#but you avenge him

[twentydaysofdrabbles]

The Concierge Delivers a Message (Part 15)

It’s deep into the early hours of the morning now. Too late for night owls, too early for early birds, leaving you alone in the empty lobby. You had dismissed the night receptionist who was meant to take your place - too keyed up from interrupting someone’s attempt to have a good night.

One dead. One whose fate rests in the Manager’s hands. Another who yet runs from you. 

Thinking of it causes the corners of your eyes to tighten, the corners of your lips to dip. It was not just Sans who was attacked. No, if it was just Sans, you doubt you’d be so...so restless. Desirous to rip and tear, but in a different way. 

It was that bellboy you had introduced to the Cartel Lieutenant not too long ago. Someone who was in service, who could be of assistance. He was young, oh so terribly young. Too young to be found with a bullet through his head, a boot mark on his chest, multiple bruises on his skin, stuffed into a corner in the utility room just behind the pool pumps. His key was taken - it could access the staff rooms, and from there the tunnels beneath the hotel. 

One of the Continental’s. One of yours. 

No doubt that the Manager would know what to do with the guest once they were found, but you would take your satisfaction from their sentence one way or another. 

Once, you would have been the one with your nose to the ground. Tracking your prey, flitting from shadow to shadow, melding into the crowds. Hunting them down until you had them cornered. Taking their hearts and returning your trophy to your--

No. 

It’s not like that any longer. 

Now you sit and wait for someone else to report their whereabouts. You don’t deny that a part of you itches to be out there. To sink your teeth into a trail, to see them run from you, to...

Alas, that is not your place. Not anymore.

Now your place is to follow afterwards. A hunter trailing after a hound, firearm in hand. A text causes the screen on your phone to light up under the counter, casting a cool glow on your face as you open it to read its contents. 

A name, a number, a location. 

The muscles of your face strain at the appearance of a feral grin. Picking up the phone, you dial the number and dial back the savage expression on your face. Professional, you must be professional. “Good morning, sir. I apologise for calling you at this hour...”

.

.

.

Now, your place is by the Manager’s side, striding out the front doors of the hotel in the company of several guards. Outside, you had already arranged for a valet to come and take you to the Coliseum. A park located within the city, historical and green with a stunning amphitheatre, and most importantly, deserted at this time of the morning. You had made sure it would be. 

The sky bleeds red as night gives way to the early hours of dawn. The wind is biting against the bared skin of your face, tossing your hair ever so slightly. Hidden as you are in the wings, clad in black and melded into the shadows, you can see everything. Including the stands and its many pathways and stairs, stairs which a limping man slowly traverses. As well as the sounds of cars pulling up beyond the entrance, of boots on gravel and asphalt. 

Ah, of course. One would be foolish to come alone. But even more foolish to think additional company would be unexpected.

Wild hair, wild eyes. Ink crawling over his skin. A history, a life, written in black and grey on a tanned canvas. Black leather jacket, tactical pants, heavy boots. 

Down the stairs, up to the stage. Stops, waits, his head on a swivel. Wary. He knows something is coming.

It doesn’t take long. 

Dark figures break away from the shadows of the pillars, the stands, every little crevice, until the man is surrounded on all sides by men and women who bare their guns in their relaxed hands. He stops, tense, and hovers a hand over his belt. 

“No,” he hisses in Spanish through gritted teeth.

The amphitheatre is built for performance. For sound. Its very shape, designed and built in ancient times, causes everything to sound so much louder than it should be. So much so, in fact, that the Manager need not raise her voice for the man to hear her.

“Dearest guest,” she purrs as she sashays over to him, her heels clicking on the stone. “As much as we have enjoyed your patronage, it is time we parted ways.” Coming close enough to him that he could conceivably lash out and strike her, she smiles coyly, her hands in her pockets. “By your own actions, you have broken the rules of the Continental. As such, your membership is now...revoked.”

The man snarls, a hand flying to the gun holstered in his belt, “Fuck you--!”

His swear is cut off by a hand settling on his, pinning it to the gun’s grip, keeping it holstered. He tries to spin around, tries to see what has snared him, and immediately crashes into a firm body. 

