#if i scream too loud it might crack open my jaw

[youreviltwin]

.

[ironspiderfics]

someone else living in his skin

by @iron--spider for @shoyzz-art

~

Peter slides up alongside Rhodey, and Rhodey startles.

There’s a cacophony of twinkling glasses and chairs being pulled out and whatever weird jazz music playlist Tony’s got playing, and all of it seems loud, in Peter’s ears. Shaking his nerves. 

“Jesus Christ,” Rhodey says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “What are you doing? I thought you were putting out table numbers—”

“Do you think he’s acting shifty?” Peter asks, calmly as he can.

He’s calm. Why wouldn’t he be calm?

His eyes are locked on Tony. 

They’re in the middle of setting up this mini gala event, the opening for Stark’s new research facility in the Lower East Side. It’s gonna create hundreds of jobs and scholarships and internships and it’s gonna be a really good thing, partnering with the museums and businesses in the area. Peter’s actually really excited because he’s got the title of ‘Lead Researcher’ for the intern pool, whatever that winds up meaning from day to day, and he thought Tony would be really excited too. He loves celebrations, he loves new opportunities and helping people, but—

But for the last two days he’s been…different.

He’s been…off.

But Peter’s calm. He’s calm about it. There’s no reason why he shouldn’t be calm.

His eye is just twitching a little bit.

Rhodey looks at Tony, and then he looks at Peter, and then he looks at Tony again. He narrows his eyes, like he’s trying to assess the situation. 

“He’s just—I don’t know,” Peter says, blowing out a breath. He wrings his hands together and cracks his jaw. 

“Is this a spidey sense thing?” Rhodey asks, crossing his arms over his chest. 

Peter shrugs, still watching him. Tony is sort of looming around—straightening a table cloth here, pushing in a chair there, glancing over his shoulder like he thinks someone is watching him. He’s sweating more than normal. 

“A little bit of that, a little bit of—just—he’s acting weird,” Peter says. “Not acting like himself, I guess ever since the other night when that guy tried to break in—”

“But we dealt with that,” Rhodey says, looking at him. “It was in and out—cops came, got the guy—”

“Right, I know, but it’s been since then he’s just been like—I don’t know,” Peter says, blowing out a breath. “Like he—the other night, he forgot that I already graduated, he was asking me when I was gonna graduate—”

“We all forget that,” Rhodey says, raising his eyebrow at him. “You’re perpetually twelve—”

“You didn’t even know me when I was twelve—”

“You’re twelve now—”

Peter sighs. “Well, he normally remembers, and he was the one at my graduation screaming and yelling and making a big scene so, that’s not really—easily forgotten, and he was being weird about Spider-Man the other day—”

“Weird how?” Rhodey asks, turning towards him completely, now. “Because he’s always weird about Spider-Man. Every other day he’s messaging me like how do we convince Peter to retire?”

Peter clicks his tongue. “Asking me things he knows. Like how I make my webs and which suit is my favorite and—I don’t know, stuff like that. Weird stuff.”

“You’ve been staying at the compound since that guy tried to break in?”

“Yeah,” Peter says. “Me and May both, the apartment has that infestation, everybody’s out for at least a week.” 

He clears his throat. The guy trying to break in was weird—he seemed normal, no powers, no real intentions, he got pretty far but was taken down fast, and he didn’t seem at all—fazed, by any of it. He was even polite. 

Maybe it got under Tony’s skin? A lot of stuff like that does. They’ve been through enough, with the dying, coming back again two years later, him nearly dying trying to fix it all—a petty thief trying to get into an Avengers compound is just the kind of irritation that might set him off. Last straw kinda deal.

Rhodey stares over at Tony again, and Peter looks too. Tony is being twitchy. He’s talking to waiters and he’s got his hands behind his back and his fingers are twitching. 

“Has Pepper said anything to you?” Rhodey asks.

“Has Pepper said anything to you?” Peter asks, raising his eyebrows. “Because she’s more likely—I mean, with me, we talk about MIT, when I start, how my summer’s going, we talk about, um, TikTok recipes, we talk about MJ, and Tony in the capacity of like, Iron Man, and Spider-Man, or his birthday, or Christmas, but not like—I’m just saying, she’s more likely to—have said something to you, or Happy, than me.”

“No, she hasn’t, but now that you mention—and he is acting weird right now—and yesterday he did get off the phone fast, different from how he normally…” Rhodey trails off, shaking his head. 

“Maybe he’s sick?” Peter asks, worrying a little bit more now. He thought maybe he was overreacting, he thought Rhodey would brush him off and he’d feel better and then Tony would magically start acting normal again after the conversation. “Nervous? He doesn’t usually—”

“No,” Rhodey says, shaking his head. “Not nervous, these things are—easy, like the back of his hand—sick, maybe, but I thought he was well beyond hiding sick from us, so I hope not—” He looks resolute, all of a sudden, and he claps Peter on the shoulder. “I’m gonna go talk to him. We’ve got an hour or so still, of set-up, so let’s just—just keep on putting out the numbers, doing everything on your list—”

“Okay,” Peter says, nodding, and Rhodey pats him on the shoulder again, moving past him. Peter watches, nonchalantly, as Rhodey walks up to Tony, taking his arm and sort of moving him across the room.

And it’s probably fine. 

Rhodey’s gonna talk to him, figure it out, and it’s gonna be okay. 

Peter keeps repeating that to himself, as he does his little jobs, and he marks them off his list in his notepad—table numbers, check, badges at the door, check, banners, check, taste test the hors d'oeuvres, mostly check, and he totally had that spelled wrong in his notes and it’s fine—

And when people start to arrive, he realizes that he hasn’t seen Tony or Rhodey since—Rhodey left to go talk to him.

And he gets a little nervous and he looks around, trying to scan the room—not completely full yet, and nothing’s started, but Pepper is here and he sees Happy—

—and May makes him jump when she shows up behind him.

“What’s wrong, honey?” she says, giving him that look, that look that’s gotten sharper and even more severe with every one of his near death experiences. 

So he decides not to tell her what’s going on in his head. Which is usually the opposite of what she wants, but this probably isn’t anything, so. “Nothing,” he says, clearing his throat, still trying to scan around. But Tony and Rhodey aren’t here, not anywhere he can see.

“That’s not your nothing face,” she says, rubbing his arm. “Do you have a job you’re supposed to be doing? Is your brain tingling?”

He narrows his eyes at her. “No, it’s—no, it’s not—I gotta, uh, one second—can you make sure you get me one of those little wonton things? Or like three of them? I keep seeing them on the trays and I haven’t gotten to try one yet—”

“You’re concerned about that?” she asks, her eyes still worried and distrustful.

“Yes,” he says, grinning at her quickly before he starts to go looking. 

Part of him feels like he should say something to Pepper, but he doesn’t want to stress her out—and like, it’s probably nothing, everything is probably fine, and he makes a beeline for the door that leads to the little backstage area. 

“Tony?” he says, and the crowd noise goes muffled when he lets the door swing closed behind him. It’s so quiet back here—he doesn’t even see any of the employees or the guys that do the lights or any of Tony’s security—there wasn’t even anybody at the door when he scanned in.

He hears what sounds like something—brushing against the ground—

“Tony?” Peter asks again, glancing around. “Rhodey? Are you guys, uh—I feel like we’re getting ready to—”

Peter turns another corner and stops dead.

Rhodey is on the ground, knocked out, and Tony is dragging him by the arms. He looks up, and sees Peter there, and the look on his face—he doesn’t—Peter’s brain is going a mile a minute and he’s already surging forward to help but the look on Tony’s face—it registers somewhere in the back of Peter’s mind…

“Oh my God, what—what happened?” Peter asks, rushing over and kneeling down next to Rhodey. “What happened, what did—”

“Uh, he fell,” Tony says, and he kneels down next to him. He nods, and widens his eyes and shakes his head, and he doesn’t seem nearly as concerned as he usually would be. Tony normally loses his mind when Rhodey so much as gets a paper cut, so this is…this is…

“How?” Peter asks, looking at Tony and back at Rhodey again. “He was just—”

“I don’t think he ate enough,” Tony says.

Every alarm bell is going off in Peter’s head. They’ve been going off tonight, and for a couple days, honestly, if he really thinks about it, but it’s loud now. He feels like time is slowing down, like his vision is getting narrow, like all of his senses are on high and zeroing in.

And it feels wrong. The shift in the air and his own suspicion, it feels wrong. What would be wrong with Tony?

But that’s where this is going.

It’s focusing on him.

Peter looks at Rhodey, and there’s a bruise on his cheek—

And Tony is clenching and unclenching his fist—

“Tony?” Peter asks, slowly, glancing up at him. His brain isn’t working. It isn’t working and it’s working too fast and he feels like he’s trudging through sludge. Every move is the wrong move.

And Peter looks at him in a certain way. With suspicion. And he hates it, and he feels sick, but he can’t shake it—

And Tony doesn’t answer him. He just looks at him, and the light that’s usually behind his eyes is gone, and his expression is one Peter doesn’t recognize. 

Like someone else is living in his skin.

And just as that thought takes hold and sends chills down Peter’s spine, setting off a whole new line of panicked questions in his head, Tony clicks his tongue. And he sighs.

“Shit,” he breathes. And it’s his voice, of course it’s his voice, but it sounds twisted, and different, and before Peter can even react, before he can pounce on the alarm bells and the way his senses are narrowing and signaling, Tony surges forward with a stiff arm to Peter’s throat, and knocking him to the ground. 

Tony punches him, with his full strength behind it, and Peter is so shocked that he doesn’t even block, and he tastes blood immediately. He winces, gasping, and he blocks the next one, and then Tony is grabbing his forearms and tossing him across the room. 

Peter hits a thing of shelving, and a bunch of buckets fall down on top of him, and through the pandemonium, he sees Tony running away from him.

“What the fuck,” Peter breathes, and he scrambles to his feet—

And Tony would never hit him, ever, not ever, and Peter’s head pounds, with the force of the punches, with the alarms going off, with fear and worry, and is this a clone, is it mind control—either way he has to get him, there’s a reason, but what is it, what is it—

And if he’s a clone it’d be different, but if it’s mind control, Peter might be able to get through to him, he might be able to break it—

And Peter scrambles to his feet, wiping the blood from under his nose with the back of his hand, and he starts taking off in the same direction Tony did—

And he can’t even call his name before he’s taking the full force of a repulsor blast. 

He’s knocked backwards again, slamming into the wall, and he can feel it cave in against his back with the strength of the hit. He coughs, gasping, and his jacket is smoldering and his skin underneath it is too, and he sees Tony standing there with the repulsor aimed at him—he’s only wearing one, and Peter rolls out of the way, narrowly avoiding getting hit again and trying to catch his breath.

He’s not thinking, because nothing makes sense, and Peter just rushes at him and tackles him to the floor—

And Tony punches him again, with the iron hand this time, and Peter’s neck twists hard with the hit—his jaw cracks, blood in his teeth—

And everything in him is screaming to fight back, fight back, but it’s Tony, he—he can’t—he can’t hurt him he fucking can’t hurt him—

And he grimaces, metal in his mouth, and grabs both of Tony’s wrists, mid-flail, and pins him to the ground—

“Doesn’t fucking matter, it’s set,” Tony hisses, and he doesn’t even sound like himself, and the way his face is contorting, he doesn’t look like himself either. Peter’s heart is in his throat, and he dodges another repulsor blast that Tony manages to get off, and Peter covers the repulsor with his hand and twists Tony’s fist and focuses—

“What is? What is?” Peter knows it’s not him, not right now, not really, but he can’t help— “Tony, Tony, are you in there? Are you in there, can you hear—”

“It’ll still do damage where it is—they’d never scan Tony Stark himself at one of his own events,” Tony says, and he grins, manic. “Good way to get it done, huh? One big blast, kill him, ruin his reputation at the same time—”

And Peter’s mind drifts again, like a lifeboat at sea, and he remembers Tony saying earlier that he wouldn’t need his webshooters here, but he packed them anyway. He remembers him with a gym bag, a duffel, he remembers oh nothing, just a few extra lights, and May is here and Rhodey and Happy and people are starting to arrive and Tony himself—Tony himself, and he’s not a clone, he’s not, they’re—they’re trying to kill him, it’s—it’s mind control, it has to be, they used him to smuggle a device in, and they’re trying to kill him—

Peter’s mind drifts, and guides him, and every time it feels like a pull, like a bunch of arrows, but this is more powerful than he’s felt in a while—

And Tony knees him in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him again—Tony grabs him by his shoulders and Peter wrenches away, and they both stumble to their feet again and for a minute they’re in a boxing match, except Peter keeps getting hit, because he’s pulling his punches, because it’s Tony, it’s Tony—

“Stop, stop, stop, you’re—”

Another blow across his cheek, breaking the skin, and he hears a high pitch in his ear, and Tony grabs him by the throat and shoves him against the wall—

And Peter gasps, and pushes him, hard, and Tony trips back and nearly falls and even the way he’s moving right now doesn’t seem like him—

And Peter rushes away and tries to run, his head drifting, pulling him, alert, alert—

Webshooters, backpack, the duffel—they were together, he left it—left it with their stuff, back here, when they—when they got here—

And there are arrows in his head and they’re pulsing and buzzing like neon signs, and he knows he’s going the right way—

But he’s being pulled back to the ground by his ankle, and his head cracks on the tile, and it’s stars and metal and arrows and buzz buzz, how much time is on the clock, we don’t know, we don’t even know it’s a bomb, we don’t even know if it’s counting down, but it sure as shit feels like it—

And he tries to scramble up again and his spidey sense can usually help him from all angles, but it feels off, here, and he knows it is when Tony hits him in the face again, when he grabs him and throws him—and punches him again, rattling his brain in his skull—

And it’s because it’s Tony, because he’s not—he’s not a threat, but he is, he is, right now he is—

“Tony!” Peter yells, because maybe he can get through, maybe he can— “Please—”

And he dodges out of the way of another hit, and stumbles up against the far wall in the narrow backstage hallway—

“Tony, this isn’t—it’s me, it’s Peter, Tony, you have to fight this!” he yells, and he starts running again—again—

“He’s not home!” Tony sing-songs, laughing. “Should have known you’d be fucking trouble, a stupid fucking kid is Spider-Man—”

And Peter runs from him, and sees the fire alarm on the wall, and he grabs it and pulls it as he passes it by—

And the alarm goes off in the real world now, in tune with the one in his head, flashing red and white. He hears Tony curse and yell behind him, and Peter has to—he has to—

Doesn’t fucking matter, it’s set—it’ll still do damage where it is—

It has to be a bomb, it has to be—

And he grits his teeth—Tony is still on his heels, and tears sting in Peter’s eyes along with the heartbeat thump of the pulp his face is turning into, and he sucks in a breath and dodges another repulsor blast—

He has to get him to stop, stop, stop trying to stop him—

And he turns around, and tries to hold back and focus at the same time—

“I’m sorry, I’m—I’m so so sorry—”

And he punches him once, and then again, directly in the face, and Peter knows how strong he is and he tries not to hurt him too badly, and Tony crumples and Peter catches him, guiding him to the ground—

And even though the arrows and the alarms are buzzing and jolting in Peter’s entire body now, he sniffles through the blood and makes sure Tony is still breathing, makes sure he still has a pulse, and he is, he does, and Peter squeezes his shoulder and he can’t think about after, not til they get there—

“I’m sorry,” he breathes, squeezing his shoulder again. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”

And he gets up and he doesn’t let himself look back and he starts running again—

And he’s limping now, and he doesn’t know where that came from, and he finds the place where they stored their bags—

And alarms in his head, and the fire alarm in the building, and lights flashing on and off and he can hear the insanity in the main ballroom, and he finds the duffel and rips it open and—

It is a bomb. 

And it’s got a five minute counter.

Peter scrambles, his head pounding pulsing sick, and he gets his webshooters out and puts them on and grabs the entire duffel bag and slings it over his shoulder.

And he makes a break through the nearest emergency door.

And he gets a running start and leaps into a swing, and his whole face hurts and the emergency in his head is steeping him in a bubble now, because the source is with him, and the danger is still back there, because he doesn’t know if knocking Tony out broke the mind control or if he’s gonna wake up still trapped as an angry Terminator—

And Peter swings, trying to launch himself higher and higher, and he can hear the timer clicking and he keeps track of the count and he can’t be a second off or this is gonna go south—

And it might not work anyway—

And this is dire straits, but Peter finds himself thinking of normal things, and they rise above the noise in his head and the oncoming sirens and he doesn’t feel calm, exactly—his face is pulsing with the pain of the hits he took and he feels like he lost a couple teeth, and his shoulder feels like it’s not in the socket properly every time he swings higher, and his leg is in fire and his spidey sense is an orb of panic, encasing him in a snow globe, but—

He thinks of watching that African Grey Parrot with MJ and Ned the other day, for two hours straight, wiping out the entire YouTube catalog of all his antics. He thinks about the yoga class with May at Bryant Park they got with that Groupon and the seven chai lattes she had lined up beside her mat like bowling pins. He thinks about touring the MIT campus with Tony and the way he introduced him to everybody and said this kid is gonna be the best student you ever have. Sharing french fries at Sebastian’s Cafe. I’m so proud of you.

And he hears the beeping speed up, and he’s thinking of all of that and everything else and why did I wear these shoes why not the brown ones as he tosses the duffel into the air at the arc of his highest swing, and it explodes above him in a mess of orange fireball and knocks him right out of the air—

~

Tony wakes up broken apart.

He doesn’t open his eyes right away. He’s not in the vice grip anymore, not locked into some subconscious pit in his own body while some asshole takes the reins, but he feels like—he feels like the asshole could take over again at any minute, like he’s still in his head somewhere. Dormant, waiting for a moment of weakness so he can shove Tony back down in his cage—

His hands are cuffed together, and he’s—he’s cuffed to something—

He groans, rattling his hands a little bit, and he wakes up and—

Rhodey and Pepper are there. He’s on the floor, and cuffed to a pipe in the wall, and they’re sitting in front of him, and they both look wary and he doesn’t fucking blame them, and his head is pounding and his memories are slapdash watercolor but—

“It’s me,” he breathes, his throat hurting. “It’s me, it’s me—”

“There’s something wrong with you,” Rhodey says, and he exchanges a look with Pepper. He’s got a butterfly bandage on his cheek and Tony thinks that’s me, my fault and what else did he, what else—

“No, I know,” Tony says, squeezing his eyes shut, and his head is pounding and it feels like someone shredded him from the inside out, and—

Tony, you have to fight this—

He remembers, barely—the NYPD taking that guy away, laughing at the idea that they had to ‘save Iron Man’, and he was alone that night and still skeeved off over the whole thing and then he felt the pinch on his arm and felt the thing burrowing and he panicked and he couldn’t even panic for long enough before he seized, before he fell inside himself—

“Thing in my arm,” he croaks, still squeezing his eyes shut tight, because light hurts because voices hurt because everything hurts, and he’s trying to put together the puzzle of his memories and he feels like he might throw up because—because he’s here now but the other guy—he’s here too, he’s still in there, he’s still—and any moment he could— “There’s a thing in my upper arm, left arm—you need to—dig it out, I think it’s right below—right under the skin, it’s like—it made me—made me susceptible, created a link, I don’t fucking know, get it out. You need to get it out.”

“Tony, what—”

Pepper’s voice.

“Pep, he’s—”

“It’s me right now, get it out of my arm or it might not be me in—” He opens his eyes too fast, and really feels like he’s gonna fucking throw up, and they’re both looking at him like he’s the biggest piece of trash they’ve ever had the misfortune of knowing, and that makes him sick too, and what did he—what did he do, what—puzzle pieces, shifting, falling off a glass table—

And he feels his hands breaking skin—

“Jesus Christ,” Rhodey says, and he shifts around and moves over to Tony’s left side, pushing up his sleeve. Tony isn’t even sure where the hell they are right now—he was deep inside, dark and dank and paralyzed in his own body—

“Jesus,” Rhodey says again, and Tony cranes his neck a bit and sees it, feels Rhodey running his finger over a little bump in his arm about the size of a nickel—

“Cut it out,” Tony says, closing his eyes again. “I’m serious, find a knife, cut it out, that’s—”

“Tony,” Pepper says, and she’s rubbing his knee—

“Pepper,” Rhodey says, in that warning tone he has, and the fact that he has to warn Tony’s wife not to touch him is just—

“Cut it out, Rhodey, I’m serious—”

“Alright, Jesus Christ, alright—” And he scrambles away—

“Sterilize it, Rhodey,” Pepper calls after him, looking at Tony again. Her face is streaked with worry, and she looks at him with wariness and pity and love all at the same time. “Tony, why didn’t you—you couldn’t say—”

“I was here but I wasn’t,” he breathes, and the cuffs are hurting his wrists, and everything is fucking hurting, and what did he do what did he do how the fuck long has it been. “Someone—someone got me, I let my guard down and someone—”

It was so easy. The guy used himself as a distraction, as bait, and then he—he did whatever the hell he did and then he was in Tony’s head—

“Okay, okay,” Rhodey says, rushing back around the corner again. “Close your eyes, Tony, if you are—Tony, goddamnit—”

Tony swallows hard, nodding and closing his eyes, and he winces, holding onto the pipe as Rhodey cuts into his skin. He does it fast, and Tony grits his teeth, and he feels Rhodey take the thing out and then he hears him stomping and stomping and stomping—

Feels like plates falling and crashing to the ground inside Tony’s skull. 

He doesn’t get it all, but he gets flashes—the bomb under his hands, Rhodey confronting him, Peter—

Peter.

He remembers hitting him. Over and over, and is that the same hit or—how many times did he—

Peter hitting the wall, and Tony recoils, a tremor running through him, and what did he, what did—

“Where’s Peter?” he asks, looking back and forth at them. His arm is throbbing, everything hurts, he’s frail and sick and he’s probably gonna fucking puke but he doesn’t care. “Where’s Peter, where is he?”

They both just stare at him, and kind of look at each other, and Tony’s heart sinks. 

“What, did I kill him?” he asks, his voice breaking. He grabs onto the bar he’s cuffed to, feeling like he needs to hold on. He’s terrified. “What, what? Where is he?”

“Tony, you were…” Rhodey starts, shaking his head. “You—the kid knew you were acting weird and I went to confront you and you knocked me out—and I guess—Jesus, I guess you were—are, I don’t goddamn know—being mind controlled, and you brought a bomb in here—we’re at the gala, for the new facility—and Peter sussed you out and you two got into it and he knocked you out and I guess—knocked this guy’s control on you loose enough—but he—he took the bomb and—he had webshooters and he—”

Tony closes his eyes, white noise eating into his vision, and he feels like he’s gonna pass out. “Is Peter dead?” he breathes, shaking.

“We’re trying to find him,” Pepper says, and she rubs Tony’s knee again. “Some people got footage, he tossed it into the air and he was blown back and now we can’t—Happy is out there looking, Sam and Natasha are looking, we’ve got emergency deployment teams looking—”

“Uncuff me, please,” Tony half-whispers, because his voice gets caught in his throat. “I need to help, I need to—I need to help look for him—”

“Tony, you’re—”

“He’s not in my head anymore,” Tony snaps, looking at Rhodey. He doesn’t know how the fuck he can prove that, but he can feel it now. It’s different, he’s—he feels ill, and weak, but he doesn’t feel trapped. He doesn’t feel like the ground is about to fall out from underneath him. “And you need to find someone to get that dipshit, he was supposed to be in jail, but right now, I’m—I’m in here alone, okay? I wanna help look for Peter, I want to—please let me, please. You can stay with me, but I need to—just—please. Please.”

Pepper and Rhodey exchange a look, and Tony keeps getting flashes—his fist connecting with Peter’s face, grabbing him and throwing him against the wall—and he shakes them off, swallowing hard. “Please,” he breathes.

Rhodey heaves a sigh. “Lemme get the key.”

~

Tony watches the footage from the quinjet while they scan over the city. He was ruthless, relentless, and he watches himself grab Peter by the throat, toss him every which way, hit him and hit him and hit him again. He made him bleed, over and over, he shot him and burned him up and dragged him to the ground, and Peter barely fought him. He actively avoided it, and got worse because of it. Tony keeps watching, and before long Clint is walking over and taking the phone from him. 

“It wasn’t you,” he says, giving him a pointed look. “Alright? You know that. It wasn’t you.”

“Sure looked like me,” Tony says, getting up and walking back over to Friday’s main control panel. Peter wasn’t in a suit, so this is harder than normal. 

“It wasn’t,” Clint says, sitting back in the pilot’s seat. And he doesn’t say much else about it, but Tony knows he knows firsthand what he’s going through, what this feels like. And it helps a little bit, but not much. The images are imprinted in his head.

He loves Peter. May trusts Tony with her nephew, her surrogate son, the person in her care, and it’s gotten to the point that it’s just a given that Peter is safe with Tony, that Tony’s always gonna help him and protect him. But now there’s this. Now there’s Tony punching him and hitting him and choking him and making him bleed, and he looks down at his hands and they shake. 

Nobody else was hurt, he didn’t do anything else, but that’s because Peter took the bomb. He took that on himself, Tony’s mistake, Tony’s problem, and he put himself in danger to solve it and save everybody. And now they can’t find him. 

Tony wavers back down into the closest seat.

