#realizing there was small shade of Glass on the floor and cut through my skin...

[ladycatm]

omg that's scary! hopefully you don't need to be on your foot too much so it can heal.

Yes it was a scary experience— Thank goodness there was no Glass splinter and didn't need to go to the HR 😊

This is not the first to happen. I have a faded scar on my left Knee from Childhood

Blood remains to freak me out haha (Hemophobia) Thankfully the bleeding stopped as my Mother provided support alongside my Older Sister. My older Sister cleaned the remains of the blood and wrapped around my Toe.

Won't be on my foot too much to prevent pressure from walking and allow it to heal 😊

Thank You kindly for looking out for me, i am doing well now 🌺

[osunari]

⚠︎ s i l e n t t e m p t a t i o n s ( 18+ )

— ch. 1

➤ s t a r t

Mr. crawling x MC

— h o m i c i p h e r 𒌧

“Flesh and shadows”

The first thing I felt was warmth—alien, foreign warmth that didn’t belong to me. My body, fragile and cold, seemed to ache in rebellion against the gentle heat seeping through the thin sheets draped over me. My eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the eerie gloom of the room.

Where was I?

The ceiling was unfamiliar—a pale, soothing shade of cream, with faint cracks running across it, like veins on old parchment. The last thing I remembered was the tall figure with the bright red umbrella and coat. How strange, I thought, we were indoors…

Then it hit me. I had fallen. Collapsed, more like, my legs buckling under me as dizziness overtook my senses. The white rain coat I’d been wearing, a comforting trademark of mine, was gone. Instead, I was dressed in a delicate white nightgown that barely reached past my upper thighs. Its’ fabric was soft, airy, but as I shifted, I noticed how it clung to my sickly form, revealing the bruises and cuts that painted my skin like a tragic mural.

I sat up gingerly, clutching the sheet closer to me, trying to shake off the disorientation. My throat felt parched, my head a little foggy, but I was alive—though unsure of how or why.

The room was small but cozy, with wooden floors and not a single window that let me see through the outside of the cryptic ghost apartment. The furniture was minimal: a chair, a side table with a glass of water alongside a bowl of human gut, and a faintly flickering lamp.

Where’s mr. crawling?

I reached for the glass of water, the cool surface soothing against my fingers. Taking a cautious sip, I scanned the room again. No red umbrella. No tall figure. Just me.

Just… me? The unusual feeling of having lost something—or someone struck me. Where is he? The man on all fours. He who had stuck by your side the day you gained access in this otherworldly place.

Then the sound of soft footsteps startled me. My grip on the glass tightened as the door creaked open.

There he was.

Not he whom crawled alongside me, but the tall red figure from earlier. His silhouette momentarily obscured by the light streaming in from the hall. The red umbrella was peaked from the doorframe, his presence unmistakable. He wore the same long red cloak that could be spotted from afar, his face partially hidden by the shadows and the red strands of his hair.

“ᖶᖻᘉ(you), ᕼᘿᓰᖇ(awake) ?” their voice was deep, smooth, carrying an air of calm authority.

“You…” I managed to croak in their language, my voice barely above a whisper as a raspy cough escaped from my mouth—unable to form a coherent sentence.

Without moving a muscle, he glitched closer to your laying figure, revealing more of his sinister features. His eyes were round and circle, unnervingly focused, as if they could peer into my sinful soul. Their lips quirked into a faint smile—not quite warm, but not entirely cold, either.

“匚���(me) 丂山千ᐯ(help) ᖶᖻᘉ(you) .” they said simply, as if that answered everything.

“Help?” I repeated, my brows furrowing as I tilted my head up to face him. “Where? Why am I here? What happened to my coat? And why…” My words trailed off as I gestured vaguely to the nightgown and my battered body.

It all suddenly came to your realization. It’s possible that he had actually come to your rescue when you most needed it, or he’s one lying manipulator and that mr. crawling’s around here somewhere waiting for you to awake from your unfortunate slumber.

Seeing your threatened expression and tense body language, he realized his demeanor had become more uncomforting rather than the opposite after being around you for a moment—which was not part of his intent at all.

“卄ᐯ(afraid) ?” he said softly, his menacing voice adjusting lowly and measured. “ᗪ几(you) 乇乙尺(safe) 千卄Ҝ(here)—“

His words faltered. His head tilted, his sharp features hardening into something colder. His gaze left yours. His eyes had shifted, narrowing, as if sensing a presence that you couldn’t see.

The air grew heavy, the measly warmth of the room rapidly replaced by a biting chill that seeped into your bones. Your skin prickled with an almost instinctive dread. The shadows in the corners of the room seemed to stretch and writhe unnaturally, bending towards like living things.

“丂ᗪ尺千(someone) 丨乂几(around) .” he murmured, his voice so low it was almost a growl. His body shifted slightly, as if to shield you, his long red cloak flowing like liquid crimson.

You barely had time to process his words before you felt it—a presence behind you.

Something moved.

The hair on the back of your neck stood on end, your breath hitched as an unnatural, wet scraping sound echoed faintly in the room. Slowly, against every ounce of survival instinct screaming at you not to, you turned your head.

And there he was.

His grotesque lanky tall figure loomed in the dim light of the room, impossibly still while tilting his head as a desperate attempt to fit in the claustrophobic room, almost blending with the shadows. His hair cascaded down like an inky waterfall against yours, shrouding most of his face, yet sadly enough to conceal his nonexistent eyes. His pale skin glowed faintly against the darkness, almost too perfect, too smooth, like polished marble. Yet something was wrong—eerily wrong. His smile. It stretched too wide, sharp and cruel, curving downward in a way that sent shivers racing through your spine.

He wasn’t just tall—he seemed elongated, almost stretched, his limbs just slightly too long to be normal. The fabric of his dark attire clung to him like a second skin, emphasizing his unnatural yet pleasing physique.

His anger simmered beneath the surface, a dark, unspoken storm barely contained within the hollow depths of his unspoken mind. The moment he saw you with mr. scarletella—saw how the other man’s glitching crimson presence lingered near you—something inside him twisted. His chest rose and fell with steady, deliberate breaths, but his hands betrayed him—long, ghostly fingers curling into trembling fists, nails biting into his palms like they were trying to keep his fury from spilling out. And yet, his anger wasn’t loud or obvious; it was cold, creeping, and quiet, the kind that made the air feel like it might snap at any second.

The room felt like it had fallen into another dimension, the air heavy with tension so thick it seemed to press against your skin. They stood on opposite sides of the room—mr. scarletella, poised and calm as ever, his eyes glinting like embers in the dim light, and mr. crawling, a shadow that seemed to stretch unnaturally, his figure a dark vortex that swallowed all warmth.

Neither of them spoke a word, but the silence between them was deafening. Their gazes locked, an unspoken battle unfolding in the cold void between them. Scarletella’s crimson glow flickered like a waning candle, his calm demeanor cracking ever so slightly under the weight of crawling’s oppressive presence—his head tilted unnaturally to the side, the piercing frown on his face indicating every pinch of vexation.

Scarletella’s lips pressed into a thin line, his gaze steady but losing its luster. A faint crimson light sparked at his fingertips, flickering like a final attempt to push back the darkness. “丂乂(you) 乇Ҝ丂ㄩ(upset) ? 丂几尺(jealous), 丨尺ㄥ(maybe) ?”

