#but then i realized that doesn't make any sense for black

[dravidious]

I think you're really great

Just wrapped up the signposts this morning!

[kyouka-supremacy]

DELACROIX SPOTTED!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[beanghostprincess]

Let's say chocolate is a metaphor for traditional relationships that happen to appear good but are too sickly sweet for Sanji to handle and after WCI he ends up not liking chocolate. At least for a while. He needs to move on from what happened first. But he wants to force himself to like it because he should like chocolate. It is one of the most basic ingredients when making sweets and it is also everywhere.

So what if it makes him want to throw up? What if his stomach betrays him when cooking? What if he needs to stop every two seconds to breathe because his lungs don't work properly when he smells chocolate? He will keep trying and trying to make it work. Everybody loves chocolate, after all, he should too.

But then, one day, Usopp sees everything he has around the kitchen. Like. That's an awful lot of sweets and a disgusting amount of chocolate and he doesn't seem like he has slept in a week. So of course he is concerned. "Why- What's all of this about, Sanji?" He tries to hide his nervousness with a laugh.

Sanji grips the counter tighter. So much his knuckles turn white. "I- I don't know. I guess I was just. In the mood for chocolate." But he doesn't sound sure at all. In fact, he looks like he's about to cry.

"Well." He looks around the room without wanting to touch anything but approaching Sanji a bit to check on him. "Luffy can have all of my portions because I kind of... Not like chocolate?"

"You don't- You don't like chocolate?"

"No? Too sweet. I actually pretty much hate it? The smell already makes me ill."

"Me too."

"You what?"

"I think I don't- I don't think I like chocolate anymore. Is that- I don't know if I ever did. Is that alright?"

"Why wouldn't it be alright, Sanji? It's just chocolate. Nobody can force you to eat it. Or cook it if you really don't want to."

And Sanji realizes that maybe... Maybe it is alright for him to not want chocolate, and a wave of relief takes over him for a solid second.

[trans-leek-cookie]

its late-ish so my thoughts won't be well organized. Well they'll be even less well organized but anyway. I don't think murder is inherently like... Evil like it's not good but there are people who I believe the world is better off with them dead and I don't really care if it happens naturally or by another person's hand. But I can't stand the idea of fucking. Okay the specific concept I'm thinking about are "conscious rounds"- basically if someone was to be executed by firing squad there would be random guns with blanks so theoretically you might not have been the one to shoot the person to death. And I can't abide by that. Even if a murder is justified I don't think it can be justified by fucking self reassurance. I think if you are going to be involved in killing a person you should know exactly what you're doing. And I don't think this is like, something that will make people "better" necessarily (there are people who would prefer to know how they hurt someone and ended their life) but I think it's irresponsible to allow people to distance themself from the deaths they cause. And I think that's broadly true- we should be aware of like, the people who die or are hurt in the process of food, technology, clothing, etc. production because I don't think ignorance or self soothing does any good. Even if people don't care we need to know wether we want to or not.

And just. There are obviously more complex arguments that need to be made and refined and discussed but where I started with opposing the death penalty is internalizing that 1. Obviously, we aren't fucking clairvoyant- innocent people will die because of mistakes 2. Many of the ppl subjected to the death penalty will be marginalized and Black people are especially vulnerable because of antiBlackness) 3. The potential abuse of the system to falsely accuse people is enough to negate any possible "justice" the death penalty could provide and imo focusing on aiding the victims makes false accusations much less appealing because there is no longer* a punishment you can use to harm the person you accuse (idk how to exactly say this but like. I don't think punishment is inherently evil or whatever but 1. The state should not be allowed to use death as punishment 2. The punishments that currently exist (like jail) are largely fucking immoral on their own. Like if someone gets sued for damages that's its own thing. Sorry idk where I'm going with this but mainly there shouldnt be a legal way to get someone killed)

[kaleidescopeghost]

Hey, people are being kinda rude here (edit: specifically To Black People,, 👀👀 as ironic as it is telling-- and it's very apparent they. have a lack of understanding of both feminism as well as womanism.) so I just wanted to drop by as a Black Person™ to let y'all know that Womanism is essentially feminism, but with a focus on the lives and struggles of women of color, particularly Black women. You may ask "why not just call yourselves feminists then?? It's About Ladies! That means it should Inherently include you too, right?" The problem is that it doesn't really. The distinction is made because feminism as we know it today focuses on the White experience and BIWOC often feel/are overlooked within the movement, so we/they've made their own community/subsection of feminism wherein the conversation surrounds observations made by and about the lives of Women of Color, action is made to benefit Women of Color, and sometimes as a collective, they may choose to encourage to make certain life choices to fight against the specific ways both the patriarchy and racism impact their lives. In Womanism, lived experience with racism is an integral part of why the movement exists. also there's a bit more of an emphasis on uplifting eachother in a way that what we often call within the community 'White Feminism' fails to. We have unique struggles as BIPOC who are also AFAB, so when we saw that feminism was consistently lacking in regard to taking into account the oppression of BIPOC, and further yet failing to aid us in the fight for equal rights that included Us and not Just Them as White people as we live in a society where these things really Do matter because we simply are not valued the same as people Because of our race, we just made our own version we could actually rely on :') for folks who are into alternative subculture and music, particularly punk, this is also the difference between/why we have Riotgrrrl and Sistagrrrl !

**Coined by author Alice Walker in her 1981 short story collection You Can’t Keep a Good Woman Down.

** One of Walker’s characterizations of womanist states that “womanist is to feminist as purple [is] to lavender,” suggesting that the term is not intended to designate a branch of feminism but rather a broader movement capable of addressing the complexities of intersectional systems of oppression. (Idk if I was wrong in saying Womanism is essentially feminism, but this gives a much clearer perspective from the creator of the term.)

And part of the reason it is offensive to say Womanism sounds stupid or asinine, is because the word was coined by a Black woman who intentionally formed the word using heavy inspiration from our culture. Not only should some thoughts stay inside thoughts, but perhaps talking to some Black women and hearing more Black English would make you more accustomed to hearing/reading words like this without feeling so bothered

As Alice Walker Also Stated: “I just like to have words that describe things correctly. Now to me, ‘black feminist’ does not do that. I need a word that is organic, that really comes out of the culture, that really expresses the spirit that we see in black women. And it’s just…womanish.”

So yeah! It would be super if we weren't so hostile about this important movement amongst Black, Indigenous, People of Color bc that's. Not a good look at all (Womanism also pays closer attention to Working Class Women in a way which Feminism surprising also doesn't take explicit care to)

We ask your questions so you don’t have to! Submit your questions to have them posted anonymously as polls.

[ghostedbunnie]

nightmare in the daylight

knight!ghost x fem!reader

based on my prompt that you can find here.

warnings: non-con/dub-con, size kink, spanking, oral (f.receiving), fingering (f.receiving), thigh riding, biting, creampie, breeding kink

a/n: i feel so rusty so please be gentle i rewrote this way too many times, it was a lot longer and had more plot but i might just end up writing pt.2 if there is interest, I added a tag list for those who wanted to see this! 🫶

Ghost hadn't anticipated encountering a robbery on the forest trail while en route to collect his king's future wife. It was unexpected but not unwelcome; he was yearning for a skirmish, for blood and broken bones. The recent tranquility had left him restless. These bandits wouldn't pose much of a challenge, but they would at least satisfy his craving.

The skies began to pour as soon as he dismounted from his horse, startling the highwaymen. They were engaged in a one-sided fight with a few knights who had undoubtedly been sent to protect the carriage on its way to his kingdom. Before any of them could react to his arrival, heads started rolling. Chaos erupted once more, with screams of terror cutting through the forest and startling the remaining fauna.

After the final enemy fell to a sword through his abdomen, Ghost approached the carriage with slow, deliberate steps. As he opened the door, he was taken by surprise as a curtain was thrown into his face and a shard of glass was aimed for his neck by a scrawny, wild-looking maid. Despite your trembling, there was a fierce determination in your eyes, a vow that you would not give up without a struggle. Beneath his face plate, the corner of his mouth curled up, and with a wry snort, he deflected the shard from your bleeding hand. Seizing you by the back of your neck like a feisty kitten showing its claws, he pulled you out of the carriage and dropped you onto the chilly, muddy ground. As he turned back to the carriage to retrieve the princess, he realized she was no warrior; she had fainted at the sight of his imposing figure silhouetted against the moonlight.

As he carries your mistress to his horse, you launch at his back, kicking and screaming, trying to make him let her go. He unceremoniously deposits her on the horse like a sack of potatoes. Finally, he turns back to catch your hands, which have been beating at his back, with one of his much bigger hands. Your eyes go wide with terror as the reality of your position with this beast sinks in. He can't help but relish in the look of you now, wet hair sticking to your face, wild eyes, and scratches on your cheek from the broken glass. You look like a tasty meal for his beastly appetite and he's been starving for far too long. You are unaware of it but attracting his attention will be the worst mistake of your life. As he draws you closer with your bound wrists, he whispers into your ear so that you can hear him over the pouring rain, “Yer brave but stupid, girl.” After that, he hits the back of your neck and everything goes black.

The next thing you know, you are standing in front of the king who explains the entire situation. However, somehow that doesn't help the sinking feeling in your stomach, especially when the king mentions a reward for the behemoth of a man towering over you. He is still covered in blood, and daylight doesn't make him any less terrifying. He stalks around like a nightmare in black leathers that hug his form tight and emphasize his width. As if sensing your thoughts, he takes a step closer, taking up more of your space, and before you can move away, you catch the last words uttered by the king: “You brought me, my bride, Ghost, it's only fair you get a reward. Take your pick - anything you wish for will be yours.”

A weighty, gloved paw settles on the nape of your neck, causing you to startle. "I'll take 'er." Your mistress immediately starts to protest but despite her objections, the king simply nods and smiles, disregarding you entirely. You have no option but to allow the beast, that he called Ghost, to guide you away with a firm hand on your nape.

After navigating through several twists and turns, you find yourself in an unremarkable room. It contains only the absolute necessities—a bed and very little else. The one thing that draws your attention in the room is the sizeable tub that is still emitting steam, indicating it was just filled a few minutes ago.

Silently, Ghost pushes you towards the tub, and you promptly begin to retreat away from it. You refuse to bathe in his presence. Even though you are just a servant, you are still a virtuous lady.

“Either you go voluntarily or I'll throw you in kickin' and screamin'.” He growls and then says, "I'll relish it either way." You can sense the predatory undertone in his voice. You're fighting a losing battle, as going willingly gives him complete control, yet resisting might provoke an even more... primal response.

You break free from his hold, realizing that he let you go willingly. 

"Can you... turn around?" he scoffs, moving to a chair that creaks under his weight. Leaning forward, elbows on his knees, he gestures for you to proceed. Though you want to scream or lash out, you hold back, sensing that he's waiting for you to lose control. Instead, you turn around and slowly peel off your muddied and torn dress. As you reach the chemise underneath, you sneak a peek and notice he has removed his helmet and face plate, revealing short dirty blond hair, black coal marks around his eyes, and prominent scars cutting through his lips and brow. Despite his broken nose, he remains strangely alluring, which frightens you. Hastily, you turn back, slide the chemise down, and attempt to hide under the steaming water.

"Good girl," he growls, satisfied with your obedience. Just as the relief that maybe this is all he wanted starts to sink into your bones, it's replaced with dread when you notice he starts shedding his clothes too. He loosens up his dark, blood-stained leathers with ease and deftness you wouldn't expect from a man his size.

"What are you doing?" Panic is evident in your question, but it doesn't seem to bother him at all.

"Can't bathe with my clothes on," he answers matter-of-factly. Once again, a wave of indignation courses through you, but it's quickly overshadowed by a pang of heat that forces you to rub your thighs together underwater. Your eyes can't help but stay glued to him, just as he did to you when you were taking your dress off. He is now down to his breeches, and when he pulls them down his thick thighs, you audibly gasp when you notice he is not wearing anything underneath. This earns you an amused chuckle, especially when he catches you looking again through your fingers.

Your mouth goes dry at the sight of him, but before your thoughts can drift to what lies between his powerful thighs, he steps into the tub with you. Water spills over the edges, though he doesn't seem to mind. He pulls you close, turning you so your back presses against him, your body nestled between his legs, leaning on his firm chest. The light tickle of his hair brushes against your skin, and his strong arm rests across your stomach, fingers splayed making you feel even smaller. The contact makes you squirm, but as you try to pull away, you only stir the hardening length behind you, making you flush with heat.

“Relax,” he grunts into your ear, more command than a suggestion.

“How can I possibly –ah.” Your reply gets cut off by a moan as his other hand falls from the edge of the tub and wanders between your legs. Your attempts at closing your legs seem futile even with one hand he is strong enough to force his way in and drag his fingers through your folds nearing the opening. Your spine arches instinctively and he answers with a nip to your neck and jaw, while forcing a finger up to the first knuckle in. 

“Gotta loosen you up a bit, pet.” You have no choice but to surrender to his touch as he sinks his finger in and curls it, drawing a moan out of you before you clap a hand over your mouth to keep the sounds in. But all that decorum is forgotten when he adds a second one and scissors them before slowly prodding you with the third making you see stars. The tension building in your body suddenly snaps, sending you reeling, legs going numb and your fingers digging into his arm still wrapped around your stomach. 

With your mind hazy from your first-ever orgasm, you don't even register that he pulls you out of the bath, drying you, and carrying you to the bed in the center of the spacious room. Your body already half asleep.

His gravelly voice pulls you out of your post-orgasmic haze. “Naive, little thing.” Suddenly he is trailing hungry, open-mouthed, and nippy kisses down the length of your body. Marking your neck and collarbones with angry red marks, biting down harder than necessary on the underside of your breast leaving behind imprints of his teeth, and making you hiss when the pain mixes with the pleasure, he licks a trail down your stomach and in a moment of clear-headedness you try to fist his hair and tug him up and away from your center but his hair is cut too short for any leverage. When you lock eyes with him, between your legs forcing them open with hunger and lust written all over his face you try to get away just for him to deliver a loud smack to your outer thigh before dragging you closer and licking a stripe through your folds with a loud guttural groan that you feel more than you hear it.

His thumb circles your clit while he alternates kissing, sucking, and fucking you with his tongue. When your squirming in an attempt to get away turns into grinding your hips against his face, his other hand rests on your stomach adding slight pressure and making you cry out which only spurs him on. The sounds that reverberated through his chest were nothing short of animalistic and when your second orgasm shot through your core, you fell limp against the sheets with a moan that would make you blush if at least half of your brain was still functioning properly. A new wave of panic sets in when you realize that he isn't stopping. On the contrary, he probes you with his fingers in addition to his tongue. You can feel the coil in your lower belly tightening again, heating up with his ministrations.

You plead with him, saying you can't take anymore just for him to disregard it with a growl, “You've got plenty more in ya.” 

You've lost count of how many times you came when he manhandled you around onto your hands and knees propping your hips up with a pillow. You turn to look at him with heavy-lidded eyes and your breath catches in your throat at the sight of him standing behind you with his massive hand tugging at his thick, angry-looking, and leaking cock with his eyes glued to your core, still pulsing and wet from all your previous orgasms. Without warning he grabs your hips, aligns the blunt head of his cock with your entrance, and pushes in. Your fingers dig into the sheets from the sheer stretch as you mewl and whimper when he drags himself all the way to slam back in. Everything is too much and not enough at the same time, with every thrust his fingers dig into your hips and you are sure there will be fingerprints left with how hard he is gripping you and the idea makes you wetter. Prompted by the delicious drag of his cock your walls keep tightening around him, as he pushes you closer and closer to your release. One of his muscular arms circles your waist, his chest flush to your back, as his other arm comes to rest next to your head with one of his legs still firmly planted on the floor and the other resting next to you on the bed for better purchase. This new angle combined with the gravelly grunts so close to your ear become your undoing and you hurtle full-force into another mind-numbing orgasm with Ghost following close behind.

“Come f'r me, pet.” Again, not a suggestion but a command and who are you to refuse him? So you do as he says, pussy fluttering from the aftershocks as he fucks you through it, thumb circling your clit before he fills you up, not allowing you to move an inch, keeping your hips propped up and when he pulls out which drags another set of whimpers from you he meticulously pushes his spend back with thick, calloused fingers. “Gotta make sure it takes.” 

If your consciousness weren't slipping away, you'd likely be alarmed, but instead, your eyes begin to close again, and this time, sleep claims you.