Yours.

“Good morning, sir,” you intone with a polite smile, your dead eyes warming to life, like ink slowly bleeding upon parchment. Staring right into his own. “We hope you’ve had a pleasant stay.” 

You can see the blood drain from his face.

“You,” he tries to choke out. His body moves, goes to break the hold you have on his hand. 

Ah, but you are faster. Though it has been a long time since you have seen active combat, this much, your body remembers. Coiling the muscles in your body. Pushing off a foot, gathering the strength from your legs to your hips to your chest, your shoulders. Chambering your arm for a close-range punch to the chest. 

The fingers of your free hand curl inwards, touching the hidden mechanism near the heel of your palm. And with the lightest of deliberate touches, a blade comes flashing out. Darkened steel, sparks of white flashing through it like stars in the darkness, spearing out from under the cuff of your suit, your shirt, affixed to the device hidden around your wrist.

Striking like a bolt of lightning, forceful and in the blink of an eye.

The feeling of metal sinking into soft flesh, then firm muscle. The strength it takes to press on, to scrape past bone and sinew and then--

Ah, the softness that parts around the sharp tip. A wetness leaking forth, faster and faster with every beat of that frantic heart. Dripping and staining your gloves. Your freshly changed gloves. But ah, for this, you won’t mind the chore of cleaning them later.

The man chokes, gripping at your hand with the one not pinned to his gun. He struggles with a hoarse wheeze, snarling into your face with bared teeth, “La devoradora...”

Your eyes, formerly so empty as to reflect the endless abyss of the sea, twinkles - a burst of bioluminescence in the darkness - and you murmur, “Hola.”

You don’t give him a chance to respond.

One move to rip the blade out of his chest. One to break the grip on your wrist to seize it in your grip. Another to rip the gun out from under his hand, to thumb the safety and fit your finger around the trigger in one smooth motion. And then one more to fit it under his chin.

There is only one heartbeat to savour the look on his face, the fear in his eyes, the recognition of who presses the gun to his throat.  

Your hand is stiff, flexing it is like moving through clayish mud. Your repaired ligaments, your scarred muscles feel like stone entombing the grip of the gun and its trigger. For a brief moment, you don’t think you can command your finger to pull it. But then--

And then it is gone with the sharp pop of a gunshot, initiated by a gentle pull of the trigger that sends a shock through your aching hand, your strong forearm.

You relish it all, even the slight ringing in your ears from the gunfire. But perhaps most of all, you revel in the liquid warmth on your face that quickly cools as the cold wind rushes past you. Yes, yes! In that heartbeat, you feel like your old self again. Younger, faster, stronger, perfect. Unscarred. Alive.

Alas...

The corpse, now missing the top of his head, topples over as you push it down and away from you. 

The heavy thud echoes in the amphitheatre, like thunder cracking through the sky, and that is signal enough for three more figures to come trudging down the steps.

All of this, you register somewhere deep in your mind. That and the gunfire and yelling coming from beyond the stands. Of it dying down and the dragging of bodies.

But you are so preoccupied with the feeling of cool wetness dripping down your face, your hand. The cold grip of the gun that feels so right in your palm. So familiar. Crimson drips off your blade, bared still as it spears out from your sleeve. Plopping like thick drops of rain escaping from fat, heavy clouds. A sign of what’s to come. 

You cannot see it, but you are sure your face is far from its normal neutral expression. Your eyes must be afire with warmth. Your heart thunders, adrenaline rushing through your veins. Yes, this is--!

“My Heart,” comes the soft voice of the Manager. A hand drops on your shoulder; firm but gentle. 

The clipping of your leash back onto your collar.

The woman turns you around and winks with a smile, “You’ve not lost your touch.” She nods to the gun in your hand, the bared blade affixed to the other. 

You blink. Ah. The gun is made safe and given to the Collector’s man, who reaches out for it to toss it unto the body being cleared away. “One must adapt,” you murmur with a small smile, a true smile, pressing the mechanism in your glove to retract the blade into its sheath. 

