#oops all burned to a crisp

[gay-mathematician-portmanteau]

i can't tell if i genuinely believe there's not a fire in my apartment or if i just can't summon the willpower to care if there is one. anyway, the fire alarm is going off and i haven't moved from my bed.

[tokkiwrites]

����𝚗𝚋𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚄𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝙼𝚢 𝚂𝚔𝚒𝚗.

mom's fiancé/bf! joel miller x f! reader • part two • part three

Summary: Your mom's new fiancé, Joel Miller, is the kind of man you could never shake out of your mind—rugged, rough, and embodiment of your long-buried fantasies. He's been your next-door neighbor for years, and the crush you harbored through your teenage years never really faded. Now, he's with your mom, and they're planning to get married. You should want her to be happy, but you can't ignore the tension growing between you and Joel. It's something that was never meant to happen. But as you uncover Joel's true motives for being with your mom, you realize maybe your feelings weren't one-sided after all. And maybe, despite everything, you’re the one he really wants.

tags: stepcest kind of, age gap (reader is in her mid 20s and joel in his mid 40s), forbidden romance, emotional conflict, slow burn, sexual tension, complicated family dynamics, heartbreak, Joel being an emotionally complicated bastard, ANGST, cheating, infidelity, nsfw, p in v unprotected, breeding kink.

/ᐠ - ˕ -マ⁩ authors note 𑁯 ✿ me writing angst?? wow could never imagine it. i hope you guys like this i dunno what came over me. almost 7k (oops) words of hurt confusion and a filthy finish to dry your tears. not proofread!!

The house smelled like home, like it always had. Fresh cut grass from the lawn, the faint scent of laundry detergent, and the crisp autumn air breezing in through the windows. But the warmth that had once filled it felt absent now, replaced by the coolness of change. A change you hadn’t been able to brace for. Your mother had finally met someone after years of being alone, and that someone was Joel Miller.

You sat at the kitchen table, your fingers trailing the edge of your mug, staring at the steam rising from your coffee. The engagement ring on her finger glinted as she poured a second cup of coffee, smiling to herself. You couldn’t take your eyes off it—the gold band, the small, delicate stone. Joel had chosen it.

"Can you believe it?" she said, laughing lightly. "I didn’t think I’d find someone after your father. But Joel... he’s good to me."

You swallowed hard. "Yeah, Mom. I can tell."

You knew he was good to her. You saw it every time they were together. The way he would brush his hand over her back when he passed her, the way he’d laugh at her jokes. The way she looked at him, like he was everything she had wanted but had never thought to ask for.

But that wasn’t what twisted the knife in your chest.

Joel had always been more than just a neighbor. You’d been only nineteen when you started noticing him, the way a girl starts to notice a man—how his shoulders would flex when he lifted something heavy, the rasp in his voice when he spoke to you, low and careful. He was rough around the edges, with that Southern drawl and hands scarred from years of work. A part of you had always wondered what those hands would feel like on you, against your skin, but you never let the thoughts go far. He was older, after all, and back then, it had been nothing more than an innocent crush. But now he was here, in your life in a way you hadn’t imagined, not as some distant neighbor or a fleeting thought, but your mother’s fiancé. The reality of it made your stomach churn, and you hated yourself for the way your heart still skipped a beat whenever he came around.

"I’m glad you like him," your mom continued, her voice pulling you out of your thoughts. She took a seat across from you, her eyes soft with affection. "I wasn’t sure how you’d feel about this, but... it means a lot to me that you’re okay with it." You forced a smile, the tightness in your chest growing. "Of course. I just want you to be happy." She reached out and touched your hand. "I am."

You wished you could say the same.

The days stretched into weeks, each one bringing you closer to the wedding. The house buzzed with preparations, your mother caught up in a whirlwind of joy and excitement. You tried to blend into the background, to stay out of the way, but it was impossible. Every time you turned around, Joel was there, a steady, looming presence.

One afternoon, you found yourself out in the yard, helping your mom plant some new flowers along the fence. The sun was high in the sky, the heat beating down on your skin. You wiped the sweat from your forehead, focusing on digging the next hole. "Need some help?" Joel’s voice came from behind you, making you jump. You turned, finding him standing there with a shovel in hand, that familiar smirk tugging at his lips. He was wearing a faded flannel, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing the sinewy muscles of his forearms. His hair was streaked with gray at the temples, his face lined with years of hard work and sun exposure, but he was still undeniably handsome. Too handsome.

"No, we’re good here," you replied, keeping your voice steady as you turned back to the soil. Your mom looked up from her spot, grinning. "Actually, Joel, I think we could use a little extra muscle." He chuckled and came over, kneeling beside you, close enough that you could smell the scent of earth and sweat on him. His presence was overpowering, and you had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep your mind from drifting.

"So," he said casually, his voice low as he worked beside you, "you’ve been quiet lately. Everything alright?" You felt his gaze on you, but you didn’t look up. "Yeah, 'm just busy."

"Busy, huh?" He tossed a clump of dirt aside, his tone teasing but not unkind. "You don’t strike me as the busy type." You shrugged. "Things change." Joel paused, his fingers still in the dirt. "That they do." There was a weight to his words, the way he said it, something that settled deep in your bones, like he knew what was deep beneath your facade. You risked a glance at him, and when your eyes met, the air around you seemed to thicken. His gaze was too intense, too knowing, and it made your heart pound in your chest. "Joel, could you help me with these pots in the back?" your mother called, oblivious to the tension that had been steadily growing between you and him.

Joel blinked, breaking the moment. He stood up, brushing the dirt off his hands. "Yeah, sure thing." As he walked away, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. You couldn’t keep going like this.

Temptation lurks.

The engagement party was held at your house, the backyard filled with neighbors, friends, and family. You had helped set everything up, stringing lights across the trees, setting up tables with white linen. Your mother had been glowing all day, her happiness contagious to everyone but you.

You were standing near the bar, sipping on a drink when you saw him. Joel was talking to your uncle by the grill, his hand resting casually on the back of your mother’s chair. You watched as he laughed at something your uncle said, the sound of it rumbling low in his chest. He looked so at ease, so comfortable in this life he had built with your mom. But there was a crack in the facade, something that only you could see. The way his eyes flickered to you, even when he was mid-conversation. The way his smile faltered just for a moment when your gaze met his.

he feels it.

"You look lost in thought." You nearly jumped out of your skin at the sound of his voice. Joel was beside you now, his presence like a shadow that followed you everywhere. You forced a smile. "Just thinking." He leaned in a little closer, his voice low enough that only you could hear. "Care to share?" You shook your head, setting your glass down on the bar. "It’s nothing."

Joel’s hand brushed yours as he reached for his own drink, the touch so brief and fleeting, but it sent a jolt of electricity up your arm. He must have felt it too because he hesitated for a moment, his fingers lingering a second too long before he pulled away. "You seem different, sweetheart." he said, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he was trying to figure you out. sweetheart. it sounded so natural, meant just for you. "Not like yourself." He continues. You swallowed hard, avoiding his gaze. "Maybe I’ve changed. Or maybe you don't know me that well."

"Maybe," he said, his voice quieter now, more serious. "But I think I know you better than that." Before you could respond, your mother appeared, smiling brightly as she slipped her arm around Joel’s waist. "There you are!" she said, looking between the two of you. "I was wondering where you disappeared to."

Joel’s eyes never left yours. "Just catching up."

You excused yourself quickly, retreating inside the house, your chest tight with frustration and confusion. You needed air, space, anything to clear your head. But no matter how far you ran, you couldn’t escape the way Joel made you feel. The way you wanted to feel, despite everything.

everything beneath the surface.

The weeks leading up to the wedding were a blur. You kept your distance from Joel as much as you could, but it was impossible to avoid him completely. Every time you saw him, the tension between you grew stronger, pulling you in even when you wanted to push it all away. One evening, after a particularly long day of wedding planning, you found yourself alone on the back porch. The sky was dark, the stars hidden behind thick clouds. You sipped your drink slowly, trying to let the cool night air calm your nerves.

"You okay?"

You turned to find Joel standing in the doorway, his expression unreadable. You hadn’t even heard him come out. You straightened up, trying to keep your voice steady. "I’m fine. Just needed some air." Joel stepped onto the porch, the floorboards creaking under his weight. He didn’t say anything at first, just stood there, his hands in his pockets as he looked out into the yard. The silence stretched between you, thick and heavy. "You’ve been avoidin’ me," he said quietly, his voice low and rough in the quiet night. Your stomach twisted, but you didn’t deny it. "It’s not like that."

"Then what’s it like?" You sighed, setting your drink down and standing up, needing to put some space between you. "Joel, this... it’s complicated. I can’t—"

"Complicated," he repeated, his tone tinged with frustration. He stepped closer, his dark eyes locking onto yours. "It wasn’t complicated before, was it?"

You froze, your breath catching in your throat. His words hit you like a punch to the gut because they were true. It hadn’t always been complicated. Before your mother, before the engagement, there had been something between you and Joel that had lingered, unspoken, for years. Maybe it had been innocent at first, just a crush you’d had on the older man next door. But it had evolved into something else—something dangerous.

"Joel," you whispered, shaking your head, trying to regain control of the conversation, but he was already too close. His presence overwhelmed you, drowning out the rational part of your brain that screamed for you to walk away.

"You feel it too, don’t you?" His voice was almost a whisper now, and the way his eyes bore into yours made it impossible to look away. "I’ve seen the way you look at me, baby." You swallowed hard, your pulse pounding in your ears. "This isn’t fair," you managed, your voice breaking. "You’re marrying my mom, Joel." He winced, as if the words had physically hurt him, but he didn’t back away. "I know," he said, his voice tight. "I know I shouldn’t feel this way. Goddamn it, I tried not to. But I can’t help it, baby, Iㅡ" You took a step back, trying to create some distance, but Joel followed, his gaze never leaving yours. His hand reached out, brushing your arm, and it sent a shiver down your spine. "Don’t—"

"I’m sorry," he murmured, his hand dropping, but his eyes were still fixed on you. "I didn’t mean for this to happen. Should've been ya."

"Then why did it happen?" you asked, your voice breaking with the weight of the question. "Why are you doing this, Joel? Why are you marrying her?" He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "It’s not what you think."

"Then tell me," you pleaded, your voice barely a whisper. "Tell me why you’re with her when—"

"When I want you," Joel finished for you, the rawness in his voice making your heart ache. The admission hung between you, heavy and undeniable. You wanted to pretend you hadn’t heard it, that it didn’t mean anything, but it did. It meant everything.

Your breath hitched as you stared up at him, the world tilting on its axis. You felt the pull between you, that magnetic force that had always been there, but now it was more dangerous than ever. It wasn’t just some unspoken tension anymore. It was real, out in the open, threatening to tear everything apart. "Joel, this isn’t right," you said, your voice trembling, even though your heart screamed at you to move closer to him. "It can’t happen. Not like this."

"I know," he said, stepping closer, his voice barely a rasp. His hand reached for yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. "But that doesn’t change how I feel." You pulled your hand away, the loss of contact almost painful. "You have to stop," you whispered, your throat tight. "You have to marry her. You can’t do this to her." The agony in his eyes was unbearable. "You think I don’t know that?"

You swallowed the lump in your throat, your pulse racing. "Then why are you doing this?"

Joel’s jaw clenched, and for a moment, he looked away, like he couldn’t bear to face the truth. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, almost broken. "I thought I could love her the way she deserves. I thought... if I just tried hard enough, I could make it work." Your heart ached for him, for your mother, for yourself. "But you don’t, do you?"

His silence was answer enough.

You took a deep breath, forcing yourself to stay strong. "You need to go through with the wedding, Joel. My mom... she loves you. She’s happy."

"I know," he murmured, the weight of his guilt evident in his voice. "But what about you? What do you want?" The question hung in the air, suffocating you. What did you want? You wanted him, but not like this. Not in a way that would destroy everything around you. Not in a way that would hurt your mother, who had already been through enough pain. "I want my mom to be happy," you said finally, even though the words felt like they were tearing you apart. "That’s all." even if it was a lie.

Joel stared at you, his expression unreadable, before he finally nodded. "Yeah," he said softly. "Me too." He stepped back then, creating the distance you desperately needed. "I’ll do the right thing," he said, his voice low and resolute. "For her." he wouldn't believe himself either.

You nodded, unable to trust your voice to say anything else. The weight of the moment settled over you both, heavy and oppressive. Without another word, Joel turned and walked back into the house, leaving you standing alone on the porch, your heart shattered into a thousand pieces.

It was all ready to collapse.

The wedding day approached faster than you had anticipated, each moment feeling like a countdown to an inevitable disaster. You tried to bury your feelings, to focus on helping your mom with the final touches, but the weight of what had been left unspoken between you and Joel hung over everything. You hadn’t spoken to him since that night on the porch, and the tension gnawed at you.

The morning of the wedding was bright and warm, the sun filtering through the lace curtains in your bedroom. You stood in front of the mirror, smoothing the soft fabric of your bridesmaid’s dress, trying to shake the growing sense of dread that settled in your chest.

You wanted to be happy for your mom—she looked radiant, glowing in her wedding dress, and she deserved this moment. She deserved love, peace, after the years of struggle she’d endured. But underneath your forced smiles and quiet congratulations, you couldn’t stop thinking about Joel. About his eyes when he looked at you, about the unspoken words still hanging between you.

Downstairs, the house sung with excitement, guests gathering for the ceremony. You could hear the faint sounds of laughter and music, the clinking of glasses as the day unfolded. But it all felt so distant, like you were watching it from the outside, detached from the joy that filled the air.

Just as you were about to head downstairs, there was a soft knock at your door.

You froze, your heart leaping into your throat. You already knew who it was before you even opened the door. Joel stood there, looking as conflicted as you felt. He was dressed in a suit, but the usually rugged man looked uncomfortable in the formal attire. His hair was neatly combed, but there was still that familiar edge to him—rough, worn, and undeniably Joel.

He didn’t say anything at first, just stared at you, his dark eyes clouded with something you couldn’t quite name. "You look beautiful."

"You shouldn’t be here," you whispered, your voice shaky. "I know," he said, his voice low. "But I had to see you. Before—"

"Before what?" you interrupted, your hands trembling. "Before you marry my mom?" Joel’s jaw tightened, and he took a step closer. "I’m sorry," he said, his voice barely audible. "For all of this. For... for everything I’ve put you through." Tears pricked at your eyes, but you blinked them away, refusing to let them fall. "You have to go through with it, Joel. You promised her."

"I know," he murmured, his gaze dropping to the floor. "But I can’t stop thinking about you." The rawness in his voice sent a shiver down your spine, but you forced yourself to stay strong. "You don’t get to do this now," you said, your voice trembling with emotion. "Not today." Joel’s hand reached for yours, but you pulled away, stepping back. "Don’t," you warned. "Please don’t make this harder than it already is." He stared at you for a long moment, his eyes filled with regret, before he finally nodded. "I’m sorry," he said again, his voice breaking. "I’ll... I’ll go."

You watched as he turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing down the hall, each one like a nail in the coffin of what could have been.

Unbeneath.

The wedding was beautiful. The flowers were perfect, the music soft and sweet, and your mother’s face glowed with happiness as she walked down the aisle. Joel stood at the altar, looking handsome and calm, the picture of a man ready to commit to a life with her.

But you saw the cracks beneath the surface. You saw the tension in Joel’s shoulders, the way his jaw clenched as your mother approached him with a radiant smile. You knew he was trying to hold it together, trying to play the part of the perfect groom. But deep down, you could see it—he wasn’t entirely there.

Standing as a bridesmaid near the altar, you forced yourself to smile, to focus on your mother’s joy. But it was like watching a car crash in slow motion. The weight of what Joel had said to you that morning still clung to you, heavy and suffocating. As the officiant began to speak, your heart pounded in your chest. The words felt hollow, echoing in your mind. The vows of eternal love, of commitment, of being faithful—it all felt like a lie. You bit the inside of your cheek, trying to stay focused, trying to hold on for your mother’s sake.

But then Joel glanced at you.

It was brief—just a flicker of his eyes in your direction, but it was enough to make your breath catch. His gaze was filled with conflict, guilt, and something else you couldn’t name. And in that moment, you knew—he was thinking about you. Even here, even now, when he was supposed to be pledging his life to your mother.

Time seemed to slow as the officiant asked Joel to recite his vows. He hesitated for just a second too long, the pause so subtle that no one else seemed to notice. But you did. You could see the struggle in his eyes, the battle between doing what was right and doing what he wanted.

"I, Joel, take you—" His voice caught, barely noticeable, but you saw it. He cleared his throat, trying again. "I take you, to be my wife."

Each word felt like a stone dropping into a bottomless well.

Your mother smiled at him, tears of joy in her eyes. She was completely unaware of the storm brewing beneath the surface. She believed in this moment, believed in the future they were about to share. And you hated that you couldn’t give her that same belief, that you couldn’t share in her happiness.

When the ceremony ended and the guests erupted in applause, you clapped along with them, your hands numb and mechanical. The celebration carried on around you—people laughing, clinking glasses, congratulating the happy couple—but you felt like you were standing on the edge of a cliff, the ground crumbling beneath you.

At the reception, you stayed at the far end of the garden, away from the crowd. The string lights twinkled above, casting a soft glow on the scene, but the beauty of it all felt distant, unreachable. You sipped your champagne, staring blankly at the dance floor where Joel and your mother swayed together. They looked perfect, like a picture from a magazine. But you knew better.

Your thoughts were interrupted when Joel came up beside you, his presence like a storm cloud looming on the horizon. His tie was loosened, the top button of his shirt undone, and there was a weariness in his eyes that hadn’t been there before.

"You disappeared on me," he said quietly, his voice barely audible over the music and chatter. You didn’t look at him, keeping your eyes on the dance floor. "Just needed a moment." He let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his hair. "I didn’t mean for things to get this way. Please believe me, I didn’t knowㅡ didn't know she'd fall." You finally turned to face him, the rawness of his words cutting into you. "Well, they are and she did so.."

Joel looked at you with an intensity that made your heart ache, the same look he’d had earlier that morning. "I can’t stop thinking about you, baby." he repeated softly, his voice rough with emotion. "Even now. Especially now."

You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat making it difficult to speak. "You need to stop," you whispered, your voice trembling. "You made your choice. You married her. I don't even know what your plan was."

"I know," he said, his voice tight with frustration. "I know what I did, but that doesn’t change what I feel. It doesn’t change this." He gestured between the two of you, his eyes pleading. "I never wanted to hurt you, or your mom. But... I can’t pretend anymore. Not with you." Your chest tightened, the pain almost unbearable. "You have to pretend, Joel. You have to. For her." He stared at you, his expression torn between guilt and desire. "And what about you? What about us?"

"There is no us, Joel. Never was." You said the words like poison in your mouth. "There can’t be." Joel’s hand reached out, his fingers brushing your arm, and the familiar spark shot through you, the one you’d tried so hard to ignore. His touch lingered for a moment before he pulled away, his eyes dark and unreadable.

"You’re right," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "There can’t be." But the words felt like a lie the moment they left his lips because despite everything, despite the weight of his new vows, you saw him lean in closer. His breath mingled with yours, and his eyes-filled with guilt, longing, and desperation bore into you. His lips inched toward yours, the world around you fading into a blur of muted colors and distant laughter. People were far enough to not see you, but that didn't make it any easier. Your heart pounded, your breath shaky as you felt the warmth of his body close to yours. You knew this was wrong, that you should push him away, but your body betrayed you. The yearning, the suppressed need that had lingered between you for years, finally pushed through the cracks.

With one last glance into your glassy eyes, as if seeking permission-or maybe forgivenessㅡ Joel closed the distance.

His lips intertwined with yours, soft and rough at the same time, filled with everything that had been left unsaid. You froze for a moment, the shock of it crashing through you like a tidal wave. But then something snapped inside you, and you kissed him back. All of the restraint, the pain, the buried feelings surged to the surface, spilling into that one kiss.

His hands cupped your face gently, his touch tender despite the intensity of the moment. The world around you ceased to exist. It was just you and Joel, a stolen moment in a sea of impossibilities. His lips moved against yours with a desperation that mirrored your own, as if both of you knew this would be the only time you'd have. As if the kiss had to say everything words couldn't

But then, just as quickly as it had begun, reality crashed back in. You broke away, gasping for air, your chest heaving. The warmth of his touch still lingered on your skin. Neither of you moved, neither of you spoke, and for a moment, it felt like the world had stopped spinning. Finally, Joel stepped back, his face hardening as he shoved his hands into his pockets. "I’m sorry," he muttered, though you knew the apology wouldn’t fix anything.

You watched as he walked away, back to the party, back to your mother—the woman he had chosen. The woman he was supposed to love. Your heart broke all over again as you realized that no matter what you felt for him, no matter what he felt for you, it would never be enough to change the reality of the situation.

And so, you stood there, the cold night air brushing against your skin, watching as Joel rejoined the celebration. The sounds of laughter and music filled the garden, but all you could hear was the silence between you and the man you could never have.

Was one night really that important?

You stood there, alone in the shadows, the air growing colder around you. The question gnawed at you, refusing to let go. What harm could it do? One night. One moment where none of thisㅡ none of the guilt, the secrecy, or the heartbreak mattered. No one would know. No one had to.

Would it really hurt?

The thought was reckless, dangerous even, but it lingered, growing more persistent with each passing second. Your mind kept replaying the way Joel had kissed you, the heat and desperation in his touch, the wayyou had kissed him back without hesitation, as if your bodies knew what your hearts refused to admit. You hadn't wanted to stop. And he hadn't either.

Your breath quickened as you thought of him, standing there, so close you could still feel the faint echo of his warmth, his scent, the way he had made you feel as though the world had disappeared, as if nothing else mattered but the f you, in that moment.

No. You couldn't. You couldn't do this to your mother. You couldn't betray her like that, not even for one night, no matter how desperately you wanted him. But the longing was still there, a dark ache deep in your chest, making it harder and harder to ignore. You let out a quiet, shuddering breath and looked back toward the reception toward Joel, who was now standing by the bar, talking with a few guests. The smile he gave them was easy, practiced, but you could still see the shadows under his eyes. You could still see the guilt that gnawed at him from the inside.

What if nobody knew? What if this one mistake, this one selfish moment, stayed just between the two of you? What if you could find a way to make it work-just for one night, just to feel what it was like to truly have him without the weight of the world pressing down on your shoulders?

You swallowed hard. you could still taste his kiss on your lips. You could still feel the burn of his fingertips against your skin.

But then, you remembered your mother's face. Her warmth. Her trust. She was so happy, so completely in love. The thought of betraying her, even just for a moment, tore you apart. Could you really live with that kind of guilt?

No.

Butㅡ

You closed your eyes and exhaled, trying to quiet the storm inside you, trying to remind yourself of what was right. This wasn't a fleeting desireㅡ it was a devastating disaster waiting to happen

And yet, your body ached with the need to be close to Joel again. The yearning, the intensity of that single kiss and one pathetic touch, it was too much to ignore. You had given in once, but you couldn't go down that path again.

You took a step away from the garden, retreating into the shadows. Maybe it was better this way. Maybe one night wasn't worth it. But then you heard his voice, low and familiar, cutting through the noise. He was closer than you expected.

"Hey."

You froze, your heart stuttering in your chest. You didn't need to turn around to know it was Joel. His voice was all too familiar now. He stepped into the shadows with you, the dim light casting sharp lines across his face, making him appear even more worn, more conflicted. "Iㅡ" He hesitated, his voice thick with emotion. "I shouldn't have kissed you earlier. I know I shouldn't have."

You didn't say anything. You couldn't. You didn’t regret it. You wish it never ended.

Joel's gaze softened, and he stepped closer, but you kept your distance. He seemed to notice the space between you, the invisible barrier that neither of you wanted to cross but couldn't help but feel. "I don't know what to do anymore," he said. "I just know I don't want to lose you." His words shattered what little resolve you had left.

And in that moment, everything that had been building between you, the unspoken, the impossibleㅡ became undeniable. It was wrong. It was selfish. But here he was, standing before you, asking you for something you both knew you could never truly have. And for a moment, it didn't matter that it was wrong

You let out a shaky breath, your voice barely a whisper. "One night," you murmured. "Just... one night."

Joel froze. His eyes searched yours, and for a second, it seemed as if he might say no. But then his hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you toward him, his lips catching yours in a kiss that was deeper this time, hungry, urgent. There were no more words between you, just the frantic need to close the distance between your hearts, to feel something real, even if it was only for one night.

As his hands wrapped around you, pulling you closer, there was a fleeting moment of clarity,a brief flash of the consequences. But it was swallowed up by the heat of the kiss, the intoxicating feeling of finally giving in to the desire that had been burning between you for years,

It was wrong. It was a mistake

But as Joel's lips moved against yours again, you forgot about everything else. Joel’s hand slid to your wrist before you could pull away, a firm, steady grip that tugged you gently toward him, toward the quiet behind the chaos. The party’s laughter and chatter were left in the distance, fading as you followed him, the night air thick with tension.

"We should go to a room," he whispered, his voice hoarse and urgent, almost pleading. "The party still has a few more hours before it ends. Don't worry, baby. It'll all be okay. She won’t even notice we're gone." You looked at him, heart racing, mind reeling, torn between the gravity of his words and the electric heat still burning in your chest from the kiss. He was leading you, his hand wrapped around your wrist, guiding you through the garden, toward the back of the house where the guest rooms lay hidden behind thick foliage and shadows.

You followed, not because you were sure, but because the pull between you was undeniable. You didn’t trust yourself to speak, and maybe you didn’t want to. His pace quickened as he sensed your hesitation, his breath hitching, more desperate now, as though he needed you to understand. "We can’t keep doing this," he said, his tone a mix of anger and longing. "We can’t keep pretending like we don’t feel it. This—" he glanced back at you, "this is what we've been needing for so long."

You could barely catch your breath as you stepped into the hallway of the house, away from the party. The muffled noise of music and chatter was barely a memory now. The quiet was heavier, more intimate. And when you finally stopped, your back pressed against the closed door of a guest room, you both stood there in the dim room, hearts pounding like they were about to burst.

His hands were still on you, strong but gentle, but this time, they didn’t move to pull you in. Instead, he lingered, his fingers barely grazing the skin of your arms as though he was afraid of breaking something fragile—something that might never be repaired.

"Joel..." Your voice was soft, porcelain, and it trembled in the stillness of the room. "Please.." you can hear him mumble a soft 'fuck' before his lips crash onto the exposed skin on your neck, his hands roaming your body like he's been waiting to do this for a thousand years. he quickly manages to discard the jacket of his tuxedo and unzip the back of your dress, your hair that was neatly pulled up now down on your shoulders. "You're so beautiful, baby. Always have beenㅡ god, I was so stupid not doin' this earlier." Your mind reeled, cunt pulsimg. You closed your eyes, trying to steady your breath, trying to steady your pulse. the fire between you crackled and burned hotter, and for tonight, you gave into it.

"Joel, please, justㅡ touch me, please.." he nods his head. "fuck, yeah, okay. You sound so pretty when you're desperate." you shudder at his words, a soft moan slipping from your lips. " 'm gonna fuck you tonight 'n make up for all of the nights i didn't." that was a promise.

you were now almost fully naked, the only thing covering your body was a soft, laced, white set you had on. "Pretty girl." he begins to discard those items from you too, but removes only the bra, leaving the white panties on. you look up at him, his presence swallowing you whole. without words you reach our hands out, promptly placing them on the hem of his pants and starting to unbuckle the belt he had on. you fingers fumble from the tension, but you finally do it. you trail you fingers onto his abdomen, drawing small hearts before you hear him growl. he picks you up swiftly and throws you on the bed settled in the middle of the room. his pants come undone so he pulls them off fully. "Spread your legs, baby." you do, your pussy spilling over the lace that barely covered anything. his rough fingertips trace your clothed folds, making you look away. "Look at me. Look at me, tell me what you want."