You wake to a heavy weight pressing down on your back, and it takes a moment for your mind to catch up with the events of yesterday. When it does, your entire body flushes and you attempt to move out of bed, only to find it futile. You're pinned beneath strong arms marked with scars—some from arrows, large and small, and others older, circular, and still appearing raw.

Your thoughts are abruptly interrupted as a thick, muscular thigh presses deeper between your legs, forcing them apart. Without much thought, you begin to grind against it, a primal urge stirring within you. Despite the lingering soreness from yesterday, a fresh wave of need starts to build, and any trace of resistance fades in the face of overwhelming pleasure. It feels shameful, but you can't stop the tentative movements, slowly finding a rhythm—until the sudden flex of his thigh makes you gasp, your eyes rolling back.

“So needy,” he growls close to your ear but there's no trace of anger in his voice, if anything he sounds pleased. “Come on, ride it harder.” He punctuates the sentence with yet another flex of his thigh and a nip to your neck, making you shudder but follow through with his command. As you grind back against his thigh you take a note of his cock stirring, resting heavy and hard between your bare ass. You push against it absentmindedly and find yourself pinned under him, your legs still held apart with his thigh that's now embarrassingly slick with your arousal. The visual of it makes you turn your head away, eyes closed and whimpering. Ghost doesn't like that. His massive paw of a hand grabs at your cheeks, your lips puckering involuntarily while he grunts at you to keep those eyes open for him. As he licks into your mouth, it suddenly dawns on you—this is your first kiss. You had already let this beast inside you before even sharing a kiss, and everything felt so out of order, that it made you want to scream and cry. Instead, you settle on throwing your hands around him and clawing at his back as he aligns himself with your needy, sore pussy and thrusts to the hilt without so much as a warning.

Even after yesterday, the burn of the stretch to accommodate his length makes fresh tears spring up into your eyes and roll down the apples of your cheeks. You swear you see his scarred lips twitch up into a savage smile at the sight of them before he licks them clean off your cheeks with a satisfied groan. In retaliation you dig your nails deeper into his sturdy back, hoping to break the skin and leave a mark that only ends up urging him to fuck you harder, faster. The sounds reverberating in the room drive you crazy; over them, you don't even notice a soft knock at the door but whoever it was scurries away registering the sound of the moans he wrings out of you with one particularly hard thrust that pushes so deep you swear you can feel him in your throat. Effortlessly he manhandles your legs on his shoulders to hit a different angle. As you struggle with the overwhelming feeling of fullness he leaves a deceptively soft kiss on your ankle before he folds you in half again and wrestles another mind-shattering orgasm out of you and succumbing to one himself, painting your insides with his spent. Pulling out, he doesn't bother moving, he simply rests his head on your chest between your breasts, squeezing the air out of your lungs with the sheer size of him. “Rest now, pet. Plenty of time for more o' that later.”

At that moment, you know there is no turning back; you've been taken, branded from the inside out. You wonder if this is truly so horrible, perhaps this nightmare of a man will drive away all the other nightmares plaguing your mind.

Or perhaps he is even more dreadful than your imagination could have ever conjured.

taglist: @a66-1 , @ghostlythots , @rttxcmt , @september-22-1998 , @fluffysmiko , @gyusbrownie , @bumblebeesfromvenus , @magicalforestcat , @nommingonfood , @tami-doodles , @fateisnotafactor , @m-a-l-a-c-z-a-r-n-a , @nicolebarnes , @msdevil333 , @lilpothoscuttings , @tealeaftallulah , @not-reptilian , @moonfloweronmars , @aliceinwonderland-5678 , @marshmelloe , @i-love-you-just-the-same, @lazyperfectioniste , @tragedyinwaves , @thisisforthebest97 , @talkingcorn , @hxnneydew , @resplendantrosewood , @telvannitea , @the-casual-act , @hello-lemons, @kiwicopia , @just-a-sewer-goblin

[navybrat817]

Feeling in a mood today. Would you consider some angst with Bucky? You can ignore!

I feel like angst isn't my forte, nonnie, but I'll try?

Stood Up

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky asks you out on a date and doesn't show.

Word Count: Almost 1.2k

Warnings: Angst, sadness, insecurities, embarrassment

A/N: This may get a Part 2. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

You chose a simple black dress for your first date with Bucky. It wasn't too dressy or over the top, but still nice enough that you hoped it caught his attention. If the sight of you could put a soft smile on his face and warmth in his stunning blue eyes you'd consider it a win. Maybe he'd even tell you how beautiful you looked.

But your date was supposed to start almost an hour ago, and he still hadn't arrived.

You perked up when you looked toward the door, only to feel disappointed yet again when it wasn't Bucky who walked in. Checking your phone, you scrolled back through the messages. You had texted him earlier in the week to be on the safe side and he confirmed all of the needed date information; date, time, restaurant. You arrived at the right place at the right time on the right date. It was all you looked forward to this week.

You thought Bucky was looking forward to it as well since his last message was, “Can't wait to see you, doll.”

The sergeant looked almost nervous when he asked you to grab dinner with him. You were pretty sure he ran a hand through his hair three times before he got the question out. But the way his eyes lit up when you said yes, it was a look you’d never forget.

“It��s a date,” he had smiled, your heart fluttering. “Maybe we can go dancing after? Or we can dance in one of our apartments? Or we can play it by ear.”

“I’ll wear my best dancing shoes.”

You were trying to stay optimistic that he would show, but the knots in your stomach tightened when you realized he still hadn't replied to your follow up messages since you got to the restaurant. Did he have to take a last minute mission and couldn't let you know? Was he just running late? Or did he simply change his mind about the date?

“Where are you, Bucky?” you whispered, praying he wasn't hurt or worse.

The server cautiously approached your table once you set your phone down. “Is there anything I can get for you?” she asked.

“Oh, I’m fine,” you forcefully smiled, gesturing to the untouched glass of wine in front of you. “I’m still… waiting,” you added, your voice cracking on the last word.

A look of pity crossed the server’s face. Maybe you were imagining it, but you felt other eyes on you, too. You didn't want their sympathy or anything else for that matter. “Please let me know if you need anything.”

You managed a nod and nothing more, your eyes burning as you blankly stared at the menu. It didn't make sense. Bucky wasn't the kind of man to stand someone up. He wouldn't leave you in the middle of a restaurant by yourself without a good reason. Right?

Your hands shook when it went past the hour mark and you typed one more message to Bucky. “I’m still at the restaurant and worried since you aren't here. I hope you're okay.”

It took another fifteen minutes for it to finally sink in that Bucky wasn't coming. As much as you didn't want it to, it hurt. So much. Luck wasn't on your side when it came to relationships, but you thought this would be different because, well, Bucky was different. You should've known better though. You should've known him asking you on a date was too good to be true.

The server made eye contact with you across the room and quickly made her way over when you took out your wallet. “Oh, that glass is on the house. Unless there's anything else I can get for you?”

“Oh. Um. Thanks.” The gesture brought tears to your eyes, and you wished you could bury yourself in the ground then and there. “I don't need anything else, but I still owe you a tip for taking up the table for over an hour,” you said, leaving some cash on the table and giving her one last smile as you stood up on shaky legs. “Have a good night.”

“Ouch. Stood up. Been there before.”

“Oh, shit. I think she’s crying.”

“Poor thing. She was sitting down before we got here.”

The whispers from the patrons were practically screams in your ears as you left, and you had to steady yourself once you got outside. The cool air did nothing to soothe you, and wiping your cheeks didn't stop the tears from falling. Humiliation aside, your heart ached. Putting yourself out there wasn't easy, but this sort of rejection hurt more than a firm “no”.

Worry seeped in because you didn't want to believe Bucky would do this on purpose. What went wrong? Why didn't he show up? There had to be a reasonable explanation.

You dialed his number, your heart stopping when his voicemail popped up after a few seconds. “Hey, this is Bucky. Leave me a message.”

You cleared your throat to speak. “Hey. It’s me. I waited for you… at the restaurant, but I guess… I guess you just couldn't make it, so I'm heading home.” You paused to sniffle and prayed he wouldn't catch it if he listened. “Can you just… let me know you're okay? Please, Bucky?” you asked, hanging up before you could say more.

The little optimism you had left faded completely when you checked your messages one last time. The messages had gone from delivered to read. He got them and didn't respond. Not one single word. He just… ignored you.

Maybe everything was fine with him after all and he realized you weren't good enough to go on a date with.

Choking on a small sob, you tucked your phone away. You didn't bother with a cab. The walk could help clear your head. You didn't care if the distance would ruin your shoes. It wasn't like you had anyone to dance with tonight or any other night.

“I’ll be fine,” you whispered to yourself, curling in on yourself as you walked. It hurt, but you’d be fine. You'd suck it up, put a smile on your face, and convince everyone that all was well because that was the way it had to be.

But how would you face Bucky come Monday? You still cared about him, but how would you be able to look him in the eye and hide the hurt you felt from being left all alone in that restaurant? How would you move forward together if he didn't want you?

No, not together. There was no togetherness at the moment since Bucky stood you up. He clearly didn't want you. Maybe he never did and he only asked you out as a fluke or some obligation so people would stop trying to set him up.

You wiped at your cheeks again. The unknown was going to keep your mind racing until he told you why he didn't show. He owed you some sort of explanation.

But tonight, you'd walk home alone with a heavy heart and hoped that whatever Bucky was doing that he was okay.

I need a happy ending for them immediately. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[yanderenightmare]

Gojo Satoru

TW: implied noncon, desperate starved reader, God!Gojo

gn reader

based on this by @hawnks

He's worshipped, but worship alone doesn’t make those who pray by his shrine his belongings.

Even pets run away when they don't like the food.

He could take lives, which suppose some of his fellow gods might view as ownership, but right when he ran out of places to wash the blood off his hands, he’d sooner found it to be an empty pastime bearing no merit.

After all, taking lives doesn't mean they belong to you—it just means they’re dead. 

He'd come to realize that the power to take is a far cry from the prospect of actually owning something—something he can truly call his. He could level a forest and everything in it, crush mountains to deserts, drink the entire ocean dry—but it wouldn’t make any of it his.

It leaves him feeling stingy when yet another measly human comes before him—on your knees with your forehead bowed in the dirt, skinny hands shaking while laid flat out before you, cracked lips crying his name.

With his chin propped in his palm, he yawns while listening to you, and with jaded eyes, he nearly dismisses you altogether. But there’d been a question he’d been mulling over lately—one that had found its way to the tip of his tongue.

“What do I get in return?”

You’re only asking for very little—one of the humbler humans who still bother praying to him. You might see it as greedy of him to ask you for something in return—a poor soul with nothing but your sorry name. But what you don’t understand is that you and he are the exact same.

Dirt poor.

In many ways, he has it a lot worse. You could die. He could not. Infinity would pan on forever and drag him with it as if with a ball and chain—and he’d remain destitute and alone for the entirety of it all.

Which is why…

“You can have me, I guess…”

It sounded so sweet—like a vow.

You say it with such defeat, as though you’ve already accepted his rejection—as though you’re about to offer yourself to the forest next—as though you're worth nothing more than returning to soil again. 

You don’t notice the new light in his eyes that threatens to swallow you whole, nor do you hear the growl in his gut like a beast awoken from a deep slumber—starved to death if he only could. His tongue swells with sweetness, it nearly runs over and spills down his chin.

Your offer hangs still in the air, poised and waiting for him to grab it, brighter than a star. It nearly frightens him—how much he wants it—how desperately he yearns for it. His fingertips buzz with thrill as he reaches out. He’s never held something like it before—soft and warm and flickering with something fleeting and precious. It almost feels wrong for him to hold it in his blood-soaked hands. Eyes all but blacked out as he looks down at it.

“Mine, you say?” 

You feel it, too, but it’s not close to the same sense of elevation—how he reaches into your chest and scribbles his name on your soul. Each letter is heavier than the last and leaves you curling in on yourself in agony, screaming before you fall silent.

Panting once you look up, you clutch your chest, only to see his sneer gone, replaced by something worse—something haunting.

The regret is palpable. You pick yourself up and take to running away—but by then, it’s too late. You don’t make it more than two steps before something has you tugged right back—this time into his embrace.

“I accept your generous sacrifice, little human.”

His words weigh awfully heavy while you shudder in his lap. His skin is like marble—shimmery and cold as his hands wrap around you, holding you tightly as he puts his lips to your neck.

"I'll take precious care of you..."

You feared he’d bite, but the kisses that commence feel no less like a collar being fastened snug around your throat. As well as his promise—like being sentenced to spend eternity right there, hand-fed under that awful smile on his face.

♡ GOJO SATORU masterlist ♡ JUJUTSU KAISEN masterlist

[iamthepulta]

I work in resources and can help! The transition from Mercantilism to Capitalism varies around the world. Mercantilism came before it. It's similar to capitalism, but much more state-centric. Raw materials were brought cheaply from out of state, often colonies, and then more expensive finished products were manufactured and sold to increase the (what now would be) GDP of the nation.

In Mexico and the Andes, Spanish merchants would often abandon poorly made trade goods, like breeches, jewelry, silk stockings, on natives' doorsteps, and then take by force the 'payment' they were owed. Donkeys, mules, llamas, money, weaving, cloth- anything of value. Colonies were the cheapest way to do this, obviously, because you often taxed the raw material going out (a tenth of silver went to the crown) along with the cost of mercury to produce the silver. And then money was made selling back to the colony.

So, very similar to capitalism with a working merchant-class, but primarily focused on raw goods and "mass produced" items were still hand-made and local.

The switch to capitalism happens when private owners begin to take control of production and work management. We can see this in England in the early-1800s when individual estate owners began to exploit the coal on their property: much more focused on bank loans, investment from other private funds, and depended on technology detaching manpower as the limiting factor of production. If we think of nitrates and gunpowder detaching the amount of people you can kill from the amount of people on either side of the battle, technology did this for production.

When you can create an unlimited number of bedsheets with mechanical looms, you're only limited by raw materials (cotton) and the number of looms you have. Which is why we see an explosion of exploitation for both people and materials.

I guess the TL;DR answer to the question is Neither. Capitalism is a fundamental transition of a state so that their production is only limited by raw materials extracted, and demand for the product.

Thus, improvements in capitalism = improvements in the removal of manpower as the limiting factor of production = increases in the amount of resources necessary to produce one item.

Question, since my knowledge is a bit more shaky in this area:

Would the emergence of 'capitalism' be more of a French Revolution thing (with the transition from a feudalistic to capitalist society), or would it come a bit later with Marx's and Engels popularization of the revolutionary stages of history? Or is it a bit of both/neither?

I’m gonna be honest, my expertise is the Pueblo II-IV periods in 900��1450 CE US Southwest, with some experience in 1800s New England and the Bronze Age Aegean. The emergence of capitalism is not my forte; I was counting the beginning of capitalism from the Industrial Revolution in the late 1700s. I now recognize that that’s a much more complicated question than I gave it credit for!

[stevieschrodinger]

Part one

Steve’s alone with fish guy, and it’s the perfect time to make his second attempt. For the first time Steve figures the guy must finally be relaxing, if only a tiny bit. The frozen peas were a massive hit, and maybe that’s helping. Being hungry like that must be really shitty, especially if it’s for a long time, like Steve suspects from the look of fish guy.

Maybe fish guy is starting to realize that this isn’t the labs under Starcourt any more. That Steve and his friends aren’t here to hurt fish guy.

Steve flicks another pea off into the water as he drinks his coffee; fish guy retrieves it in a flash, his eel like black tail easy to spot in the water, quickly coming back for more.

The kids keep calling him a merman - but he doesn't look like any cartoon or kids picture Steve's ever seen. His tail is too flat, for one, definitely more like an eel, plus there's no fins that Steve can see.

Steve offers him a handful of peas, carefully cupping them until fish guy has his hands cupped underneath, ready for them to be tipped in. They don’t touch, and Steve vaguely wonders if the guy will feel cold from the water. The skin of his fingers isn’t pruned like a regular persons would be, which makes sense since he’s a fish guy. Maybe he’ll feel clammy, or rubbery. Or scaly. Steve van very vaguely remember petting a stingray in a low tank at the aquarium once, surrounded by other kids. Might have been a field trip or something, but he can remember how surprised he was by the feeling of the mottled brown skin. Super rough, like sandpaper. Fish guy doesn’t look like he’ll feel like that either, though.

Fish guy eats his handful of peas and then looks back to Steve expectantly; or at least, that’s what he’d call it on a human person. It must be the same sort of thing though, right? The top half, at least, is built the same, right?