The Manager only laughs, her hand still on your shoulder to start leading you away from the scene. Black clad guards disperse into the shadows, some to your side. “They said you had been declawed,” she gestures to the corpse as she says that. The Cartel. Then she looks into your eyes, eyes that now reflect back at her with nothing but a flat emptiness.

This was a warning. A message. The Continental has made an example of one who has broken the rules.

Shown that its owner and her weapon would not hesitate to bite.

Your lip quirks in a flat smirk as you reach for a pristine white handkerchief to dab at the blood on your face. “They were wrong.”

Very, very wrong.

[mischievous-thunder]

You can't just kidnap a princess and expect him to agree with you immediately after, Wade!

[frownyalfred]

The Robins are all, by nature and upbringing, independent and self-reliant. They want to prove that they can handle their own bad guy, even without Batman. And most of the time, they can.

Every now and then, though, there’s a bad guy who gets a lucky hit in, or times a hostage-taking situation just right. And Robin, instead of being terrified, gets to sit back and watch the beauty of a pissed-off Batman come in and take over.

Sometimes, pure joy isn’t drop kicking a bad guy in the face. Sometimes, pure joy is standing there and watching Batman introduce the guy’s face to seventeen new surfaces all in a row. It’s watching as the hand that hit you gets broken into a dozen pieces. It’s knowing that not only will Bruce handle this, he will make it hurt.

[pauls-mescal]

Sebastian Stan on what he would reply to Donald Trump's opinion about his biopic "The Apprentice"

[jennipond]

you breathe for everything he is

[talaok]

Do you miss me?

Pairing: Peter Parker x Stark!f!reader

Summary: you and Petey are doing long distance since he's on a mission with the rest of the Avengers, only one day, your longing for him gets to be too much and you decide to send him a little something. How were you supposed to know he was having a meeting with the rest of the team?

warnings: sending nudes, sub!Peter (like very much so), smut| video-call sex, masturbation (f and m), pet names for the spiderboy (goodboy, baby, honey...), and praising.

a/n: my semestral peter fic is here loves. sometimes a girl just needs to tell peter parker he's a good boy, what can i say. (btw i think this was like a trend on tiktok a while back no?)

this is a part of this series but it can be read alone

He could feel his heart beating a mile a minute and his whole face turning red as he rushed to his room.

fuckfuckfuckfuck-shit

The picture was still open on his phone, menacingly perfect- so fucking pretty and-

He'd managed to shut the door and sit on the bed that you were already video calling him.

"you know it's not very polite not to reply when a girl send you a picture of her boobs"

"I-I-" he could only stutter as you smiled at him from his screen

God, you looked pretty...

"I'm kidding baby" You couldn't help but laugh

He was still trying to recover, but after a moment, he finally managed to talk

"I- I was with the others, w-we were having a meeting"

"o-oh" you stuttered before a laugh escaped you, the whole scene comically playing in your head

"Y-your dad was right next to me"

"Oh my god this is the funniest thing ever"

"It's really not"

You feigned a pout, looking at him all sweet

"You'd rather I'd not sent the picture?"

He didn't even have to think about it

"n-no of course I w-wanted to see the picture I-"

"Do you miss me?" you interrupted him

"yes" he rushed to say- god you had no idea how much he missed you "I-I miss you a lot"

"yeah?" you asked again, your voice getting sultrier "You miss my tits too?"

"Y-Y/n-" his voice got stuck in his throat, his cock painfully hard already

"'s just a question Peter"

he glanced at the door to check if it was closed before answering.

"Y-yeah, I-I really miss your boobs"

You grinned proudly at that, propping yourself further up the bed

"You'd like to see them right now?"

fuck me

Peter had never done anything like this, and to be quite honest, he didn't think he ever would.

"Y-yes" he blurted out without thinking "I-if you want to, of course"

You stifled a laugh as you got rid of your tank top

"I wouldn't have asked if I didn't want to baby"

But Peter wasn't really listening anymore, his eyes had fallen to your tits, and his brain... well his brain had kind of stopped working.

You laughed, watching his eyes widen and his cheeks grow even redder.

"you still with me baby?"

"y-yeah s-sorry you just- you're so beautiful"

A smirk pulled at your lips

"thank you" you murmured, laying down on the bed and placing your phone so he could see both your naked torso and face.

