H-habit, I—“

“Ah, ah, ah~” the entity cuts you off, playfully wagging his finger in your direction. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, little one. I’m sure you have much to say, but I think Habit and I have a lot more… pressing issues to discuss”

He wants to hurt the bastard more than anything else—for stealing you away, chaining you to the damn floor of all things, and now for talking down to you like you’re below him

He wants to kill him

Painfully

Brutally

But he knows he can’t just blindly charge at him

There’s no way in hell the Observer doesn’t have some kind of fail-safe, and he really doesn’t wanna risk having him teleport away with you

So he forces himself to bide his time and play nice... for now

“Fucking spit it out already,” he urges through gritted teeth

The shadow entity smirks, reveling in his opponent’s lack of control

“It’s about Firebrand,” he begins, “though I’m sure you’re already more than aware of the little situation you’ve put him through”

The Observer absent-mindedly strokes your hair, toying with a strand between his fingers much too comfortably

It has Habit seething from where he’s standing

If looks could kill

"The Operator is none too pleased with your meddling,” he continues, and when you shift, trying to retreat from him touch, he lets your hair fall back down before returning his gaze to the infuriated male in front of him

“He demands a trade,” he finally finishes

Habit folds his arms over his chest, muscles nearly bulging as he tries to keep it together

“What’s done with Firebrand is done—it’s over. Trying to meddle with shit by stealing my fucking mate isn’t gonna fix your unfortunate situation” 

Despite his mind-numbing infuriation, Habit can’t help the faint smile as he thinks about how desperate Stick-in-the-Mud must be to resort to this

“It won’t,” the Observer agrees, “but you found a way to get leverage over us, and now, we have leverage over you. I’m sure we can find some way to balance this predicament we’re in, wouldn’t you agree?”

The candles to the left of the room flicker, then dim out, leaving half of the room completely drenched in shadows

From the corner of his eyes, he catches something moving next to you in the darkness, followed by your startled cry

He jerks forwards, hands reaching for his weapon, but then he stops short as the entity tuts, and your panicked gasps turn into muffled whimpers

He can just barely make out the shape of a tentacle as it curls around your mouth, your eyes looking up at him, big and watery and pleading and dear God, it’s damn near impossible to resist smashing the lapdog’s face in and saving you from that freak

“I don’t have the fucking journal,” his voice splits as he snarls the words out, a special kind of hatred and animosity seeping through at the sight of what he’s doing to you

Hell, just the scent of your fear is unbearable

The Observer smiles, and the tentacles stop moving, stop withering and tightening around your form, leaving you just enough air to breath

“Oh? Then where is it?”

"Fuck if I know”

“Hmm… that so?” dissatisfied with his answer, the tentacles start tightening around you once more

You whimper, crying out, trying to twist and turn as the growing darkness continues to consume you, slowly crushing your windpipes and suffocating your vulnerable form  

“Listen, I’ll bring it to you when I get it. Hand delivered by yours truly with a pretty pink fucking bow on it”

Empty promises tumble from his mouth—anything to make him stop, anything to make him release you

Your fear and panic is worse than any kind of torture

He needs it to stop

And, thankfully, it does

Your breathing goes from frantic gasps and whimpers to short breaths—still erratic but at least without the panicked edge of pain 

He can hear your heart beating like a drum in your chest and he wishes he could comfort you

He’d do anything it takes right now to have you unharmed—no matter the cost

The Observer, no doubt sensing Habit’s urgency, chuckles

He turns his attention back to you, this time tilting your chin up to break the eye contact between you and Habit

“There, see? I told you there was nothing to worry about, little one~”

He strokes your cheek, and you whimper in response, still twisting in his tentacles’ grasps

Without looking away from you, he addresses Habit

“You should watch out for your mate, you know. She’s such an easy little thing to pluck out. And how could you blame me for taking her—she’s such a compelling creature, isn’t she?~”

His smile, admittedly, dazzles you for a moment before you snap yourself out of it

You try to tug your head free but his hold on you is much too strong, so you have to look off to the side—anywhere but at his face

“I told you what you wanted. Now let. Her. Go.”

Habit’s tone is enough to bring shivers down your own spine, even knowing he’s on your side

But the entity, however, seems more or less phased by him

His gaze lingers on your face longer than you’d like, studying you, trying to perceive something within you

Then finally, he breaks the trance, glancing back towards Habit and releasing your face

“Your mate isn’t as impervious as you’d like. I suggest keeping that in mind if ever you get the urge to attempt any silly little tricks you might have”

With those final words, the remaining candles in the room flicker 

Shadows crawl up the entity’s form, then everything goes pitch dark for a moment

In that instance, Habit almost fears the worse

The few seconds it lasts stretch into what feels like an eternity

But then relief like no other surges through him when the candles slowly come back to life, and there, sitting against the far back of the room, is you

You’re still chained, but the tentacles have vanished and you share an equally relieved look in your eyes

He’s by your side in an instant

He scoops you up in his arms, holding you up to his strong, firm chest to cradle you and feel your warmth pressing against him

You wrap your arms around him, overwhelmed at everything that happened in such a short amount of time

Your heart beats frantically against his, and you don’t know if you’ve ever felt safer than you do right now in his arms

You let him hold you tightly for a while, until he finally manages to calm your hammering heart and your body relaxes in his hold

“Are you alright, little rabbit? Did he hurt you?”

He cups your jaw and tilts you face to look up at him, eyes filled with concern

You can tell he has more questions to ask, but for the moment, he holds back

“I’m fine,” you release a shaky breath, laughing nervously, “it’s ok, he didn’t do anything when you weren’t here. I’m alright”

He has to hold back a scowl at the idea of you being trapped with the entity—completely helpless to whatever he wants to do to you

“I’ll fucking rip his throat out if I ever see him again. Bastard’s gonna fucking pay”

You bring your hand up to place it over his chest, wanting to feel his heart beneath your touch

Your chains rattling against the ceramic flooring as you shift, and the sound is enough to snap his attention to them

He growls a few choice words under his breath, and then he’s hugging you closer still, like he wants to make sure you’re real and solid and well and alive

“You wanna head home, little rabbit?”

His tone is gentle and soothing

You nod, shutting your eyes and nuzzling deeply into his neck

There’s a shift in your center of gravity, one that’s barely noticeable, almost like you’re swinging up on a swing set, and then the air gets warmer and the harsh ceramic flooring is replaced with something soft beneath you

He strokes your head, murmuring quiet little nothings into your hair

“It’s alright, little rabbit. I won’t let that happen again. You’re all mine. I’ll never let anything bad happen to you. You’re alright, baby. It’s ok, you’re alright…”

You let yourself be consumed by his embrace

His warmth, his scent, the pulse of his heart beneath his skin—you never want him to let you go

But your perfect moment is shattered by a sudden realization

You pull away, and his concern is immediately evident

“Wait… does that mean… did you trade the journal to get me back?”

He gives a wary smile

“You’re worried about some journal after everything you’ve been through?”

Your brows furrow, and you hesitate, chewing your lip

“Isn’t it important?”

Your voice is quiet and uncertain

“You shouldn’t concern yourself with that kind of stuff, bunny. There’s more than one journal. And I promised to give it if I ever got my hands on it. As long as someone else on my side gets it, it’ll be fine”

He playfully boops your nose, a mischievously wild grin on his face

“Stick-in-the-Mud’s lapdogs aren’t as clever as they like to think”

Your shoulders relax again, the guilt immediately melting away

“Oh, that’s good then,” you breathe out, give a small smile

“I love you, little rabbit. You know that, right?”

You nod, a content smile twitching at your lips

“I know. I love you too”

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

brbrbbr i don't have as much of an idea for this but maybe like. reader has anger problems and is easy to piss off so eduardo is not the best person for them to be around but they were dating jon so they dealt with it for him, but now it's after his death and they and eduardo are both trying to mourn so they just start taking it out on each other and mark has to try and intervene before it goes too far (whether physical or someone just says something over the line)

Ironically you've given me an excellent angsty idea :3

...............

"I thought she said we were stupid."

"....I'm gonna-"

"Punch you in the face?" You scowled at Eduardo before he could fully finish the threat. "Because that's exactly what I'm gonna do if you dare fucking finish that statement."

He just returned the glare in kind. "You couldn't even hurt a-!"

"H-Hey, please don't fight here." Jon spoke up. He didn't like seeing the growing tension between you both, so he hugged your arm and tried to pull you away. Even though he knew you just had a bad temper, he was scared you'll actually hurt somebody one day.

"Come on, [y/n]...let's forget about these dumb ghosts and spirits and go back inside." He pleaded.

You glanced back at your boyfriend, sighing. "Whatever. He can deal with it on his own."

If it were up to you, both of you would've moved out so you didn't have to see Eduardo's stupid angry face all the time. But Jon insisted on staying, reassuring you that he might just be "jealous" for now..despite Mark telling you that he's always been like this and won't change.

You decided to suck it up whenever you visited them, occasionally bringing over diet cola so Eduardo would shut up and not bother you. Usually it worked, but other times he'd just glare at you and Jon--especially Jon--with envy.

After heading inside and going to Jon's room, you both cuddled on the bed together. Though you noticed he was still pouting as he put his head on your chest, which made you frown slightly.

"What's up, Jonny?" You ruffled his hair. "Talk to me."

"[Y/n], can you..at least try to get along with him better?"

"....I..umm..I don't-"

"I know he's not the best person to be around but..I-I'm just scared you'll leave me because you don't want to deal with him anymore. And I feel like..all the fighting is my fault."

"Wha...Jon, it's not your fault at all." You hugged him closely. "I love you, and there's no way in hell I'm breaking up with you just because of anything that dumbass says. I've been trying to manage my anger better, I promise. He just makes it..hard for me to have self-control sometimes."

"I believe you." Jon snuggled with you more. "But can you promise me you'll try? If I'm not around I..don't want you tearing the place up. Sure, there's Mark but I'd feel bad if-"

"Okay, okay. I promise I'll try to get along with him. For you."

"Yay! Thank you, sweetums." He giggled, smiling as he closed his eyes. "I know Eduardo can be a real jerk but I don't take what he says to heart. I think it's just his own..special way of showing friendship."

'Friendship my ass.' You thought, but you just sighed and tried to relax.

Maybe it was only jealousy. You'll never know for sure.

But if he had faith in you and Eduardo getting along then..you'll believe him.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

"You know, if it weren't for him I would've torn this place apart by now."

"Then what's stopping you? It's not like he's gonna walk through the door anymore."

"Don't go there, Eduardo..just don't." Clutching the necklace Jon had gifted you, you glared at Eduardo. He was sitting beside you, just blankly staring into his empty soda can. The bags under his eyes have become more prominent as time passed.