"Want you, Joel.." he hums. he pulls the panties to the side, eyes fixed on the way your cunt glistened under the dim light. its not long before he gets on his knees between your legs. "sweet girl. been dyin' to know what's inside that pretty head of yours when you look at me like that." His fingers brushed a loose strand of hair from your face. "you know how much i had to hold back? wanted to ravage you, toㅡ" he trails "to destroy you. make you beg for me to stop..." joel leans down, his rough beard tickling your neck, drawing a soft moan from between your lips.

"Sure you want this, darlin?" Nipping at your bottom lip, he waits for your signal. "So sure." This is it, the moment you had only dreamed of. that's when his lips crashed against yours again, his mustache pricking your skin. you kissed back, hungry, so hungry like you've never felt before.

"want that pretty pussy wrapped around my cock." you whimper pathetically at his dirty words. dirty. dirty like his touch that left your skin tainted, dirty like how you know you'll feel after all of this is over.

but you like dirty. you love dirty.

joel pressed himself against you, his briefs now fully off. fuck, he was huge. his leaking tip was pressing against your folds. "so wet, baby. all this for me? c'mon, let me hear you say it."

" 's all for y-ou, Joel ㅡ" you choked back a moan, pushing yourself back onto his bulge. he laughs, tilting his head to the side slightly. be drags the pulsing tip up and down, up and down again and again, as if he didn't make you wait long enough for it. after he thinks its sufficient, he starts to push inside, causing you to bite onto your forearm and shut your eyes as tears welled up in them. "atta girlㅡ you can take it. you're a big girl, ain't ya?" he teased. "My little girl, takin' my cock so well."

by the time he was fully inside, you were a mess, tears stained your cheeks, drool at the corners of your mouth covered in smudged lipstick ㅡ you were in a dream for sure. joel moves, at first, slowly as to let you adjust. he's patient. praises trail onto you as he kisses little pecks on the small of your back. "That's it, darlin'. take it all." your body trembles from every breath and touch of his.

his pace picks up, skin hitting yours roughly, fingers tangled in your hair and his other palm flush against your belly. "feel me there, sweet girl?"

"I- yes, yes, please, p-please ㅡ " You were hanging on the mattress for dear life, your brain foggy. nothing made sense but this. Joel buried deep inside of you. he fucked you hard, and deep, your stomach churning at every hit. his calloused hands gripped tightly at you hips, his moves now more ragged.

"shitㅡ whish I married you, baby.." he says through grunts, palms still gripping your hips. "Wish it were you there in that dress. 'm sorryㅡ" you cry a little louder as you feel his dick twitch inside of you. "let me put a baby in you, sweet girl, we can run away andㅡ fuck, run away and be happy. have our own little family." your eyes roll to the back of your head. "Joel, Iㅡ"

"You'd want that? imma make you a mommaㅡ my pretty wife, god."

" 'm s-so close, Joel, please "

"I know, baby, I know. Y-You go ahead." With a few more snaps of his hips, you're both coming, bodies writhing, as his head falls upon your chest. For a long, heavy moment, the world outside the room seemed to vanish. All that was left was the two of you, in that silent little room.

Joel pulls out, making you moan. He watches intently as his seed drips out of you, licking his lips as a palm rubs your lower belly. He hopes it'll stick.

[inkskinned]

there's this video you've probably seen already where a woman is shaking in front of a microphone and delicately tries to ask - how can i make my husband listen to me, i've tried everything, i don't want to seem ungrateful and the other man laughs - the problem is that you married a man, we're only listening 25% of the time and we only understand 5% of that! and the audience laughs and the woman laughs and you just sat there, phone in your hand, letting the sound of it echo

and the thing is that people make think-pieces about it (isn't this one of them) and satire versions and "flipping the script" which is good and fun but at the end of the day, there's some truth in that man's response about men-not-listening. and you have tried to language that feeling for years, this sense that you can only take up 33% of a conversation before others view it as being "dominating".

it's not that they aren't listening, it's that the action they're taking is purposefully silencing. it's different. you accidentally-don't-listen a lot; just because the world is loud and you're distracted. you don't mean anything by it. and the truth is that the man who spoke is relying on that to be true of you; the way it's true of everyone. but there is a different undertone to his kind of not-listening. what he means is they don't respect you and you shouldn't expect them to. there is a difference between oh shit i forgot to take the trash out and why didn't you remind me to do it, just like there is a difference between i didn't realize you wanted to go out this weekend and why do you expect me to plan things why can't you just tell me where we're going.

and the thing is that it isn't just him, and it's actually not just because of your gender - your skin, your class status, your weight, their ableism - it happens often. so often it feels like a tightness around your throat and a weight in your stomach. you're not even "really" allowed to be upset about it, because to them it's a joke. and they laugh. and you know exactly the amount of work that goes into every conversation. how you have to work to condense down your thoughts into intelligent, crisp soundbites; worried someone will try to swoop in and cut you off. and there's this sense from everyone else - oh stop being so sensitive, are you really upset just because they weren't listening and you don't know how to say the way that feels when it happens constantly.

there's that video of the science summit where a woman in the audience finally says let her speak please! and the whole crowd bursts into applause and the man leading the summit holds up his hands and bows his head and says oops, sorry! like what he did was awkward and embarrassing, a little social gaffe that happens easily. later in your meetings, you're asked to take notes, and you don't say anything, you just hear let her speak please! ringing in your head and know that you'll never be brave enough for that kind of thing. and besides. think of all the people who agree this was a one-off, he just got excited and all of the people who say one man is not indicative of all of society

at the dinner table you're talking about someone you don't like and how he's not good to his girlfriend and how she always has to remind him to put the effort in and before him, she was glowing with curiosity and passion but now she just seems... tired, unhappy. that he likes the way she burns out; she stays home and takes care of him and their 2 kids. and your father sniffs and says that men take a while to learn those kinds of things. and you just stare at him and think about your childhood and are like - no wonder i turned out like this

and you want to say - there's no fucking secret school or mystic form of communication. i was not sent to Rearing a Child University. i did not graduate from Getting Chores Done College. i ask questions and i listen and i pay attention, because that's basic fucking human decency. it stems from respect, and how i respect others and their agency. i clean the house because someone should clean. not because it comes "naturally".

hell, you had to google "how to boil an egg" the other day, just because you usually make them scrambled. you can never remember which of the 2 bathroom cleaners make chlorine gas, only that two of them definitely do. you've accidentally bleached your clothes. it took you like 3 years of self-teaching before you figured out how to actually cook things correctly - for that whole time, you burnt or undercooked everything. but you did teach yourself; just like you taught yourself how to listen with empathy. just like how you taught yourself to think before you speak. to be kind first, to be better at communicating. it seemed like a good thing, an adult thing.

the joke the man in the video makes is that women say i'm fine! when they are not fine. and you think about the 150 conversations that happened around that; about how she probably has had so many arguments with her husband. how she said i'm upset you don't take me anywhere and he got mad at her because of course i do, you made me go to that stupid restaurant like last week and she probably said that's not what i'm saying and he said now i'm supposed to be psychic or something and she said no of course not and he said how am i supposed to know what to do when you don't even like everything and she said i do like things and he said well how am i supposed to win? and her pastor probably told her to be more grateful because they do things at all, even if she has to plan them and her mom probably told her that's just how men are honey and she probably cried over her journal, trying to figure out why the fuck she "has everything" and is still so bitterly, horribly unhappy

and how, in your life, for so many reasons, you looked down the barrel of another argument; of explaining yourself and being vulnerable and begging for help again. how many times you just said i'm fine because it was better than doing that again; it was better than wringing yourself out when it's literally easier to just pretend. because he wasn't going to listen. your father wasn't going to be better and your boyfriend wasn't going to be better and your boss wasn't going to be more respectful.

and you sit in front of a video of a woman shaking, looking horrible and guilt-wrought that she's even asking this question. and you know; deep in your heart - that's you. in a different life, you are her. you've stood in her spot. and you had to listen while someone else cackled - why would we bother to notice when you talk?

[teeny-tiny-revenge]

So this is a random thing I know because I once spent a hyperfocus afternoon on researching it... Modern type sunscreen was invented early 20th century, when they could design compounds that specifically target UVB (some of those are still used in today's sunscreens). However, ancient people haven't been getting burned all those centuries; humans aren't dumb. The ancient Greeks have been documented to use oils. Seafaring people from Oceania and South Asia have been making sunscreens from various plants, including rice, algae and tree bark. (Don't know about Maori, but Indigenous seafarers had sunscreen for thousands of years, so Ed would absolutely know about that.)

A number of old-timey sunscreens have been shown to contain zinc oxide, which is still an ingredient in many modern sunscreens. Should work to keep his tattoos in good shape! (Although arguably some of them aren't worth the trouble. Who did the mermaid? I bet on Jack.)

Did they have sunscreen in 1717? How does Ed keep his tattoos looking so nice?

[myfictionaldreams]

Protect and Forget // Mafia!Stucky x Fem!Reader

Summary: Life as the girlfriend of the Mafia boss and his second-in-command was not always smooth sailing, everything in life did not always go to plan. Two weeks before your birthday, a threat was made to your life. What happens when Steve and Bucky begin to push you away as they search for the threat?

Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, threesome, angst (LOTS!), fluff, smut, death threats, crying/anxiety, begging, alcohol consumption, confrontation, arguing (kinda), hurt/comfort, body worship, oral sex (m and f), fingering, anal, double penetration, multiple orgasms, creampie, dirty talk, size difference, praise kink, squirting

Words: 9k (oops)

my masterlist 📚 AO3 Link

Steve and Bucky had been counting down to your birthday for the past month, leaving small hints for whatever it was that they were planning. This included travelling to a special destination and a multitude of surprises you could never even dream of. However, life as the girlfriend of the Mafia boss and his second-in-command was not always smooth sailing, everything in life did not always go to plan.

Two weeks before your birthday, a threat was made to your life. Luckily it only came in the form of a note, filled with threats and promises that neither of the boys would allow you to read. Nothing in the world was more important to them than your safety, this had been a priority since day one so this mean that for your protection, you were secured inside of your house until the target could be eliminated.

It wasn’t so bad, to begin with as the house you shared with Steve and Bucky was grand and the garden was your pride and joy but you were even banned from a simple walk. Even though there were multiple guards, cameras and security protecting the property, it was better to be safe than sorry in their eyes.

The loneliness only began to bother you on day 8. Like clockwork, as the morning alarms began to sound, Steve and Bucky would kiss your cheeks simultaneously before rolling out of bed, changing and leaving to continue their hunt to find whoever had threatened their girl, only returning in the early hours of the morning as you were fast asleep in bed. Luckily your bodyguard was stationed outside and he would regularly come in to check on you, spending hours talking about anything and everything just to keep you from going completely insane.

On the 13th day, you’d made it your mission to try and stay awake for the boys returning, a steady excitement humming in your stomach as it struck midnight and your birthday had officially begun! Then it was 1 am rolling around… and then 2 am, and still no sign of the boys or even a message. By the time 3 am was displayed on your phone screen, your eyes were almost burning with exhaustion, leaning your head on the couch arm, you began to drift into a light sleep from where you waited in the living room.

The light sleep soon deepened, enough so that you didn’t wake as Steve carried your sleeping body to bed as the mafia leader and his best friend returned at 4 am.

All three of you groaned as the phone alarm rang at 6 30am, the repetitive kiss on your cheek soon following the silencing of the alarm. Instead of falling back to sleep, you found yourself frowning, blinking a few times to clear the blur from your sight and then rolled over to look at them both. Neither seemed to acknowledge your questioning stare as they continued to get ready to leave.

“Steve…”, your voice was timid as you began to climb out of bed, sheets tangling in your limbs as you moved through the soft material.

The mafia leader’s head turned in your direction, eyebrows raised with surprise at seeing you awake. Steve finished buttoning his crisp white shirt as he approached the edge of the bed where you waited on your knees, his large hand enclosing around yours as you reached for him. “Morning baby, lie back down and get some more sleep”, he encouraged, his voice rough from its first use of the day.

Your shoulders dropped as you took him in, not realising just how much you had missed him and Bucky, both of whom had deep purple circles around their eyes through exhaustion but you could tell that just from the way that they were standing. You’d originally intended to find out if they were staying, it was your birthday after all and even though all the promises of travelling and presents were no longer happening, seeing them actually preparing to leave was not what you had expected. Your gut twisted in despair, feeling overwhelming guilt at being so selfish for thinking this, they were going above and beyond for your protection and safety but right now, you just wanted them to rest or even just acknowledge that it was your birthday, just some form of normality.

“Are you both really going in? I feel like I’ve hardly seen either of you”, you swallowed down the hope, trying to reach further up Steve’s body to hold onto his shoulders, attempting to pull him close.

Steve smiled sadly down at you, fingers gently easing around your wrists to pull himself free of your grasp. “I know Sweetheart, I’m sorry. We’ve found a trail of his whereabouts near Manhattan that we’ve been scoping overnight. We just need to get this son of a bitch and we’ll return to happy families”. 

You knew he was trying to make you better but it only confirmed the reality that they were once again both leaving for the day, your birthday. Had they forgotten? Or was it not as much of a big deal anymore that you had a special day, a day that was only once a year? Yes, there was a threat against you but it wasn’t like they were both doing the surveillance, surely this one day one or both of them could stay.

“I don’t think we’ll be much longer”, Steve continued, easing your body back onto the bed. “Get some more sleep, maybe see if Sam wants to watch one of your movies later, and order some takeout, make sure you use my card”. Giving a chaste kiss on your forehead, he returned to his section of the wardrobe, pulling out a navy tie, wrapping it around his neck and exiting the bedroom.

Before you could allow the sadness to take over, Bucky was approaching, wearing the same outfit as Steve’s except the shirt and tie were both black. “We’ll be back before you know it Doll, get some more sleep, get enough for the both of us”, he tried to joke but the light didn’t reach his eyes as he too kissed your temple and walked out of the bedroom door.

They were actually leaving, without so much as a proper good morning kiss or a ‘how are you?’, let alone a happy birthday. Attempting to still keep the tears at bay, you were swift to climb out of bed, following them out of the bedroom and down the stairs, seeing them both already at the front door, preparing to leave.

“Can’t one of you stay today? Just for one day?” your voice was laced with desperation as you paced towards them, hands reaching to grip the back of Bucky’s shirt. The man sighed sadly, expecting this from you at some point, there was only so long you could be kept inside, not realising that you were also upset about them missing your birthday.

Bucky turned to rest his hands against the top of your arms, pulling you away slightly so he could look into your eyes. You had to quickly bite your lip to hide the quiver as more sadness rocked through you at seeing the sympathy in the crystal blue eyes looking down at you, already knowing that there wasn’t any way that either Bucky or Steve were planning on staying with you today. 

“Sorry honey, we really need to get this sorted so we can get back to normal. How about we call you later? Can have a catch-up then, how does that sound?”

A phone call. You’d been promised a holiday, surprises and most importantly, time with just Steve and Bucky without work interfering and now, all you were receiving on your birthday was a phone call.

“I miss you both”, your eyes flicked before both men as they looked down at you, hoping for something, any kind of hope that they would stay but you already knew nothing was going to happen. Steve leaned over Bucky first, kissing your cheek, waiting a moment for Bucky to do the same before twisting open the door handle.

Bucky moved you out of the way of the open door, keeping you hidden from the outside world, still trying to protect you as he also kissed your cheek quickly once more, “We miss you too, we’ll talk later. I love you”. You didn’t respond, too scared of completely breaking down and not even knowing what to really say. So to try and refrain from guilt-tripping them with your tears, you held your breath, the technique used to suppress your emotions.

Turning on the spot, Bucky followed after his boss, shutting and locking the front door behind him and then you were once again all by yourself.

The air you’d been holding rushed out of your lungs as you released a heavy sob, the tears openly flowing down your cheeks now. It was one of those cries where you were almost choking on your breaths, ribs aching from trying to keep control and not hyperventilate but it was no use.

You cried and cried. For the loneliness. The silence in the house. The lack of touch and affection that you were craving. Even forgetting your birthday, something as menial as this still had you feeling devastated. There was nothing Steve and Bucky ever forgot about you, always being their sole focus. But now, your protection had become an obsession to the point where they were almost neglecting you and even themselves, with minimal sleep, you weren’t even sure of the last conversation that you’d truly had with either of them.

You stayed on your knees at the front door for over an hour, curled up in a ball and releasing all of the pent-up emotions but now that you had started, you couldn’t stop. But as your knees started to ache against the solid oak flooring, you forced yourself to stand and get a hold of yourself.

This only meant instead of crying downstairs, you were now crying in your bedroom, the sheets pushed to the end of the bed and your body still curled into a ball. Not even bothering to catch the falling tears you allowed the front of your pyjama shirt to take the honours of being your makeshift tissue and become soaked through on your chest.

Eventually, your sobs subsided, your eyes red and sore and feeling exhausted from the lack of sleep and turmoil of emotions.

Then suddenly the front door was opened, your heart thundering in the small hopes of the boys returning but then your bodyguard, Sam Wilson’s voice shouted from the floor below. “Boss lady? Where you at?”

Was it already midday? Glancing at your phone that was next to the bed still, your eyes widen to see that hours had already passed by unnoticed by you. In a rush, you were out of bed, trying not to stumble on your weak knees from being in the squished position for so long, and quickly hiding in the en suite bathroom, locking the door for safe measure.

You didn’t want Sam to see you like this, so hiding was the best option, even as you continued to silently cry, having had your hopes spiked for a second that they’d remembered what day it was and once again being let down.

“Sweetheart? You in there?” Sam asked on the other side of the door.

Trying to steady your breathing, you responded and hoped that your voice didn’t crack or give away the fact that you had been crying all morning. “Yeah, won’t be long.”

“Good, I’ve got a special cake out here that’s dying to be eaten!” You could hear the joy in Sam’s smile as you leaned against the door, the cool wood soothing your slightly swollen face from the immense crying.

“Cake?” you asked in a small voice, nearly a whisper.

“Yeah, a cake! Wouldn’t be a proper birthday celebration without cake, am I right?”

“You remembered…”.

Sam frowned at the bathroom door, noting the sadness in your voice, instinctively he stepped closer, “Of course, I remembered sweetheart, is everything ok in there?”

Your lip wobbled as fresh tears began to coat your face, “no…”. There was no point hiding it, otherwise, you’d be stuck in the bathroom all day and you needed to be with someone, not wanting to waste any more time by yourself

Unlocking the bathroom door, you opened it slowly, peeking around it to see Sam standing there. In one hand he held a gift bag and the string to an oversized birthday balloon, and in the other hand, he held what looked to be a chocolate cake with your name written across in cursive white icing. The smile dropped on his face as he saw your distraught, quickly placing the objects in his hands onto one of the dressers, letting the balloon float to the ceiling and then he was wrapping his arms around you.

You were instantly sobbing into his chest, hands desperately grabbing his shirt scared that he might disappear and leave you like everyone else seemed to be doing.

Sam rested one hand against your back, rubbing soothing circles and the other on the back of your head, keeping you close to his chest, giving you the time to let your emotions out. “Shh it’s ok, I’ve got you, I’m not going anywhere”.

He was so comforting and calm, but then he always was. Bucky used to be this crutch for you in times like this as he was previously your bodyguard but as your relationship with him shifted, you ended up becoming close friends with Sam.

Sam had already deduced what was wrong, from his quick glance around the house downstairs and the on his way up, with the lack of decorations and that he knew Steve and Bucky had vacated the house first thing in the morning, they definitely had forgotten about your birthday.

“Take a deep breath for me, that’s it, and another one. Keep breathing for me, sweetheart. Can’t have you crying on your birthday now can I?” It took a few attempts but you were able to slowly calm your breathing down until only small hiccups remained.

Sam pulled back from the hug first, moving instead to duck his head and cup your cheeks, wiping away the tears that remained on your first.

You laughed in embarrassment, trying to hide your face but he didn’t allow it so you just held onto his wrists, feeling ashamed, especially as you saw the mess left behind on his shirt, cringing at the sight. “I’ve ruined your shirt, I’m sorry”.

“I don’t mind, makes me unique to everyone else”, he joked for a moment before becoming more series, his facial features relaxing in empathy. “Did they forget about today?”

You quickly bite your bottom lip, feeling the emotions stirring once more. “Yeah, but it’s... It’s fine! I know they’re busy trying to keep me safe but… I feel like I haven’t seen them in weeks. I hate being stuck in here! I mean, this is the first hug I’ve had since they received that stupid letter, they’ve spent so much time at the office and then tired when they get back and I’m asleep anyway so I never get to see them. I haven’t even kissed their lips in two weeks Sam!”

Once you started your ranting, it all just came flooding out. At first, you were tentative with what you were saying, that guilt still lingering in your gut but the more you thought about it, the angrier you were becoming. Yes, you were in danger but that didn’t mean they couldn’t come home and wake you up, kiss your lips or even hug you properly.

As you came to the end of your rant, you had to take a deep breath, completely filling your lungs with air and then breathing out through your mouth, feeling the tension easing throughout your body.

“Better?” Sam asked referring to your rant, you nodded your head in response. “Good, come on let's go and eat cake and have a chat”.

You were on your second slice of delicious cake, a happy smile on your face finally, chocolate always made you feel happy though. Sam chuckled at your appearance, filling your glass of water that you’d downed in a few glugs, not realising just how thirsty you were.

“I’m not going to try and make excuses for my bosses for the way they’ve been acting but speaking as their friend, they’re scared. Scared of losing you and I know you understand that but from the brief times that I’ve seen them outside or on the phone, I just think that they don’t want to spend too much time here because they don’t want to get their hopes up that everything is ok. You make them feel whole and safe so spending less time with you, it's taking away that security for them, maybe they don’t want to relax and have affection when that asshole is still out there. Now, don’t repeat this to them because I’d like to keep my job but it’s a dumb way to go about this all, clearly. I don’t think they realised just how long it would take to find whoever sent that message to you”.

Sam’s explanation made sense to you. Steve and Bucky had never hidden their intense love for you, and would constantly remind you that they would do absolutely anything to keep you safe. They were proving this now but spending every hour physically possible to find whoever was trying to find you but the small punishment to themselves that they couldn’t hug or even kiss wasn’t just a negative for them but for you as well. You needed them just as much as they needed you.

It was a pitiful circle and today had been the icing on top of the cake, ironically.

“That makes sense”, you responded after another thoughtful bite of chocolate cake, already eyeing up a third slice, you were starving after having no breakfast or lunch. “So what should I do? Leave them to it? What if they don’t find whoever is doing this for weeks? I don’t think I can go that long without seeing them properly but then I also don’t want to confront them if this is their way of coping.” You admitted with a deflated tone. Even though you wanted nothing more than to call them and tell them to come home and simply just kiss and hold you but then you didn’t want to complain when everything they were doing was for your benefit in the long run.

“Well why don’t we-”, Sam was cut off as his phone began to ring loudly from his pocket. Pulling the device out, he saw ‘BOSS’ written across the screen. “Say his name and he will appear”, he joked before stepping away to answer the phone, not stopping until he was outside with the back door closed so you couldn’t hear the phone call. You didn’t think anything of it, knowing that it was probably just an update about the day, the same phone call that was had every day.

Lifting the phone to his ear, Sam was about to talk when Steve was cutting him off, “We’ve got him”.

Sam’s shoulders dropped along with the heavy breath he released. “Are…are you sure?”

“Yeah, his handwriting matched the letter and with some persuasion from Buck, he admitted to it. Scumbags excuse was that was the golden ticket to get to me, well he was damn right about that” Steve growled into the phone and faintly in the background, the man in question was begging for his life as Bucky brutalised him, something he had been hoping to do for two weeks. “We’ve actually got that asshole, Sam!”

“Thank god”, Sam sighed in relief, rubbing his eyes, looks like everyone was going to be sleeping well tonight. 

“How is she?” Steve asked, a hint of hope in his voice.

Sam chewed on the inside of his cheek, thinking about his next words carefully. You had made it clear that you didn’t want them worrying about how sad you were but then on the other hand, he was your bodyguard, and your best interest was key. Also, they’d caught the guy so would be coming home to return to the normality they were all desperate for.

“Sam?” Steve asked with more authority, his shoulders squaring up as he glanced toward Bucky who had stopped his skilled knife movements to look back at him, wondering why Sam wasn’t answering.

“She’s not good, Boss”.

“And what do you mean by that?” Steve asked, storming out of the interrogation room and away from the asshole's ears, not wanting him to hear. Bucky followed swiftly behind, wanting to know what was wrong with his girl. “What do you mean not good?” Steve repeated, putting his phone on speaker so Bucky could hear.

Sam sighed again, tilting his head back to look at the sky before checking that the back door was still closed and you weren’t within earshot. “Listen, Boss, I understand you’ve been busy and I’m so fucking happy you’ve caught the bastard who threatened her but she’s not good. She’s been crying all day, it took nearly 10 minutes for me to calm her down as she was hyperventilating. She misses you both. She also does understand why you’ve both been reluctant to be around her and getting your hopes up for things being ok but god damn, I haven’t seen her cry like this in years.”

Steve and Bucky were overridden with guilt, not realising just how much they had been pushing you away with their desperation to find the guy responsible for this entire situation.

“That’s not the only thing…”, Sam continued with a tone of regret that he actually had to tell them this.

“Go on Sam”, Steve encouraged, it couldn’t get any worse, right?

“It’s her birthday today”. Sam had to pull his phone away from his ear as Bucky shouted ‘fuck!’ followed by the recognisable sounds of him punching the brick wall. There were hushed tones following this as Steve and Bucky furiously spoke to each other, frustrated with each other for forgetting the one day that they’d been looking forward to.

Eventually, Steve placed the phone against his ear, his voice clipped and determined, “Can you stay with her until we get back? I don’t think we’ll be here too much longer now anyway and just…”, he contemplated what to say for a moment. “Just tell her that we got the guy and we’re coming back and that we love her, please Sam?”

“Sure thing, Boss”. The phone line cut off as Steve hung up, following Bucky back into the room to finish the guy once and for all.

Sam entered your home, finding you tucking happily into your third slice of chocolate cake, fork pausing halfway to your mouth as you looked at the expression on your friend's face.

“What is it?” you asked nervously, placing the fork back onto the plate.

“They’ve got him, sweetheart”. 

It had been almost an hour since Sam had spoken those precious words to you and initially, it felt like you were going into shock, your bodyguard having to remind you to breathe again before it truly hit home. You were safe. They had actually found him and you were safe.

But now, you were sat just staring aimlessly at Sam thinking… what was going to happen now? Sam mentioned that the boys wouldn’t be back late and that they loved you and even though it gave you such peace in your heart to know this, there was still the underlying sadness. They’d still been ignoring you for weeks and forgotten your birthday, were you supposed to just carry on like this hadn’t happened?

There hadn’t really been a time in your relationship with them both where you’d actually been angry or upset by their actions so you were conflicted between wanting to celebrate and also remaining confident with your emotions of hurt.