“Stop beating yourself up,” Pepper says, walking out of the back compartment and sitting down next to him. “It wasn’t you. You’re a victim here too.”

“I hurt him, whether it was…me in charge or not,” Tony says, his eyes straining with tears as he looks at her. “These hands hurt him. And I almost…blew up the goddamn gala, if it wasn’t for him noticing—”

“I didn’t notice,” she says. “I should have—Rhodey should have—”

“You guys are busy,” Tony says, looking at the screen again. He’s got a social media tracker up too, and so many people are talking about what happened. Peter didn’t have a mask on, but thankfully, there’s no good footage of his face. 

Everyone is calling him a hero. Because that’s exactly what he is, what he always has been.

“You need people to look out for you too,” Pepper says, running her hand through his hair. “We should have done better, but Peter’s got that little…alert system in his brain, and he’s intuitive, and he knows you. He loves you, he worries.”

Tony shakes his head, looking down at his hands again. He knows May is with Happy, searching, and he can’t even imagine how she feels right now. He feels fucking sick.

“You need someone to check you out too,” Pepper says, still touching him gently, and he doesn’t deserve that either. “Probably have a concussion.”

“Not til we find him,” Tony croaks. “Doesn’t matter.”

“Tony,” she says, but he shakes his head. He’s supposed to be better than this. They defeated a fucking Titan, they defied death and time and saved the goddamn world. And he lets a petty thief mind control him? Take away his agency? Hit Rhodey, threaten an event with innocent people, hurt Peter, badly, put him in harm’s way—

“Tony,” Clint says. “I think we got something.”

~

Peter needs to get up.

He’s been laying here for forty five years he’s an old man now—

He needs to get back he needs to fix Tony so nothing else happens he needs to protect him and get that guy that did this it must have been that guy that’s when it started and he doesn’t know how he did it but he mind controlled him somehow—

Peter coughs, twisting onto his side, and he spits out some blood, and a tooth, and he hopes it’s his wisdom tooth that’s been bothering him the top right one—

He got exploded, that’s right—

And his face hurts, and where the repulsor got him is burning and he feels like he’s wheezing and he falls back on his back again and he feels like he’s on fire a little bit and is his left eye closed or welded closed or gone forever and his leg—twisted—

And just a second just a second—

Black again, in a wonder wheel of spiraling stars—

“Hey, hey. Pete.”

He opens his eyes. Tony is there, cupping his face in his hands, and Peter smiles a little bit, dizzy.

“Is it you?” he asks, or thinks he asks. He can’t hear his own voice. Tony sounded muffled too, but he nods at him.

“It’s me,” he says. He looks so sad. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Peter closes his eyes again, because they’re so heavy. “It’s okay,” he says, and he feels like he’s being lifted up, and he doesn’t remember anything else after—

He opens his eyes. He feels like he’s moving, and he recognizes the tiny medical room in the quinjet. Tony is right next to him, and he stands up when he sees Peter’s awake, and is Peter awake? He feels…crazy, he feels…

“Tony,” he says, and he tries to sit up. “Is it you? Is it you? Are you—”

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” Tony says, stepping closer. He still sounds muffled, and faraway, and so does everything else. But he looks like himself. He’s not off anymore. “I’m not gonna hurt you again. Jesus, Pete, I’m so sorry—”

Peter shakes his head, blinking at him. “You didn’t, you—it wasn’t you, you didn’t—”

“I did, technically,” Tony says, and he just stands there and he’s got tears in his eyes and he isn’t really looking at him. He’s close, but he’s keeping his distance. “We’re on our way back, to the compound, May and everybody else is meeting us there—you, uh, you saved everybody, you’re burned in a couple places from the blast and my—goddamn repulsor, but Helen’s gonna—when we get back, she’s going to—”

He sighs, stops talking and rests his elbows on the bar of the bed, and hangs his head, like he’s ashamed. Peter hasn’t ever really seen him like this, and his brain still feels like it’s swiss cheese but he sits up a little bit more. He covers Tony’s hands with his own and squeezes them, and tries not to think about how much everything hurts.

“You wouldn’t be mad at me if this was opposite,” Peter says, staring at the top of his head. “You wouldn’t. You wouldn’t blame me at all and I don’t blame you either so. So. Just don’t even, I mean. Just don’t.”

“You can’t even talk straight,” Tony says, still not looking up. 

“That’s most of the time,” Peter says, still holding onto his hands. 

Tony sighs. “I put you in danger and I hurt you. I watched the footage, it was a fucking nightmare, and you let me keep hitting you because you know how strong you are and you didn’t want to hurt me so you just let me keep hurting you—”

“It wasn’t you,” Peter says, trying to be assertive, and he’s so tired, he’s so, so tired. He leans forward, resting his head on Tony’s shoulder, and he closes his eyes. “It wasn’t your fault. It isn’t. So stop. I know you won’t and you’re gonna live in this and punish yourself forever but like, don’t. Don’t do that.” He sighs, leaning into him. “Did you guys get the bad guy—”

“Sounded like it,” Tony says, and he’s still hanging his head, and Peter sighs. “I think so. I gotta check in with Rhodey again. Make sure nobody else got mind controlled.”

“So it all worked out,” Peter says.

“You nearly getting exploded is not it all working out.”

“I didn’t get exploded I only got slightly singed and nobody else got exploded and you are no longer mind controlled so. Win to me.”

Tony sighs again, and he gently, very gently, wraps his arms around Peter and hugs him. “I’m gonna jump off a fucking roof,” he says. “I never wanna hurt you. Never. I can barely remember it, I’ve got flashes—”

“Don’t try,” Peter says, reaching up and holding onto his arm.

“—but I saw the footage—”

“Forget it,” Peter says. “Erase it.”

Tony shakes his head. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have ever—allowed it to happen in the first place, and I still don’t know how the hell it did, and I’ve just got—a lot of work to do, to make sure it doesn’t happen again. I can’t let myself get taken like that, used like a fucking goon against people I love. Jesus Christ. You’re hurt because of me.”

“Nope,” Peter says, because he doesn’t have the brain power to try and fight him harder, even though he knows it’s gonna be a guilt battle probably for the rest of their lives. 

“Pete,” Tony says, still holding onto him.

“Nope,” Peter says again, and he drifts. Spidey sense is dormant. He’s a piece of raw meat but he’s—safe.

~

And Tony isn’t there when Peter wakes up again, back at the compound. May is there, and after she hugs him and kisses him about a hundred times, she breaks out the Tupperware, containing all the little appetizers from the gala that never was. 

And Tony stays missing in action the next couple days, even though everyone else comes by to see how Peter is doing. Rhodey implies that Tony paid a special visit to the asshole that did this, but he doesn’t go into detail on what the encounter entailed. The guy did have hidden powers, clearly, and Doctor Strange even gets involved trying to figure out how he did it, what exactly that thing was that they pulled out of Tony’s arm. 

But three days later and Peter still hasn’t seen him again. 

“Maybe he’s busy,” Ned says, as he and Peter and MJ walk up and down the hallways. Peter broke his ankle, somewhere in all the insanity, and pulled a muscle in his calf. He’s been trying to walk around a lot during the day, even though he’s still on bed rest.

“He’s not busy,” Peter says. “He’s avoiding me.”

“Well, he beat the shit out of you, and he feels bad,” MJ says. 

Peter sighs. 

“I’d feel bad too,” MJ says, “even if I was mind controlled. It still sucks, I mean, when I saw him his knuckles were still all bruised. Just a constant reminder of what someone made him do.”

“You saw him?” Peter asks, looking at her.

She looks a little bit like she wants to take a back, but she nods. “Yeah, uh, earlier. When I got here, when I was talking to Pepper.”

“Did you talk to him?” Peter asks, as they turn around at the end of the hall. He’s trying to sound nonchalant and failing spectacularly.

“Not really,” MJ says, taking Peter’s hand. “He wouldn’t really even look at me, I can tell he—he’s just really guilty. He feels really bad.”

“Peter doesn’t want him to feel bad,” Ned says. 

“Yeah, but once you feel bad, you feel bad,” MJ says, “it’s not like it magically goes away because someone says that it should.”

“Maybe we can magic him,” Ned says. “Doctor Strange, you know. He could do that.”

“Yeah, let’s just hack into his mind again,” MJ says, widening her eyes at him. “I’m sure that’s the right course of action.”

Peter sighs again. “I don’t know what to do,” he says. “He could do this forever. And ever and ever.”

“Well, definitely as long as you’re all bruised up,” MJ says, reaching over with her free hand and brushing her thumb over Peter’s cheek. 

~

And two more days go by without seeing Tony, and it’s almost time for Peter and May to head back to their apartment, even though May said they could stay at the compound as long as he wanted to.

And Peter decides to do something.

“Friday is he still there?” Peter asks, making his way down to the workshop.

“Yes, Peter,” Friday says, in Peter’s ear.

“And you’re not lying to me?” Peter asks, rushing down the stairs, quick as he can with a bum leg.

“No, Peter,” Friday says. “I am not permitted to lie to you.”

Peter smiles to himself. He knows he still doesn’t look wonderful, but he looks a lot better than he did, and either way he can’t take this anymore. And he gets down to the workshop in what feels like record time and he scans in without trying to make a lot of noise, and when he opens the door he sees Tony at the back door as if he’s trying to escape.

“Stop!” Peter yells, his hands up. “Stop! Don’t leave!”

Tony whips around, his eyebrows furrowed. “Kid?” he says, already walking back over in his direction. “Are you okay?”

“No!” Peter says, a little more forcefully than he intended to. 

“What’s wrong?” Tony asks, gently, weaving around the work stations and reaching his side. 

“You’re ignoring me!” Peter says, and he sounds like a small, stupid child, but he doesn’t do anything to change that. “And I don’t like it.”

Tony’s face falls, and he nods, glancing away from him. “I’m not…ignoring you, I just—I felt like—”

“I know you feel bad,” Peter says, sucking in a big breath. “And I know me telling you not to feel bad doesn’t change the fact that you feel bad, but I seriously don’t want you to feel bad, because now this whole like—keeping yourself separate and out of my sight thing feels like you’re punishing me.”

“I’m not,” Tony says, fast. “I was just—”

“You don’t need to punish yourself either—”

“I wasn’t really…exactly…c’mere, come sit down—”

“I’m okay,” Peter says.

“I know, I know, I wanna sit,” Tony says, taking Peter’s arm and tugging him over to the closest workstation with two rolling chairs. They sit down, and they both sigh, and Tony keeps talking. “I was just, uh—I sent out messages to everyone involved at the gala explaining things a little bit, and I got everything rescheduled on my own, and I, uh—met up with the asshole at Riker’s and attacked him and nearly got arrested myself—”

Peter leans on the workstation, running his hands over his face. He can imagine that, and he doesn’t like it.

“—and I’ve been building some new security protocols, and working on another nano suit for you that’s a lot like my watch gauntlet that can—stay on your person, read your heart rate, come to you if you need it—but I’m trying to make sure it only comes in the correct instance, and not if you like, see a cute dog—”

Peter laughs a little bit, shaking his head at him.

Tony smiles softly. “But I’ve been doing all that, along with maybe, slightly punishing myself by—staying out of your way—”

“You’re not in my way,” Peter says, feeling a little bit too emotional, maybe. “You’re not. You never have been. Never will be.”

“You don’t know that—”

“Tony—”

“What I mean is…old man, long shadow, you know, I’ve been there—”

“You’re not your dad,” Peter says, shaking his head at him. “You’re a good—you’re a good father figure, you’re a…good father.”

Tony brightens up a little bit, and his nod almost looks like a question. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Peter says. “No matter what.”

Tony nods again, more solidly this time. “One more thing—”

“No more saying sorry,” Peter says, shaking his head. “You told me I can never say sorry again, well now, you can’t either so, how about—”

“Thank you,” Tony says, and Peter stops talking. “Thank you for—realizing that something was wrong, thank you for figuring it out, thank you for knocking me on my ass when I wasn’t me, thank you for—saving everybody and me too, in the process. Thank you, Pete, really. Thank you.”

Peter’s throat goes tight, and there are tears in his eyes, and he nods again. “You’re welcome,” he says, holding his chin high. “Any time.”

“And I’m sorry,” Tony says, fast, rolling forward and wrapping him up in a big hug. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Last time, I’m sorry. Okay I’m done. I’m so sorry. Okay I’m actually done.”

Peter snorts, hugging him too, burying his face in his shoulder. “No more mind control,” he says, letting the apologies drift into the air unanswered.

“Oh no, never again,” Tony says, rubbing Peter’s back. “And I figure, when you’re—when you’re tip top again, we can get into the ring, and I’ll feel better if you get a few good shots in, and I’ll forget about the whole thing if you break my nose—”

“No,” Peter says, shaking his head and still holding onto him. “I’m not doing that.”

“Too afraid to box an old man, huh?”

“My old man, maybe,” Peter says, feeling particularly sentimental.

And Tony laughs, in a rush of breath, and holds him reverently for a second. He pulls back, and pats Peter’s cheek. “We’ll see,” he says. “Might get Rhodey in there too, to make it fair—”

“He’ll probably take you up on that,” Peter says, getting to his feet. “Okay, lemme see the suit, remember I get last say in design decisions—”

“Oh, you aren’t going for bright yellow?” Tony asks, resting his hand on Peter’s shoulder as they head over to the main workstation. “You don’t like that?”

“Better than that time you tried to integrate green and made me look like a Christmas tree,” Peter says, grinning at him.

“Hey,” Tony says, typing in a few commands and bringing up the specs. “I thought that was very festive.”

And they start working, and Peter remembers feeling safe, before, when they were on the quinjet and his brain was still scrambled. But he feels like they’re on the other side of it now, for real. 

Safe. Really, truly safe.

[mlmvoreconfessionals]

How about some more Master Chief?

Yeah, I’d love to do more with him! This game was a huge part of my childhood and I can't believe there's as little of him for vore as there is. Not that I blame people for focusing on the aliens more...but still! A crying shame.

When the M.aster Chief himself came stomping in, the soldiers thought they were saved. The entire human army has heard the stories about this man, how he's single-handed wiped out entire C.ovenent fleets and saved their asses more than once. So with them holed up in a safe room after getting overwhelmed, they thought it was finally safe to leave and get back home! But then...the chief locks the door behind him and stomps up to the first soldier. "Sorry about this. Just know that you'll all be given the highest awards you can for your sacrifice."

One hand is all it takes for the super soldier to lift the smaller man off the ground. His visor opens just enough to expose an open maw, which the soldier finds himself being crammed into, helmet and all. He's too stunned to resist, completely frozen in those strong hands as he's expertly devoured in just three massive gulps. M.aster Chief's armor stretches out with a creak now that an entire person is packed away inside. He pats his stomach once and lets out a belch before grabbing the next.

The remaining soldiers start to panic, the one in his grip yelling and struggling as he's shoveled into the soldier's jaws next. He thrashes around but all it does is save him seconds as he's slurped down just as fast as the first: three massive gulps, sucking him in to his waist, then ankles, then packing him away. The chief's armored gut stretches out further with a wet gurgle.

The next one tries to fight back, hoping that his empty pistol pointed right at the soldier will deter him...it doesn't. The gun is tossed aside fast and M.aster Chief hoists him up by the armpit, ignoring the loud curses of the solider as he's lowered in feet first. Gulp...gulp...gulp! The cursing stops, the solider's voice unable to get through the thick muscles and thicker armor as he becomes another notch in the chief's gut.

The last solider is cowering in the corner, staring up at M.aster Chief with wide eyes as the super solider looms over him. "Y-You can't do this to us, man!" the soldier demands. "You're on our side, aren't you?! We're people like you, dammit!"

"No...you're not like me." With one hand, M.aster Chief lifts the final soldier up. "You were trained for this war...but I was built for it. And part of that build requires a lot of energy. The kind I can't get anywhere else. This is your real job."

The realization makes the soldier go still as he's brought into that drooling maw. He's not a soldier sent out to help in the war...he's just fodder meant to keep the real weapon running smoothly. He doesn't squirm at all, even when he drops into the groaning stomach with his comrades. This was always going to be their fate.

M.aster Chief pats his stomach slowly as he feels the last soldier drop inside. He's in a bit of a rush, though, so there's no time to let them stew. All it takes is one flex of his stomach to snuff them all out, screams and crunches and snaps all ringing out in unison as the super soldier's bloated stomach rapidly decreases in size. A massive belch roars out of him, a couple cracked helmets flying out of his jaws and bouncing off the walls of the room. They're dripping in drool, but anyone who might find them would suspect that the enemy had gotten a hold of them. No one would ever realize that the greatest number of human casualties in this war was M.aster Chief's stomach.

The super soldier steps out of the room, reloading his gun as he stomps off, his body tingling with energy. He had a war to end...and war required sacrifices.

[jumpywhumpywriter]

Beautiful Blood -- Sadistic Vampire Whumper Keeping Human Pets part 17

TW: violence, blood drinking, intimate Vampire whump, death, forced servitude

"HEY!" An indignant voice shouted, and in an instant Nyx was in front of the three of them, the only barrier between them and the door. At least a dozen guards quickly appeared on either side of her -- but they weren't human servants, Asher noticed. They were vampires, fangs and all, a deadly force. All the blood drained from his face in pure terror. Nyx would rip him apart for such a crime.

"I thought you might try something like this," Nyx snarled at Lily, who was bristling with her own anger too. "Stealing my pet, are you?!"

"Maybe if you treated your 'pets' better, they wouldn’t be so eager to leave," Lily retorted, keeping her chin high despite the deadly threat she was now faced with.

Nyx let out a cougar-like hiss, more enraged than Asher had ever seen her before. She was absolutely terrifying. "Give me my human back, and I'll let you and your bodyguard leave in one piece," she snapped.

Lily didn't look concerned in the least. "No, I don't think I will," she said smugly, and then her eyes slid over to her bodyguard, and she raised an eyebrow meaningfully.

"Morgan, would you like to take care of this... unfortunate situation we've found ourselves in?" Her voice never lost its smooth sound, showing no fear.

Morgan returned her smile and cracked her knuckles, before suddenly surging forward toward Nyx and her guards with a roar -- and right before Asher's eyes, she changed.

Silvery-gray fur sprouted through the thin fabric suit she was wearing, her arms and legs growing and bending in strange ways as she became taller than before. Her teeth lengthened into sharp canines and dog-like teeth, and tall ears extended from her head, until finally -- Asher found himself looking at a five hundred pound beast of an animal, all muscle and teeth and claws.

Werewolf. The word hit him like a truck. He was staring at... a real, live, werewolf, towering on powerful hind legs, and at least eight feet tall, with a long wolf tail. Morgan wasn't just a bodyguard... she was a literal backup plan.

Nyx looked both horrified and surprised, and that gave Morgan plenty of time to close the distance between them, and she swiped a massive forepaw at Nyx, slashing deep into her side with razor-sharp claws. She went down screaming, and the whole room exploded into pure chaos. Nyx's guards rushed at Morgan to attack and defend their fallen leader, alarmed shouts going off as they brandished knives and daggers at the monstrous beast.

Morgan's ears were pinned flat against her head, her lip curled into an angry snarl as she let out a loud growl, before snapping her giant jaws down on a man's arm with a sickening crunch of bone. She viciously shook her massive furry head, tossing the vampire around like a ragdoll before flinging him to the side, where he crumpled into a motionless heap on the floor.

"Now's our chance! Run!" Lily's urgent voice snapped Asher out of his state of shock, and he dashed after her as she sprinted for the front doors to escape. He hated to leave Callum behind... but he didn't have time to search the whole mansion for him.

Asher glanced sideways in time to see one of the vampire guards slash open one of Morgan's hind legs, making her wolf form bellow in pain as she whipped around to rip the attacker to bloody ribbons with teeth and claws. It was a gory sight.

"Asher?!" A scared voice suddenly cried, and he skidded to a stop, eyes searching for the source. And there he spotted Callum, coming out from a nearby hall to investigate the commotion.

"We're escaping!" Asher shouted over the roar of the fight. "Come with us! It's now or never!"

Callum didn't have to be told twice. He dashed over to Asher's side, eyes huge with fear as the two of them sprinted after Lily, who was already outside standing next to a large van.

She looked at Callum in surprise, but didn't ask questions as the two former servants dove into the safety of the van's backseat, panting hard. Lily scrambled into the passenger seat, and the driver started the car, but didn't drive away.

"What are we... waiting for?" Asher gasped between labored breaths.

"I can't leave Morgan behind," Lily said, her voice tight and anxious as she looked back to the front doors of Nyx's mansion expectantly. A minute passed before a huge silvery beast burst out of them, charging toward the van with long, bounding steps and being pursued by three vampire guards.

⏪️ Back Next ⏩️

Masterlist

[omniblades-and-stars]

ROY G BIV tag

tagged by @outpost51 and thereby inciting a panic but also I want to play.

Rules: Search your your writing for the colours of the rainbow and post the excerpt.

this is me tagging whoever wants to play!

look under the cut because this is bound to be out of control

RED

From: The Last Time (A Game of Cat and Mouse)

The door cracked open and the first thing out of it was a slender, human, woman's foot. It was clad in a precarious, ruby red high-heeled shoe, a thin strap buckled around a delicately arched ankle. Her legs, shapely and well-toned, were covered by sheer black stockings. A pronounced seam ran up the length of her calf, disappearing behind her knee and beneath the hem of a charcoal gray skirt so tight, it could have been a second skin.

ORANGE

From: following the current, circling the drain

Something burns in my leg and my stomach, but I can’t stop moving. If the krogan gets his hands on me, I'll die. I leap onto his back, I nearly drop the assault rifle, it’s too big for me. I launch myself from his crest plate and fire down into his neck while I’m still in the air. It's sloppy, it's messy, it's too fucking loud. He’s still coming, and I just keep firing. It's over. I'm covered in blood, indigo, cadmium orange, and my own emerald. A cruel painting in brilliant organic color. I run to Tertus. He's already dead. Honey eyes glassy. Jaw lax, mandibles hang limp next to his dear, sweet face. I scream, everything hits me all at once. The fear, the anger, the heartbreak. But I have no time, I hear more boots on the ground, and I am surrounded by bodies and covered in blood. I don't hesitate. I leap into the river and follow the current to somewhere new.

YELLOW

From: Suck It Up, Buttercup

"You gonna walk in front so that bright fucking armor of yours draws all of the fire?" "Says the man wearing sunflower yellow! If you wanted to look at my ass, all you had to do was say so. Now, enough dicking around, let's move out." Frankie pointed above her head and spun her hand in a tight circle. "After you, sweetheart," he said with a touch of sarcastic daring. "Gonna have to work harder than that to get under my skin, bounty hunter. Keep trying, I like seeing you struggle.” She smiled and took her place at the front of the squad. Miranda and Zaeed fell in quietly behind her without further comment.

GREEN

From: Torment Me Until Dawn (Dragon Age)

He shuffled forward, one shoulder stooped severely, sword hanging limply from his hand. His movements were those of something not quite human. His skin had taken on a green tinge, and his face had a skeletal quality. Skin clung to his cheekbones as if there was no longer any muscle or fat to separate it from his skull. He had no visible wounds, except . . . Oh, Maker, his eyes! They were gone. Dark, brutalized and empty sockets existed where bright, light brown eyes had once been. The skin around them looked as if he had scratched his own eyes out - harsh, uneven grooves rent into his flesh. There were little trails of blood where tears might have been.

BLUE

From: Under the Rays of an Autumn Sun

I have always had a weakness for beautiful eyes. Humans have a saying, "The eyes are the windows into the soul." It's a sentiment I wholeheartedly share. Hers are a light brown that I am unused to seeing in humans, but they are heavy. I can see the weight she carries within them, evident in the red lines lightly spidering over the white space around her iris. Blue tinged glass presses to soft, bare lips, and she coughs as the liquid burns down her throat. A warm chuckle bubbles up after it, and she sits next to me. "I don't know if I'll ever learn," she shakes her head, chestnut waves brush against the sun-kissed and freckled skin exposed on her back. "Eden Shepard," she says and offers me her hand to shake. She is named after the holy garden of one of Earth's many creation myths. It suits her, I think, but the thought passes before I can fully understand why I feel that way.

INDIGO

From: The Way

It's in the way she can be so boastful without being arrogant. She calls herself a biotic bomb. At first, he thinks that smirk as she says it is cocky, and it is. But then he sees her in action. With biotics like that, she doesn't even need a gun. He knows the smirk isn't cocky, it's knowing. She's earned being cocky, the way she wields the forces of physics themselves. How the air shifts around her body just before she ignites brilliant indigo. The sudden change in air pressure around them as she reaches out to pull an enemy towards them takes his breath away. Or maybe it's just her that does that.

VIOLET

From: Tipping Point

Except that Commander Shepard was the one who wreaked this particular havoc, was still wreaking actually. She was standing dead center of the cargo deck, bathed in violet energy so intense it had pulled her hair free, it floated up around her as if she were underwater. She was wreathed by a glowing halo of her own power. It was terrible and it was beautiful all the same. Oh, shit.

[evanthenerd83]

Songs & Scissors

   I witnessed a miracle. That is the only way I can describe what happened the night of July 4, 1988. A miracle. 