Steve’s down to his last handful of frozen peas; he’s already called Robin, she’s going to pick up a bunch of groceries of the green variety on her way over after her shift later. Also a few other bits, like carrots and bell peppers, to see if fish guy will try them.

Steve holds up a single pea between his thumb and pointer finger. Fish guy’s eyes track it from where he floats, a foot away from the ledge. Steve taps his chest, “Steve,” and then he points to fish guy.

Like last night, he comes a little closer, lifting out of the waster a little and then, cautiously points at Steve, he makes a noise that...kind of...sounds like ‘Steve’. His voice is raspy, and the word is kind of mangled, more of a sad ‘Steee,’ but near enough. It looks like he’s really trying, brow furrowed with concentration.

It’s not what Steve wanted, but Steve gives him the pea.

It’s overcast today, same as yesterday, and the day before. Blowy and cold. Steve doesn’t want to stay out here much longer, so he dumps the remaining peas into the water and then gets up and heads inside to wait for Robin.

Steve’s nearly at the door when he hears a splash and then a mournful, “Steeeeeeeeee.” and immediately regrets all of his life choices.

He sighs, and goes back to the pool, “yeah?”

Fish guy tilts his head, frowning, and then lifts his had out of the water, pointer finger and thumb a smidge apart...just like he’s holding an imaginary pea.

Well. Communication is definitely something they will be able to work on then. But Steve flaps the bag, showing the picture of the peas on the front, and the face that it’s very clearly empty, “all gone. Finished,” Steve makes a cutting motion in the air with the side of his hand, to indicate they’re done.

“Inied,” the fish guy manages cautiously.

“Yeah, finished.”

The fish guy watches him for a second, and then dips back down under the water, off too huddle in the bottom corner of the pool.

Steve wonders vaguely if he’s still hungry, but hopefully it won’t be that much longer before Robin gets here.

“I don’t think I’ve ever met someone who really, genuinely likes celery.”

“Me neither, it’s like peppery water.”

“With hair in.”

Fish guy though, very clearly, likes the celery. He didn’t quibble over the cucumber either, that disappeared very quickly. He was cautious about the carrots, but with a little encouragement, and a lot of sniffing, he ate the bottom half of one, not seeming to like it so much at the thicker end.

Steve hands him an entire bell pepper, watches as fish guy takes a bite. He seems to like it, but then pulls a face, scraping desperately at the seeds on his tongue and spitting the whole mess out into the water. Steve can’t help laughing. Fish guy looks affronted. The look of genuine distaste and irritation on his face is very human and also hilariously funny.

“Oh Steve, I think you offended him,” Steve wipes the tears away to see that Robin is right, and fish guy has gone to huddle in the far corner of the pool, only his eyes peeking out. That’s got to suck, having no where to go. No where to hide; no privacy at all.

“This has got to suck for him; he’s stuck in an empty box,” Steve tries to imagine living his entire existence in a completely empty room; he can’t, not really.

“Well what can we even do with him? He seems to be freshwater, so the oceans are out. Even if we let him go in a lake, we don’t know what he understands about people, if he got caught…” she trails off. Steve doesn’t need any help imagining what could happen.

“I don’t know but...we need a plan...and he needs something to do.”

“What like, enrichment for his enclosure?”

It’s the first sunny day for a while. Steve had been getting resentful about it but a bit of warm sunshine is starting to make up for it already.

Steve looks uncertainly down at the bucket of dollar store toys he’s paid for. Doesn’t matter that the kids picked them all out, apparently Steve is still the money in this operation.

Plus gas; they had to travel further since the mall is now a fenced off ruin.

All the kids are on their knees at one end of the pool; all of them holding something. There’s a slinky (he can play with it along the edge), a Rubik’s cube (water proof, and we might be able to figure out if he can see color), a bucket, a plastic dog bowl (it’ll float, you can fill it with peas), a rubber duck, and a ball.

Fish guy, on the other hand, had retreated to the furthest corner he could, curled up into a ball, and stayed there.

Steve’s starting to suspect that the noise of the kids constant chatter and bickering is actually a bit too much for fish guy to handle, from the way he either hides or watches them wearily from the other end of the pool. If they move, he moves.

“Maybe if we spread out, then one of use will be close enough because he won’t have anywhere to go-”

“Absolutely not,” Steve tells Dustin, “that’s cruel, if he’s hiding it’s for a reason. Just let the stuff be and he will deal with it when he’s ready.”

He gets a little bit of whining from them, mostly Will and Dustin, if he’s honest, all the other kids seem to be really understanding.

The ball and the bucket they let go to float around in the water, and the kids soon loose interest and head off to cause trouble elsewhere.

Steve desperately wants to dip his feet in the pool, same as he would on any other day, but since there’s someone living in it, it feels kind of rude. Like he’d be knowingly walking mud into someone's house, or something.

Steve kneels at the same end of the pool the kids were at, he doesn’t want to startle fish guy by appearing right above him. If he comes to Steve or not should be his choice, but Steve has two bunches of celery and a dog food bowl filled to the brim with frozen peas, so he thinks his chances are pretty good right now.

He’s right, fish guy does come over, but his whole face is scrunched up and he misses the celery on the first try; it takes Steve an embarrassingly long amount of time to figure it out, even with the guy eating with his eyes pretty much closed.

It’s the first fully sunny day they’ve had, and the guy had been in a shitty artificially lit lab, and before that, presumably the Upside Down for his whole life.

It’s fucking bright out here.

And even as he takes his sunglasses off, Steve has no idea how to communicate this with fish guy.

Steve has the bowl of peas for leverage, but still. He shows them to fish guy, who, squinting, does come closer. And then Steve hands over the glasses. Fish guy, face all scrunched up, tilts his head, looking at them.

Steve takes them back, put them on, takes the off, and offers them again. Ever so carefully and slowly, fish guy takes the glasses. Steve knows fish guy is at least kind of smart; he’s confident he will figure this out. He’s proved correct pretty fast when fish guy holds them up so he can blink up through the lenses.

And then he...very carefully, almost comically carefully, slides them on.

He grins up at Steve, and Steve floats the dog bowl in the water, giving it a nudge.

Fish guy looks delighted.

Part Three

[sincerelybubbles]

hi! i loved your hotch x shy!bau! reader fic! would you ever make a second part? or like a continuation of shy!reader and hotch moments? ty! <33

yes yes i wanna keep writing for them so if you guys have anything in specific you want to see, lmk!!

hotch asks shy!bau!reader out for their first date

You stare at the papers in front of you, trying your best to narrow down the geological profile with Reid; trying harder to not let your thoughts wander and distract you. It's hard - Hotch offered to go with you to the new Korean BBQ place before JJ called in the new case. You keep waiting to hear him extend the same offer to the others - specifically Rossi who never turns away an offer to try out a new restaurant or Morgan who is always down to go out with the team.

Instead, he's talking quietly with JJ about Jack's new teacher, unable to do any more work on the case until the jet touches down.

"Okay, we can cross out this county," Spencer says, interrupting your thoughts and reaching across you to mark through a small section. Eyes flicking across the paper, you furrow your brows, confused by the choice.

"Why?" You ask, hand moving to stop his pen strokes before you double-think and let it hit the tabletop.

"Because it's too easy for him to hit if he wanted to. It's been too long, he must have no interest in the area."

"It's low income, exactly his MO. He might hit it later, once he realizes..."

"No," Spencer says, shaking his head before you can finish your sentence. He finishes blacking out the area with his Sharpie and caps the pen, not looking over at you. "That wouldn't make any sense."

Tounge caught by your nerves, you slowly nod your head instead, deciding to give the topic up for now. The next wall the team hits, though, you're determined to readdress the area.

Deciding you need a moment to yourself, you excuse yourself quietly and stand to move to the back of the jet. You stretch your arms above your head, rolling your head back to feel the stretch in your shoulders.

"What county?" Hotch asks, reaching a hand out to intercept your path as you pass him.

"Sorry?" You ask, breath catching on the word as his hand brushes your arm and loops loosely around your wrist. Next to him, JJ has fallen asleep against the window. You feel bad for her for a moment, remembering her talking about Henry's recent sleep regression.

"The county you mentioned to Reid - which one was it?"

"Morris," you say instinctively, still hyper-focused on his hand. His thumb swipes against your wrist bone twice before he lets you go, motioning for you to continue walking.

You think he's let it go and quickly move down the aisle to one of the couches at the back of the jet. When you settle down, though, intent on opening your own map, Hotch sits next to you and tilts his head so you can hear each other if you were to talk softly.

"What was your original thought about it?"

You're struggling to think, distracted by his proximity and low voice. The soft tones reach your belly, causing it to flip, The feeling is pleasant, even if it's entirely inappropriate.

"Sorry?" You say again, meeting his eye before quickly looking away to fumble with the map. Hands shaking, you manage to open it to the right state.

"There's no need to be sorry," Hotch says, voice firm but gentle. He reaches out and you think he's going to grab your wrist again but he instead taps a finger once against Morris County. "Your idea about the county - what was your original thought before Reid shot you down?"

"Oh. It's okay, Reid already said it doesn't make sense." You notice that Hotch opens his mouth to interject before you can finish and your sentence falters at the end. Still, his eyes watch you to make sure you're finished before he answers.

"I still want to hear what you had to say."

You explain your theory to him, then, talking quickly at first, stumbling over your words, before slowing down once you realize he's going to listen to everything you have to say. He nods, agreeing with your theory.

"I'll keep it in mind and give the information to Garcia. Thank you," he says, sincere, eyes locked on yours.

"You're welcome." You wait for him to get up now that you have nothing new to say about the case. While you were talking, you mentioned a few thoughts you had about the preliminary profile the team started on that you couldn't seem to find the space to add during the group conversation.

Instead, he settles further into the seat next to you, reading the map over your shoulder.

Something about his casual posture and the lack of his suit jacket fills you with enough confidence to ask, "Why haven't you invited anyone else to the barbeque place?"

He watches you for a minute, not replying as his eyes scan your face and posture. You've never been the best at body language when it comes to people you know, always a little too nervous to scan them the same way you might an unsub, but you know that Hotch is taking in any and all clues your body can give him before he answers. He seems to roll the words on his tongue, testing them out, before he answers.

You've never been the best at reading the body language of the people you know personally, but you still are considered an expert at it in interrogations, often requested to watch from behind the glass. That's all to say, Hotch seems nervous as he says, "I was hoping it could be us two unless you would prefer the others to be there."

The air leaves your chest and you feel unsteady and unbalanced even though you're sitting. Before you can overthink it, you're shaking your head no.

Hotch's face falls, a slight thing you would certainly notice if your eyes weren't glued to his face to ensure this wasn't some kind of sick joke.

"No, I want it to be just us," you say, quick before he can get the wrong impression.

The usual confidence Hotch carries reinflates in him quickly. He smiles, a slight tug at the corner of his lip that you again only catch because you're watching him so closely.

"Good," he says.

You two sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes after that, first just watching each other, and then, when you get embarrassed, comparing your case files and small map.

"To be clear," he says when Rossi and Spencer have started up a quiet conversation about chess - when his soft tones would be nearly impossible to be understood by anyone but yourself - "I mean as a date. If you would like."

Words lost, you simply nod, eyes wide and smile wider on your face. You think you can hear him chuckle softly but your face is too hot to look up and check. 

[wintfleur]

𐙚 . BEST PART

𝓹airing ∿ lando norris x f!reader ᰔ 𝓸ne shot ; fluff, established relationship 𐙚 𝔀c 2,555 ᝰ.ᐟ 𝓻oro's note. YAY MY FIRST F1 FIC IN A WHILEEE looking for some f1 moots >.< ﹒ ꒰ 𝓵ibrary ꒱

𝓢. the best part of both of your days was the mornings you shared

You tiredly rubbed the sleep from your eyes with your knuckles as you walked through your apartment, following the delicious smell coming from the kitchen along with the faint sound of music playing through the small radio that your boyfriend had gotten for the kitchen. Your footsteps were soft and slow, as you were extra careful not to slip on the wood flooring. Your fluffy socks, not helping with your balance and neither did your drowsy state. 

You had awoken with a grumpy groan when you realized you were alone in bed, your boyfriends' strong arms not wrapped around you like you remembered them to be before your eyes grew heavy and you slipped into a peaceful sleep. For a moment you worried that your romantic and sensual night that you shared with your boyfriend was all just a dream that your subconscious mind came up with to comfort you from how much you missed him. 

But when you groggily rolled over to lay on his side of the bed you were reassured that it was in fact not a dream when you felt his warmth still on the sheets. So, you sleepily got out of bed and reached for Lando's quadrant hoodie you saw was on the desk chair through your barely opened eyes and slipped it on over your cloth less body. 

Your grumpiness only faded from you when you caught sight of your boyfriend standing in front of the stove, his back to you. Your eyes slowly trailed down his bare back and arms, taking in every detail of his muscle and skin before your eyes fell to the black sweatpants, he was wearing that hung low on his hips. You couldn't help but smile at the sight of him and his head of messy bed hair, softly bopping along to the music. 

You missed the sight of him being so domestic so much while he was away working. You missed him. 

Your feet softly padded against the tile floor of the kitchen as you quietly walked up behind him, your tired eyes squinting from the sunshine that came through the wide-open kitchen window, he always did prefer natural light, and he loved the smell of the morning air. You missed the way his body stilled for a small moment as he sensed your presence, as you wrapped your hoodie covered arms around his waist and nestled your head on his back. 

Lando doesn't flinch at your sudden touch, he had expected you to come waddling into the kitchen searching for his warmth as soon as you woke up. He knew you all too well. Your eyes quickly fluttered close; the sunlight was too much for them. He took his hand that wasn't holding the spatula and rested it on yours that was resting on his stomach, a happy smile on your lips at his warm touch. His voice was deep and still filled with sleep as he asked – “sleep well darling?” 

You were far too tired and had no energy to form any words to answer him, so you just slowly nodded against his back that was slowly falling and rising with his breaths and mumbled out a soft “mhm” – The clear tiredness in your tone made him chuckle. 

“Still tired?” he hummed as he gave your cold hands one more squeeze before reaching over to grab a small handful of blueberries, as he sprinkled them in the perfect sized circles of pancake batter, he knew they were your favorite. He brought his hand back to yours, instead slipping it under the sleeve, his warm and slightly rough fingers caressing your skin, leaving goosebumps in his wake. His soft touch only makes you more inclined to drag him back to bed. 

“I must have really tired you out last night, huh sweet cheeks?” Lando asked you teasingly, using that pet name he loved to lease you with. His lips twitched up into a smirk as he hints at the night the two of you shared. You immediately feel frustrated at his teasing, hiding your face in his chest as your hold on his waist tightens. Your lack of response makes him chuckle to himself. 

“Let's go back to bed” you asked, your words coming out muffled from your face being squished against his back. Your tone was more demanding and whinier than you had intended it to be. All you wanted was more time to be in Lando's arms before he got that call and had to leave for work, you grew to hate the sound of his phone buzzing. 

Lando smiled fondly at your tone, Ahh adorable he thinks to himself. He loved how clingy you would get in the mornings – and in general. As much as he wanted to join you back in bed, it was more important to him that you eat a good meal after the strenuous night the two of you shared. He flipped the pancakes, the tops being perfectly golden “I’m making you pancakes, you asked for them last night” 

“I would have never asked for them if i knew my handsome boyfriend would leave me to wake up all alone in our bed to make them” you playfully complained with an annoyed huff, making sure to emphasize the world alone. Lando laughs loudly at your words, he knew you were trying to guilt him into getting back in bed. He turns off the stove and lets the last few cooks until golden

“You need to eat something sweet cheeks, and then we can watch that movie you showed me last week” he tried to compromise with you, remembering how you excitedly showed him and Oscar the trailer.

You furrowed your eyebrows as you looked back on the day, distinctly remembering how Lando was very uninterested with the movie, teasing both you and oscar for rambling about it – “You said the trailer was stupid” you mumbled with a cute pout as he took a step back from the stove, your body following him as you still hold onto him, not before he took the now done pancakes out of the pan and into the platter with the other pancakes. 

Lando chuckles and gives a soft pat to your hand before letting go and turning around to face you. A smile gracing his lips when he finally laid his eyes on you, your arms dropped to rest on his hips, your fingers absentmindedly fidgeting with the band of his sweatpants. Your hair was still messy, your eyes showed evidence of you still being tired, his hoodie swallowing up your body. 