Sam left you soon after to prepare de-escalation of the guards around your home and also give you the chance to have a long soak in the shower and prepare for their return. You’d ask him what you should do and he encouraged you to do what you felt was best which you only realised was an answer to cover his own back to not being fired, of which he laughed at, saying you were correct.

After showering and pampering yourself, the nerves returned, souring your mood once more. What did you wear? Did you dress up and greet them at the door? Did you wallow in self-pity in your bedroom?

But then the sight of Sam’s balloon and present caught your eye. It was your birthday, the one day a year when you actually wanted it to be all about you and here you were panicking.

Fuck. It.

You weren’t going to waste the remainder of the day, you didn’t need to be lost in your guilt and you for sure were going to have some damn fun before the consequences of the past few weeks came crashing down.

Finding something comfortable to wear which consisted of grey pyjama shorts and an old white t-shirt of Steve’s. Then you returned downstairs, linking your phone to the TV to play your music - loud.

One glass of wine turned into two and with the music, you were lost in the distraction, becoming increasingly more at ease and free, letting your body sway with the song. As each song played, you became more carefree, eventually dancing around the living room, the happy hum of alcohol in your veins, your throat aching with how loud you were singing the words.

Every thought of the past few weeks were diminisheds, until it felt like you were being watched from where you were currently standing on the couch, arms in the air, careful not to spill your wine in your one hand. Turning towards the door, your arms dropped down, breathing heavily as Steve and Bucky watched your happiness with smiles that could only be described as unfiltered love.

Neither of you was sure whether to approach the other, just staring for a few beats of the song before you stepped off of the couch and pausing the music, the silence deafening and unsettling enough that you were swift to down the rest of your wine for courage.

For a moment, you looked between Steve and Bucky, at their handsome faces, the overwhelming sensation to run into their arms almost taking over your body as you stepped forward but you stopped yourself abruptly. Deciding to stare at the spot on the floor and before fully thinking through your words, you began to spill everything you’d been holding in for two weeks.

“I’m… I’m so thankful to you both, for always putting me first and finding the person who was threatening me but I can’t pretend that these past two weeks haven’t been horrible and I need to tell you both now before I lose my courage. I understand why you’ve kept me hidden away but please, don’t ever shut me out like that again. We’re supposed to be in a relationship, one that is open about our emotions and supportive but I’ve hardly seen you in two weeks and you’ve not even given me the opportunity to ask how you both are because you’re both gone again at the crack of dawn and-”

You could feel your emotions rising again so taking a steadying breath, you looked up at the both again, “I do appreciate everything you have ever done for me and I love you both so much but, I can’t ever have a repeat of these last two weeks again, we’re a team please remember that before you decide to do things in my best interest when it’s going to be negative on all of us”.

Finishing everything that you wanted to say, your gut twisted with unease as neither said anything at first but Steve finally stepped forward. You straightened your spine as he approached, clutching the hem of your t-shirt to hide your trembling fists, keeping your eyes on his, not entirely sure what to expect until he standing only a couple of inches in front of you, your neck aching from having to look up at his taller stature.

Then he was dropping lower and lower until he was on his knees before you, eyes full of remorse, hands rising to cup around your wrists, gently prying your hands away from your shirt so that he could kiss the backs of them before resting his forehead on them.

“I’m so sorry my love, I don’t want to come up with excuses as to our behaviour these past two weeks but I think obsession and delirium from lack of sleep have caused us both to only want to find this guy and in the process have ignored you which was never our intentions. It’s just that… I can’t lose you-”, Steve’s voice cracked with pure emotions and it took everything within you to not collapse to your knees and hug him.

“I know, I can’t lose you either, both of you!” you emphasised, looking between the top of Steve’s head and Bucky whose emotions were written all over his face, regret, sadness and love.

“Tell us what we need to do, for you to forgive us”, Bucky finally spoke, taking a few steps forward and joining Steve on his knees in front of you, hands lifting to rest on your hips.

Here you were, with the leader of the Rogers Mafia Gang and the Second-In-Comand, both on their knees, looking as if you’d just ripped their hearts out and stamped on it, begging for your forgiveness.

“Just promise me you’ll talk to me next time, don’t ever shut me out”.

Steve finally looked up, the whites of his eyes shaded slightly red from his raw emotions, making sure to look you directly in the eye, “I promise, on everything I love, on you, Buck, the entire gang, that I will never make you feel this way ever again”. Your shoulders sagged in relief at his words, raising your hand to cup the side of his head as Bucky also promise his life that this would never happen again.

“I’ve missed you”, your voice was thick with emotions as you finally dropped lower, desperately kissing Steve and then Bucky on the lips. You consistently moved from one to the other, desperate, emotional kisses that were long, breathless and hard. Concentrating on every little feel, smell and taste of them both, a hand on each of their shirts, gripping tightly scared that they would move away. But they didn’t, they stayed and put as much passion into their touches and kisses as you did until all three of you collapsed back into the couch.

You were extremely breathless, greedily sucking in air as your head rested against Steve’s chest and feet over Bucky’s lap, all three of your lips were swollen from the bruising kisses, arms trapping your body into theirs.

The feeling of contentment was strong as the three of you just stayed like that for a while, your body feeling light enough that you could have fallen asleep but suddenly Bucky shifted slightly, sitting forward on the couch so you could see his face.

“That’s not the only apology we need to be making today, honey”, Bucky stated, lifting your daintier hand up to his lips, kissing each of your fingertips before rubbing his cheek against your palm. “We’re sorry for forgetting your birthday, there are no excuses for this, my love, we’re sorry”.

“It’s ok, I know you’ve been busy”.

“No, there aren't any excuses, you shouldn’t be so forgiving with us”, Steve mumbled against your temple, his lips soft and plump against your skin. “We need to make it up to you and even though our original plans are out of the window, we’ll start tonight and first thing in the morning tomorrow, we’re getting on that plane and getting out of here”.

You couldn’t help the grin that spread across your face, feeling excited about the plans tomorrow but then you contemplated his words a bit more, sitting up slightly in his embrace so you could look him in the eye.

“What do you plan on starting tonight?”

Something flashed in Steve’s eyes, almost as if the iris had darkened, momentarily they dropped to look at your mouth before looking back into your own eyes.

“We have a very long list of ways to beg for our forgiveness and make it up to you”, Bucky then responded for Steve. Looking at the hulking man now, you could see that he too was looking between your lips and eyes, almost like he was ready to eat you whole. “And…we aren’t going to stop until you say the words ‘I forgive you’.

Words seemed to fail you for a moment as you knew what they were planning, knew from the hardening lumps in their laps, the suggestive glances with their eyes and oh the wicked words he was saying. Bucky was giving you the ultimate power, all you could want for as long as you wanted until saying those words and the thrill of being able to have sort of control had your insides clenching in arousal.

They moved almost as one as if they shared the same mind as each article of clothing was removed by your body, freeing you of the confines of the material. The two men remained fully clothed but loosened their ties and unbuttoned the top button.

Steve and Bucky then proceeded to utterly worship every inch of your skin and body. It was almost overwhelming with knowing where to aim your attention, with Bucky nibbling on your thighs or Steve licking the column up your neck. Your body heated at the touches, their hands stroking areas where their mouths had vacated, mixing between kissing, sucking and licking depending on how sensitive the area they were located. Then their teeth would graze you and cause your breath to stick in your throat in an attempt to beg and moan for more.

You wanted to touch them too, missing the way their muscles and abnormally warm skin felt under your soft fingertips, but for now, you were more than content with having their sole focus be on you. Savouring every sensation they had to offer, even down to the way their facial hair roughly scratches your delicate skin, only to be soothed by their wicked tongues.

Then Steve’s huge body is hovering over your mouth, lips only an inch away from touching yours once more but the glint in his eye, he was in the mood to tease as you tried to lean up to kiss him, only to have him move away, staying that torturous distance away. “Please kiss me”, you’re pathetically begging, already giving in to the desperation, wanting more than just his warm breath on your face that smelt vaguely of the coffee he’d downed earlier.

Steve’s full lips form into a smirk, fingers gracing over the skin of your shoulders, eyes subtly glancing towards Bucky where you can feel him kiss against your inner knee.

“I want to taste you”. Steve’s statement was said in such a smokey tone that your hips rolled just to be near that beautiful mouth of his.

Your boyfriends swapped places around your body. Bucky held up your upper half against his chest as Steve settled between your thighs already had a light soaking of your juices caused by their well-skilled foreplay. Watching Steve closely, admiring his handsome face for a moment as a slither of his blonde hair draped into his eyes, you wish you could have kissed him again, tell him how much you loved him but his next words had your thoughts consumed with something else.

“Do you want my fingers or my tongue?”

You released a heavy breath, mouth hanging open contemplating between the two before the smartest answer finally tumbled from your lips, “both”.

Steve seemed to like that answer as his face descended, along with his right arm. Not that you could see as Bucky then tilted your head back against his chest, dipping down slightly to thoroughly kiss you, tongue pushing between your lips, completely dominating you.

Bucky then absorbed every single moan and gasp into the kiss as Steve’s tongue delved through your folds, licking a strip the entire length, tasting your beautiful juices that he’d been craving for the past two weeks. As one tongue distracted you, whether it was your mouth or cunt, then the other would be stroking a certain nerve that had you twitching and praising the men surrounding you. Steve began to concentrate on your bundle of nerves, firming the tip of his tongue to move it in a slow, methodical circle before flattening his entire tongue and licking against it.

Your hands wound into his hair and with the scrunched-up position, your elbows pushed your breasts together, something Bucky noticed from the corner of his eye, his nimble fingers reaching around you to perk the nipples, tugging at the same time as Steve sucking your clit for a few seconds. You forgot just how much you loved the feeling of his metal fingers, so cold against the sensitive bud that he twisted and pulled.

Bucky pulled back from the kiss, wanting to hear the noises you were going to make and, seeing Steve’s fingers moving to tease your hole, circling the entrance a few times before pushing two of his rough long fingers within. “Ahhhh!” You groaned, back arching slightly wanting Bucky’s hands to cup your tits more whilst also, holding Steve close against your pussy.

“I will never get enough of you”, Bucky rasped, his eyes almost hungry as he continued to look down at your body wrapped in his arms.

You held his eye contact, feeling the coil tightening in your abdomen. “Don’t stop”, you choked, body tensing as Steve’s fingers steadily moved in and out, matching the strokes of his tongue.

The mafia boss chuckles, releasing your clit momentarily, “Oh baby, I’m going to fuck you until you’re too tired to even speak”.

The promise in his tone had you feeling such an intense thrill that your walls clamped down harshly around his fingers as you came hard, hips rolling against his face, Bucky also continuing to squeeze and play with your tits until the waves of pleasure subsided. The three of you remained in place, both men giving you a moment to catch your breath, enjoying the post-orgasm glow that graced your expression.

Then they were both moving, you weren’t sure where they were going at first until Bucky began to lie across the couch in the same position as Steve with your legs thrown over his shoulder and Steve was sitting behind you, holding you in an upright position. They’d swapped places and all you could do was look down at Bucky with wide eyes as he looked directly at your sopping cunt, “It’s my turn to taste, oh how I’ve missed this”.

He then swooped in to do exactly as he stated, his mouth devouring your cunt just as much as he had your mouth, his warm fingers pushing into your tight cunt, teasing the spongey spot within. Then Steve was tilting your head back with a firm grip on your jaw, biting his lower lip in anticipation before he too was taking your breath away as his mouth crashed into yours.

You could taste yourself on his lips, the scent of coffee completely gone and this revelation caused your body to heat further, finding it thrilling with how much of your juices he truly had lapped up. Steve’s big hands were then rubbing against your breasts, squishing them before teasing the nipples, each movement causing sparks of pleasure to go directly in between your legs to where Bucky was eating you out.

Your fingers were already in his hair, holding him there and helping to roll your hips against his face. You were already a little sensitive from the first orgasm, embarrassed to say that your second orgasm was already building with increasing pace, thighs trembling as you tried to not squish Bucky’s head.

It took only a few minutes and your eyes were rolling back, face dropping slightly, stopping the kiss from Steve so you could moan Bucky’s name. Your pussy clenched repeatedly around his fingers as he teased you through the entire orgasm, only stopping when your hips were jolting with overstimulation.

Bucky didn’t wait for you to catch your breath now however as he sat up on his knees, both arms wrapping around your body to pick you up, manhandling your body with ease. A second later, you found yourself kneeling on the couch on wobbly thighs, your body leaning over the back as Bucky pushed gently on your shoulders, forcing your arse to lift into the air. 

Unsure where Steve was for a second but then you didn’t care as Bucky pushed two of his fingers back into your cunt, his large body standing directly behind you. He begins to fuck you, in and out with his fingers, positioned at his pelvis so from the front it looks like he was fucking you, and oh he was getting to that part soon but he just wanted to see you cum one more time before that.

The muscles in his arm flexed beneath his black shirt as he began to fuck you quickly with his fingers, your body automatically rolling back to meet him halfway.

“Do you like fucking my fingers?” Bucky huskily asks, staring down with wide eyes, the pupils looking almost completely black with lust.

“Yes, they feel so fucking good”, you responded, holding desperately onto the back of the couch.

Bucky held onto your hips, squatting slightly to have a better view of your cunt before he began to curl his fingers, gently tugging on them with each thrust, massaging directly against your g-spot. “That’s it, hot mama, let go for me”, he encouraged, knowing exactly what he was doing with his special trick as splashes of fluid began to squirt out of you, coating his arm and the couch but neither of you cared.

Your body was convulsing, thighs struggling to hold up your weight as Bucky was now fully kneeling on the floor again, his tongue sticking out to its fullest length to try and catch any of your squirts, groaning as flecks of liquid coated him.

You were cumming through this entire moment, the sounds of the sloshing from your cunt caused my Bucky’s fingers were like music to Steve’s ears as he watched you completely explode through your orgasm.

This time, Bucky allowed you a few moments to gather your bearings, gasping for air as you tried to sit up more, your arm and head hanging off the edge of the couch as Bucky licked his fingers clean.

You were exhausted that much was true but you’d been so touch-deprived over the last few weeks that you couldn’t help but beg for more. “I want you to fuck me”, you sighed over your shoulder at Bucky.

The man smirked devilishly, taking his sweet time to undress completely, also giving you just that little extra time to gather your senses, trying to ignore the wet feeling under your knees from where you’d soaked the couch.

Then there were suddenly hands on your hips, helping to push you back up as a long thick cock was rubbing at your entrance. “Bucky…”, you sighed as finally, his cock was stretching your cunt, the sensation was so much more intense after the long wait and thorough foreplay.

“Fuck, you’re taking me so well, Doll”, Bucky praised as you took most of his cock, there still being an inch that never seemed to fit.

A hand began to stroke a gentle touch across your cheek as Steve was suddenly in front of you. As Bucky began to fuck you with long, strong strokes, Steve caressed your phase in a praising manner, letting you know he was there and even giving his thumb to suck on, the stimulation of which was causing your cunt to clench around Bucky.

Reaching out with a lazy hand, you attempted to grab Steve’s belt, wanting more than just his thumb to suck, no, in fact, you could definitely say, you needed to suck on his cock right now.

However, you groaned in annoyance as Steve pushed away your hand. “No, I’m supposed to be making you feel good”, he informed you as his large hand moved down your naked spine.

“But I want your cock so bad, please, I won’t ask for anything else ever again”, you exaggerated, knowing it was a complete lie.

Steve did too, even though he relented as he stood to his full height, “ok, Baby”. His fingers which were once inside of you, were now swiftly unbuttoning his shirt and undoing his belt and you watched in fascination as he began to undress. Fuck, his body was unbelieve, just as Bucky’s was over your shoulder. But then, all thoughts disappeared from your mind as you were suddenly eye level with the veiny, red hard cock of Steve, his voice low as he commanded, “Open your mouth for me”.

You do as instructed instantly, earning a soft stroke against your cheek in praise before he was resting his heavy tip against your tongue. His salty taste splashed around in your mouth, you swallowed harshly, wanting to taste more of him as you held your weight up with one hand, and the other gripped the base of his cock.

All the whilst, Bucky continued with his deep thrusts that also caused you to jolt forward, almost like he was doing the work for both of you as with each one, you were taking Steve deeper into your mouth. Your warm tongue was teasing the underside of his cock, taking special time to stroke against the area under the tip that had Steve gasping and holding the back of your head.

There were so many sensations going through you that you hadn’t even noticed that your eyes were closed until Steve spoke once more. “Let me see those eyes”.

Once again you did as instructed, opening your eyes to look at Steve. His eyes were flicking between what your mouth was doing and also watching the area where his friend was fucking into you.

“You look so good beneath me”, Bucky grunted, slapping his hips harder into you, his hold on your hips almost bruising but the mix of pleasure and pain was blissful. You gagged around Steve’s cock as he hit the back of your throat with the powerful thrust from Bucky, your eyes were instantly watering but Steve was quick to wipe away any tears that fell, whispering sweet praises down at you.

This was when Bucky licked his own thumb and began pressing it against your asshole, not pushing in straight away but allowing the momentum of his thrusts to slowly inch its way in. With the way you began to moan, the sensation vibrating around Steve’s cock, he knew you were loving it. Finally, his thumb slipped in and he stayed there, resting his other fingers on your lower back and almost using this as his grip to fuck you.

“You like sucking on his cock whilst I take you from behind?” Bucky asked, knowing you couldn’t verbally answer with your mouth full of Steve but the brunette smirked when he heard you groan in pleasure.

“You are doing so well”, Steve continued with his praises, the apples of his cheeks pink, mouth gaped open, releasing moans between his words. Bucky could feel you were adjusting well to his thumb, pulling it out and replacing it with the two fingers that he had been fucking you with earlier.

You felt so full in every hole, the sensation near overwhelming as you couldn’t prepare for the orgasm that consumed you. It took your breath away so much that you had to pull your face back and off of Steve’s cock to suck in air, a thin strip of drool connecting your lips with the tip of Steve’s glistening tip. “Oh baby, you’re drooling everywhere”.

Bucky had also paused his thrusts now, letting you calm down from the orgasm and the way your cunt was twitching around him, he nearly shot his load already. Attempting to sit up further on your knees, you looked up at Steve with a cock-drunk expression, eyes glazed, lips swollen and chin covered in spit.

“I want you both”.

Steve cupped your face, smiling slightly at you already forgetting about your declaration only moments ago that you wouldn’t ask for anything else. “Baby girl, we haven’t prepped you and it’s been nearly two weeks, you won’t be able to take us both”.

You make an annoyed face, “I can take it please! Please don’t say no to me!”.

Steve looks at Bucky over your shoulder, seeing what he thought about it and with the distraction, you purposefully clenched your cunt around Bucky’s cock, causing the man to curse and grip the globe of your arse in a firm grip.

“We’ll try but it if it hurts, we’re stopping”, Steve finally decided for the three of you and you couldn't be more thrilled, displaying a shit-eating grin across your face. Bucky was the first to move, snaking an arm around your waist and swapping the two of your position so that he was now sitting on the couch and you were practically sitting in his lap, your sweat-covered back against his toned abs.

Bucky was able to easily hold up your legs as the two of you watched Steve walk around the couch and stand between your legs.

Holding out two fingers under your mouth, you smiled before spitting onto his fingers. He smirked at your obedience, moving the wet fingers down to your asshole, and seeing as Bucky didn’t have a spare hand, he gripped his member, guiding it to your wet hole.

“Nice and slow”, Steve encouraged Bucky and you, watching your expression for any signs of pain as well as any tension that arrived in your body. However thankfully, you were so thoroughly aroused and had to couple of fingers from Bucky that it wasn’t painful. It did still take your breath away with how far you were being stretched but once he was past the thickened part of the tip, the rest slid in fine, even being able to take that extra inch with this position.

It was intense and you were thankful for the time they both gave you to adjust your ass was fluttering around Bucky as it tried to go back to its original size. “You’re doing so good for me”, Bucky breathes into your ear, kissing just below, showing his appreciation to you.

You nod to show that you’re good to carry on and Steve is lifting one leg next to Bucky’s hip on the couch, using it to position himself and gently ease his cock into your eagerly awaiting cunt, your juices naturally lubing his path.

The two of them began slow, mostly with Steve doing all of the thrustings, the sensation of his cock brushing against your walls and brushing against Bucky’s, even with there being a barrier, was enough to have you all moaning. But then Bucky began to tilt his hips up slightly, still holding up your legs in the process.

You’d felt full before but now, you were being stretched in all of the right places. Your hands rested around Steve’s waist, nails digging into his back as he moved at a steady pace, even though you didn’t need much prepping, you weren’t such that a hard fucking whilst being double penetrated would have been the best option right now.

Especially as with his perfectly timed strokes, you could feel every single drag of his cock along your walls and the way he rolled his hips meant that his pelvis brushed your clit. It was more than euphoric, feeling like you were constantly at the height of orgasm with everything being so stretched.

“Fuck, look at you, taking both of us like a good girl. Do our cocks feel good baby?” Steve asked in between pants, his body gleaming with sweat as he was trying to hold back his own orgasm but already knew he wasn’t going to last much longer.

“Yes! Feels so good”, you babble, lead lolling back against Bucky’s shoulder, loving the feeling of being sandwiched between their hard bodies. “Want you both to cum inside of me”.

Hearing such dirty words from your mouth had them both groaning deeply, their thrusts deepening slightly, Steve’s hand now resting gently against your throat so all you could do was look up at him.

Bucky came first, his fingers tightening around the hold on your legs as his thighs tensed beneath you, hips fucking up once more, “ah fuck!”, was all he was able to grunt as he coated your asshole in his cum.

Steve fucked you a little harder as he stopped holding back his own orgasm, his lips parting, “Gonna fill you up baby, fuck - yes!” You didn’t stop the eye contact as Steve came, his eyebrows furrowing as he too stilled, his cock hardening with each spurt of his seed, it spilling out around his cock and dripping into Bucky’s lap.

Your body felt completely useless as Bucky eased out, more cum dripping out and mixing with Steves, and gently he simply moved you onto his lap, cuddly you close, keeping you warm as you all attempted to catch your breath.

A smile crept onto your face however as one thing came to mind.

“I forgive you both”, you admitted and truthfully, you’d forgiven them the moment they had dropped to their knees in front of you but it was nice for them to give you the opportunity to decide when you’d forgiven them. They both kissed your temple, smiling against your skin.

“Happy birthday”, they both whispered, causing you to chuckle at the late hour at which they were saying it but at least they didn’t completely miss the day.

Steve reached to the floor, picked up his trousers and found his phone, checking the time, not quite realising just how late it now was.

“Let’s get you to bed, we have an early start in the morning”, he informed the two of you as he began to stand.

Glancing down at your body, you tried to move your legs but all they did was tremble as you still hadn’t the full sensation back from how hard you’d been fucked. “I don’t think I’m going to be able to walk in the morning”, you joked to them both.

Steve chuckled, bending down and placing one arm under your knees and the other supporting your back, lifting you up and into his arms. “That’s fine with me, I wasn’t planning on you walking anywhere over the next few days, I’ll just carry you on the plane”.

You smiled giddily at his words, arms circling around his neck, feeling fucked and dazed as he carried you up to the bedroom, Bucky smiling at you over Steve’s shoulder as the three of you returned to the comfort of your own bed.

[fanartlover1234]

A DEADLY THING

Y/n is ready to get revenge on Bridget and her boyfriend Hook is all in for it

Captain James Hook × Cruella de vil sister!reader

Based on a request from my dm

Hook x VK girlfriend where instead of just Uliana who turns into a flamingo it's also the reader who turns into a flamingo and plans to get revenge on Bridget

Y/n truly was never the one to go extreme on revenge, but now she was fuming.

It was barely past morning when Bridgets flamingo faethers, thosr stupid feathers turned her into a flamingo.

She and the rest where minding their own buisness in shadows when they noticer poor little Bridget handing out treat bribe as usual.

Uliana and Y/n couldnt help but justess with her a little.

Uliana snached the cupcakes and took off the feathers as Y/n slowly made her way there, her black heals clicking as her black mini dress hughed her curves.

"Thats Y/n De Vil, Cruellas younger sister and maybe the only one worse then Uliana" Bridget explained but quieted down when the girl steped infront of her and kicking the fallen tray of cupcakes at her, smearing Bridgets shoes.

"Oops" sound left from her lips before she steped back leaning on Ulianas shouldr and they split the feather four amd four.

"Wait thats too much" Bridget mumbled.

"Be silenent you little -" cough followed by another as all stepes back when Uliana and Y/n both began turning pink and not few seconds later both were chasing Bridget as the pink haired girl ran for her life.

Both girls ran to the side couryard before a push on they backs made them tumble into the fountain.

When they dove up Uliana kepr screaming about getting revenge while Y/n only cursed under her breath in annoyance.

She stumbles over as Hook steped forward taking his jacker off amd placing it over her shoulder.

"Im gonna kill her, im gonna make her pay for what she did" she mumbled all the way to the dorm while Hook only stayed silent too afraid fo get between her anger and her.

When they finaly reached her dorm she stood as the boy leaned on the door frame.

"Well if you need help ploting, y'know where to find me darling" he said reaching in her hair to pull out a feather.

A smirk on his lips as she annoyingly smiled when she blowed the feather from hims friends.

When she said goodbye and closed the door, she was met with Uliana.

"You know what im thinking?" She asked as she poped a candy in her mouth with a tenickle.

"Meet with the rest by the lagoon in 2 " Y/n said before walking in the bathroom when Uliana left.

In two hours the girl was making her way to lagoon and into the fish cave.

"You are late" Uliana said as she crossed her arms.

"Quit scolding and start ploting, you sound like merlin otherwise" Y/n said before walking over to Hook who swing his hooked arm over her soulder.

"How about we make her walk the plank" Hook questioned.

"Darlin' thats too easy" Y/n said brushing under her boyfriends chin with her red nails "we need something worse"

"Prick her with a thousand thorns" Malificent said.

"And what she fall asleep?" Uliana asked annoyed.

"Let burn her to a crisp" Hades obviously said while he's hair set in blue flames.

"Yeah let burn her to crisp" Morgie voted in on what hades had said but Y/n steped in annoyed.

"No, it should be worse, worse, worse than all of these" she said walking up the stairs as Uliana casted a spell so it would bring a perfect punishment for the pinky girl.

"Revenge should be vicious in whatever we do to that poor unfortunate soul should be ten times more cruel" Uliana said as she performed the spell "Calling all spirits of the Black Lagoon show me your recipe fit for her doom toxically sweet with a side of pure spite i need the perfect revenge that will bite"

The light opened as it showed a book and Y/n screamed in annoyance.

"What's this? A book, that's it? Iasked for a painful punishment"

Uliana stoped her when the plan begin to show itself "But hold up, wait, this might be evil on a plate. So I'ma serve her what she deserves, what she deserves "

"And that's justice, dressed up like the sweetest dessert. Perfect" Y/n voted in as she laughed out.

After figuring out revenge Hook and Y/n walked to the dorms.

Hook sat on the girls bed while she got ready, she pulled her black silk sleeping dress on and walked over to Hook who watched her intesly.

"If you keep eye-fucking me, i might not make it tomorrow" she said as she steped arma reach away from him.

"I dont need to eye fuck you, i do it in person rather my sweetling" he said pulling her on his lap both her leg on either side of him.

"Well perhaps after, i wish to see her poor little face when she turns" Y/n said as sne brushed her hand through his brown hair.