You only needed to reach for your left boob and massage it as you bit down on your lip to elicit a strangled "fuck" from him.

"You're hard baby?"

He almost felt the urge to laugh. Of course he was fucking hard- rock fucking hard.

He could only manage a nod,

"show me" you ordered softly.

He hesitated for just about a second before doing as told.

He was nothing if not obedient when it came to you.

The camera flipped to the other side, and you were now suddenly seeing Peter's lap and part of the bed he sat on.

There was a big prominent tent right on his crotch, and your mouth watered in anticipation as he undid his zipper and hurriedly took his cock out.

"mhh" you hummed appreciatively.

His dick was red and angry, already leaking at the very tip.

"You've got such a perfect cock, honey"

You watched his dick twitch at the compliment

"I want to see your face too baby," you spoke softly, your fingers now playing with your left nipple

"Y-yes" you heard his excited voice mumble as he propped his phone on one of the pillows and turned the camera back so he could sit on the bed and be perfectly visible.

"that's better" you smiled, taking in his needy eyes and even needier cock.

"Ca- can I touch it?"

A huge grin appeared on your face at his words... you'd taught him so well.

"Yes honey, but you don't come until I say so, alright?"

An exited breath left his mouth as he reassured you

"Yes-yes I won't- thank you"

And so you nodded, murmuring a soft "go on", and his hand was wrapped around his dick and the cutest, most desperate little moans started spilling from his mouth.

"slow, baby, go slow" you had to remind him as your own hand traveled south, your pointer and middle finger finding your clit as you observed your boyfriend stare at you through the screen as he frantically fucked his own fist.

Your bottom lip was caged between your teeth as your middle and ring fingers slowly found their way inside you, but still, a soft moan couldn't help but escape.

"a-are you...?"

Peter had only now noticed, having been enthralled by... well by your tits all this time.

"yes honey, I'm touching myself too"

A mindless whimper climbed up his throat just at the image.

"c-can I- please- can I see?"

that little word murmured so pleadingly only heightened the pleasure of your fingers, which were now softly thrusting in and out of you, curling up to that soft part of you each time.

"See what?" you taunted, your voice now a little breathless.

Oh, this was torture.

Having to see and hear what you were doing without actually being able to see was much more than Peter could take.

"Please y/n"

"You want to see my pussy, baby? 's that it?"

Jesus Christ, it was a miracle he hadn't busted his load right there.

"mh-mh" he nodded frantically

"ask nicely honey"

He didn't need to be told twice

"I- Please Y/n, can I- can I see your pussy?"

You smiled wide as, without answering, you moved your phone to capture your fingers going in and out of your pussy as best as you could.

The moan he let out was one of a starved men

"You like what you see?" you teased, giggling softly.

"f-fuck-- yeah"

"I wish you were here baby-" you moaned, your fingers speeding up "putting that pretty mouth of yours to good use- or- or filling me up with your cock"

The strangled whimpers and whines fleeing Peter's parted mouth were getting louder and needier each passing second

"You're supposed to say something too babyboy" you taunted him, your voice laced with the bliss of your impending orgasm.

"'m s-sorry" he mumbled "I-I'm not good at this- I-"

"'s ok honey" you cooed "Just tell me what you'd be doing right now- if you were here with me"

You'd switched the camera so your face was in the shot, but you'd angled it higher so your work on your pussy was still visible.

"shit" you heard him cry.

You looked straight out of a dream

"not yet baby, don't come yet" you murmured "tell me"

"I-I" he closed his eyes, trying to focus as his cock begged to burst "I'd want to taste you- to- to get on my knees between your thighs and m-make you come with my tongue"

that earned him a very loud moan on your part

"yeah?"

"yes" he nodded, wanting nothing but to please you

"you're such a good boy honey"

as always, the pet name, made him melt right to the ground and made his cock twitch dangerously early.

"y/n, please"

"'s ok baby-'s ok" you promised "You wanna come?"

"yes- yes please"

his voice was barely a whisper, he sounded almost on the verge of crying

"come with me baby yeah?"