He just wanted to grab your cheeks and smother your face in kisses from how adorable you looked, but instead he gave you an innocent smile, raising his eyebrows and pretending to be shocked by your words as he rested his hands on your hips and pulled you closer to him “Oh, I said that aloud?” 

“Lannn” you whined with an annoyed huff as you leaned forward, resting your forehead on his bare chest, too tired to go along with his teasing. Your boyfriend chuckled at your dramatics and leaned down to place a few kisses on your forehead and temple, one of his hands coming up to try to fix your messy hair, tucking a few strands behind your ears. 

“We’ll eat first and then we can cuddle as much as you want, okay darling?” he hums fondly as he moves his large hands to softly hold your face, tilting it up so you would look up at him. Lando’s breath hitches as the two of you lock eyes, you never fail to give him butterflies. You lean your face against the palm of his hand and softly nodded in agreement “Hmm okay” 

“Perfect, you get the drinks, and I'll set the food on the table” he nods as he places a soft kiss on the tip of your nose. You scrunch your nose at the feeling of his soft lips on your nose, a giggle leaving your lips at the ticklish feeling, his heart erupting in warmth and the sight and sound. You leaned forward to place a soft kiss on his shoulder before making your way over to the fridge. 

He stood there for a few moments with a fond smile on his face as he watched you slowly walk over to the fridge, pulling out a pitcher of freshly made orange juice. You set the pitcher on top of the table before moving over to the cabinet to get glasses and grabbed both of you a set of utensils. 

Lando felt a blush spread against his face at the feeling of you softly touching his lower back as you moved behind him, years of dating and he still would blush at your touches like he did when he first met you. You found it adorable but lando didn't, always hiding his face in your neck whenever you mentioned his flushed cheeks. 

“I'll be right back” Lando whispered quickly as he placed a soft kiss to the top of your head before rushing out of the kitchen and towards your shared room to put on a shirt. You shook your head fondly at the sound of his loud footsteps as you sat down on the bench in front of the table, your mouth watering at the sight of the different cut fruits and the perfectly golden pancakes. 

You tilted your head up and smiled at him when you felt him join you at the table, sitting down next to you on the bench. This time it was lando who was clingy for your touch, wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you closer to him, emitting a small giggle out of you. You both quietly said your thanks for the meal before digging in. 

Your breakfast was filled with quiet conversations, teasing from the both of you, soft kisses and even softer touches shared between the two of you. You gave your sweet boyfriend many compliments throughout breakfast about pancakes, even teasing him about you loving his pancakes more than him. That earned you a poke to the ribs. 

After helping Lando clean up the kitchen – that took much longer than it was supposed to, the two of you had stopped in the middle of cleaning the dishes to slow dance to the song playing through the radio, many fits of giggles leaving your lips at how horribly he sang along to the lyrics, a surprised gasp left your lips at how low he had dipped you. 

You were quick to take your boyfriend's large hand in your much smaller one, pulling him towards the living room where the couch was basically screaming your names. He quickly grabbed the soft decorative blanket on the end of the couch before flopping down on the L sectional of the couch. Lando opened his arms for you to join him, a small smirk on his lips as watched you search for the remote but to no avail. 

“Yoo-hoo” you heard your boyfriend whistle behind you, you dropped the decorative pillow you were looking behind back on the couch and turned to see him giving you a smile as he held up the remote that he had picked up from the coffee table before he sat down. Lando chuckles at the confused pout that decorates your lips as you trudge towards him. You raised your eyebrow as you playfully accuse him “You had the remote the whole time didn't you” 

“You're cute when you're confused” your boyfriend teased with a deep chuckle as he reached for your hand and softly pulled you down against him, taking you in his arms as your hands rested on his chest. A small sound of surprise left your lips at the sudden movement followed by a loud laugh at the ticklish feeling of lando littering your neck in soft kisses. 

“Lan please” you got out between your giggles as you eventually pulled away from his attack on your neck, moving to lay by his side and not on top of him. He let out a small hum as he scooted over so there was enough room for you to lay on your side between him and the couch, his arm wrapping around you and pulling you close while his other rested on your thigh that was over his midsection. 

Lando rests his head back against the couch, watching as you make yourself comfortable in his arms as you cover you and him in the soft blanket. He gently squeezed your thigh, looking down at you with a teasing smirk “please what?” 

“You promised that we could watch a movie and cuddle, so behave” You trailed off into a teasing tone as you poked his side with your finger, smiling at the shocked noise leaving his lips at the sudden feeling of your ticklish touch. He felt you snuggle closer to you, wrapping your arm around your waist and tangling your legs with his. He grabbed the remote by his side and turned it on before kissing the top of your head and speaks sweetly “Okay okay i promise sweet cheeks” 

You tilt your head back and send him a warning glare because of the pet name, but he just chuckles and continues to search for the movie, bringing his free hand that he had resting on your waist up to play with your hair softly. You let out a content hum at the feeling and rested your head back on his chest, your eyes drawn to the tv that was playing the intro of the movie, your fingers absentmindedly squeezing onto his shirt.  

The first 20 minutes of the movie was filled with your guy’s quiet murmurs, mostly from Lando, who liked to pick out everything wrong with the movie so far, and you enjoyed his nerdy rambles too much to tell him to stop. You found it funny how into the movie he got despite how much complaining he did in the beginning. 

You hid your face in his chest as you let out a long yawn, your nose brushing against his chest. You scooted closer to him as if that was even possible, it felt like you were melting in his arms. Before you realize it, your eyes start to grow heavy and your hold on his shirt weakens, the feeling of his fingers softly playing with your hair and the sound of his heartbeat lulling you to sleep. 

It only took a few minutes for Lando to notice that you had fallen asleep in his arms, he was on one of his rants about a poorly made character and he had expected to hear your own thoughts when he paused but instead, he just heard your soft breaths that left your slightly parted lips. He brings his free hand to gently move your hair out of your face, admiring how cute you looked with your face smushed up against his chest. He whispered with a smile “Ahh how cute” 

Lando bright the soft blanket up to your shoulders, gently tucking it under your chin. He grabbed the remote at his side and turned down the volume before leaning down to place a soft and long kiss to your forehead, whispering against your skin “Sleep well sweet cheeks” 

𝓻oro's note. if this fic looks familiar, i posted it on my other account @tsukiflwr for an anime character kuroo!! please let me know what you guys thought !! I really missed writing for f1 ☺️

˖ ་ taglist : @iloveyou300omorgan @copper-boom @cixrosie @partyinpitlane @toasttt11 @c-losur3 @winterbarnesblog @yoontwin @ophcelia

©️WINTFLEUR

[ghsface]

double pleasure - Matt and Chris Sturniolo

Sumary: ur fucking with Matt and accidentally shout Chris's name. Matt challenges you to indulge your desires that you have with chris. The night turns into a wild threesome

Warnings: smut +18, threesome, matt and reader are a couple, sexual tension, explicit content, use of fingers, unprotected sex (don't do it), dom!chris, dom!matt, sub!reader the reader feels empowered in a moment idk if that makes sense.

A/n: I'm collecting stuff from my drafts that I once wrote, I apologize if this doesn't make sense or is somewhat poorly written, I wrote this 2 months ago, the only thing I remember is that I was horny when I wrote it bye. the ending is shit i'm sorry

⛧°。 ⋆༺ ✮ ༻⋆。 °⛧

The heat between you and Matt had always been undeniable, an intense and passionate connection that seemed to burn every time your bodies met. However, there was something that ate at you inside, a small detail that, without you realizing, had slipped away one night.

The room was dark, with only the faint moonlight filtering through the curtains, as you and Matt continued to be lost in the rhythm of your bodies. Your hands clung to him, your lips saying his name between gasps… until, in an instant, his name was replaced by that of his brother. Chris. You had moaned his name in the midst of passion, and Matt, to your surprise, had acted as if he hadn’t heard it. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t change the rhythm. He just continued, bringing you to ecstasy as he always did.

Since that night, you felt more restless, waiting for some sign of annoyance or some sarcastic comment. But nothing. Matt was still the same, loving, attentive, not a single word about what had happened. Sometimes you thought maybe he hadn’t even heard. But every time you saw Chris, a spark of guilt ran through your body, mixed with something darker, something you didn’t want to admit.

One night, you decided to surprise Matt. You put on a set of black lingerie that you knew he would love. You looked at yourself in the mirror, making sure every detail was perfect before settling into bed, waiting for him to arrive. Desire burned within you as you imagined what would happen as soon as he walked in.

You heard the door open and the sound of footsteps approaching. You bit your lip, ready to see Matt’s expression when he found you like this. But, when you looked up, it wasn’t just Matt who entered the room.

Chris was with him.

Your heart skipped a beat, and for a second, confusion replaced desire. You looked at Matt, waiting for an explanation. But he just smiled, a smile you hadn’t seen before, something dark in his eyes.

“You know,” Matt said as he closed the door behind Chris, “I’ve been thinking about what happened that night.”

Your body tensed, a shiver running through you. He had heard it.

“I thought maybe you hadn’t heard it…” you murmured, feeling heat rise to your cheeks.

Matt laughed softly and shook his head. “I heard it very clearly.” He took a step closer to the bed. “You moaned my brother’s name while you were fucking me. And honestly, it took me a while to process it. But then I thought… if you want him so much, why not let you have him?”

Chris, who had remained silent until that moment, was looking at you with an intensity that made you shiver. You didn’t know what to say. The words were stuck in your throat as you tried to comprehend what was happening.

“Matt…” you started, but he cut you off.

“Don’t worry. I’m not mad. In fact, I think this could be… interesting.” Matt moved closer to the bed, his hand gently caressing your cheek before moving to your chin, tilting your face up so you were looking at him. “If you want Chris so much, show me. Fuck him.”

The room filled with an electric tension as Matt’s words hung in the air. You looked at Chris, his breathing seemed heavier, his eyes filled with a mix of desire and wariness. You knew you could stop all of this at any moment, but something in you didn’t want to. The thought of being between the two brothers made you feel something you’d never experienced.

Without another word, Matt pulled away, leaving you with Chris.

Chris stood still for a moment, his eyes roaming every inch of your body covered in that lingerie that, now, seemed much more revealing. You felt the tension in the air, that feeling of being at the center of something forbidden and dangerous.

The silence in the room was deafening, but you could hear your heartbeat hammering in your ears. Slowly, Chris took a step towards you, his gaze darkened by desire and uncertainty.

“Are you sure?” he finally asked, his voice huskier than you’d heard before.

You looked at Matt, searching for any hint of regret or doubt on his face. But he just crossed his arms, leaning against the wall, watching the scene with an almost predatory expression.

“Do it,” he murmured, his tone soft but full of authority.

Your breathing quickened, and the heat in your body intensified. It was a situation you would never have imagined, but there was something about the idea of ​​being with Chris, with Matt there, watching, that made you lose control.

Chris finally approached the bed, his hand gently brushing your leg. You felt a shiver run down your spine, as he slid his fingers along the fabric of your lingerie, as if he were exploring unfamiliar territory.

“I never thought this would happen,” Chris murmured, his eyes locked with yours as his hand slowly moved up your thigh.

“Me neither…” you whispered, your voice trembling slightly.

Chris leaned into you, his warm breath caressing your skin. His lips brushed your neck, and you closed your eyes, losing yourself in the feeling of his body so close to yours. But before you could do anything else, you heard the sound of Matt moving behind you.

“Don’t forget about me,” Matt said, his voice low and almost teasing.

You turned slightly, your eyes meeting his. Matt moved closer to the bed, his hand wrapping around your waist as Chris continued to kiss your skin. The contrast between the two of you was overwhelming, and you found yourself lost in the pleasure of having the two of them so close.

Chris took your face in his hands, his lips finally meeting yours in an intense, almost hungry kiss. You felt the weight of his body on you, as Matt stayed by your side, watching every movement, every gasp that escaped your lips.

The room seemed smaller, the air heavy with tension and desire. There was no turning back now, you were trapped between the two brothers, each claiming a part of you.

Chris deepened the kiss, and you felt his tongue explore every corner of your mouth, slow and possessive. There was a restrained strength in his movements, as if he had been waiting for this moment longer than he was willing to admit. His firm hands roamed your body, tracing every curve, every fold of the fabric that barely covered you.

Matt, meanwhile, knelt on the bed behind you, his fingers sliding down your back to the edge of the lingerie, slowly pulling it down. The touch of both of them on your skin made you lose track of everything around you except them. Their breaths mixed with yours, their hands synchronized, creating a symphony of sensations.

Chris pulled away from your lips, his gaze burning with desire. He held you by the hips and gently turned you so that you were kneeling in front of him on the bed, your body between the two of them. You felt Matt's gaze fixed on you, a mix of pride and perversion in his expression.

“Show him how much you want him,” Matt murmured, his voice low and heavy with authority as he too began to strip off his clothes.

Chris didn’t wait any longer. His hands traveled firmly to your hips, pulling you into him. You could feel the hardness of his erection pressing against you through his clothes, and the mere contact drew a soft moan from you. The anticipation was killing you.

“Don’t hold back,” Chris whispered, his voice husky, his eyes never leaving yours. “I want to hear you.”

Matt, still behind you, slid his hand between your legs, brushing your folds with a deft, teasing touch. You cried out softly in surprise and pleasure, feeling your body respond instantly. You could feel the mix of their hands, one holding you firmly while the other touched you with a precision that made you shiver.

“You like it?” Matt asked in your ear, his breath hot on your neck as his hand continued to work on you, his tone filled with satisfaction at what he was doing. “It’s not just Chris you want, is it?”

You were too lost in the pleasure to respond coherently. At that moment, desire for both brothers was consuming you. Matt knew it, and so did Chris. And now, they were playing with you, enjoying every second of it.

Finally, Chris stripped off the rest of his clothes and lifted you with ease to place you on top of him, aligning his erection with your center. He grabbed you by the hips, and without wasting another second, he slowly impaled you on his hardness. A guttural moan came from deep within your throat as you felt Chris fill you completely, his hands gripping you tightly, controlling every movement.

“Like that…” Chris gasped, his voice cracking with pleasure, his eyes momentarily closing as he felt you around him.

Matt, still behind you, held you tightly, his mouth running over the skin of your neck as his hands played with your breasts, squeezing and massaging, heightening every sensation. You were completely at his mercy, your senses overwhelmed by the pleasure they were both giving you.

The pace intensified. Chris moved your hips on him with a mix of ferocity and control, each thrust drawing a new moan from you. Meanwhile, Matt was whispering things in your ear, dirty words that only made the heat inside you grow even more.

“Come on,” Matt whispered with a dangerous smile on his lips. “Let yourself go.” The combination of their bodies and their whispers enveloped you in a whirlwind of pleasure. Each thrust of Chris pushed you into an abyss of sensations, while Matt explored your body with expert hands, playing with your breasts and caressing your skin. You felt trapped between two worlds, each of them taking your pleasure to a new level.

“Look how you enjoy it,” Chris murmured, leaning towards you as he filled you. His lips brushed your ear, and his deep voice made a shiver run down your spine. “Do you like this? Do you like it when we moan together?”

His words were a challenge, a reminder that you weren’t just sharing this moment with one of them, but both of them. The idea of ​​being there, between the two brothers, was a mix of intimacy and danger that made you feel more alive than ever.

“Tell me what you want,” Matt insisted, his breath hot against your skin. His fingers ran down your stomach and slid down, provoking more and more sensations. “Do you want me to do it faster? Do you want Chris to touch you?”

You couldn’t answer, only letting out a moan as you gave in to the sensations. Chris continued to thrust into you, each movement deeper and more powerful than the last. The sound of your body slamming against his filled the room, mixing with Matt’s murmurs.

“Come on, don’t be shy.” Matt smiled, enjoying the scene as he continued to caress you. “Tell him what you want.”

Finally, your lips parted, and in an act of boldness, you moaned, “I want… I want them both to touch me.”

The smile on Matt’s face widened, and Chris paused for a moment, looking at you with a mix of surprise and satisfaction. But it was only for a moment, because then Chris caught you hard, his hips moving again, making the pressure inside you increase.

“I can do that,” Chris said, his voice full of determination as he looked into your eyes. As you moved on top of him, you felt Matt settle down beside you, his hand finding your crotch, playing between your legs, stimulating every sensitive part of your body.

The two of you were in perfect sync, one pushing you forward and the other stroking you in a way that made everything feel even more intense. Every touch from Matt was electrifying, while Chris focused on bringing you to the edge, making you completely forget about everything but the pleasure.

“You’re perfect,” Matt murmured, his words like a spell, drawing you deeper into the maelstrom of sensations.