As every day since Jon's death passed.

Even now you could still recall that day clearly: he was dying in your arms, making a joke when Eduardo pleaded for him to say something, before begging you two to get along as his last wish.

Sadly, neither of you got to tell him whether you'll keep that promise.

In fact, given the exchange you two were having now, that promise seemed almost impossible to keep.

Of course, Eduardo had every right to grieve. But you couldn't understand why he's suddenly so remorseful after the fact..only after the damage was done and he couldn't take back what he said to Jon.

"I wish you were dead."

His words were just out of earshot to you, though you knew damn well who he was talking about and chewed him out for saying such things.

Little did you know...that bastard was gonna get his wish granted.

"Look, [y/n]...Jon was-"

"Was what?" Your impatience only grew. "An idiot? Your punching bag? Don't tell me he was your friend when all you've done was treat him like shit..like he was stupid."

"I didn't always treat 'im like that," Eduardo looked equally annoyed. "I valued him as a friend!"

"Well it's too damn bad he never got to hear that." Tears brimmed your eyes as you held the necklace to your chest. "You only care after he's gone...heartless bastard.."

Of course you were going to regret those words later on, but you didn't care. You didn't think the person who wished your boyfriend death had any right to feel this way.

His hands trembled as he held the mug, staring at you with wide eyes. "Y-You think..I'm heartless?!!"

"Yeah, you are! I bet you wanted him dead, didn't you?!" Your voice rose despite its shakiness. "All because you were so fucking jealous that he actually got a date and your lonely ass can't even keep a partner for a month!"

"S-Stop it.." Now you were pushing his buttons, reminding him of things that he didn't want to remember.

"I bet you're happy he's gone, I bet you're happy that explosion killed him-"

"WELL I WISH IT KILLED ME INSTEAD!!" He finally shouted at the top of his lungs, throwing the can to the floor and standing up. With clenched fists he glared down at you, seething red and his eyes tearful. "Every damn day I wish I died instead of him!! I-I may not be a good friend..I'll admit I'm fucking terrible. But god I never hated him or you!!"

You were stunned into silence, never realizing that's how he felt all along.

That he wanted to be the one who died instead..

Although your own hands were shaking, you didn't know what to do or say. But in that moment Mark decided to come in after hearing your argument turning for the worse.

"So much for my afternoon nap..." He rubbed his eyes, before gazing at you two sadly. "That's enough, guys. You can't keep doing this."

"Sh-Shut up, Mark." Eduardo stammered. "This doesn't-"

"I'm still living under this roof, so it concerns me too." The blonde sighed. "Listen, we're all hurt over losing Jon, regardless of how we may have acted towards him. This is not what he would've wanted..to see you two tear each other apart."

He was talking like a disappointed parent would, but there was truth to his words.

Eduardo just sniffled and wiped his sleeve over his eyes, sitting back down while being as far away from you as he could. You averted your gaze to fiddle with your necklace; there was a deep pit of regret in your stomach.

Only now you were starting to see the hypocrisy in yourself: you were hurting him by saying things you couldn't take back.

It never occurred to you until now, but...damn.

'Jon would never want me to turn out like him..'

Mark sat in the space between you both. "I understand you two don't have the best chemistry but..at least try to honor his wish. It would make me happy and less..awkward every time I walk in the room."

As he put both arms around you, he brought you and Eduardo closer. You just exchanged glances, still feeling bitter and sad about the words you've spoken.

Honestly, he could've kicked you out of the house and told you to never come back.

But he didn't.

Maybe he truly does want to get along with you, just as much as you wanted to get along with him.

In due time you might forgive each other and try again.

For Jon's sake.

[extremelyblackandwhite]

innocence - 28

PAIRING: bodyguard!bucky barnes x innocent actress!reader

WARNINGS: angst

A/N: its angst season again!!

NEXT CHAPTER

Bucky looked around like a crazed maniac, looking for anyone, just anyone who could be responsible for the letter he was holding in his hands. His blood seemed to freeze in his veins just like they used to when they held him hostage in the Russian base. Those words were tattooed in his retina, as it dawned on him he had once again to keep her safe. His ears started ringing like they always did when they used to trigger him, the ring itself replacing any other environment sound, becoming so loud it fully overcame over his senses, rendering him particularly useless. Not that he was of use lately.

     - Bucky? - Y/N’s sister, Claire, called out to him. Almost mechanically, he stuffed the letter in his back pocket. - Are you okay? You look a bit shocked. Any naughty Christmas post cards?

     - Just a bit ... cold.

     - Yeah, Y/N said you were not very comfortable with it. Sorry about that, I was just trying to keep you away from Aunt Petunia. She’s too much.

     - Thanks, Claire. Hm ... do you have any landline? I need to make a call to the US and my plan is running out. 

     - Yeah, no worries. There’s one in the hall by Y/N’s bedroom. - she gave him a warm smile which was reminiscent of Y/N yet did little to nothing to calm him down. He handed her the rest of the mail before climbing up the stairs to the same hall which had doors on each side. Yet, despite it looking like a maze all he cared about was that small telephone on the table. 

Her picked the phone, leaning it against his ear as the rolled the dial to Steve’s number, the letter firmly mashed in his fist as he wanted nothing more than to burn it in the big fire place but he couldn’t. All he could think of was whoever had broken into Y/N’s flat back had followed them to London and once again he had been incapable of protecting her. He had let whoever was sending her those nasty messages, get to her in one of her most safe places. The other line rang like the passage of long times, until he heard the voice which had become synonymous with freedom and America together.

    - Steve Rogers.

    - Steve, they did it it again. - he snapped before he could even tell who it was on the phone. Yet, if his oldest friend couldn’t figure out his voice after so many years then maybe he needed new friends.

    - Buck?

    - Someone left a letter on her mail box calling her a whore again. You and Natasha were on it trying to figure out who did it in New York. - he continued on like an out of control mess. 

    - Buck, calm down. Was the handwriting similar? Maybe it’s a prank.

    - There’s no handwriting just magazine cut outs and it’s not a prank. 

Y/N stepped out of the car, walking over to the luggage holder to help her father take the shopping bags out while her mother walked up to the door to unlock it before they could climb up the stairs. Her father opened the truck of the small red car which they had had since she was a baby. She still remembered her father picking her up from ballet practice, the red colour bright through the cloudy skies. It always felt so safe to enter through those doors, almost if there was no harm whenever she was inside the old metal vehicle. Things were so simple back then and evil was so hardly defined and bordered away from her. She had had a good childhood, good parents, good family so why was she so scared whenever she was in New York? Why was she so intrinsically insecure and meek?

   - So, beanie, you and James. Does he treat you well? - he asked as he handed her some bags and christmas boxes.

   - He’s just perfect, dad. 

   - Then what is it? 

   - What do you mean? - she looked over her shoulder.

   -  Well, you’re my daughter, you’ve been my daughter for over 5 years now and I like to think I know you better than you think. What’s wrong, Y/N?

   - I’m just homesick, dad. - she faked a smile, pushing her hat further down her head, trying to fiddle with something else. - New York is different from here and well, stardom is different from here. It has nothing to do with Bucky. 

   - He makes you happy?

   - He does. 

    - Then I’m happy for you, beanie. - her father kissed the top of her head, carrying half the shopping bags and gifts onto the home while Y/N stood back looking at the neighbourhood she’d grown up in. It wasn’t perfect, no place in the world is perfect but it had a much more emotional connection to her than her place in SoHo. Of course, maybe it was just her own rose coloured glasses of being away from such a structured, planned 3 year ahead career. 

She smiled softly at the houses in exposed brick shades and the coloured blue and red doors with big gold number. Rows and rows of houses which seemed never ending when she was younger yet now seemed so quickly fading from view. Nothing is everlasting and she remembered so well thinking everything was but maybe it was for the best. Good things end to give way to better ones and bad things end become they no longer suit you.

Y/N looked over her shoulder one last time before entering the house. She put the bags near the other ones neatly stacked by the staircase before pulling her coat and jacket off. The house was always filled with noise, it was never quiet. Always abundant with laughter or discussions about the silly topics. This time, they were discussing some weird plot on the television. However, Bucky was nowhere to be seen. 

   -  Did you not invite Bucky? - she crossed her arms, giving her siblings the dirtiest look she could muster. - Guys, I asked you to include him.

   -  We did but your boyfriend has been on an international call for the last hour. It’s gonna add up. - Colin retorted.

   - I’m gonna go check on him. - she reminded herself to tell Colin off for that backhanded comment but she was much more preoccupied with Bucky. Sure, he did enjoy his loneliness but Y/N didn’t want him to feel alienated. She did not want him to feel lonely or like a stranger in her home. Climbing up the stairwell, she noticed him at the end of the hall, old telephone she used to toy around with when she was a kid pretending to call her family yet, unlike her past childhood self, Bucky had the phone firmly pressed against his ears, lips tight, one hand holding himself against the table. 

She noticed his indisposition, his muscles so tight she wondered how come he hadn’t had a cramp and like any empath she approached him with her characteristic sunny attitude, wrapping her arms around his waist, putting herself on her tip toes to kiss him. Bucky, however, moved his head to the side, mumbling something over on the phone in Russian, switching languages as if he did not want her to hear his conversation. Her heart dropped to the pit of her stomach, her overthinking nature picking at her brain as she leaned her head against his shoulder. Bucky turned around slightly to kiss her on top of her head like one does to a child or a friend. 

    - I’m on a call now, princess. - he held her arm up to wrap it from his waist.

    - Okay. I’ll just go ... go have a shower.

She delayed her exit, almost waiting for him to kiss her like he always did whenever she left. However, Bucky quickly returned to his call, in Russian, and she got the message loud and clear. She tried not to think much about it, after all Bucky was still related to the Avengers and despite being his girlfriend, she was not expect to be into that sort of information. She tried to convince herself of that fact as she stepped onto the cold porcelain of her shower floor. The water fell from her head onto her shoulder as she scrubbed the dirt off her body, constantly telling her inner anxiety, Bucky was merely busy. If she were busy she wouldn’t have liked her partner being clingy. He was busy. 

She turned off the shower, wrapping herself in the fluffy bathrobe she probably had had since she was 18, hair still damp as she slide her feet into fluffy slippers and walked into her bedroom. Bucky was sat in her bed, laptop on his lap as he typed the keyboard so harshly one would think he’d break the keys. She smiled to herself as she took the side near him, head laying on top his cozy black jumper, probably dampening the fabric but Bucky didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he didn’t even seen to mind her presence, merely ignoring it. She looked up at him, moving to kiss his jaw with an innocence type of request which was anything but innocent. 