Crawling’s head snapped forward, his body jerking like a marionette suddenly pulled taut by its strings. His looming figure took a step closer, the sound of his movement a grotesque, wet scraping that sent a shiver racing down your spine. The shadows in the room twisted and churned around him, as though they were alive and feeding off his fury.

“尺ㄚㄥ(leave) , 千匚几乃(now) .” mr. crawling’s silent voice rang with venom, his figure now inches from mr. scarletella. Despite his thin, sickly frame, his presence seemed to tower, to consume, to devour. The crimson glow around scarletella faltered, dimming as crawling leaned closer. “ﾌ几(you) ㄩ ㄖ卩(stay) , 匚ㄚ(me) Ҝㄖㄥ(hurt) . ﾌ几(you) 丂丨几(leave) , 匚ㄚ(me) ㄚ几(not) Ҝㄖㄥ(hurt) .” The corner of his grotesque mouth twitched upward, his grin widening until it threatened to split his face in two. His head tilted even further, the movement unnatural, predatory. A faint, guttural growl escaped him, reverberating in the walls, the air, my very bones.

Is this real life?

It was the first time you had ever seen him like this, standing at his full, unnatural height, his shadowed figure stretching tall enough to make the walls seem smaller, the room closing in around the trio. He had always been careful before—almost gentle, as if tiptoeing around your fear. He used to crawl, his movements deliberate and slow, his eerie smile softened by an odd attempt at kindness. But now, there was nothing restrained about him. He loomed over you, his glowing void-like eyes bearing down, his jagged smile curling wider with a hint of something sinister, something raw and unfiltered. Your heart pounded as you realized he was no longer hiding himself—no longer trying to make you feel safe. This was him, unmasked, no longer pretending to be the harmless, shadowed companion you’d grown used to. It wasn’t just surprising—it was terrifying in a way that left you breathless.

Mr. scarletella’s expression remained unreadable, but I caught the faintest flicker of tension in his clenched jaw, the slightest shift in his footing as though even he could feel the crushing inevitability of Crawling’s dominance. “ . . . ㄚㄩ(you’re) 乃乙ㄩ(becoming) 山ㄖ爪卩(softer) .”

That word… Is it perhaps to belittle mr. crawling?

Mr. scarletella’s crimson glow flickered violently, his form trembling like static on a broken screen. For a moment, his sharp features twisted with frustration, his eyes narrowing as though the very air around him was unraveling. Then, without warning, his entire figure glitched, fragments of him shattering like shards of crimson light breaking into the void. The glow dimmed in an instant, his presence vanishing into the oppressive silence that followed.

Mr. crawling didn’t move to stop him. He didn’t need to. The silent threat in his gaze, the sheer weight of his presence, had already done the work.

Even without the presence of the cryptic crimson, the room grew colder still. Crawling remained where he was, his nonexistent void-like eyes turning to you now. His jagged smile stretched impossibly wide, as though he relished the victory—not over scarletella, but over the fact that you had seen it.

And now, you were alone with him.

“ㄚﾌ几 (okay) ?” He repeated the same question again for the nth time. He crawled faster behind your feet, hearing your exasperated sigh followed by the sound of a palm to your face.

You stopped on your feet for a second. With the overwhelming headache and unstability of your body, you turned on your heel to pacify the crawler. The tired and annoyed expression on your face looked down on the guy’s curious and eager ones—his hair spilled down onto the hardwood floor of the hallways as he awaited for a positive answer.

“Me, okay. No more worry.” You responded in a motherly manner, crouching a bit to reach his height as you petted his head while he leaned closer to your touch—craving more and more of it with each passing moment. “Good?” You added, responding in their native language.

Losing focus for a bit, your hand rested on his head, gently ruffling his cold, sleek hair, his entire frame seemed to stiffen. His jagged grin faltered for the first time, twisting into something uneven and almost bashful, as though he didn’t quite know how to respond. Then, much to your surprise, a strange, silly sound escaped from him—a quiet, stuttering “Hehe… hehehe…”—as his head tilted slightly into your touch, his massive form somehow shrunk in that moment. It was absurdly out of character, and yet, seeing the eerie, imposing figure so flustered under a simple pat made my chest warm with something close to amusement.

You couldn’t help but smile, which ofcourse—grew unnoticed by the guy himself. “几ㄚ(me) 千ㄩ乙丂 (cute) ?” With a quick and stiff movement, he gently grips his long slender fingers around your much smaller wrist. “几ㄩ (you) 卄ㄖ丂几 (smiley) , 几ㄩ(you) 千ㄩ乙丂 (cute) !” he said simply, his jagged smile widening as he leaned just a fraction closer, as if savoring the reaction he knew was coming.

You froze for a moment, your fingers twitching at your sides before a faint pink dusted your cheeks. Without a word, you turned sharply on your heel, your back to him in an attempt to hide your flustered state. But your ears betrayed you—bright red against your hair, a detail mr. crawling didn’t miss. “几ㄩ(you) 千ㄩ乙丂 (cute) ! 几ㄩ(you) 千ㄩ乙丂 (cute) !” he drawled, his grin widening further, his voice teasing. “几ㄩ(you) 乙卄ㄥ(shy) ?”

“Damn you—you lizard, stop it.” you muttered, trying to sound annoyed but unable to mask the flustered tremor in your tone. He chuckled softly, a sound that was strangely warm despite his usual unsettling demeanor, as if your reaction amused him to no end.

Gathering yourself, you cleared your throat and gestured toward a door at the far end of the room—a door neither of you had explored before. “Moving on…” you said quickly, still refusing to look at him directly.

You shook off any unwanted feelings, remembering the main point of your journey. After the anxiety-ridden incident earlier, you weren’t slow enough not to notice the overbearing pain you had to overcome not long after your awakening. The strands of your hair had its’ colors almost entirely washed out, a cold tone of gray and white slowly fading in the roots of your hair until the rest had also been infected. Not only that, but you’ve come to notice the major change in your physique—more so, your skin. After staring at your hands under the faint light, the skin became thin and pale, almost see through and translucent, as if stretched too tightly over your frame. Faint blue and red lines of nerves web beneath the surface, sickly and unsettling, making you feel more fragile than human. Your breath hitches as you trace one with your finger, the sight leaving you both horrified and strangely curious.

The unsettling sight of your sickly, pale skin gnawed at your mind as you moved through the dim halls, your fingers brushing over the faintly visible nerves beneath. You’d hoped it was nothing, a fleeting illness, but the way it seemed to spread, inching further up your arms, told you otherwise. Beside you, mr. crawling followed silently, his elongated frame towering in the faint light. You weren’t sure why he was helping you—if it was pity, curiosity, or something else entirely—but he seemed intent on staying by your side.

“几ㄚ(me) ﾌ丂Ҝㄥ(help) .” he murmured suddenly, his voice low and almost soothing, though his jagged grin remained unsettling. The words were a reassurance, but the emptiness of the unfamiliar corridors only deepened your unease. Every door you opened felt like a step closer to either salvation or something far worse, and yet, with him beside you, you couldn’t bring yourself to stop. Somewhere in this labyrinth of shadows, you had to find a cure—before the lines beneath your skin consumed you entirely.