The boy smirked at her pulling her closer as he fell back on the bed now both laying down as the girl still sat on his lips.

"Oh i love it when you're wicked" he said.

"Is that so?" The girl asked mockingly before kissing the boy under her.

This was so fun to write and i hope i did a good job at this :)

[yumeaoka-chan]

Walls Will Crumble(say the word)

Pairing: Hobie Brown x Reader/ Demon! Hobie x Angel! Reader

Word Count: 8.4k

Tags: Cursing, blood, gore (oops), reunions, flashbacks (it's all coming together), death (it's not that bad, I promise), fighting, scared reader, angry reader (furious even), Billie & Ramona, angry hobie, crying, norman osborn (cuz that mf needs his own tag, ew), degradation (screw osborn, real talk), panic attack?? (kinda, but not really), title based off of Don't Think Twice by Hikaru Utada, no physical description of reader (besides clothing), reader is AFAB, sparse use of y/n (just once, promise)

Summary: A century in the dark. A century of loss. A century of longing and aching… It's high time you get the revenge you so deserve, no? A/N: Credits for the lovely banners go to @the-shroom-garden !!! Another late entry for Octobie @the-kr8tor , oops! Billie, Ramona, and third child belong to Katy! Last part of the au that has been keeping me up for several days now🫠💕💕

Part 4 >>> Part 5

The sound of knocking at your front door startles you slightly, the soapy dish in your hand falling into the sink. Rinsing your hands off and wiping them on a dry dish towel, you walk into the living room of your apartment slowly. You weren't expecting any visitors, especially since your friends have been out of town. “A business trip”, is what they had said when you questioned why all three of them had to leave together, sheepish smiles on their faces. You'd brushed it off and believed them because they actually did work together at a small local clothing shop. Maybe their boss wanted to treat them for their hard work, you weren't sure. Besides, the guilty look in their eyes for having to leave you for three whole months made you weak and quick to reassure them. Even if three months was an absurd amount of time for a business trip.

Peering out of the peephole, you squint your eyes at the sight of a tall man biting on the long nail of his thumb, foot tapping on the doormat. He looked a little nervous and a bit… familiar. You unlock and open your door just enough to peek your head out, the man's head whipping around immediately to meet your eyes. Piercing golden orbs gaze back at you, warm and glittering and oh so familiar. Your mouth drops open as you hurriedly open the door wider, gazing up at the man before you and raising a hand up to gently rest it on his arm. You never thought you'd see him again. After that night you met, you'd gone to see him again a few days later like you promised you would. Only for disappointment and slight concern to fill your chest at the sight of his corn maze burned to the ground, the soil black with the ashes of the burnt plants. There were no remnants of a scarecrow to be seen, just a few burnt straws of hay laying in the very middle. And though the logical side of you tried to remind you that he was a demon and he'd be fine, you still found yourself worrying.

“Hobie…? Y-You didn’t burn to a crisp…?” You whisper softly as you peer up at his face, noting all the little changes. His face looked shaper and a bit fuller, like he'd finally been eating well. He was taller too, the top of your head barely reaching past the middle of his chest. Long locs spilled over his shoulders and down his back instead of the freeform wicks, shimmering crystals weaved into his hair and hanging from the ends. Hobie sports a leather jacket adorned with several pins and spikes, as well as black combat boots with jingling chains dangling off the belt loops of his plaid jeans. He looks good, beyond good. Amazing. You can feel your cheeks warm up a bit as he chuckles lowly, your heart fluttering at the deep voice you'd longed to hear these past few months. He's tender in the way he grips your wrist and guides your hand to rest on his chest, letting you feel the way his own heart flutters beneath your palm.

“I was a good boy, lovie. No eatin’ any angels, remember?” Hobie murmurs as he leans down just a bit while looking down at you through his long lashes, eyes shining with a fondness to them. You roll your eyes as a smile flits across your face.

“How could I forget? You're a demon with morals”, you chuckle as you step back and nod your head, eyes roaming over his appearance once again. “Modern clothes look good on you.” Hobie grins at your words and moves back to do a little twirl, flipping his locs over his shoulder as he bats his eyelashes at you. It makes a loud guffaw leave you as you shake your head. People walking pass give you both weird looks of judgment and you roll your eyes while taking his hand, leading him inside of your apartment. Once inside, he takes both of your hands in his and pulls you close to him, making you raise an eyebrow in question.

“I know it's been a while, angel. I had some things to take care of back home. But thanks to that, I've finally got all my powers back.” Hobie says with a smile before furrowing his eyebrows, gently squeezing your hands as a flicker of something you can't quite name goes across his face. He lowers his eyes to the floor before bringing a hand up to gently caress your cheek. Nuzzling your face in his palm is practically second nature, something in you knowing that this was right. That this was how it should always be. Hobie's molten gaze hypnotized you, his golden eyes swimming with a hint of sadness, a hint of hesitation. Your fingers move to grip the hem of his leather jacket.

“What is it, Hobie…?” You mumble as you feel one of his thumbs grazing your bottom lip. He shakes his head and closes his eyes, taking a deep breath as several heartbeats pass between you. Warm lips are pressed against your forehead then, lip piercing cool against your flesh as you melt under his affection. Only, it feels as if your body is suddenly thrown, pushed down into the ground and sinking deep beyond the flooring of your home. You're drowning, the tide is pulling you down into the depths of the abyss. A bubble leaves your lips as you gasp and…

“I'm tellin’ you, love. Somethin’ is wrong with that slimy bastard.”

“Trust me, Hobes. I know…” You sigh in exasperation as you lay down on his lap, the scent of flowers all around you as you both sit in the field of daisies. One of Hobie's hands is buried in your hair, sharp nails gently scratching at your scalp in a soothing way. You can feel your body relaxing as you wrap your large wings around you like a blanket. The sounds of the babbling brook a few feet from your resting area lull you into a sense of calm, much better than how stressed you had been when you came to meet up with Hobie. The demon prince grumbles softly as he brushes a flower petal off of your cheek, frustration battling with the peacefulness of the serene surroundings.

“He's up to somethin’, I just know it. Cause there's no way he's just allowin’ the shit my dad's doing to just happen with no fuss. Startin’ natural disasters, causing war, famine, and disease? Don't even get me started on the monthly demon scares the humans keep talking about…” Hobie sighs and scrubs a hand down his face, anger and suspicion coloring his words as he places his fingers under your chin and tilts your head to look up at him.

“And then there's Osborn’s obsession with you… That I really don't like”, he rumbles lowly, his grumpy expression reminding you too much of a cat. Biting back the giggle that threatens to escape you, you lift a hand up to poke at his cheek.

“It'll pass. Here's hoping he forgets me entirely for someone new. But, you're right. Why is he just overlooking this stuff? The balance is all out of whack. I might have to speak with him about it later”, you mumble, eyes fluttering shut as he leans down to brush his lips against yours. The scene melts away.

You're now thumbing through paperwork, brows furrowed as you try to tally the number of souls that should have been admitted into Heaven. Should have, but are nowhere to be found. Files missing and the count not adding up, you angrily huff and slam the papers down onto the desk. The feathers of your wings ruffle and puff up as you move to search through Osborn’s papers instead, hoping that maybe he has what you're looking for. Thank the stars he's out attending to whatever business he claims he has to see to. If he ever saw you combing through his desk, you're sure his lecture and punishment would have been long.

After minutes of searching, you still don't find the papers you're looking for, a groan leaving your lips as your wings droop a bit. You let out a sigh and pick up one of the files that litter the desk, mindlessly flipping through the pages. It'd do no good to keep searching when you were too tired to do so, a break much needed at the moment. As your eyes flit across the paper, you can't help but notice that it's mentioning the names of the souls that you've been looking for. It makes you sit up straighter, eyes widening as you focus on the context of the scrawny handwriting. A contract. It was a contract. And as you read the full details of what it entails and the signatures written on the very bottom, you can feel your heart thudding in your ears, breath stilling and hands trembling.

Because why in the Almighty’s name did the High Priest think to make a contract with the King Of Demons…?

“ ‘In exchange for the services of aiding in the recruitment of new devotees, I, Norman Osborn, High Priest Of the Archangels and soon to be God of Order, agree to the releasing of the more innocent of souls. A select choice of the finest souls being of infants, virgins, and the highest order of faithfuls shall be bestowed upon the reigning King of Demons monthly, upon completion of aiding the new order. Should either party fail to uphold their end of the agreement, the offender must release unto the other their most treasured possession...’ ”

The whispered words make you sick as you utter them, paper falling from your hands as the information sinks in. It all clicks then. The large amount of disruptions and demon activity on earth, the huge amount of missing souls, the lack of reactivity from the High Priest. Osborn was giving the King free reign to cause havoc, in hopes that humans will see the demons and turn towards faith to pull them through. Faith in a new God who wasn't the Almighty, a God who'd “restore” the peace and order. And all it costs him is the souls of truly innocent people, people and children who earned their eternal rest now damned to an eternal prison. Hobie had been right to be suspicious, right to keep questioning everything. Because now, everything was going to shit.

The sounds of faint footsteps make you jolt, alarms going off in your head as you quickly put the files back in order. You had to tell someone, but who would believe you? Surely not your fellow angels, some who already look at you with jealousy. They could use this knowledge against you, make Osborn punish you for being “disloyal” and falling for “a devil's lies”. No, you had to leave, had to take this with you. Stuffing the papers into your chiton, you quickly open a portal to your hideaway and dart in. Heart pounding furiously, you can feel yourself breaking down when you see Hobie already sitting in the circle of flowers, lying back with his hands behind his head. It's like he can feel your presence when you arrive, body already turning in your direction. He smiles warmly at you and you feel the dam break, hot tears dripping down your face.

Hobie's next to you in an instant, smile gone and eyebrows knitted with concern as he cups your face in his hands, thumbs wiping away the tears that continue to fall.

“It's awful, it's awful, Hobie. It's terrible”, you sob as your hands cling to the fabric of his shirt, chest heaving as you gasp with your words. Lips press against your cheek and his deep voice calmly shushes you as he wipes the tears still.

“Breathe, angel. Breathe. I'm right here. Just tell me what's wrong. What's terrible?” He mumbles against your cheek before pressing another kiss to your forehead and another to your other cheek. Before golden eyes gaze calmly into yours. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, you calm the frantic beating of your heart.

“You were right. Your suspicion and everything about how messed up everything is was right… And I'm the one who took the only proof of it away…” You breathe out, hands shaky as you reach to hand him the files. Hobie takes the papers from you with a worried look before silently reading what you handed him. His expression darkens as he reads the full contract, fire licking behind his eyes. Clenching the paper in his grip, he looks around before looking back down at you.

“Who else knows of this, love?”

“N-Nobody. I found it in Osborn’s office when I was searching for papers. This is bad, Hobie. He's planning something that's gonna wreck the natural order of things. Becoming a God… It's madness…” Hobie scratches the back of his head before scrubbing a hand over his face. He looks at you with wide eyes then, a flicker of trepidation in his eyes.

“Listen, sweetheart. We gotta leave here. From the Heavens, earth, the Hells, all of it. Nowhere is safe right now. Osborn is gonna figure out that you're the one who took it–”

“–Because I'm the only person with access to his things…” You mutter quietly, fresh tears welling up in your eyes and you feel your heart sink into your stomach. Because even if you were now one of the strongest angels besides Osborn, there was no way you could fight all of your peers and make it out alive by yourself. Hobie pulls you close at the look of utter despair on your face, arms wrapping around you tightly and burying his face into your shoulder. He rubs at your back as you silently sob, cooing and reassuring you that it would all be okay.

“He's not gonna find us, lovie. I've got a place in mind, somewhere no one knows about, okay? Do you trust me, angel…?”

“I trust you… I love you…”

“And I love you. Let's get goin’, yeah?” The scene melts away.

Laughter fills the air as you smother your daughters in kisses, raining little pecks on their cheeks as they squeal and try to break free. Hobie watches you three with a dopey grin on his face before cooing at his son, watching little Aiden flap his wings and glide over to him. You and Hobie had found a little sanctuary in a realm just beyond Earth, between Heaven and the Hells. Invisible to most everyone besides those who knew just where to search. It was there that you two decided to make it official, your union evident by the rings adorning your fingers. The rings were special, able to turn into a matching pair of tear shaped necklaces, one with a ruby and the other with a sapphire. It was with your union that you were able to bring your pride and joy into this world. Twin girls, named Billie and Ramona, and a little boy named Aiden. When you first held them, you couldn't imagine a life without them. They were perfect and they were yours, you and Hobie's. You vowed to protect them till your very last breath if it ever came to the day that your peace was shattered.

A trumpet blaring rings in the air, making all of you look up towards the source. And that's when you see it, a large swarm of angels breaking through the barrier of the realm, pieces of its shattered remains falling down from up high as they dive down towards your direction. Fear pierces your heart as your girls grip onto you tighter, anxiety shining in their eyes. You turn to Hobie, who holds Aiden close to his chest, before you both run as far as you can with your children in tow. Eyes glowing a bright white, you conjure up a wall of flowering vines that reach miles high and separates you from the approaching angels.

“Run! Get the children and get out of here!” Hobie yells at you as he hands the frightened toddler in his arms over to you, frantic and in disarray. His hands push at your shoulders, forcing you to turn away. This was it. Osborn had finally found you and now your family was in danger. Shaking your head, you plant your feet firmly on the ground, tears stinging your eyes as they start to spill down your cheeks.

“Not without you!” You sob desperately, trying hard to turn around and face him. Only for his hands to be firm in making you flee. You can smell the scent of smoke in the air, chest heaving as you feel your wall of vines now starting to burn. The fire is spreading too quickly, starting to creep towards the hanging vines adorning your cottage. His hands shake as he pushes you to move, to walk. There's fear in his voice, dripping worry that trickles down into you as his hands on your shoulders slowly dissolve into wriggling spiders.

“I'll find you! Just leave, quickly!” Hobie growls before the spiders on your shoulders scurry away, the sounds of him transforming ringing in your ears as you hold your son closer to you. Heat surrounds you now as you lead your children towards the escape route that you and Hobie had made if something like this were to ever happen. Only, to stop and hold your children close to you as the wood of your cottage splinters and crashes down in front of you, burning planks blocking your way. Fire licks at your cheeks as Billie and Ramona cower by your sides, Aiden wailing his heart out. This was too much for them to be experiencing right now. Heart thundering in your ears, you lead them around the cottage, hoping to get to the brook on the other side. At least, then you'd have a chance of getting out of here. Your hopes are dashed as a horde of angels fly down to surround you all, holy swords and staffs in hand as they close in on you. You know you can't escape them like this with your children in tow, can't fight them off with your arms focused on holding them close.

A hand harshly yanks at your hair, pulling you away at the same time that you feel multiple hands forcing your arms off of your children.

“No! No, no! Let me go!” You scream and kick, trying to get back to them, wings flapping harshly. A cry of pain leaves your lips as you feel a hand ripping and tearing at your feathers, blood dripping into the grass below from your damaged wing. You can hear Billie and little Aiden crying, Mona screaming as you're forced onto your knees. Glowing restraints are placed on you, around your wrists and wings, strings of light wrapped tight around your wriggling form.

“Leave my mummy alone!” Mona screams as energy crackles around her, tears falling down her cheeks and little fists shaking with fear. The angels reach out to hold her back, only to hiss with pain as they touch her arm. Your heart breaks at the sight, her power growing wild and out of control with how terrified she is. You shake your head as she reaches out to you, energy crackling around her fingertips.

“Mona, no. Don't–”

“You produced these abominations, little dove…?” The voice makes your body seize up almost instantly, heart thudding so hard that it aches. A cold sweat breaks on your skin and your breath hitches as the hand in your hair gives a harsh yank, forcing you to look up at the man before you. Icy blue eyes bore into your own, a frown painted on his lips. Osborn places a hand under your chin and forces you to look at your children as he flicks his wrist, a large bubble of light shining into existence around them, trapping them. He clicks his tongue and shakes his head, wagging his finger at them when Aiden and Billie scream, the powerful sound making their prison vibrate harshly.

“Surely, that devil poisoned your ear and forced himself upon you. You didn't allow him into your bed. Right, my dove…?” Osborn says as he looks you over, but by the way his smile doesn't reach his eyes, you can tell he already knows the truth. With trembling lips and your instincts to protect your young rising, you sneer up at the High Priest with hate flickering in your eyes like an ember.

“You don't care about that. You just care about what I know!” Norman raises an eyebrow and sweeps a hand to gesture at the trembling twins holding their baby brother close.

“Why would I not care? My little dove, now with filth for offspring? And a demon prince who's been frothing at the mouth, trying to make us leave you alone? I am nothing but concerned, little dove.” As he leans in, you take the opportunity to spit in his face, a smirk on your lips as the saliva drips down his cheek.

“Don't you ever call my children outside of their names”, you hiss, the words sounding like a curse between your teeth. Osborn sighs and wipes your spit away with his thumb before more feathers are viciously plucked from your wings. You cry out as warmth dribbles down your back, blood splattering onto the flowers beneath you.

“So, he has poisoned you. A shame. You have such a bright light inside you, the brightest I've ever seen. It's now contaminated, I see.” Smoke forms thick clouds that drift in the air and you can hear Hobie shouting in the distance. Your children crying for you fill your ears as you look up, heart shattering as you watch the cottage you built with love crumble to the ground, flowers crushing and burning under the lit wood. Several more angels come toward you then, a tall cube made of pure light floating behind them. Hobie's snarling and banging on the walls of his prison, skin burning from the holy magic used to keep him at bay. He's snapping his teeth and roaring as his body constantly shifts, little spiders shaping into a swarming mass before wriggling into the form of massive creatures, then going back to him banging against the walls.

The enraged demon's eyes shift to his three little ones being held at bay before drifting over to you. You can see the way his golden eyes morph into seething crimson slits as Osborn raises his staff at you, voice booming loud enough for everyone to hear.

“Little dove, thou bearest a great sin indeed. For permitting a devil into thy bed and giving life to foulblood nephalems, thy light has died. In the Almighty’s name, no longer shall thee be permitted to adorn his heavenly skies.” Your lips tremble and you scream as more feathers are plucked from you, pain making your head spin. Hobie bangs even harder, shouts even louder.

“That's bullshit! You don't speak for the Almighty, fuckin’ snake! Get away from them! Don't touch my family!” The demon roars, all boiling rage and dripping despair. “Osborn! I'll rip you apart!” You can hear as he struggles, trying hard to get to you even as his skin sizzles and the children cry in the distance. A piercing scream rings through the air and now you're falling from up high, tears dripping from your eyes as you gasp. It feels like hundreds of hands are dragging you down, your deadly descent to the ground impending. You reach your hand towards the sky and…

Your chest heaves as you feel yourself finally being snapped back into your body, gasps leaving you as you stumble backward. Gentle hands hold your waist as you clench your eyes shut, the memories flooding you like a tidal wave. With shaky hands, you grip onto Hobie's arms tightly for support as you try to calm down the thundering of your heart. Tears, hot and thick, cascade down your cheeks as you feel your wings, your wings, emerge from your back, one of the appendages almost completely featherless. You reach up to touch your ruby necklace with shaky fingers, your other hand patting Hobie's chest to find his sapphire one sparkling beneath his shirt. And as you look up with teary eyes to gaze into his watering golden ones, you don't speak for several moments. Because finally, finally, you remember everything. Every foggy detail shines under a new light, every missing piece now clicked into place.

“Hobie… My Hobie”, you breathe out softly as you lift a hand to tenderly cup his cheek, heart aching as he nuzzles his face into your palm. His lips tremble as he smiles and nods his head, one of his hands resting on the back of your neck.

“That's right, angel. Your Hobie… Just yours”, he whispers, voice wavering with unshed tears that finally fall as he pulls you in for a breathtaking kiss. Both of his hands move to hold your face as he tilts your head back, kisses leaving you breathless and dazed. All of his frustration, all of his longing, all of his yearning. You can feel it all pouring into you, making you press yourself closer as you kiss each other senseless. It's like time stops, the world stilling just for the two of you. Nothing else matters, not when the love of your life, your fate, holds you like you're the most precious thing in the world to him. When you finally break away for air, your hands roam his face and hair, eyes looking him over as if you truly couldn't believe he was with you once again.

“H-How did you find me? Where have you been? Oh my days, where are the kids? Billie and Ramona? Little Aiden…?” Hobie shushes your bombard of questions with another kiss, chuckling at the way you practically melt because of it. Pulling you over to the couch, you both sit down as he shares what happened to him during the century following your fall. Hobie tells you of how he'd been taken to his father by the angels and punished to haunt the earth for the rest of his days, consuming souls his only way of nourishment. He tells you how his friends, Ned, Riri, and Serenity had followed him to earth in order to help get him back home. Of how he had them show Osborn’s contract to a group of angels who regretted tearing your family apart and how his friends went to find you, promising to watch over you as Hobie regained his strength. Hobie reveals how he had to conserve the brightest of souls that entered his maze in order to break the curse placed over him and the maze, how seeing you again for the first time in years had let him know he was finally ready to make his move.

“For the past three months, I've been gatherin’ forces to help take down my father and Osborn. Demons and angels alike, if you can believe it. Becomin’ King gave me the power to give you back your memories and the ability to shape his realm however I like. I've turned it into one we can all live happily in. Like before…” Your eyes soften at his words, the thought of Hobie doing everything he could to reunite your family making your heart swell. His hands caress your cheeks as he looks down at you with pure adoration and burning affection, devotion to you and only you screaming from the way his touches are as soft as silk. Golden gaze, a liquid pool of warmth that you're all too happy to dive in.

“Chaos, Mayhem, and the little terror are at home waitin’ for you, lovie. Why don't we go see ‘em, hm?” Hobie hums against your lips as he leans down to peck your lips once, twice, three times before leaning back just a bit. And everything in you screams to do what he's saying, wanting nothing more than to hold your little ones close and never let go. And yet…

“Not yet”, you mumble quietly, brows furrowing and a small frown on your lips. A grim look washes over your features, Hobie's thumbs grazing your brow to try and smooth the look off of your face. You shake your head and peer up at him sadly.

“Not until we're safe. We'll never be safe while Osborn still lives and I couldn't bear to face them until it's all over. He called them filth…” You say, seething as the memory ignites a fire within you. A need to see the man who dared speak ill of your children and love rot like a festering corpse. Hobie's deep voice rumbles in his chest as he peers at you with slight concern.

“Are you sure, angel? You don't have to fight if you don't want to.”

“I want to. I need to see him bleed. He's done too much harm to not only us, but the balance of the realms in general. We're making that bitch grovel.” You say with a huff, a determined gleam in your eyes. Hobie chuckles and nods his head, pressing his lips against your forehead softly.

“That's my girl.”

The next two weeks are spent at an abandoned building in the countryside planning for the coup d'état, rebel Archangels and demons working side by side to end Osborn’s schemes. Serenity, Ned, and Riri were there when you arrived holding hands with Hobie, all three of them rushing to pull you both in a hug. They rained apologies on you for leaving you alone for so long, which you just dismissed. It was for a good reason, after all. They all help you train your powers again, rusty after having gone so long without them.

“Strange how I still have divine powers”, you mumbled as you dodged a blow to the face from Riri, who growled angrily. For someone who was rusty, you were still pretty good at being slippery. Even if you absolutely loathe him, Norman's teachings truly didn't fail you. Hobie shrugs from his perch on the windowsill, munching on a bright blue fruit that weirdly enough smelled just like coconuts and cream. A fruit from the Hells, no doubt.

“Well, that fallin’ from grace bullshit wasn't at all justifiable, ‘specially comin’ from that wanker”, he huffs before letting out a low impressed whistle as he watches you conjure two whips made of pure light, snaking the weapons around Riri’s legs and yanking them to make her fall on her back. The cambion groans as her head falls back into the dirt, dust settling in her curls. You give her a teasing smile and blow a kiss to her when she flips you off, getting back up with a scowl on her lips. You spend the last few days training and taking walks with Hobie, thoughts drifting to your kids that were waiting for you at your new home. It made you strengthen your resolve, knowing that you had people you needed to protect. You had finally gotten your family back and nothing was going to come between you all ever again.

The day for the rebellion finally rolls around, your heart hammering in your chest as you finish wrapping the sash around your enchanted robes. All black and white ombre with long sleeves that end up wrapping around your fingers, intricate gold vines etched into the fabric. Long black boots on your feet and the ruby necklace shining brightly around your neck, you sigh as you gaze at your reflection in the mirror. Your damaged wings mock you as they flutter uselessly, anger and trepidation swirling in your eyes as you bite your lip. Today was the day. Osborn was going to pay for everything he'd done to you, to Hobie, to your children. To all those unfortunate humans that were unknowingly a part of his dastardly schemes. You were ready to end it all. But why did you still feel so… scared…?

“Almost ready, love?” Hobie's warning voice rouses you out of your musings, giving him a small smile as you turn around to face him. Perhaps it doesn't reach your eyes, because his smile falls as he nears you, golden orbs glinting with sympathy.

“What is it, angel?” He asks softly as he takes your hands in his, bringing them up to his lips and pressing a kiss to your knuckles. Breath hitching, you shake your head and sigh.

“I don't know why I'm scared, but I am. Osborn, he's… powerful. What if we fail? What if you get hurt?” Hobie tilts his head and chuckles, taking your hand and placing it on his chest, letting you feel the beating of his heart beneath your palm.

“Feel that? ‘S beatin’ like crazy ‘cause I'm worried too. I'm scared too. I don't wanna lose you again, after finally havin’ you in my arms after all this time.” He wraps his arms around you this time and pulls you close, so that your ear is pressed against his chest. You can hear his racing heart, feel the way his body shakes ever so slightly. Though he did a good job of masking it, he truly was terrified. Terrified of having his reunited family ripped from his fingers like a cruel joke, as though he hadn't suffered enough.

“We gotta believe we're stronger than him, lovie. ‘M gonna fight for you and the kids till my last breath. I promise you, he won't touch you while ‘m ‘ere. Never again.” Hobie whispers into your ear as his fingers tenderly graze the base of your damaged wings, making you choke back a sob. You'd fight for him. For your children, for everything. Until your last breath, no matter what. The two of you share more hushed promises and whispers of reassurance before Ned announces that it's time, the two of you walking back to where everyone else waits. Hobie squeezes your hands and moves to stand on the broken crates in front of your battalion of rebels. Everyone quiets down at the sight of him, standing up straighter and looking up at him expectantly.

“For too long, we have stood by and allowed him to do as he pleases. Too long have we had to endure as he uses us for his benefit. Too long have we watched as he shattered hopes and dreams and destroyed the very realms we work hard to keep from crumbling.” Hobie's words echo in the abandoned barn and seep into your very soul. There's a fire in those gold eyes, an inferno that begs to be unleashed.

“No more. No more will we sit idly while he rips our lives apart. No more will we agree with his outlandish rules that he claims brings peace. Norman Osborn is trying to become what he is not and never will be. A God. A God that is so twisted that he would damn innocents. So cruel that he would allow the killings of children and pregnant mothers.” Raising a fist into the air, his voice booms throughout the building, rallying the unit as they cheer and holler.

“Today, we free our realms from the oppressor! Today, we fight for the right to love, the right to live! Today, we end the snake that dares to claim he speaks for the Almighty! Today, we kill Norman Osborn!” The room erupts into cheers and yells, weapons and claws alike lifted high into the air as portals spin to life on either side of him. Your heart sings, your will strong and spirit invigorated with overwhelming morale. And as the rebels charge through the portals, Hobie takes your hand in his firmly. Sharing one last look, you both run into the portals, giving a roaring cry as you head for battle.