With each thrust from Chris, you felt yourself getting closer and closer to climax. His eyes were fixed on you, his expression a mix of desire and satisfaction. Matt, with his expert touch, knew exactly how to heighten your pleasure, bringing you over the edge.

“I can’t take it anymore…” you managed to stammer out between gasps, pressure building in your abdomen.

“Let go,” Chris insisted, intensifying his pace. “I’m here with you. Leave it all to me.”

Chris’s words were the spark that lit the flame. Your body shook, and in a moment of pure euphoria, you let yourself go. The climax swept you away, enveloping you in a wave of pleasure that had you screaming out their names, resonating in the room like an echo of what you were sharing.

The two men surrounded you, their bodies pressing against yours, and as ecstasy consumed you, you felt everything come together in a single instant, a moment of intense connection unlike anything you had ever experienced.

With every throb, every moan, every whisper, you found yourself in a place where desire and vulnerability intertwined, letting the room fill with the energy of three bodies intertwined, each claiming their share of you and reveling in the passion only they could offer.

The surge of pleasure swept you away, and as you sank into that climax, the outside world faded away. There was only the heat of Chris pushing you up and the comforting touch of Matt caressing your skin. The feeling of being trapped between the two of them was intoxicating, and each of them seemed to lose themselves as much as you did in that moment.

When you finally reached the top, a cry of ecstasy escaped your lips, echoing through the room. The sensation was so intense that your body shook as waves of pleasure coursed through every corner of you. Chris continued to move, taking you further than you thought possible, while Matt, still at your side, held you firmly, his hands making sure you never felt alone in this experience.

As the euphoria began to subside, Chris held you firmly, guiding you as his thrusts became faster, more urgent. The blend of your bodies was perfect, as if each complemented the other in ways you hadn’t anticipated. Chris moaned your name, the sound so deep it resonated in your chest, and Matt, sensing the moment, let his hand move to your clit, applying the pressure you knew you needed.

“You’re the one who wants us both, aren’t you?” Matt said, his voice soft, but the need in it clear. “I want you to realize what this means.”

It was a question, but also a statement. The truth was, yes, you wanted them both. You had been playing with fire from the very first moment, and now that you were in the middle of this whirlwind of passion, it all made sense. The shared intimacy, the desire, the danger… it all came together in a single instant.

“Yes, I want this,” I answered, feeling the honesty flow from you like a river in a desert. There was no turning back. You didn’t want this to end, for this moment to fade away.

Chris smiled at your words, and as he filled you once more, you realized there was a glint in his eyes that showed his own satisfaction. The connection was palpable, as if the three of you were linked by an invisible thread that vibrated with the energy of the moment.

“Then let’s enjoy it,” Chris said, and his voice was a deep whisper that made a new shiver run through your body. He took your face in his hands and kissed you with an intensity that left you breathless.

Matt, without wasting a second, intensified his caresses, his hand now moving with greater haste. You were surrounded by his warmth, and every touch was a reminder that they were both there for you. As the three of you gave in to the pleasure, a symphony of moans and breaths mingled in the air, creating an atmosphere charged with passion.

The room was filled with noises: the sound of bodies colliding, of labored breaths, of moans escaping your lips. Matt and Chris looked at each other often, their gazes filled with a silent understanding, a kind of connection that went beyond simple physical attraction.

“I want you both to feel good,” you said, aware that each of them had their own desire, their own needs. The thought of satisfying them both made you feel powerful, like your pleasure expanded to include the two men around you.

“And we will,” Chris replied, a smile shining in his eyes. With that final thrust, he increased his pace, and just when you thought you couldn’t take any more, Matt leaned in and began whispering in your ear, filling your thoughts with promises and desires that made you shudder.

“I’m going to take care of you, don’t worry,” Matt said, his tone soft but firm. “We’re going to make sure you get everything you want.”

The combination of their words and the movement of their bodies brought you to a new peak of pleasure, and your mind clouded as the sensations coursed through you. In the end, what started as simple three-way play morphed into something bigger, deeper. You were completely immersed in their world, where each of them had a role to play in your pleasure, and you, in theirs.

With every thrust, with every caress, you felt like you were at the center of something extraordinary, a moment beyond any fantasy you had ever imagined. And as the heat built once again inside you, you knew there was no place you wanted to be more than there, between them, enjoying the moment and letting passion take control.

The intensity of the moment continued to grow, and the air became thick with desire. Chris and Matt moved in perfect sync, each complementing the other, each thrust and caress increasing the level of pleasure that washed over you. The way they looked at each other, how they communicated without words, made you feel like you were at the center of their world, something precious and valuable.

Chris, still holding you by the hips, began to lean back, allowing you to take control. The change in position allowed you to play with the rhythm and depth of each movement. You felt powerful doing so, and the gazes of both brothers filled you with confidence.

“That’s how I like it,” Chris said, his lips curling into a satisfied smile. “Take me however you want.”

With a moan of satisfaction, you began to move on top of him, exploring how his body reacted to each touch. Matt’s hands continued to roam over your skin, gently sliding his fingers down your back, while his kisses went from your neck to your shoulders, marking your skin with heated caresses. The heat of his body was an addictive sensation that only increased your desire.

“That’s it, keep going like that,” Matt encouraged, his voice full of desire. You loved having them both so on edge, waiting for what you would do next.

Your movements became more pronounced, the pleasure pumping through you like a torrent. With each thrust, you felt Chris plunge deeper, filling you with his essence. Your body responded, eager and wanting, as the pressure built up again inside you.

“Don’t stop,” Chris whispered, his voice torn with pleasure. “I need more of you.”

The urgency in his voice made you smile, and with a surge of boldness, you began to move faster, pushing yourself into him with every movement. Matt’s hands gripped your waist, helping you keep up. The feeling of being trapped between the two men was intoxicating, and the pleasure soared to levels you had never imagined.

“I love seeing you like this,” Matt murmured, his voice deep and full of desire. His gaze was fixed on you, watching every move you made. “You’re incredible.”

The combination of his words and the way they both touched you made you feel more alive than ever. It was as if every caress and every whisper was designed just for you, and in that moment, there was nothing more you could want. You felt completely consumed by them, by the passion, and by the connection you shared.

As the tension inside you grew, you began to lose yourself in the moment. The room filled with sounds: your moans, Chris’s sighs, Matt’s murmurs, all creating a symphony of pleasure. I couldn’t take it anymore, and every time Chris thrust up, you felt the line between pleasure and pain blur, bringing you to a state of absolute ecstasy.

“I’m going to…” you managed to articulate, feeling the pressure building up in your abdomen reach its peak. The world around you faded away in a haze of desire and pleasure, and you couldn’t think of anything but the climax that was coming.

“Let yourself go,” Chris insisted, his eyes burning with a mix of desire and determination. “We’re here with you. Just let yourself go.”

With those words echoing in your mind, you let it all spill out. Your body shook with the surge of climax, an explosion of pleasure that had you screaming as waves of satisfaction crashed over you. Chris and Matt held you tightly, making sure you didn’t fade away into the abyss of pleasure.

The room filled with an almost electric energy as you gave yourself over completely. Each second seemed like an eternity as you basked in the intensity of that moment. The climax continued to course through your body, waves of pleasure spreading from your toes to the tips of your hair.

As the ecstasy began to subside, you felt even more connected to them. Their bodies continued to embrace you, each holding you in a way that made you feel safe and wanted at the same time.

Chris smiled, his gaze still filled with passion. “You’re amazing.” He said, his voice a breathy whisper from the pleasure still vibrating in the air.

Matt looked at you in admiration, his hand gently caressing your cheek. “I never thought this would happen,” she murmured, her expression revealing a mix of surprise and desire. “But I’m so happy it did.”

⛧°。 ⋆༺ ✮ ༻⋆。 °⛧

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated dearly ✮

[reddesires]

Magnetic

Logan Howlett x Mutant Reader

Summary: There's only one way of satisfying your undying curiosity of finding out whether or not those fridge magnets will stick to the one and only Wolverine, who just happens to have an adamantium skeleton.

A/N: There may or may not be a continuation of this, idk yet.

It first started off as mere curiosity, the fact of knowing Logan's skeleton was enveloped by pure metal on the forefront of your brain.

Your eyes would constantly wander to the fridge that was decorated by various colorful magnets by the students, the cat and and the multicolored alphabet letters, especially catching your attention.

The growing need to know if those magnets would stick to Logan or not was just too irresistible to refuse as you snatch the grumpy cat magnet from the fridge door, examining the narrowed green eyes on the face of black feline. Yeah, it reminded you very much of the rugged mean mugging man who was all too unaware of your devious intentions.

Logan was used to your teasing antics of playing with his tufts of hair whenever you got the chance or somehow discovering all the new hiding places he hides his beer in, just to hide them elsewhere (he thinks it's your sixth sense at this point). He feels as if he's always on his toes when it comes to you, your mutation aiding you in somehow bypassing his enhanced senses, you find great joy in sneaking up on him when he least expects it.

So when you casually walk in the room that he's in with your hands behind your back with a feign, innocent look on your face, his eyes narrow suspiciously. “Oh hey Lo! Didn't expect to see you here!” The lilt in your voice and the sway of your body as you walk over only cause him to tense as he sits up straight, his eyebrow raising in question.

“You know I usually sit here,” his voice trails off as his eyes trail up and down, analyzing your body movement. “You're up to something.” You grin immediately, a laugh bubbling up as you round the table as if you're trying to corner him, and he doesn't waste time standing and quickly rounding the table from you.

“Hey, don't make me spill my beer,” He says warily, holding his beer up by the neck of the bottle. You smile deviously as you slowly trail along the side of the table, still holding the mystery item behind your back and he doesn't like how you're looking at him as he mimics your movements ready to bolt to the exit any second. “Okay, we're playing that game.”

He exhales exasperatedly as he immediately swerves and runs out the door, holding his beer securely as he hears you run after him. “Logan! Get back here!” The laugh in your voice is mischievous and he doesn't trust you as the two of you run past Jean and Ororo, they look after the both of you surprised as they never expected Logan to run away from you of all people.

“Get em, girl!” Ororo cheers as they watch you round the corner after Logan, he's trying to lose you by running in front of innocent students and taking unexpected turns and it isn't long for you to have him cornered.

“Aye, have mercy.” He says your name with defeat as he clutches his beer to his chest, he somehow managed to save it from even spilling a drop during the chase and it makes you giggle as you step forward building the anticipation before getting to him, and he only watches with a close eye as you do. Only when you're within an inch from him, your face almost intimately close to his, do you notice his adam's apple bob up and down with trepidation, his eyes fluttering slightly as he's aware of how close you are to him.

You slap the magnet onto his face.

He blinks once then twice as the magnet sticks securely on to his cheek. You gasp with unadulterated joy, a cheer pulled out of you as your curiosity has finally been fulfilled.

“It does stick! Oh, this is gonna be so fun!” His face falls as he realizes what this concurs. He's become your magnetic plaything as he remembers the millions of magnets that are currently adorned on the fridge door.

“No, don't you think about it.” He grumbles as he pulls the magnet off his cheek, the crabby cat image only intensifying his dismay for your new upcoming hobby. “Oh Wolvie, it's all I can think about.” You tease as you gently squeeze his cheek, walking away feeling rejuvenated.

[miraculouslyfine]

bombed it.

Pairing: Peter Parker x Stark!Reader (Doesn't follow the events of anything, established relationship) Synopsis: Peter is extremely concerned about his girlfriend's safety, she doesn't really share the same sentiment, and they fight, like a lot

Word Count: 10,8k

"You can't be serious”   “I'm sorry, Y/n, but you have to choose”  

~

Peter and Y/n rarely fought.   

They just got each other. They understood each other on a deeper level; their shared traumatic experiences definitely played a part in this mutual understanding. Their love had been tested and tempered, growing stronger with every challenge they faced together. Throw some ever-growing affection and trust into the mix, and there you have it: a happy, healthy relationship.  

Sure, they had their fair share of squabbles and petty arguments, just like any couple, really. But they both valued honesty and communication. They were open about their feelings in any and every given situation, always making sure they see eye to eye, always trying to find middle ground. After all, that's what relationships are for, right? Compromise.   

Peter was willing to give up a lot of things to ensure Y/n's happiness. Nothing mattered to him more than making sure his beautiful girlfriend, his best friend, the love of his life was perfectly contented with how things were between them. Well, almost nothing.  

The one thing Peter would never budge on was Y/n's safety. That was non-negotiable. He felt it was his duty as her boyfriend, as her superhero -superpowered superhero- boyfriend, to protect her, to make sure she never got hurt.  

Now, Y/n Stark was no damsel in distress and by no means a stranger to danger and all kinds of superhero-related adventures and difficulties. Having grown up with the Avengers, her involvement with the team of heroes was inevitable.   

She was –according to the rest of the team, Peter included- a vital part of the Avengers. She took part in missions, though in a less dynamic and active sense, usually helping come up with different strategies and plans (you can never be too careful!). She brought a “much needed unique and fresh perspective to the team", as her dad used to say (“I just overthink a lot, it's not that big of a deal", she would always mutter under her breath, causing Peter to roll his eyes and playfully flick her on the head).  

Even though Tony (mostly Pepper) didn't want his daughter risking her life and getting caught up in the superhero world, he knew that if push came to shove, she needed to be able to protect herself. Plus, he couldn't deny that she had a talent. Her combat skills, ideas, creations, and great planning and thinking ahead skills were more than appreciated within the community. She was trained by the Black Widow herself for god's sake, she knew what she was doing. 

So what could have caused this schism between them, causing Peter to leave the comfort of their bed, deciding to spend the night on the couch instead, away from the feeling of her warm body next to him? 

Peter knew what she was doing. Sneaking out of the house in the middle of the night, right after he'd come back from his own patrol. She thought she was being sly about it, too. Really, Y/n? Now you're just insulting my intelligence. 

It's one thing to play vigilante and another to outright lie about it. And Peter hated lies almost as much as he hated not knowing whether she was safe or not. And these late-night activities of hers were starting to piss him off. They were not good for his heart, either. Every time he heard the soft sound of their bed creaking as she got out of it at ungodly hours, he could feel his chest tightening. He always tried to fight the urge to get up and immediately follow after her, just to make sure she wasn't doing anything reckless. 

He didn't realize right away. She didn't look like she had spent half the night fighting crime, at first. She'd return a couple of hours before he was supposed to wake up. She'd make sure there were no visible injuries and she'd go on with her day. She really thought he'd never find out (or at least not before she felt he was ready to find out). 

After a few days, the lack of sleep was apparent. And no matter how hard she tried denying it, or playing it off, Peter could tell something was up. It didn't take him long to start putting one and one together; her tiredness, some unexplainable scratches here and there, the fact that crime in NYC seemed to have subsided. 

Peter knew. And he didn't like what was happening, not one bit. They had talked about it once, a while back. She had done this before-gone around his back to play hero-, or at least attempted to, before Peter (with a little needed help from her overprotective, over the top father, the little snitch) brought an end to it. He thought she had understood, that she saw how she was being ridiculous and unreasonable. Recklessly throwing herself in danger, all in the name of proving something? That didn't sound like his very intelligent, very MINDFUL girlfriend. 

He tried talking to her again. He gave her the chance to come clean about her activities. She denied everything. 

He was mad. He was hurt. He felt betrayed. Not only did she ignore his warnings and went about it behind his back, she was also lying to his face. 

And they fought. It was bad. It was unlike any previous fight they had. They were screaming at each other, hurtful words flying in the air, the tension in the room palpable. It was getting late, they were both tired, frustrated and upset. 

"Y/n, for the last time. You're being stubborn about this. All I'm saying is there are ways for you to help without being ON the field. Without recklessly risking your life-" 

"For god's sake, Peter. You're acting like I'm some adrenaline junkie, picking up fights with random people at the bar! I am helping you-" 

"Helping me? You think making me stay up all night, worrying if you're gonna make it back in one piece, is helpful? Geez, what would I ever do without you?", he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm  

"No one asked you to stay up. I know what I'm doing. I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I'm trained and-" 

"Oh, you're trained? Why didn't you just say so?" 

She sighed heavily and rubbed her temples.

"Are you done? I'm trying to talk here and you're acting like a child!" 

"I'm the one acting like a child? You're acting like an angsty teen, sneaking around, ignoring everything and everyone!", he realized his voice came out a bit higher than intended. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. 