The crawler fell in step behind you, following alongside you like a puppy to its’ master while you both made your way to another new unfamiliar entrance. You reached for the doorknob, determined to shake off the embarrassment, while his gaze remained fixated on you after you checked to see behind your shoulder if he was still there—his grin never fading old.

Please let there be some useful stuff here.

The room was a stroke of luck—rows of shelves lined with medicine bottles, bandages, and dusty supplies that seemed untouched for ages. Relief flooded you as you approached a shelf, your fingers brushing over the labels, reading each one carefully. For a moment, you were lost in concentration, cataloging what might actually help your condition, when something creaked behind you. Turning quickly, you froze, only to see mr. crawling squeezed—hiding into an empty cardboard box on the floor, his long limbs contorted in ways that shouldn’t have been possible, his nonexistent eyes felt like they were peering at you mischievously.

“Boo” he said—rising his head up from the peak of the cardboard box, his high-pitched, silly giggle lighting up his face as if he were the world’s proudest prankster. “尺几ㄩ丂(funny) ?”

Your heart jumped, not from fear but from sheer surprise, though you couldn’t let him know that. Clutching your chest dramatically, you gasped, “You scared me.” His eerie chuckle filled the room, a delighted “Heh he. . .” escaping him as he hid himself once again in the box with uncanny grace. You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips. It was absurd, really—this monstrous entity behaving like a playful cat.

But you didn’t have time to dwell on it. You returned your focus to the medicines, crouching to check the lower shelves and even the medkits scattered on the floor. After gathering a few promising bottles, you noticed a secluded corner of the room, its dim lighting giving it an air of mystery. A small cabinet caught your eye, and you carefully opened it, squinting to read the faded labels. Each name sounded strange, unfamiliar, and your frustration grew as you hesitated over which to choose.

The shelves loomed over you, an overwhelming array of medicines, most with faded labels, cryptic names, and dosages in languages you didn’t understand. Each bottle felt like a gamble—some promising relief, others ominously vague. You grabbed one and turned it in your hand: Aculisyn-Therex. Its description claimed to promote “cellular repair,” but the ingredients list was incomprehensible. You frowned and placed it back, reaching for another.

Crouching down, you opened a small, rusted medkit on the floor. Inside were syringes, bandages, and a vial of something that looked alarmingly red, almost like blood. You recoiled slightly, shoving the kit aside and focusing on the next set of shelves. You found another intriguing item: a sealed packet labeled Neurosol: For Nerve Integrity. It struck a chord—the nerves beneath your skin. Could this be it? You hesitated, the words “potential side effects” faintly visible in tiny print, but the rest was smudged.

While you pondered, you noticed an old instruction manual on the counter nearby. Dusting it off, you flipped through its fragile pages, desperate for guidance. The diagrams inside showed strange, almost alien anatomy— maybe another specie of humans, like neanderthals, maybe, resembling human biology. Your hands shook slightly as you set the book down. Was this place even designed for humans?

A faint draft swept through the room, making the low light flicker. Still determined, you moved toward the secluded corner, the dimmest part of the room. There, a tiny cabinet awaited, half-buried under years of neglect. The wood creaked as you opened it, revealing vials with strange glowing liquids and powders with indecipherable names: Stimulyn A+, Cryohealin, Xyntherra. The glow of one vial pulsed faintly in the darkness, a hypnotic green that drew your hand toward it. But before you could grab it, a cold pressure wrapped around your waist, pulling you back into reality.

Two large hands slid over your waist, firm and loose, pulling you back just enough that your lower body brushed against his. The contact was sensual but electric, a flush of heat rushing through you, leaving your breath shallow and uneven. His grip tightened slightly, anchoring you in place as his towering frame pressed closer, his silken hair cascading over your shoulders and brushing against your skin like a whisper as your arched back leaned closer against his. You felt the faintest graze of his chest near your back, feeling his warm puff of breath dissolve on your nape. The unspoken interaction sent a shiver down your spine, while the friction of your hips and his long slender fingers left your pulse racing and your knees threatening to give way. The space between you felt suffocating, every shift, every accidental touch igniting something in the charged silence, his fingers tightening just slightly on your waist as though daring you to move.

Flustered, you turned quickly to face him, but the movement only brought you closer, your chest almost brushing against his. His grin remained, though softer now, as if he enjoyed watching your flustered state. Before you could say anything, a faint noise broke the moment—a metallic squeak, followed by the distinct sound of a cart rolling down the hallway outside.

“D-did you hear that?” you pretended to care, your voice attempting to hide your flustered state as you stepped away, desperate for an escape. Without waiting for his response, you turned toward the door, pretending to focus on the sound, leaving him behind as you desperately tried to calm the heat rising to your cheeks.

Mr. Crawling stood there, still as ever, his hair cascading over where his eyes should be, hiding any hint of confusion. He tilted his head slightly, the ghostly glow of his form making him seem more enigmatic than anything else. The gesture had been so casual to him—an innocent moment of contact that, in his mind, was no different from a gentle pat on the head. He had no understanding of why you’d reacted so strongly, leaving him wondering if he had done something wrong—or if maybe he was just too strange for you to comprehend. His jagged grin remained, though it faltered a little in the quiet.

You stepped into the hallway, the sound of wheels creaking faintly in the distance, pulling your attention. When the cart came into view, slowly rolling toward you. You were befuddled to see someone unexpected.

Mr. chopped?!

“几ㄩ(me) 爪乇尺(need) 乙ㄩ乇ㄖ(help) !” He shifted slightly, his severed head awkward on the cart, his gaze meeting yours as the cart rolled closer to the end of the hallway.

MR. CHOPPED!!

⚠︎ s i l e n t t e m p t a t i o n s ( 18+ )

— ch. 1

➤ e n d

[raineydays411]

Ember

Tony Stark X Daughter!Reader 

Warning: Child neglect, swearing, angst, death 

Summary: After being kidnapped by Hydra, Y/N does some reflecting on her home life. Especially her relationship with her father

italics = past pov

Bold= thoughts

Italic bold= ghosts 

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

You never thought your life would end like this. Alone, trapped in a Hydra cell, full of anger and resentment for the one man who was never supposed to break your heart. Of course, up until now you had been pretty optimistic your father would realize the error of his ways and miraculously spend years making up for years of missed recitals, ignored achievements, and multiple other offenses. You always forgave him because, hey the man was a member of the Avengers, what should you expect having Tony Stark as a father? 

But right now, as you lay on the cold, damp floor, writhing in pain from whatever glowey nuclear shit those assholes injected you with, you can’t help but remember the mistreatment and neglect bestowed upon you by your father. 

It was, it was September Winds blow, dead leaves fall

You’ll always remember that September day. The day your entire life had changed 

You were only eight when Loki tried to take over New York. You and your mom were coming home from the store when all of a sudden, people around you started to panic. Looking up, you saw a large portal in a once clear blue sky. Creatures appeared out of no where, destroying anything in their way. Your mother, terrified, took you by the hand and headed for a near by building. But, it seemed that others had that idea as well. Before you knew it, your vision was overwhelmed by the bodies of citizens trying to escape the chaos outside. After a few seconds, you found yourself in a crowed parking garage and no idea where your mother was.

You never saw her again after that.

After three days of searching, the police declared her dead and you were sent to live with your godmother, Pamela Isely. 