There's chaos all around you as you emerge, blood and bodies already littering the cloudy grounds of his throne room. The clanging of metal and the battle cries of the warriors. Rebels fighting against the ones that serve Osborn faithfully, both angel and demon alike. A scream rings in your ear as an angel charges at you, sword raised high and aimed for your chest. A blur whizzes pass you, Hobie quick to dispatch him with a thrust of his sharp nails to his chest. The angel chokes as blood spills from his lips, crimson ichor spilling onto the fluffy clouds as Hobie throws his body to the side. Something shines in the corner of your eye and you turn to see an arrow made of light aimed for Hobie's back. Brows furrowing and a snarl forming on your lips, you zip to stand in front of the arrow, divine energy crackling at your fingertips. A shield of pure light shimmers into existence in your hands, reflecting the projectile with ease. Clenching the shield in your fist, you pull your arm back and throw, the chucked weapon hitting the angel in the head hard enough to visibly dent her head in. She crumples to the ground as more charge at you, trampling over her body.

Hobie snarls as more enemies charge him from the front, body losing its shape to morph into a swarm of spiders. The spiders wriggle and scurry to morph into a frothing wolf, arachnids writhing to form eyes and a dripping maw that mauls anyone who dares get close to you. In turn, you're covering him from behind, chucking daggers and firing arrows into the hearts of those who dare to harm your demon. One has a blade too close to your neck and swiftly has teeth twisting its head off, Hobie's panther form flickering in and out of view as it lunges for another victim. The sight of a sword aiming for the demon's middle has you shooting out a hand to form a glittering sphere around the offender, fist closing tightly causing the sphere to close in on him until he's nothing but blood and gristle. There's a shout from above and you hurriedly look up as three angels rain divine beams of energy down on you two. With a swipe of your hand, a bubble appears over your heads, absorbing the energy from the blasts. The three look nervous as they see the smirk playing on your lips before you flick your wrist, a devastating beam of light incinerating the offenders. A whirlwind of spiders circle around you as more enemies try to flank you from all sides, the arachnids crawling into every orifice of the angels that they find, eating them from the inside out.

The swarm dissipates, Hobie gripping your arm and pointing to the throne. There stands Osborn, holy staff fighting off and impaling anyone who gets too close. Cold blue eyes almost white with a fury you've never seen as he grips a rebel by the face, skin melting off the bone from his touch as he pours out divine energy to maim and kill. The rebel screams as their flesh bubbles and festers, arm wildly swinging a blade to no avail. And through it all, Osborn’s holy robes remain pristine and white, untouched and unsullied.

His chilling gaze sweeps over to you then, a flicker of a smile ghosting his thin lips as he lifts his staff to point at you, hand flinging away the now still rebel. You grit your teeth as you blast an angel that gets too close to Hobie, eyes never leaving Norman as he outstretches his hand to you. A seemingly kind gesture, if these were different circumstances. But you can tell, can see nothing but the condescending mockery in his icy gaze. Your hands tremble with a mix of fear and trepidation and a glance at Hobie tells you that he's feeling it too. Fear now dissolving into fury and whips of pure light shimmering into your hands, you charge at Osborn, damaged wings flapping hard behind you. The black vortex of raging arachnids follow close behind you, the furious sound of spiders scurrying enough to raise the hair on the back of anyone's necks.

“Osborn!” Hobie roars as the spiders morph and twist into his form, eight sharp spider legs protruding from his back and mouth now adorning a pair of dripping spider fangs. His golden eyes are crimson slits of rage as he extends his claws, close by your side as you both dart towards the smirking Archangel. Osborn lifts his staff to block the cracking of your whip, letting it coil around it and yanking it so that it slips from your grasp. Gritting your teeth, you transform the whip that's still in your hand into a dagger. Hobie uses his claws to swipe at the older angel, who dodges each blow and shoots a hand out to wrench the dagger from your hands like it was magnetized. With a wicked gleam in his eyes, he thrust the dagger forward, aiming for the demon's chest and furrowing his brows when his arm is suddenly covered in spiders.

Hobie's form morphs lightning quick, becoming a massive bat with gleaming fangs that viciously bites Osborn’s flesh. Snarl twisting his lips, he goes to swat him away, only for you to coil a chain around his wrist and twist it around hard. You can hear the way his bone snaps, the sound wet and making him howl with pain. He's quick to heal the broken bone, divine energy an aura around him. Heart pounding in your ears, you see Hobie form into a panther in order to rip a chunk of flesh from the angel's calf. Norman drops down to his knee before grabbing your demon by the neck, the inky black fur sizzling in his grip as the panther yowls with pain.

Energy pulses between your hands as you conjure a bow and arrow, pulling the bowstring back and releasing the glistening arrow. It sings as it flies through the air, hitting Osborn right in the hand on your love's neck. The Archangel howls as the arrow pierces his flesh, the arrowhead poking straight through the side of his palm. He lets go of Hobie with a grimace, hand shooting out a powerful gust of wind that blasts your demon several feet away from him. His injured state leaves him open and you take the opportunity to summon a glittering sword that thrums with divine energy, rushing over to him with a furious look gleaming in your eyes. Only for his whispered words to make you seize up, goosebumps breaking across your flesh.

“This is not what I envisioned for you, little dove. You must know that, yes?” Norman says with a kind smile, icy blue eyes devoid of emotion betraying his soft spoken words. Still, the nickname is enough to make you hesitate, make the memories of constantly being harassed and punished by him flood back into your mind all too quickly. Your hands shake and your breath quickens as you try to reign in the feeling of helplessness suddenly threatening to drown you. He's uttered those words plenty of times before, times where he'd lock you into a room and scar you while kissing the marks he left as punishment for not being how he wanted you to be. For not abiding by his rules. For not giving yourself to him everytime he asked. The times when he'd degrade you for failing to master things he'd teach you, yell at you while his hands dug into your scalp. It felt like walls were closing in on you and you couldn't move, your sword falling between trembling fingers as unshed tears stung your eyes.

“Y/N, look out!” Hobie's shout makes you peer up, only for a piercing scream of agony to leave your lips, your quivering wings severed and clutched in the Archangel's fist. Blood oozes down your back and seeps into your robes as you fall to the ground, writhing in pain. Teeth bared and eyes glowing bright with boiling rage, Hobie roars and lunges at Osborn, eager to wipe the sick grin off his face. Norman makes a low sound of disapproval and wags a finger at him before light bursts from his fingers, a beam of divine energy shooting the demon in his chest and leaving a gaping wound. He screams as the light sears his flesh way too close to his heart for comfort, his pained cries making your heart freeze with fear. Your screams of terror for your love almost being killed turns into a roar of white hot wrath that practically boils you from the inside out.

You're a blur of fury as you roll onto your knees and shoot a ray of sparkling light at Norman's thigh, the beam searing his skin and leaving a bloodied hole. You shoot another at his shoulder as you jump to your feet, then another to his side. Wrath incarnate, you litter him full of holes, divine rays leaving chunks of his flesh to drip onto his throne. And as he stumbles back to trip on his self-made throne of gold and ivory, you summon your sword back into your hands. With one last shout, you thrust the weapon deep into his middle, crimson ichor seeping into the white fabric of his robes. Blood and roses scent the air as the fighting of the rebels cease, all eyes watching as Osborn looks into the face of his once highly adored angel.

“F-Filthy sinner”, the dying Osborn says with an astounded chuckle, spitting blood onto your face as it bubbles up his throat and spills past his pale lips. Your chest heaves as you look down at the Archangel, your severed wings still tight in his grip. Blood splatters onto his robe as he coughs, blue eyes radiating malice and contempt as he sneers at you.

“You could have had it all. If you'd been obedient and joined me. I could've reached true Godhood with an angel so pure and bright as you on my arm, in my corner. Now you're nothing but defiled waste.” His strained words almost make you want to laugh and you tilt your head at him, something akin to pity shining in your eyes as you twist the sword deeper.

“You're a fool, Norman. A fool to think you could get away with hurting those I love. Where's all your faith now, when you need it most? Clearly not giving you any strength right now.” You mumble before chuckling and letting the sword dissipate into a flutter of sparkles. There's a low rumble of a growl behind you, little barks that sound close to a laugh. A hyena's laugh.

“This is what happens when you try to play God and disrupt the balance of things.” Is what you mumble as you feel a massive presence looming over your shoulder. Osborn trembles at the sight of the creature behind you, prayers to the Almighty stumbling between his blood speckled lips as he holds out a shaking hand for mercy. You have none to give and neither does the growling form of Hobie, his massive hyena form black and dripping with an inky mist that spreads a terrifying shadow. Drool dribbles from his mouth as he licks at his chops, maw open and ear flicking. Patting your demon's furry cheek, you lean down towards the frightened Osborn, lips near his ear.

“The Almighty hath forsaken thee, High Priest”, you whisper in his ear before stepping back, watching as the hyena stalks forward, the sinister laugh of the creature making the fallen Archangel whimper. Norman begs and pleads for mercy and forgiveness, none that are afforded to him as Hobie descends upon him. Sharp teeth tearing at flesh and snapping bones, claws ripping apart organs and gore dribbling down the throne. And as you watch Hobie devour him whole bones and all, you're suddenly called into a void of white. Eyes frantically looking about, you're shocked at the looming silhouette of an entity gazing down at you. It's massive and towers higher than any mountain you'd ever seen. The entity bows its head in respect, in thanks before you're suddenly forced back into your body with a shaking gasp.

Body shaking and back arching, you cry out as you feel something pushing forth from your back, your spine. It feels like you'll explode if you don't let it out, your eyes rolling as it sprouts free from it's confines. Stumbling and shaking your head to clear the dizziness, your chest heaves before you feel something familiar. A weight that had been missing for years. Hobie's next to you then, wriggling spiders shaping him into his normal form once again. The hole in his chest is slowly closing up, the energy he got from devouring Osborn healing him. His eyes are wide as he looks at you in awe.

“Lovie… Your wings..!” His words make your heart soar with hope and you quickly wrap them around yourself in order to look at them, the action second nature even after seemingly loosing them. A gasp leaves your lips as you look at what has sprouted from you. Large glittering wings that sparkle. As you move them, the feathers switch between a pristine white to a shimmering black, then back again. Any time you moved a certain way, the color changed. And inside your heart, you know who the entity was.

Everything that happens next is a blur to you then, you who were exhausted from the draining battle. The remaining Archangels that sided with Osborn are locked up, plans to give them a chance at repentance being discussed. Ned, Serenity and Riri talk with the rebel angels in their King’s stead, negotiating terms of peace and planning clean up crews on earth. Hobie pulls you into an embrace that seems to make your knees weak, exhaustion making your bones ache as you sag against him. It was finally over. Osborn couldn't hurt you or Hobie or your children anymore. Your love lifts you into his arms, carrying you over to the swirling portal that led to your new home, where your children await. Where, after a century of waiting, your life with Hobie can finally be resumed.

[socialkid]

Salt Prank on Bakugou

Warnings: Not proof read!!! Slight(ish) Cursing.

Um I’m not really sure if I like this so I didn’t read it back 😭 So it might take me a little while to revise my mistakes.

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You watched as Bakugou read, nose deep into his book in the dining room from the microwave reflection. You snickered as you stirred the bubbling pot of miyabi soup in front of you.

“Is something funny?” Bakugou asked as you came to a halt.

“No…just thinking.” You said now biting the inside of your cheek. He grunted in response, “Mhm don’t play around and mess up the food.” You rolled your eyes. About a month ago you’d been fooling around on your phone in the kitchen, and ended up burning the rice to a crisp. And your boyfriend still makes sure that you don’t live it down.

Lately he’s been a little more of a pain in the ass than usual. So what’s a better way to get your get back than pranking him!?

Last week you’d come across a page on TikTok revolving around this couple who pranked each other constantly. As you corny as you thought it was, one prank in particular caught your eye. The girl had made a pasta dish and fed it to her boyfriend on a spoon, not before filling the bottom of the spoon with salt.

You wondered how your boyfriend would react, since he was such a big cook himself. He was a younger version of Gordon Ramsay.

“It’s about done Katsuki, but I want you to taste it to give me some feedback.” You said grabbing a spoon from inside the cabinet drawer. He grunted in response, “Yeah yeah.”

You subtly reached for the salt and filled the bottom of the spoon up. You carefully submerged the spoon in the soup, and grabbed your phone from your back pocket. You flipped to your camera app and began recording as you made your way to Katsuki.

“Here babe, you can try it now.” You said as Bakugou looked up from his book. He reached for the spoon you held in front of him before cocking one of his blonde brows. “Why’re recording me for?” He asked. “Just wanna see your reaction that’s all.” You smiled.

Bakugou just deadpanned as you bit your cheek once again. “Please?” You asked a little more desperately.

Rolling his eyes he grabbed for the spoon as you pulled away, “Let me feed you.” You said. Bakugou opened his mouth, and you knew he was just planning to rebuttle. You held it to his face as he gave in and let you feed him the soup.

“Mmm.” He hummed before going silent. He furrowed his brows as if lost and confused. He didn’t swallow all the way and now he’d began choking a bit. “Is it good baby?” You asked attempting to hold back your laugh.

Bakugou didn’t know whether to spit it out or swallow the soup, but he didn’t want to hurt your feelings. He slowly swallowed the soup, as he got to the last of it the tang of the salt manager to overpower him and caused him to spit the rest out.

“Oh shit!” You jumped back as Bakugou wiped his face.

“What the HELL!” he shouted as he ran to the kitchen. He opened the fridge frantically but there were no water bottles in the fridge.

“Oops forgot to refill it.” You said as he ran to the sink and began rinsing his mouth out.

After about three minutes of rinsing he cut off the sink and turned to you, who was still recording with a smug look on your face.

There was silence between you both before you lost your composure and began laughing, tears and all as he stared at you in disbelief. “Are you deadass.” He said as you about fell out I’m the floor laughing.

“Sorry Katsu,” you said wiping a tear from your eye, “I was just messing with you.”

“You better have been. Don’t ever let me find out you’re cooking like that on purpose.” He grunted as he looked at the pot. “The soup’s not ruined, it was just your spoon.” You said as he rolled his eyes. “Food’s ready by the way.” You said before he began to walk out the kitchen.

You grabbed a bowl from the cabinet before Bakugou spoke, “Oh and Y/N?” You turned to face him.

“Yeah?” You hummed.

“You’re not safe as long as I’m in this household.” You practically heard the evil smirk on his face with that one :/

[inthedarkshadows000]

SneakPeak#106.......

From the story I might never write

How dare she. She has been ignoring me and eyeing my husband, Suguru, for the past forty three minutes and twenty two seconds. Yes. I counted. What else was I supposed to do while being ignored.

Suguru and I had decided to finally move out of our current apartment, with the girls, and shift to a bigger place. It was way to cramped for four people and now with both of earning, in jujutsu world, we had gathered more than enough to finish the down payment instantly.

So we contacted a realtor to show us some places according to our requirements. Mind you, the requirements DID NOT include a middle aged lady, with way too many operations on her face and boobs, who flirts with a taken man. Like bruh, I get my man looks like a god but back. The. Fuck. Off!

So here we were, him getting hit on by a plastic lady, with her nose a little too way off and her one boob smaller than the other.

All I want to do is come out and burn the bitch to crisps with my curse energy but no, apparently being jealous wasn't a good enough reason for murder nowadays, pfft, as if. What if my man needs me to save his honour, huh?

Suguru has been holding my hand and trying to include me in the conversation but that bitch had purposely and extremely unsubtly been leaving me out.

If I wasn't fuming right now, his situation would have made me laugh real hard. He seems so uncomfortable and aborable trying to maintain a safe distance from her. I'll protect you my pretty boy, don't you worry.

Now, only if my eyes could shoot lasers, it would have made things really easy. Like, oops my B. However, they still don't. Trust. I tried squinting. This was the cool power I was supposed to get with my curse shit but no! Nothing cool here.

Forget cool powers. Let me at the bitch bare hands and I'll have her in shreds before you can even finish saying laser. Yeah... my inner bitch was NOT happy.

On a second thought though, why waste power when words can harm more. I smirked internally, when I had an idea.

We were currently in the common area near the dining table. Suguru had his one hand on the table while his other hand circled my waist, the plastic lady in front of us. It wasn't a second after my idea, that I saw her hand go right on top of his free hand and squeeze, he pulled his hand back quickly.

Oh no, you don't! That's it!

"Alright, I have a real quick question." I say while moving between them and leaning on the table.

Ru looks relieved, probably to have a barrier in between and the bitch looks annoyed. Like I care.

I put on my most innocent smile and look at him. "Could you please clear a doubt for me, husband?" I emphasised the last word just put of spite.

"Of course love. What is it?" He quirks a brow and moves his hand to tug gently at the ends of my hair, twirling it around his finger.

"I just wanted to clear out if you have an interest, any interest at all, in Miss. -" I turned towards her making sure my hair hit her in the face, "- wait what was your name?"

Before she could answer I turned back, hitting her again with the hair, and pointed towards her, waiving my palm carelessly, and continued, "Anyway. Her "

"No, I don't love. Why would you ask?" He knew exactly why I would ask. The twinkle in his violet eyes and his horrible attempt at hiding his smile said enough. He played along anyway because let's be real, Suguru Geto loved being petty, even more so than me.

"I just wanted to clear out the fact, so she doesn't waste her time as well as ours, with her futile attempts of trying to woo you. Not to mention, I would hate for her to lose such an important deal, now wouldn't I?" I gave her a pointed look and turned back around. Yes, another hair attack!

I purposely put my left hand, which had the engagement ring on it , over his wrist which now shifted to my cheek.

"Of course, we would, love." he bit his inner cheek to keep himself from laughing, yet his shoulders shook with merth. His beautiful lips pulled in a smirk.

After giving a quick kiss to my forehead and the knuckles of my left hand, he pulled me around so that my back was to his front and we faced the bitch. He put his chin on shoulder, his smirk still evident.

The bitch had gone red. Serves her right.

"You sly, little vixen." Suguru whispered in my ear and tugged the lobe gently with his teeth. I just shrugged still maintaining my innocent smile.

"Just trying to save your sexy ass, like always. I'll take the payment in hair wash, so better be ready to finally drop your hair routine, princess."

[ughgoaway]

you're just a stranger I know everything about.

Content warnings; sadness lol, confrontation, crying, a few Taylor references because I am unbearable, swearing, shouting, and just general angst. (no happy ending either oops)

a/n; day 1 of the matty 35 celebration! and what better way to start it than with some teacher au angst?? I know my birthdays always have an air of melancholy, so I feel like this is appropriate. I fear this is rushed and SO bad, but eh, too late now!! anyway, enjoy! maybe? if you can?

word count; 3.5k ish

(this fic is an extension from the "don't you think of me?" universe, which you can read here.)

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The text sits on your phone. Every time the screen starts to dim, you tap it to keep it illuminated, yet you don't reply. You can't. Every muscle in your body feels frozen except that one finger. 

Tap. Tap. Tap. 

You watched the phone dim, but the name of the contact seemed to stay just as bright, even when the light is as low as it can be, “Matty. DO NOT TEXT.” glows on your screen. The warning was added against your will after a few too many drunk almost-phone calls. 

Tap. Tap. Tap. 

It’s an hour later when the phone dies. You knew it was coming, watching the percentage of charge drop slowly. You got the 15% warning. Then the 5%. But still, you did the same thing until the screen finally went black.

 Tap. Tap. Tap.

You don't need the phone to be lit up to remember what the message said anyway. You’d read it a thousand times over already. You’d analysed it, broken it down, performed autopsies on every single word, each letter was scorched into your brain. 

“Hey y/n, long time no talk. 

I hope you got my letter, if you didn't read it, that's okay. You already know everything I said. You always knew me better than I did. 

Anyway, I know this is a long shot, but it's my birthday party next week, and I just can't imagine celebrating without you there. All I can think about is my last birthday, me and you in Hawaii. I don't expect it to be like that, but I would love it if you came. Even if you just had one drink, we don't have to talk. You can wave at me across the room and stay far, far away. Treat me like I've got the plague for all I care, but just come, please. 

Give an old man his birthday wish?

See you there, maybe. I hope so, anyway.

Matty x” 

You want to do the same to the text that you did to his letter, burn it to a crisp. But that doesn't exactly seem feasible, considering your phone was £500, and probably not flammable. plus, you had blisters on your fingers for weeks after the letter, and you dont know if it's worth it again.

But you can't deny that the blisters were oddly comforting. Reminding you what you did every time something brushed your digits, that he was gone, and you had the power. The ball was in your court, and you intended it to stay there.

And it was there for months. But Matty ruined that by sending that message, he got the power back whether he intended to or not. And it was made even worse by him telling Charli, and her endless phone calls begging you to come.

You’re so good at telling her its not going to happpen, and every message that comes in gets a firm “no.” or just gets point-blank ignored. She begs, saying that she needs a friend there and that she'll even let you choose a few songs for George’s DJ playlist. But you stay strong, shaking your head and sighing, insisting you've moved on, that chapter of your life is closed, and you'd like to keep it that way.

So you can't help but wonder how you ended up dressed up on a Saturday night standing outside of Matty’s house, bottle of wine gripped in your shaking hands and the distinct noise of your heels clicking against the pavement as you walk towards the house you've done everything you can to forget. 

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As soon as you walk in, you can tell the house is different from how you left it. Obviously, the strobe lights and birthday balloons were new, but even ignoring those, the whole space felt wrong. Even more unforgiving and cold, which was impressive considering every inch was covered with people, dancing and chatting. Still, a lifeless air hung around. 

Your eyes darted around, finding the places that you used to occupy. The painting you bought Matty no longer hangs on the wall, replaced by yet another award. You can't help but feel bitter when you see the poster celebrating the album full of songs about you. The spot where your mug used to sit on the counter was empty, but the dark stained ring of coffee remained, forcing you to fight a small smile. maybe he hadn't completely erased you, even if he tried.

People recognise you immediately, and they don't hide their shock well. They might think that they do, smoothly recovering from their initial surprise, but they don't. You see their wide eyes and disbelieving glances, each person acting like you're a ghost haunting the house you once lived in.

You play pretend along with them, smiling as best you can and answering all their questions.

"How's work?"

"How have you been?"

"you seen any good films lately?"

but, you both know you're dancing around the one question they really want to be answered.

why the fuck were you here?

Eventually, the people stop coming, and Charli finds you, plying you with drinks and half-slurred thanks as she begs you to stay for just 5 more minutes. You agree, only because you have yet to catch a glimpse of the birthday boy, and that made everything just bearable.

You quickly regret that decision when you see him not even a minute later, standing by George in the DJ booth smoking a cigarette and laughing in that contagious way he always did. High pitched giggles and his head thrown back.

But he doesn't see you, so it's still okay. You can hang on a few seconds more. Your chest might be tightening with every moment, but you're not suffocating yet.

However, when a tall blonde girl walks over and starts making out with him, it suddenly starts to feel like the room is on fire, and you’re choking on the invisible smoke. The burn of the flames starts to feel all too real when he pulls away from her, though, and his eyes find yours as if they're magnetised together. 

The realisation falls over his face immediately, dropping his hand from around her waist and trying desperately to weave through the crowd surrounding him. You don't stay to see if he breaks through the sea of people, already rushing out as fast as you can, forcing your cup into a stranger's hand and moving as fast as your legs can take you.

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“y/n, stop.” You hear Matty’s voice behind you as you storm out his front door, but you don't turn. It sounds muffled, like you're being pulled underwater, and someone is screaming at you to get up. But the waves keep on pulling you deeper, and his voice becomes more faint with every step you take.

Yet, as soon as the cold air fills your lungs and his skin finally touches yours, you're pulled out. You spin around as soon as his fingers graze your shoulder, acting like even his touch is painful as you wrench away.

It was finally here, the time you were dreading. The time when it was just you, him, and everything that remained unsaid.

His eyes held yours as the silence of the night surrounded you, and you couldn't help but study him like you always did. He looked different. Not better or worse, just different. The colourful lights in the house had been hiding his features. 

He had more lines on his face, deeper ones on his forehead, but the ones around his mouth had lightened, his smile lines fading. You could still tell even when it was slicked back with heavy gel that more grey streaks danced through his curls.

His eyes were the same, though. Always so telling, so revealing. If you wanted to know exactly what Matty Healy was thinking, look in his eyes. They spoke more than he did. Which sounds absurd if you’d ever had a conversation with him, but you'd bet your life on it.

You almost start to soften at the sight of him, old memories flooding back. Flashes of warm sun and hot kisses, filthy sex followed by soft breakfasts in bed. But then he speaks. Why do men always do that? Just as you're thinking about saying something and trying defusing the situation, they open their stupid mouth.

“Where are you going?” he asks softly, his chest heaving as he desperately sucks in oxygen, his lungs fighting to catch up.

“Home, Matty. I shouldn't have come. I don't even know why you invited me.” You try to spin and walk away, to finally move on. But of course, Matty’s voice drags you back under once again, and the same water fills your lungs.

“stay, please. i dont know why i invited you either, but I did. I didn't expect you to come. I just-” Matty stutters as he speaks as if his brain can't catch up with his mouth, things pour out that he doesn't mean. And he knows it. It's crystal clear as soon as his wide eyes shoot open, processing what he had really just said. 

He didn't expect you to come? He put you through all this and didn't think you'd show up? What was the point then? Was it just to hurt you? Did he just want to see if he could? to see if his name popping up would have the same effect it always did, make you come running to him?

Your body moves without thinking, turning to face Matty with fires burning in your eyes, "You didn't think I would come? Then why the fuck did you even invite me, Matty?! to flaunt your new girlfriend? to try and "win" the breakup? Well congratulations, you've fucking won. I'm sure that model hanging off your arm is just perfect for you.” sarcasm drips from your every word, burning Matty like acid rain.

“No! It's not like that. I don't know. I think- I think I was just scared we’d never be in the same place again. That I would love you for the rest of my life, but I’d never see you again.” his voice softens as he speaks, and you almost want to give in, to crumble at his gentle tone and warm eyes. But he can't still love you, it seems impossible when you go back and see the destruction he left behind.

“That's what a breakup is, Matty. And did you ever think about me? About what I want? I can't help but think that maybe that would've been better. If being in the same room as you means feeling like this, I don't ever want to see you again.” You spit back angrily.

Matty's nostrils flare before he speaks, and you can see the anger building inside him. It takes a lot to get Matty to shout, but you can tell with every second you're making him inch closer. And you don't know why that makes you feel so good, but if you're honest, you don't want to know.

You want to keep going, keep pushing. You want him to act like he did that night. You needed to see it again. You needed to know he couldn't ever forget the night you're forced to remember. 

“y/n, I don't- I just don't know what to say to you. What do you want from me? Do you want me to say that saying goodbye to you was the hardest thing I've ever had to do? That it ripped my heart out of my chest? That it fucking destroyed me? It did. Of course it did, you always made me feel everything. Losing you was no different.” You heard the way Matty’s voice cracked the more he spoke, but you ignored it. If he wanted to pull the dagger out of your heart, it was his job to deal with the bleeding.