   A brief moment in which the universe, long suffering, had finally given, breaking under the weight of things none have seen. Have felt. Have heard inside their hollow chests and heads. 

   The memories were scattered the morning after. Flying away from my mind’s eye, centerpiece of consciousness. It took years to take hold of one. It took decades to piece them all together. Even now, they struggle against the bonds. 

   Pills have helped, but only a little. Doctors fared less so. Only through the nightmares. Only through the screaming dark, the trembling hands, are they solid. 

   Read. 

   Read and know of the miracle. 

   There was a concert going on. In the middle of town, at the old Clemont Rec Center. Under its roof, nearly everyone joined hands, sang along to something. The band’s name cannot be grasped so easily. Nor what its members looked like. I only remember the Miracle itself. 

   Hundreds of people were there. Shelly. Miss Clairborne. The Dudleys. Men, women, and children gathered around a stage, lights blazing, stars trapped by our gravity. 

   It was the entire town. Firemen. Officers. The mayor stood near the stage, closest as any of us. 

   Why was he there? Why were any of us there? 

   We were there because of the music. 

   The Music. 

   I can only describe it as Music. Simply Music. Not the instruments from which it was being torn, or the genre it so desperately defied. One cannot pigeonhole this Music. It would not allow it. 

   Music of countless stars dying in an orgy of fire and ice, worlds rendered ash. Space stretched along a curve, the curve, the line which time had been penciled in. The line that once, before our Music was trapped by gravity, molded by His hands, God’s hands, flowed past the End towards the Forever and the Unknown waiting beyond all symphonies. 

   Music tugging on the trailing silence of our Notes. Tearing them free of blasphemous flesh and blood and that which makes not a peep, not a screech. There was no pain to be felt. We had already shed our prisons. Our heads were pulled back, fell back, our mouths opening as wide as they could go, beyond limits. 

   But hearing. 

   Hearing was all we could do. All we could do. 

   Hearing our jaws all pop, all open, break open to release the Music inside ourselves. I can still hear my jaws come undone. 

   I hear it when I am awake. 

   I hear it when I am asleep. 

   The Music flowed freely. Balloon tails. Serpents. 

   We were empty. The air was not. 

   The Music was a moan. The Music was a groan. The Music was a whisper and a gasp and a mumbling and a shriek, screams loud as any God, the screams for Freedom. For flight. Orbits around Their Fingers. 

   An eternal conduction. A dance lasting for all time. The expenditure of us, me, Miss Clairborne, the Dudleys, the mayor, those firemen, those officers, and those children who so blindly followed their parents towards such a miraculous celebration. 

   I do not remember how long we were like that. If time had existed during the Miracle, could have exerted its infantile power, days might have passed. Years. Maybe only a few hours shredded by. 

   All I remember is His Attendance, unnoticed by eyes. Yet glimpsed nonetheless in shadows and gaps, a figure darting between the bodies no longer ours. A movement caught fleetingly. Sparingly witnessed. 

   I saw Him. I was the only one, as far as I can tell. No-one seemed to be aware. 

   He went from person to person. A man tall and thin. With one hand He gripped a pair of scissors plated in bone, and the other caressed our faces. He would whisper something. I do not know what. 

   I was too far away. He never reached me. 

   But He would whisper. And He would gently use those scissors, ever so gently. Down they went, up they would go. 

   I must have blacked out. Maybe the cracking was too much. 

   I awoke on the floor, the rec center quiet, the stage bare. Bodies had been piled high. They were gray and limp. Blood had been dragged by fingers in circles and hexagons within pentagrams and shapes that did not resemble shapes. 

   I was buried in them. 

   Then the men in black arrived. 

   Not the police, because the entire police department had been in attendance. These men were strangers. They came from out of town. They came and took the bodies away. They soon took me away too. 

   To here. This asylum for troubled souls, asylum for troubled society. 

   I’d later learn that some of us had winked out that night. The older ones, mostly. The sick. The dying who did not yet know they were dying. 

   For those who still lived, they wouldn’t for long. The men in black stopped by the hospital from time to time. They still have questions. 

   Dr. King sits in the room while they show me the pictures. 

   Those who were healthy have gone. 

   Some died in their sleep. Others were awake, walking one moment, then stiff the next. Nobody can figure out how or why. Everyone thinks it’s spontaneous infant death syndrome. But for teenagers. 

   But I know. 

   And Dr. King knows that I know. The men in black do too. They still don’t believe me, of course. They claim I suffer from maladies of the brain. 

   Schizophrenia. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. 

   I might still be affected by whatever we’d taken. Drugs can cause hallucinations. Or somebody must have exposed us to something, either spiking the town reservoir or releasing gas. Biological terrorism. 

   At least they don’t suspect me of being involved.

   Dr. King and the men in black pity me. For I am alone. No friends in town. No next of kin to notify. The last remaining adult survivor of East Resiville, which suffered an unprecedented case of mass hysteria on July 4, 1988. 

   But I know. 

   I know that there was no concert. The band was not really a band. They were something else, nobody else. 

   I know they follow Him like flies. A bunch of flies buzzing over a piece of rotting flesh. Or ticks that jump not from dog to dog. 

   But from town to town. Every century or so. 

   I know they are attendants. Helpers of something older than mankind, than time and space, than Themselves. 

   Something with only one purpose in His heart. If He even has a heart. 

   Needs one. 

   I know that the Miracle has never truly ended. 

   My chest hurts when I sleep. A longing pulls me beyond the ceiling, past the stars slowly winking out. Deep into the dark. 

   From that darkness, something calls out. 

   It begs me to join it. 

   To be reunited with it. 

   I’m still wrapped around a Finger. 

   And I know those scissors are still coming. Ever slowly, they are coming. Ever closer. Ever slower. Building up to that final moment. The final Note of my own symphony. 

   They will finally meet my own Music, my String, my Life. 

   I just wish it’ll happen when I’m asleep.

[quellmythirst]

Fallen From The Stars

Summary: You've come with a message from the stars. After spending the last few years on the space station with Danvers, you make a crash landing and who should pull you out of the fire but Bucky Barnes. But you've been gone so long you don't even know he is. Your brother and Natasha seem to want to fuss, but you need to tell them what's coming and just how much your powers have developed under Carols training. You know where they came from, but what will your mystery man think when he finds out?

Characters: Reader X Bucky Barnes, Clint Barton, Natasha Romanoff.

Words: 2k

Warnings: Slow Burn, Eventual SMUT 18+, Canon Typical Violence, pining, trauma, nightmares, CANON Can suck my Dick.

AN: I have wanted to write a Bucky Story for so long and with my recent slump I decided now was a good time.

The lights of the control panel all light up as you enter the atmosphere. You think everything is going fine, until the lights start to flash and loud alarms ring in your ears. If it weren’t for the on board AI declaring “Crash Imminent” you might have thought you were at a dance party. You’re nearly there, you can see the campus off in the distance. Fuck, you knew they were in the sticks of California, but this was ridiculous. There’s trees everywhere, you must be in the middle of a forest. Hopefully your crash won’t burn it down. You click on your comm, hoping like fuck that someone knew you where coming today. You hear a voice over the com that sounds very familiar if not a bit crackly, maybe you’re still too far away.

“Shit! Shit!” You shout into the comm, “Anyone you reading me?”

“Loud and clear Little Wing,”

“I told you to stop calling me that, Nat!”

“Not a chance,”

“I'm going to crash," you say, trying to somehow silence the alarms, "need you to clear the pad,”

“On it,” the line disconnects as you rapidly approach the ground. You strap yourself to your chair, hoping that it will keep you safe when you hit the ground. The Fisher spirals and snaps, the wings grind into the ground and your world goes upside down. A loud boom echoes in your ears, glass shatters and you clamp your eyes shut. 

“Am I dead?” You say, patting yourself down and releasing your seatbelt, “No, not dead. Just horribly mailed,” you laugh and feel a pang of pain in your shoulder as your back hit's the roof of your ship, “and a little on fire,” you pat the small fire on your leg out, but struggle to move very far in the mess that was now your ship. “Nat! Nat! Give me a hand here,” you attempt to scramble on your back, trying to wriggle free of the wreckage. But it’s no use, you can smell the fuel line leaking outside and with the wires almost invisible it was too dangerous to try and move yourself. Even trying to spark your power would be too dangerous, you couldn’t risk an explosion that would 100% kill you.

You hear the distinct crack of metal as the wall beside you bursts open, the steel of the hull peel’s back, the sun pouring in behind the silhouette of a man, you squint, a big man, “Take my hand,” a gruff voice says, as you see a hand extend into your vision, “quick, you need to move.” Reaching out you take the hand, he pulls you out and you hold in your scream as glass scrapes along your side, digging into your flesh and cutting you to ribbons.

“Fucking glass! Be careful” you scream instead of crying as you're heaved from the wreckage.

"Glass? Who gives a shit about glass?" the deep voice beacons from in front of you. You all but collapse onto the person whom the hand and the voice belongs to.

“Oh thank God,” Nat sighs her breaths panting as she approaches you, “you alright there Little Wing?”

“S’not Little Wing. But yeah,” you nod, “thanks to-” you look up and you see a bright pair of blue eyes staring down his handsome nose at you, his dark stable grazing his strong jaw and his curly golden brown hair falling into his face. “-sorry the crash must have broken my brain, I didn't get your name,” you say, feeling woozy. The world beneath you is rotating too fast and slow all at once.

“And I didn't get yours,” he smiles down at you. The sun crests just behind his hair, fanning out around him as your eyes start to dim.

“Stardu-,” you begin to whisper as the world turns dark around you and your body fails you.

Xx

You feel the pain on your side before anything else, but find your arm bound when you try to reach for it. Shit, how did you? Oh, yeah. You crashed. Gods, Danvers is going to kill you. That ship was brand new and you promised to take care of it. And now you’ve crashed it. She’s never going to let you fly again.

“Hey, Little Wing. You're ok, just a little scrape.” Nat’s soothing voice says, brushing your hair from your face, “Why don't you open your eyes, Clints here.” she gently lowers your arms over your stomach.

"Had me worried for a second there,” Clint signs when you peer over at him. “Only back a minute and you're already injured, typical." you flip him off, though you're sure it's not as effective with your arm in a sling. You can’t help but smile as Clint's laughter fills the room.

“So what's the prognosis doc?” Nat asks someone who's entered the room, you can’t see.

“She’s got Scapholunate ligament injury, and surface lacerations,” you stare down Nat, hoping she’ll shed some light on what that means. “You just need some rest, Ms Barton. Should be good as new in a few days,” 

“Which means staying in bed,” Clint signs with a smirk on his face. You pull a face back, sticking out your tongue at him. 

“Is it broken?” You sign back at him, ignoring Nat and Banner you guess, while they discuss your recovery. Not trusting your voice quite yet. You really missed your brother while you were away, even if he and Nat spent most of the time you were around fussing and worrying over you. Though you can barely blame them, after everything that happened.

“Sprained, should be a few hours then you'll be up and following me around like the good old days,”

"Good. Bones take longer."

“We should give them some privacy to catch up. It's been what? 3 years?” Nat says, gesturing towards you and Clint.

“3 and half,” you sign at the same time and Clint winks at you.

“Come on Banner, let's go,” Nat says, pushing the nice doctor out of the room and leaving you here with those judgy big brother eyes.

“How's Lisa? The Kids? Got any more nibbling’s for me to spoil yet?” You sign, shuffling up on the bed so you can use your bad arm a bit better. Already feeling the threads of your body stitching themselves back together.

“Good. Lisa just had Nate a few months ago.”

“Shouldn't you be with her?”

“Yeah, but I wanted to see you. I came as soon as Nat got the message.”

“You're sweet.”

“Not everyday your baby sister drops in from another planet.”

“Not technically a planet, more of a station.”

“How is space anyway?”

“A shitshow, it’s why I'm here.”

“Don't go into it, you can tell us when you feel better,”

“Can I ask you something?”

“You always do”

“Who pulled me out? I didn't recognise them and they kind of-”

“Go on, they kind of what?”

“You're going to laugh,”

“Probably. Tell me anyway,”

“They looked like an angel, sent to pull me from the fires of hell.” Clint let out the loudest laugh you've ever heard him make, his shoulders hunching over as he grabs his stomach.

“Knew you'd laugh, asshole.” You sign when he finally looks back up at you.

“I think Bucky might even laugh if he knew you'd called him an angel,”

“Bucky? What kind of name is that?”

“You've been gone too long, Sis. Get some rest, I'll fill you in tomorrow.”

“Asshole, just leave me hanging here.”

“Get some rest,” he signs, kissing you on the forehead and turning the lights off as he leaves.

Bucky Pov

Sitting in my room I start to go over the events of the day. The noise, that wiriy noise the engines make when they are faulty, shot right through me. I jolted up as fast as I could, running towards the sound. Maybe I could help? Be useful for a change instead of sitting here waiting for the Winter Soldier to come back. 

Even though it's been years, I still wait for the day. I can feel him inside me, like he's just waiting for something only, I don't know what. He still haunts my dreams, maybe that's all he was now. A dream of a not so distant past.

I made it outside in two minutes, only to see the right wing of the ship split in two, sparks flying off into the air as it ground into the ground, the hull hit and the most gut wrenching cry I’d heard in a long time rang in my ears.

Without even thinking I rushed forward, there was someone in there and they needed to get out before the thing blew. But I wasn’t ready, I don’t think I’d ever be ready to see a creature such as her.

I cracked open the ship. There was a woman inside, blood covering her face and her hand stretching out to me. She looked so helpless, blood covering most of her, her hair hanging in a mess on her head like a wild beast. When I finally saw her face in the sun I noticed she wasn't crying. Instead she looked worried, maybe because her ship had crashed, but it seemed more than that. She had this weird glow to her eyes, it could’ve been the sun. Could’ve been anything but it seemed to be coming from her.

I hauled her towards me, feeling a strange heat coming from her and when I saw the look of panic on Romanoff and Bartons faces I knew this wasn't a random crash. Who was this chick? She must have been important for them to rush so fast to meet her.

Barton took her from me, albeit with some prying. I just- I didn't want to let her go. What if something else happened to this woman while she was with them. Though, she was probably safer with them than me. 

A small muffle dragged me from the memory of her soft bloody hand on my chest. Perking my ear, it sounds like- crying? 

Peeking over at the clock I see it's almost midnight. I hear a noise again, a tiny little "help" almost indistinguishable in the noise of the compound. Throwing on my pants, I carefully head towards it. The noise gets louder with each step I take.

Entering the med Bay it's clear she's upset, scared, I can hear her heart racing from across the room. 

Slowly, I approach the bed not wanting to frighten her and cursing myself for forgetting a shirt. Shit, what’s she going to think? Why do I even care?

When I finally get to her side, I notice her eyes are shut. She's dreaming. Her arms jerking to the side and tears falling down her soft cheeks. "Shhhh, it's ok. You're safe here," I whisper, wiping the tears away and taking her hand. I still have no idea who this woman is, but I can offer her this. A tiny piece of comfort in what seems to be a nightmare. I just hope no-one comes in and tries to shoot me for sitting here.

I know about nightmares, when mine had been bad. Right after I left Wakanda, Steve would sit with me like this and for some reason knowing I wasn't alone helped. Knowing that he was there with me gave me the courage to endure and hope for something better. Shit, I missed him. He'd been gone for months now, probably trolloping his away across the country, looking for god only knows. He'd taken off so soon after I had started getting better. I just wish I knew why.

Her hand tightened around mine, her breathing began to even out, her face smoothing and she let out a little sigh. She rolled, she should be wincing I think. That was the side that had cleaned up all the glass, but she barely seems to care, content to snuggle against my right arm. Her skin is so warm against mine, so soft.

I should go, she's calm now. But what if I leave and it starts again? Not to mention I don’t want to move her and wake her up, plus she has my arm in a death grip. Another little sigh escapes and the room gets bit brighter, weird. I look around, out the windows of the med bay and I only see the moon shining in. When I look back I can see the tiny glow coming from this woman, like tiny fireflies have burrowed into her skin and are trying to get out. What a strange woman. Glancing up at the clock, I decide to wait, to watch her and see what else she might do. The others won't be up for a few hours, I'll just sit with her until I hear them.

Part 2: Waking Up

[anyoneseenadam]

Healing

pairing: Azriel x reader (acotar)

warnings: TW - sexual assault, rape, objectification and implications of abuse, smut, consensual sex, azriel is a sweetie and rhys is a good bestie

a/n: first of all PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS!!! i’m really proud of this fic but I don’t want to trigger or upset anyone, that being said it isn’t too graphic but still. Anyway I hope u enjoy, this took me three days lmao <333

based on: this and this

—————————————————————————-

You had your first less than savoury encounter with men when you had barely turned nine. Your body still hadn’t finished forming, but you were growing, and your body was gaining some semblance of shape as you did. It wasn’t much – just a whistle from across the street – but for a second your heart seized up with fear, and in the next you almost felt giddy. A man thought you were beautiful.

You felt like a princess that day – felt the way you had when the boy from your class had kissed your cheek, still too young to process the intentions behind that single whistle. But you didn’t care – someone wanted you.

When you got your first period at twelve – even more changed. Your body felt new, and you didn’t feel comfortable in the changes. Your old clothes didn’t fit and now your mother forced you into tighter corsets for those long, long dinners you had to attend. Your parents were respected Fae in the Hewn City – nobles who liked to drink and smoke and throw extravagant balls. And with your new body you could no longer simply hide in the corner or climb through secret passages with your friends – muddying your dresses.

Now you had to smile when men hugged you slightly too long, laugh when they commented on how much you had grown up, sit pretty and pristine with an old mans hand loitering to close to your rear for hours as you watched your parents drink away their troubles.

By the time you were fifteen you were used to the constant attention, your beauty not uncommon where you lived but still doted on often. Unaware of their desire for your youth, your naivety. The women never offering a helping hand but instead glaring down high skewed noses as their husbands slurred into your ears – still in shock that a pretty, young thing like you was all alone at this party.

When you were sixteen you decided to change that – kissing an alright looking boy at a party and telling him exactly what he wanted to hear so he would kiss you back. He stayed when you didn’t protest as he pulled you to the bathroom and pushed you to your knees. And for this small request, the greasy hands on your body at balls and dinners or any other social gathering halved – now only the truly self-righteous felt they could touch you still.

The only problem was you truly did love the boy you had chosen. He had faults yes, but he was kind – he brought you flowers and kissed your cheek. But he also spoke over you, forced you into silence and took what he wanted. And he always wanted the same thing.

If anything it was his father’s fault. The military commander never leaving room for debate when he argues with his wife – and sons only become what they see in their fathers.

Your father had left with a younger woman a few months after your fourteenth birthday, and you hadn’t seen him since – only heard stories of him galivanting around the autumn court from your classmates. You could see the distaste your mum held you in as she realised she would have to stick around to look after you, not yet old enough to be married. Then Amarantha had taken hold of the country and that possibility had been thrown out the window anyway.

Weirdly enough not that much changed in your life when she took power, the only major difference was that now you had to block out screams before going to sleep and even they had become like white noise. You still drank with your friends on Friday nights, went out with your boyfriend on Saturdays and slept the pain away on Sundays. Your weekdays consisted of school, dinners, balls and whatever more your mother could throw together to appease the high queen.

That and the high lord of the night court had started making appearances at the events your mother threw. He was a cruel man standing so proudly at the queen’s side – but you saw something flickering in his eyes whenever people spoke, complimenting his power and rule. You saw what you felt as you laughed at compliments and lingering touches – you saw pain, but more importantly you saw anger. And right now you could use anger.

During one ball you watched him leave, taking an odd route – not the one that would help him escape the loud music but instead a long winding corridor leading to a series of smaller rooms. Without thought you peeled away from your company, muttering excuses and went after him – grabbing a bottle of wine as you did.

You found him reclining in an empty room and knocked on the door gently. He cracked open an eye – slow like a cat – and beckoned you in. You moved to perch next to him, leaning back with a straight back and letting your head loll slightly as you took a swig of the dark red wine, before passing him the bottle.

“You looked like you could use a drink,” you smiled, eyes focused on his sharp jaw as he held the bottle to his mouth with a laugh.

“One way of putting it,” he smiled. The two of you sat in silence for several minutes as you took in his beauty, his looks plus mannerisms all made him seem like a wild cat - a panther trapped underground.

“Why are you here?” he finally asked, and you raised a hand to trace that sharp jaw. But instead of devouring you as any lesser man would’ve, he brushed your hand away and held it tightly in his larger one. “That’s not gonna happen, you’re what sixteen?”

“Almost seventeen,” you said, cheekily. He laughed but shook his head, squeezing your hand before releasing it.

“You’re still a child,” he said matter-of-factly, and you scoffed, stealing your wine back to drink again.

“Yeah well that’s usually a selling point,” your voice was sad, but you didn’t dare let your eyes stray from his – refusing to show fear, “And you’re so nice to me, I wouldn’t tell anyone.”

He laughed as you pouted, “You practice this in the mirror or something?”

“Usually works in three seconds,” you confess, and he whistles under his breath, “Men are rather easy to manipulate when they’ve been trying to get into your skirts since your first bleed.”

“And you wonder why I’m not about to take advantage of you,” he laughed, and you smiled – a real smile, or real enough. “Plus I don’t think your little boyfriend would be pleased.”

“Eh, he’s never pleased - I don’t think this could make him worse.” Rhysand took the wine back and frowned.

“Does he hurt you?” his voice was sincere but the laugh you let out was not.

“Don’t all men,” he swore, and you laughed again, “Yet you foil my plan to make you fall in love with me and whisk me away to the moon.”

He laughed, but his eyes darkened with deep sadness you were sure you would never understand, “I think we both no that even I could not do that, but I might be able to crush your fly.”

“Little boyfriend? Fly? You really don’t like him do you?” you laughed, head lighter already.

“I don’t like any man who thinks they can hurt women,” he said, frowning when he realised through your passing back and forth there was no wine left.

“Shit that took us like five minutes,” you complained, and he laughed, waving his hand lightly as several more bottles appeared before you – you grinned as you grabbed another.

“So any friends with weaker moral backbones that I could marry?” you asked with a laugh, and he smiled at you.

“I’m sure I could find someone,” he leaned back again. You smiled – finally happy that one night might pass in the company of a decent man.

Soon, you’d find it would be more than one night, a close friendship quickly blossoming between you and the high lord. All your friends were convinced you were sleeping together but true to his word he didn’t touch you, and by the time you surpassed the age of eighteen you didn’t want him to. But that didn’t stop other men.

After a particularly bad argument with your boyfriend that had left you with a handprint on your left cheek you had broken up with him – sending away his apologies and flowers, smart enough to see he didn’t hold the mental capacity to change.

Plus you were beautiful and young, you could certainly do better. And you soon did – rich men who liked to buy you jewellery, and fine clothes, men who enjoyed literature and art and spending time with you.

And at the start of each relationship, for a few blissful seconds you would believe in their pure intentions. But then a hand would drift from your lower back to your ass, or the gentle kiss that followed a necklace would shift from your mouth to your breasts. Not one of them wanted to wait until you were comfortable, so you made yourself comfortable.

You pictured pretty, strong men were holding you down and making you feel something, slipping your own hand between your legs and they penetrated you to try and replicate what you were sure a lover’s touch must feel like. And as always – after the first time- they stopped asking for permission, you were their toy, so you no longer had choice over that part of yourself.

But through nice guys and bad boys, for fifty years you had Rhysand who was a friend – who treated you with respect and finally let you talk, let you breathe.

In the end he was the one who found you, in the backroom of a party – drunk and undressed. You were weeping, curled in a ball with your attackers’ seed dripping out of you, bruises decorating your bare skin. When he turned you over with his comforting hands he found your nose dripping red and the vibrant lipstick you wore smudged.

He helped you sit up and redress, took you home and stood outside the bathroom while you scrubbed yourself clean in scalding water – still unsteady on your feet. You changed into a nightgown silently and neither of you said a word when you crawled into bed next to each other, crying in your best friends’ arms as he tried to console you.

When you woke up, he was gone with just a scribbled message about Amarantha and the name of a healer he trusted. But you just placed it back down, turning onto your back and staring at the ceiling as hot tears ran into your hairline.

You barely ate anything for the days following your assault – fighting with your mother more when you rarely saw her and subsequently breaking it off with your current boyfriend. You had thrown his hands off you when he tried to touch you and the screaming match that followed ended your relationship.

Your bond with Rhysand grew only closer however as you spent nights drinking in candlelight, talking about anything and everything until you were sure he knew every inch of your soul and you his.

“You know what I’m going to do as soon as she’s gone,” you whispered one night as you stared at the twinkling lights you had hung on your bedroom roof to imitate stars.

“What?” Rhys had asked, never letting his eyes leave the ‘stars’ which he had laughed at and then proceeded to rearrange to make them more accurate. To which you threw a pillow at his head.

“Find a hill, or a pier, or a large pit or anything and scream into it until my throat bleeds.” You said and he laughed, the bed beneath you rumbling.

“Consider me on board.” He joked as you sat up to perch at your vanity – smudging the sharp eyeliner you wore with a small brush and applying some red lipstick.

“Wanna go out?” you asked him, and he sat up to with a small, sad smile.

“Can’t.” you understood his implication and frowned.