She was good to you. She held you through nightmares, told you stories about how your mother and her met, and even taught you how to take care of plants. The only complaint you had was that she would usually leave you alone every once in a while and come back with a lot of money, and occasionally, a loud blonde woman in a clown costume would come through the window and pinch your cheeks too hard. Other than that, you got adjusted to your new life quickly.

Four months passed and your life changed again. It was a cold September day, and you had just got home from school. As you walked into the apartment, you immediately felt a tension in the air, and you saw a man at the table with your Aunty Pam, who looked extremely uneasy and pale. They stared at you until your Aunt spoke.

“Y/N...you’re going back to New York.”

Those words alone made the floor fall from underneath you. You had just settled down. You finally felt comfortable without your mother in the world and now this?? Then the man cleared his throat, causing you to snap back into reality. 

“Y/n, my name is Tony Stark”

 You knew that name, he was the man in the metal suit who helped save New York. You didn’t care at the moment though, you just wanted to know why you were leaving your aunt.

Ignoring Tony, you looked at your aunt and whispered,

 “ Did...did I do something wrong?” 

Immediately, Pams eyes filled with tears as she quickly gathered you in her arms and responded with a loud, 

“Oh no, darling of course not”, She then proceeded to tell you the uncomfortable looking man at the table was in fact your father, who up till now you had never met. In fact, you never even fathomed the idea of having a father as your mom had always told you that you were a gift from some fairies she helped. You turned to the man who quietly sat at the table and looked over the man who was said to be your father.

He was definitely a handsome man. He wore a fancy looking suit and some tinted glasses even though he was inside. His hair was dark brown and messy, as if he was tugging or running his fingers through it. His skin looked to be am olive color but it was hard to tell as he looked kind of pale in the light of the small apartment you called home. You thought it was odd he hadn’t said anything other than introducing himself. 

“ Is it true? Are you really my dad?” You asked in a quiet voice.

He finally spoke, “Yeah kid, I’m your dad”

To you, I did surrender

Two weeks, you didn’t call

It’s been two weeks since you were taken by Hydra. Two weeks since you were injected with that mystery substance. You didn’t die, at least you don’t think you did. But you didn’t exactly feel alive either. You were colder than usual, like your body temperature lowered. You slept longer than normal especially the first three days after you were injected. The guards had to wake you up just to get you to eat. But the most worrying symptom of all is that your eyes were the same shade of neon blue as the liquid that was injected into your body. And everytime your eyes turned blue, something weird would happen. 

For example, the first time you noticed your eyes were blue, you woke up from the first long sleep.The second time, you thought you heard voices, screaming in agony and despair.This was odd because you were the only one in that cell block. As you came back to reality, you realized that you could see other ghostly figures in the once empty cells, and that you were floating three feet above your bed. 

Within the two weeks you were in that cell, you learned that that day you were injected, your heart did stop for an hour until you miraculously sprung back to life with a loud gasp, scaring the absolute shit out of the Hydra guards that were tasked with disposing your body. That would go through physical changes as well. Your once brown skin would change to a pale ghostly blue. And your black kinky hair would change to a shocking neon blue to match the color of your eyes.

For two weeks, you learned the ins and outs of your newfound powers. Two weeks of being pushed to your absolute limits by power hungry scientists. Two weeks of learning the names of the dead around you in those cells. 

It took two weeks, to realize that your father truly didn’t care about you.

And looking back on it, you should’ve known

Your life, goes on without me  My life, a losing game

It had been a year since you had moved into the Avengers Tower with your father. It had taken you a while to warm up to the team and for the team to get used to having a child around. But once you all got to know each other, it was like having multiple aunts and uncles. Especially because you were around them more than your own father. 

Unfortunately, once you had settled in and gotten to know everyone, Tony had locked himself away in his lab. Tinkering on a new project for weeks on end, ignoring his responsibilities as a new father.

Now, this didn’t really affect you till you started school. Tony had forgotten to pick you up multiple times, causing you to wait for hours on end till either Steve or Pepper realized that you hadn’t come home and rushed to the school , only to see you waiting on the front steps talking the ear off of the unlucky teacher who had to stay behind to wait with you.

Of course word got around that Y/N Stark was being forgotten at school everyday, thus prompting the kids at school to taunt you everyday after school.

“Where's your daddy Y/N??”

“I bet he leaves you here so you can get kidnapped so he doesn’t have to look at you”

“Your own dad doesn’t even love you”

Once you got to middle school, you joined as many after school clubs to hide the fact that there was no one to pick you up. And a small part hoped that it would be enough to gain your fathers attention. But it didn’t happen.

“Daddy! I made the volleyball team!”

“hmm, oh that's great kid, can you pass me that wrench”

“Dad! I’m in the robotics club”

“Y/N I’m really busy right now”

“ Hey dad...can you help me with--”

“Not now, go ask Pepper”

No matter what you did, you could never get his attention long enough. Nothing you did was good enough. You never got so much as a “welcome home” or a “ have a good day at school kiddo”. And you were fine with that. You were, because you knew that even though he didn’t show it, Tony Stark really did love you.

But you should, you should not doubt me You will remember my name.

After learning the extent of your powers, which included; flying,the ability to talk and see the dead, energy blasts, floating through walls, and the ability to shut off your powers at will. You decided it was time for you to make plans to escape. 

You’d like to think that you were really good at pretending. 

You did it on a daily basis, really. You pretended to be happy, not to notice Tony’s neglect, like you didn’t see the pity glances the rest of the team gave you. So convincing your captors that they finally broke you down wasn’t really a challenge. 

“....fine..i’ll help you” You said in a tired weak voice.

The two guards were startled at first, not expecting you to speak so suddenly

“You..what?” The younger of the two asked in a suspicious tone.

“I said I want to help you” you repeated a little louder. 

The first guard looked to the second, obviously confused at your sudden change of heart. They had a silent conversation with their eyes, as if debating on whether this was a trick or not. Finally, the older of the two turned to you and said,

“This better not be a trick, Stark.”

And with that, he started to unlock the door to your cell. 

“Okay, now I can either fight them now  and make a break for it, or I can wait till i get to the--” 

Your thoughts were cut off by a loud wailing, piecing your ears and automatically giving you a headache. Wincing in pain you look around the empty cell blocks and try to locate the spirit that’s making all that noise. When you see it, your heart breaks. It’s a young boy, around your age. The first thing you notice about him is that he had white hair, kinda Danny Phantom. As you continued to stare at the boy, his head suddenly turned and you both made eye contact, the movement startling you enough to make you jerk in the hold of the guards

“ HEY, eyes forward!” shouted the older guard. “There's no way out, if that's what you're looking for’ He said in a smug tone.

“I said I wanted to join you, why would I want to escape?” You reply, irritation dripping from your words.

“Just don’t pull any tricks kid.”

God does he have any other lines, you think to yourself mentally rolling your eyes. Sounds familiar.

Oh Ember, you will remember

Oh Ember, one thing remains

“Y/N I’m busy, go as--” “I know, go ask Pepper”

“Oh kid, I’m sorry I forgot” “ yeah, I know”

“You’re on the volleyball team” “ yes dad. For four years now”

“Y/N! I’m gonna be in the lab with Peter so try not to bother us.”

“Y/N me and Peter--”

“Good job, Peter”

“Hey Peter--”

God were you tired of that name. You never ever felt the feeling of envy and anger as much as you did when Peter came into your life. 