“It didn't feel that hard when you stopped coming home at night. Or when you were fucking screaming at me. Or even that night when you walked out the door, you made it look pretty fucking easy that night. Because that's how it was Matty, you left. So don't come to me bitching and whining that it destroyed you. It's your fault. All of this is your fault.” you feel your voice wavering, but you suck in another breath, refusing to let him see you weaken, to see that wall you built start to break down. 

“I deserved a better goodbye, Matty. If the goodbye you gave me hurt, the one I deserved would have fucking killed you.” You poke Matty in the chest harshly, pushing him back on his unsteady feet. 

Streetlights flicker above you, the severe light dancing across Matty’s features. As long as you can remember, this light was busted, flicking on and off at will. It used to annoy you, distract you at night when the light poured through the curtains of Matty's bedroom.

Tonight, however, you loved it. No one could hide what they were really feeling under the harsh yellow glow. It seemed to pull every emotion to the surface of your face, illuminating even the darkest parts you wanted to hide.

So it was easy to spot when anger reared its ugly head in Matty. This time, he doesn't push it back. He physically can't.

He needs you to know that it did kill him to say goodbye, and that you can see that. he needs to understand how you can’t you see that he's the shell of the man he once was as he stands here?

“I apologised to you. I know you got my letter. Thanks for the response, by the way, a great way for us to get closure for whatever the fuck this was.” venom drips from every word that falls from his lips, and you have to fight to hide the smirk brewing on your face. 

Finally. Finally, he was angry. He was pissed off. This is what you needed. You need the big fight, the final breakdown. Just one more time, you tell yourself, just one more screaming match, and you can move on.

A scoff involuntarily is ripped from your chest, as if you can't believe the utter bullshit coming from the man across from you. “I'm sorry, you think you deserve a response? What would I say in it, “Oh Matty, I'm so sorry! You're so right. Please let me come over so we can fuck all night!!” I know I'm not your usual airhead type, but you have to think more of me than that”

Your voice is high and piercing as you speak, and you know it. It always was when you started to get riled up. However, in this moment, you didn't care. You just needed something to happen, for him to get just as annoyed as you've been for fucking months.

“You don't think I deserved anything, though? Not even an acknowledgement?” his incredulous eyes met yours, begging you to take everything back and say you're sorry too, that it wasn't just his fault, even if he knew that wasn't true.

“Why should I? You never acknowledged my feelings. I don't think you asked me how I felt in the last month of our relationship.” Wet tears start brewing at your lashline. You want to fight them falling. But you can't, your resolve weakening with every second he stands in front of you.

“you know, that night we broke up, I realised something. you hadn't said you loved me in weeks. I said it every morning. But you'd hum back, or nod, or hug me. But you never actually said it.” Matty tries to cut in, and you already know what he wants to say. But you don't let him, powering through his half started words and desperate eyes.

After a few shaky breaths, your words start pouring again, “You treated saying “I love you” just like how you treated saying sorry. Like it would kill you to even think it. You've still never properly apologised for how you treated me, never said it to my face. But when we were together, I found myself saying sorry thousands of times over for feeling anything. I felt guilty for being pissed off at you, like I was doing something wrong. But I had every right to be! You had become a man I didn't even recognise, and for some reason, I still loved you, even when I shouldn't have. But at the time, I didn't see that. All I saw was you hurting. And because all I do is care, I wanted to stay. To stay for you, for us. Our family.”

Seconds pass, but they feel like minutes. The harsh wind blowing between you whistling through the street. Your eyes can't be dragged away from Matty’s, tears falling freely between the two of you.

And suddenly, you don't want him to be angry any more, you don't want this all to happen. You wish you could go back, never come here. But time doesn't work like that, so you’re stuck with tears pouring down your face as you stare at the man you once thought was the love of your life.

“Do you still have feelings for me?” Matty whispers, and you could see the desperation on his face, wet eyes tracing your every feature.

In that moment, he didn't know what he wanted your answer to be.

If you said no, it would kill him. Every ember of hope smouldering inside him would be burnt out, never to be relit.

But if you said yes, he doesn't know if he can let go. If you say you still feel anything for him, he knows he’ll be looking for you in every universe until he finds the one where you stay.

“I won't ever not love you, Matty. No matter how many times I tell myself I've moved on or that my life is better without you in it. I will always love you, and that's fucking agonising.” you sniffle as you speak, and you almost want to laugh at the absurdity of it all. How did you go from screaming at each other to professing your everlasting love?

Matty wants nothing more in that moment than to start begging you to come back, telling you how you can make it work, to talk about what he would do to get you back. But he knows he shouldn't, so he doesn't.

“Annie still thinks about you all the time you know,” Matty says, and your chest hurts from the whiplash of this conversation, jumping between memories of your old life so fast its almost unbearable. But you knew Matty. He needed to jump around to stay sane, so you jumped with him.

“I know, I remember you saying in the letter that she stopped asking when I was coming back. Is that true?” your voice drops again, as if you were sharing secrets at a sleepover.

“I thought it would be easier when she stopped asking, maybe then I'd not spend every waking hour thinking of you. But when the day came, it wasn't easier. It was like watching you leave right in front of me all over again. It brought me back to walking into the house for the first time after you left, looking at the empty space and trying to figure out how to fill it. Annie was filling it by asking about you, but suddenly she wasn't, and that glaring hole in my life was back." Matty's voice breaks as he speaks, but he clears his throat and tries to ignore it.

"I realised then that I'll never not think about you. Even if no one talks about you. Even if I never see you again, I'll still think of you.” Matty sucks in a shaky breath as soon as the words stop pouring out of him. His lungs seemed like they were sticking together with every word he said, and it felt like death. But he couldn't stop the rush of words, so he let the death surround him.

“Tell her I said hi” you reply meekly, not sure what to say in response to Matty’s outpour.

“I won't” matty says, forcing a half smile and chuckle that you half-heartedly return. 

Once again, the blanket of silence surrounds the two of you, enveloping you in a way that feels all too familiar. So you break it, not letting yourself fall back into old patterns.

"i just dont understand how it all happened so quickly. how did you go from a stranger to the love of my life, only then to become someone I wish was a stranger all over again?" You whisper, your shaking hands coming to cup Matty's wet cheeks as you step closer. His hands wrap around your waist instantly, pulling you in and holding you so tight it almost hurts. 

Silence hangs between the two of you. But its no longer painful or awkward, stilted or angry. It was a silence of acceptance, an acknowledgement that this had to be the final goodbye. There was no erasing the past, the demons that followed the two of you couldn't be ignored. So you were done, this was it.

Eventually, you pull away, and your face hovers in front of Matty’s for a few beats too long. You want to give him a final kiss, a proper goodbye. and you swear you can almost feel his lips against yours, taste the salty tears that would fall from your eyes. You don't, though. Your hands drop from his wet cheeks, and you walk away.

Every fibre inside you wants to turn around and go back to him. It feels impossible to face the future with the person you planned to spend it with standing 10 steps behind. But you do, moving forward and trying not to mourn the life you know you can never get back.

[liz-allyn]

sugar and vice, pt. 6 [mob!tasm!peter x fem!reader]

summary: Honey finds out who Peter Parker really is.

words: 9.6 k

warning: mob-typical violence. whump. hurt/comfort. descriptions of violence. coersion. kidnapping. blood. toxic/yandere!peter (maybe, sorta), negative self talk, shameless forced proximity trope. ‘only ten one bed oops’ trope, imprisonment. slowest burn. a dash of questionable and/or morally grey intentions. extremely toxic relationships.

this is a darker, messier version of TASM Peter.

18+. you’re responsible for your own content consumption. but that being said, if you can't remember how people watched videos online before youtube, you probably shouldn't continue.

Back to Part 5.

Part 6

When Peter approached Honey’s bedroom, he paused for a moment outside. Staring at the closed door, he tried to listen intently, but could not hear her heartbeat coming from the other side. An immediate uneasiness rattled his nerves. It climbed up his throat from his chest, and he swallowed reflexively.

She was gone. Again.

...you stupid fucking fool of course she left, why would she ever stay with you?...

He felt his heartbeat rising. His breaths got shorter with every draw

...alone again that’s all you’ll ever be until you die can’t come fast enough...

Deep breaths. In and out. The moment his nostrils flared, a warm, crisp, vibrant fragrance found him. Caramel and sugar browned by heat. 

Coffee. 

His other senses came online as he heard the patter of her feet on the floor below. And her heartbeat, clear as a bell. The sound soothed him, as it always did. A rhythm so unique to her it was like a signature. A kiss. 

There she is, the kinder voice in his head reassured him. He closed his eyes, centering himself. Kicked his negative thoughts away, angrily cursing himself for having them. Another deep breath softened his features. 

When he reached the first floor of his mountain retreat, he looked across the great room to see Honey in a familiar form. Nothing like the frightened shell she had been the past couple of days. She swiftly danced around his kitchen, graceful like a ballerina. She deftly dodged splatters from a pan of bacon, as if she could miraculously move between them, while she stirred a sizzling skillet of buttery eggs. 

He curled a brow as his nostrils read him the menu. Omelettes, he deduced. Something of the Southwestern variety, the aromas of diced peppers, onions, and jack cheese weaved together like music.

He allowed himself to be still and just watch. She was still wearing the wrinkled clothes from yesterday— 

Why hadn’t she changed? Did she know about the other clothes? What if she didn’t like anything— 

He watched, like he was the only member in the audience—How was she so good at that—making it seem like he was the only man left in the world. She’s just... so... so good...

“Oh!” she yelped as she turned and laid eyes on him for the first time. He blinked stiffly, bashful and regretful at having intruded on her privacy. “Geez, you scared me!” she exclaimed.

He winced at that. 

A nervous chuckle rolled off her tongue, regaining her composure. The sound of her laughter relieved him. He saw her shake her head good-naturedly, somehow amused. It was as confusing as much as it lifted a weight off of his chest.

“I didn’t hear you come in here,” she blushed. “You’re like a cat, you’re so quiet. You’re way too tall to be that quiet. You need to stomp more. Or wear tap shoes. Or a bell.” 

Nervously, she laughed again, turning the heat off on the gas stove. She looked back up at him with a eager face, presenting the skillet of impressive omelets. 

“Uhm... I made eggs. I didn’t know what you usually eat, ‘cos you never ordered any food when you’d come in, so I wasn’t sure, but then I remembered yesterday you made eggs and bacon and even ate a little, so I figured, um, omelettes and bacon...” 

She was nervous, but not scared. It was that high-energy manner of speaking, where she’d tell him a story, except this time she was in his home and was craftfully moving an omelette onto one of his plates with a spatula.

His heart ached at the sight.

“Can’t go wrong with that...” she rambled on, “unless you’ve got a pepper allergy? That would be dumb, though. Who has a pepper allergy?” Then, she added, nervously, “Not that you’re dumb! Food allergies aren’t dumb. They’re no joke. Very, very serious—”

“Shouldn’a done that,” Peter muttered under his breath, as he shook his head. He dropped his eyes to the floor, visibly agitated. He heard her heart skip. When he glanced back up, she looked pallid, her brilliant smile sinking like a torpedoed ship. 

“I-I-I’m sorry...” she delicately whimpered. Her body language shifted drastically. She nearly curled up on herself, although she was unsure why. “Were you... saving these eggs?”

Peter’s eyes widened, horrified at the appearance that he was somehow rejecting her kindness. He groaned, slapping his palms down his face and across his beard. Paced, anxious like a lion trapped in a cage. 

“No, no, no, no, no, no,” he babbled, distressed. In a blink he was across the kitchen, rounding the island, rushing up to her with hands extended.

This time when she flinched, it was unquestionably from fear. 

He stopped cold, dunked in a tub full of ice. It snapped his heart in half. He snatched his hands back, a painful expression on his face. For a brief moment, he squeezed his palms tight enough to hurt, then let his arms fall gently to his sides. He fixed his saddened gaze on the tiles at his feet. 

She stayed frozen in place, her heart thrumming away, as he cursed his inability to speak. He struggled to find words, as if they spoke separate languages. 

Christ, have you truly forgotten how to talk to anyone?

Peter cleared his throat, his voice barely above a whisper. “I, uh, what I meant was... uhm... you didn’t hafta do all this,” he sheepishly explained. “You... I, uh, I-I—” 

He choked on his words, feeling like his throat was tightening up. He placed a hand on his chest, and he felt the drum pounding beneath his ribs. 

He was visibly struggling, flailing as he drowned in an ocean of fear. Glancing up at her timidly at every other word. “I—I’m...”

I’m sorry. I’m a lunatic. I’m so sorry. I’m so insecure. I’m desperate. I’m afraid of losing you. I’m so, so sorry. I’m an asshole. I’m a coward. I’m so scared that you’ll get hurt. I can’t let you get hurt. I would never hurt you. I’d rather die than hurt you. I’m so sorry I scared you. I’m broken. I’m a monster. I’m so, so sorry.

“It’s more than I deserve.” His voice broke on the last word. The puny sound made him wince, and he ripped his gaze from her. He studied the floor, desperately willing his eyes to stop burning. 

She was silent.

And in his mind he shuddered to think about the million horrible things—loser, pathetic, stupid, disgusting little freak—she could think of him. 

“Want some coffee?” she asked, derailing the train off the tracks. “I made some.” 

His eyes found hers. Her expression was warm. Generous. He was stunned, in a familiar way. She never stopped surprising him. She turned back towards the espresso machine on the counter and carefully passed him a steaming latte. A heart expertly painted with foam on the surface.

His eyes burned again as he considered the shape and how there was so much more than his heart in her hands. Peter took the mug. 

“Thank you,” he said, barely more than a whisper.

They sat across from each other at the kitchen bar, eating mostly in silence. He tried not spend the majority of the time staring at her like a weirdo, but was mostly unsuccessful. She was hungry, ravenous even. He berated himself for not considering how hungry she must have been. He should’ve cooked for her.

He needed to do better. He would do better.

The omelet was delicious, even if the edges were browned a bit. Every bite was a savory morsel. He made a good show of trying to eat, despite the lack of appetite. 

It wasn’t that Peter wasn’t hungry. He was always hungry, especially after nights like the previous one. He just couldn’t stomach anything. He was grateful that at least the coffee staved off the pain of his hunger. For now.

She glanced over and caught him staring at her with a glazed over expression. He locked up instantly, the tips of his ears turning pink. Blushing, they both looked away, and he panicked—fuckfuckfucksaysomethingsaysomething—

“Smells good,” he muttered, before forcing a giant forkful into his mouth. 

...idiot...

Her lip curved upwards, amused. “Yeah? Does it taste as good as it smells?”

“Yes,” he nodded his head too forcefully, nearly choking on the eggs. He could feel something in his stomach threatening to push the food back up. With effort, he tried to reassure her his awkwardness wasn’t because he didn’t appreciate her cooking. It was because he was a dork. 

“No, yes. Yes, yes. It’s— it tastes good. Great. It’s… um…”

Delicious. Delectable. Tasty. Scrumptious. Mouthwatering. Finger-licking good.

“And, I mean, you—you’re, um—”

Lovely. Beautiful. Benevolent. An Angel. A goddess. Worthy of worship. Worth dying for.

“It’s good,” he said, wincing. Snapped his mouth closed.

She nodded, his discomfort only adding to hers. Cleared her throat awkwardly. “Thanks.”

She paused for just a moment, then words came spilling out, “Did you know that brown eggs aren’t any healthier than white eggs? They’re just brown. There’s no added nutritional value, and of course, they charge you more for them because they look more…granola…” 

The energy ran out of her sentence, confidence fading rapidly. “Everyone knows that, I guess. That’s not new… or remotely interesting.” She tucked the rest of her thoughts deep under her breath. She was dangling now in the world’s most awkward conversation.

“It’s my fault, what happened yesterday,” Peter announced, launching into a confessional. “I’m-I’m ashamed of myself.” 

She froze. Blinking like a deer in the headlights. 

He exhaled, his heart heavy. “I panicked,” he said, disappointedly. “I got angry. I blew up. And… those aren’t excuses. I’m not tryin’—” Peter pulled his gaze away, trying to steel himself while burning his retinas on the sunlight reflecting off of the windows in the kitchen. “There’s no excuse,” he affirmed. “I was wrong to treat you like that. I’m sorry.”

Her expression softened as she read his. The remorse weighed heavily on his face, pinching his brow. The lack of confidence melted years off of his face. Even with the scruffy beard, lightly salted by a handful of gray hairs, he looked like a boy with wrinkles at the corners of his puppy dog eyes. 

It was unfair of him to look that soft. It’s part of why she was in this situation in the first place.

“It’s just…” Peter added, delicately, subconsciously leaning in her direction, “you gotta understand... that you’re in danger. I don’t want you to get hurt. I can’t have you get hurt. I can protect you, and I will. With every breath in me, I will, but you gotta trust me—” 

“You say that like I know what you’re talking about,” she responded with a withering tone. Her frustration reared its head again as she pleaded desperately. “Like I know what you’re involved in or what’s going on. All I know is these weirdos pulled me off the subway and then I woke up to guns firing like it’s D-Day, and… I’m scared, alright? And I don’t even know who I should be scared of. I’m... in the dark!”

He sighed, “I’m trying to protect you.”

“You say that, but you expect me to just trust you? At what? Your word?” She fixed him with a hard gaze that pierced him. Peter had survived bullets and beatings and it was her mere disappointment that disarmed him. “What is your word supposed to mean to me? I didn’t even know your real name until two days ago—”

“I told you, it’s Ben—”

“I don’t care what you tell yourself. I don’t know you.”

“Alright,” he huffed, dropping his arms off the table and holding them open. “Then ask me. Ask me about me. Anything.”

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

“Who is Peter Parker?”

He paused, biting down hard on his jaw. A look came across his face akin to stepping on a nail. With a crease in his brow, he glanced away. Ruefully, Peter replied, “Please don’t ask me about what I do.” He glanced down at his nearly-full plate with a stomach full of regret. “You can ask me about anything else. But the less you know, the better.”

“Because,” she pushed, considering him like trying to solve an equation, “you’re like... in a gang?”

“What? No.”

“Yes, you are. You’re a gang member. You’re... a gang leader. You’re the leader of a gang.”

“It’s not a gang.”

“It’s gang-like. Gang-adjacent. What would you call it? The mafia? The mob? Is that even a thing that still exists outside of Reality TV?” Peter exhaled, his head falling back. “You’re at war with a rival gang. Who is it?” She paused, struggling to remember a word through the fog of her brain. “You said a name the other night,” she pondered aloud. “What was it? Something like... Fis—”

“Don’t,” Peter snapped like a whip. 

She glanced up at him to see his demeanor completely change. Eyes gone cold as ice. 

His voice trembled, with fear or anger, she wasn’t sure. “We don’t say his name.”

The gravity of his tone gave her pause. It was as if she’d invoked the name of Satan himself. Or...

“Why can’t I say his name?” she shot back, irritated. “What is he, Voldemort?”

He chuckled humorlessly. “Worse.”

She paused, considering this information. There was a quiet rage interred within his tone. Something haunted. Cursed. Perhaps it was the Devil.

“He goes by Kingpin,” Peter explained, the word souring his stomach further.

“What is it with you and nicknames?” she deflected with a bratty tone. “Like ‘Honey.’ Why do you call me that?” 

Peter’s eyes found hers again, warmer now. There was a flicker in them as his lip curled in a half smirk. “You don’t like it?” he questioned, pinning her with a devilish half-smile. “Funny, I kinda thought you did.”

She looked away, shuffling uncomfortably in her seat. “You thought I liked that you don’t know my real name?” she accused challengingly, avoiding his gaze.

“Of course I know your name,” he stated sincerely, an unquestionable devotion thickening his voice. It was almost as if he was offended that she would assume otherwise. Peter raised one brow, teasingly, “And you didn’t answer my question.”

Her heart began to race. “You didn’t answer mine.”

He considered her silently, studying her stubbornly-drawn line in the sand. His smile dropped into a pit of melancholy, eyes clouding. He sipped on the espresso drink. There was bitterness on his tongue, but not from the latte. “Real names are tricky in my line of work,” he admitted. “Dangerous if the wrong person hears them.”

She weighed the logic in his response, realizing that there wasn’t room to argue. But she carved out a space, regardless. “What if I don’t like ‘Honey’?”

His lips pulled back to reveal a devastatingly lethal smile. “Okay,” he played along, feeling like they were back in the coffee shop. They had shifted so effortlessly into the playful banter that had been the crowned jewel of so many mornings with her. “What do you want me to call you then?”

A long pause fell between them. She crossed her arms. Kept her face solid as rock. “Ma’am,” she shot back. “Or miss.” 

He blinked at her. 

Every following word tumbled from her mouth with the grace of a newborn calf. “Madam... Jane… Bond.” Her mouth kept moving, despite the lack of a plan. “Agent Jane Bond. From the... MI... B. The MIB.”

He stared at her incredulously. She matched his staring contest with an awkwardly overconfident glare that suggested she was clearly ‘winging it.’ The silence weighed heavily in the room.

“That’s fake,” he blurted dismissively, shaking his head.

“Says you.”

He chuckled, “That’s awful.” 

“No, it’s not...awful. It's an alias.”

“It sounds fake.”

“Ben Reilly sounds fake,” she sneered, slightly offended. His smile dimmed a bit, but not at her childish antics. “It’s dumb. It’s a dumb, made-up name—”

“Benjamin is my middle name,” he softly revealed. “It was my Uncle’s name. Reilly was my Aunt’s maiden name.” His voice deepened, a little more grit to his words. “Your name is Honey, because I say it is.”

The heated resolve of his voice reverberated in the air. It simmered on the heat of his mounting frustration.

This time, she kept her mouth shut, breaking eye contact and focusing on her nearly-empty plate. He observed the distress on her face and frowned. As if he needed another reason to hold more contempt for himself. 

After a few moments, he let out a long sigh. “I am more than just a name,” Peter declared, gently this time. “I’m more than my job.” 

She met his eyes again to find him gazing at her with an earnest expression. “I’m no more a... gangster,” he stumbled over the ridiculousness of the word, “than you are a ‘coffee girl.’”

She stayed silent, considering his position. 

“You can live off of assumptions all you want. But if you want to know what kinda man I am, just ask,” he said, closing his argument.

She stared. Reading every inch of his face. The warm whiskey hue of his eyes. It was as if she had x-ray vision and could see beneath his skin. It took all of his will power not to squirm.

Studying him with a microscopic gaze, she asked, “What’s your favorite movie?” 

He furrowed his brow. Wondered if he heard her right. “What?”

“What’s your favorite movie?” she repeated, her tone steel.

Peter blinked, blindsided. “Are you… are you trollin’ me or somethin’—?“

“You’re asking me to make an important character judgment with practically nothing to go on,” she spoke quietly and evenly, glaring daggers at him. He squirmed beneath her skewering gaze. “Now, it’s not a hard question. And the longer you avoid it, the more suspicious I become of your psyche. Now answer the question. What. Is. Your. Favorite. Movie?”

His shoulders went up to his ears, flabbergasted. “Do I even get a genre, or—?”

“Favorite movie! First thing that comes to mind.”

“Uh… um—”

“Don’t think! Just answer!”

“The Sandlot!”

Her brows practically touched her hairline. “The Sandlot?!” she repeated, almost in disbelief. “That’s your favorite movie?”

“Yeah!” he yelped, defensively. “It... It was! I mean, it is… a favorite. One of them.” 

It was almost comical how he leaned back in his chair, shrinking away from the scrutiny of her gaze. 

He babbled nervously, “I-I watched it so many times as a kid, I wore out the tape and it got stuck in Uncle Ben’s VCR.” 

She quirked a brow, and he was puzzled as to why he felt the need to share that bit of information. But then, he just kept going. 

“It’s-it’s a great film,” he declared, more confidently. “A great, coming-of-age film. With the-the one kid who doesn’t know anything about baseball, but he ends up becoming friends with the popular kid who’s really good at baseball. And he loses the ball signed by Babe Ruth… And the scary, giant dog that drools all over that’s actually a nice dog, and the old guy that owns him is also nice—”

“—award-winning actor James Earl Jones,” she admonished. “Darth Vader. Or Mufasa, if you prefer.“

“I-I genuinely did not remember that,” he replied, “but-but now that I do, I-I have even more respect for the movie, thank you—“ 

It was a hilarious sight, Peter thought. If only the criminal underworld could witness the most fearsome gangster in New York... shrinking under the accusatory glare of the woman across the table. Timidly defending his blustering thesis on a kids movie from the 90s.

Her eyes burned him. Glared at him, hard. He felt like an insect being trapped in the deathray of a magnifying glass. And then she burst into a fit of giggles. He pulled his head back, trying and failing to read her reaction. 

“Your favorite movie is The Sandlot,” she heaved with laughter, tears budding in the corners of her eyes.

His brow shot up. “What’s wrong with that?” he said, flustered. “You told me to name the first movie I could think of so I named the first—there’s nothing wrong with liking The Sandlot!”

“No, no, of course not,” she sighed, breathlessly. “No, Sandlot’s really good! I just thought you were gonna go with something basic... like The Godfather.”

He cocked his head. Now he was offended. Slightly. “The Godfather is one of the greatest—”

“Greatest movies of all time,” she finished his sentence, rolling her eyes teasingly. “Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard. It’s great. But is it really anyone’s favorite?” She punctuated her question with a high-pitched tone of skepticism. “Like, really?” Her eyes glittered, smile beaming. 

His lips curved up at the sight. A reflex. “It’s... a favorite—”

“No, it’s not,” she shook her head, good-naturedly. “It’s no one’s favorite. Everyone just says that it is.”

“Okay, Miss Movie Expert,” he snickered with a teasing tone. “What’s your favorite movie, then?”

“Oh,” she answered, without hesitation, “Goonies. Of course.”

“The Goonies?” Now he was on the offense.

“Duh.”

“The Goonies is basically The Sandlot in the woods.”

“It’s not even close. They’re nothing alike.”

“They’re similar,” he argued objectively. “That’s your favorite movie?”

“Well, only recently.” Her sweet voice melted over him like caramel. “When I was a kid it was Space Jam.” 

Peter was taken aback. “What?!” He erupted into laughter. “Space Jam? How old were you when your favorite movie was Space Jam?” 

She didn’t even blink. “Twenty-five.” 

He snorted as a grin spread across her lips. Had he been sipping coffee at that moment, it would’ve embarrassingly shot out of his nostrils.

“What?” she jested, still grinning. “I went through a very serious basketball phase!”

He unsuccessfully attempted to conceal his laughter, chuckling into his palms. “But you’re... so... tiny...” he giggled affectionately. 

“Really?” she scoffed, with mock offense. “Short jokes? What—did you play basketball?”

He leaned back in the chair, crossing his arms. Shrugged shyly, charm dripping from a coy smirk. “Eh... a little.”

“Were you on a team?”

“Nah, not coordinated enough. Really the only thing I could do well was skate.”

“Figure skate?” Her eyes lit up, comically wide.

“No! What?” Wrinkles bloomed from the corners of his eyes. “A skateboard!”

She narrowed her eyes, impressed, and it ignited a fire beneath his face. “You were a skater boy? Or were you a sk8er boi? Like with the number eight?”

“I skated, yes—”

“You wore Vans slip-ons?”

“I own Vans slip-ons,” he affirmed, nodding his head, shoulders shaking with laughter. “Somewhere. From back then.”

Her laughter bloomed in his chest. He could’ve died a happy man to hear it.

A couple of hours later, they were walking side-by-side. She was freshly showered, wearing a simple cotton zip-up and jeans she’d retrieved from the duffle bag from Peter’s other place. Peter looked clean and crisp in a polo, hands shoved into the pockets of sharply-tailored khaki trousers. 