“I’m honestly surprised she hasn’t gutted me yet,” you tried to lighten the mood, but his face darkened slightly when he joked back.

“Oh she wants to, I’m telling her any information you give me about citizens, so she doesn’t.” He said, ruffling your hair as he stood to leave.

“That’s fair, I’ll keep an ear out,” you smiled, squeezing his hand gently before he left.

Things changed when Feyre Archeron appeared, you saw the way your friend watched her and realised you might be competing for his attention soon, but you were happy for him. Until he brought her to that first party – drugged and barely dressed. You felt the bile rise in your throat as you pushed down memories of yourself in such a similar position, and while you knew he would never hurt her – he was still a man. And you were foolish to believe for all those years that he was a man who would realise this was wrong.

Making polite excuses you left the party, picking up the tails of your dress as you all but raced home – ditching the dress and closing the blinds tightly as you made yourself food in your underwear. The sick feeling in your throat spreading through your chest and stomach as you ate, abandoning your meal halfway for a book and large sweater. And when he knocked on your door that night, desperate to tell you all about her – all about the human girl who he was sure could be his mate, you pretended to be asleep.

You barely spoke to him the whole time she was there, unable to look him in the eyes when she was so clearly out of it – and the feeling only grew when the next morning she would have all eyes on her. You understood that feeling. You instead spent parties flirting with Tarquin, the young high lord who was only a few years your senior or warding off marriage invitations with laughs and carefully placed words.

Rhys would sometimes catch your eyes – furrowing his eyebrows at you when you avoided his gaze, the sick feeling never really leaving. But it wasn’t until you watched Tamlin slay Amarantha with a smile that he tried to speak to you again. Feyre was Fae and leaving with her betrothed and Rhysand had just confirmed they were mates – and never had he needed his best friend quiet like he did now.

You were sitting when he found you, head in your palms and blood dusting the skirts of your dress. You had been sitting near Amarantha when it happened. You looked up when he neared, smiling sadly as he sat next to you.

“Want to go home?” he asked you quietly and you scoffed, standing, and moving to leave quickly. He followed after you, grabbing your arm as you wrenched it out of his grip with more ferocity than he had ever seen from you.  

“Don’t touch me,” he held his hands up, backing away to give you space as you got your breathing under control.

“What did I do?” he asked – smart enough to not presume anything.

“How could you think it was okay, after what happened?” your voice was quiet again, and so sad.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he implored, stepping slightly closer again. You raised your eyes to meet his and he understood, the darkness you carried in your eyes shining through – the memories that resurfaced in those dark moments. “I’m sorry, let me explain please.”

You let him hold your arm softly as he winnowed the two of you to your house where you sat down heavy and tired.

“I did it because she needed out of that cell, but I saw what they did to you and you’re a fae woman, she’s… she was human. So it meant that no one else would touch her.” He tried to explain, “And she wouldn’t want to remember.”

“That’s a horrible thing to do Rhys.” You stated and he hung his head low, “How in anyway was that helping her, to get her out you could’ve snuck her here or just take her to a ball and let her dress normally.”

“I’m sorry, I just knew this would’ve been the safest option,” he grabbed your hand again and squeezed it like he did all those years ago, “It’s over, we can go home.”

“I am home,” you laughed bitterly, gesturing to your house.

“No, you’re coming out of this city – we’re putting it behind us.” He stood and held out a hand.

“I know you’re trying to be dramatic and all, but I have to pack – and think.” You said and he laughed.

“Take your time,” he said, sitting back to wait for you, “And I know it might take you a while to forgive me, but I’ll wait.”

You had left soon after, as he revealed his city to you. Winnowing to a house where two beautiful women stood at the door, strong winged men appearing next to them almost instantly – all sharing the same tear-eyed look. Well, all asides from a short, dark-haired woman who simply smiled.

The men you presumed were Azriel and Cassian barrelled towards Rhysand, attacking him in the most violent hug you had ever witnessed. Mor followed soon after and Amren simply offered him a curt nod, to which he bowed slightly with a cheeky smile.

Cassian turned to look at you and everyone followed suit, you straightened up – not wanting to cower under their gazes.

“And this, this is (y/n).” Rhysand said, placing a hand on your elbow, “She’s the only reason I survived under the mountain.”

You smiled at him, annoyed still – but you still held so much love for him in your heart. You looked away when Cassian approached and wrapped you in a tight hug, lifting you off the ground slightly.

When he released you he looked you dead in the eye, “I am forever in your service.”

“Cassian let go of the poor girl,” Mor exclaimed behind him, and you giggled, looking to Rhys for support.

“Forgot to tell you he’s a hugger,” he shrugged, and you shoved his shoulder.

“Oh did you!”  you laughed.

“Gotta get used to it, you’re part of the team now,” Cassian slung an arm around your shoulder as he guided you inside, “which means lots of hugs and long talks about emotions.”

“Don’t steal my best friend Cassian,” Rhys jabbed at his brother as you all moved to sit inside around a long table.

“He already had I’m afraid, can’t reverse love like ours,” you joined in, patting Cassian’s hand as he punched the air in victory, Rhysand feigning pain as he dramatically collapsed into his chair – a hand over his heart.

When you were finally seated you caught Azriel’s gaze, his eyes locked on you – having watched you interact with his family for less than five minutes and already completely enamoured. You smiled softly when you caught his gaze and he grinned at you, no words passing.

Later that evening – after too many drinks, you found yourself alone on a balcony you found, drinking in the fresh air greedily after all those years underground. You didn’t realise he was there until he was next to you – silent on his feet, his shadows a cool chill passing over your shoulders.

You tilted your head to look at him, in awe of his beauty. Not even Rhysand had awed you as much as this man was, his beauty unparalleled by anyone you had met before. He turned his gaze down to you as well, fighting the urge to reach out and touch you as he watched you move with such elegant curiosity.

“We haven’t had the pleasure of being formally introduced,” you smiled, lifting your hand delicately, “I’m (y/n).”

He met your hand halfway, lifting it to his mouth with perfectly poised and trained grace. “Azriel,” his voice was deep, gruff – and sent chills through you quickly. But when he moved your hand from his mouth you held on, the sparks flowing through you telling you all you needed to know. He similarly made no move to let go.

“Are we? I don’t really know how any of this works,” you laughed nervously but he smiled so warmly and tugged you slightly closer to him with the hand you were still clutching.

“You’re my mate princess,” he said, voice rough from disuse. You smiled widely, eyes forming tears as your gaze never strayed from him – finally getting one person who would truly love you, not your body – but you. He tugged your hand gently and you followed him inside, smiling and love drunk.

“We should probably go to the house of wind,” his voice was quiet as you furrowed your eyebrows at him.

“Me and Cassian have to share a room here, the bed are singles.” You smiled and laughed – irrevocably happy.

“Yeah maybe not,” you said, and he held your hand softly as he walked you to the front door, passed his past out friends, Rhys cracking an eye open when you walked past him, and you turned when he tugged your skirt gently.

You okay? He asked in your mind, and you smiled at him.

I’m perfect, why? You replied as he closed his eyes again, clearly too tired to hold them open - Azriel moving to retrieve your coats.

Just don’t feel pressured into doing anything you’re not ready for, Azriel is understanding he won’t get angry. A sort of cold feeling settled on your shoulders when you realised why Azriel wanted that extra privacy.

Shit forgot I had to do that you joked but Rhysand felt the stress growing, however before he could reply Azriel was by your side again and you were waving him goodbye, your smile tight lipped.

Honestly, you trusted Rhysand when he said that Azriel would understand – but so far you had yet to meet a man who truly respected the boundaries you set, a man who would truly wait. Azriel met your eyes in silent questions before scooping you into his arms, flying high above the house as you squealed in his arms, clinging tightly to his neck, and shutting your eyes tightly as you soared above the vibrant city.

He felt you tense as you neared the house, swooping lower in order to land on the large balcony attached to his room. He placed you on shaky legs gently and looked down to smile at you again – heart so full of love and peace.

Not only was his brother returned to him in one piece, but along beside him came you. His mate. His mate.

You caught his gaze and gave him a tight-lipped smile, terrified for history to repeat itself. You wanted to talk to him and know him – you didn’t want him to learn to love your body instead of you. And you were truly afraid to be touched again, you hadn’t been with a man since you were raped – fear stopping you before they could get close and walls slamming up if they tried.

“Are you okay?” Azriel’s voice was dripping with concern – genuine concern, and the way he said it made tears well up in your eyes. His own instantly widened as he sensed the sadness and fear rolling of you in waves, wrapping his arms around your shoulders as you sobbed into his chest. “Oh sweetheart we don’t have to do anything, c’mon lets go sit down.”

He guided you through the glass doors and sat you down gently on the bed, holding you gently and coaxing you through your breakdown. Once your breathing had calmed slightly and you had pulled out of his embrace, wiping your tears harshly with the butt of your hand.

“I’m sorry,” you muttered quietly, terrified to anger your mate when you’ve only just found him.

“It’s okay darling, what’s wrong – did I do something? You’re not terrified of heights are you?” he asked, and you laughed softly, a smile growing on his face as his worries eased slightly.

“No, that was fun,” he grabbed your hand in his scarred ones and you gripped it tightly.

“Then what was it?” you looked into those beautiful, worried eyes and let out an exhale – bottom lip quivering.

“I just don’t think I can – I can’t do that tonight.” You whispered the words lowly, afraid of his reaction as you clung like a child to his hand.

“Hey, that’s okay – we don’t have to do anything until you’re ready,” he smiled, worries easing. You still wanted to be with him, just not in that way yet – and he could wait. He would wait a million years if you asked.

“Even if I’m not ready for a while?” You asked, and he held your face in his hands gently – looking into your tear-filled, defeated eyes.

“I would wait forever and then some – I have already waited so long to meet you, I’m sure I can last longer, especially if you’re next to me.” Your smile was so sad when you met his eyes.

“I’ve been told that before,” Azriel just pulled you closer to him with a cheeky grin.

“And were any of them your mate?”

“No,” you smiled at him again and he thought his heart was going to combust.

“Well then, I love to prove people wrong.” You buried your head into his chest as his arms came around you once more, “Would you like to sleep here, or would you like your own room?”

“Here is fine, I like the way you make me feel,” you said quietly, tugging on the bond experimentally. Azriel just smiled and tugged back.

“That works for me, I’ll get you a change of clothes.” He moved to stand but you stopped him – tugging on the dress shirt he wore.

“I want this,” you grinned cheekily up at him, and he laughed, but undid the buttons and pulled it off anyway – turning around to let you change in peace. When he turned back around you were looking up at him with wide eyes – looking impossibly cute in his shirt.

“It has holes in the back,” you complained, and he laughed, sitting down to tug off his trousers before sliding under the covers as you scrambled to lay in his arms.

“Well I do have wings,” he cemented his point by letting one drape over your shoulders as you sighed in content.

“Really, I hadn’t noticed,” you deadpanned quietly, burrowed deep under his arms and the covers. His chest rumbled with the silent laugh as he pressed a kiss into your hairline.

The next morning he awoke to you laying on his chest, tracing the scars on the backs of his hands with a delicately pointed finger. He stared in wonder, and you must have felt his gaze because you turned your head to meet his eyes, face still puffy from sleep. As you whispered to him that morning, your chin resting on his chest as you gazed up at him until he rose to get your morning drinks. Barely daring to leave for more than a few seconds. And when he returned he was so glad he did – welcoming the sight of you curled up under his sheets with a shy smile and tired eyes.

“Do we have to do anything today?” you asked as you sipped your drink slowly, Azriel’s’ arm tight and secure around your waist.

“Nope,” he said, delighted at the prospect, “I just want to be with you and my family.”

“Sounds heavenly.”

True to his word, for the next few weeks that past, you and Azriel didn’t progress past slow, occasional kisses and lingering touches. But before either of those he was always searching your eyes – asking permission. And you truly fell in love with him during those weeks.

He was caring and consistent – never promising anything he couldn’t bring. And he cared for you, he cared for you past your body and looks. He wanted to be with you for an eternity.

One night, while you lay together, speaking lowly and listening to the rain fall outside your room – a glass door cracked open, you decided you were ready. You pressed closer to him, your lips meeting his own in a kiss more passionate than you had previously shared.

He followed your lead with just as much passion, but when you crawled into his lap he pulled away slightly.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to rush you,” he asked quietly, hands coming to rest on your hips.

“I’m sure, I love you and I want to be with you.” You told him sincerely, “But I haven’t been with anyone in a few years so I’m a little out of practice.”

You giggled nervously but he furrowed his eyebrows, “But you told me about your boyfriends?”

“Yeah but I – stopped dating about five years ago.” You tried to explain quickly, old nerves being brought up, but Azriel pulled you closer and as always his touch calmed you.

“Can I ask why?” he watched you drop your head a little as you breathed slowly – determined to not let your fear rise, you would probably end up telling him anyway so you might as well get it over with.

“I was raped.” You stated and his grip on your hips tightened slightly as he swore.

“Darling, I’m so sorry,” he started but you stopped him with a sharp glaze.

“You don’t need to apologise, it happened and it’s over now.” He could practically feel you pull away, so he loosened his grip on your hips and instead brought his arms up to hold you against his chest.

“Who did it?” he asked, voice dark and dangerous. You muttered a name lowly – under your breath – and he pocketed in the darkest corners of his mind for later. His shadows itching to tear the man apart.

“Look (y/n), if you’re ready I am more than happy to oblige but I need to know you’re really ready, I will wait as long as you need.” You pulled away from his chest and kissed him gently.

“I’m ready, I trust you,” he smiled up at you from where you perched on his lap and you giggled and he flipped you over, laying between your legs with a feral grin.

He made you cum three times with his mouth and those beautiful, beautiful hands alone – more than you had ever experienced with a man and he hadn’t even received any pleasure yet. Except from the pleasure of watching his perfect mate fall apart on his sheets, over and over.

And when he lay over you, your legs pushed up and wrapped around his waist, and his forearms on either side of your head – he would later swear he had never felt more complete.

“I’m here with you remember, will be the whole time.” He assured you, voice soft as he lined himself up and you smiled.

“I love you so much,” you whispered, and he pushed in slowly, filling every part of you and pushing against every spot you didn’t know you had. You swore under your breath when he bottomed out, the slight pain quickly being reduced to please as he dropped his head into the crook of your neck.

“Fuck baby, you feel so good,” you felt shivers run through your body at his gruff voice and smiled, moaning when he began to move.

He pulled his head from where it hid in your neck and watched as you closed your eyes – head thrown back with a smile – and his hips bucked, desperately trying to control himself as he watched you arch your back.

“Shit Az, you’re so big,” you moaned loudly, unaware of the trance you had pulled your mate into.

“You’re so pretty,” he whispered with a harsh thrust, a hand coming to stroke down your face as you opened your eyes to meet his, “So perfect.”

You felt as if your heart was going to burst from the love that filled it as you reached up to kiss him softly – conveying every word, every thought, through that kiss. When you pulled away you were nearing your end, the sensations building in you without the need of a fantasy or your own hand.

You moaned his name, gripping his shoulders tightly as one hand instinctively moved to stroke down his wing. He shuddered above you with a loud groan – his thrusts speeding up as he to neared release, yours hips surely bruising from the force of his own.

“C’mon baby, need to feel you, need to know you’re mine.” His words ignited something in your stomach, and you clung tighter to him, kissing his sharp jaw as you smiled.

“I’m yours Azriel, now and forever.” Your gentle words pushed him over the edge and his skilful fingers dipping between your thighs brought you down with him. The two of you crying out at the sensations you shared as a growing need to never let him go consumed you.

He collapsed on top of you soon after and he intertwined your fingers with his own as your breathing evened out. He slipped out of you, and you smiled up at him as he sat up, rolling off your body and laying to the side while you came to rest your head on his firm chest. He brought his spare hand upwards – twirling strands of your hair slightly as you rested in silence. After a few minutes, you clambered into his lap and kissed him firmly as he pulled you impossibly close.

“Thank you,” you whispered against his lips, and he felt his heart swell with gratitude to the world for giving him an angel that would willingly hold his hand and guide him out of the darkness.

“I am so in love with you,” he whispered back, and you giggled, a hand moving slowly to stroke him as you felt him harden beneath you again.

“Hmm, is that so?” you whispered.

Azriel, who had started pressing light kisses into your neck, nipped you gently, making you squeal, “What were you saying darling?”

“That I am also deeply, and unequivocally in love with you.” You replied and he rolled his eyes.

“Just putting me to shame with your big words.” He muttered and you giggled – crawling down his body.

“I’m sure I could make it up to you.”

[totally-original-artist]

"Trust me"

Characters: gn!MC x Mammon

Content: angst, fluff, a bit of crack at the end for funsies

Summary: Mammon and his fear

Mammon always claims to be brave, saying how he’s not scared of anything. He’s constantly bragging how great he is, but you know very well that he fears a lot of things. Lucifer, Cerberus, and most definitely horror movies. Every time he’d see something even mildly scary or feel uneasy, it doesn’t take long for the demon to start screaming or trying to press up against the nearest person for comfort(despite being a demon himself). Of course if you point these things out to him, he’s going to deny every last bit. He’d even go as far as to claim there was real danger so as to justify his fearful behavior.

You were an exception. Mammon was open about his fear to you, not at first though. It took a lot of coaxing and promises to not tell his brothers or tease him for him to finally admit it. 

Today, as usual, Levi and Mammon had been fighting over something trivial. Somewhere in between the younger had accused the other of being a ‘scaredy cat’ and of course Mammon was adamant on denying it. So in turn, Levi challenged him to watch a horror movie and tell him the plot the next day. Mammon agreed, boasting about how he’d memorize every single detail about the film.

Of course, this attitude didn’t last long. As soon as you retreat to your room for the evening, you hear a hard knock followed by someone twisting your doorknob and silently cursing once realizing that it’s locked. Oh gee, I wonder who it is.

“Oi! Open up!” You sigh hearing the familiar snarky voice demand. Reluctantly you let him in. At any other time you’d be more than happy to converse with Mammon, but you were tired, it was late, and top of that you had an assignment due this weekend which still needed some tweaking. Knowing the demon, you’d be distracted for more than an hour and would probably not get anything done.

Walking in like it’s his own room, Mammon plops down on your bed with his laptop. You wait for him to explain himself but he never does, seemingly too engrossed in typing away at something. 

“Mamm-” You don’t even manage to say his name fully before you’re rudely interrupted.

“OK! I got it!” Flashing a triumphant smile he looks at you with determination. “You can sit on my lap if ya want.” He says with a smirk. You sigh almost on instinct. 

You always found it hard to say no to Mammon, and today was no exception, and you had a suspicious feeling he might be aware of this. Settling on the bed next to him, you rest your back on the headboard and lean into him. Mammon shuffles closer to you as well, his shoulders pressed against yours feel warm and your closeness instantly puts you in a better mood. It’s almost like he was a walking blanket.

On that thought, you place a hand over his shoulder and pull him closer, resting your head on his and Mammon instantly freezes. 

“I-I guess you’re scared too huh..? It’s f-fine tho…yea!” It never ceased to amuse you how he instantly became a stuttering mess at your smallest touch. 

Mammon grabs a pillow from nearby and places the laptop on it before pressing play, and lo and behold, just as you had guessed, it was the horror movie Levi and him were arguing over this morning.

~~~~~

Twenty minutes in and it becomes clear to you that this was a cheap film. The plot itself didn’t interest you one bit and there wasn’t anything inherently horrifying about the ghosts and other monsters shown. There were just numerous jumpscares that had Mammon yelping and holding onto you for his dear life. The poor demon had gotten hold of your free hand and had been sweating bullets ever since the movie started. Your palm felt a little too uncomfortable covered in all his sweat but you didn’t want to disturb Mammon so you held on.

“Oh no its coming its comin i see it its-” Just then, a mummified body with an unhinged jaw pops up on screen, covered in obviously fake blood and making loud gurgling sounds. Mammon made a noise so loud you were afraid he may have alerted the rest of the house. Just as you’re about to make a snarky remark you turn to see that he’s…crying? Your heart instantly drops to your stomach.

Mammon has his head hanging low, gripping your arm with enough strength that it hurt. Eyes shut tight and teeth clenched shut, he shook a little as he tried to control his breathing. You close the laptop and toss it to the side.

“Mammon, it’s OK, I’m here.” You tried your best to comfort him while his hold on your arm didn’t falter one bit. “It’s going to be alright Mams, I turned it off, we can-” Immediately he snaps his head up to look at you in frustration.

“Huh? WHAT? Why???” His eyes fall to your arm and he pulls his hand back in embarrassment. “Guh, woa hhh, uh. We still have 2 hour left right? C-can’t go back no-now!” Despite his best efforts to sound confident, it was obvious this was taking a toll on him. 

“Mammon.” You push the laptop away but he just huffs and goes for it again. You see no other choice so you take both his hands in yours and hold him in place. “Mammon.”

“Fine!” He exclaims without missing a beat. “Go ahead! Laugh! Laugh all ya want! As if I care…” He looks away from you with a click of his tongue, and you had to admit it hurt a little, knowing that he didn’t trust you enough to not make fun of him at his lowest. Gently cupping his face in one hand you make him face you, and yet, he still avoided your gaze. So you lean in until your foreheads are touching.

Mammon goes still, giving you his full attention now, staring at you with wide eyes, lips slightly parted in shock. Oh you could just move a little closer and steal a kiss, but you held onto the thought for later. 

“I’m not going to laugh Mammon…” This whole scenario only happened due to a stupid argument, but you knew Mammon wouldn’t let it go so easily. “I’ll watch it, by myself.” You offer. “Then I’ll tell you what happens, so,” Pulling back you place a small peck to his forehead. “Just go to bed, trust me, don't worry.” He continues staring at you in shock, should’ve gone for the lips. But it doesn’t take long for him to snap out of it. You watch with a small smile at how bashful he behaved in your presence, you regret not having gone for his lips even more now.

“Then…let me stay…?” He asks, less of a demand and more of a question and you couldn’t help but chuckle at how unsure he sounded, a complete 180 from before. “S-So that I know you actually watched it! Ya’know? Ca-can’t have you just uh, searchin’ it up or something haha.” 

And so, you had the Avatar of Greed sleeping beside you while you watched the horror movie with earphones in. He watched along with you for a bit while peeking from under your blanket, but ultimately opted to give in to sleep instead. The brightness from the screen illuminated his face in an eerily beautiful way and you found yourself distracted a bit too often. So much so that you decided to move to your desk after making sure he was truly asleep.

This may have been an unnecessary task, but if it made Mammon happy? It was worth every second of your time.

~~~~~

“HAAAAAA????” The first thing you hear upon waking up is Levi and Mammon going at it again. Except this time, Levi seemed to be on the losing side.

“Told ya didn’t I? Now pay up!” Pay?

“Hold on…there was money involved?” Mammon nods, a coy smile plastered to his face as Levi hands him the promised grimm, all the while grumbling under his breath.

“I’m surprised he actually managed to watch it, you sure you didn’t just search it up, Mammon?” Asmo chimed in. The demon in question just scoffed.

“Nah, no way, the movie got really bad reviews so there’s not much on the internet about it. Can’t believe Mammon of all people manage to…” Looked like Levi was still sulking over his grimm, what he said wasn't wrong either. You had tried your best to search up a summary of the movie last night as a last ditch effort after all. Well, at the end of the day, you supposed all that mattered was that no one got hurt.

“MC…?” Satan looks at you with concern in his eyes. “Didn’t you say you were going to sleep a little early yesterday? You look like you haven’t slept at all.” 

“Ah, right. I had to watch- uh. Um…” You realize your slipup a little too late, Mammon looks at you nervously, fear starting to show on his face.

“Hm? Why are you two looking at eac-” Asmo pauses, and you could practically watch the gears turn in their heads.

“Watch…what?” Levi asked in an accusing tone. You curse under your breath, covering your mouth in embarrassment and hoping they’d let it slide. They did not.

“MAAAMOOOOOONNN!”

Author's note: Yay a long fic, that's one draft done *checks scribbled writing on hand* 10 more to go...

[brisbookmark]

The Three Times Jason Wasn’t Saved- and The One Time he Was

Jason Todd x Reader

Warnings: detailed descriptions of torture, angst, character death, blood, needles, knives/ cutting, batfam au where the gangs all here, Robin!Jason, reader can summon weapons, sad ending

One

His head hangs, he doesn't have the energy. His feet barely touch the ground, and yet he makes no move to stand himself up. They're tingly and fuzzy and cold, as are his hands that are tied above his head. 

Jason Todd hangs in chains like a slaughtered pig, and his breathing is hoarse. His dull blue eyes land on the bloodied crowbar laying on the floor. It's his blood, and it makes him groan in pain. Hyper realization of his injuries hits him and he whimpers. It's low, pathetic, and his breathing picks up.

He doesn’t remember how to wear clothes that aren’t covered in dirt and grime and acid. The fabric of his robin suit sticks to his skin, blending with his wounds. Every small move of limb sends fires of pain throughout his body, and he tries his hardest not to make a sound. 

The Asylum wing is freezing and he’s cold, skin almost blue. He shivers every once in a while- it’s different from when the Asylum is scorching hot and he feels like he’s in hell where he belongs. The hair he used to keep so elegantly messy, it's dirty and scorched and matted and greasy against his head.