In fact, you were still healing from almost losing your family you found in the Avengers. Your dad didn’t want you around the “traitors” as he privately called them, so you were secluded. Watching them from afar and yearning for the comfort of hearing Steves pre-war stories, helping Clint pull off the most ridiculous pranks, helping Wanda teach Vision how to cook, and most of all you missed talking to Natasha. She reminded you of your aunt Pam, mainly because they both had red hair. You hoped that your father would understand this loss and step up now that you really needed a connection, but no. He decided that Peter Parker deserved all his attention. So you stopped trying as hard.

Oh Ember, So warm and tender You will remember my name

You walk into a room with a singular table and no windows. Sat at the table was a bald man writing in a notebook. The two guards lead you to the table and make you sit opposite of the bald man. He looks up at you and smiles.

“So, Ms. Stark has finally decided to comply?” He asks in a smug tone. You roll your eyes and answer back in a sarcastic tone,

“Yeah yeah, just cut the crap and tell me what you want me to do.”

The bald man just smiles and looks at you, as if trying to read your mind to figure out your motives. 

“Well”, he says, leaning back into his chair. “Lets get down to business.” He then proceeds to talk about the process of join his team and what you will be doing. But you don’t hear a word of it. Because you were going to escape this hell hole one way or another. 

“Well then, lets get you changed.” said the bald man. “Yeager, Jennings, take our guest to to her new room. 

“Huh so they do have names.” You think, as they pull you out of the chair and into the hallway. Walking back into the cell block, you make eye contact with that white haired boy again. He’s quiet as he watches you walk back to your room, then he disappears. 

You finally get back to your cell and notice a pair of black spandex, black halter top, grey boots and some black gloves on the floor. Changing into them, you take your hair into a pineapple with a hair tie they had given you. Looking into the piece of metal you used as a mirror, you changed into your ghost form. Suddenly, you hear a male voice behind you.

“Don’t let them know you can do that.” 

You startle and turn around, only to see none other than the white haired boy. He looked equally as startled as he realized you can see and hear him. 

“Why not?” you asked, changing back to your normal self.

“Because, they won’t ever let you leave.You’re already the first one to survive the injection. If they realize you can go ghost, they’ll do everything in their power to control you.”

Your mind flashed to Bucky. How Steve told you that they kept him. Brainwashing him over and over till he just became a weapon. You were not going to let them do that to you. You looked back at the boy.

“Can you help me get out of here?” you asked hopefully. The boy looked at you and said, 

“Well I’ve got nothing else to do.” You let go a sigh of relief. You were about to say something when you heard Yeager and Jennings walking down the hallway.

“They’re coming” You whisper, “ what do I do?”

“This base is small. All the people here are the only ones who know about it. They’re all going to be in the training room you’re being taken to. Wait till you get there, phase into the floor to the basement and blow up the heater. That should cause the whole building to cave in” 

You again don’t get to respond, as the two men finally get to your cell and unlock it. You walk out of the cell, head held high and allow them to lead you to the training room. Despite the look of confidence, you were dreading the next few moments. 

“So how come I’m the only one here?” you ask, even though you know the answer. The older guard looks at you and says

“You’re the only one who survived.” You fake a look of shock and look forward as if the news made you uneasy. And it did. It made you mad that these people didn’t care that they were murdering innocent people. They couldn’t hear the cries and the wails of agony these poor trapped souls emitted. In a way, it was ironic. Back at the tower, you were the poor soul nobody could see. And now you were surrounded by them.

Your heart, your heart is rendered Your loss, now bear the shame

This was the last straw. There was only so much you an take before you broke and this was it.

 Tony didn’t intend for you to hear it, but god did it hurt all the same. One phrase shattered your whole world. 

“You know Spiderling, your kinda like the kid I always wanted to have.”

An tense silence filled the common room. The first time in months you were able to see th eteam and they had to bear witness to this. Of course they did, who else would give you that stare full of sorrow and pity. You barely even noticed though. You were too busy looking at the “heartwarming scene.”

“that's such bullshit” Oh, how you wish you had a camera if only to capture the look of pure “oh shit” painted on Steve's face.

“What..what was that kid?” Asks your father. You turn to him, a fury in your eyes that nobody has ever seen.

“THAT IS ABSOLUTE BULLSHIT.”  You scream. “ FOR EIGHT YEARS I HAVE TRIED SO HARD FOR YOU TO LOVE ME. EIGHT YEARS I JOINED CLUBS, GOT THE HIGHEST GRADED IN CLASS AND FOR WHAT?” 

Tony and Peter look at you in shock “Y/n..wha..what are you talking about?” Peter asks in a baffled voice.

“Oh eat shit Peter! You know exactly what I’m talking about! Do you not find it weird, that your new mentor spends every single second of free time he has on you and not with his daughter?? Or are you so needy for some sort of parental validation that you don’t even care??” 

Deep down you know it’s not Peters fault. Hell, you two probably could have been good friends if your dad wasn’t such a tool. 

“Hey kid, I don’t know what's gotten into you, but that was way over the line.” Said Tony in a stern voice. Your eyes harden.

“Oh, did I hurt your poor little spiders feelings?? I didn’t even know you cared about other peoples feelings Tony? Or is it just your daughters that you ignore ?”

“What are you talking about? I don’t ignore you, stop being so over dramatic.”

OVERDRAMATIC?? DO YOU REALIZE THE ONLY THING YOU KNOW ABOUT ME IS MY NAME??” You are now sobbing. “ Do you even know my favorite color? How old I am?” 

Tony looks at you, eyes wide.”Y/N...” You cut him off

“Just forget it. I understand now. I will never be important to you. Not like Peter apparently is. I just wish it didn't take me eight years to figure that out.” And with that, you run out of the room, tears running down your cheeks and ignoring the calls of your father, the team, and Peter. 

You run for a few blocks and cry in an alleyway. not the smartest idea but you were too upset to care. And as you cry, you don’t notice the dark shadow behind you before its too late and the world goes dark.

Like dead trees, in cold december  Nothing but ashes remain

The hydra base was now engulfed with flames.  Your body was tired from phasing through the walls, and your head hurts from those energy blasts. But one thing brings some happiness in your heart as you watch all the souls that were trapped there realize they are free. All but one, the white haired kid. He walks up to you. 

“So you did it.” He says with a smile. You smile back. 

“Yeah I did.  Thanks to you.”

“Blue suits you.” he says with a blush. You squint at him for a second and let out a chuckle. 

“Thanks” ,You’re both silent for a few seconds, watching the souls leave. You speak up again. 

“Why aren’t you leaving like them” You question him.

“I don’t know, I guess my time here isn’t up.” he says looking out at the horizon. You nod and look at around trying to figure out where you are. 

“So, what are you going to do next” he asks. Your body stiffens as you are filled with resentment.

“I’m going to visit my father.” You say, eyes glowing a neon blue.

You will remember my name.

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

A/N: HI!so this is my first ever fanfic! i hope anyone who reads this enjoys it!! Let me know what you think and what i can improve on!💕

[bokunosimpfiction]

Yandere!Karl Heisenberg x Reader

Synopsis: Heisenberg kidnaps the reader. And she’s pissed about it. And so is he. Turns out there’s a lot more to it than it seems, tw: kidnapping I’m not tagging for violence because it’s less graphic than even the mild stuff in canon. Like reader gets a concussion and a dislocated arm, that’s it.