  - Buck. - she said in a sing song type of voice, almost like a mermaid calling out for a sailor. - Why don’t we finish what we started in the airplane?

  - Not today, princess. - he kissed the top of her head once again. - I’m not in the mood for it.

  - Oh ... hum ... okay. - she almost retracted back into her shell at those words. Had she done something this morning? Something to upset him? Maybe he didn’t enjoy her leaving him alone with her family. - Do you wanna go out for dinner?

  - I don’t think it’s wise, princess. They might ... pap us or someth’ng. 

Did he not want to be papped with her? Maybe he was still upset over the pap photos she had willingly given away. She didn’t know and she didn’t want to know. Instead, she decided to turn around in the bed, still naked under her bathroom and stare at the wall until she felt sleep weigh on her eyelids. Bucky, on the other side, had his wild eyes glued to the screen, watching the security tape of her apartment over and over again. It had been cut, he knew it had from the time changing sharply, however, he couldn’t see anything which would be of any aid. All he knew was that not only had he failed his job as an Avenger, he failed his job as her bodyguard and failed to protect her like any boyfriend would do. Would it be in a club he could’ve just punched the daylights out of whoever dared to call her that but right now he couldn’t. He didn’t know how to make it stop. 

Bucky closed the laptop, putting it on the floor as he looked through his mind about who could want to hurt her, who cold do anything to want her to suffer. He could no figure it out and all he wanted was to figure it out. He leaned against the bars of her bedpost, looking over to his side to see her sleeping on her side, hand under her face and hair drying in front of his face. He carefully pushed the hair away from her face, tucking her into her large duvet before kissing her cheekbone. He couldn’t bring it upon himself to say anything, to tell her the letter came in. Bucky still remembered how she had reacted last time and he did not want it to happen again, he did not want her to feel unsafe in her own home. Instead, he let himself fast asleep next to her.

The morning woke Y/N up, the strange brightness of a sunny winter day hurting her eyes. She groaned, raising her torso from the bed, eyes blurry as she opened them. Rubbing the sleep off her eyes she extended her arm to notice Bucky’s spot was empty. She furrowed her brows, jumping off bed and walking outside and down the stairs onto the living room where most of her siblings and their partners were.

    - Wow, Y/N. Clothes under the bathrobe, much? - Eloise teased. 

    - Where’s Bucky? - she ignored her sister.

    - He went out. - Claire added, handing her a cup of tea. - Said he had to grab some stuff. 

    - Oh ... okay. He didn’t say anything.

    - He probably didn’t want to wake you up. - Claire patted her shoulder, kind smile on her lips. 

     - Or maybe he’s cheating on you. - Colin added, only to be slapped over the head by Eloise. - Hey, what was that for? I was joking.

     - He’s not cheating on you. - Claire reassured her. - Colin is just being an ass. 

     - What? I was joking!  

     - Not with Y/N, you idiot. - Eloise muttered under her breathe. - Maybe you should go put your clothes on, Y/N. Bucky is probably just Christmas gift shopping.

     - Or maybe he got lost? He is like 200 years old. Did you give him a pager? He might be lost in Piccadilly Circus or maybe he can’t get out the underground. 

     - Fuck off, Colin. - Y/N snapped at him before returning up to her bedroom.

He knew her brother was just trying to get under her skin. Bucky was not cheating on her, when did he even have time to find someone in London to cheat her with? Maybe he had some contacts in London from when he used to come to missions with the Avengers. Maybe he had someone in London for him. No. No, Bucky did not. Bucky wouldn’t cheat on her, Bucky liked her but he was acting out of style to him. She sat on her bed, hand in the middle of her legs as she tried to stop herself from overthinking things that were absolutely ridiculous. Since she was no good at doing such thing, she called the only person who normally could push her back to reality. 

    - Chuck? I have a problem. 

    - Jesus, Y/N. Have you forgotten time zones? - Chuck groaned on the other side of the line. - You better be dying.

    - Bucky is acting weird. 

    - Bucky always acts weird. What’s your point?

    - I don’t know, Chuck. It feels weird. I even tried ... initiating IT and he said no. Do you think he’s not attracted to me anymore? He didn’t even want to kiss me

    - Maybe he was not in the mood, Y/N. Also, why are you so freaked out about saying sex? Are you sexually repressed? Did you try to initiate some kinky sex with Bucky and maybe his old man penis wasn’t okay with it?

    - Can we not discuss my boyfriend’s penis, please?

    - What? He’s old, maybe it hasn’t been getting up. Did you ask him? Maybe he forgot to pack Viagra and he’s ashamed. 

    - Chuck. It is not that.

    - I don’t know, Y/N. Maybe spice it up. Dress up like Princess Leia in Empire Strikes Back. Every man is into it.

    - Bucky hasn’t seen Star Wars.

    - I don’t know what was sexually appealing in the 40s, Y/N. Don’t you have that lingerie set they made you wear for Rocky Horror? Use that. Maybe he really just wasn’t in the mood.

    - Okay ... yeah. Uhm, maybe it will work. 

    - Great. Now, I need to sleep because it is too late and there’s a girl in my bed and I don’t want her to think I have you on the side.

    - Oh, is she a nice girl?

    - Y/N ever since you lost your virginity you get very boring when you don’t get a dick appointment. Go on and do it with Bucky and we’ll talk later.

    - Okay, thank you.

    - Bye, bye. 

Y/N stared at herself in the mirror. She never really saw herself a sexual being or a sexual girl at all. After all, she was the one who got told by three guys at her university freshers party she had the sexual charisma of a toaster. Now the metaphor did not make any sense but all she knew was that it probably did not make any sense. It wasn’t that she wasn’t comfortable with her own sexuality, she just didn’t think about it outside of work. Maybe Bucky was used to girls who put a bit more effort and wasn’t very attracted to her very old bathrobe and her Marks and Spencers cotton underwear. She shrugged it off, opening her wardrobe to skim through some of the costumes she had worn until she found the white lacy set. It was better than her regular cotton underwear. She put her robe back on looking at herself in the mirror as she gave herself a pep talk. He’s not cheating on her. She knows he would never do that.

She sat down in her bed, going over some scripts sent over by the agency until midday when Bucky came into the bedroom, on the phone with someone else, still speaking Russian. She waited for him to finish his call before she walked over to him, wrapping her arms around his waist. 

    - Sorry for not telling you, Y/N. I had to make some calls with the team.

    - It’s okay. - she smiled at him. - I was just thinking maybe ... maybe we could have some us time. My parents went to do the groceries and my siblings won’t bother us, besides I have something I want to show you.

    - Sorry, not in the mood. I need to call Steve. - he took his jacket off, putting it on the edge of her bed. - It’s urgent, princess.

    - Oh, okay. 

    - Can I use the landline? Pretty sure I still haven’t figured out  how to make international calls. 

    - Yeah. - he kissed the top of her head once more. 

She sat on her bed defeated. Her mind going through everything she could’ve possibly done wrong the morning she left with her parents. Maybe he really wasn’t in the mood, however he did seem pretty eager that morning. She sighed. Damned Colin and his stupid backside comment. She sighed, rolling in her bed, the movement making his jacket fall to the ground. Great Y/N, now you’re wrinkling his clothes. She got up from her bed to grab the jacket for a letter to fall on the ground. She looked to the side, leaning down to pick the letter only to drop it once she saw the writing. You cannot hide, whore.  She grabbed it from the ground before storming out to the hall, pulling the cable out the wall, effectively stopping Bucky’s call.

   - When were you gonna tell me?

taglist: @disasterbii @lookiamtrying @buckysteveloki-me @americasass81 @jamesbarnesappreciationclub @lostinthebeans @mariahthelioness29 @bbabysbaby @peaches-roses-sins @theadorasabditory @sipsteacasually @saiyanprincessswanie @booktease21 @noiralei @learisa @everythingisoverratedbutgreat @uglipotata72829 @naturalthrone22 @husherstan @mandiiblanche @vicmc624 @newyorkgoddess @itsallyscorner @chipilerendi @emzd34 @writerwrites @bluevxnus @that-girl-named-alex @captnrogers​ @nsfwsebbie​ @sarge-barnes-sir​

[pseudo-possum]

One by one, I'm posting my fanfics to tumblr in no particular order... Firstly, this one...

A Night in the Woods

(Nsfw) Risotto Nero x reader

(yes, I'm bad at titles)

Warnings: NSFW, sex pollen, cum, smut

You fidget with your hands in your lap, trying not to bite your lip. You breathe deep, making a futile attempt to control the heavy breaths you can't help but let out. There's a fire in the pit of your stomach, burning throughout your entire body. Every inch of you is hypersensitive, your clothing feels too hot and heavy, the pressure of your tight panties only making the arousal burn brighter. You look down at the small wet patch on your crotch, and then quickly up at Riso in the driver's seat. His knuckles are white on the steering wheel. His eyes are intently fixed on the road. You dare to look down and have to bite back a low moan as you see the bulge in his pants, tip of his cock leaking a dark stain on the fabric. 

You cross your legs, trying desperately to ignore the burning arousal. Big mistake. You yelp at the intensified sensation, trying desperately to uncross your legs, but your uncoordinated movements catch your shoe under the dash, trapping you. You struggle, the movement only adding more friction. You can't help but moan a bit. Risotto looks at you, a short, pained glance before poignantly staring back at the road. You manage to get your legs uncrossed, spreading them far apart to minimize friction. You see that the wet patch has bloomed to twice its size. It's very noticeable. "You're feeling it too…" he nods, not looking at you, hands somehow gripping the wheel tighter. "The enemy stand… you got hit…" he nods again. "So why don't we…" this isn't the first time you've thought of him this way, but now, every iota of lust you held for your handsome capo is turned up to eleven. 

"I wouldn't want to… take advantage of you… in this state…" god, Risotto wished he could touch you. He'd been desperately in love with you since the day you'd saved his life six months ago. He'd always been too afraid to approach you romantically, worried he'd ruin your professional relationship. 

"Please… it… it burns… I need you Riso…" these words send a chill down his back. The desperation in your voice, the use of the pet name, oh god everything. 

"Are… are you absolutely sure you want this?" He hesitates. 

"Yes… please please please… why don't we consider it… a part of the mission… to recover from an enemy stand… ok?" He looks at you for a long time, before nodding slowly and pulling the car down a dark side road. 

"If you need to stop… just tell me… ok?" He says as he pulls over on the side of the road. You immediately take off your seatbelt, climbing over the seats to lay in the back. You shimmy out of your pants, kicking your shoes off before he even opens his door. You lay, spread out on the seat, every inch of you burning as he opens the back door. Instead of getting in, as you expected, he pulls you to the edge of the seat, taking your underwear in both hands, he tears them in two, exposing you to him. His eyes glaze over a bit as he sees just how wet you really are. 