And he’s scared.

He knows that if he looks up, he'll see pictures. Taped to the dusty and damp walls of Arkham Asylum. Red circles trace each of their faces, and whether or not it's paint or blood he doesn't want to know.

It’s blood, it’s always been blood.

He can't bear to see their faces right now. Barbara, happy and smiling next to Dick as they enjoy a Gotham carnival. They're happy without him, he always held them back. He was too dependent on Barbara as a sister figure and was just an annoying kid to Dick, they're better now. 

Bruce. With a child on his shoulders. The son Jason could never be. A new Robin, one that could properly fulfill his duties. He was the failure, he was never going to be what Dick Grayson was. Maybe his replacement could, his replacement wouldn't let himself get captured.

Barbara and Selina and Alfred who had only ever taken care of him.

All with red targets around them. Everyone he'd ever cared for. Marked.

Everyone except Y/N, who's picture lay in pieces on the ground. Unlike the others, it wasn't taken by Joker's goons, and it wasn't recent.

It was her student ID from their first year at Gotham Academy. She was young, really young, eyes still bright and skin untainted by the scars of vigilante work. And she wasn't even looking at the camera but rather off to the side, caught by surprise when the photographer flashed his equipment. She hated pictures, and going to school was never a part of the deal. She’s mid laughing and so alive and happy in a world where Jason never hurt her. 

He'd stolen it soon after it was taken, sticking it in his wallet so she'd be forced to ask him for his own. You couldn't access the Academy Library without one after all. 

And the Joker had found it in his pocket and took it and ruined it and tore it and left her in pieces in the corner, her name never spoken from the maniac again. 

Jason assumed that was good. Better to be left in silence than threatened and marked for death. Hell, he couldn’t remember how long it's been since he’s seen her, and he softly starts to whisper her name. She promised him a night out once he found his mother, 

No, he couldn’t. 

Maybe the Joker couldn’t find her, hadn’t figured out her identity. He could keep her safe.

"What's that my boy?"

"No.. no," Robin pleads, the voice of nails on a chalkboard sending fear into his every bone. "Not again, not again."

The Joker comes into view and a weak cry comes from Jason's lips. His body jerks and another cough wracks his body, warm blood spilling from his mouth. Broken ribs, internal bleeding, punctured lung, he has no idea what it could be. If only Alfred were here, or Dick. To let him rest as they fixed him up, took care of him.

His chin is grabbed harshly, the bruising making it worse. The Joker laughs, pushing his face upwards and close to his own. He can smell death and acid on this villain, and Jason whimpers again. 

"How long do you think it's been, Jason?"

The robin doesn't answer. He can't keep track. He tried counting the amount of times Joker visited him, but then again, that was most likely more than once a day. And sometimes it was Harley, or a low level goon dressed like Batman and Nightwing and Batigrl and her. 

Time is a blur to him, he's been in pain too long. Everything hurts, even if someone were to save him now, he feels practically gone already. 

He wanted someone to save him.

"What about it Jason? You think Bats will come? Save his precious son?" The Joker prods, mouth wide.

Jason wants to say it. But the words dont leave his mouth. 

"Go on, don't be scared Jason. Tell me, tell dear old Joker."

"HE'LL COME FOR ME!" he yells, and it uses all his strength to just move his jaw.

"Even when he's better off without you?" The Joker asks, and he bends down to lift the bloodied crowbar. 

No. Please, anything but that. 

"He's going to! He has to!" Jason screams, and then tears start streaming down his cheeks.

The metal finds its way onto his hip, sending his body swaying helplessly as he cries. 

"Tell me, who's hurting you?" The Joker asks, grin never leaving his face as he hits Jason again. 

"Please stop, I'll do anything," the boy pleads, desperately trying to think of anything else. If only the Joker would end him now, let him go free.

"Who's hurting you Jason?"

"YOU!" He shrieks, the crowbar smacking painfully across his chest and ripping at the skin. It's like his lungs have collapsed, he no longer has bones. 

"Wrong!" 

"The, the Joker-"

"WRONG AGAIN MY BOY."

Jason looks up at the pictures on the wall, squeezing his eyes shut. Blood pours into his mouth and he spits it out, shaking in his chains. "Batman.. batman is hurting me."

The next hit never comes. "Attaboy," The Joker mutters, and then he leaves.

Two

He returns the next morning. Jason assumes it's the next morning, as he's in a new purple suit. Harley gave him a dosage some odd amount of time ago, it must be a new day. His limbs are numb, his wrists are cracked and bleeding. He tries to keep his tongue in his mouth but his jaw is slack and disfigured, it’s increasingly difficult. 

Jason hasn't slept in days. Dark circles accessorize his black eyes, it's a miracle he can see at all.

The green haired man sets a timer in the corner of the room, and the Robin's brain goes into endless loops of trauma. The crowbar, the explosion that almost killed him. His mind wandered to warm arms pulling him out, thinking Bruce had pulled him from the rubble. Except it wasn't his father at all.

Batman hadn't even tried. 

"Jason." The Joker says sweetly, walking around the boy like a predator. The robin is helpless, he's lost all feeling in his limbs. "I thought I might tell you a story today."

The dark haired boy stays silent. He doesn't cry, he doesn't scream, he prays to a god he doesn't know for it all to stop. A bullet, a poison, the world ends in a fiery explosion, he didn't care.

"Jason."

"Just kill me already," he pleads, voice cracking and desperate.

Loud laughter echoes through the room. Jason's head hurts from the sheer volume, and it doesn't stop. It gets louder, and it carries around, and Jason lets out hushed breaths. 

"I can't kill you boy, we're a great team you and I! Would you like to hear my story?"

Jason closes his eyes in anticipation for today's beating.

The Joker grabs his face again, and Jason is groggy. Fading in and out of consciousness. But as his eyes are forced open and the first thing he sees is a blade, Jason screams.

It's a dull knife, long and serrated and bloody and dirty. And in its reflection is the lunatic's face, grinning like mad. The light catches on the razor as the Joker's eyes go wide.

"Wanna know how I got these scars?" He sneers, and Jason cries. He struggles to get away, hanging helplessly from his suspension. Nothing works, and two goons from the shadows hold him still with no thought towards his bruised and broken body.

He's in agony, and he's begging. He's in insurmountable pain and he can't do anything about it. The razor is brought to Jason's lips, presses to the side of his mouth with dull pressure.

He’s muffled now, and he continues fighting. 

"Just,, like, this!!" The Joker yells, dragging the blade upward through Jason's skin at a slow agonizing pace. He wants this to be slow and torturous, and Jason only cries and shakes. It hurts, god it hurts, he's being cut open, and the blood and tears mix and cause him more pain, 

He almost wishes for the crowbar again and once the knife is finished on one side, he screams again. His blood bleeds from the blade and falls onto the floor, joining the rest from the past days. Months? It couldn’t have been years.

“Such a handsome young man,” the joker croons, erupting into even more laughter. “Tell me what brought the chicks in, your crippling daddy issues or your criminal record?”

Jason couldn’t answer if he tried. The Joker grabs his face, almost smelling his newfound wounds, and then pulls back, leaving him in a hanging sway. 

“Let me go..” he pleads, mouth sore. His bright blue eyes are so devoid of color it hurts, and he closes them. Blood and dirt clumps on his pretty eyelashes. 

“Now I don’t think I can do that dear Jason.”

Joker licks the blade clean, it catches on the man's tongue and cuts him, not that he cares. Jason's glad he's not forced to swallow the damn thing.

Well, be careful what you wish for. 

Its sharp edge is brought down his jaw, down his neck, so close to his jugular veins, if only he could shift and catch himself on the blade, he could end it all. 

He starts crying.

He doesn’t know when he stops.

The Asylum walls go black, and he's shrieking. Harley Quinn brings a bat to his body as the Joker moves his knife, and it finds solace along Jason's cold chest.

One cut. Two cuts. Jason screams more. His throat is raw, he doesn't even know where his terror is coming from anymore, it'd been beaten out of him. 

"Bruce-, bruce stop-"

The Joker laughs. "AHA, the boys learning, don't you see? That's right, that's right."

The cuts are few, and after a while they're bearable. The hardest part to deal with is Harley"s high squeals as she beats him. She calls him cute, handsome, a songbird.

Songbird.

"You can't.."

"I can't what Jay darling? Hmm?? What can't I do?" The Queen of crime pouts, and Jason sees red.

"Don't say that," he spits, finding his voice. "That name isn't for you bitch."

The next time the knife touches his skin, it's coated in acid. And he's yelling for it to stop, he's pleading, thrashing around.

His kicks find Harley and he's flown forward and backward, still chained to the ceiling. Its desperate.

"JAY DARLIING," she sings. "Puddin what else gets our birdie going?? Mm? What makes him sing like a good pet. Oh this is exciting!" 

"SHUT UP-"

"Jay," Harley flutters her eyelashes, bringing herself close to his face. "Baby? Love? Is it sweetheart?" Her mouth is wide, eyes deranged. "Perhaps it's Mister J! He stares into her gaze, and for a second the jester flinches.

If Jason wasn't suspended and restrained, he'd kill her. He knew it and she knew it and Joker most definitely knew.

"Well Jason, kill her then! Do it loverboy, why won't you end her?" He croons, and Harley feigns sadness. 

"I-" he starts, unwilling to let himself hang in shame. How could he do this? 

"Oh come on angel! Why don't you try?" She shrieks, and then Jason is shouting, further tearing into the cuts along his mouth as he brings his legs up, attempting to wrap them around Harley's neck. 

He doesn't get very far. Someone holds him steady, and the stinging knife is brought back to his chest. An H. An A. Another H and an A. 

Straight across his chest, and then it begins again. Jason's breathing is labored from his attempt to retaliate, and he slips back into his daze of unconsciousness. He can't do this much longer.

THE.

Jason can see it in the mirror on the opposite wall. He doesn't remember when that got put there. If he could reach something with his feet he could throw it. Break the glass, pick it up with his feet again perhaps, end this torture-

JOKES.

Jason feels like vomiting. 

ON.

Jason vomits on the ground in front of him. Sweat sticks to his skin and he's pale, he feels a fever growing on him. The knife continues lower to his bruised skin. This couldn't get worse, could it. 

YOU.

The words are engraved on his body, marred by the blood dripping from it. Jason's eyes roll to the back of his head. The trauma puts him to sleep, and the Harley Quinn whispers another "Jay Darling" into his ear before departing. 

Three

Y/N’s picture is gone now, he can't even piece it together in his mind anymore. The scraps are scattered and disintegrated into dust.

This time he hears Harley before Joker, she's hanging off of the clown's arm, looking at him with the adoration of a psychopath. In her hands is a long poker, tip red hot, and she swings it without a care in the world. She giggles as her love comes closer to the half dead boy, untying his chains.

Jason lands on the floor, a crumpled heap of skin and broken bones. His head hits the ground, but it's the most beautiful thing he's touched in a long time.

He doesn't move, curling into a protective ball. 

"Mister J our bird isn't moving," Harley whines, kicking him in the back. He groans, shielding himself as best he could. There's nothing on the ground that's usable, not even a sharp stick or rock, there's a used abandoned needle but it sends him into nausea.

The Joker's laughing brings him back to reality as he attempts to crawl away. The floor is appalling, disgusting, a mix of wax and blood and body fluids that he wished he could forget, but he's let go. 

Jason slams his hands on the cement, using the force to wake him up and pull himself forward. His legs don't work, he's going delirious again, and then there's the sizzle of water behind him.

"Where are you going birdie?" Harley asks, and the Joker takes another step closer. 

"No, no, NO-" Jason pleads. Please let him go, dead or alive he doesn't care. Just get him out of here, make it stop. It's the only word he knows at the moment, every syllable is tortuous to pronounce. He bangs his head on the cement. God he’s going insane.

Stop touching him. Stop hurting him. 

He’s been beaten and tortured and degraded in the worst ways possible. He couldn’t remember what it was like to be human. And still, this was the worst pain yet.

He's pinned down as the hot poker nears his face, the symbol bright red on the end. Like a branded piece of meat. His flesh burns and sizzles as the Joker gives more pressure, and Jason's never screamed louder. 

It's in the intense silence within which he screams with his whole body. It forces its way from deep in his throat, demonic and angry and scared. 

He's hiding a truth from himself, and soon he's not screaming from the burning, but rather that he's stuck here. Forever. 

Edged with the tantalisingly sweet release of death, the Joker will never give it to him. 

The Joker will never let him die, he will never let him go. And now his cursed J is on Jason’s cheek, he’ll forever be the Joker’s pet.

When the brand stick is taken off his skin, Jason is sweating and pale and falls asleep.

"What a shame you couldn't handle it."

x

Y/N runs through the hallway with desperation. She'd tracked down Harley one night and by some god forsaken miracle, the deranged woman had blood on her skirts.

Another miracle hadY/N sneaking into Wayne Manor to ask Barbara to help her, analyzing the blood samples to track down the Joker.

They found something better.

For a second she believed Bruce's high end, most technologically advanced equipment was wrong. Babs assured her it wasn't. That was Jason's blood on Harley, less than two weeks old. 

"Jason?"

The boy looks up, whimpering. He almost doesn't hear her.

"Oh Jay," she whispers from the hallway. She's just a shadow but Jason knows it's her. No one has ever said his name with such gentleness. 

The woman lets out a sob. He's here, he's alive, he's gonna be okay. 

Jason holds back sobs of his own as she runs to him. Her fingers are first to touch him, resting on his chest and trailing over his scars, his wounds and his blood. His torn clothes, the dirt and acid burns. Her hand stops over his heart, beating so slow she would have believed him to be dead.

But this is Jason. He's not dying anytime soon. Especially not if she can help it.

Tears stream down her face as she wraps her arms around him, holding him close. 

He's gonna be okay.

Y/N is immediately supporting him as she conjures a knife to cut him down. His arms are free and he nearly goes unconscious.

She catches him before he can fall. It's not like the Joker when he needs to crawl away like a wounded puppy. He welcomes the other presence in the damp room, shaking. Jason lifts his head, and he doesn't even have to move until she's at his side. It's so different.. he forgot what this feels like. 

Jason forgot what it felt like to have emotions besides fear. 

He curls into her lap, slowly using her body to sit up. 

"Jay look at me, please," she murmurs, holding his face and brushing the hair out of those colorless eyes. "Oh my god I knew it.. I knew you were alive.. Jay I'm so sorry-" she stops herself, kissing the top of his blood matted head.

That doesn't matter now.

"I'm gonna get you out of here, you're okay sweetheart. Stay awake okay? Okay. Stay awake for me please."

Jason nods, hanging onto her. If he lets go, she'll leave. He'll lose her and he'll be stuck here again. She'll fade away.

It hurts to move, every bone and every limb is on fire. Then she's grabbing him and they're standing up, she's practically half carrying him.  

Mumbles of his name fill the empty asylum wing. Js and Jason's and Jay's pass her lips as if just repeating it is gonna make him alright.

One step, and Jason crumbles. He can't walk, it's a miracle he can feel his legs at all. "I'm not going anywhere," he mutters. 

She doesn't say anything. She knows.

Footsteps in the background. Walking, jogging, running. 

Maniacal laughs and snarls and spit.

Y/N bends her knees and slings him over her shoulder in a fireman's carry, and then she starts running. Down one hallway and then the next, the Arkham Asylum is a maze.

"Jay, side of my mask, the-"

"Comms," he finishes, holding the button to turn it on.

"Bat? Batgirl, do you read me?" The girl whispers, ducking into an alcove.

"I'm here. Did you..?"

"I've got him. Babs, he's alive, Jason's alive, he's breathing-" It feels so good to say, to not just breathe an empty statement. 

Crying comes from the other side of the comms. Barbara composes herself enough to speak, but even then, emotion hangs in her voice. "Let's bring him home then, where are you right now? Dicks outside the Asylum with Bruce, don't worry about the thugs or the cameras, we have it covered."

"I'LL FIND YOU BIRDIE!" 

"The Joker's here," Y/N tells Barbara and the air hangs with a pregnant pause. 

"Okay, Tim's gonna have you turn right, we got his signal."

The woman turns, ducking into the darkness.

"Y/N,." Jason wheezes, hanging onto her shoulders with the strength he could muster. 

"Jason if this is one of, one of your 'if we don't make it out' speeches-"

"Nevermind," he replies, wishing he had the energy and the ability to smile. She does, she smiles for the both of them- even if he can't see it from this angle. 

"God I'm going to make him pay for this. Writhing and screaming and begging for me to end him," she threatens, listening for the next of Barbara’s directions.

She's told to go right and through a door.

There's two sets of footsteps now.

Y/N continues, trying to fill the silence. The Joker won’t track her voice, the alarms are too loud. "That doesn't matter now, I guess. You're alive and I- we thought you were dead and it took so long for me to accept that, and I still don't know how I found you but I did and Jay I'm so proud of you-"

"Hey this doesn't mean you can give me a speech of your own," Jason interrupts, and she cracks another smile. She’s rambling like she always does when she overthinks, and he closes his eyes to imagine that they’re once again on a Gotham skyscraper with a bottle of champagne. Spilling secrets and laughing like they weren’t masked vigilantes with secret identities. 

"I love you Jason, and you're not leaving me again."

"HAHA I LOVE THIS GAME-" The Joker yells. His psychotic grin fills Jason’s vision as the maniac throws open a hatch, jumping down into the room. Jason is dropped to the ground and Y/N has her sword in hand, stepping in between the two men. 

His vision is blurry, he can’t see anything, and the ground is warm. 

He can’t succumb. Jason stands up again, grabbing a pistol from Y/N’s leg and he shoots. The feel of a gun trigger isn’t unfamiliar. 

Yelling fills the room, as does the clash of metal and fists, Jason smiles as the Joker cries out in pain. Another door opens, there’s girlish laughter now, and so many footsteps. He keeps shooting, dropping enemies like a second nature because he was Jason Peter fucking Todd. 

Jason’s ribs get stomped on again and he loses his gun, and metal echoes on the ground as something is dropped. Three gunshots ring through the room. 

No. 

No.

The Joker and the Harlequin keep laughing in glee, and Jason blacks out from crying again. 

x

Cold hands grab his face. The man who laughs is, well, laughing and pulling Jason’s face close to his own. The smell of death fills his senses and Jason opens his eyes. 

"How long do you think it's been, Jason?"

[wkemeup]

favorite fanfic trope: enemies to lovers but it's the moment when their tension is at its peak 😈

title: The Mess I Made - submitted by anon summary: you may not be on the best terms with Bucky Barnes, but it doesn't stop you from coming to his defense prompt: “Did anyone ever tell you how pathetic you are? It’s incredible how low my standards are for you.” / multiple requests for enemies to lovers word count: 1.5k a/n: enemies to lovers is already tough for me and to do it in drabble form is impossible for me because it requires a slow burn, but I did my best!!

You were on your way to the tower's gym when you heard Bucky’s voice echo from the end of the hall. Towel swung over your shoulder, headphones barely even grazed your ears as you paused, turning down the music. Bucky’s shadow danced over the walls as his run his hands through his hair. A woman’s shadow emerged next to him, her heels clicking against the tiles.

You rolled your eyes. Bucky’s latest string of conquests were an inconvenience at best. His pathetic attempt to rekindle whatever version of himself he idolized from the forties in the form of cheap, meaningless hookups was just another reason you made every effort to steer clear of Barnes. His seemingly indifference towards you made easy to do so.

Steve wouldn’t let it go – his questioning of why the two of you could never get along. It wasn’t that you hated Barnes. You didn’t know him well enough to hate him. You just didn’t care for what you saw. He was guarded and cold. Condescending and arrogant. Half the time, you barely believed Steve’s stories of Bucky’s charming days in the forties. The rare moments you caught his smile, it looked forced. It barely touched his eyes and he wore a mask to bring home women who spent their nights admiring an arm he would not allow them to touch.

The rare moments you thought you saw something genuine in him, he’d lashed out. The cracks in his foundation breaking through the surface in the screams at the night of dead of night, flinching at loud noises, the easy transition to taking orders and losing himself for the briefest of moments.

You’d made the mistake once of trying to comfort him. His eyes had glazed over in the middle of a conversation. There were dozens of agents around for the annual holiday party and Bucky was in another world entirely. His pupils were dilated, his hands shaking as he closed them to fists. You never learned what triggered it, but the moment you laid a gentle hand upon his forearm, Bucky had you in a chokehold.

It took both Sam and Tony’s strength to wield Bucky away from you, all while he was practically foaming at the mouth, screaming at you to never touch him again. He was rabid as Sam and Tony struggled to hold him back. The whole party stopped to watch the scene unfold – as Bucky hurtled countless insults at you.

He was drinking Thor’s liquor. He had to have been. Half of what he said that night barely made any sense. None it worth the audacity to lay a hand upon his arm to draw him back from wherever his mind had taken him. Perhaps, if you weren’t so thoroughly humiliated, you might have considered as much.

But what he said that night stayed with you and you never let it go.

“Why don’t you stay, sweetheart?” Bucky’s voice carried down the hall.

You tapped your foot impatiently at the elevators, desperate for an escape before he turned the corner. You noticed the woman’s heels were still clicking on the floors. She hadn’t stopped.

“Let me take you for breakfast, at least,” Bucky asked, a nervousness in his voice you didn’t recognize. He cleared his throat. “I was thinking we could—”

“I’m going to stop you right there.” The clicking ceased and you watched as the woman’s shadow placed a hand on Bucky’s chest, stilling him in an instant. “I thought you knew what this was.”

“I did. I do, but,” Bucky started, running a hand through his hair. You’d never seen him act this way before – so unsure of himself. The elevator doors open and closed as you watched his shadow sway on his heels. “I just... I want to try something different. Something... real and I thought, since we had a nice night together you might...”

“What?” the woman scoffed. “You thought I would want to date you?”

Bucky stiffened. Even his shadow appeared to mask into stone. Dread curdled in your stomach and you found yourself inching down the hall, approaching the shadows.

“Listen,” the woman crooned, “you were great last night and sleeping with the Winter Soldier is a hell of a story, but you’re not exactly... relationship material.”

You froze, stunned.

Bucky awkward cleared his throat. “I-I know, and I’m working on that. I just thought—”

“Oh my God, take the hint!” the woman exclaimed and you flinched in time with Bucky’s shadow against the wall. “Did anyone ever tell you how pathetic you are? Clearly all I wanted was a good lay. I thought I wouldn’t have to worry about this clingy shit with the Winter Soldier for Christ's sake. It’s incredible how low my standards were for you.”

“What the hell is your problem?”

You rounded the corner, tossing your workout gear aside as you came face to face with the woman. She was a beautiful as the rest of them were – tall, stunning, probably one of the models you’ve seen on runways or on magazines. But her eyes were unkind, and dismissive.

“I don’t have to explain myself to you,” she spat, shoving past your shoulder and heading to the elevator. You moved to block her when you felt the cold grasp of vibranium curl around your wrist, yanking you out of her path.

“Hey!” you yelped, watching as the woman made her escape into the elevator. You snatched your hand back, massaging at the tender muscle. “What the hell, Barnes?”

“I don’t need you coming to my rescue,” Bucky bit back. “I had it handled.”

You scoffed, the image of Bucky’s form flinching as she called him ‘pathetic’ still fresh in your mind. You’d never known him to back down from a fight. Hell, he’d gotten into a screaming match with a paparazzi for daring to ask how his morning jog went. Bucky didn’t roll over and play dead. But he let that woman wrap a hand around his throat until he choked.

“Sure looked handled,” you rolled your eyes. “She was walking all over you.”

“My sex life is not your concern,” he growled, his voice low as his eyes hooded.

“I never said a damn thing about your sex life, Barnes.” You shook your head, already regretting stepping in at all. It was pointless – foolish even – to think that he might be appreciative of your intervention, of the fact that despite the tense history between you, you would never stoop as low as that woman did.

You bent down and picked up the gym bag you’d let slip from your hands. “If you want to be treated like shit, then by all means, have fun with your next one night stand. I'll steer clear of the fallout.”

You started to head back towards the gym when you heard Bucky groan rather dramatically behind you. You paused, glancing over your shoulder as Bucky hit a fit against the wall.

“What is your—”

“You are so goddamn infuriating!” Bucky snapped and your jaw dropped.

“Are you serious right now? Me? I’m the infuriating one?” You released your bag, letting the weights hit the floor as you stalked back to him. “You’re the ungrateful jerk who just yelled at the one person who bothered to stand up for you!”

Bucky gritted his teeth. “I never asked you to do that!”

He was only inches away. His breath hot against your cheeks. You could see the dark blue specs in his eyes from this close. The blacks of his eyes nearly consuming him whole.

“Maybe that’s your problem, Barnes,” you sneered. “You think you need to ask for help, that it’s earned or deserved, but it’s not! Sometimes people just want to help you, you asshole! Sometimes, people can be good and can care about you without expecting that you—”

Your back hit the wall as Bucky’s weight pressed to your chest. His lips crashed against yours, his hand slipping into your hair. Everything in him moved with purpose, with adrenaline spiked into his veins and fury in his bones – but not his hands. Even as his lips hungrily devoured yours, his hands were gentle as they caressed the nape of you neck, as they slid down your hips.