"y-yeah- yeah"

You matched your pace with his furious one, your vision starting to get all fuzzy from the pleasure

"just like that baby-so good- fuck" you moaned, biting your lips as you imagined it was his fingers inside of you, that he was there with you "'m coming- come with me, honey- come with m-"

Your sentence was interrupted by your own moan as bliss took over your whole body, your orgasm spreading like wildfire, until you were curling your toes and crying into the empty room like a madwoman.

While Peter... well Peter's cock had given up the very second you had even hinted at coming. His spent had stained his hand and his pants as he uncaringly tugged at his dick, listening to the beautiful sounds coming out of your mouth.

It took a moment before either of you came back to earth- and it was finally you, who smiled as you sat up, watching your boyfriend catch his breath and wishing you could be there with him to clean him off with your tongue- that spoke first.

"Baby?" you called

He shook his head as if getting out of a trance before he took the phone still propped up on the pillow until you could only see his face- his blissed-out, flushed, beautiful face.

"The mission's tonight?"

"yes" he nodded, still clearly out of it.

"you'll call me after?"

"Of-of course"

You smiled, getting a good look at him as a gentle grin split his lips.

"Good, be careful spidey"

"I-I will" he nodded

"Goodbye baby"

"bye y/n"

And just like that, he was alone, his own come all over him, the fucking Avengers (one of which was your dad) in the other room probably waiting on an explanation as to why he suddenly had different pants on and what was it that he'd received on his phone that had made him get out of the meeting room in such a hurry.

Oh and... he also had to pray that none of the sounds you'd both made could be heard from outside

[nobleriver]

DOCTOR WHO | Let's Kill Hitler (6.08)

[lefthandarm-man]

COUNTDOWN TO STEVE'S 106TH BIRTHDAY

posting my favorite steve things to celebrate!

day 3: getting mad and gr 😳 and grabbing people 😳

[drenched-in-sunlight]

this is how they are in my head

[robinhuntr]

Rogue in stories without Gambit vs. Gambit in stories without Rogue

[eddie-redcliffe]

It was a unique show and I’m still getting over the idea that they can just go “we’re canceling that”.

[prettydjarinsoloinspires]

no but think about the Loki from Thor. from Avengers. the fact that he’s fighting for something good that he believes in means so much. the fact that he can sit there and say he just wants his friends back. these friends. the ones who see him for him. who don’t judge him. who he feels like he BELONGS with.

when has Loki ever felt like he belongs anywhere? he’s always been the outsider, the outcast, the villain. at the TVA he has felt appreciated and accepted. no one is singling him out or giving him a hard time for being himself. he FITS. he has come so so far. and shipping aside, the main reason for that is Mobius. someone who has seen every dark crevice of his life and his bad choices and his darkest moments and treated him with compassion and understanding.

the orphaned, abandoned, misunderstood villain has been able to write his own story because one ordinary man believed in him.

[mischievous-thunder]

Wade's POV:

Logan's POV:

[ghoststillhaunting]

The night before the train mission in the alps, Steve has a weird and strangely vivid dream of a woman crying. Not just crying, absolutely sobbing, screaming, so much screaming. Just losing her mind to grief with her hands covering her face, shaking and cowering on her knees. It isn't until after Bucky falls off the train, until he's sitting in that bombed out bar, that he makes the connection, remembering those old Irish folk stories his mother used to tell him.

[erinwantstowrite]

Erin the comparison of JL vs the Avengers to Camp Jupiter vs Camp Half blood is toooo accurate 😭

JL: There’s an established system in place and contingencies for every foreseeable scenario

Avengers: fuck it we ball

peter thinks that the Avengers have it all together because they're his teachers and they're constantly telling him to use his brain but it's really because they, for the first time, saw their own "fuck it we ball" mentality in a teenager, and thought "oh my god maybe that is like... super dangerous." like when a parent was younger and they partied a lot and sometimes got into dangerous situations and thought "this is normal" until they had a kid and they quickly realized "oh that's why my mom was insane."

that didn't make them any better, it just made them hypocrites. peter just doesn't know that because they act super responsible when he's around

[sciderman]

avenging spider-man #13