They took a leisurely stroll around the property via a flagstone-paved pathway. It rounded through towering pine, maple, and oak trees, just feet away from the cabin. It twisted alongside moss-covered fallen trees and granite boulders worn down from mountains a million years ago. Her questions flowed now, trickling out like the nearby river. Like with every step, her mind was inspired to travel somewhere new. 

Can you play any instruments?

What’s your Zodiac sign and do you agree with it?

What’s the last TV show you binged?

It was exhilarating to listen to. Exhausting, but only in an adventurous way.

“What’s your favorite color?” She’d hit him with that just as he approached an old log railing leftover from the property’s original owners. They had come to a natural stop, and he half-sat on the rail, arms crossed. 

She hopped up and perched on the opposite railing in a way that made him nervous, but only slightly. He was in arm’s reach of her. He would catch her before she could fall. Always.

“Red,” he answered without much thought. She hummed with an understanding nod. “Yours?” he asked behind a shy smile.

“Space.”

He curled a brow. “So... black?”

“No, silly,” she admonished warmly. “Not the absence of light. I’m talking about the full-color spectrum of creation.” She waxed on, like Plato describing Utopia.  “It’s pure. Primordial. Something so beyond human capability that it can barely be named, much less understood and appreciated.” 

He admired her, even as he countered studiously, “Well, they can. Be named. A mixture of raw elements broken down into 90-percent hydrogen, 9-ish-percent helium and any combination of smaller heavy metals—”

“Eww,” she grinned, staring through slitted eyes. “Nerd.” 

“If you could take any animal and shrink it to the size of a housecat and keep it as a pet, what would you choose?”

By the late afternoon, they were back inside, both lounging across from each other on opposite ends of a contemporary, neutral sectional in the great room. 

He stared into the distance with narrowed eyes, deep in contemplation. “Do I have to shrink it?” he asked. “Can I make it bigger?”

She tilted her head, intrigued. “Go on.”

“Chikunia bilde.”

“A whatiya building?”

He slyly smirked, the action itself a sin. “It’s a type of spider,” Peter explained. “They’re only in Indonesia. It’s the world’s friendliest spider.”

Her eyes bugged out of her skull. “You want to make a spider the size of a housecat and keep it in your house? As a pet? What is wrong with you?”

“Hey! Spiders get a bad rap,” he defended. He sounded sensitive about it in a curious way that pulled a smile from her lips. 

“They’re so hairy!” she winced.

“Not this one. It looks like a Hershey’s kiss walking around on stilts with giant googley eyes.”

She tried to draw the picture in her mind. “Well... that sounds... cute... weirdly.” 

She gave it more thought, then sprang back to life. “I would pick a giraffe.” He grinned over at her, listening for her explanation. “Did you know that giraffes can’t lift their feet more than a foot off the ground because they’re afraid of falling? I feel that. Hashtag giraffacts.”

“You sympathize with a giraffe?”

“Every time I wear heels,” she said, grimly. A crease formed between her brows, and he wanted to plant his lips there. He gazed at her in quiet admiration. 

After hours of talking about a million trivial things, he’d learned so much. He’d taken a bite from the Tree of Knowledge. He had seen the light. He knew the truth.

He was smitten. Badly so. Every time he looked at her, he felt like he was on fire, and every time she looked at him, he wanted to melt. Third-degree burns.

“Wait a minute,” she shot him a glare. “Was that another backhanded short joke?”

Blazing. Brighter than the Sun.

“Course not,” he feigned innocence. “And even if it was, it went right over your head.” 

She chucked a pillow at him. “You’re a menace.”

“S’what my friends say,” Peter shrugged coolly. 

She looked over at him, capturing the toasted caramel of his eyes. Licked her lips subconsciously. The sight of it made his abs clench, like going over the peak of a rollercoaster. 

“What else do they say?” she questioned. Her heart was beating faster.

Peter glanced at the clock for a moment, smirk never fading. “You’re gonna get a chance to ask them yourself. Soon.” 

She quirked her brow in response. “Are you throwing a party?”

“Not exactly,” he muttered with an amused chuckle. A flush of pink tinged his cheeks. “If I tried to throw a party with these guys, things would go south real quick. Regrets all around.”

To anyone listening, their rapport had evolved in just a few hours. It sounded like they were old friends, shooting the shit on a lazy afternoon. Their conversation flowed like a river, bending and shifting with the landscape, instead of against it.

It was disarming to her. They sat across the giant living room, which by all accounts, could’ve easily housed several smaller living rooms. But they were so much closer than they had been when the day started. 

Perhaps it was the playful way he’d answer her questions, like he was trying to match wits and make her laugh. And the sound of his laughter was just as mesmerizing. 

It felt like playing. Maybe it was foolish of her, but she liked playing with him. She wondered how many other people got to see this part of him. 

“Regrets or Re-grats?” she snorted softly. Held her nose, trying unsuccessfully to extinguish the embarrassing sound. 

Judging by his glowing grin, it seemed like he enjoyed it. “Both. Definitely both.”

“Ooh—okay, there’s a good question,” she crooned as fuzziness clouded her senses up, building in her breast. She had to peel her eyes away from his. The amber hue of his irises made her feel like a schoolgirl, especially whenever he smiled like that. “What’s your biggest regret?”

She waited, trying to hold her face steady, but her cheeks were starting to hurt from grinning like a fool. And she waited. And waited. No response. She looked over at him, and her smile dropped.

Peter was still sitting in the same spot, but he was also somewhere else. Somewhere hostile. Brow furrowed, face firm as stone, mouth twisted as if he’d swallowed something bitter. He wasn’t looking at her anymore. Whoever he was looking at was getting his full ire. The gold of his eyes had gone cold, replaced with blackened storm clouds. 

Her stomach turned as she realized what had happened: her stupid question hit a nerve. Of course it would. Who even asks something so personal like that—would you shut up for 5 minutes, always with the questions, you never stop!—and now that she had—stupid, nosy little brat, you’ve ruined everything—it was too late. 

Peter came to an abrupt stand, his spine straightening rigidly. Reflexively, she sat up at attention, looking up at him from the couch. She felt so small compared to him. 

Her ‘friend’ was gone again. Her captor was back.

“Go back to your room,” he suggested, with an order hiding underneath. She dipped her chin for some reason, anxiously searching for sympathy on his face from beneath her brows. He refused to look at her. Tugged on the edge of his shirt. Cleared his throat. “We’ll have company soon. You can come out when they get here, if ya want. Maybe put on somethin’ nice.” 

She glanced down at her casual attire—the hoodie and jeans—and suddenly, she felt so homely. Unruly and unkempt—would it kill you to brush your hair, you look like some wild Indian girl. Is that who I raised you to be?

She thumbed her palm, wanting to apologize. Wanting to say anything, but he didn’t give her the chance. After his flippant remark, he strode off, marching up the stairs to attend to something more important. 

A few hours later, she emerged from her room hearing voices other than Peter’s. She gripped the banister tightly as she carefully descended the stairs wearing wedge-heeled, suede boots that rested just below her knee. She tugged down the hem of the form-fitting, cashmere turtleneck dress. It took all of her will not to continually tug on the neck, which felt like a collar choking her. She didn’t look like herself at all. A vampy black-on-black look. She felt ridiculous. And itchy.

She loathed turtlenecks, but of the options she’d arrived with, her only other nice blouse was the shirt dirtied by yesterday’s tree-climbing adventure. For some reason beyond her understanding, the idea of embarrassing Peter by looking like that dirty kid from the Peanuts cartoon was mortifying. 

It was ridiculous, really. Infuriatingly so.

She was a kidnapping victim, for Christsakes. Why did it matter what she looked like? Why did she care what he thought? 

Why did she spend an hour doing her makeup, then debating whether she should wear jeans and a camisole, and how much boob is too much boob? and maybe she could do laundry—there’s gotta be a laundry room—and fuck it, I’m wearing sweatpants—before finally settling on dress she wore. As if it wasn’t one of three options.

She wore a timid look at the bottom of the steps. It was the winter formal all over again, and she was without a date. Except around her was a small group of mobsters. About fifteen of them, in total.

The group of mostly men clamoured on, chatting with occasionally raucous peaks. People were milling about the living room and dining area. Some faces she recognized. A couple of them leaned over a pool table, cue in hand, lining up their shots—wait, she hadn’t even noticed the pool table? 

Everyone had a drink in hand. But Peter had been right—this didn’t feel like a celebration. 

Instead, there was an air of tension hanging over the group. Everyone on edge. Every entrance blocked by men who weren’t socializing like the others. Guards, she assumed. Probably with guns. The thought of sneaking out the door while everyone was distracted vanished. She took another step forward, approaching the crowd from the staircase. 

A dip in conversation caught her attention. Some faces looked her in her direction with blaring silence, eyeing her in a way that made her want to scamper back up the stairs. She didn’t belong here. Perhaps they were thinking the same thing. She kept her eyes down, until she spotted Peter entering the room. 

He looked absolutely lethal. Devastatingly handsome. Wearing a designer straight-fit jacket with a notched collar and wide, fluid trousers, both in midnight-black and moonlight-silver pinstriped wool. His collared, matte-black silk shirt had the top buttons unfastened, revealing a contrast of pale skin past his collarbone. His lambskin black leather boots were glossed to a high shine, the pointed toe peaking out beneath the width of the pants leg. 

As she took him in, one question rang in her mind: where the fuck was he going dressed like that? The next question was why was her mouth watering, and could anyone notice?

Before she thought too hard about it, his eyes were on her. Whiskey-gold, entranced, and hungry. She felt heat creep up her back.

Blushing, she looked away as he breezed up to her, stopping just barely out of arm’s reach. She felt dizzy, the skin beneath the turtleneck prickling with sweat. 

“You, uh...” Peter began, his tone shy, “you look... amazing.”

Butterflies fluttered in her belly, and she wanted nothing more than to crush them beneath her foot. “Thanks,” she swallowed hard. She tried to avoid eye contact, because him looking at her made her weaker, and she couldn’t afford to forget what he was. 

Who was he again?

“I thought you said you weren’t having a party.” Her tone was calm, coquettish.

“Uh, yeah, um,” Peter glanced around, as if remembering the room was full of people. “These, uh... these people work with me.”

She lifted a brow. “You have co-workers in your gang?”

“It’s not a—” he bit off, flinching. “It’s... complicated.”

“The gang or the co-workers?”

“They work for me,” Peter clarified. “I trust them with my life.” He swallowed hard, glancing down at his feet, then back up at her. There was that boyish look that contrasted so much with who he was trying to be. “You said you wanted to know about Peter Parker,” he added. “These are the right people to ask.”

She watched him, intrigued. Fascinacion meeting confusion. He was hot and cold. Darkness and light. Wide open and closed shut. Right now, he was trying to open up. He looked nervous, despite the confidence he exuded when he walked into the room.

A chilly draft breezed in, as they both turned towards the source. Breathlessly, Miles strolled in with a giant backpack slung over his shoulder. Her tension lifted as she recognized the teen’s friendly face. He walked up to them, gripping the bulging bag tight.

“Miles,” Peter said curiously, sounding surprised to see him. 

“Hi, sorry I’m late I got caught up inna thing is the food here?” All of the words came flooding out at once, in between winded breaths. 

“You’re supposed to be back home,” Peter admonished. He sounded... parental, almost. 

“Yeah, I just... need some help with somethin’. Real quick.” Miles began with sheepish eyes, lifting the backpack over his shoulder. Peter tilted his head, letting his shoulders slump. He looked disappointed. Honey glanced back between the two men curiously.

“When’s the test?” Peter sighed. 

Miles said with a wince, “Um... now?”

“Now?” Peter exclaimed.

Miles glanced at his watch, “I mean, now until... 11:59pm.”

“Miles!” he groaned. “Again?”

“Okay, I know what you’re gonna say,” the teenager replied, “and I really wanna hear you out because it is all valid, but... we’ve only got like 57 minutes to talk this out before time is up.”

“Talk what out?” Peter sighed, planting his hands on his hips.

Miles dug his hand into his backpack, pulling out his laptop in one fluid yank. He popped open the lid, opening the screen up to a jumble of letters and numbers in a web browser. Peter huffed as he glanced at the screen and the timer steadily counting down. Full ‘disappointed dad’ face.

Miles took a deep breath, and began, “Okay, so obtaining equilibrium in the decomposition of ammonia...”

That was the first thing Honey learned about Peter Parker: He was smart. Really smart. 

“Kind of a bookworm type, ya know? He’s got a big brain.” 

That summary came from a tall, loud-mouthed, blonde with a million-dollar smile, who was way too handsome to be in crime. Unless being handsome was the crime. 

The only unattractive thing about him was that he obviously knew he was attractive. Dripping with a flirtatious charm that bordered on cocky, he leaned back on the edge of the pool table. His biceps bulged from a t-shirt that was two sizes too small. 

He’d been fast-talking Honey’s ear off since he saw her standing alone, people-watching from the sidelines. She would’ve been flattered if he didn’t remind her of every frat guy morphed together at once. Like a Frat-kenstien. 

She heard Miguel refer to him as “Torchy.” She had asked for his name, and when he told her it was Johnny Storm she scoffed to herself, rolling her eyes. As far as aliases go, his was the fakest-sounding name of all.

“I mean, not the biggest in the room,” he snickered. “I’ve seen bigger.” Honey blinked a few times, wondering is this guy seriously making a dick joke right now. 

“You sure you don’t want one?” he asked. He reached over and offered a shot glass filled with a double-pour of amber liquid. She glanced down at the glass with a frown, the spicy cinnamon scent stinging her nostrils.

“No, thanks,” Honey replied, polite. “It’s a little early for Fireball.”

“Early? It’s past 11, party girl,” he laughed. He put the glass to his lips and downed it in a gulp like a seasoned pro. She winced as she watched, amazed that the burn didn’t phase him. “You like to stay up late, huh?” he questioned, his breath coming out hot like fire.

“So what did you mean when you said it ‘ran in Peter’s family’?” she asked, much to his disappointment. “How long have you known Peter? Are you best friends? Do you know his family?”

“Uh, no... Haven’t known him that long. Only a couple years,” he answered. His body seemed to relax, as if he was sucking in the whole time and he let himself deflate. “And no, I didn’t meet ‘em. Read about ‘em though. His dad was some crazy smart scientist. And uh, yeah... I guess genius runs in the family.”

“As for the other thing,” Johnny added, thoughtfully, “I don’t think Peter has any best friends.” 

It wasn’t unkind, the way he said it. But the answer was painful to process. It fit in with the portrait she was beginning to paint. Then, she considered his earlier response. “Was?” Honey asked. “His dad was a genius?”

That was the next thing she learned: Peter was an orphan.

“It’s a dark tale,” another man with a solemn face explained. Honey had noticed him sitting by himself, hunched over the bar. He seemed older than the others, with long facial features and a sharp hooked nose poking out from the brim of a black fedora. He hadn’t bothered to remove the black duster jacket the whole time. 

She’d asked for his name too, but she got another stupid codename: Noir.

“What happened?” Honey asked, morbidly intrigued.

“I’d tell you,” he said, grimly, “but I’d have to kill you.” She stared at him, face twisted in confusion. Without looking in her direction, Noir stood from the bar, taking his glass of whiskey, and breezed off. 

Getting answers about Peter Parker was proving more difficult than asking Peter for details directly. She sighed, knowing she needed to pivot. So she continued the line of questioning that yielded the most success.

“If Peter was a tree—?”

“Yes,” Honey replied, repeating her earlier question. “What kind of tree would he be?” She stood with two other men—Miguel O’Hara, and a dark-skinned, lanky man with an East London accent sporting a mohawk fade. 

The Brit with the distressed denim vest adorned in pins and patches glanced at Miguel, who silently pondered the question. “What kinda bonkers question is‘at?” he said, although with his accent it sounded more garbled.

Miguel kept his arms crossed in front of his chest, debating quietly. A smirk settled on his face. He gave her his answer. “A weeping willow.”

“Maple tree,” the one called Eddie answered, his mouth stuffed full of chocolate cupcake. Honey stood with him in the corner of the kitchen next to the refrigerator. He’d been alone since he arrived, keeping to himself and pretending not to notice the dirty looks the others gave him. Honey noticed.

She also noticed that no cupcakes were served. Didn’t recall seeing any in the refrigerator, either. 

“Hmm...” She pondered his response and also—did this guy just bring a cupcake for himself, who does that, is he diabetic?  “Interesting,” she replied, straight-faced.

“Maple, because he’s gotta sweet tooth,” Eddie explained, licking buttercream frosting from his fingers. “I’ve seen it.”

“Apple tree.” Felicia sounded confident in her answer. 

Standing near a temperature-controlled wine case, which of course encompassed the entire wall, Honey watched her pop the cork on a bottle of Dom Perignon. She helped herself, plucking the rose gold foil-wrapped bottle from the top rack. Honey caught a glimpse at the vintage year on the label. The bottle was older than she was. 

“Want some?” Without waiting for a reply, Felicia poured the champagne into a crystal flute and handed it over, before pouring one for herself.

“Oh, uh…” Honey considered protesting, but it was too late. She watched Felicia down her glass. “Apple, huh? What makes you say that?” 

Felicia gave her a sly look. “Have you seen his ass?”

Honey choked on the bubbles of her drink, her face flushing with embarrassment. 

Felicia grinned salaciously, “I mean, doesn’t it just, y’know... kinda make you wanna take a bite out of it?” She hopped up on the counter, crossed her thighs while she poured herself another glass. 

“Um, I, uh—” Honey timidly stuttered. 

She was used to Nasrin’s crude wisecracks making her blush, but this was turning her red. She glanced across the room to see Peter still tucked away in a corner with Miles as he explained advanced chemistry in under seven minutes. She couldn’t help but recall the prurient memory of Peter, dripping wet in the shower that morning. 

‘Apple’ really was a good description. Honey attempted to brush the guilty look off her face, but Felicia saw it and ran with it. 

“Yeah, I see you,” she teased with a smirk. “See, it’s the pants.” Honey glanced over at her curiously, before the silver-haired woman explained. “Tailoring is a must. If only you coulda seen him when I met him. All baggy, wrinkled t-shirts and skinny jeans with holes. Not an ounce of style. He thought Saint Laurent was an actual saint! If I hadn’t intervened, he’d still look like some sort of homeless hipster. I practically saved his life.” 

Both women were staring now, sizing him up from across the room. Honey found their blatant objectification disgusting. Sorta.

“He’s certainly learned a few things, but most of his wardrobe inspiration came from me,” Felicia added, an air of pride in her voice. She took a sip, savoring it this time. “We did a whole Pretty Woman montage and everything. ‘Cept, he was the hooker and I was the one with the black card.”

“Oh,” she replied, the thought hitting her like a truck. “Then are you… and Peter…um... Are you—?” She let the words taper off, feigning mild curiosity. In reality, she went rigid at the thought of Peter being with another woman. A gorgeous woman. A tall, gorgeous woman. What was that? Jealousy?

“What?” Felicia didn’t mince words. “Are we fucking?” She barked out a laugh. “Oh, god no,” Honey cracked an amused smile, trying to hide her relief. Why was she so relieved? “I mean… he’s cute,” she went on, “but... sorta in an annoying little brother way?”

Honey sneaked another glance over at Peter, imagining what his younger self must have looked like. Was he as shy and awkward as she was in high school?

“Well, his idea of Casual Friday has certainly elevated,” Honey bitterly grumbled, recalling his snarky comment about her outfit. 

“Ugh, he’s a man. A Leo man. If I had to guess, it’s probably more of a pride thing,” Felicia shrugged thoughtfully. “It’s called power dressing for a reason.” 

Honey watched Felicia’s eyes drift down her dress, sizing her up. She blushed at the attention. “It’s important to acknowledge our assets,” the silver-haired vixen clinked her glass against hers. It was a strange sort of camaraderie. “They can be handy tools when you need ‘em. Believe me, sweetie, an ass like yours in that dress, I’m sure Petey will fall right in line.”

Honey flushed with embarrassment. “I, uh... I wasn’t trying... to— It’s not like.... I don’t even like turtlenecks.”

“So why dontcha wear something else? It’s not like you don’t have options.”

“What are you talking about? What options?”

When she looked back at Felicia, the woman was staring at her incredulously. She snorted and burst into laughter, forced to hold her nose.

Honey watched her struggle to regain her composure. “What’s so funny?”

Felicia pulled herself together, shaking her head apologetically. “Did Peter not even tell you about the clothes? All that stuff in the closet?”

She shuddered uncomfortably, recalling that she borrowed a pair of hiking boots the day before. “I don’t know who that stuff belongs to,” she explained. “I can’t just… wear someone else’s underwear...”

The woman’s expertly microbladed brows shifted high. “Oh, Honey,” Felicia shook her head, using the same term of endearment that Peter used. “You think those clothes belong to someone else? He bought them for you.”

Honey blinked at her, her brain struggling to catch up. The giant walk-in closet in the guest room. The shelves of shoes in every style. In her size.

“I don’t know what idea you had about Petey,” Felicia smirked, “but that underwear is yours, sweetie.”

Whatever came next in the conversation, Honey couldn’t keep up. Her mind kept drifting back to the same place. He’d bought her a wardrobe. He’d bought her those shoes. 

That’s the next thing she learned about Peter: he had no intention of letting her go.

At some point, the conversation died down. The small crowd began to shuffle out of the common space. Honey placed her emptied champagne glass on the kitchen bar. As she turned to follow the crowd, Peter appeared, blocking her path.

She tensed, coming face-to-face with him. He noticed .

“I, uh... have some business to attend to,” Peter explained. He sounded apologetic. She looked over his shoulder to see the room nearly empty. “I want you to hang out here with Miles.”

She looked over to see the teenager posted up at the dining table, tapping away on his keyboard. It wasn’t like he needed help, or a babysitter— His true intention struck her. She was the one being watched. Bitterly, her eyes flicked back to Peter. She crossed her arms, visibly annoyed, but didn’t bother to argue. It was useless anyway.

A smile formed on his lips. “Good girl.” 

A chill crawled down her spine. She was powerless against it. He shouldn’t make her react that way. She shouldn’t react that way. 

Peter hesitated a moment more, eyeing her quietly. She had the uncomfortable feeling she was being read. He then stepped away. She watched him disappear into a different wing of the house.

Again, it was just her and Miles. With a huff, she retrieved her champagne flute again, and gave herself a generous pour of the expensive champagne. 

She brought the glass to her lips, rueing her situation and every choice in her life leading up to that point. The tapping ceased as Miles jumped to his feet excitedly.

“Done!” he cheered, with a celebratory fist pump in the air. “Woooo. Take that, AP Chemistry!” He shuffled his feet, wiggling out a happy dance, then abruptly stopped.

“Gotta pee,” Miles announced, eyes suddenly panicked. Urgently, he rushed off towards the nearest bathroom. Honey couldn’t help but chuckle at the interaction, hearing the door slam. She shook her head, amused, glancing around at the empty room.

Her eyes settled on Miles’ laptop. Left open. Unattended.

Honey glanced out of the windows into the darkness outside. Wherever the guards had gone, they were out of sight. She struggled indecisively, anxiously glancing around. Heart pounding, she set her glass down and darted over to the open laptop.

To her delight, it was unlocked. She glanced warily at the still-closed bathroom door. She pulled up a new tab in the web browser. 

What was she even doing? This was wrong. She was betraying Peter’s trust. 

She had to get out of there. Needed to communicate with someone, and fast. Was 911 an option online?

Pulled up a search bar, typing “New York City police” with the keyboard and hitting the search button. The first results came up. Her eyes froze, fixed on two photos on the screen. Women that she recognized as her co-workers. 

She was confused. Her mind was spinning. She clicked on the images, bringing up the full-page news article. Words swam in front of her and her skin felt clammy. She felt nauseous. She read the headline over and over. 

Confused. Mistaken.

She read the headline again. The one directly over the photos. The photos of the kind faces she saw just a couple of days ago. The women she knew.

POLICE ASK FOR PUBLIC’S HELP: NO SUSPECTS IN BRUTAL MIDTOWN SLAYINGS - Mayor: No rest until ‘savage’ killers are captured 

She scrolled down. Looked at their faces. Looked at the headline. Her eyes were ahead, but her mind was far behind. 

Eighteen months in the past, as she’s shaking Nasrin’s hand, and spends the rest of the afternoon learning that she’s a pre-med student, and she has two little brothers that annoy her, and her mother worries too much about her.

Four weeks ago, she’s looking up at Leyla as she calmly helps her mop up a gallon of knocked over milk, joking that there’s no use crying over it. Except that Honey actually wants to cry because this motherlike woman is so kind and positive about it, and Honey isn’t used to anyone reacting that way when she made mistake.

Her eyes are reading words that don’t correlate. Words like ‘murder’ and ‘arson’ and ‘stabbing.’ There’s a photo of the coffee shop that looks just like the one she works at, except it’s barely recognizable. It’s a charred, burned-out skeleton of a frame.

There’s a picture forming in Honey’s head as she puts the pieces together. Two innocent women were murdered, viciously. Cruelly. Without mercy. Stabbed to death, and their bodies further desecrated and then burned beyond recognition. Ensuring that no one would see their faces again. 

There were shocked reactions from the community. Funerals planned. Flowers and a candlelight vigil. 

And all of it had happened because of her.

Hands were gripping her forearms. Her face was cold. Wet with tears. She was freezing cold.

Honey was shrieking at the top of her lungs, unable to recall when she had begun. Shaking uncontrollably.

She howled and bawled, muttering incoherently nonononononono through heaving sobs.

There was a woman holding her up. It was Felicia. The entire room was full again. Men on high alert, stirred into action at the sound of her panicked screams. Miles stood nearby, looking blindsided. Panicked. Regretful.

He was saying something—just left her for a minute, I didn’t know—and he sounded desperate. There’s a voice barking back at him. It’s Peter’s.

“Everybody out!” Peter snapped, his voice booming like thunder. 

Miguel answered, tension and impatience thinning his tone, “Parker, we still have unfinished business to sort out—”

“I said everybody out!” he roared, eyes flashing, black as coal. The whole room fell silent. “Now!”

Without further hesitation, Peter’s men shifted and filed out of the exits. Soon, only Miles and Felicia remained.

Miles was at the end of Peter’s razor-sharp gaze. “Go home.” His voice was a bit calmer, but no less cold. The teenager looked like a kicked puppy. He gathered his laptop and his backpack and slinked out of sight.

Peter then turned to Felicia, who was still gripping Honey by the shoulders. She sat with her on the couch, trying to keep the hysterical woman upright.

“That means you, too,” he firmly ordered. 

Felicia shook her head, the young woman’s cries having cut her deep. Maybe it was a memory that struck too close to home. “Just give the girl a minute, will ya, Pete?” she snapped with frustration.

Peter’s voice dropped lower, as did the temperature of the room. “Out, Felicia. Now.”

The timbre of his voice was piercing. A silent scream. Felicia glanced up at him, stunned. Unnerved. He glared right back, blood pumping with rage. The darkness tinting his eyes made him unrecognizable. Even to her.

Reluctantly—bitterly—she released her hold on Honey’s arms. She stared at her boss with a flicker of defiance, a subtle warning. Then she stormed off, her heels clicking like a shrill drum.

They were alone. Peter took a deep breath, exhaling slowly through his nose. His eyes softened as they rested on her. She looked at him, feeling tiny in his towering gaze. He looked like a god looming over her. And she hated him for it.