"Listen, Y/n, this isn't a game. Your life is not a game. You're putting yourself in danger. Hell, you're putting civilians in danger! What do you think you're doing, running around playing hero? Hm? You think you're tough for going out there all on your own? You're not tough, Y/n. You're dumb. You're dumb and reckless. What do you think will happen? You think you'll be lucky every time? That nothing bad will ever happen because you are trained? All it takes is one miscalculation, Y/n, one wrong move on your end, for things to take a really bad turn. Your luck will eventually run out. You could get hurt or..." 

He took a deep breath. He didn't dare finish that sentence. The thought of ever losing her was too much for him to handle. 

"You're not invincible, no matter how hard got try to convince yourself. You don't have healing factor, you don't have super strength, enhanced senses. NOTHING. You're intelligent, yes. You're incredible, you're creative, innovative, truly one of the smartest people I've ever met. You've got heart, I recognize that. But it's not enough. Your gadgets and devices won't save you every time."  

"One bullet", his voice cracked, "one bullet, Y/n, and you're gone. Do you get it now? GONE. DEAD. Do you understand the severity of the situation? You're risking your life. And for what? Five seconds of fame? To prove you're worthy of being your father's child? What are you trying to do?", he shook his head, frustration evident in his mannerisms. 

He took a good look of her. The sight immediately broke his heart. Her gaze sparkled with a delicate brightness, the unshed tears amplifying every flicker of emotion. He felt the need the need to reach out to her, to touch her (whether that was in order to hug or strangle her he didn't know for sure). But he didn't give in. He couldn't back down. Not when her safety was on the line. He needed her to understand, to see where he was coming from. 

The tears in her eyes refused to fall, clinging stubbornly to her lashes as her glare cut through the air like a blade. Who does he think he is? 

"This is what you think I'm doing? Showing off? Trying to prove a point?", a bitter chuckle escaped her. "No, Peter. I'm being helpful. I'm helping you, the cops, the people of New York. Why do you always do this? Why do you have to be like this? Why do you think you get to decide what’s best for me? I’m trying to help you, and you're out here treating me like I'm some kind of criminal, some kind of liability, an inconvenience to you! Do you think I don’t know the risks? Do you think I’m blind to the danger? I know what I’m walking into, but it’s my choice to make, not yours! You act like I’m some fragile thing that needs protecting, but I’m not, so stop acting like it.” 

“I'll stop when you start acting like a responsible adult for once”, he replied bitterly. 

“You're not a little girl anymore, Y/n. Tony won't be always there to save you and -as much as it pains me to say- neither will I” 

“I never-” 

"You never asked me to?", he run his hand through his hair in a frustrated manner. 

“I know. God, Y/n, I know. You're so goddam stubborn. You'd rather die than ask anyone for help. You're always so eager to prove your independence, that you don't need anyone to have your back. Well, news flash! You're not invincible. You're not some kind of god. And you're certainly not a hero. You can't just shrug off a bullet or an explosion or whatever insane thing you decide to get involved in next! You're human, so start acting like it. You're not expendable. Selfish is what you are.”  

"Selfish? You think I'm selfish? For what? For wanting to help people? Don't you see the irony of this coming from you?”, she let out a laugh in incredulity, unable to even fathom how he could ever say that to her. 

“You think this is about me? You think I'm just out here looking for glory or some kind of thrill? I’m doing what needs to be done, and if you can’t see that, then maybe you don’t understand me at all. You’re calling me selfish, but the truth is, you’re the one being selfish here. You’re more concerned with your own fear, your own worries, than you are about the bigger picture. I’m not out there for me. I’m doing what I can, what I have to, because I don’t want to sit back and let things happen when I know I can make a difference.” 

Peter was fuming. 

"God, this is ridiculous. I can't keep doing this, I just can’t! You’re out of control! Every damn time I turn around, you're throwing yourself into some insane situation, thinking you’re some kind of superhero. What do you think this is—some kind of game? You act like nothing can touch you, but that’s bullshit! You’re human, you’re not indestructible, and I’m getting sick of it. 

What do you think happens if you get hurt? Or worse, if you die? Oh, wait, you don’t think, do you? No, you’re too busy basking in the glory of your own self-righteousness to realize the mess you’d leave behind. Because, guess what? I’m the one who’d have to pick up the pieces. Me. The one who’s standing here, constantly worried, because you’re too damn reckless to care about the people who love you.  

You want to help people? Fine, but not at the expense of your own life! You think I’m just supposed to stand here, watching you put yourself in danger, all for some stupid idea of being a hero? Are you kidding me?! What the hell is wrong with you? Why can’t you just be safe for once? Why do you have to go and do these reckless things that make my heart stop every single time? Do you even care about the people who love you?”, his chest rose and fell in sharp, measured movements, a betrayal of the battle raging within. 

She crossed her arms, her fingers digging into her skin as if trying to tether herself to composure 

“I know what I'm doing.”, she spat out. That was... a weak argument, that much she knew. But in her ~slightly~ emotional state, it was all she could over without completely breaking down in tears. 

It seemed like that single comment angered Peter to no end, making him laugh bitterly in return. 

“Do you think growing up in the Avenger's Tower makes you one of them? Here's a reality check: your little stunts don't make you a hero. They make you a liability. And if you keep this up, I don't know how much longer I can deal with it. Because I can't spend my life wondering if the next time you pull this crap will be the last time I ever see you” 

But Peter was on a roll, he couldn't stop there. 

“And you know what’s even worse? You don’t even care. You don’t care that you scare the hell out of me. You don’t care that I am waiting back here, while you do something so unbelievably reckless that might result in me losing you. Because it’s always about you, isn’t it? Your need to prove something, your need to feel important. Never mind the people you leave behind to pick up the pieces!” 

And... silence. Complete and utter silence. 

It wasn’t the kind of silence that comes from comfort; it was loaded with the weight of accusations and defenses that would never be voiced. 

Peter winced. He regretted saying those words as soon as they came out of his mouth. He was getting to her, he could tell. He also knew he was being kind of an ass about the whole thing, but he really needed her to understand how unreasonably stubborn she was being. He needed her to be safe, but it seemed like she didn't value her wellbeing all that much. He couldn't stand that. 

Ouch. That...yeah, that did the trick. It wasn't just what he said, it was mostly how he said it. So... cold and distant, poisonous almost. Like he was taunting her. She could barely recognize the man in front of her. That wasn't her sweet, loving boyfriend, her Pete, her biggest supporter. 

She understood his point of view. She is less experienced than him, especially in the sense of getting personal with the villains. The fact that she doesn't have any powers didn't help her much either. She knew he was worried about her safety, that all his anger was stemming from a place of love (even though it wasn't that evident that particular moment). But she also hoped he'd have more faith in her. After all, she is always careful, with at least three backup plans ready, just in case. She always follows protocol, doesn't make any rush decisions. And she's Iron Man's daughter for fucks sake, she does know what she's doing. 

“A liability, huh?” 

Her eyes were distant, gazing at something far beyond the room, avoiding contact like it might burn. It felt like there was an invisible wall around her, not built to shut others out but to keep herself from crumbling 

He sighed and spoke again, this time in a slightly softer tone. 

“I didn't mean it like that... I'm sorry. Look, Y/n, what I'm trying to say is I’m scared out of my mind, and I can't keep pretending like I’m okay with this. Every time you leave, I’m terrified you won’t come back. Every time you walk out the door, I wonder if I’ll be standing at your grave one day, all because you thought it was some heroic act to put yourself at risk. You think that’s noble? It’s selfish! It’s selfish because you’re not just risking yourself—you’re ripping apart the people who care about you.” 

He took another shaky, deep breath and spoke in a gentle, yet firm tone, his gaze intense. 

“I can't lose you, okay? I won't. And you doing this-this reckless, stupid, selfish thing- is how that's going to happen. If something ever happens to you... I won't forgive you for it.” 

His voice lowered but remained firm, trembling slightly.  

“And I won't forgive myself either”  

Silence settled over them once again. It was thick, like a fog settling over the room, muffling everything but the sound of their breathing. It was the kind of silence that pressed against your chest, making it hard to breathe, as though the room itself disapproved. They sat stiffly, their gazes deliberately avoiding each other, the distance between them more like a chasm than a few feet. 

Peter cleared his throat. 

Things were not looking good for them right now. He didn't like it, not one bit. The room felt suffocating, the once light and warm atmosphere long gone. He truly hated fighting with her. He wished this conversation never happened. They'd be laying on the couch now in each other's arms, with her on top of him, her head on his chest, her arms lazily draped over him as he'd run his fingers through her hair, holding her close. Just talking about their day while some movie played in the background. That's what we should be doing, Peter thought. Instead, here they were, avoiding eye contact like they were about to face Medusa. But this conversation couldn't be held off any longer. 

Soon enough the silence became unbearable. 

“Maybe it's best if we just-”  

“I should-” 

As soon as they heard the other person talking, they both closed their mouths, resulting in yet another moment of awkward silence. So in sync these two, it was almost endearing. 

Peter tilted his head slightly toward her, eyebrows raised in a silent invitation to speak. 

Her eyes closed briefly before they looked up, a flicker of acknowledgment passing over her face as she nodded weakly before speaking in an uncharacteristically quiet tone. 

“Maybe we should take some time alone... to...cool off...you know...?”  

Peter sighed. This conversation hadn't led to anything. Anything other than hurt, frustration and a headache, that is. Hours of an endless emotional back and forth, all for nothing. They hadn't reached an agreement and he was certain they weren't seeing eye to eye. And this wasn't a matter he was willing to back down from, she had to realize that her actions affected him as well. 

He understood where she was coming from, he really did. He understood better than anyone the burning need to help, the desire to make a difference, that deep sense of responsibility to the world. He *is* Spider-Man after all, that's his thing; he cares, he acts. He feels the moral duty to use his abilities to protect others, often at great personal cost. He doesn't mind. Or, at least, he didn't in the past (it is kind of different when you have someone at home waiting for you, you just got to be more careful, you know?). 

But he doesn't want that for her. Never for her. 

Maybe he was the selfish one for getting mad at her. Maybe he was selfish for hating knowing she was out there somewhere, all alone, taking justice into her own hands. But is it really selfish of him not wanting to see her getting hurt over something completely preventable? Why would she be out there risking her life when HE could be doing that instead? Did she not realize how much she meant to him?  

He didn't want them to separate, not like this, not right now. But he really didn't feel like continuing this conversation. He was exhausted, his emotions all over the place, a hint of irritation still lingering. He could tell she was tired too. Plus, he still had today's patrol. 

He reluctantly nodded. 

“Yeah...maybe we should. I have to go anyway. We'll talk about this later, okay?” 

She just nodded in response and retreated to their bedroom. Peter stood there for a moment, contemplating his next move. He hesitantly made his way to the door. He didn’t want to go, not really—but a small, guilty part of him was already savoring the thought of the space he'd have once he left. There was a flicker of regret in his eyes as he turned away, quickly replaced by a soft exhale and a lighter step. He hesitated at the threshold, his hand hovering over the doorknob for a moment longer than necessary before finally turning it. As he stepped out, he paused for a moment, as if expecting Y/n to call him back, but when she didn't, his posture eased, and he moved forward with renewed purpose. This is gonna be fun.

Peter soon disappeared into the night, busying himself by fulfilling Spider-Man's duties. He went about with his usual routine, swinging around the most common areas, the sketchiest ones, the streets most accidents happen on. But it was an uncharacteristically quiet night; no supervillains threatening to wipe out NYC, no petty criminals running around causing chaos, no cats on extremely high trees needing saving. 

Someone asked him for directions, so there was that.  

(A man can't even escape his thoughts in peace, smh) 

Hours passed, and it was getting later and later. Frustration, worry, and exhaustion started to catch up with him. He was tired, his body screaming for rest and his heart begging for an end to this whole ordeal. After a couple of hours of killing time by meaninglessly swinging around, Peter decided it was finally time he returned home- to her.  

Peter returned to the apartment, his body tired and aching, frustration still gnawing at his. On his way back he wondered whether or not he'd find her there. She could've gone to a friend's or at her parents’ house to avoid him. She could’ve completely ignored him and left to play vigilante again. He prayed that wasn't the case. Honestly? He half expected her too, if anything just to spite him. 

He quietly entered, not knowing what to expect, but the place was quiet and empty. He scanned the room and the first thing he noticed was the food on the kitchen counter, a silent gesture from her. 

He grumbled to himself, still somewhat irritated by her behavior. But the mere sight of the food, still warm and waiting for him, softened his frustration just a bit. Despite everything, she still cared enough to think about him. 

He walked over to the counter, his stomach rumbling with hunger. He sat at the table, quietly eating the food, his mind still going over the events of the night. He couldn't stop the frustration from bubbling up, but he also couldn't ignore the fact that he was exhausted. The food tasted good, but it didn't do much to satisfy his frustration. He still wanted answers, he still wanted her to stop this nonsense. 

He let out a quiet sigh, the sound echoing in the empty room. He was tired, both physically and emotionally. He knew he needed to sleep, to rest and recharge. 

Peter opened the door to their bedroom and was immediately hit with a wave of surprise. Y/n was asleep in their bed, looking deceptively peaceful. Peter's eyes narrowed as he watched her.  

He wanted to wake her up, to confront her and put an end to this. But seeing her there, asleep and defenseless, made him pause. Peter grumbled internally, torn between his irritation and the sight of her peacefully sleeping in their bed. He knew he should wake her and confront her, but something about seeing her there, so calm and vulnerable, made his anger soften just a little. Instead of waking her up, he opted to sit on the edge of the bed, his eyes watching her as she slept. The frustration was still there, but there was a hint of worry and care underneath it all.  

“Hey, baby. There's food on the kitchen”. Her voice was soft and muffled, more like a murmur than actual speech, as though weighed down by sleep. 

As Y/n spoke in her sleep, Peter's annoyance melted away just a little more. Her sleepy voice was almost endearing, and her concern for his well-being, even in her half-conscious state, touched a softer part of him. 

He let out a soft sigh and ran a hand through his hair, his irritation fading into the background. Seeing her like this reminded him that beneath all the chaos and recklessness, she was still the girl he cared about.  

He couldn't bring himself to wake her up or to confront her right now, especially not when she was in such a vulnerable state. Instead, he sat there, watching her sleep, his mind swirling with a mix of frustration, care, and a bit of tenderness. 

He still had so many questions, and he was still upset about her antics, but for now, he was content to just sit there, listening to her gentle breathing and feeling a strange sense of peace in the room. Tomorrow would be another day for confrontations and discussions. 

Peter sat there for a few more minutes, just watching her sleep. The silence of the room was soothing, and the frustration he felt earlier was slowly fading away. 

With a deep sigh, he finally decided it was time to get some sleep himself. He carefully got up and made his way out of the room, quietly closing the door behind him. 

As he settled into the couch, he couldn't help but wonder what tomorrow would bring. He knew he'd have to talk to her again, to get answers and hopefully put an end to her vigilante streak. 

This is bad, she thought. 

Peter's presence –or absence- had woken her up from her already somewhat disrupted sleep. She kept replaying today's events in her head, almost as if she were trying to make herself angrier and more anxious. She didn't like fighting with him. Sure, she didn't agree with him in the slightest and his words angered her to no end, she couldn't deny that she missed him terribly, especially now that she had the whole bed to herself, feeling like it'd swallow her whole. 

Since when does he sleep on the couch, anyway? Why did he get to act immaturely and petty? Why didn't he want to sleep in bed with her? He was the one in the wrong, blowing things out of proportion. 

After staring at the ceiling for God knows how long, she decided she'd just go for it. She could be stubborn; she was certainly not above acting petty after a fight. But she missed him. A lot. She yearned for the warmth of his body, the feeling of his arms around her. She decided pettiness (and the talk they're bound to have) would have to wait until tomorrow morning. 

She pushed the covers aside sluggishly, her arms moving as though weighed down by invisible chains. Her feet slid off the bed and onto the floor, landing with a dull thud, her movements slow and deliberate. She sat at the edge of the bed for a moment, hunched over, before finally shuffling to her feet with a soft groan. She shuffled toward the door, each step a reluctant scrape, the sound faint in the stillness of the room. 

She slowly made her way to the living room. Her eyes immediately landed on Peter's sleeping form on the couch. Without giving herself another moment to think this through, she started walking towards him. 

She carefully climbed on the couch and settled in an awkward position on top of him/ against the back of the couch. It was very uncomfortable but she could manage. What she couldn't manage was Peter-less sleep. 

Peter was pulled out of his half-asleep state by the sudden movement on the couch. He blinked a few times, his vision slowly adjusting to the dim light. 