What surprised you more – was that you kissed him back. Your hand clutched into the thin fabric of his t-shirt, your lips parting for him as he brushed him tongue over yours. It was the kind of kiss that left you feel dizzy – like you’d been under for too long, your lungs aching, and still you had no desire for air.

When he finally did draw back, it was only when he was breathless. His chest panting in time with yours, his forehead dipping to rest against your collarbone. He paused for a moment, even as his fingers gently pressed into the nape of your neck as if upon keys of a piano.

“I don’t know why I did that,” Bucky confessed.

You chuckled. “I do.”

He lifted his head and you smiled when you saw his lips were pink and swollen. You brushed a hand over his cheek.

“Because even when I hated you, I still cared about you, Barnes. It’s not black and white. It’s messy and it’s grey. But I can handle a little mess, can’t you?”

Bucky swallowed, slow to the smile that crept upon his lips, but still—it came. “Yeah, I can handle messy.”

When he kissed you again, he didn’t hesitate.

[muffindaddystyles]

DENTIST THE BAD BOI

Word count: 7k

A/N: Heavily inspired from 90's rom-coms, so if your heart swoons out of loneliness it's not on me sistas -- doctor Harry my fav.

Summary: Harry's a med-student and Y/N's an art student, being neighbours with Y/N was already a living hell for Harry but when she fusses over his cat getting her cat pregnant -- he mighty looses it.

Pairing: Dentist Harry × Artist reader, Frenemies to bestfriends to lovers, platonic affection and loads of bestie fluff.

MASTERLIST, REQUEST FOR BLURBS FROM THIS FIC ARE OPEN || PART 2

“Harryyyyy!!!!” Y/N screamed at the top of her lungs staring at the small picture of ultrasound, blinking at it several times to vision herself back into reality because the more she does the more she becomes grumpy and fussy – cursing the beast of a neighbour who got her little innocent cat pregnant.

She pulled the strings of her pyjama shorts to tighten it around her and hastily towed her feet into fuzzy slippers, giving a stink of an eye to her cat “don't act so surprised you little ragamuffin!” She mouthed at her with venom (as if trippers her cat cares), stomping her way out and writes a whole book of judgements in her rattling brain upon hearing the loud music weeping through walls.

She knocks. Huffs when it goes unnoticed and this time pounds at the door, crossing her forearms infront of her chest. Not unaware and very accustomed; of happy chatter whirling around whenever she’s trying to focus how a certain recipe goes by, his mates chanting his name from outside when he’s too occupied in whatever he's sorting out inside for their arrival, clanking of beer bottles knowing they and her have a long time to go, the music dimming in the wee of night as the door closes after every fifteen minutes and it dawns at that time –-- she always get left with one option and that’s to curse him till she sleeps.

It’s every Friday and Saturday’s story.

“Max stop that before Ni asks fo’ a dummy —-,” His neck's craned to where his friends are sitting on one of the cosy spots. His jaw popping, dimples chasmic from the smirk he’s holding and Y/N gulps then arches her brow when his attention drops down at her, “Oh .... hi, could help ya?” His cocky grin irks her – bubbling a fire in her pit and an urge to twinge his ear and drag him to her apartment, to show him what he did.

“Could you help me!?” She laughs ironically, chases her frowning gaze from the ripped patches of his jeans towards where his curls are brushing his earlobes and it kind of makes her gasp which she traps in fortunately because – he’s always wearing a hoodie, beanie or his hair up in a little fountain like bun rushing through the lobby with his thick books and laptop clutched in his arms, “Yes please .. y’could help me by transferring expenses of your cat's babies every month to me —-...um could simply have them in your apartment too if the first deal’s too bad.” She shrugs. Taking a glimpse from his shoulder of his friends bunched over eachother and he toys with his bottom wet lip, brows stringing into confusion and his bicep flexes making her flutter her eyes away as he grips the knob of the door and closes it behind him.

“What d'ya mean?”

“You’re doing it on purpose right? ‘cos there’s no way —--” He cuts her groans with a snap and runs a palm down his face, “I seriously don’t know what you’re talkin' ‘bout, Y/N.” His lips tinned into a flat line, his posture now resembling her's and she slaps her forehead with the heel of her palm.

“Then you should keep tabs of your beasty minx of a cat who got my cat pregnant!” She exclaims disbelievingly to which his eyes turns saucer and he throws his sinewy arms in between them, mimics her expressions comically, “Is that my fault? Did I get your cat prego?” She blinks up at him rapidly --- he’s such a nerve puller.

“Yes it is! You didn’t get your cat desexed —-,” She stuffs her pointer against his chest and twist it with a grit, “Now he’ll have babies left and right – like a catwhore he is!!” She aerials her hands in different directions rapidly and he takes a step closer kissing his teeth together to seethe his words.

“He’s not a catwhore!”

“Kay then take the responsibility of what he did.” She mutters tapping her foot onto the carpeted floor and guppies at him like a fish when he bursts into taunting cackles, leaning to catch the door-frame before he mushes her under his weight. ”

“Ye -‐..- you’re —- you aren’t serious are ya?” His rosy eyelids snib tightly forming crinkles to where his temples meet his cheeks and she almost pouts, how much she doesn’t want to she could never cascade her expressions.

“Oh my — .... Bambi eyed wouldn’t I’ave had free him of his ball’s heaviness –-- if I’d ‘ave enough money down me pocket?” He scrunches his nose to take a breather from laughing hard.

“Don’t call me that!” She bites at him.

“You’re cute when you’re angry.” He smirks gingerly – drums his fingers against his folded bicep and presses his back to the wall tipping his chin high.

Her blush eager to creep up her neck embarrasses her further more and she hides the softness in her voice, muttering gruffly, “Shut up.” Then turns to walk back into her apartment and to slam the door at his face -- but -- his whistle for her halts her in tracks.

“Hey – Bambi, we could sign the custody of kitties if that what ye'want.”

..

Three weeks after. There was another knock on Harry’s door, Niall's head perks up and bangs against the bookshelf –- he was trying to keep the furry cat in his lap, for a good warmer but its more enamoured with the ‘clucks' of his daddy’s boots than the soft flesh of Niall’s thigh as Harry chucks his wallet in the back-pocket of his jeans (he was about to go outside and bring some food) and opens the door slightly to see through the trapping chain, “who’s it?”

“Harry ‘s me ....” The voice mousey and worried. Niall recognizes it in a hot-second, frowns and tries to gain snowy’s attention, “What did y'do again? Did ya get the pretty neighbour's cat prego twice, you fat farts.” He chuckles when snowy meows at him innocently and Harry's brows skews together into a scowl.

“Call him fat farts another time —- I dare you —--,” He howls. Throwing angry upset glares towards Niall – their bickering gets interrupted when Y/N slips her hand from the crack of door, pinches Harry’s knuckles and he squeaks, “Ow —- what the fuck!”

“Harry.” Her tone threatening.

Harry puffs out a huge sigh and reveals himself infront of her, he's not in mood to fight with her over their cats, or the parcel Harry forgot to give her which got delivered to him on accident like one of the thousand times (he never found anything freakish until now .. not that he goes through what’s inside, but the labels tell they’re mostly her art supplies), or why he’s been showering for an hour because she now isn’t left with any warm water —- because he just came back from UNI and is dust bones from having two exams in a row.

“Y/N —-,” His face reeks with exhaustion. His curls drowsy, escaping from his knit beanie and his eyes glazed with sea-foam. She kinda feels bad for disturbing him -- but – it’s an emergency and she doesn’t know where to go, except him.

His weary vision falls upon trippers tucked beneath Y/N’s arm, “Is she alright?” He scratches behind her ear and trippers gives out a pained yowl.

“No –-.. that’s why ‘m here. She’s spotting blood everywhere and –-- and I don’t have enough money ...,” She’s embarrassed to say least. Not meeting Harry’s eyes and he gazes her sincerely –- belly doing weirdly funny somersaults. He clears his throat, grogs out gathering all the information in his head from the anatomy of humans and animals he studied till now.

“It’s okay for spotting in pregnancies – but ‐-.. she looks very much in pain s' we shouldn’t risk it. I’ve a friend. She’s practicing vet -- we could take her there.” He offers. Rubbing the back of his neck and Y/N bobs her head vigorously, anything to save her trippers baby.

“Fine –-- yeah, Iemme just wear my shoes ... then we're good to go.” She mumbles. Harry hasn’t seen her demeanour flatter like this ever before, whenever she’s banging and barging through his flat it’s always taut and cold banter.

He has never seen her this defenceless.

He drops his gaze down at her feet and finds that she’s wearing cute pizza slices socksies.

..

“Is this a clinic, or weed doing zone for animals?” She didn’t try to be mean. It just happened as she takes in the wearbouts of garage, stuffed with drums and musical instruments, spray paint on walls. Harry seems unfazed though, he could be shabbier than her if he wants to –- much fouler that could make her cry.

“Told you. She’s practicing not a vet yet.” She doesn’t question him further. Grateful enough for his help. She might not admit but he isn’t that bad of guy as she once imagined him in her head.

Y/N stifles a snort when a girl with mullet shag, having a stud in her brow and the corner of her lip, attired in all black greets Harry with a hip-check, “Vas’up booger.” She grins and Harry grumbles ruffling her hair with his knuckles.

It leaves Y/N in awe. This’s what group of friends look like -- so fun and annoying, she wanted to have this since when she’s small. Sadly, it’s just her and trippers in her friend group.

“Hi there!” She waves to Y/N trying to battle Harry’s tickles away. Takes trippers from Y/N's arms and coos up at her, “hiyaa baby .. oh, she’s having lil buns inside her.” She laughs and Y/N already likes her so much. As if, she’s the main character of any vintage styled movie.

“Rori here.” She introduces herself as Harry strolls inside her kitchen to rummage through her fridge, “Y/N.” Y/N smiles –-- eyeing Harry who’s whistling and tearing the crate of orange juice open.

When Trippers purrs from a cramp, Rori snuggles her closer to herself – “Her spotting is nothing to worry about –-- maybe she’s ready to give birth. If not I’ll take her to my hospital.”

“So Harry said...” Y/N nods.

“Oohh.” Rori exclaims, wiggling her brows curiously at Harry who’s gulping down juice hungrily, “Booger got normal friends too? Thought, those were all white lies.” He almost chokes at it – downing it cautiously and blinks vividly.

“No. Just neighbours.” Yeah, there’s nothing friendly between them –-- but how it’d be like to befriend Harry. The thought makes Y/N feel snoozy and warm.

“I see.”

“Okay then! ‘m gonna keep Trippers with me for two days –-- figure out what I could do to help her and if she heals I’ll drop her by, how that sounds?”

“Sounds good!” Both, Harry and Y/N chimes together heating their cheeks up. Harry wavers his gaze away, sulking a pouty mouth and turns all stoic again.

He doesn’t want to like, Y/N. Nope. Not at all. In any case.

She’s his bedevilling, bothersome and galling neighbour who just screams at him too much for his likening.

..

“Would you like something to eat?” She asks him while walking back home and he shakes his head, so she nudges him in ribs, “oh c'mon let it be a thank you, grumpy pants.”

“’M not –-,” He was about to snap at her. Instead, he groped her wrist tightly and tugged her to his side –-- she squeals into his chest as a car passes by them swiftly, honking at them in anger.

Her hair wisps from the friction of Harry’s hoodie as she pushes herself away from him, surprisingly he smells incredibly sweet – that of vanilla and citrus musk, something very cosy and like a morning breeze.

A jolt buzzes through her spine at the fact she was about to get crushed under a vehicle but she grins up at him awkwardly, “Tofu then?” His peepers widen in shock and he slaps his forehead.

“You’re mad, know that.”

..

Harry and Y/N. Sky and earth . She sprouts buds of irises and peonies when she speaks, her touch that shines away even an intimidating person as if they're mimosa plants, those eyes --- those eyes are itself sepia of grounds on which the tiny creatures celebrates by and Harry's well ... he’s the floss of clouds hidden behind sunshine, his rains would turn her into loam and his uppish thunder would make her loathe him.

Then some gods decided to break the needles and fix it in some other clock that rotates anti-clock wise.

Now, when she’s unable to nourish her flowers he's always there to rain and stroke a tender breeze against her that makes her lush grass snuggle the roots of who she’s.

They were enemies once. Opposite to eachother in many ways but couldn’t live without eachother despite of their distances. Just like sky's a hollow sheet of nothingness without it’s dear earth.

..

What blossomed their friendship was Y/N's date with this cute boy that is in her ceramic class, (not a date if you’d ask so –-- more like a meetup at this coffee house near her UNI).

Turns out he isn’t that cute. His blunt hands wandered up Y/N’s thigh without her consent and before she could know that, he was groping at it –-- making her gasp and hit her knee against the table. She struggles to writhe out of the chair but he stitches his nails in her skin, “I’m not liking it – you better stop.” She hisses, palms sweaty and slipping trying to remove his grip from around her.

“Don’t act all stupid .. you were hitting at me for hours, you want it but wouldn’t admit.” He groans, rolling his eyes and she feels like crying –-- teeth clanking letting out a shuddering breath.

“I’ll scream.” She warns him.

“You’re not that innocent, you act like.” He smirks, sliding his hand down her insides and before he could reach further Y/N sneaked a fork from the table and stabbed it in his knuckles.

“Fuck.” He shrieks, “Bitch.” He almost screams but stops when everyone stares at him as Y/N’s chair fell against the floor and she stumbles inside the bathroom.

Locking it behind her. Her chest burns with tears. Her vision spins and her fingers shakes as she dials one number she could reach for anytime, it rings then goes to voicemail so her bitten lip wobbles and eyes turn glossy.

She again dials it. There’re noises behind, that of someone instructing and Harry was in his lecture hall when she called .. his heart drops because all he could hear is quivering breath ... it shudders to tight painful gasps and he’s collecting his stuff leaving his seat immediately the doctor who's teaching them Apiceoctomy stares Harry while speaking.

Once he’s out in hallway, “Hey? Y/n are y’there? You okay? What happened?” She bolt her eyes close pressing her head to cold tiled wall and yawps outta fear when someone pounds at the door. Harry runs towards the exist, “Y/N where are you!? ‘m coming .. whatever it’s just --.. just ...” He gripes at his curls pushing them back – his heart beating loud, “ – just stay where you’re ‘n don’t panic .. yeah? It’s okay.” He mutters. Voice soft and assuring.

Her breathing patterns back to calmness – something about him so consoling, so warm and she nods. After some minutes she’s telling him the address and gladly it’s not that far away from Harry.

When he reaches. There are several people waiting at the bathrooms door and he’s knocking on it lightly, pressing his ear to it and grabs the knob (in case he’d have to break it).

When there’s no-response from inside he gets it something’s peculiar, “Bambi. ‘s me Harry.” It clicks and unlocks and he’s tumbling inside while the others groans and disperses knowing it’s invain waiting.

He’s dishevelled. His curls in moppy condition and his eyes full of concern and worry –-- she feels awful for doing this to him.

“Were you crying? Did somethin' happen?” He frowns. Ducking a bit to meet her gaze level and she clears the clump in her throat, “Can we just leave .. please?” He couldn’t believe it’s her voice – the bubbliness and chirpiness of it died to frightened meekness.

Harry takes her hand and walks them outside, Y/N sucks in squeak when the same guy rushes to confront them and when Harry sees his injured hand -- everything pieces together and fury spikes through his veins.

His brows pinches together into a frown, his lips lifting into a scowl and his eyes darkens pitch coal like.

He grips her dainty fingers and moves her behind him protectively and his chest buffs out as he takes a step forward towering the guy – “What d'ya want?” He kisses his teeth together to grit vehemence and that guy lift his trembling hand infront of Harry.

“Look what this bitch —-,” Ah –-- he really pushed Harry’s bad button didn’t he?

Harry grabs him from collar and Y/N squeals rubbing his wrist to pull him back, no-use.

“Badmouth her or anyone —-" Harry sneers and if he'd be a cartoon character – fume would have been coming out of his ears and nose.

“Else what!?” Harry’s more of a practical person -- so he did what he's been learning for years now and breaks his nose with such force it almost knocks him out.

Y/N's still in shock. Walking behind him on jelly toes and a shiver spirals in her bone marrow when her sweat dries from the wind that’s blowing and hitting them in faces.

They wait at bus shelter, sitting side by side –-- thighs brushing now and then flustering Y/N, Moreso when he apologizes everytime.

There’s silence. Harry’s irritated groan breaks it –- he clenches and unclenches his knuckles .. the thin skin a bit bruised.

“Are you okay? I’m so sorry –-- .. ‘s my fault.” She rambles. Taking his hand to inspect it, “I shouldn’t have called you at ---..” He frowns confused and pokes her in knee conveying her to stop worrying. Because if anyone needs to be taken care of is her and wish he could just hug her and tell her that it’s not her fault – not even a tad.

“Y/n...” He gains her attention and his gaze flickers from her snotty nose towards her soaky cheeks, “Shut up.” She chuckles at that putting his palm gently back on his thigh.

“Would you like to have, noodles? I know this incredible chinese place ...” He shakes his head. His smile small and kooky, nose scrunched up as he sniffs the air – predicting a rain coming soon.

“D'we have to eat after every tragedy that happens t’you?”

“Yup, tragedies makes me hungry.” It’s her coping mechanism if she'll be honest and that’s what she’s been doing for ages.

“Who are you, Y/N?

She jumps up. Wiggling her fingers for him to take and beams sweetly, “Bambi next door?”

..

“From when did ya become s' rich?” He giggles. He finds her fucking adorable as she drags him along herself excitedly – she halts infront of the expensive restaurant –- where people dressed in all kind of luxuries and bright pearls are dinning in and she arches her brow sceptically, “Did you really think –- I’ll be able to take us here?” He shoves his hands in his jeans pocket, elevates his shoulders and smiles bashfully.

“Maybe one day, who knows?” They walk towards the chinese take out and Y/N trots backwards –-- facing him all while and rolls her eyes, “’M an artist whose half of paintings goes to trash.” Harry’s eyeballs springs out of his sockets hearing her statement and he really wants to knock some senses into this silly girl.

“Oh my --.. jeez .. those paintings are ‘s good y'divvy. They're hanging onto my walls, been enjoying them fo' free —- what the actual fuck .. really your hands are magical.” He feels annoyed and sad that she felt a need to dump them, because those were some beautiful art pieces.

(“Hmm. It has some hidden meaning beneath it, H. I’m tellin' ya.” Ni would always say. Standing infront of it for hours and hours staring at it.

“Looks like a pussy to me.” Max would quip sipping his bevy and Harry would smack him in head, “Guys how ‘bout we just see it like a fuckin' painting.” He'd grumble focusing back on his books.)

“Really?” She asks shyly and he bobs his head, “Guess you could just keep them then ...” She grins up at him taking the boxes from the cashier.

“Where are we going?”

“You’d see yourself.” She sing-songs galloping over the muddy potholes and Harry looks funny doing it with his spider long legs. Their footsteps echoes in the empty warehouse and Harry didn’t expect her to be the person – that loves finding weird places and spend time there.

“Careful there.” He murmurs. Pressing a hand to her waist when she wobbles on her feet climbing the metal stairs and Harry thinks if she was this clumsy all along or it’s from what happened at the coffee house.

“Holy shit!” He cups a hand around his mouth as the traffic bustles down on the street, “You afraid of heights?” She glances back at him from where she’s standing on the cemented edge.

“Matters. If we're about to act silly and jump, then yes.”

Warmth worms up at his chest and his adam apple bobs, he barks out a laugh when she giggles demanding him to come closer to her, “Come here then you dentist the bad boi.” He tugs the fabric of his jeans from his crotch and hikes his one knee up sitting beside her, other leg swinging in air.

He listens to her hums and happy sounds as she slurps the long noodle inside her mouth, “What you’re afraid of then Harry?” Her question catches him off-guard. Nobody has ever asked what his fears are and he might be famous for an intimidating personality just because he speaks less and owns a roaring bullet –-- he’s still very nice to talk to, but he'd rather spend his time with snowy than waste his time on orgy parties.

“Snowy’s funky farts -- they're ‘orrible!! have to leave the flat fo’ a minute.” He grins when Y/N’s head lulls back and she laughs gleefully, rolling into his side to support herself, “Oh no!” She whines when her chopsticks falls and drops onto the road poorly.

“We can share mine.” He hands her his chopsticks and she thanks him timidly, “What d'you fear?” They pass it back and forth –- his lips wrapping around them as he takes a chunky bite.

Harry tries to down the food that got stuck in his throat when she said nonchalantly, “Dying alone I guess?” He chews the veggies, grimaces and shakes his head -- puts his hand over her knee squeezing it kind-heartedly.

“You’ll not.” She feels like every tulip of light around her’s sparkling – the buzz of having his company tingling her in good way, “Promise?” She asks and Harry lifts his pinky in between them encouraging her to bring her's.

She wasn’t serious about the promise thing it was more onto sarcastic side than to sincerity.

“Promise.” His dimples caters deep and his eyes crinkles when different golden lights dances against her skin making her look prettier than she’s.

He’s gonna fulfill his promise.

..

Y/N could be sentimental given on occasions and how bad the situation’s – but she bottles it up for good amount until later, it all crushes her completely and she’s unable to stand back.

Now, when there’s eerie quietness in the bus and the world infront of her fades behind in weird shapes and forms in her head because of the speed of vehicle – her mind thought it’d be best time to remorse over what happened to her and her eyes well up at that.

Harry plucks his headphones down upon hearing her soft sniffles and turns her towards him with her shoulder, “Y/N hey ....” His voice tender and dewy as he slides his palm under her jaw and cups her cheek to wipe out her tears with the mild stroke of his thumb.

His gentleness rakes out an agonising sob from inside her and she feels like her organs are clashing together.

“Shh. Bambi you’re okay now, ‘s alright you’re here with me -- shh, ‘m so sorry love —- but it’s over now, yeah? We're going home and I’ll make you chamomile tea, could ‘ve both snowy and trippers cuddle with you while I’ll get you all warm and nice inside this new fluffy blanket I just bought! – how does that sound?” He pets her hair. Brings her closer to his chest and she keeps her nose tucked against his clavicles to stop from crying and make a show.

When she nods, suckling a wet breath he swipes a loose errand of her hair behind, “Sounds good yeah?” She just hums snuggling into him.

Her arms slowly loops around his love-handles and he stows her head under his chin -- rubs her back in circles to soothe the stiff muscles, covers her ears with the headphones he was wearing before – plays acoustic version of Landslide by Fleetwood Mac and simpers when she hiccups his name, but doesn’t respond when he answers – his ears turns pink from fond and his belly overglows with butterflies as she babbles his name till she drops into peaceful sleep.

Y/N found herself in his bed with snowy and trippers ontop of her and Harry snoring on the couch – his gangly limbs not fitting at all.

She really wanted to call him and sleep on his bed, but she drowses back to slumber.

..

“Grumpy jerk and an actual ray of sunshine. Sorry, couldn’t process it – too much.” Rori teased Harry the last time they gathered and Y/N was there too! though the true statement was claimed after her departure.

Harry’s friends couldn’t believe that he stepped out of his comfort zone and made a new cute friend, now after one year of their friendship it doesn’t feel like they’re neighbours anymore –-- it's just one big home with an alleyway in between.

“What're y'doin', moppet?” Harry chuckles picking up the half eaten packet of crisps, chewy sour candies, wrappers of oreos and the romcom CDs they were playing before.

Y/N's sprawled on her tummy. Feetsie in air and her chin secured in her palm as she looks like she’s seriously about to take an admission in med school –-- she’s concentrating real hard on the thick book under her, eyes fixated on the diagrams of teeth – it makes Harry laugh like a maniac.

“Aish. Your books, gives me an ache.” She massages her forehead, shakes her head as if she tasted something icky and pushes his book away. Harry laughs harder at her antics wrappers flying away from his grasp and he flops onto couch –-- thighs spreading wide and back sinking into the cushions.

“Where?” His lips rumbles as he tries to hold back another fits of laughter when she gets his dirty joke and pouts, lips fluttering into a smile until she bursts into giggles joining him.

“Nope. My cookie doesn’t throb like it used to sneaking on reproduction chapters in biology.” Harry roars out a cackle at that and Y/N grins fiddling with the frizz of her socks, “Heyyyy it’s not funny –- very much sad.”

He suckles a breath in, their grins achy and big, “Stuff your cookie with some jam ‘n you'll be alright.”

“You’re gross!” She fake gags. Hunches over to exaggerate the severity and scares the shit out of Harry when she gasps loudly slapping his knee, “Harry! Harry! Oh my gosh.....ahhhh!” She gallops like a bunny towards the window and gazes up at the sky with glinting eyes, “Harry look! It’s snowing.” He trots behind her with a roll of eyes knowing what’s about to come next.

When she turns around with sparkly grin, hands clasped atop her chest and tippy-toes to beg him, Harry shuts his lids, “No Muffy.” Y/N loves eating chocolate muffins –-- eating them whenever she could possibly ... and that’s how the pet name Harry decided to call her was muffy.

“Please, it would be so fun .. we could have hot chocolate afterwards.” She mumbles tugging at the hem of his chunky yarn sweater.

“Nothing’s fun about snow angles, Muffyyyy!!” He whines. Squinting down at her with one eye and finds her all slumpy, head falling downwards.