"Please just put it in me!" You beg, interrupting his reverie. 

"I need to prep you…" he counters, beginning to lick some of your slick off your thigh. Shudders of pleasure course through your body. 

"But I'm so wet… please…" the arousal is more painful than ever. You need to be touched. You feel that if you don't get the attention you so crave, you might die of lust. 

"If I don't prep you I might hurt you… I'll try to make it quick… I want to be in you just as badly." Without further hesitation, he buries his face between your thighs, eliciting a choked moan of absolute bliss. His tongue feels like sweet relief after so long. He inserts a finger into your desperate cunt, then another. They go in easy, and you moan and flex around them, trying desperately to pull them in deeper. He sucks at your clit, and you feel like you're close to an orgasm already, but nothing comes. It feels so good, but it isn't enough. You whine and beg for him to take you. 

When a third finger slides in easily, Risotto decides that you probably don't need as much preparation as he thought. His erection throbs painfully. With a growl, he pulls away his fingers, eliciting a squeal from you. He lifts your hips up, unzipping his pants and freeing his erection. That's when he sees it, a light around the corner. Headlights. Thinking quickly, he shoves you into the backseat, diving on top of you, pulling both your legs in, and slamming the door with metallica. 

You don't see the car until after he's on top of you, well muscled arms enveloping you, his chest against your too tight shirt, leaking erection pressed against your inner thigh. He pulls you into a desperate kiss as the car passes. "It's too cramped in here. We're going to the woods." It isn't a question. Once the car is out of sight, he gets out of the car, pulling you out by the legs and throwing you over his shoulder. You go limp in a blissed out haze. Being manhandled like this turns you on so fucking much. He leaps over the ditch, impact of his landing sending shocks of pleasure through your body that make you leak more of your juices onto your thighs. 

Risotto gently lays you down on the soft moss of the forest floor. He's on you at once, licking and sucking your neck, kissing you, telling you you're the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. Every touch leaves you wanting more, his mouth is so intoxicating. You let out a choked moan as he tears open your shirt and bra, and the night air washes over your chest, cooling your burning skin. He descends upon your chest, licking and sucking your nipples and breasts. Impatience gets the better of him though, and he pulls away, taking his cock in his hand. You feel your mouth fall open at the sight of it. It's even larger than you expected. He strokes his massive length, looking down at you. "Are you sure you want me?" He asks softly. You nod frantically, a burning physical desperation telling you that you NEED him. 

He picks up your hips, pulling your legs around him as he lines up with your soaked entrance. He slides in surprisingly easy, your inner muscles pulling him in deeper. You let out an almost shamefully loud moan, clapping a hand over your mouth. He groans a bit as he penetrates you, filling you slowly, though you want so desperately for him to fuck you into the dirt. Every inch of him fills you so divinely you want to scream. He presses in all the way, stretching you out completely, but there's no pain. He lets out a little gasp. You look down, seeing the cause. There's a slight bulge in your stomach, from where he's so deep inside you. 

"Are you sure you're ok?" Risotto breathes heavily as he stares at the bulge he's created. Your response is enthusiastic, but incoherent as you writhe on the ground beneath him, begging to be fucked. He leans in to kiss you, beginning to rock his hips against yours, whole body shaking from the strain of not pounding into you with everything he has. You're gripping him so tightly he can't think straight, but his will is stronger than his urges, and he knows he'd never forgive himself if he hurt you. 

"Please fuck me harder!" You beg, grabbing at the straps criss crossing his chest, nails catching his flesh oh so briefly, his oversensitive body shuddering at the pleasure pain. He begins to go harder, marvelling at how you respond, slick soaking his pants, mouth agape in sheer, unadulterated pleasure. He accidentally goes harder than he wanted to on one particular thrust, watching you for any sign of pain, but you only cry out, begging him to let go, to fuck you into the dirt. He complies, giving in to the stand that Haze's his mind. Speeding up feels so good, he moans, sweat beginning to run down his face as the heat of an orgasm builds within him. 

Oh god, the feeling of your insides being pummeled is better than anything you've ever felt. Each thrust sends electric fire surging through your veins, making you tighten around him further and further. You can feel every vein on his engorged member pulse within you, his finger finding your clit as you rocket towards an earth shattering orgasm. You come around him, body tensing, twitching, gripping him tight like a vice. 

You're so fucking tight. Risotto can feel his own orgasm swiftly approaching. He redoubles his efforts, pounding you harder through your orgasm. A thin strand of rational thought enters his mind. Birth control. Are you on birth control? He doesn't know. He feels his orgasm begin to wash over him, and, despite how much it pains him to pull out, he does, covering you in a hot, pressurized spurt of stick white. He looks down at the shocked expression on your face. "Sorry… I didn't know if you were on the pill…" he says. And even as he says it, he notices, he's still hard. The painful need is filling him again.

"I don't care! Fucking breed me!" He can tell by the desperation in your voice that you're feeling it too. Your words awaken something primal in him, something that doesn't obey thought or reason. He pushes inside you again, fucking you harder than ever. He loves the way you writhe and moan under him, your body taking him so well. 

Both of your orgasms come quicker this time, somehow, even more intense than the last. He finishes inside you this time, and again, and again, a total of 6 times before he collapses, exhausted onto you. You're practically numb from pleasure as he rolls over onto his back, pulling off his coat and dragging your limp form onto his chest. He covers the two of you in his jacket, and you fall asleep there, safe and warm on his chest. 

…

You wake up feeling sore. You're thirsty, sticky, and there's a dull ache in the pit of your stomach. You look up at the face of your capo, memories of the night before flooding your mind. You blush hard, feeling something sticky between your thighs. You stare at him, pale eyelashes catching the light of the sun. He looks so handsome when he's sleeping. You've never seen him so peaceful before. 

He stirs, eyes opening slowly. There's a look there that you've seen before, but never recognized. It's a deep affection that he's always had for you, a love that goes beyond a professional respect and delves into something deeper. He plants a kiss on your forehead. 

You look up, the sun is high overhead. Oh no! The team! They haven't heard from you since before the stand! You express your concerns to Risotto, who simply says "Fuck." You try to get up, but your legs won't support you. You collapse back onto his chest, looking down at the imprint in the dirt where he dicked you down the night prior. "I'm gonna get your pants from the car. Stay here." He says, groaning as he gets up, leaving you with his coat. You look down at yourself, realizing what a .ess you look. Your shirt is buttonless and covered in dirt and semen, there's cum in your hair and on your face, not to mention the mess between your legs. You need a shower and a change of clothes before you face the team. 

Risotto returns with your pants, a stack of napkins, and a water canteen. You get cleaned up as much as possible, stuffing a napkin into your pants to catch the cum that's still steadily dripping out of you. You drink half the water before he helps you back to the car. He drives while you answer all of the missed calls and texts. You say that there were complications with an enemy stand that delayed you. Which isn't far from the truth. 

That truth, however, can't be hidden from your teammates. "YES!" Melone shouts. "YOU OWE ME $20 FORMAGGIO! I KNEW THEY WERE HOOKING UP." he's silenced by a glare from Risotto as he carries you upstairs for a nice hot bath. 

[mssirey]

Hope (part 10 - finale)

Everything can now be read all together on AO3!

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9

Kara went still.

Her face melted into a smooth, blank stare, and the sight of it invited icy tendrils to grip Lena’s exposed heart, squeezing until all she could do was gasp pitifully. Lena slammed the flat of her hand against the field that kept them apart, crackles dispersing around her skin, but Kara didn’t so much as blink.

It had taken every bit of her courage to put words to the tightness in her chest, to name the heaviness that beat against her ribs, to acknowledge the way gravity had turned against reason and her orbit circled one person. She had never let herself consider it, shrank away from it, welcomed darker thoughts in its place. Love was a fool’s game, after all, and Lena had long refused to play.

In the end, she was a fool and the universe proved its point in its ruthless fashion, her admission met with utter silence, not even a whisper to ease her doubts. Mercy was never meant for her.

Kara was lost—fallen out of reach—and Lena was ready to follow her, to sink beneath the tide of panic and be forgotten by the world. There was no telling what might surface, but she preferred not to see it.

The first break in the stillness was the soft flutter of Kara’s eyelashes and the well of tears that fell down marred cheeks, salted already weeping wounds. “No, no, no, no, Lena,” she whispered, syllables wet and slurred together. Her face cracked, her brow heavy with her devastation, her eyes stormy.

“Kara?” Lena didn’t dare hope, couldn’t survive being wrong, but her heart wished so deeply for it to be Kara—safe and whole.

Kara blinked, jarred from her sputtering, and her head cocked, her gaze distant, looking inward. “Yes,” she breathed, with a startled little laugh. “It’s me! Just me!”

Lena exhaled all the weight she harbored, sank back to sit fully on the floor, numb overtaking her limbs, closing in on the rest of her. “Fuck,” she panted and her body gave out as tension bled away, leaving her a boneless mess. She laid back, covered her face with her shaking hands, and willed her heart to steady.

There was relief, unquestionably, but there was also the sense that she had to answer for the hand she had in the course of events and she was tapped dry of courage. When she could feel her face again, she turned onto her side and lifted onto still trembling hands. She crawled until she felt her legs could support her and then set herself to task.

Kara called after her, her voice warbling and frantic. “Lena, where are you—”

“If Lex thinks I can’t break into a cell I designed, he only has his ego to blame,” she huffed, putting her hands to work rather than facing the continuation of their conversation. She didn’t aim for finesse as she pried the control panel open with ill-suited tools and in a matter of minutes, the door slid open.

Kara had gotten to her feet, and once freed, sidled out with her head hung and her gaze flitting between Lena’s face and the floor at her feet. “Lena, I, um… will you let me say something?”

Lena couldn’t summon the walls of her fortress fast enough, couldn’t contain her spilling heart, but for the first time, that wasn’t as terrifying as the thought of never trying to meet Kara. She nodded.

“I am sorry, Lena,” Kara said as she fidgeted, her hands each seeming to work to keep the other from reaching out. “I worried endlessly about what might happen if I told you—”

“For four years?” Lena was reluctant to press, afraid of what she would find when she opened that vein. Her lips were ready to drink from any cup offered—cracked and broken as they were—but she knew poison when it was fed to her.

Kara gave a pained nod. “I hold onto things too tightly— I always have.” She tried to force a smile, but it never quite stuck. “After everything I’ve lost, I…”

Lena’s stomach twisted, trapped in a vice with jagged teeth that rent her open, let the acid wash into her gut and devour her from within. “Kara, that’s not fair.” How was she supposed to justify her hurt when set against the backdrop of Kara’s loss?