At first, he was confused. Was he dreaming? But then he felt Y/n's weight on top of him, her awkward positioning making him wince a little. 

He felt a surge of irritation bubble up once again. Seriously? She had the whole bed to herself, why was she cramping up the couch like this? He was about to protest, to tell her to go back to the bed where she would be more comfortable, but something held him back. Maybe it was the softness in her half-sleeping gaze, or the warm weight of her body on top of him. But instead of pushing her aside, he found himself pulling her closer, instinctively wanting to hold and comfort her. 

“Are you mad at me?” 

He let out a resigned sigh, his frustration giving way to a mixture of annoyance, care, and a hint of affection. Peter's eyes widened slightly at her unexpected question. He had been caught off guard by her words, and there was a moment of hesitation on his part. 

But her voice, tinged with vulnerability and hesitation, stirred something within him. Maybe it was the softness of her tone, or the genuine concern underneath the question, but the irritation that had been brewing in him suddenly lost some of its sharpness. 

He let out a long, quiet sigh before whispering back, his voice gentle but firm. 

"Yes, I am." 

They drifted into a quiet pause, the air between them tinged with hesitation. That was until she spoke again in an almost hushed tone. 

“Are you very mad at me?” 

Peter paused for a moment, taking a deep breath to steady his emotions. Her quiet plea made his chest tighten, his heart conflicted between the lingering irritation and the instinctive need to comfort her. 

"Yes,", he whispered back, his voice softening a bit, "I am very mad at you." 

She hummed softly, acknowledging his response before speaking up once more. 

"Mad enough not to give me a goodnight kiss?" 

Peter couldn't help but feel a small spark of amusement at Y/n's words. Despite everything, despite his frustration, she still knew just how to disarm him with her playfulness. 

After a moment's hesitation, he relented, his voice still soft but with a hint of a smile. 

"I suppose I can manage a goodnight kiss. But then you need to promise you'll go back to your bed." 

"I don't like sleeping without you" 

Peter's heart skipped a beat. He was taken aback by her raw honesty and the vulnerability in her voice. It softened his frustration a bit more, reminding him of the love they shared beneath their disagreements. He let out a sigh, a mixture of annoyance and affection in his voice.  

"Why? Why can't you just... behave and make things easier for both of us?" 

That was... *not* what she expected to hear. She suddenly felt very awake, like a bucket of freezing cold water was dumped over her. It made sense that Peter wouldn't ignore the problem at hand just to let her cuddle with him in peace. Did she like it? No, not really. But that's Pete for you. Always wanting to do things right and always in proper order. 

But she was really not in the mood for that. Feeling rejected didn't help either. It was a quiet devastation, not loud or dramatic, but a slow, persistent ache she couldn’t ignore. The heat crept up her neck and into her face, her body betraying the humiliation she tried to suppress. Guess she won't be getting that goodnight kiss after all. 

She got off him just as quickly and awkwardly as she had previously climbed on top of him (she may or may not tried to discreetly knee him in the process). 

“You came here because you needed space. I need to respect that. I'll leave you alone", she said quietly as she got up from the couch. 

"Goodnight, Peter", she mumbled without giving him the chance to respond before walking back to their room with her head hung low, her shoulders slumped. 

Peter watched her walk away, her dejected expression pulling at his heartstrings. He wanted to call out to her, to tell her not to go, but another part of him wanted space to think, to process everything. It was all just too much too quickly. 

With a heavy sigh, he leaned back on the couch. The night was still young, and there were so many thoughts swirling in his mind. He needed time to sort through his feelings, to figure out what to say to her when they talked. 

While Peter was busy staring at the ceiling and gathering his thoughts, Y/n was pacing back and forth in their shared room. She was feeling anxious.  

She knew her participation in any superhero related activity -let alone playing hero all on her own, in NYC of all places- wouldn't really appeal to Peter. 

She knew that, yet she did it anyway. She wanted to help, she knew she could help, so she did. Turns out all that training really paid off. She did good, if she said so herself. Criminals were caught, civilians were safe, the press was eating it up. It was a win in her books. 

Despite all that, she couldn't ignore how her actions affected Peter. He seemed pretty pissed off. And him being that mad at her wasn't a common occurrence, like at all. 

She knew she wouldn't be able to sleep. She was too emotional for that right now. Would they bounce back from this? Was he... done? Done with her? With them? She started giving through his closet, trying to find something to wear. She needed comfort, and if Peter wasn't about to provide that, his clothes would have to do. 

In true teenage girl fashion, she put on some sweatpants and one of Peter's hoodies. She put some sad, break up songs -Taylor Swift most likely- playing softly in the background, as she pulled her laptop and played a Star Wars movie, Peter's favorite. She was very well aware of how ridiculous she was being. But she really couldn't find it in herself to care. She was allowed to wallow in self-pity if she wanted to.  

As the movie started, her eyes began to tear up. She started thinking back to the day they first met, when they got together, when they moved into this house, essentially making herself cry more. What if this was their end? 

She didn't know what possessed her to act like this. Maybe it was the crippling fear that he'd break up with her. Maybe he was done with her. Maybe that's what tomorrow's conversation would bring. Because why on Earth would he want to sleep on the couch -without even giving her a goodnight kiss-, if he wasn't planning on breaking up with her? 

She cried even harder. 

Lost in his thoughts, Peter was startled when he heard a soft sniffling sound coming from the room he shared with Y/n (what a great day to have paper-thin walls!). Instantly, his irritation vanished, replaced by a sense of worry and concern. 

Was she crying? Was she upset? He couldn't bear to see her in distress, especially if he was the cause of it. And though part of him was still angry, the other just couldn't stand by and let her suffer. 

Silently, he got up from the couch and made his way to the bedroom door. 

Peter gently opened the door, trying not to make a sound. The sight that greeted him hit him hard. Y/n, dressed in his hoodie and sweatpants, sitting on their bed with her laptop in her lap, the screen lit up by the familiar glow of the original Star Wars trilogy playing. It was both sweet and heartbreaking. 

Tears were streaming down her face, and her small sobs filled the room. Peter could feel his heart cracking, torn between his lingering anger and his overwhelming love for her. He stood there for a moment, frozen, until the sight of her broke the last shred of his resolve. 

Peter moved forward slowly; his steps gentle yet firm. He approached her with care, as though she were made of fragile glass.  

“I could hear you from the living room” 

"Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you up... I'll keep it down” 

"No, no," he murmured, sitting beside her.  

"You don't need to apologize. I just...I just can't stand seeing you upset.", he reached out to brush the tears off her cheeks, his touch gentle and comforting. 

Tears spilled freely down her face as she leaned into his touch, the warmth of his hand against her cheek softening the jagged edges of her emotions. Her shoulders trembled with quiet sobs, each one a wordless apology for the harshness of the argument that still lingered in the air. And yet, she didn’t pull away—instead, she melted into the comfort, clinging to the embrace as if it was the only thing keeping her from breaking completely. The touch was steady, almost forgiving, and despite the ache between them, it felt like a fragile truce beginning to take shape. 

"I don't want us to break up", she blurted out suddenly. 

Peter blinked in surprise. He was taken aback by her sudden outburst. It hadn't even crossed his mind that they would break up.  

"What? No, of course not. Whatever gave you that idea?" 

He pulled her gently into his lap, his arms wrapping around her in a protective embrace. In return, she clung onto him and cried in his shirt. 

"I'm sorry. I really don't want us to break up. Ever. I hate it when you're mad at me. I don't want to lose you, Peter. You mean so much to me, I don't-" 

Peter held onto her tighter, his heart aching at her outpouring of distress and love. 

"Y/n, angel, listen to me," he said, his voice a calm and gentle assurance in the storm of emotions. "We're not breaking up. Not now, not ever. I love you. Mad, not mad, I love you. Do you understand what I'm saying? This is not a fleeting thing. This is us. Together. Forever." 

"I'm sorry for worrying you. I just wanted to do the right thing. I just wanted to help; I promise that's all I was trying to do. You're so busy and overworked and don't even complain because you're such a great person and I just wanted to help you and do something good for the world, too. I'm so sorry for making you worried. I didn't mean for things to come to this. I'm sorry, Peter. I'm so sorry-" 

She cried even harder in his arms, making Peter's heart shatter at her tear-filled confession. He held her closer, feeling every word as if it weighed a thousand pounds. 

"Shhhhh, shhh," he whispered, trying to soothe her. "You don't have to be sorry for wanting to help, Y/n. That's who you are. That's one of the reasons I fell in love with you. But there are other ways. Safer ways. We'll find them. Together. But I need you to promise, to actually promise me, that you won't do that again, that you won't go out risking your life again." 

She pulled away slightly, just enough to look him in the eyes, her own still filled with tears. 

"Peter..." 

She shook her head. Her tone was quiet and soft, almost a desperate plea.  

Peter's heart clenched tightly in his chest again as she pulled back to face him. Seeing her tear-stricken expression, his resolve nearly faltered. But he steeled himself, knowing this conversation needed to happen.  

"I need to hear you promise, Y/n," he repeated firmly, his tone unwavering, "promise you won't do this again. Promise me right now, or I promise you we're done." 

His words hung heavy in the air, laden with the weight of their love and their future together. Suddenly, she started feeling slightly lightheaded. Did he just-? No, he wouldn't...would he? But he just said- 

"W-what? You can't be serious”  

“I'm sorry, Y/n, but you have to choose” 

As the gravity of what he had just said sunk in, Peter felt a wave of nausea wash over him. Had he really just threatened to end their relationship if she refused to comply? He loved this girl with all his heart, yet here he was, holding their relationship hostage like some sort of bargaining chip. 

He swallowed hard, his eyes never leaving hers. He needed her to know he was serious. But he also needed her to understand this was for their own good. For her safety. For their future. 

"Y/n," he said softly, but firmly, "promise me." 

"But you just- you just said this isn't a fleeting thing. That we are in this together. You just said-", her voice broke and a fresh set of tears ran down her cheeks. 

"And I meant it. I meant every word. But..." Peter paused, his gaze still fixed on her tear-streaked face. "But I can't watch you put yourself in danger like this. I can't stand idly by, watching you risk your life, your future, your everything just to prove a point. I can't promise you my undying love and then stand idly by and watch you throw it away. This isn't some game, Y/n. It's real life. And in real life, people get hurt. People get killed." 

"No. You don't understand. I'm always very careful. I follow protocol. I do everything right-"  

The words came out uneven, trembling as if her emotions were fighting their way through every syllable. Each word seemed to catch in her throat, rasping and shaking as she struggled to speak through the tears. 

"This isn't fair. You can't do this. Peter, you can't-", her own sobs prevented her from speaking. The hesitation in her voice mirrored the vulnerability in her eyes, wavering as though afraid to break completely. 

“No, Y/n, it's not fair!" Peter retorted, his emotions boiling over. "It's not fair that I have to sit here, worrying about you every second of every day. It's not fair that you get to waltz into a dangerous situation, risking everything, and leave me here wondering if I'm ever going you to see you again. That is not fair. But it's the reality of who we are. And I can't watch you do this to yourself, to me, to us." 

After he spoke the room fell silent. All that could be heard was the heaviness of Peter's breathing and Y/n's soft sniffles. 

“Would you do it?” 

“Would I do what?” 

"Would you quit being Spider-Man if I asked you to?", her voice barely above a whisper. 

"Wh-what?" Peter blinked, completely taken aback by Y/n's sudden question. It felt like a punch to the gut, the very thought of giving up being Spider-Man. It was a part of him, just as much as the love he had for her, and he couldn't imagine living a life without it. 

"Why would you-? No, Y/n," he sputtered, the words stumbling out before he could stop himself. "It's not the same. What I do, it's different. I have powers. I have responsibilities-" 

"Okay, then.” 

There was a hint of disappointment and an even bigger hint of finality in the way she said it. That was all she said. Such small and insignificant words, but in that moment, it could potentially signify the end of an era, the end of their era. 

The silence that followed was stifling, the weight of Y/n's words hanging heavily in the air. Peter stared at her, his heart in his throat. This couldn't be it, could it? After everything they had been through, was this really how it would end? 

"No. Y/n, you can't-" Peter's voice broke, his voice hoarse with emotion. "You can't possibly want me to choose between you and my duty as Spider-Man. It's...it's not a fair choice. It's not fair to ask me to give up-" 

“I'm not. I was just... wondering if you'd do the very same thing you're asking me to do”, she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.  

Peter's heart clenched as he watched the tears stream down her cheeks. The realization of what he had done hit him like a ton of bricks. Had he really just demanded she choose between her desire to help and her love for him? Had he really just issued an ultimatum that threatened their entire relationship?  

His shoulders slumped, his resolve suddenly shattered. 

"I...I didn't mean..." He stammered, his voice cracking under the weight of his mistake. "Y/n, I'm so sorry. I never wanted to hurt you. I'm-" 

"At least you won't have to deal with my recklessness anymore", she chuckled bitterly, her tone only half joking. Her voice was quiet and tired as a result of all the crying. 

She really didn't want their relationship to end, especially not like this. Maybe if she took a moment to calm down (if only she could just close her eyes for a minute) she'd see they were both overreacting. They both had their point. Maybe they could even hug it out. That could work, right? It works for kindergarteners; it could work for them, too. But in her emotional and restless state all she could think about was one upping him, making him feel guilty for ever threatening to end things. 

Peter's heart cracked at Y/n's half-hearted attempt at humor. He knew he had a lot of apologizing to do, but right now all he wanted to do was make it right. He didn't want to lose her. He couldn't even begin to imagine a life without her.  

He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, his Spidey-Sense suddenly flared, causing him to freeze mid-breath. "Hang on," he interrupted, his brow furrowed in concentration, his senses now fully alert. He stood silently, focusing on the signals his Spidey-Sense was sending him. Something was off, something was wrong. 

His eyes darted around the room, his attention flicking to the window. Was that... movement? A shadow? A flicker of something out of the ordinary. Y/n's eyes followed Peter's line of sight on the window behind them, noticing something. Before she had the time to let Peter know, the object she noticed was already on its way to their room.  

Acting purely on instinct, in a fragment of a second, she had pushed Peter off the bed, and fell on top of him, concealing him from whatever was going to burst through the window.  

Peter's Spider-Sense blared again, a split second later than it would have been if he hadn't been so wrapped up in his own emotions. 

The force of the blast sent a wave of debris and smoke swirling through the apartment. Glass shattered around them, raining down like sharp, shiny confetti. 

The rush of adrenaline barely let her register the feeling of glass breaking her skin. Peter's eyes widened as he realized what was happening. Y/n had flung herself on top of him, shielding him from the impending explosion. He tried to push her off him, his strength kicking in, knowing he could withstand the blast. 

But it was too late. The shockwave of the blast hit them, sending them crashing against a nearby wall. Peter instinctively wrapped his arms around Y/n, trying to protect her as much as he could. The explosion was deafening, the pain momentarily blinding.  

Once the dust began to settle, Peter slowly let go of Y/n, trying to catch his bearings. Peter's eyes darted around the destroyed room, trying to assess the damage. The devastation was staggering — shattered windows, smoke filling the room, debris everywhere. But his focus was on Y/n; the only thing that mattered right now. 

He gently grasped her shoulders, pulling her towards him, trying to assess her injuries. "Are you okay?" he asked, his voice shaky with worry. "Please, please tell me you're okay." 

She barely noticed the sharp ache on her side or the warmth of blood trickling down her temple as she looked over the charred remains of what had once been their home. Her eyes stayed fixed on the crumbled remains of their house, where years of memories now lay in twisted, blackened ruins. The faint ache in her ribs with each breath was nothing compared to the hollow thud in her chest as she stared at the space that had once been their home.  

Her breathing was shallow, ragged—not from exertion, but from the weight of what she’d lost. Every step sent a jolt of agony through her body, but she ignored it, her focus locked on the blackened timbers and ashes that used to hold their memories, their life. What was a little pain compared to this? 

Peter's grip on her shoulders tightened slightly, his fingers digging into her flesh. "Y/n, look at me," he demanded, his voice firm. "Look at me and tell me you're okay." 

He needed to know she was alright. He couldn't handle the alternative. The thought of losing her was more terrifying than any explosion or villain. 

"Pete, our home. It's... it's gone” 

Her words stumbled out, disjointed and hollow, as if her mind was still scrambling to catch up. ““The picture wall, the stupid chemistry pun posters... they're all... gone.” Her mouth hung slightly open, her voice barely above a whisper, like she couldn’t trust the weight of her own thoughts. Every sentence felt like a question, her tone wavering between incredulity and desperate denial, as if speaking it aloud might somehow undo the reality before them.  