A/N: first time ever writing for Resident Evil. I haven’t even played the games, only watched a play-through and immediately fell in love with this hobo. Honestly, there’s a lot of room to make a sequel or some more from this but I have commitment issues and it probably won’t happen.

Oh and one last thing! Do you think I should add resident evil: village to my fandoms I write for or no. Let me know please!

             It’s dark in your small cottage, claustrophobic with the way you stumble to the front door as fast as you can. You try to take deep breaths, but you can’t, not with someone chasing you. You cut through the kitchen, and when he reaches out to grab you, you slam the door to a cabinet as hard as you can. You can hear his pained yell.

             “Don’t make this harder than it has to be, (y/n),” he says.

             “I’ll make it as hard as I damn please!” You put your hand on the handle to the front door, twist and right before you manage to open it, a body slams into yours and you hear your arm pop. Loudly. And it burns at the elbow like someone poured gasoline on it and set it on fire.

             You can hear his heavy breathing and feel the warm air on the crown of your head. “You put up a good fight, I’ll give you that much.” He presses his body further into yours, and you feel everything. The toned muscle under a layer of fat, the harsh fabric of his shirt and jacket, and the bulge that presses into the small of your back.

             “You’re so small,” he coos, like he’s talking to a dog, “I can’t wait to break you.”

             You manage to wiggle one arm free and jab him in the side as hard as you can with your elbow. You hear him say oof under his breath, and you take this as the opportunity to press your foot into the door and push back into him as hard as you can, to at least get him to stumble back.

             It doesn’t work, he just leans his whole-body weight on you and uses one hand to smash your head into the door. He could have done it harder, you reckon, but it still hurts like a mother fucker. “Shut the fuck up before I do something I regret.”

             “Like you don’t already regret breaking into my house and trying to kidnap me? Like you don’t regret slamming me into my door and dislocating my elbow? What are you going to do to me that you’ll regret? Huh?”

             He looks down at you through those yellow glasses of his, light from the glass peephole reflecting off of them but his hat shading the rest of his face. “I said shut the fuck up!” He presses your head even further into the door, and your temple digs into the frame. It hurts, and your eyes water from the pain.

             “Who even are you?!” You end up shouting. His grip loosens a little bit, just enough for you to move your head off the door frame and onto the actual door. “I’ve never met you in my goddamn life and you break into my house, say you love me, and try to kidnap me!”

             Something in him breaks, you can tell, the outline of his features look crestfallen. “You don’t know who I am?”

             “No… I don’t. And here you are in my house, chasing me around like I’m some goddamn animal you’re hunting.” Your eyes water. “I know you don’t mean a damn word you said this entire time.”

             “Shut your goddamn trap woman!” His grip on your hair tightens. “I love you and we both know it; I know everything about you.”

             “So, you’re a stalker? Huh, didn’t think I was pretty enough to have one.”

             “I knew you had a mouth on you, and it was attractive till it was pointed in my direction.” His voice is low and gravelly at this point, like a thin string that’s pulled taut and about to snap.

             “Well get used to it you fu-” You don’t get to finish your sentence, because a piece of metal from his hammer slams you hard in the face, knocking you out cold.

             When you wake up, it’s hard to open your eyes. It’s too bright and the room is spinning when you move your head up. That must be one hell of a bump on your forehead. You go to feel it, only to find you hands chained up to a metal pipe on the wall. Your feet are too, but that chain is a lot slacker.

             You’re lying down on the floor, a cheap scratchy blanket separating you from rough, worn down cement. It’s still hard and cold, but it didn’t scratch up your skin, so that’s something to be grateful for. You look around the room, only to find an old tv, that’s on, and playing static. That’s what was so bright, you realize.

             Suddenly the noise from the t.v. stops, and you hear a voice. It’s still sounds like static, but it’s audible enough to understand the words and recognize the voice. It’s the same guy who kidnapped you. You don’t really process what he’s saying, it’s just noise to you, and you close your eyes and curl up as best as you can. Maybe you’ll wake up, and everything will be okay.

             “Quit ignoring me girlie.”

             You snap out of your daydreaming. The days of that warm bed and leaky bathroom faucet are over, and this cruel situation is your reality for the time being.

             “Okay. Okay. But just quiet down my head hurts.”

             “I’d be sorry, but you brought that upon yourself,” he says.

             You can’t help but be snarky, you’re tired and already sick of this shit. “I’m sorry you don’t have the self-control to not kidnap people and knock them unconscious via flying pieces of metal.”

             “Touché.” You hear back.

             “Can you at least get me some Tylenol for my head or something.”

             “Why should I? After all the attitude you’ve given me, I should just leave you in there to starve.” Looks like he knows how to be snarky too.

             “Because you were the one who hit me in the head and locked me in here?”

             “Apologize and I’ll consider it.”

             You go back to your curled up position. “I guess I’ll just starve down here then.”

             The t.v. cuts off again, or you just tune him out, just run your hands along the chains to try and find a lock. You find the one attached to your left ankle and begin to plot your escape. Maybe you could pick the lock with a bobby pin? You run your hands through your hair, not only to find that it was down, but all of them were removed.

             You run your hands down your pajama pants. Maybe you have something in your pockets? They also turn up empty.

               “Are you looking for something to pick the lock with?” You hear from the t.v. You turn back to look at it, only to see his face. He’s not wearing his glasses, and he’s taken off his worn-out bucket hat, so you can see his untamed salt and pepper hair. “I took the liberty of searching your person while you were knocked out. I highly doubt you’ll find something to pick the lock with.”

             “You’re an asshole, you know that.” You find yourself saying. To be fair, you probably shouldn’t, considering that he: is holding you hostage, threatening to leave you to starve, and is clearly a psychopath, despite his claims that he loves you.

             “Calm down, you know it makes me upset to see you mad.”

             You can’t help but raise your voice at him. “Quit fucking taunting me! You won this stupid ass game. You kidnapped me! You can come down here and kill me now!”

             “You think I wanna kill you?” He asks, you can tell he’s just as furious as you are. He chuckles lightly. “You know I love you. I did this for your own good! There are people out there. People who want to taint you and your innocence! People who want to hurt you!”

             “I can handle myself just fine! I had before your psycho ass came along and kidnapped me!” Your furious, desperately searching for a weak point on the pipe with your hands while you yell at the t.v.

             “And what would have happened if I didn’t?” He asks you, “lady supersized bitch in the castle would have gotten to you first… I can’t have that.”

             “I’m sorry who?” You ask. Suddenly things have gotten more confusing.

             “I’m not the only one who’s after you,” he clarifies. “You think I’m the one who’s a psychopath, there’s a woman out there who wants to drink your blood and eat your flesh! And monster that wants to drown you and swallow you whole-”

             “Slow down! I have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about!”

             “Don’t interrupt me! I want what’s best for you!” You can hear him take a deep breath. “I’m going to bring you upstairs and explain everything. And you’re going to behave, am I clear?”

             You just nod your head.

             “Good. Now stop trying to find a weak point on that pipe to get loose before I get down there. It has carbon monoxide in there, you’ll poison yourself before you get to that door.”

             You immediately stop twisting the connector and drop your hands to your sides.

             “Good girl…” His praise makes you want to vomit. “Now stay still while I come get you.”