Kara was floundering, lost and trembling. “No, I know, hang on— just, um, let me finish?”

Lena could only offer a stiff dip of her head. She watched Kara’s head lift, her eyes turned up towards the ceiling, her lips moving in a silent whisper—a prayer. When her gaze returned, she was steeled.

“I felt helpless… hopeless, that’s true, but instead of trusting what we had, I let my fears back me into every wrong choice.” All Lena heard was that Kara didn’t trust her and it punched straight into the hollow pit at her core—gave credence to the haunting whispers she argued so fervently against when alone with her thoughts. “I just… I couldn’t bear to lose you.”

It didn’t make sense and her mind screeched its alarm, telling her to run. “I was always there for you,” Lena reminded, her voice cracking under the strain of her withering composer, her knees degrading with the rest of her, ready to give out.

Kara chewed at her lip, but forced her chin to stay lifted, refusing to bend under her guilt. “You were,” she managed. “You’ve always made me feel so whole and I—” her eyes closed as tears streamed down her cheeks, “I didn’t let myself think about how little of me was present for you.” She exhaled shakily before she looked at Lena properly once more. “You deserved better from me, Lena.”

Lena’s doubts feasted, spun every word into another lie, mocked her with the awareness that there was no way to truly know if she was being spoon fed exactly what she wanted to hear. She needed something tangible to hold onto, and without thinking, found herself walking forward. Kara let her approach, watched with wide eyes, her uncertainty stiffening her back.

Lena stepped into Kara’s space and hesitantly reached out. Kara’s hands untangled and fell away from each other, affording Lena more room, and she took it. As soon as her arms encircled Kara, she sank forward, no longer able to deny needing to be held.

“I’m so sorry, Lena,” Kara whispered into her hair as she wrapped Lena up in the shelter of her embrace, cautious at first, but then shifting to pull Lena closer, taking the weight from her with sturdy hands.

Kara’s support allowed her to let go of her boxes, to let the seams of her wretched masks unravel, to fall apart and trust that she wouldn’t be alone to put herself back together. She buried her face in Kara’s neck and wept. Lena clutched tight to the fabric at her fingertips, secured the source of warmth that cushioned her fall. Kara made no mention of the tears that dampened her shirt, only soothed a hand along her back.

With the floodgates opened, her doubts spilled outward. “What did I do to—”

Kara shook her head and squeezed Lena tighter. “You didn’t do anything, Lena, I promise.”

“Then what were you afraid of?”

Kara’s chest expanded in her arms and Lena could feel the heaviness of her heart, the quickened thud against her cheek. “I was scared of letting you down.”

That struck a chord in Lena, plucked at the very strings that appeared in every arrangement she wrote. It was the undercurrent that steered her towards grand gestures and worse decisions, and why she tried so desperately to earn affection. She never felt worthy unless she compensated for every debt, and every misstep, and sometimes it was never enough.

For Kara it had been, or so she had been led to believe. She had bought into it blindly, unaware she was staking her heart until it was too late.

“Kara Danvers is not all of who I am, but she was who I wanted to be.” She tucked her head closer, as if to ensure that her words reached Lena’s ear. “She was important to you and I… I didn’t know how to give that up.”

Lena still couldn’t understand why she was singled out and it tightened her throat until she couldn’t swallow the reasoning.

Kara was important to everyone. She forged light out of her own darkness; she strived not only to be good, but to see good when others might turn away; she understood the power of kindness and empathy; she encouraged strength by way of example; she embodied hope, not in grandness, but in nuance. No one in her life would say different.

“Why me?”

Kara pulled back so abruptly that the air seemed to go with her and Lena’s lungs struggled to fill, but then warm, tender hands cupped her cheeks, and she melted into them. “Lena,” she breathed, her resolve beared down upon Lena with such intensity, her gaze unwavering, “it’s because I love you.”

That was one possibility Lena had never considered and it ripped up every logical foundation her doubts relied on. Her mind went quiet, slowly calibrating to the new way of framing events, wondering how the two of them could have been such fools.

“I’m sorry I let you think otherwise,” Kara said, her hands quivering, her courage wavering. “You are so, so important to me, Lena, and you always will be.”

Lena’s hands lifted to Kara’s wrists, fingers curled around them, wishing she could keep them there. “You promise?”

Kara nodded, relief mixing with eagerness in her eyes. “Yes! Yes, whatever the future brings, whatever we have to face out there,” her gaze flicked to the lab door before returning to Lena, “I’ll be here for you.”

Lena’s breath hitched, her lungs over-full, a spark of warmth igniting in her heart. Her shoulders were less burdened, or her spine sturdier, it was hard to be certain. Her tears didn’t sting the same, instead seemed like a welcome cleansing. Her smile didn’t need to be forced.

Perhaps that’s what hope felt like.

Lena didn’t mind it.

[faceachefics]

Tantrum

1st Day of Kinkmas -- Orgasm Denial

Pair: Brahms Heelshire x Reader

Summary: Brahms has been bothering you all day. You decide to punish him for it, but it does not bode well for you.

Word Count: 1611

Warnings: Smut, bondage, dubcon

   Brahms had been in a mood all day. He was a stage five clinger and felt the need to pester you all day. He hardly gave you a moment of peace, demanding your undivided attention. It got irritating real damn quick. You had enough of his inability to take “no” for an answer. You had been scheming a plan to get back at the burly brat, and now was your time to act.

   “Brahms,” You began. There was no need to call for him because he was already right behind you with his arms wrapped around your waist. “Care to join me in the bedroom?” Your tone was sultry despite your frustration. He was like a ball and chain while you were trying to do the dishes.

   “Yes, please!” He instantly lifted his head off your shoulder and pulled you toward the bedroom. He was eager to have alone time with you, as if it were an uncommon occurrence. You paced past Brahms and guided him to the same destination. He was offput by you taking control. After all, you were practically his servant considering the numerous chores you had to do by yourself. Though he was never far behind you, he wouldn’t dare do such much as pick up after himself.

   You had one of his doll’s ties. It was already in a loose handcuff knot, and you were waiting for the perfect moment to restrain his wrists. Once you were in the room, you patted the comforter, urging him to take a seat. He hesitantly sat down on the spot as you rummaged through the nightstand drawer. You pulled out the tie, and watched as he tensed up. Brahms wasn’t exactly liking where this was going.

   “I wanna try something with you,” You couldn’t help but grin at the thought. It was silent for a brief moment. He looked down at the floor, questioning whether he should allow you to have power over him. He could easily tear through the seams if things turned sour, so it wouldn’t be that much of a problem, right? If he wanted to stop at any point he could make it happen, whether you obliged or not. He look at you and gave you a reluctant nod.

   A low growl could be heard through his mask as you eagerly slipped his hands through. This was somewhat humiliating. Brahms always had control over the situation, and he always got what we wanted. He began to have second thoughts before the “fun” even began. He squirmed against the restraint.

   “Don’t worry,” You hushed in order to soothe his growing anger. “I’m going to make you feel really good. You just have to be good for me in turn, okay?” You knew you were playing with fire here. Brahms was significantly stronger than you have him credit for. He could rip the tie with no issue if he wanted to. You knew you only had control this time because he was allowing it.

   The sweaty brute slowly nodded. He watched you, waiting for you to make your next move. You started with kissing his mask where his lips would be. He hesitated before leaning into the kiss. He couldn’t actually feel it, but it wasn’t like he was going to take off his mask to do that. Not even for you.

   Your hands slid from his hips up to his shoulders. They traveled down his arms to his wrists. You tugged on the tie while you straddled his lap. Brahms let out a rumbly breath as your hips rolled over his. He hated how tight the restraint was, but he loved your touch even more.

   You went from his “lips”, to his neck, to his collar. Hands scoured his torso and made their way down to his hips. They bucked under your weight, anticipating what was to come. You pulled away to watch his reaction as you traced your fingers over his crotch. The bulge in his crotch was growing, and the lack of friction was unbearable. He shifted around impatiently.

   “Y/N,” Brahms said in a warning tone. “What are you doing?” It was an indirect way of saying ‘You better get on with it before I tear this damn thing apart, along with you.’ There was so much need welling up inside him, and he wanted every last drop of it inside you.

   “I’m taking my time with my sweet boy,” You responded. The trick was to reward him with pleasure, but punish him with the anticipation of it all. Brahms was not a patient man. If you kept going like this, it would be over before you could get to the main event.

   “Please, Y/N,” Brahms whined. “I need you.” He was trying to mask his agitation, giving you a chance to cave before he made you. He had been good for you, so he expected you to be good for him too.

   You stood up and stripped yourself of your clothes. Knowing Brahms, you could not afford to take your time with it. Once you were undressed, you sank down to your knees and unbuttoned his slacks. You freed his aching cock from his briefs and took it into your mouth without a second thought. This sudden sensation of heat and wetness was overwhelming, yet satisfying. He knew you’d come around!

    Bobbing your head up and down his length, you dipped your hand down to your groin. You pleasured yourself as you sucked. Brahms found it hard to contain himself, throwing his head back and thrusting upward to reach the back of your throat. He gained more satisfaction from you gagging on his dick.

    Brahms was close, and you could tell by the fast, shallow thrust of his hips. You tried to hold them in place, but they were damn near uncontrollable. Small chants of your name escaped the mask as he came to the brink of orgasm.

    You pulled your head away at last second, a thread of saliva connecting your tongue and his throbbing cock. Ignoring his combined whines and groans, you pushed him over and straddled his hips. You teased your entrance with the head.

    “Ready, Brahms?”

    “Y-yes! Yes, please!”

    He was like putty in your hands at this point. He wanted to cum so bad. You ruined that once, but he could stand to be patient for his sake. The one thing better than cumming while throat-fucking you was doing so while you were riding him.

    You slowly lowered your hips, pushing him inside yourself. Every couple inches, you would pause to adjust to his size. Brahms had to stop himself from moving his hips up. You felt so fucking good, but he didn’t want to hurt you. Not yet at least.

    You let out a low moan as he filled you completely. He grunted and squirmed. It was frustrating that you wouldn’t allow him to feel you up. He couldn’t grip your hips and leave bruise on your tender skin. You felt absolutely perfect as you were, but he wanted more. Knowing he couldn’t touch you made him want to be even rougher with you, to feel his hand around your throat, to see tears roll down your red face while he fucked you senseless.

    The rise and fall of your hips made him groan. You found it amusing how the beast tried to follow your movement with his hips, desperate to release already. It got to a point where you were both meeting midway, with faster and shallower thrusts.