Peter's heart ached at her words. The thought of everything they had built together being destroyed was almost too much to bear. But right now, the only thing that mattered was Y/n. 

He took a deep breath, pushing aside his own emotions.  

"It's just stuff, Y/n. Things. We can get new stuff. None of it matters as long as you're okay." 

“But it won't be *our* stuff” 

Peter's heart broke at her words. She was right. Nothing could replace the sentimental value of their shared belongings — their collective memories and shared experiences. But he had to remain strong for her. He couldn't afford to break down when she needed him. 

"We'll make new memories. Better memories. I promise," he said softly, his hands still on her shoulders. "We'll find a new place, and we'll make it ours. It'll be even better than before. You have to trust me." 

"Trust you? You just broke up with me!”, her tone was almost accusing as tears began running down her face. 

Peter's heart felt like it was tearing in two as the words left Y/n's lips. He hadn't meant it, he *never* would have meant it. He only wanted to protect her, to keep her safe. But he realized his own fear and anxiety had caused him to make a mistake, a terrible mistake. 

"Y/n, baby, please," he pleaded. "It wasn't real. I was scared. I was worried about you going out and putting yourself in danger. I... I panicked. Please, you have to know... I love you." 

"You have a funny way of showing people you love them", she muttered sarcastically under her breath. “Anyway, is that supposed to make me feel better? You gave me an ultimatum, we kinda broke up and an explosive device literally demolishes our home". Angry tears were running down her face. 

"What is going on today? And you were mad because what? Because I risked my life? NEWS FLASH, PETER. THAT'S WHAT YOU DO ALL THE GODDAMN TIME. But I TRUST you and BELIEVE in your need to contribute to the greater good"  

"And I'd never- ah, fuck", she hissed and pressed down on her side 

Peter's eyes widened. Immediately, all other thoughts faded into the background. He quickly moved to her side, lifting up her shirt to assess the damage. His eyes fell on a nasty cut on her side, blood slowly seeping out.  

"You're bleeding," Peter said, his voice trembling with panic. "Why the hell didn't you say something earlier?" 

"Because I was in need of a red shirt- obviously I didn't know!"  

Her tone sounded sarcastic and frustrated; a hint of fear mixed in there as well. 

Peter huffed, feeling an emotional whirlwind. Mainly relief and the tiniest bit of irritation. Of course, she couldn't resist a snarky comment even in a crisis. 

"Right, because bleeding is the current trend," he quipped, trying to match her tone. "Red's not really your color, by the way. You're more of an orange gal." 

He couldn't help but feel a hint of affection towards her, even as he berated her. 

“Parker, I swear to God, if you don't zip it right now, I'll make you regret ever asking me out on that first date” 

Peter paused for a moment, caught off guard by her comment as it reminded him how he just threatened his lovely girlfriend -who he's madly in love with and would literally die for- he'd break up with her if she didn't stop doing something she loves. Her words sent a jolt of guilt through him; he could hear the hurt in her voice, and he knew he was the cause of it. 

He shook his head, pushing the weight of his mistake to the side for now. Y/n was bleeding, and that was his first priority. He would deal with the fallout of his ultimatum later.  

"Hang on," he said softly, gently lifting her up. "We need to stop the bleeding. Then we'll talk." 

He gently wrapped his arm around her waist, supporting her weight as they made their way to what was left of the kitchen. The sink miraculously survived the explosion, and he helped her lean against it. Grabbing a clean cloth, he ran it under the faucet, wetting it.  

"This might hurt," he warned, gently pressing the cloth to her wound. 

“I'm not talking to you”, she said almost right away. 

Peter paused at Melina's response. Her voice was laced with frustration, and he couldn't blame her. He had screwed up, big time. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. She was being stubborn, and he knew she had every right to be. 

"Look, I get it. You don't want to hear from me right now. I messed up, and I know that," he said softly, his gaze fixed on her. "But you're bleeding. I have to help you. Please, let me help you. Then you can go back to giving me the silent treatment if you want, okay? Plus, you don't have to talk. I'll do all the talking. Just let me patch you up, okay?" 

His voice was gentle, the frustration and anger from earlier having faded into the background. He knew that making things right with Y/n was going to take more than just words. It was going to take action. 

"I don't want to hear you talk either", she mumbled childishly. 

Peter raised an eyebrow at her petulant response. He had no doubt she wasn't in the mood to engage in conversation right now, but he refused to let her bleed out on her own floor because she was mad at him. He had to patch her up.  

He exhaled softly, gathering a bundle of supplies from a nearby first-aid kit. 

"You know, you're adorable when you're angry," he commented, unable to help himself. He started carefully cleaning the wound, his hands moving with precision and care. 

"And you're still talking" 

He couldn't help but smile at her stubbornness. He had truly fallen for a strong, independent woman. "Sorry, I just can't resist when my girlfriend's bleeding and fuming. It's a dangerous combination." 

He carefully began stitching up her wound, his hands steady and sure. "Just remember, a little bit of anger and banter make for the best love stories. We might be the next big blockbuster, with how dramatic we are." 

“Ex girlfriend", she corrected with an eye roll at the irony of it all. 

"And no love story for us. You can pursue your romance with the Becky from down the street now", she said grumpily, the thought alone tugging at her heartstrings 

Peter let out a sigh of exasperation at Y/n's correction. He knew he had made a mistake, and it hurt to see her refer to herself as his ex-girlfriend, but for now, her cut had his full attention. He couldn't get sidetracked. 

"You're right, I'm sorry. But you know, we could be the next enemies to lovers, if you play your cards right. A little banter, a little fighting, and then some dramatic make-up scene. The audience will love it." 

He finished stitching up her wound, his touch gentle despite his words. 

She wanted to stay mad at him, she really did. But it was hard to when he was making silly little comments like these. A small smile made its way to her face but she quickly bit down on her lip to stop herself before he saw and got cocky about it. 

Peter's keen Spidey senses picked up on the shift in her demeanor. He caught the subtle smile she tried to hide, and it warmed his heart. 

"Oh, is that a smile I see?" He said in a teasing tone. "I knew my charm would get to you eventually. Just imagine, if you're already smiling after breaking up, what could happen if we make up? The world might just explode from our awesomeness." 

"No one's smiling, you must've hit your head" 

Peter chuckled at her quick defense of her smile. He finished applying an antiseptic to the wound and gently covered it with a clean bandage.  

"Right, of course, I'm just seeing things," he replied with a playful wink. "But hey, if I did hit my head, maybe I'm having a vivid dream where you and I are the star-crossed lovers in the epic love story that is our lives. And you know what that means, right?" 

He leaned in close, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Wake me up with a kiss, Melina." 

"That was the corniest thing I've ever heard. Plus, I have this rule of not kissing ex boyfriends, sorry" 

"You're really gonna play hard to get?", Peter countered, a grin spreading across his face. "Well, I guess I'll just have to win you back then. I've defeated villains and battled super-powered monsters. Winning your heart back can't be much harder, right?" 

He stood up, helping her up as he did so. He couldn't resist pulling her towards him, his hands lightly settling on her hips. "And just so you know, I'm a great kisser." 

"Really? You'd think I would know, considering we spent the last four years of our lives together" 

"Touché. But you know what they say, practice makes perfect. Maybe I should give you a refresher. After all, I can't have you going around thinking I'm a bad kisser, can I?" 

He gently brushed a lock of hair away from her face, his gaze filled with affection. 

"So what do you say? For old time's sake?" 

"Old time being... yesterday?" 

Peter shrugged with a sheepish grin. "Well, technically yes, but you know what I meant. Besides, yesterday was a lifetime ago. We've had an explosion, a break-up, and a reunion. That's a lot more than most couples experience in a lifetime." 

He paused for a moment, a genuine warmth seeping into his voice. 

"In all seriousness, Y/n, I messed up. I've regretted it this entire time. I'm so sorry. Please give me another chance to prove it. To prove that we're... perfect together." 

“ ‘This entire time’ being...what? Thirty minutes?"*she said with a snort of amusement. 

Peter chuckled, his smile widening. "Alright, alright, I get it. We can't all be as patient as you with our ex-boyfriends. But seriously, Y/n, I mean it. I regret what I said. I was scared, and I made a mistake." 

He paused for a moment, his gaze growing serious. "I love you. I want you. And I'm willing to do whatever it takes to win back your trust and heart." 

He took her hand, his fingers intertwining with hers. "Can we... just start over? Please?" 

She pulled her hand away from his and just stood there, watching him for a moment. After a bit she extended her arm towards him and introduced herself. 

"Y/n Stark", she said with the tiniest of smiles evident on her lips. 

“Who's being corny now?”, he rolled his eyes in a playful manner before wrapping his hand around hers, savoring the feel of her skin against his. 

"Y/n Stark," Peter echoed, his voice soft with affection "It's a pleasure to meet you, Y/n Stark. I'm Peter Parker. But you can call me anytime." 

With that, he gently pulled her closer, his free hand reaching up to caress her cheek. He leaned in, his lips gently brushing against hers, sealing their newfound beginning with a tender, heartfelt kiss. She laughed softly against his lips, the pickup line catching her off guard. Peter couldn't ignore the fluttering in his chest as her laughter met his lips. The sound was like music to his ears, and he deepened the kiss, his arms wrapping around her waist. 

Pulling away slightly, he whispered in her ear, "Did that meet your witty standards, Miss Stark?" 

"I'll let it slide", she said with a serious expression, nodding slightly before a smile made its way on her face again. 

Peter grinned, his eyes sparkling with adoration. "Only let it slide? I'll have to step up my game, then. How about this?" 

He leaned in again, his voice a low murmur against her lips. "I swear I'll be your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man if you let me swing by your place every night." 

She snorted in amusement “That was so bad” 

“Was it now?” With that, he captured her lips in a kiss, expressing the depth of his feelings for her with each lingering moment. 

Their lips met softly, tenderly, as if every touch was a gentle reminder of how much they meant to each other. It was unhurried, each moment lingering with the quiet depth of love that words could never capture. There was no urgency, only a profound warmth, a silent apology woven into the way their hands cupped each other’s faces. The kiss held forgiveness, not as a plea, but as a gift, an unspoken promise that they were ready to move forward together. It wasn’t just an expression of love—it was a vow, a renewal of everything they’d shared and everything they still hoped to build. 

After a bit, they pulled away to catch their breath.  

“So, we're together again?”, she asked playfully. 

He looked at her, his eyes sparkling with amusement as before he softly kissed her forehead "Please, we were never not together” 

With that, they fell in silence. 

The silence wrapped around them like a soft blanket, warm and steady, filling the spaces where words weren’t needed. It wasn’t heavy or awkward but gentle, a quiet acknowledgment of shared understanding. The only sounds were the subtle rhythm of their breathing and the faint rustle of the world outside, creating a calm that felt almost sacred. In that stillness, there was no need to explain, no need to fill the air with chatter—it was enough just to be there, side by side, letting the silence speak what their hearts already knew. 

“Are we going to ignore the fact that we're homeless?” 

A small chuckle left Peter's lips as he pulled her closer. 

"You always have to ruin the mood”, he said jokingly, “We'll figure it out, baby. Just you and me. And your dad. We should probably call him and beg him to let us crash because we're kind of screwed otherwise”  

[chocopokkie]

Bound by Shadows

Summary: You attempt to break up with Alastor but it doesn't go so well.

TW: Non-con, yandere-ish Alastor, forced relationship, smut (let me know if I missed any!)

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"I'm really sorry, Al," you murmur softly, your gaze avoiding his once-adoring eyes, now fixed with a grin that cuts deeper than any blade. "I just don't think we should be together anymore..."

"We can still be friends!" you hastily add, your voice betraying the tremor of uncertainty, "I just don't think—"

But before you can finish, a dark laugh cuts through the air like a chilling gust of wind.

"Haha!" Alastor's laughter drips with disdain as he interrupts, his tone laced with judgment. "My dear, I truly don't think you know what you're talking about. You think after everything I've done for you, you can just leave me, little doe? I believe I need to give you a reminder of who you belong to," he growls, his words like a predator's low warning growl.

Suddenly, the room shifts and morphs around you, the comforting walls of your room replaced by the dark, dense canopy of a forest. Panic surges through you, but before you can even grasp the gravity of the situation, you're violently shoved to the forest floor. The earthy scent fills your senses as black tendrils snake around your limbs, rendering escape impossible.

"Alastor, please, what are you doing?" you plead, your voice shaking with a mixture of fear and confusion. You attempt to struggle against the oppressive grip of the tendrils, but they hold you firmly in place, like iron chains. "Please, you're really scaring me!" you beg, desperation seeping into your words as you realize the gravity of the situation.

"Oh, as you should be, dear~," Alastor purrs sinisterly, his voice dripping with malevolence. "Because I'm going to make sure this is a lesson you never forget." With a snap of his fingers, the tendrils forcefully flip you over, leaving you on your knees with your face pressed against the cold, hard forest floor. Dread washes over you as you realize what's about to happen.

"N-No... Please..." you whimper, your voice barely above a whisper, desperation tainting every syllable. "Okay, I'm sorry! Please, I'll never do anything like this again, I swear! I love you! Just please stop..." You plead, reaching out to him in a futile attempt to appeal to his humanity, to make him see reason. But all you receive in response is a dark chuckle that sends chills down your spine.

"Oh, I know, baby~," Alastor responds, his tone laced with a sickening mixture of affection and possessiveness. "But if you aren't punished, you might get that stupid idea of trying to leave me in that pretty little head of yours. And we can't have that again, now can we?"

Alastor moves quickly, his movements fluid yet unsettlingly precise. With a swift motion, he shoves your dress over your hips, the fabric bunching around your waist. You gasp in shock and protest, but before you can utter a word, his clawed finger slashes through your panties, cutting them away with a cruel efficiency.

His dark chuckle cuts through the air like a blade through silence. "Bad girls don't get any foreplay," he growls, his voice dripping with malice as he works at his pants, freeing his cock. With grace, he positions himself at your unprepared entrance.

"I'm sorry, Alastor! Please, just stop," you plead, desperation lacing your voice as tears stream down your face. You know there's nothing you can do to halt his actions, trapped and powerless against him.

Your scream rips through the air like a haunting melody as Alastor mercilessly shoves his entire length inside of you, setting a brutal pace that leaves you gasping for breath. Each thrust is accompanied by a symphony of pain and desperation, your pleas falling on deaf ears as he revels in your suffering. Alastor savors the sound of your cries, finding perverse pleasure in the symphony of agony echoing through the forest.

One of his hands snakes around to rub your clit, sending a jolt of unexpected pleasure coursing through your body. Your muscles tense and spasm in response to the new sensation, but the relentless grip of the tendrils keeps you firmly anchored to the forest floor, rendering you utterly helpless against Alastor's desires. He continues his assault, relishing in the control he exerts over your body and mind.

As the realization sinks in, a cold dread settles in the pit of your stomach. You understand now that there's no escape from his grasp, no reprieve from his twisted desires. In that moment, it becomes painfully clear: you belong to him, body and soul, for eternity. Alastor has ensured that you'll never forget your place, sealing your fate with every merciless thrust and cruel manipulation. You are his forever, and he delights in reminding you of that fact.

You can never escape.

He leans in close, his hot breath tickling your ear as he whispers with a cruel intimacy, "Are you gonna be a good girl and cum for me?" With renewed vigor, he increases the speed and pressure on your clit, driving you to the brink of ecstasy even as tears streak down your face, overwhelmed by the conflicting sensations coursing through your body.

As you came around Alastor's cock, he resumes his brutal pace. His claws dig into your hips, leaving marks of possession as he relentlessly chases his own release. With a guttural groan, you feel him twitch inside you, his hot seed spilling deep within, painting your walls white with his essence.

"Now then, have you learned your lesson, love?" Alastor's voice cuts through the haze of pain and confusion, his tone dripping with smug satisfaction. Gradually, you feel the tendrils loosen their grip around you, allowing you to collapse onto the forest floor, your body trembling with exhaustion and sobs wracking your frame.

"Y-yes," you manage to whisper weakly, your voice barely audible amidst the turmoil of emotions raging within you.

"Lovely~. Now get yourself cleaned up! We have reservations tonight!" His words, almost sickeningly cheerful, echo in your ears as he strides away, leaving you alone in the cold darkness of the forest. As you lay there, broken and defeated, you can't help but reconsider everything—your choices, your worth, and the twisted dynamic that binds you to him in ways you never imagined possible.