“Okie then. ‘m going to sleep.” She mutters in a meek voice pushing past him –-- but he wraps his hand around her wrist and pulls her back to himself, chuckling with wide eyes, “You’re very dramatic and annoyin’ y’know that?”

Instead, she grins bobbing her head shamelessly, pats his chest and dashes to wear his warm jacket, “Biscuits on you -- hot chocolate on me.” She tells him slipping into her shoes with the support of doorframe.

He comes closer to her and her heart thuds into her tiny ribs as he zips his jacket she’s wearing up till her neck and warns her while pulling out her hair, “If I get sick – ‘m gettin'y sick too.”

..

Harry’s waiting outside the candy shop Y/N just barged in moments ago. He refused to step inside – knowing she’ll use him as a taste tester and at the end of the day his tongue would have a mountain sugar atop his taste buds.

The spring breeze flowery and warm. He shakes his head, smiles softly watching her switch aisles and guffaws loudly catching attention of an old couple siting on the bench behind -- at her eagerness when she started chomping onto the long chewy candy right after getting it from the cashier.

“That’s g'na rot your teeth even before your forties.” He tells her taking the small bag from her and walks beside her, “Your kids are gonna hate you ...” She tells him –- stretching out the candy with her teeth.

“You sure, y'were allowed colas and candies in childhood?” He teases her prodding her side so she throws it at his chest making him laugh and he bends down to pick it up and dump it in bin.

“You’ve got a cute bum.” She whistles and Harry’s cheeks bashes with blush – turns around and wiggles herself, “How's mine?” She hums glancing back at him with cheeky grin.

“Ten by two, I guess?” He bites down a smirk when she spins to face him a bit gobsmacked, “Not even five?” She grumps chin doubling as she tries to see her bum herself.

“Six then?” He giggles enjoying how she’s getting riled up out of nowhere and she stomps away from him so he jogs to catch her, “Bambi. Was kiddin'.”

“You owe me two muffins with the amount of insults you’ve caused my poor bum.” He knuckles at her hair and she slaps him away like a feisty kitten, “I take it back –-- you’re really ten by two.”

“Oi!!!” Now, she’s running behind him. His curls blowing away and his coat ruffling with the zephyr, his head falling back with the belly-ache laughter that bounces against the bricked walls of shops.

..

It’s Friday night. Y/N is doing her laundry. Plucking out Harry’s socks from Trippers furry ear, her kitties sleeping in bassinet. Harry and Y/N have named them Tum, Tug and Truggers –-- she sits back on her heels upon hearing her door closing and hikes the small basket on her hip trudging outside —-- she didn’t had any clothes that could make her feel warm during these days – even her socks were all soggy -- so was Harry’s, now all she’s gonna do is make a blanket fort and hide in it for hours.

She knuckles at her eyes, blinking the tiredness away to see properly who’s standing in the middle of room, “Harry?” He's wearing a graduation gown and tips his hat with a sheepish smile then waves his degree infront of her, “Guess who's a proper dentist now!?” She’s frozen to her spot –- jaw slacked and eyes blown away in surprise.

“Your bad boi!” The basket falls from her hip onto the floor scaring Trippers and she whispers an, “Oh my goodness.” Before, stumbling towards him and crashes in his arms giving him a tight loving hug. He slinks his forearms around her and squishes his face into the crook of her neck, lips tickling her skin and if it was possible for him to freeze the time and cherish it for some more he'd.

“I’m so proud of you.” She mumbles into him with a grin. He feels so worthy and every hardship he faced now feels like nothing, this's how life supposed be throughout –- but best things always bores fruit for the right time.

“How about we celebrate? Just you and me.” Just you and me. It feels nice to just her and him. Makes her heart swoon. Makes her feel like skies outside are wet and pink, “Umm .. can we celebrate here? It’s okay .... “ She shifts on her feet and he furrows his brows in confusion, lips ticked up as if he’s scrutinizing her.

“You and not goin' nutters for an outing .. seems odd —-,” Then his eyes falls over the surrounding, a heating pad beside his feet – aloe fused socks hanging to get dry, a tray of chocolate muffins, kettle on the coffee table so he puts one and one together himself.

“Oh muffy —-... pizza and cuddles then?” If he wouldn’t be aware of how first few days of her period are hell for her then who would? He’s always making her pot meals and curry rice – feeds her and gets all strict when she refuses to eat anything. She looses her appetite and transforms into something ‘if zombie had a baby with vampire -- it sure looked like you’ he'd always scold her.

Even bribe her with candies. Once they were awfully painful and Y/N really didn’t want to be all dramatic not when their friends were having a good time, she doesn’t like to be a party pooper.

But, when a stinging cramp cut through her pelvis and thighs she was hunching forward with a jolt -- all teary eyes and wobbly lips. Harry left everything and rushed towards her, sitting on his knees on the floor and cupped her throat to make her look at him when she refused to, “Y/N ‘m serious -- you rather tell me what’s happening with ye’ or ‘m throwin' you at my shoulder and takin’ you hospital —... cause fuck look at you been like this since morning ....” He was rambling and Y/N felt like drilling a hole into floor and hide herself there forever.

She was mortified and embarrassed, a terrible combination.

She wasn’t able to tell him infront of all of their friends even though it’s something very normal, so everyone stared and nodded when they left they for Harry’s room.

“Bambi are you okay? I’m not even kidding something’s not —-..” She wipes her nose and tugs at his wrist trying to shush him, when he doesn’t pushes a fingers against his lips.

“Don’t worry. ‘m good --- just —-... umm I’m on my periods.” She rubs her one feet on another and his mouth fall into an ‘o' when realization hit him and his brows clinches together sternly.

He sighs running his fingers through his hair, something he does when frustrated and whumpy.

“Should’ve told me. We could have done this later ... do you want anything? I’ve got pain —--,” His words swells on his tongue when her head bumps against his chest and her hands locks around his neck, hugging him with all her gentle will because nobody has ever cared for her –-- him being so tentative to her makes her want to sob into his chest.

He warms her in all the right places.

..

“How’re you feeling on scale of one to ten?” He speaks while chewing onto the stuffed crust of pizza. They’re cosied up on the sofa while Mama Mia plays on the telly and she’s cuddled up into him, he's holding her heat pad with the grip of his forearm and she lifts her head mousey-ly from his bicep and whispers – “Eightish...? Now, you’re Dr.Styles.” He giggles at her and pushes her head back against him with his finger.

“What does my being dentist has a connection to your periods?” He dips the pads of his fingers into her pudgy love handles and squeezes them -- she giggles thinking about the joke she’s about to crack.

“You pull teeth, it’s blood and I pull out tampon so it’s —...” Harry chuckles gruntly at her and tickles her more, “Oh no. I know where it’s goin'....”

“You asked for it!” She pouts at him and he squishes her lips together as if she’s a duck toy.

Then they flump back into their cuddling position and Harry rubs her tummy in tender soothing circles, it helps her relax and his breath syncs with her and she really tries not to pay attention to her bratty screaming hormones heating her skin up – her thighs experiencing a quiver and she squeaks down a huffy whimper.

“You okay?” Harry asks. When she squirms against him and she gulps -- they don’t hide stuff from eachother so she tells him honestly, “You’re really turning me on.” Harry’s heart hiccups at that and his palms still over her thighs.

“Is that so?”

He pets her hair and tries to make her stand, “Just go to washroom and jizz one out.”

“I can’t.”

“You can’t? Why?”

“Promise me you wouldn’t make fun....” He frowns and nods bringing his pinky to make the deal.

She clutches her sweater down to her knees, cheeks rosy and mutters out in one breath – “I’ve specific days for that....” Harry really tires to. He locks up his laughs in his lungs and it aches his chest, his cheeks balloons up but at last he rolls onto floor and guffaws into his elbow.

“You said you wouldn’t make fun!!!” She whines kicking his side lightly and he grabs her ankle, “This means all those times you’d be all locked up –- oh my god, you were playing with yourself.” She folds her arms. Her nostrils flares with irritation and she doesn’t even spare him a glance.

“Pet, waiting so long .. it’s a torture to yourself.” He tells her genuinely sitting up with crossed legs and she mumbles knuckling at her eyes, “just some reasons ... horny is bad.” Now, Harry feels kind of terrible pushy person and he really wants to help her out but he’s walking on egg shells here. So, he stops asking anything.

“Rori's girlfriend is a sex therapist —-“ She becomes all fidgety at that and Harry takes in her nervousness, “It’s totally fine if you don’t want to.” He exclaims waving his hands and she gulps giving him a small nod.

“Night time fo' some grumpy muffy!” He coos, brings the blanket to her chin and his pupils dilate adorningly when she asks him, “Could I snuggle you?”

“Ofcourse.” He pecks her temple and tells her to budge over before sandwiching her between him and the sofa.

That whole night all his mind could think was why horny is bad for her?

..

Y/N was feeling overly warm and heated, a tad achy between her thighs. She vigorously tries to focus on something else but her chest is heaving at this point, even opens the windows and let the cool air hit her but no use –- so she does what have to be done in order to get rid of the throb.

She cosies herself on the bed, switches onto hentai and throws her legs in air to shimmy her sheer white panty down.

“Oh ...��� Whimpers teeny-ly when her fingers brushing up her soaking pussyfolds provides her a bit relief – her soft hands wanders beneath her flimsy shirt and touches her skin in the most arousing way possible –-- tweaks her nipples and jerks up, oozing more wetness.

“Ah! Fuck.” She moans easing in two fingers at once and cramps down at them watching the hentai porn –- but it’s not enough, she’s been pushing her fingers in and out for ten minutes now—she’s unable to get to climax.

So she groans sits up and switches to domineering audios, listens to it while fingering herself hard and she has no idea from where her mind gathered these images from -- but -- soon she’s thinking about Harry’s husky rasp, his sea-foam beautiful eyes and those rosy knuckles ring clad hands —-- imagining him holding her down into mattress and pounding into her at a brutal pace, making her sit on his cock and not letting her move –-- his fingers down her petty throat —-- him spanking her ass if she let’s out any voice out and he'd roar at her beg as she'd be lurking at her tenth orgasm –---- every plausible dirty stuff with him.

She was so engulfed into making herself feel good, lost in her own headspace and imaginations that she didn’t hear footsteps approaching and it’s like she manifested him as he stands at the door-frame with blown away pupils –-- guppy mouth and she’s squealing feeling dizzy upon sitting up this quick.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck —-... sorry sorry ... “ He covers his eyes and turns to walk away but bumps his head with a thud into doorframe.

She gasps, knees up and almost shouts, “No!” making him halt mid-track and she’s on the verge of tears, red face and shaky fingers.

“Please ....”

“Stay.”

Harry’s eyes turns soft at that and he walks towards bed, licks his lips wet and brushes the loose tress of her hair away.

“You want me to stay, muffy?” He asks to make sure – she isn’t in haze and all fog minded.

“Yes. I want you to stay.” She doesn’t hesitate this time. Her words honest and full of plead, she needs him, she wants him, she wants to have him.

[maybcnksgf]

like i do

a/n welcome to my first liam dunbar fic :)

pairing: liam dunbar x reader

warnings: swearing, season 6 spoilers, the fight scene in 6x14, blood, mentions of death.

word count: 2.2k

check out my masterlist!

liam dunbar. the school’s ‘monster’.

he looked around the hallway frantically, listening carefully to make sure the rumours spreading through the school weren’t too apparent. he was so focused that he jumped when you placed your had comfortingly on his shoulder. 

“just remember what we talked about. they don’t know you like i do,” you whispered against his ear, smiling softly when he turned around to face you with a nervous expression painted across his features. 

mason approached the two of you with a relieved sigh. “okay,” he breathed out, facing his best friend with a reassuring nod, “not bad so far. this might be easier than we thought.”

“maybe,” he nodded in reluctant agreement, clearly not convinced. as the three of you began to walk, you looped your fingers through liam’s. 

well, that was short lived.

the minute you turned the corner, everyone turned to look at him. glares and dirty looks were thrown towards the boy in between you and mason, and you saw his shoulders slump in defeat in your peripheral vision. 

the looks he could handle. not that he was happy about them, because he was far from it. they made him feel like a freak, like a monster. but, they were manageable. it was only when you reached his locker that the whispers started. whispers that he could hear all too well. 

liam tensed up beside you, and though you couldn’t hear the voices like he could, you could only assume the nasty words rolling off of their tongues. he turned to the source of voices, facing them with a hurt expression before frantically looking around as the sound of them built up. 

“hey,” you spoke softly, snapping him out of his panic, “just block them out. don’t listen to them.”

“they know...” he whispered, voice strained in worry. 

“they’re just rumours,” mason reassured, trying to calm down the anxious boy in front of him, “they don’t know anything.”

corey was then by mason’s side in an instant, bearing bad news. “they know everything.” 

you shot him a pointed look, squeezing liam’s hand tightly in your own to calm him down before the anxiety began to bubble up again. 

“two sophomores on the lacrosse team were there last night,” corey continued, referring to liam’s shift in front of the public the night before. 

mason lightly shoved his boyfriend with his elbow as a warning, and scrambled with his words. “yeah, but it was late! it was pitch black out, and there was fog on the road-”

“it was a clear night. full moon, and a well-lit intersection,” corey interrupted, once again ruining the attempts to console him. 

liam inhaled a sharp breath. “i have to get out of here.”

“no. if you leave, these rumours never stop. you need to convince them that you’re a regular kid, that you’re not the monster they think you are.” your words were hushed, bringing your other hand up to rub liam’s shoulder in a comforting manner. 

“i’m not a regular kid,” he countered, voice shaky and cracking. 

“remember what scott said?” mason added, “be clark kent!” 

“clark kent turns into a guy with a red and blue outfit and a cape. i turn into a monster with claws and fangs!”

“you’re not a monster,” you replied calmly. 

“just get through the day without shifting,” corey suggested, and liam nodded with a deep breath. he lifted an arm to drape it around your shoulders while yours found home around his waist. 

“okay. get through the day without shifting. easy enough, right?”

-

wrong. 

you watched helplessly as liam was thrown through the doorway of your biology classroom and hit the floor with a thud. a group of kids were gathered around, eager to watch a fight break out and potentially see the other side to liam dunbar. 

you struggled against the grip of an older boy, huge hands latching onto your upper arms and keeping you from running to your boyfriend. it seemed as though mason was in the same predicament, judging by his protesting shout. 

liam’s eyes flashed yellow for a moment, as his heavy breathing briefly sounded like a growl. 

“get up,” nolan demanded, “get up!”

he managed to push himself up to a kneeling position before gabe’s foot made harsh contact with his lower back, kicking him straight back to the ground.

“gabe, you sick little bitch! leave him alone!” you shouted through the crowd’s commotion, and the boy on the ground struggled to contain his shift. “your eyes, liam. c’mon, you can do this,” you whispered, voice so hushed you were sure that nobody could hear apart from him. 

this seemed to calm him down momentarily before gabe tugged him back to his feet by his shoulders. “what are you trying to hide, liam? your eyes?” he taunted, shoving his back into the chalkboard with a sickening crunch. “open your eyes.”

the room burst out into reactions and a cruel grin painted itself across gabe’s face. when liam slowly let his eyelids rise, you couldn’t help but let the corners of your lips turn up in a proud smile as the normal baby blue colour of his eyes shined through. 

the boys, however, were clearly not too happy with this, because nolan immediately reeled his fist back and let it smash straight into liam’s nose. 

your face fell as you thrashed around in the student‘s grip, furious grunts leaving your throat. 

your boyfriend’s head fell back against the chalkboard with a pained breath, hand lifting up to wipe the crimson liquid from his nose. 

“hey! let him go!” mason screamed, struggling against the crowd. 

“leave him alone, you sick freaks!” you added. 

“are you just going to let us do this to you?!” nolan continued, ignoring your protests as gabe landed another punch to liam’s face, this time hitting both his cheekbone and his nose. he dropped to the ground from the impact with a deep, painful groan. 

nolan grabbed the boy by his face and dragged him back up to look at him. 

liam’s nose was covered in blood, hair falling messily across his forehead as he screwed his eyes shut. 

“you know you can take us. all you have to do is change,” nolan spoke lowly, his grip on liam’s head strong as he shook it with every word. “does your little girlfriend know that you’re a freak? that you’re a monster?”

you felt the rage inside of your chest building every second. “nolan, you bastard! i’m going to kill you-!”

liam choked back a cough, blood rising from his throat and coating his teeth as he opened his mouth to speak his first words while being in their hands. “the sun...” he sputtered out. 

“what?” nolan looked taken aback, furrowing his eyebrows at the ‘freak’ in front of him. 

“the sun,” liam repeated, peeling his eyes open and staring back at nolan threateningly. “the moon, the truth...”

the mantra seemed to gain him a slight amount of control. “come on, li. you can do this,” you whispered, the sound evident in his ears and his ears only. 

“what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“who cares?” gabe responded nonchalantly, shoving nolan out of the way and sending another violent punch to liam’s face. 

this sent him flying to the ground, coughing and shaking in both pain and anger. his eyes glowed yellow for a split second before his head hung low and a guttural growl of agony burnt through his throat.  

that was the moment you decided, you wanted to break every single bone in both gabe and nolan’s bodies.

“can’t you see how badly you’re hurting him?! he’s in agony! let him go!” you screamed, the student holding you seeming unfazed to the thrashing around. 

“you’re fighting it,” nolan stated, ignoring you completely. the pained grunts and groans tearing through liam’s throat left the boys unaffected, and your eyes welled up in fury at the sight of your boyfriend withstanding such a beating. “but you can’t hold back forever!”

at that moment, your biology teacher, ms finch, pushed her way through the crowd, and all eyes turned to her as gabe and nolan halted their movements.

 “do something!” mason shouted. she took one look at liam’s quivering form on his knees, covered in his own blood and shaking from the pain, and looked away. 

“sometimes it’s best to let them work things out on their own,” she spoke, raising her hands in mock defeat. 

liam’s head snapped up to her, eyes filled with disbelief before sending you a pleading glance. 

“what is wrong with you?! you’re a teacher! he’s being beaten to a pulp and you’re just going to walk away?!” you screamed at her, gesturing to liam on the ground with a cock of your head. 

ms finch looked at you for a split second before making her way out of the classroom. “you bitch!” you shouted after her. she froze in her place for a single moment, and you almost believed she would turn around and stop the fight, but she continued on her way without a second glance. 

the moment she left, gabe grabbed liam by the hair, forcing his head upwards. his breathing was shallow, loud and forceful and agonising as gabe sent his knee flying into liam’s chin. 

he fell onto his back and coughed loudly, blood spluttering out of his mouth like a fountain as he choked on it, though the boys didn’t stop there. they slammed their feet down against his ribs, taunting him and laughing while doing so, allowing his bones to break under their weight. you let out a broken and angry sob at the sight, watching as gabe grabbed liam by his shirt and pulled his head up. 

liam’s face was completely covered in his own blood, tears were staining his eyelashes as he tried his hardest not to fight back. 

something clicked within you at that moment. you sent your foot flying back into your holder’s crotch, and as you felt him release you and double over in pain, you bolted into the centre of the fight. 

gabe’s fist was reeled back, about to land another punch to your boyfriend’s face before you grabbed his arm, effectively spinning him around. he still sent the punch, but this time, it was at you. 

you let his fist connect with your jaw, and felt the impact of another hit as his second punch landed on your nose with a crunch. 

“y/n!” liam croaked out, too weak to jump to your rescue. 

he clearly didn’t need to, however, because suddenly the coach was there, shoving people out of the way with corey right behind him. 

“what the hell is going on?!” he screamed, grabbing gabe and nolan by the shirts and shoving them towards the door. “back off! hey, get to the principles office now!”

your face throbbed in pain as you wiped the blood away from your nose with your sleeve, but you ignored it as you fell to your knees by liam’s form. his body heaved, and his hands gripped onto his (very clearly broken) ribs. 

“what the hell is this? get out, all of you! i can’t stand to look at your faces!” the coach boomed, clearing out the crowd. 

all that was background noise to you as you combed liam’s hair away from the fresh blood on his face with your fingers. he was still grunting in pain when the coach kneeled by his other side, a look of disbelief and sorrow evident in his eyes, which was a rare look for the man. 

mason and corey softly grabbed liam by the arms and hauled him up to a standing position, coughs tearing through his throat. 

you followed suit, lightly gripping his shoulders to help him stand. “oh my goodness, liam,” you muttered quietly, placing a hand on the back of his head as he caught his breath. 

“i can’t believe you did that...” mason sighed, holding onto his back to steady him. 

“clark kent, right?” liam breathed out, forcing a slight nod as a smile ghosted your lips. 

“yeah, clark kent,” mason agreed. 

liam’s head fell against your shoulder in exhaustion, and your hand laced itself into his hair as you silently cried with him in your arms. 

-

“feeling any better?” you asked him quietly, sitting down next to him on your bed. he had an ice pack against his cheekbone and he was clutching his ribs protectively. he was mostly healed by now, but his body still hurt like hell. liam nodded. 

“yeah. still hurts, though.”

you wrapped an arm around him, carefully avoiding his aching bones, and he let out a deep sigh before letting his head fall against your shoulder.

”i know you think you deserved that, but you didn’t. brett and lori’s murder wasn’t your fault.”

he shrugged, clenching his jaw at the mention of their death and shutting his eyes when you let your hand run through his hair comfortingly. a few moments of comfortable silence passed by before he spoke up again.

“you didn’t have to do that, you know. get punched for me,” he said softly.

you chuckled at that, causing him to look at you quizzically. 

“you literally got beaten to a pulp and you’re worried about the two punches i got to the face?”

liam breathed out a slight laugh. “obviously. you can’t heal like i can.”

continuing playing with his hair, you grinned at him. “i’d take a punch to the face for you any day.”

[luimagines]

First Kiss! Part 3

Masterlist

Part 1 Part 2

Part three will include Four, Hyrule and Wind!

Content under the cut!

Four

The night was crisp and young as you walked with Four around the forest before Wild had to eventually send out the Wolf to come and find you two if you wanted to eat anything at all.

He walked a little ways ahead of you and grinned when he came across a little tree stump with a small crack down the middle. “I found one!”

“Found what?” You tilt your head. “When you said you were going to show me something, I didn’t think it would be this? Unless it’s still something I’m not seeing yet.”

“We’re not there yet!” Four bounces on the balls of his feet like an excited kid and gestures you to come next to him frantically.

You try to hide your laughter and go do what he’s asking of you.

He’s quick to grab your hand and he takes a breath.

You raise your eyebrow and copy him.

Four looks over to you, knowing that you’re messing with him before he grins and says, “Ready?”

“Ready for what?”

Four starts chanting a spell before you can even think to stop him and your whole vision shifts and everything grows and it’s warm and sweet and there, before you is suddenly a small hut with mouse people that you’ve never seen before. With feathered tails and little hats and ponchos with acorn cups and pots and you take a minute to take it all in.

Four laughs at your struck dumb expression and ushers you forward.

“What is this place?” You ask on a breath.

Four grabs your hand and gestures with his free to the space around you. “This is a safe haven for the Minish or the Picori as they’ve been known to call themselves.”

“Wow...” You feel a bright smile on your face as you head deeper into the little village inside the tree stump.

But alas, it’s only a few seconds before Link is swarmed by the mouse peop- the Minish as they asll seem to recognize him.

“Hello Mr. Hero!”

“You’re back Link!”

“How have you been?”

“Come sit with us! Have a drink!”

“Link, it’s been awhile. Do you have any new stories to tell us?” A group of the mice- minish- you have to remind yourself again- walk up to Link and one dares to loop their around his, leaning her head on his shoulder as she says this.

Four grins and pulls himself away much to your relief. “You know it! But not right now.” Four says your name, introducing you to the people who must be his friend before saying he was going to show you around.

One minish girl pouts and goes to reach for his arm again. “But Mr. Hero~!”

“Later.” Four smiles in your direction and takes your hand for everyone to see, lacing your fingers together.

You smile a little more easily and gladly follow him through the town.

And it’s really quite lovely.

But... You would enjoy yourself more if Four didn’t have one of them come up to flirt with him every ten minutes.

You can see him begin to get uncomfortable and he’s already apologized more than once about not being able to give you his full attention and show you around like he wanted. Your heart breaks for him.

One girl though, really pushes your buttons.

It’s the same one from earlier- the one that didn’t hesitate to latch onto his arm. “Link! You’ve been here long enough already! Tell us your stories!”

“Sorry but he’s with me today.” You growled and pulled him away from her.

He lets you.

You glare at the girl who doesn’t seem all that impressed by your attitude and claim. She scoffs a little and crosses her arms. “And you are you supposed to be?”

“His lover.”

Four coughs a little next to you but doesn’t deny anything.

The picori around you all still as if you popped a balloon in a silent room. All activity stops and there’s a nervous air around everyone as they all turn their heads to look at you, Four and the small group of minish girls that backup the original.

The original blinks for a minute before smirking a little. “No you’re not.”

You feel like you’ve been slapped.

You take a step back before a calm washes over you.

She doesn’t believe you?

That’s fine.

You shrug and turn to Four who’s watching everything with intense interest.

You don’t hesitate to pick him up and pin to the wall beside you, kissing him like it’s the last thing you’ll ever do. Like you’ve been dying of thirst and he’s the glass of water you’ve been waiting for. Like you’re about to get heat stroke and he’s the shade to protect you. 