    “Y/N, I’m going to-“

    You pulled him out before he could finish. That was when Brahms realized this was about more than wanting to tie him up. You wanted to torment him, to punish him. Brahms always got his way, and there was no way in hell that was going to change. Fueled with sexual frustration and anger, he struggled through the cuffs.

    Anxiety brewed at the pit of your stomach when you heard the tearing of fabric. You were fucked (metaphorically and literally). Before you could fully process the situation, you were rolled onto your back and Brahms was on top of you, sweating and huffing like a madman. One hand was travelling up and down your body, enjoying it for the first time in about an hour, and the other on his leaking cock, ready to put it back where it belonged. You whimpered under his hungry touch, looking up at him like a deer in headlights.

    “My turn.”

    He growled as he steadily pushed himself inside you. Now a hand was gripping your hip while the other occupied your crotch. He took much joy in watching your eyes roll at the sensation. It didn’t take long for him to speed up. His grunts turned into snarls as he thrusted into you harder.

    “Br-Brahms, I-“ Your whine was interrupted by a hand on your neck. It was the same hand that was pleasuring you. Brahms was the one cumming this time. You, however, had a long way to go before he would even consider letting you do the same. He made one more deep thrust before releasing, letting out an animalistic growl.

    He slowly pulled out and let his cum leak out of you. He knew you would have to clean it up for him later. The thought made him grin behind his mask. Tears formed in your eyes due to the jarring lack of movement and fullness. Brahms hushed you as he leaned over and pinned you by your biceps. His face was inches away from yours.

    “Don’t worry. I’m going to make you feel really good. You just have to be good for me.”

[taylorsage22]

Little brat--Eobard Thawne x reader

Warning-smut,kinky, spanking.

Sitting on the couch you and Eobard watched TV together, or rather you watched TV and he did work on his laptop. Noticing a shadow when his arm moved you just watched him for a moment, his muscles under his shirt twitching as he typed, his chest rising and falling with each breathe. It made you ache for him. Oh that soft uncomfortable ache, the one that goes straight to the pit of your belly when you're around your gorgeous man. This couch wasn't being used the way you wish it was.The two of you sat silently together, until now.

Eobard?" You nudge into him putting your chin on his shoulder leaning on him the way you know annoys him.

"hhmm?" He hums back at you raising an eyebrow but not breaking eye contact with his work.

"When are you gonna be done?" You try to push your breasts together hoping he'll take notice, but he doesn’t. He knows what you want though. You can tell he’s just being difficult by the grin creeping onto his lips.

"Not for a while beautiful, what do you want?"

"You." You state flatly.

"You know I’ve gotta finish this work before I can play with you."

"Hhmmmppf" You pout crossing your arms and sitting back down next to him facing the TV.

He chuckles a bit at you but keeps to his work.

After another moment you face him and spread your legs revealing your little white lace panties. You begin touching yourself and slowly you look at him.

"Im achey Eo, I need you."

He reaches over and grabs your hand pulling it away. He looks you dead in the eyes with a "Don't push it." look on his face and lightly spanks you between your legs causing you to jump.

Did I say you could touch?" He was gripping your wrist harder now waiting for a response.

"No, but-"

"‘No but nothing little girl." He put his paperwork down and pulled you over his knee.

"Count, and you better not miss one or I’m going to start over."

Struggling you try to talk your way out of it. This isn’t going to make the ache go away it’s going to make it worse.

“I’m sorry, I’ll wait patiently, please-"

SMACK!

"Ah! No! I’m sorry!"

"That didn’t sound like 'one' to me darling." He was smiling ear to ear now.

SMACK!

"Two."

"Uh uh, that’s still one.” He sighs. “You never listen."

SMACK! SMACK!

"One! Two!"

"That’s better."

He continued like this for a while, getting great pleasure out of taking some frustration out on you.

"twenty nine."

SMACK!

"Thirty! Eobard! Please I’ll be good I promise!" you sobbed.

He rubs your beet red cheeks softly and slides his hand over your panties between your legs.

"So wet, always a mess."

After a moment of calming the ache with his soft touches he pulled away. Grabbing you by the hair he lifts your face to his and sits you straddling his lap with his legs open so your cum doesn’t ruin his work pants. He pulls off your shirt and bra and starts to ever so softly suck on your breasts. Flipping his tongue against your sensitive nipples you can’t help but cry out and grab his hair.

"Fuck! You’re making it worse!"

He stops short.

"What did you just say?"

"Nothing!" You look up avoiding his eyes.

He grabs you by the jaw pursing your lips and forces you to look at him.

"Did you just swear at me?"

"No! No it wasn’t at you. I’m sorry!"

He pulls you up over his shoulder and over the back of the couch so your ass is lifted up and lands a couple more good ones down on your scarlet cheeks.

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

"please Eo! No more! I’m sorry!"

"Hmmm how to teach your naughty mouth a lesson?"

You've soaked through your panties now, little strings of cum are connected to your thighs. Eobard grins to himself and wipes some of your slick off your thighs and licks his finger.

"Get on your knees."

"Yes sir."

You sit between his knees and he grabs your hair while pulling himself free from his pants and sliding them down to his ankles. The minute his cock is in front of you your mouth waters and you start to lick his length slowly while maintaining eye contact like he likes. He’s thick and you haven’t been able to swallow all of him yet, but you try. He hums as you bob up and down on him drooling and licking as you go "Ok doll face." He pulls your mouth off of his member by your hair and you open your mouth sticking out your tongue for him. He jerks himself off onto your face and cums in your mouth slapping your tongue with his shaft a couple times. You swallow all that was in your mouth and lick your lips. Not letting you clean off your face he immediately pulls you back up onto the couch next to him. "Spread your legs." You do so and he just goes back to his computer and starts reading again leaving you cummed on and dripping just waiting next to him. "EOBARD!" You shout. How dare him! Your pussy is swollen with need and he’s just teasing you. The ache has become a burn and it’s so bad even the slight friction from your wet panties is too good. "I told you to wait." He again doesn’t even look at you, but the smile on his face says it all. "You’re a jerk." It comes out before you can stop it. This was not a time to let your inner monologue spill out but it just happened. Without a word you were over the back of the couch again. SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! You scream this time because the slaps were so hard against the already abused skin. "I’m sorry! I’m sorry I didn’t mean it!" "Didn’t mean it?" He laughs. "I guess you didn’t learn your lesson." Still holding you over the back of the couch he pulls your panties down and starts to tease your already twitching pussy, running his fingers slowly and gently over your wetness. He slides his fingers easily into you, fingering you slowly and rubbing your clit. He reaches over the couch and pinches your nipple not too hard but hard enough to make you whimper. He’s not going to give you what you want until you’re a drooling mess. He knows it, you know it, and that’s why you need him. He stops everything. His leg moves between yours as he gets behind you. He pushes it to your wetness "Ride it" He says bluntly. Sliding over his leg slowly, you’re finally able to relieve some of the ache and get lost in it until you’re about to cum. He senses you’re getting close and pulls his leg away. You’re about to protest when he stuffs his cock into you. He steadied himself with one hand on the back of the couch. "Now little girl," He says grabbing your throat with his other hand from behind and whispering in your ear. "Fuck my cock until I say stop." It was amazing, the way it filled you and pushed you apart. How it unraveled you and sent you speeding towards release. You were so needy and desperate in your movements that he'd started to pant and you loved hearing the noises he made. It made you feel like you had some kind control in the situation. "Eobard?" "Yes baby?" He said with his eyes shut enjoying the way you felt squeezing around him. "Can I please cum?" He opened his eyes and smiled. "No." You moaned and tried to ride him faster knowing he’d stop you. "I said no!" He pulled out of you and held you by your hair. The cum on your face had dried but you could still smell him as he yanked your head back to kissed you hard. You broke the kiss a moment later. "Please, it hurts. I wanna cum on your fat cock, please!" That was it; those were apparently the magic words. He couldn’t resist you anymore. He stuffed it back inside you and started to fuck you into the back of the couch putting emphasis on hitting that deep spot you loved. "Cum for me you greeedy lil slut." He groaned gritting his teeth in your ear. Within seconds you were screaming his name thanking him a thousand times. He pulled out of you and spilled his second load all over your ass. "Thank you!" You smiled and kissed him on the cheek and hopped up to go the bathroom. He sat back down completely drained and wiped the sweat from his forehead. " My Little brat" He mumbled grinning as he settled back to his work.

[twokinkybeans]

Daddy Ain’t So Tough [Starker]

Summary: Sometimes, the word Daddy doesn't necessarily mean you're the one in charge. Or: In which Peter and Tony explore their new little fantasies. Warnings/tags: Nff, smut, incest play/kink, daddy kink, daddy!Tony, bottom!Tony, sub!Tony, top!Peter, dom!Peter, restraints / light bondage, begging & teasing. Notes: HI DEARS! This idea has been in my head for quite a while now and I am so excited that I finally wrote it! PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS/TAGS CAREFULLY. There's some kinks in there not everyone might enjoy. If you do like it, please do continue :) :) <3 And thank y'all for your neverending support! -Kim

Read here on AO3!!

-

“Daddy,” Peter giggles as he straddles Tony’s hips. He trails his fingers down the man’s gorgeous chest. It’s everything Peter could’ve ever dreamed about- even if he hadn’t done it consciously so. The arc reactor is fascinating to him, as are the scars scattered around it. Obviously, the hard lines of the man’s abs are very welcome too. God, he looks so handsome and strong.

“Peter, fuck-” Tony mutters under his breath. Peter simply smirks and he lowers his full weight onto the man’s crotch, causing Tony’s lips to part in a silent gasp. Yeah. Handsome, strong, and entirely Peter’s

It’s only very recently that they made this, eh, discovery. It’s a weird power shift. Contradictory, even. Yet, the shared pleasure shortcircuits their minds more than they’ve ever experienced before. Nothing’s ever been missing, but this? This is a whole new layer Peter aches to delve into.

“‘M gonna fuck you so good, Daddy. That’s what you want, isn’t it? To be ruined by me?” “Yes, baby boy,” Tony lets out a breathy moan. “I’m so ready for you.” The older man tugs on his restraints in a desperate attempt to lay his hands on the striking, youthful body on top of him. With his 22 years old, Peter is absolutely breathtaking. Strong, ripped muscles to hold him down as no one else ever had. His legs tremble at the mere thought. “Petey- please.”