“I’m sorry,” Peter began gently. “Tried to keep you from the news. Didn’t want you to find out this—”

“Fuck you!” Honey roared, cutting him off. She jumped to her feet, her voice shattering like glass. For a moment, he thought she’d attack him. A lionness on the defense. He pictured her leaping onto his head and digging claws and fangs into his flesh. 

Hot tears spilled tracks of mascara down her cheeks. She vibrated with rage. She was a trembling, trashed, snotty mess and all she wanted was to inflict pain. “You killed them!” 

“I didn’t,” Peter quickly replied, keeping his voice calm. Slowly approached. He held his hands away from his body, inching closer towards her. “I didn’t, I swear—“

“I don’t believe you!”

“It was Kingpin,” Peter explained, placating in soothing tones. “I thought once I rescued you, he’d regroup. He didn’t. He sent his men to your shop the next morning. By the time we got there, it was too late—”

���Shut up!” she growled, tugging at her hair as she tried to cover her ears. “Shut up! Shut up! I don’t wanna hear it! I don’t care! You killed them! They didn’t do anything— they’re not a part of—you-you fucking did this! This is all your fault!”

“I know,” he whispered. His voice was thick with heartbreak. “I know.”

“You know?” she cried lividly. Her tone was sharp enough to amputate limbs. “You know?!” 

Her eyes were glowing with fury. He knew that look. The desperate, consuming sort of rage where all you want is hell on earth. 

“I know exactly who you are, Peter Parker!” She spat out each syllable like rotten fruit. Like poison. “You’re a goddamn curse!”

His lashes fluttered in the heat waves coming off of her. His jaw clenched.

“You’re a cancer! A fucking plague! You’ve destroyed my entire fucking life! Fucking monster! You’ve ruined everything!”

He stood still. Gazing down at her. Eyes soft. Mournful. Holy. She wanted to rip them from his skull. To gauge them out with her thumbs.

“What the fuck did I do to deserve you?” she hissed, frustrated by her inability to exact the violence she craved. Upset by the injustice she could not avenge. “Tell me—what did I do? Fucking asshole! You ruin everything you touch!”

Peter bit down hard on the inside of his cheek, keeping his face solemn and pliant. It wasn't lack of remorse. He simply refused to fight back. And it infuriated her further.

“You should be the one that they killed! Not them!” 

The faintest twitch ghosted across his face. He swallowed it up, pushing it down. She relished in the sight of his pain. 

It wasn’t enough. 

“I wish you were dead! You hear me? I wish you’d fucking burn! I hate you! I fucking hate you!”

It still wasn’t enough. 

She brought her hand up and struck him across the cheek. It made the inside of her palm sting. The burn flowed through her fingers and left a red mark, like rattlesnake venom poisoning his face. Her heart thrummed at the thought. 

She pulled her hand back. Took another shot. She felt confounding relief and agony at the sensation of her fingers slamming into his cheek. She tightened her palm into a fist. Did it again. And again, each blow landing heavier, taking more out of her.

She felt her fingernails slice through his skin, leaving a bloody red gash within his beard. Peter left his eyelids closed this time, as if lost in a dream somewhere. A nightmare. Absorbing the pain. Letting it sink into his bones. 

The sight of his blood just made her imagine the mutilated bodies of her friends. Innocent women. Now he bled, like them.

It wasn’t enough.

She brought her fist down again, but this time on his shoulder. She repeated with the other fist, hammering it down on his chest. Her lungs were burning, sweat beading at her brow. She beat on him like she was attempting to break down a door. Each swing drawing out her energy. Draining out her soul.

“It’s your fault, it’s your fault your fault your fault,” she repeated like a prayer until it was no more than a broken whimper. 

Fists sore, she could feel them already starting to bruise. Her biceps were on fire. Acid tears streaming down her cheeks.

Peter stood there. His face scratched up. Hair disheveled. His eyes glimmering with unshed tears. It was ridiculous of him, looking like some sort of innocent fawn. Watching her without judgment. Silently participating in the beating. It was offensive.

She was so furious she could barely breathe. Could barely stand. Until finally, she wasn’t. Her knees buckled beneath her. Threw her weight down through her arms, bringing both fists down in a final, exhausted blow.

Peter caught her before she fell. She collapsed in his arms and he slowly sank with her down to the floor. He held her like that. No more words were spoken between them. They both let each other just be.

A crude mirror-image of one another.

Continue to part 7

a/n - thank you so much to each of you that commented, sent me an ask, and big thank you to those of you that reblogged!

don't forget, to be tagged you must reblog so I can keep track of you!

[pianocat939]

What would yan! turtles would react they saw reader kissed someone or giving affections to them? (could be their s/o or something) but the turtles has feelings for reader.

I have a feeling they would secretly kill this person

You just really want people to be murdered by mentally ill turtles, don't you?/j

Tw: murder, unfair debt (caused by bank hacking), manipulation

Raquelle Snatched My Leucism:

Immediately espresso depresso. Questions himself on whether or not his actions were in vain. But the more he watches you giving affection to so said person, the more he wants to kill them. Wouldn't life be so simple if he erases them from the world? "Once they're gone, you'll only have your attention on me~!"

(I don't think I conjugated erase correctly help)

Les Québécois Are Being Funky:

Hoh, you just unleashed hell. For those of you familiar with my blog, we know that Leo manipulates, right? Well, that's what he does. He tries to find a weakness or flaw in them and uses it to his advantage. If that doesn't work...Murder. "So stupid you are...Thinking that you were a match for them~"

Dinosaur That Looks Like Kris Jenner:

Baffled and offended. He can't believe you would fall in love with some disgusting garbage. Isn't he the better one? He can do so much more than whatever they can. He's first going to ruin their lives but either hacking or forceful blocking. But if it continues, he won't hesitate to break in and kill them. "Oops...Looks like that debt of a million dollars isn't going to be good for you~"

Miami People Can't Survive In The Northern Midwest:

Depends on who confessed first. If it was you: then he's going to try to separate you two but doesn't take drastic actions; however, if it's the other person who confessed first: then he's going to burn their body to crisps. He'll take a picture of the scene and paste it into a scrapbook. "Ah~ This one is a great addition to all the others."

[bluevaractyl]

This was supposed to be short and fluffy, but it is not at all. Oops. TW: potentially triggering description of being strangled

It's also on Ao3 now

Burning Skies - Starting Fires

Eight pairs of boots made a crisp crunching sound as they trudged through the fallen leaves. Sky admired the different shades of yellow, orange, and red on the trees around them, trying to keep his mind off his aching feet.

The group of heroes had spent all morning walking, following the trail of the Shadow and its followers. They had taken down most of the bokoblins and moblins it had gathered in their last battle, but several had escaped with it through the gate. The heroes had followed as they always did. As always, the Shadow was long gone by the time they arrived. Sky wondered if it was somehow manipulating time to get a head start.

Twilight was currently in wolf form, keeping them on track and occasionally loping ahead, impatient to catch up with the Shadow and only reluctantly staying within hearing range. It was a condition Warriors had insisted on, and Time had agreed with, once Twilight had recovered enough to transform again.

As Sky watched, Twilight charged through a particularly deep pile, sending leaves flying in all directions. Wild and Legend laughed, and Warriors said something teasing. Twilight’s ears flattened and his tail lowered as if he were embarrassed to be caught playing. Sky privately thought the Rancher should indulge more often; the last couple weeks had been grim and focused, and it was wearing on all of them. He smiled, remembering Twilight fondly speaking of roughhousing with the younger kids in his village. He hoped they would get a chance to meet them on this adventure. Visiting home was sure to lighten Twilight’s mood.

Suddenly Twilight’s ears perked up and he stilled, alert. They all instinctively fell silent and stopped walking. Sky looked around, hand rising to the Master Sword, but in all directions, he saw nothing but more empty forest.

Hyrule let out a shout at the same time as Wolfie barked. Sky whirled to see a red keese land behind him and transform into a bat-like monster his own height. It opened its mouth. Sky had a split second to wonder before a fireball was hurtling toward his face. He ducked, feeling the heat of it pass over his head, and charged the creature with his sword drawn and ready.

Sky was distantly aware of more keese dropping from the trees around them and swarming the other heroes, but he kept his focus on the red monster in front of him. Before he could reach it, it leapt into the air, transforming back into a small keese and flapping just out of reach. He jumped and swung when it dipped lower. The tip of his blade clipped its wing, sending it tumbling from the air. It crashed into the ground and transformed again. It snarled at him, opening its mouth to spit another fireball at him, but before it got a chance, he killed it with one swift strike.

Feeling winded from his short sprint, Sky took a moment to slow his breathing. He looked around.

The others were mostly holding their own. A handful of strange, large, red birdlike creatures were hopping around, spraying fire in all directions. Hyrule was handling one, apparently familiar with its pattern of attack. Four and Time were ganging up on another, Wind and Legend on a third. Warriors was struggling with a fourth. Wild and Twilight had their bows out and were focusing on the keese flying every which way, landing scratches on all the heroes and obscuring their vision and generally making nuisances of themselves.

Sky hurried to go help Warriors. He pulled out his whip and yanked a keese from the air where it had been about to swoop at the Captain’s face, letting it smack into a tree. He hastily sidestepped a flaming projectile and called to Warriors, “How do we take these things down?”

Without taking his eyes off the screeching bird-monster, Warriors responded, “It’s not armored, but I can’t get close enough without being set on fire, and it keeps jumping back out of range. Try to flank it so it jumps toward you instead.”

“Alright,” Sky agreed, and began moving around it.

Warriors hadn’t been exaggerating about the fire. Sky quickly tired of ducking and dodging fireballs, but every time he made a move toward the creature, it screeched at him and sent more fire his way. Warriors soon had a charred hole in his tunic from a close call, and Sky’s sword arm had a shallow burn near his elbow. They’d barely landed a scratch on the bird-monster in the meantime. Sky hoped the others were having more success.

Just as Sky was beginning to wonder if a fireball to the face might be worth it to stab the thing, an arrow pierced its eye. It let out an awful screech and paused its assault to shake its head in pain. Without hesitating, Sky whipped into a spin attack, striking it twice before it fell dead.

Panting, Sky rested his hands on his knees. He coughed. Abruptly, the scent of smoke registered. Looking around, he realized the forest around them was alight with small flames, greedily spreading across the dry leaves and catching on the trees. Dark smoke clouded the air, unnaturally heavy. Sky could barely make out Time on the far side of the clearing.

A hand landed on Sky’s shoulder, and he jumped in surprise, having forgotten Warriors was still there. “You alright?” the Captain asked, looking concerned. When Sky nodded, he continued, “Let’s regroup and get out of here, then. This is getting bad fast.”

The two jogged to the center of the battlefield where the other heroes were gathering. Twilight looked antsy, watching the creeping flames with a hunted expression. Time seemed to be counting, making sure everyone was there. As Sky and Warriors drew to a stop, he cleared his throat and said, “There’s still a gap to the east. If you have heat-resistant items, I recommend having them ready. Stick together. Let’s go.” He started leading the way to the dwindling gap in the ring of fire. They all followed. Sky fell into step with Four and Wild.

Four asked, frowning, “We aren’t just going to leave this burning, are we? It’s kind of our fault.”

Time didn’t break stride as he answered evenly, “We can try to make a perimeter, but if it gets out of control, our priority is making it out alive.” Four nodded, accepting the sense in that, although he still looked troubled.

Ahead of them, Legend had his ice rod in his hand, and Wild wielded an icy sword, keeping back the flames as they approached. Sky felt the soft wash of magic as his Fireshield earrings activated in response to the heat.

The tickle in Sky’s throat grew until he couldn’t ignore it anymore. He slowed, falling behind, then stopped walking to double over as a series of coughs left him. Each breath only made him inhale more smoke though, and the coughing wouldn’t stop. He stumbled to his knees, eyes watering and lungs burning. The others were speaking, voices raised, but he couldn’t hear them over his own hacking.

A flash of red light in the corner of his eye. Sky shot to his feet and drew his sword in one smooth motion, which was ruined as he then staggered dizzily. Two strangely dressed humanoid figures crouched before him, brandishing wickedly curved blades. They wore blank white masks painted with a familiar stylized eye, only upside down.

Sky raised his sword and hefted his shield, then moved forward to meet them. They both laughed, then raised their hands and brought them together in a complicated motion. With a puff of smoke and the fluttering of red paper, both vanished.

Sky jerked back in alarm and whipped around, turning in a tense circle as he waited for them to reappear. A puff of displaced air and the memory of a demon whispering in his ear had him striking behind him without thought. A cry told him he had hit his mark.

Sky withdrew the Master Sword and whirled around, but his attacker was already teleporting again, bright red blood streaming from their shoulder. The realization that these were real people he was fighting—real hylians—made him hesitate.

Suddenly a flaming skull whizzed toward him. Glad for the chance to fight monsters instead of people, Sky raised his sword and firmed his stance.

Several things happened in quick succession. A red flash, and a glint of steel darted toward his right side. Sky twisted, deflecting the blow. The skull struck his outstretched arm. The Master Sword dropped from his suddenly numb fingers. A muscular arm wrapped around his torso, pinning his left arm to his side. The person holding him bellowed something, and the world dissolved into red.

~~~

Teleportation was a nauseating experience. As soon as Sky’s feet touched the ground, his knees buckled and his stomach rebelled. The only thing keeping him upright was the arm still tight around his chest.

Head spinning, Sky looked around, trying to process what had brought him here. Instead of a burning wood, he was now in a large, empty room lit by torches. The ground fell away into a dark pit on all four sides of the room. The only door was set in the wall high above his head. Wherever this was, he prayed that he was still in the same era.

Flashes of red signaled the arrival of more enemies. Most were lanky and muscular, but he saw one that was much larger, broad-shouldered and imposing. This one was apparently unarmed.

“Good work, Kurou,” the bigger one said in a deep, masculine voice.

The broad chest against Sky’s back vibrated as the one holding him replied, “Sheikah’s play. Got him swordless, too.” The lack of the Master Sword’s comforting weight on his back suddenly sunk in. Dread filled Sky. How was he going to get out of this without Fi? What did these bullies want with him?

One of the skinnier hylians—were these Sheikah? That couldn’t be right—came forward, holding something. Before Sky could get a good look in the flickering light, he was spun around to face the one who had grabbed him. He realized with a stab of dismay that this one was big too, and probably could have thrown Groose with one hand. Still, Sky wrenched free and drove one knee up. He threw his elbow into the guy’s chest, since it was all he could reach. They chuckled, darkly amused at his pitiful attack.

Someone caught Sky’s arms and jerked them behind his back, forcing him to his knees. He tried to twist free. Another struck him with the pommel of their weapon, and he finally fell limp with a gasp, blinking dazedly. His right temple throbbed with pain. Fireflies flitted across his vision.

A light pressure against his throat drew him back to awareness. His sailcloth was gone. The scratchy texture of the rope now encircling his neck sent his senses scattering. He instinctively tried to raise his hands to it, only to find them tied together behind his back. Panic bubbled in his chest.

The rope wasn’t tight enough to cut off his breathing entirely, but already the restricted blood flow to his head was taking a toll. He could feel his pulse steadily climbing, throbbing where the rope touched and pounding in his chest. His breathing hitched on each exhale. He was growing more lightheaded by the second. He gaped his mouth in a futile attempt to take in more air, even knowing it wouldn’t help.

Suddenly someone yanked on the rope, jerking Sky backward. Cruel laughter echoed around him as he choked, gasping uselessly for air. He thrashed on the ground where he had fallen. His head and wrists ached from landing on them, but the pain was nothing to the overwhelming terror drowning him as he suffocated. His already blurry vision darkened. The tingling in his hands and chest increased. His chest spasmed. His strength faded. Everything went black.

…

He woke up gasping and coughing. His lungs heaved for air. His heart hammered in his chest. Everything was too loud and bright, so he squeezed his eyes shut and focused on struggling to breathe. After an eternity of wondering whether he was about to pass out again, he managed to get his breathing somewhat under control. He lay shaking and shuddering on the ground, trying to reorient himself.

The scratchy rope was still around his neck, but his captors must have loosened it again after he fainted. He could hear their sneering voices around him but couldn’t make out the words. Either they were speaking a language he didn’t know, or his head was muddled from the lack of oxygen. He tried not to dwell on that possibility.

He lay in the same position he last remembered, so he guessed he must not have been out for more than a few seconds. He had scarcely thought this when something hard slammed into his stomach, winding him. He coughed breathlessly, curling around his aching middle, and cracked his eyes open to glare up at the figure looming over him. The unnerving, expressionless mask hid their face, but there was a smile in their voice as they spoke.

“Welcome to the Yiga Hideout. I hope your position here has become clear, Hero.”

Sky gritted his teeth and kept silent, mind whirling. Yiga—why did that sound familiar?

The Yiga chuckled and mused, “When we followed the wretched Champion through that portal, we were unprepared to find him traveling with eight companions. It turned out splendidly in our favor, however. He’s quite loyal, you see. Once he finds our note, he is sure to come charging in to rescue you, and we’ll finally be rid of him.”

Sky’s heart sank. He’d been the weak link in their group and gotten himself captured, and now he was bait. Unfortunately, the Yiga were right about Wild—the impulsive Champion wasn’t exactly known for his caution. Their encounter with the iron knuckle had proven he disregarded orders when someone he cared about was threatened. Sky could only hope Time or Warriors could convince him to work with them this time.

The Yiga straightened and turned away but kept talking. “He’s always outwitted us in the past, but not this time. This time, his reckless courage will be his downfall. Once we have him, we won’t need you anymore, and we’ll hand you over to our ally. He’s been very eager to meet you.”

Sky froze. Ally? Who were the Yiga working with? They weren’t even from this era, how had they already made friends?

“Who—” Sky asked, breaking off to cough painfully. His throat burned. Attempting to swallow sent fire blazing through him and set off another coughing fit. The Yiga watched impassively, waiting.

Once the fit finally subsided, the Yiga crouched over Sky. It replied, “I believe you’ve made his acquaintance before, actually. He was especially pleased when we told him we had managed to separate you from the Blade of Evil’s Bane. Apparently, you caused him trouble with it when you last met.”

Sudden clarity made Sky’s heart skip a beat. The Shadow. The Yiga, whoever they were, were working for the Shadow. And the Shadow wanted to meet Sky.

[morning-357]

Camp Log 2.2

me at my kids today:

bard animal speaks to the spider holding the lil lizard boy (official nickname) hostage

turns out mama spider is just trying to protect her babies (she says something criptic about how to go up means to go down so they listen to the ranger-lizard)

on watch i give them a random chest which suddenly appeared. the fighter fire-breathed it, burning it to a crisp:

“Finders keepers, I saw it first so I get to burn it.” 

they get to the basement where they read another story

lore to be continued in detail but tldr; there once was a child named bastille who had everything he needed. he was never told "no." no one ever truly connected with him. so he took and took and took. first money, then books, then a child, then a dog... all gone.

so if anyone who reads this also completed the poll from yesterday, you will probably think: what the heck is bastille??

benn (and jerry) became an amalgamation of nightmares

quick break for quote as they approach and hear footsteps at the end of the hall!

(up till this point, I told them there was gold flowing in the walls so everyone's impression was that there would be a dragon which... oops.)

Fighter: Im excited to meet my father!

*team approaches the monster*

Druid, shouting into the shadows: are you [fighter]'s father??

Monster: uhhh... yes?????

Cleric: *rolls well on an insight check*: he's lying!

Fighter: You're not my daddy!!! >:(

Ranger: Are you my daddy?

*team group huddles and make a plan where this interaction occurs*:

Cleric: Go say hi to your daddy. (sacrifice)

At this point I realized the only sane person in the group was the bard.

ranger goes to hug the monster and gets enveloped in a BIIIIIG hug :)))))))

and then... the creature starts to grow and change and morph, hundreds of faces, thousands of arms, eyes popping everywhere...

combat begins. i did NOT make this easy (5 attacks, plus 7 to hit, can deal over 50 damage per attack and nearly killed three pc's)

eventually they figuire out three things:

this is bastille

freely giving deals a shit-ton of damage

the only thing that does more damage is teamwork

they wittle his HP down through a series of lighting bolts (ouch), group vicious mockery (had to stop them from being insensitive and rude but they were quite funny overall), and basketball which 5 children destroyed me in

in the end, they are let with a small child made of smoke -- non corporeal. the cleric gently takes the crystal (the thing they need for the quest) and says that being able to give and take is healing.

im so proud of my children. they did good.

sooooo plan/poll for tmr: gotta get/make a monster based on vanity or self esteem (lack of + dragging people down). I need to get them on the track of compliments. i dont give a flip flop if they say this is mlp-core. the power of friendship is real <3

[gendervapor14]

two fights for freedom ~ chapter three: hope remains

It was hard to miss him. Near impossible. The guy was a giant compared to the citizens flocking him, barking about their perks and their discounts. He had his arms full with a huge basket of goods, and some kid beside him was holding onto a growing armful.

“Who is that guy, Genzo?” Nami questioned sweetly, “I don’t recognize him.”

Neither did he. “Stay here, alright? I’m going to go interrogate him.”

“Stay here? In the middle of town?”

Her eyes batted innocently when he looked her way. Maybe that wasn’t the best advice in hindsight.

“Go back to the orchard, then. Help your sister.”

“Yay!” Nami threw her arms in the air exuberantly, bustling off towards her home. Bell-mère could chew him out for this later. There were more pressing concerns.

Nearby vendors hardly looked his way when he approached. Not with the berri signs glimmering in their eyes. “Hey, hey, enough.” Genzo called out, which finally warranted some attention. “Everyone get back to your booths.” He ordered with a strong extension of his arm. The stranger and his kid shifted their focus towards the authority figure. “You two. I don’t recognize you. Who are you, where are you from?”

“We’re travelers.” The blond spoke in a friendly baritone. His hair was a bit unkempt, all waves and curls from the humidity. Jeans, boots, a crisp, clean button-down. He wasn’t from the East Blue. “Call me Dante. And this, this is my kid, Paul.” He plopped a hand over the teen’s spotted hat. Hard to believe they were related in any way. Dark hair, darker, splotchy skin. At least he was wearing shorts. He offered nothing but a silent wave, while the other arm awkwardly managed the bulk of his basket.

“Travelers.” Genzo repeated, as the townspeople listened on in silent awe. “Why have you come here, of all places?” He eyed between them fiercely, “And how?”

“By…boat?” Dante’s reddish eyes darted about as he chuckled nervously. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, how did you get past the Arlong Pirates?” Genzo bit out, tired of this blissful oversight.

“The…Arlong Pirates…?” That dopey grin started to melt.

oops i forgot to post this snippet on tumblr. here it is!! i just finished a draft of chapter 11 tonight and we're about 1/3 of the way done with my outline so she's lookin like she might be about 30 chapters. i think i should be able to keep up with the weekly posting for now.

title: two fights for freedom rating: M category: F/M, gen content warnings: graphic depictions of violence status: incomplete, three chapters, 9,637 words relationship: rosinante/bell-mere, cora & law, rosinante & hatchan, bell-mere & rosinante & law & nami & nojiko, rosinante & genzo, bell-mere & genzo characters: rosinante, bell-mere, law, nami, nojiko, genzo, nako, hatchan, arlong, arlong pirates additional tags: canon divergent, fix-it, everybody lives, pre-arlong park, angst with a happy ending, angst and feels, fluff and humor, hurt/comfort, scheming, suggestive themes, sexual tension, limes (yes i'm bringing limes back), eventual smut, romance, slow burn, arguing, financial issues, broken bones, references to depression, referenced alcoholism, mental health issues, canon backstory, mentioned doflamingo, non-canon backstory (giving bell-mere a backstory), found family, medical inaccuracies, blood and injury, trafalgar d. water law is a little shit, developing friendships, more tags to be added later (?) summary: freedom for one means adventure. exploring all the world has to offer, while avoiding the occasional haunting. freedom for another almost costs an arm and two daughters. a home, a village. perhaps freedom is best sought back-to-back. {a cora and bell-mère lives au}

♥

[blankfairy]

Oooo I want to hear about your “weirwood” wip👀

tysm for the ask!! !! from this post.

!! i just started working on this a few days ago! most of my wips are just one-shots, but i think this'll become a chapter of my hotd fic, all things devour.

it'll go in one of the beginning chapters, when the main character, samsa waters, is about thirteen. she visits the king's landing godswood and finds her eight year old (did not realize he was that young until i just calculated it) half brother, trystane strong. he gives her some things to think about. but because samsa is thirteen and thinks she knows everything (including that her little brother is weird), she just kind of ignores what he has to say.

i ALSO was mistaken, because i named this weirwood, even though the heart tree in the kl godswood is an oak. oops.

snippet under the cut :3

One foggy morning after losing Aemond to his mother, the godswood called, and Samsa answered. Chimera’s Nest had no godswood. It cradled more faiths than Samsa could count, thickets of worshipers and prayers were to be found wherever she went. The ramshack sept never housed more than a handful of candles at each aspect, but something always burned; shrines were everywhere, strewn in incensed alleyways, sitting atop merchants’ counters, nestled in private crooks of shops and homes. Even Valyria’s still stood, deep in the caverns beneath Arlior Ānogrion, crusted with salt and worn by the thousands of high tides past. But they were as dead as Old Valyria itself; Vhagar and Balerion and the rest sat buried in the smoldering rubble that once revered them. When Samsa visited the old faces of her ancestors’ gods, wading in sea water up to her knees, she felt more divine than any of them. She didn’t feel any less powerful in the sept, or standing before the gods of Essos and Yi Ti and beyond, but here, in the godswood, the unease burned in her belly like a bubbling wound. Samsa stepped into the crisp air, heard the whisper of the wind in the trees and the intrusive thunk of her own footsteps, and shivered, but not for the cold. Disquiet blossomed here. Rage shot up from the soil like weeds. No amount of moonblooms or dragon’s breath or blood red malvales could mask it. The heart tree watched her as she approached, weeping red sap. Samsa’s stomach clenched under its strangely thoughtful gaze. A jolt of disbelief struck her the moment she met its eyes. “What am I doing?” Samsa shook her head, then the rest of her body, trying to rid herself of her nerves. She pulled her heavy wool cloak tight around her shoulders. If this was the curiosity that called, she drew her eyes down and felt sated. This was no godswood, it was a garden, the singular weirwood in Chimera’s Nest was more impressive than this thick oak, and she didn’t need to waste her time looking at trees and smelling flowers… A soft voice called to her. “Lady Waters?” Samsa curled her lip. Even with her hearing, she wasn’t sure where the voice had come from, and spun around. There was no one behind her. A heavy gust of wind pushed at her back and sent her cloak whipping at her legs. “Don’t call me that.” She turned back around, squinting. Trystane Strong, heir to Harrenhal, crept out from behind the massive oak, a hand pressed to its pale bark. “You’re a lady, aren’t you?” Somehow, amongst the greens and reds and blues of the godswood, Trystane looked taller than he had in the training yard. His streaked hair of curtained his face in white and brown and fell in loose curls to his shoulders. He wore a plain doublet of his house colors, and a rich red cloak that turned his eyes into depthless pools of blue. It seemed to swallow his wiry body whole. Beneath its embroidered edges his twisted foot stuck out, jutting against the grass covered roots. Before Samsa had a chance to snap at him, Trystane spoke again. “I saw the way you watched me in the yard. You hate me too, don’t you?”