Four kisses you back with a smile on his lips.

Four wraps his legs around your waist and buries his hands into your hair, bringing you closer to him.

He tastes like apples and you vaguely remember the apple pie Four had managed to snag for breakfast earlier. There’s the hint of cinnamon and sweet sugar topping.

“I think they’re together.” Someone says in the background but you’re not paying attention to them any more.

You pull away from Four and rest your forehead against his. “Hey there Lover Boy, sorry about the lack of warning.”

“I am not complaining. That was hot.” He smirks and pulls you back in for another kiss.

Those who were interested in Four back away somewhat and everyone returns, with great difficulty on their part, back to what they were doing before.

Minish are terrible gossips.

But you think you can accept that the news is going to be that Four is with you now.

All those fangirls can back off, he’s yours.

Hyrule

You were in trouble for real this time.

You don’t know what it’s going to take but you think it might just be the end of the road for you.

You’re out of potions, you have no fairies, you can’t move your dominant arm and you’re ninety eight percent sure that you’re leg is broken.

To make matters worse, there’s a whole bunch of monsters nearby that you think you’re going to be unable to avoid when they find you.

Eventually.

You take a breath and try to calm down.

There’s no amount of adrenaline in the world that can help out of this one.

And you know you’re not getting any backup either.

This is it.

You can at least leave this plane of existence with a good conscious and a clear head. You can go down with dignity and you can at least you didn’t go down easy.

You just know that the next fight will be your last.

You try to sit up, ignoring how everything in your body seems to hurt, all for different reasons.

It beginning to hurt more now that the adrenaline is leaving your system and you’re getting tired.

A nap wouldn’t hurt.

Maybe the monsters will find you in your sleep and end you then. they say that’s the best to go. In your sleep.

Or (and you know this is unlikely) they’ll think you’re already dead and just leave you alone. Then you can wake up and try to go find help after you’ve rested a little while. 

It’ll be tough, but it’s possible.

Who’re you kidding?

You’re going to die.

You’re never going to see your family again.

You’re never going to tell your friends how much you appreciate them.

You’re never going to be able to tell that Traveler that you’ve fallen uselessly in love with him. 

You’re never going to see the sun again and sing and laugh and see a future family for you....

You don’t want to die.

A single tear runs down your face and you lean back against a stone wall. the corner you were in is secluded enough but not at all hidden.

You can hear the monsters come closer- they’re fighting something. The chaos is loud and thundering in the otherwise empty and quiet cave. They’re coming in your direction and you start counting the seconds.

They get closer and you see the fringes of one huge moblin take a step back to be in front of you. He’s not facing you- too busy fighting something on the other side but you’re out in the open.

You’re tired.

You take another breath and close your eyes. You hear the moblin go down and die but from what, you don’t know. You can’t even open your eyes anymore, that was how tired you were.

But then there’s a scream.

A familiar scream.

Link.

No, Hyrule. It’s Hyrule. It’s your Traveler.

He sounds horrified, pained and it’s enough to try to get you to move again.

You need to see what caused it, you need to see if he’s ok, you need to see what made him scream like that.

But you can’t.

The most you can do it flop an arm and move your head to the side.

Something lands on your side, you can feel it and if you can’t move you can speak. “Mmm...”

Ok, you guess not.

“Oh my god...” Hyrule voice breaks. He sounds like he’s crying.

Please don’t cry, you think. I’m not worth your tears. Save them for someone who matters.

“No...” He gulps and you can feel him move your head, being as gentle as he can with you. You take the biggest breath you can and try to move your head to the other side.

“You can’t die here.” He says. “I won’t let you.”

You can feel the spell he’s used so often on your friend’s fingertips, flow through you and it lessens the pain somewhat, but you know you’re too far gone. You’re too weak. You want to try to stop him from using all his magic but you can’t but at least you can die happy, knowing that he cared about you. It may not be as deep as you would have liked to take your relationship with him, but this is enough. More than enough even.

You feel him turn your head more and begin to lose consciousness.

This is ok.

You think you can go now.

Hyrule kisses you.

It’s desperate.

It’s longing- painful.

Magic flows through your whole body at an alarming rate and you think you can see a golden glow behind your eye lids that forces you to keep your eyes shut tight from the brightness of it all.

But you can move again.

You bring a hand up to your face, feeling Hyrule’s more clearly and let it rest on his jaw.

Slowly, you kiss back- half sure that this is a dream your dying brain has cooked up to make the process easier for yourself.

It’s not sweet, it’s not gentle anymore and the magic wakes you up again enough where you can feel how tight Hyrule is holding onto you.

You push him away with what little strength you managed to get back and blinked your eyes open.

The golden light fades and there’s sits in front of you, your Traveler.

He’s crying.

You blink and begin to feel more of your body again, confusion drowning you in its wake. “Link?”

Your voice is rough and you feel like you need to cough but Hyrule cuts you off and hugs you close. 

“You can’t die.” He says, gulping down the sob that threatens to break through. “I won’t let you... I promise. You’re going to be ok if it’s the last thing I do.”

Wind

“Wind!” You whisper yell and frantically wave your hand to convince to come over to you.

The boy in question grins and looks around momentarily before jogging over to where you were hidden in the bushes. “What is it?”

“Come with me.” You beam and take his hand, wasting no time in dragging him behind you. “There’s something I want to show you but only you. Wild might destroy it and I’ll never be able to get him to leave.”

“Leave where?” Wind asks in his normal volume.

You spin around and place your finger to his lips before glancing for the others again. When nothing appears to have heard the little outburst you pull away and lace your fingers together. “You’ll see!”

Wind doesn’t know what you’re talking about but the secrecy is fun for him, so he’ll place along.

You take him off the trail and take two lefts, a right then a left and Wind considers you two to be lost the second you make the last turn.

He takes a breath and looks around, each tree looking more imposing than the last but he would have no idea where to start if he were to try and go back. “I think we’re lost.”

“No way!” You snort. “This is my home. We’re almost there.”

“Your home?” Wind stands straighter.

You nod and pull away from him.

Wind goes to reach for your hand again.

You don’t notice.

You instead skip over to one of the trees and knock on it three times with your ear pressed up against the truck. You wait two seconds before nodding and take three large steps to the tree on the right and hit it with a branch Wind didn’t see next to it.

The tree shakes and a rope falls down.

You seem encouraged by this and take the rope, pulling on it with all your might which then drops a small ladder, that Wind sees is held together by ropes and connected to something at the top of the tree.

You don’t hesitate to start climbing , getting half way up before looking down and gesturing Wind to follow you.

Wind grins maniacally and follows you up the ladder faster than you would have thought he’d be capable of climbing.

You get to the top which is blocked off by a bunch of wood, but you know this place and you lift the trap door with ease and climb inside.

You get on your knees and turn around reaching your hand out to help Wind into the tree house.

He climbs in slower than you, glancing around with wide eyes, taking in everything.

There’s a small unmade bed in the corner with two stuffed animals from what he can. One is a dog and another is a bird but he doesn’t know what kind.

There’s a small bookshelf under a window that’s propped open with a small wooden board. There’s not a lot of books there, maybe seven at most but that’s more books than Wind is accustomed to seeing in one place and the rest of the space is filled is nick nacks and trinket that Wind assumes are from your adventure. And small chest next to it that must be where your clothes are if the cloth hanging out is any indication. 

There’s also a small- (toy sized) wood stove with matching metal pots and pans and a small sink on the other side of the tree house. Out of curiosity, he walks over and turns on the faucet.

It has running water.

“This is my home.” You whisper when Wind comes to stand up. “It’s little... and a little broken, if I’m being honest. I don’t have the tools to fix it but it’s mine.”

“Broken?” Wind blinks and looks around even more. There’s some rotting wood by the bed, now that he sees it and it doesn’t look like it’ll be able to hold much more weight if it continues without being replaced. It’s holding up the ceiling above your head- Wind instantly feels concerned for your safety should it collapse while you’re there, or what you’d do if it happened while you weren’t there. He’s almost sure now that there’s more that he just can’t see right now, if that was glaringly obvious off the get go.

“Some parts need fixing and replacing.” You admit. “But I didn’t build this place, I just found it and moved in, so I don’t know where I would even start. It’s not safe on the ground at night so I’m better off up here. There’s also some pipes on the roof are beginning to rust and get nasty. It collects the water from the tree leaves when it rains and keeps it in a container buried in the ground, that’s how I have running water. But it’s cracking.”

You sigh and sit on the floor, crossing your legs under you. “I’ll figure it out. Worse case scenario I’d have to leave and find a cave or something to live in but-”

“We can help you!” Wind turns to you and falls to knees in front of you. “Wild’s good at collecting materials. Twilight and Time can help build. Warrior can plan it out. Legend and Four can help with the pipes. You don’t have to lose your home.”

“The others might make fun of me for having this place.” You mutter with a small pout on your face. “But I knew you wouldn’t! That’s why I brought you up here! I may have nothing, but it’s a lot of nothing so I have enough to share.”

Wind leans into your space suddenly and places his lips on yours.

You gasp and touch them with the tips of your fingers, staring at him wide eyed and shocked.

It was just a peck, a butterflies touch, but the look on Wind’s face says something else. It’s heavy with emotion, with concern and care, and there’s a little part of you that finds it more attractive than you thought it would be.

“You won’t lose your home and I won’t let them make fun of you, I promise.” He gulps and bite his lip. “Let us help. Please.”

You blink at him and let the furious blush encompass your face entirely. You shrink a little bit away but smile. “Ok.”

Wind takes a breath and releases it a nervous but joyful laugh. “We’ll go get the others, ok? And we’ll make sure that you’re ok and safe and this whole place will be as good as new.”

You nod with a smile and Wind looks overjoyed that you agreed.

You hum and shift your weight onto your knees as well, leaning into Wind’s space, steadying yourself with a hand on his shoulder and place a delicate kiss on his lips as well. “Thank you Link.”

Wind also blushes something fierce and he begins to play with his hands in front of him, giggling and bashful. “Oh- Um- Well- I- Uh...You- You’re welcome.”

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

Art of seduction

Summary: Captured by the Fjerdans, Y/N finds herself a hero.

Warnings: angst, slight fluff, violence, blood, death

Constricted by the ropes, Y/N tried to fight the captors anyway. It wasn’t in her nature to give up, even if the fight might kill her. Anything is better than being taken by enemies, than being tortured and hoping nothing will be extracted from a broken mind. 

She fought them fiercely, with no reservations. There was nothing in her mind in that moment, no life flashing before her eyes, no moments she would have wanted to remember before perishing. Truth be told, there was no time.

In the end, she could reminisce or she could fight with all her might and make sure she returns to him. If she could, she’d rather return to him alive instead of as a corpse they would deliver at his feet in order to shatter his mind further than it is. 

Darkling wouldn’t have wanted her to think of his well being now, but how could she not? The only person she has ever loved, the only person she could ever love and she’s supposed to disregard what would her painful, slow death mean for him? 

They all see him as the villain, as the demon in children’s tales they all heard ever since little. They feared him, her kind, her country. They would burn them all in their ignorance and for that, she would fight them. Even if she dies, she’ll make sure she’s taking a few of them to hell with her.

Gasping for air, she shakes her head as her eyes widen. Someone had managed to kick her in the gut, dropping her to her knees as the breath was knocked out of her lungs. 

With trembling lips, she fights for a single breath of air, enough to gather strength in her legs to stand once more. As she sees the Fjerdans laughing, she spits at them. The spit isn’t clear, turning into a red splotch on the face of the Fjerdan closest to her. 

Chuckling, she watched him wipe his face in panic.

“Worried my witchy spit might have infected you?” She cocks her head to the side, “Perhaps it seeps into your skin and to your bloodstream.” Clicking her tongue, she glances at his crotch. “Maybe it will reach your family jewels and taint your entire lineage too!”

Her head snapped to left quickly as pain rippled through her cheek where he had slapped her. She cackles as she spits out more blood to the snow covered ground. 

Licking her busted lip, she turns her gaze back to the Fjerdan. “I’ve had cats playfully slap me harder than that.”

As he forms a fist, prepared to crack her jaw, a loud scream breaks through their ranks.

“IT’S HIM!”

Snickering, Y/N looks at their already pale faces paling further. Letting out a heavy sigh, she can easily pick up on the shadows forming across the glistening snow, gripping their ankles before they get a chance to fight at all. 

And then she sees him. Those dark eyes meet hers instantly, seeing the torment he’s been facing in his search for her. She knew he’d find her, she believed in him. There was no doubt, he’d tear apart every inch of Fjerda until he found her and they both knew it.

Instantly, she lowered her head, making him relieved. A thunderous sound echoed the forest as some warm liquid splattered on the back of her neck. Blinking a few times, she inhaled sharply. 

Looking back up, she found her captors in pieces and a black leather gloved hand with a dagger in the open palm.

“You could just cut me loose yourself”, she notes as he sighs.

“I could, but where would be the fun in that?” 

Shaking her head, she chuckles. “You make me miss these idiots.”

Insulted, he gasps dramatically. “You wound me.”

Raising her brows, she manages to stand. “And yet I have no weapons in hand. Imagine what I’ll do to you when you give me that dagger.”

Narrowing his eyes ever so slightly, he licks his lips. “For a woman who speaks so bravely, you sure looked like you needed help.”

Scoffing, she rolls her eyes. “I was about to destroy them.”

Nodding, he smirks. “Of course you were.”

Walking behind her, he dips the blade between the ropes, cutting through them with ease.

“Did I seduce you with my eyes or my silver tongue?” She giggles as she feels her hands are nearly free. 

“What makes you think I’ve been seduced?” He asks, amusement coloring his usually cold voice. 

Feeling the ropes fall, she turns in her spot. Facing him with unyielding willpower and undeniable charm, she lifts her chin up proudly. 

“Because you cut me loose yourself”, she states coyly as he purses his lips.

 Walking between the bodies he left littered on the ground, she glances at them with a smile. “Because you killed several Fjerdans for me.” 

And as she continues walking, she misses the way his lips twitch before he smiles when she adds, “And because you’re staring at my glorious ass!”

[plush-rabbit]

Thorn In Your Mouth

Request: I'm not quite sure if requests are open, but if they are, may I please request some nsfw noncon with Lucifer or Satan from obey me with a fem! MC?

They're demons, and they love quite differently from humans. One could say their love is overly suffocating and affectionate…

Warning: Noncon

Word Count: 2.4K

A/N: i think i made him more jealous in this so,,, hope you like it??

-

It was sweet at first to have Satan fret over you, to care for you in such a way that made you feel safe, but you soon learned that you craved your space, that you missed whenever you could just go out without having to worry about him getting angry at you. He might have directed his wrath towards you at first, but it was never in this way, never in such a jealousy, overwhelming way that you made you grit your teeth and glare at his back. A part of you knows that this is what you signed up for- he’s a demon, one born out of wrath no less, but you didn’t want that to cloud you. You wanted to see the good in him. But even so, he’s still a demon- a possessive one that fears losing you more than anything.

“Where were you?” He asks, his voice steady and eyes piercing into yours. “I tried calling you but-” he tilts his head and an uncomfortable grin pulls at his lips- “you didn’t answer.”

You’re tired of it all. You’re exhausted and just want to borrow a book that could help you sleep. You’re the one to break eye contact with him fist, turning around and rubbing your hand over your neck. “I don’t know Satan, I was just out with friends.” You grab at a book, the title written in thin letters and eager to be done with the conversation, you accept it. “It’s no biggie.” It shouldn’t be and it isn’t. And yet, anxiety still plagues your body.

The exit is near, the doors closed and the light in the hallway, a dim glow signaling that it is indeed time for bed. You make your way, only to be halted by Satan’s hand wrapping around your wrist. “It is a ‘biggie’-” he quotes, annoyance a sliver on his tongue- “when you don’t tell me where or who you’re going out with.” His grip tightens on you and your hand grows stiff, a twinge of fear pooling against your stomach. “What if you were hurt? What then?” You narrow your eyes at him and feebly try to pull away your arm from him. He doesn’t relent. “Where were you?”

Finding it much easier to just tell the truth and get it over with, you sigh. “I was out with friends, Satan. Some imps and incubi from the seventh period. You know them,” you add, hoping that it’ll jog his memory and remind him that it’s mutual friends that he’s so worried about. “We went to the mall and got some ice cream there.”

“Multiple people you went out with then, huh.” You raise your brows, your eyes glancing back to where your wrist is held in his hand. “And if I am their friend- as you say- then why wasn’t I invited?”

You shrug, giving him a puzzled stare. “I don’t know. You weren’t in class. You had some lunch to go to with those friends of yours. We’ll invite you next time.” You yank at your wrist, only to be met with a tighter hold. “Satan. Let go.”

“Do you love me?” He asks, the tension in the room is lost on him and you look at him with an incredulous look, surprised that he would even ask you that at a time like this. “Because I love you. I’m a good partner. I listen and I kiss you and yet, you go around with a group of demons and do who-knows-what while I sit at home waiting for you to come back.”

The meaning of his words aren’t lost on you. Your arm is stretched, extended out as he still holds a grip on you but you need the distance as slight as it may be. “Are you implying that I cheated on you?” He doesn’t respond and stays with his eyes locked on yours. “Satan, I went out with friends. That’s it! Nothing more and nothing less. What the actual fuck.” You take a deep breath and shake your head, the book now discarded on the table beside you. “You know what? Just let go. We can talk about this tomorrow. I’m not in the mood right now.” Your eyes catch at the underside of the door where the light remains steady, the yellow glow teasing at you where freedom lies. “Satan, you’re hurting me.” You hope that that is enough to make him realize what he’s doing.

You’re pushed over the edge of the table, your stomach painfully pressing against the edge of the wood. Your hands flail for a moment, patting and scratching against the table, your legs tense as you call his name, anger evident in your voice. “What the fuck is your problem?” You hiss out, your palms against the table only to be pulled away and grabbed in his hands. “Satan,” you call his name, worry and fear intertwining together. He remains silent, the heel of his shoe clicking against the floor as he presses himself close to you, his groin pressed against your rear. “Satan, what the fuck are you doing?”

There's a crackle of energy that fills your ear, a popping sound akin to Black Cats, the smell of mahogany and citrus in the air as his hands tighten around you. Skin slips away, a harsh press against the back of your head as you’re pushed into the warming wood, and you’re frozen in fead. The room, while devoid of talk, is filled with noise- the buzzing of the electricity, the cracking of his tail and the deep breaths that he takes, the high sound of his zipper becoming undone and the clicking of his shoes. The noise is driving you insane, blood in your ears as you gasp out his name, trying to turn your head, but only being able to face the wall, and you catch a g,impe of yourself in a mirror, faced down with a demon towering behind you.

“You know that I love you, right?” Something sharp replaces where his hands used to be, thorns piercing into your tender skin as you feel his hands hook on the waistband of your jeans. Your breath stops, and something heavy pools on your tongue. “I do everything right by you and yet-” his nails scratch against your skin- “you treat me like trash. You treat me as if I don’t matter.” Cold air meets your warm skin and you’re left in your underwear and shirt, your sex covered by thin fabric. “Do I not matter to you?” He says your name and it isn’t something sweet, it isn’t something that makes you feel warm. It’s something that sounds too foul to be said out loud. He’s ruined your name in just one simple sentence.

“You matter Satan,” you whisper, clenching your sex. Your eyes are unmoving, watching your distant reflection that has a monster behind you, their hands on your underwear and tearing it from your body. The sound is like nails on a chalkboard to your ears. “Satan, sweetheart, please. Let’s talk, okay? Please.”

“Then why didn’t you pick up my calls?” The tip of his cock is pressed against your thigh, something cool leaking down your leg in a slimy trail. “Why didn’t you tell me you were going out? Were you keeping it a secret from me?” You shake your head, rubbing along the wood and his hand returns to your head, yanking at your hair and pulling on the strands until you rise and are brought on your knees before him. “No? Really? You’re going to lie to me?”

His erection is close to you, close enough to feel the heat, to see how the tip leaks with his pearling semen. “I’m not-”

“If you’re going to lie, then I'd rather just put your mouth to better use.” He grabs your face, dark green scales that run along his body and trail at his thighs. Your nose is pushed against the underside of his cock, his ridges pressing into you and semen already leaking onto your hairline. His scent is strong, suffocating as he pulls you back, your mouth opening when he twists at your hair, a sharp scream that is soon muffled by his cock entering your mouth. “Make sure you get it wet enough. It’s my cock that I’m going to stick in your little holes.”

Wasting no time, you’re pushed to the base of his cock, your nose buried in his pubic hair. He holds you there, letting his cockhead drip down your throat with his heavy semen. Your tongue is pressed flat against the underside of his ridges, the pointed end of his cock ticking at the back of your throat as he starts to move.

It’s a slow choking motion, his cock filling your mouth only to empty it in a way that makes you feel dumb enough to breathe. Every breath is stuck, lodged in the back of your throat and leaving you a choking mess against his cock. He wastes no time, holding the sides of your head and pushing himself inside of you, using your mouth as his own toy.

Each thrust of his cock has your stomach rising, acid billowing in the base of your throat, his scent and cologne mixing together to overstimulate yourself. Your name is whispered, a soft prayer under his tongue as he deflies your mouth, semen spilling and filling your mouth, tears that sting against your eyes and drip past your chin. It’s harsh, and unforgiving and in your head you curse him and plead to whatever God there is, that he’ll let you live and walk away, that this is some horrific nightmare to make you into a follower. You choke and cy, your throat constricting and face becoming hot, shame and horror flooding throughout your body and you’re left sobbing against his cock.

His hands are rough, nothing like you know them to be, his words soft as ever and yet, you’re still pushed down to the table with your jaw slack and drool dripping down your chin and tears mixing with the heavy liquid. Your mouth is stained with his semen, white bubbling out past your lips as you meet your reflection once more. Your legs are spread and you can only think of saying his name, to have your hands paw pitifully at the table as you call him through a broken mantra.

You’re glad that you listened to him, that you did get his cock wet enough to slip in you without fuss. It’s a slight pinch, sharp and twisting inside of you as your thrusted into, your chest pressed against the wooden table. Everything is on high alert, all your senses overloaded as your sex is filled, ridges tickling inside your walls. Each thrust clicks, a wet snap as he pushes himself inside of you, his tail wrapping around your throat and yanking you upwards, a string of drool snaps against your chin as it’s ripped from the desk. The tip of his tail is thick, filling your mouth as it rests on your tongue, the edges poking against the inside of your cheeks. You’re lifted, your legs bent and resting on the table as he pushes inside of you, your cunt fluttering against him as his base thickens, warm seed coating your walls.

He pulls out of you, and you whisper a soft thank you, your head turning, the red wood clouding your vision. You ignore the feeling of his hand that crawls over your rear, that tickles against your curve and pushes against your taint.

“No, no,” you moan, your body weak and in pain to stop him from continuing. Not like this Satan, please.” But he’s too overwhelmed to listen to you, pressing the slender tip of his cock against the rim of your hole and pushing inside of you.

You squeal and it’s enough for him to push himself inside of you, each curve and ridge filling and marking the inside of you. Your body spasms, your cunt warm and dripping with his semen. His tail pushes deeper inside of you, choking you and letting you taste your spit and his seed that still lingers.

“Don’t ever leave me,” he whispers hotly against the shell of your ear. “Please,” he begs, holding your body as he enters you. His teeth sink into your shoulder, the pain twisting together leaving you tense and biting on his tail, your tongue pressed firmly against a ridge.

“It hurts,” you mewl, your hands cupping over your breasts to stop the shameful movement. “‘M sorry,” you mumble, your tongue swishing over his tail. With you being stretched, you can feel him in certain areas that makes your body tense and flex. Despite the uncaring nature, you still react to him, shaking and tightening yourself around him, calling his name as you drool over his tail and onto your shirt.

“I love you,” Satan mutters, “I love you,” he repeats, holding you close to him, feeling his heart pump against your back, feeling it rattle against you. “I love you,” he whispers against your ear, his breath hot and words sweet enough to make tears spring to your eyes. He thrusts inside of you, his arms hooking under your knees and horns grazing and picking up strands of your hair as he presses harsh kisses against his bite mark.

You can feel his seed, hot and heavy, flooding inside of your walls and drenching past your heated core, staining the floor beneath you and splattering onto the table legs. With a quick glance, your eyes are strained and your thin arousal mixes in with his semen, coating at his cock and leaving your cunt in syrupy strands. Your legs are lowered, too strained and weak, your latch onto the desk, your bottom lip trembling as you try to remain steady.

Cotton fills your mind, a drug that is welcomed as the ache in your lower regions start to sharpen and dull. Colors mix and the slightest movement has you closing your mouth tightly, your hands already grasping around his neck and clinging to him for dear life. “Don’t drop me,” you plead in a delicate voice, turning to press your nose against his chest.

His hum is deep in his chest, rumbling softly like a distant storm that lulls you to sleep. His hands are soft, rubbing over the parts where he hits, and shushing you when you let out a high-pitched whine. His lips press against your forehead and his hands are soft. “I wouldn’t dream of it,” he whispers, humming as he nuzzles his face close to yours. “Are you tired?” You nod. “Then let’s go to sleep, okay?”