“Mmmmmh- that’s more like it.” Peter puts his hands down right next to Tony’s head and leans in to kiss the man’s warm lips. Peter moans when Tony is eager enough to immediately take a chance and suck Peter’s lower lip into his mouth. His cock twitches against Tony’s stomach and a hot surge of arousal courses right through him. Fuck. Fuck. Tony - ever-in-control-I’ll-handle-this-myself-Tony - is the neediest sub Peter ever imagined possible. “Nu-uh, Daddy, don’t get ahead of yourself now-” Peter murmurs and pulls back, smirking at Tony’s subconscious attempt to sneak in one more chaste kiss. Peter sits up straight, his hands finding their way to Tony’s hard chest again. His fingertips brush past the man’s soft nipples, earning him a loud groan. “So hot,” Peter whispers gently. He scoots down a little, now sitting on the man’s thighs, and he leans in again. “Bet you’ve been thinking about my dick in your ass all day, uh?” He sucks Tony’s right nipple into his mouth. No longer soft, nor gentle, but sucking harshly. Tony’s hips buck up wildly.  “God-fucking-” “Now, now,” Peter laughs, letting go of the nipple and hovering over the left one. Still awfully untouched. “Didn’t think you’d be this filthy when you raised me.”

There. He did it. He crossed the line again.

Peter looks up and swallows, checking quickly if Tony’s still up for- well… This. Tony’s cheeks flush a bright red and he bites down his bottom lip. He stares right back at Peter- also checking up on the younger boy. They’re still treading new grounds, new fantasies, something neither of them dares to admit out loud just yet. “Well? Did you think you’d be laying here, legs spread wide, for me? What would people think uh?” “Peter-” “Well?” “Fuck- fuck fuck fuck.” Tony babbles, his fingers trembling as he clenches them together. Tony is aware that he has to cue Peter to go on. That he wants in fact pretend to be Peter’s actual Daddy. It’s so hard to say it, though. It’s so awfully wrong and yet his dick aches with want. Peter looks down at him, eyes dark and expectant- waiting for a sign.

“If I raised you so well,” he breathes shakingly, “-then why aren’t your fucking your old man just yet?” Peter scoffs, cocking an eyebrow at him. His eyes are twinkling though, teasing and cunning and Tony whimpers quietly.  “You need it that bad, eh?” “Yes. Baby yes.” 

After that everything turns hazy for Peter. He growls low in his throat and crawls even further down, kneeling in between Tony’s legs and spreading them apart until the tip of his cock brushes against Tony’s already slick and prepped hole.  “All those times you punished me,” Peter rushes out, not knowing where the words come from but they feel so right. “Now you ain’t so tough.” “Just take me, kid.”

Peter doesn’t waste a damn second and he pushes inside without remorse, replacing the heat his fingers had been at a few minutes before. Tony’s eyes screw shut and Peter relishes in the feeling of this handsome, powerful man becoming such a proud bottom underneath his touch. He digs his fingers into Tony’s thighs, lifting his boyfriend’s legs up until they’re wrapped around his waist. God, Tony’s so warm and soft and tight and Peter bites back a pathetic whimper as he inches forward even more- the new position allowing him to slide in deeper.  “Call me that again,” Peter groans demandingly. “Wanna hear you lose it for me.” He draws back slightly, now gripping at Tony’s round ass and pushes in again with such force that Tony shifts upwards in the sheets. Peter’s still holding back, not using all his Spider powers, but some. Enough to make Tony’s eyes roll back. “Please, please kiddo, fuck your Daddy.” This time, Peter can’t help the high-pitched noise escaping his throat. He thrusts forward harsh- again and again and again. His movements accompanied by the loud and suspicious creaking of his small single bed and Tony’s choked off moans as pleasure washes over his lover’s face. Peter’s cock almost hurts with how badly he wants to release himself. Fill up the man’s ass with his cum. He wants to claim him, take charge.

Every single drag back and forth has him see stars. Peter’s breath hitches in his throat and he ignores the light burn at his knees where it creates friction with the sheets. It only makes him more feral. More possessive. More… In charge. Nothing else matters right now. All that matters is the sweet melody of Peter’s name falling from Tony’s lips over and over again. The burning pit deep in his stomach grows higher and bigger- warning Peter he’s going tip over that very edge soon. “Daddy, f- ah! Look at you, legs spread wide for your own blood. Fucking filthy, and you even like it- don’t you?” Peter chokes out. “Does it feel good knowing that you no longer own me?” “K-kid-” “Not anymore, not anymore. Tony.” 

Peter reaches down and curls his fingers around the thick, hot shaft of Tony’s cock. He squeezes, wants to drag his hand down and- “Aaah! P-Peter! Fuck don’t stop don’t stop dont-” Tony’s words turn into an incomprehensible string of syllables as white-hot come rains down onto his own chest. Peter watches in awe how the man’s face contorts with pleasure and a hint of blissful shame. His tight hole clenches around Peter’s still aching cock- and every fiber of his being wants to enjoy the same overwhelming euphoria. He quickly scans Tony’s face once, not sensing a hint of discomfort as he speeds up his thrusts. Not in the slightest. “Peter yes please fuck me through it. Show your Daddy how it’s done.”

Peter whines and drops his head forward. Curls stick to his forward where a sheen of sweat had gathered. He’s gonna burst. He can’t hold it back. Not even if he wanted to. His primal instincts have taken full charge of his body and he pounds into the slick heat beneath him until finally, his mind blanks out when filthily sweet sensations shake him to his core. He spills inside of Tony, feels how his cum mixes with the now warm lube. How Tony clenches around him to not lose a single fucking drop.  Peter lets out a shaky laugh, in complete wonderment of how good this can feel. How much better this is than his own hand ever had been. And when finally, after what seems to be infinity, his eyes flutter open; he’s met with the deep, loving brown eyes of the man he’s been able to call his lover for the past three and a half years. 

“Peter,” Tony whispers, body limp and soft and spent. Arching into Peter’s warmth. Peter cracks a smile and carefully lets go of Tony’s legs, leaning down to cover the man’s body with his own. Their legs tangle together while Peter’s cock softens inside of the man. He doesn’t care it’ll make a mess. Peter hums quietly and grabs his blanket to pull it on top of them.  “Tony,” Peter whispers back. Tony smiles, suddenly shy. A feature that will always leave Peter amazed. “Was that too much?” Peter asks. Not out of insecurity, but because he wants to gauge how his boyfriend has experienced it. Tony chuckles, turning his gaze sideways. “No.” He pauses and shakes his head. “That was… Perfect.” “Yes,” Peter agrees. His hands gently massaging their way up Tony’s arms to undo the restraints. “I really, really, liked it too.” “The whole kid thing hit home, uh?” “Fuck yes,” Peter grins. “It’s so… You. But also a good different. It makes it feel natural even when it’s play.” “Agreed.”

Tony groans when he finally lowers his arms now that he is no longer tied to the headboard. His arms wrap around Peter’s shoulders, gently caressing him. Peter smiles, his cock now slipping out of Tony fully, and he nuzzles his face against the man’s neck to nib at the skin there. “You sore?” “If I say yes, will you treat me with a back rub and hot chocolate later?” “Of course,” Peter teases along. Tony beams and nods. “Yes. Very, very sore.” “Turn around then.” “Yes, kid.”

[worldserasingandcreatinginmymind]

Flesh & Blood | Part One (Prologue)

Series Summary: A mysterious stranger with ties to your past shows up in your small village

Chapter Summary: Saint Mary’s Convent of Budapest has an unwelcome visitor

Pairing: Count Dracula x reader 

Word Count: 1445

Warnings: mentions of death & blood (I mean, it’s a vampire story so..)

A/N: spelling and grammar is not my strongest skill so please be kind :) if you want to be added to the taglist please drop me a message in my ask box

- - - - -

1897

It started when the undead man arrived. 

The fishermen found him caught up in their nets and they brought him straight here. He should have been dead. I mean he was dead, but he was also alive and talking. He didn’t make any sense. 

Once he was inside the convent walls none of us saw him. We were instructed by Mother Superior not to enter the room where he was. Only sister Agatha was allowed to speak with him. 

A week passed and we carried on our business as usual, but rumours were beginning to spread about who this man was. More importantly what this man was. 

One night as we were preparing dinner, the usually quiet walls of the convent were suddenly filled with the sound of windows smashing, and an unholy screeching noise. Bats flew frantically around our heads as sisters ran screaming. Then we heard the bell and we knew what was happening. We had been warned this night would come. 

As we hurried to assemble in the courtyard that's when I saw him for the first time. The Count we had been told stories about, stood naked on the other side of the big iron gates.

“Sister Agatha, have you been up to one of your secret projects again?” Mother Superior asks, a hint of annoyance in her voice. 

“You’d better hope so” Agatha responds confidently.

As we get closer I see the Count more clearly. He’s more handsome than I had imagined, even though he is covered in blood.

“This is exciting” he says in a British gentleman voice, pressing his face up to the bars of the gate. “this will be the most nuns I’ve had in one sitting”

Once we are in place Sister Agatha gives us the signal.

“Sisters, present arms” she calls and we take out the wooden stakes we had spent the past week carving in preparation for this very night. 

Instead of striking fear the Count seems more excited. 

“ooh, I see my arrival was anticipated”

“I was aware of the possibility” Agatha responds calmly. 

“Sister Agatha, what have you brought down upon us?” Mother Superior is trying to appear as calm but I can tell she is concerned. 

Suddenly the Count slams up against the gates, the iron banging loudly making us all jump. 

“Coo-ee! Hello ladies!” He shouts but gets no response “I don't want to worry you, but the army of the faithful cant seem to look me in the eye” he scans across the sister’s faces until he lands on mine. I lock eyes with him and feel my breath hitch in my throat. I know I should look away but I just can’t.

“except one” he adds.

Mother Superior turns around and I quickly avert my gaze, taking a deep breath. My heart feels like it’s going to beat its way out of my chest. Sister Agatha takes a step closer to him. 

“You're naked and they’re nuns. Its isn’t your eye they’re not looking at”

“Well isn’t anyone going to invite me in” he ignores her, addressing us again “I’ve come a long way to see you”

“Certainly not” Mother Superior states firmly. 

“Sister Y/N, the key” Agatha says and I look up at her in shock. 

She stands waiting, but she doesn’t take her eyes off the Count. I glance at the other sisters who are looking at me pleadingly not to do it, then back at Agatha. 

“you cannot be serious” Mother Superior questions her

“I am more than serious, I am completely confident” she responds before turning to me and holding her hand out. I send a quick glance to Mother Superior then take slow steps toward Agatha. 

“that’s it Y/N, oh you are a good girl aren’t you?” I try my best to ignore the Count’s remarks as I hesitantly place the key in Agatha’s hand before turning and rejoining the sisters. 