             When he comes down and opens that iron door and unceremoniously tosses you over his shoulder, you can’t help but comment on it. “Am I a bag of potatoes to you?”

             “Don’t complain, I could be like that Dimitrescu bitch and turn you into wine.”

             You shut up immediately and grasp the back of his coat for balance. You don’t know why, but his empty threats scare you immensely. You watch the hallways blur into one another, trying to see if you can find a window, or an escape rout of some sort, hell, even a vent he couldn’t fit in but you could would work well.

             He smacks your thigh. Not hard, but enough for a slight sting and to get your attention. “We’re in the center of the factory, there’s no need for you to be tracking an escape route, especially because you won’t be leaving any time soon.”

             Eventually, you end up in a small office like space, with a desk, a cork board with several pictures of people on it, and a large grate that leads to a tunnel downwards. He pulls the metal chair out of the corner with his powers and places you in the chair. “Stay.”

             “So…” He turns towards the cork board. “Since your out of town, I’ll explain the run-down-“

             “I don’t really care for the details.” You stand up from the chair and go to walk towards him, but he crosses the room in a second and slams you back down.

             “I told you to stay in that goddamn chair!” He opens his mouth to explain but a whirring noise starts out of nowhere. It’s loud, obnoxious, and coming from the vent. He opens it. “Shut your goddamn trap!”

             “Anyhow, (Y/N),” he starts, “the other three lords decided that they’re interested in you, for whatever their reasons are. I’m assuming they want to kill you.”

             “That’s a veeeeeery extreme assumption.” You roll your eyes, and prop your head on your hands.

             “Well two of them are well know for turning people into dolls and drinking their blood,” he says casually, “it’s only a fair assumption they want to do the same with you.”

             “I’m sorry they what?”

             He turns to you, surprised for a moment that you don’t know what he’s talking about. “Super-sized bitch over here,” a sharp piece of metal lands on the photo of a pale, middle aged woman with bold red lipstick and a black hat, “is one of the other three lords, known for drinking the blood of girls like yourself. Wouldn’t suggest meeting her, she’s not that pleasant.”

             “Known for?”

             “Sort of, most of the towns people don’t know,” he turns to you and leans on the table by the cork board, “they’re too busy worshipping Mother Miranda.”

             “I’ve heard her name before,” you say, “doesn’t she protect the town?”

             You can sense the anger you caused before you can take it back.

             “That Miranda bitch doesn’t protect anybody from shit. She’s the one causing all the issues, kidnapping people and mutating them, killing them and throwing their lives away like table scraps.” You slams his hand on the table and you visibly flinch. He quickly apologizes.

             “You keep mentioning ‘the other three lords’ how many are there, and who’s the one your excluding in that statement?” You question as soon as you get the chance. He’s talking, loudly, quickly and it’s filling up the space in the room with an anxious sort of white noise.

             “Pardon me,” he says, and waltzes over, almost over-dramatically. He brings your hand to his lips and places a light kiss. You can feel his stubble and chapped lips on the top of your hand. He desperately needs to use chap-stick. “I’m Heisenberg, one of the four lords, but you can call me Karl.”

             “Okay… Karl.” You test the name out on your tongue. “What are you going to do with me, now that I’m here?”

             He gets down on one knee in front of you, still holding your hand. “Oh (Y/N), I’m going to treat you how you deserve, like a princess.”

[burberrybaby]

tasamum - تسمم

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pairing: bucky barnes x woc!reader

summary: you wake up from a nightmare hoping for a drink, but bucky gives you a different form of intoxication.

warnings: SMUT, a little fluff (bucky taking care of the reader,) knives (reader has one in her room,) alcohol mention, oral (f receiving,) fingering, dom/sub dynamics, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, praise, minors DNI!

a/n: my first official smut! english is not my first language, so if there are any errors, please let me know. any type of feedback would be lovely and, as always, reblogs are appreciated. not my gif.

word count: 2.5k

masterlist

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You scream as you sit up in bed, throwing the covers off you and immediately pulling the small dagger out from under your pillow, holding it up in a defensive stance. It takes a second for you to realize you’re in no danger as you drop your weapon and hold your head in your hands, catching your breath. You woke up after another one of your nightmares; remaining memories of people you’ve killed in your past still haunt your dreams.

Instead of going back to bed, you decide to head to the kitchen to grab a quick glass of water. The compound was quiet and dark, very unlike how it usually is in the daytime. Once you finish your drink, you hear a raspy voice near the sitting area, “Y/N?”

It wasn’t bright enough for you to see who said your name, but the deep, thick voice could’ve only belonged to the one and only Bucky Barnes.

“Bucky?” you switch on the light and move towards him, setting your glass on the counter. He wore dark pants and a black buttoned-down shirt that was undone completely, exposing his gorgeous toned chest and abs. Your breath hitches in your throat as you watch him look you up and down. Compared to him, you were hardly dressed; a baggy Thrasher T-shirt that barely covered your ass and black lace panties.

“Nightmares?” he asks and you nod, looking away. “Come here, doll.” Your gaze slowly turns to meet his and you see him holding his hand out to you, offering his lap to you. A feeble attempt on your part to hide your shock rewards you with a small smirk from Bucky as you slowly make your way to him.

You try your best to pull your shirt down as you sit in his lap, and you blush as you feel the muscles in his thighs under you. Bucky wraps his arms around you and you lean your head against his shoulder. He rests his chin softly on the top of your head and he sighs. You can smell the scent of some sort of drink on his breath, “are you drunk?”

“No,” he chuckles softly, “alcohol doesn’t do much for me, unfortunately.”

“Oh, right.” you snuggle yourself into him, willing to let your vulnerabilities show in front of this man; suddenly feeling small and soft in his arms.

“Would it be bad if I was drunk?”

You pause, “I just- I have trust issues.”

“So you trust me?”

“Maybe,” you smile softly.

He tightens his vibranium arm around you and slowly lowers one hand down to rub small circles into your bare thigh, causing your breath the hitch.

“Do you wanna talk about the nightmare?”

You tilt your head to look at him, “No, not really... have any alcohol left though?”

“Sorry, doll, but I already finished the bottle,” Bucky looks at you curiously, “but there are other ways to make your night better.”

Your face flushes immediately to a deep shade of red as you stare at him blankly, “W-what do you mean by that?”

“I mean,” Bucky slowly moves his touch from your outer thigh closer between your legs, and pauses to look at you, “there's a different form of intoxication I can give you.”

Swallowing thickly, you look down at how close his hand is to your heat, and you’d be a fool to think this man didn’t feel it. It was almost embarrassing how badly you wanted him in you right now, but you hadn’t been with someone romantically in the longest time. Compared to the man whose lap you were currently perched upon... what would he think of you?

“If that’s not what you want, I get it-“

You cut him off, “I do! I just uhm..”

“We can take it as slow as you want.”

After a deep breath, you nod, “Okay.”

It only takes a second for Bucky to adjust you to straddle his lap, and before you can even register it, his shirt is off. You can see the sudden hunger in his eyes before he moves his lips to yours, and you easily melt into his touch. Bucky places his hands back on your thighs and massages slightly.