Agatha approaches the gate, puts the key in the lock and turns it slowly. The click of the metal as it unlocks places a feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach. She opens the gate, the Count stands grinning maniacally watching her. Once open she stands almost face to face with him. 

“This is Saint Mary’s convent of Budapest and you are not welcome here.” She says confidently “You are more specifically not invited in”

He glares at her for a moment before a loud roar spills from his blood covered lips. A few of the sisters let out small whimpers, but I stand silently with my eyes transfixed on his face. 

“Look at them” he shouts, gesturing to us “look at your sisters. One of them, thats all I need. If just one of your pretty little army beckons me in…” his eyes fall on me “I will tear your world to pieces and I will drink my fill”

With one last growl the Count turns and saunters away. The courtyard erupts into action as sisters frantically move around but I find myself stood frozen in place watching him disappear into the darkness. 

— — — —

An hour later we have all been called to the church hall to pray. Mother Superior stands at the front speaking to us all. 

“…he will not reach down to save us, we will rise to meet him. Let us pray”

We bow our heads and begin our pleas to God for help and strength but are interrupted by sounds of coughing and a familiar voice. 

“she was just clearing her throat” 

I look up to see the now fully clothed Count holding Mother Superior’s head in the air as he stands next to her headless bleeding body. Panic sets in as sisters scream and flee for their lives. 

The Count closes in on a group of sisters who are backed into a corner but stops when they present their crucifix necklaces. I grab mine from around my neck and hold it up in the air. 

“Oh of course. Nuns. You have those things, which work actually. Even though you will never guess why” he drags a wooden chair into the centre of the room and takes a seat. “So I suppose I’ll just have to control myself. But between you and me, controlling wolves in just so much more fun”

We hear the sound of howling as a pack of wolves enter the room, calmly watching us. A sister tries to make a run for it but is caught and ripped apart in front of our eyes.

“Woah! Oh, ow that must have hurt” the Count laughs and the room erupts into chaos. Sisters and wolves running. Screams and howls merge into one horrendous sound. Blood soaking everything. And in the middle of it all, the Count watching and laughing. 

I realise I would never make it if I tried to run so I fall down the floor and roll under one of the benches, praying silently as I wait for my turn to die. From under the bench I watch as the last remaining sister is knocked down and dragged away screaming. I slap my hand over my mouth tightly to suppress my own scream as the room falls silent. I lie there shaking as I listen to quiet footsteps approach and a wolf sniffing around the bench I am under. 

I close my eyes waiting for the inevitable. 

But it never comes. 

The wolf turns and leaves and I let out a small sigh. 

Suddenly the bench is ripped from above me and I cant stop the scream from escaping my mouth as I look up to see the Count stood over me. He grins at me as I lie there completely vulnerable. 

He extends his hand to me and when I don't take it he raises his eyebrows.

“Y/N” he almost sings my name, but I hear the danger in his voice warning me not to disobey him. 

I comply, reluctantly placing my hand in his. He pulls me up fast and I stumble, falling into him and he holds me close to his chest. 

He brings his face close to mine but I don't dare look at him. He moves my hair gently off my neck and I feel his nose trail across my skin. He pauses.

“You know what, I think I’ve had enough nuns for one day” he whispers in my ear as he releases his hold on me and takes a step back. 

I look at him wide eyed. He winks at me and walks away, leaving me stood alone in the middle of a pool of flesh & blood. 

I will never understand why he spared me, but I feel this is not the last I will see of the Count. 

Part Two

[lordabovehelpme]

Ahh I came across your page and your writing is amazing! Can I put in a request for a Kylo fic? Something like you two get in a fight and you leave, but it only makes him realize how much he loves you and wants to marry you. You come back and he proposes to you?? 🥰🥰

I’m Busy- Kylo Ren x Reader

A/n: Hello! Thank you for requesting! I am so sorry this took so long for me to finally write too. I hope it’s what you wanted! I’m super glad you think my writing is good! Thank you for the encouragement! :)

Summary: You walk out of Kylos life after one too many nights away.

Masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It’s been four nights in a row now that Kylo has not returned home. He hasn’t even checked in with you. The quarters are so quiet and cold without him. You understand that with him being supreme leader he has more jobs and work to do, but he should have a second for you.

Where is he? You walk through the vast halls, trying to bring lunch to your boyfriend. You had made one of his favorites, spaghetti. He will never admit it, but he would kill for your homemade cooking.

There he is; standing in one of the conference rooms, looking out the window. “Kylo! I brought spaghetti!” He turns around to peer at you. Why are you getting a vibe that he doesn’t want you here?

“Love?” You stop in your tracks.

“Why are you here?” There is no affection in his voice.

“I brought you lunch. Did you not hear me?”

“I’m busy.”

“Oh come on,” you sigh, “you’ve never been too busy for my cooking.” You move to touch his arm. He flinches and pulls away from you and your heart shatters.

“Go back to your quarters. I am busy.” He turns back around to peer out the window to the loading dock. You can feel the tears welling up, threatening to fall. He is being insufferable. Maker, you’re just so hurt and frustrated.

“Kylo?” A few drops have left your eyes now.

“Why can’t you understand? I am busy!” He is now yelling at you.

You frown as audible sobs can be heard from you.

“You know what?! My quarters? Of course they’re my quarters because you haven’t been in them in four days. You haven’t even asked me a single question in the past four days. I understand that you’re more busy but you should have at least one second to ask me how my day is!” You’re yelling at him back now. He moves back to face you.

“You-”

“No! Listen here SuPreMe LeADer! I have been trying so hard to support you and you are refusing it!” You have to stop to inhale oxygen. Your breath is coming in short gasps, you’re too overwhelmed to control yourself.

“You’re being unbearable.” Kylo jabs at you.

Your jaw drops to the floor. “How dare you! If anyone is unbearable, it is you! I am bringing you lunch as your wonderful girlfriend and you don’t even want me. If you’re too busy for me then I will leave!” He doesn’t even flinch.

“Leave then.” He says it too calmly. Like he doesn’t even care.

“I will! Goodbye! Enjoy your lunch because it is the last you will have from me!” You throw the spaghetti container at him and stomp out the door.

You lock the doors to your quarters and run yourself a shower. Locking the fresher door for extra measure you sit under the hot water. Your heart is pulling to the pit of your stomach and your tears are being washed away by the water.

***

He opens the door to your quarters, after using the force to unlock it. He feels terrible after how he treated you. Knocking on the fresher door he hears a pathetic whimper from you. Steam flows from under the door, however the water is no longer on.

“Go away.” You sound broken. He feels broken.

“Listen-”

“No. I am leaving.” You open the door and grab a packed bag, walking out of the quarters and out of his life. “I hope you find someone who loves you as much as I did.”

He hiccups. All of your pain flowing into him from the force bond you two share.

When he realizes you’re not coming back he falls to his knees. Flicking his lightsaber on he starts to destroy the wall next to your bed. When the damage is enough, he sighs. “I have no time for this.” He mumbles to himself, forcing all his emotion away from his mind.

***

It’s been a month. You have been making friends with some technicians and pilots, trying to fill the gap that Kylo once owned. Smiles are hollow and laughter is just a sound. Kylo has seemingly not been fased. He is still ordering people just as he was before. When you passed him in the hall earlier he paid you no mind.

***

It’s in two months when you are finally starting to get over him. However, Kylo is breaking, his soul is tearing. He never realized how much you did for him. Whenever he sees you laughing he hurts even further. He misses you terribly, he hasn’t been taking care of himself.

He needs you.

***

It’s three months when you don’t even really think about him anymore. You’ve found yourself a wonderful group of friends and you’ve taken a job as a medic.

Kylo yearns everyday for the energy to even get out of bed. You always used to kiss him awake while you served him breakfast. Then you would help dress him before kissing his helmet as he left. Now he just throws on whatever he can find. He finds he has not been eating full meals, you always brought him food. Why did he let you go? You were his everything. You were the reason he got up in the morning.

Then it hits him.

He wants to marry you.

***

“Kylo is requesting you in the west conference room.” A stormtrooper informs you.

“Do you know what he wants?”

“Sorry, no.”

“Oh, okay.” You set down your book. What could he possibly want?

You were finally getting over him.

***

The conference room was filled with candles and rose petals. You stop in your tracks. One end of the table has a nice cloth on it. Culinary is placed in front of two seats. The plates are covered with cloche.

“Oh, Stardust, here.” He gestures to the table. Pulling out your seat for you, he pats the bottom. When you sit down he pushes your chair in.

“Kylo, what is-”

“No, wait. Don’t say anything. Just let me make up for everything.” It's hard to be mad when he gives you puppy dog eyes and when he is being such a gentleman.

He opens the plater and you are met with the most wonderful smelling soup. “I made it.” He seems almost shy when he says it. You hum at him before trying a spoonful. A melody of flavor dances on your tastebuds. You can tell it is a squash soup, but the other ingredients are unknown.

He sits down across from you. But it is now when you realize how terrible he looks. His undereyes are almost black with loss of sleep and his face looks sunken. Has he lost a few pounds?

“Stardust?” His warm brown eyes lock with yours. Pain and tenderness pour out of his soul. “I am so sorry for everything. For yelling and for not spending time with you.” He is starting to tear up. “I was so stupid for letting you go, for taking advantage of your kindness. I can’t live without you. I realized how much you do for me and how little I do for you. I am so sorry.”

He takes your palm into his. “Please, Stardust, let me try again.”

“Oh Kylo.” You sigh. “You hurt me so bad. You can’t just say sorry and hope it gets better.”

“I know! I have a plan. I will cook dinner every night when I am home and there will be designated hours for us to spend time together. But please, give me a shot. I love you.”

You ponder his options. For a couple minutes before saying, “Well, okay. But you have to promise to listen to me. And you have to make an effort to come home to me.”

He gets up and you think he is going to hug you. But then, he gets on one knee.

Your world stops.

“Stardust, over these past months I have realized how wonderful you are and how much you mean to me. I am so happy when you are in my arms and I fell apart when you left.” He pulls a box from his pocket and opens it. It is a simple silver band with diamonds but the gem in the middle is a red crystal. You could recognize that gem anywhere. It is a part of his kyber crystal from his lightsaber. You hiccup and put a hand over your mouth, trying to conceal your sobs.

“Will you make me the happiest man and be my empress? You can rule the universe alongside me.” He is filled with passion as he asks.

Maker, how could you deny this puppy of a man any longer. You already feel so much better than you have in the past months.

“Yes.” Jumping into his arms, he wraps himself around you. He takes your hand and places the ring on your finger.

“Thank you for giving me a chance when no one else would.”

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Anyway, I hope this is what you were looking for! Thanks again for requesting!

Love, Lordy.