Your tongues move in union, both of you exploring each other’s mouths. One of your hands moves to cup his face and the other rests on his bare shoulder. Bucky pulls away after a bit with a tug to your bottom lip and moves his kisses to your jawline. A quiet moan escapes your lips, and you can feel his smile against your skin. He moves his way down to your neck, only needing a second to find that sweet spot on your skin that he knew would drive you crazy. If this man didn’t feel the heat and dampness from your core and panties, he certainly did now.

All the while, you’re pressing yourself against his covered length, yearning for more than just kisses. It doesn’t take long for his cock to harden against your clothed cunt; you were sexually infatuated with each other.

You tilt your head back to give him more space to pleasure you as he pleases, and you were already at his mercy. Leaving a few nips on your neck and now moving to your collarbone, Bucky drinks up all the soft whimpers and moans you give him. Later, when he pulls away, an unintentional whimper falls from your lips.

Without moving your gazes away from each other, you feel his rough, calloused hands move from your thighs to the hem of your shirt; at this point, it had ridden up to your waist, “May I?”

You give him a small nod and he slowly lifts the baggy T off your body, laying it next to his own discarded top. You shiver as the sudden cold perks your nipples up, and he moves his hands up to cup your breasts, massaging them and attaching his lips back onto your collarbone. He murmurs, “If you want me to stop just say it.”

“I know,” you whisper and squeeze your eyes shut as you grind against him. Your act rewards you with a deep growl from deep from Bucky’s throat as his lips move down to your left nipple. He twirls his tongue skillfully around the nub and rolls your other nipple between his fingers.

“W-want more,” your voice is almost inaudible and your eyes squeeze together from the pleasure he gives you.

Bucky slowly pulls away and looks up to meet your gaze, his pale blue eyes now darkened with lust. “Yeah?”

Your nod is almost pitiful as he lays you down on the couch, his large figure overpowering you even before his cock is in you. Bucky leaves kisses down your chest and stomach, red marks that will surely bruise by morning. His breath is hot against your skin as he pauses at the waistband of your panties.

He looks up at you through his lashes, asking permission to remove the final piece of your clothing. You nod again, “please,” and after that one word, he wastes no time pulling the black lace off with his teeth, discarding it on the floor.

Bucky takes a moment to admire your body before he makes his next move, “you’re beautiful, you know that, doll?” He brings your legs up, leaving hickey after hickey on your inner thighs, slowly moving closer to your aching core. He touches his finger to your bare cunt and reaches his hand to his mouth to lick the wetness and makes eye contact with you. You swallow again, hard, and whimper, begging desperately for more.

He slings your legs over his shoulders and brings his face to your dripping center, licking a long stripe from your entrance to your clit. Your body shudders and radiates in hot pleasure as his lips attach to your clit and he carefully slips one metal finger into you, looking up to see your mouth drop open. You reach one hand down to tangle it in his dark hair as your back starts to arch.

Not wasting any more time than necessary, Bucky slips a second finger into your pussy and begins to scissor you open, making enough space for a third metal finger. He curls his knuckles and all the while swirling his tongue around your most sensitive parts. It doesn’t matter that this is the first time he’s eaten you out, he knew exactly what you wanted, and did not hold back in providing.

A sheen of sweat has acclimated over your skin, and your back is arched highly from the couch, the edge of which you’re now gripping so hard your knuckles have paled. Your thighs are shaking from being held apart by Bucky’s large hands and your head lolls to the side as you murmur, “I-I’m gonna-“

You aren’t even given the chance to finish your sentence as you hit your climax. Your body is plunged into a deep euphoria; whether that orgasm could be described as heavenly or sinful, you weren’t sure, but it didn’t matter; was the best feeling you’ve had in the longest time.

Bucky pulls away after drinking up all your come and watches how you slowly open your eyes, panting, “Th-that was amazing.” Instead of responding, he leans down to give you a kiss, letting you taste yourself on his lips and causing you to moan quietly.

“You are amazing.”

All you can do is let your mouth drop open and feel even more heat rising to your face as Bucky stands, unbuttoning his pants and slipping them off, along with his boxers. Your mouth practically waters at the sight of his hard cock, pressing up against his stomach; and it was huge. How he’s managed his composure for this long, you had no clue.

Bucky strokes his cock a few times and smirks at your peaked arousal, adjusting himself back on top of you, “Ready?”

You nod and he runs his length along your folds first, then gently presses himself into you. Even though he already stretched you out, it still took a bit for your body to adjust to Bucky’s size. Once he’s fully inside you, he presses his hand softly to your stomach, and chuckles softly, “Doll, look how deep I am.”

The realization of how you felt him in your stomach had come earlier, but now looking down and seeing that bulge made you desperate. Your hips buck up unintentionally, causing Bucky to moan quietly and begin to thrust into you.

You could tell he was holding back, keeping himself from pounding into you immediately, and you appreciated that. Maybe he could sense your inexperience and wanted to help you take it slow. Or maybe he was just scared of hurting you, but nonetheless, it felt amazing.

His mouth attaches to your neck again, and Bucky’s hand moves up to roll your nipple between his fingers. You allow your hands to roam his chest, biceps, and back as your head lolls back, moans falling from your lips easily.

He refrains from speeding up his pace; instead, his thrusts are slower, but stronger, hitting you deeper, his tip dragging along your G spot. Your back arches again off the couch, and your nails start to drag along his back.

His lips move to your ear, and he nibbles your earlobe teasingly. Bucky’s low voice now in the shell of your ear, “you’re taking me so well, baby, I’m so proud of you.” Your body shivers at that, and you want to say more, but the only words that fall from your lips are, “M-more, pl-lease.”

“Asking like a good girl, hm? I’ll give you more.” so he brings his hand down to your sensitive clit, rubbing in circles with his thumb, and you can’t help but bite down on his collarbone to keep yourself from crying in the pleasure. Bucky winces and chuckles again, “marking me up, I see? Don’t worry, I’ll wear the bruises proudly.”

Your whimper is muffled against his skin and this time, without warning you come around him, your essence dripping onto both of your thighs. Once again, you’re engulfed in hot, sticky pleasure as Bucky helps you ride out your orgasm.

Panting you mumble, “Y-you can go faster i-if you need.” He pauses a second to look at you, making sure he heard you right, then he pushes your knees into your chest and takes your calves in his hands. After adjusting his position, Bucky gradually speeds up, his head tilting back in pleasure as his lips part.

Looking down to watch him, and seeing your breasts being shoved back and forth from the new speed makes you wish for a third release. You bite your lip and grip the edge of the couch tightly, trying to keep yourself grounded.

You snake one hand down to rub your clit when Bucky looks back down at you. The sight of your body; the same sight you had relished in moments before, driving him closer to his own release. So now he grunts, “Cum with me, doll.”

And of course, you happily oblige, kneading your tit with one hand and the other rubbing your clit faster as you come a third time. Your channel tightening again against his cock drives him insane, and a deep moan comes from Bucky’s throat. He comes with you, heavily coating your walls and panting as he finishes and looking down to admire how he’s made you fall apart under him.

You meet his gaze and you laugh, “that really just happened, huh?” He laughs with you, “yeah, it did.”

Your legs are shaking as he pulls out and heads to the kitchen to get a damp cloth to clean you both up. He cleans very carefully around your thighs and helps you sit up to clean underneath. Your eyes widen as you see the forming stain underneath you, but Bucky doesn’t seem to mind, “this couch is officially ours.”

Smiling warmly at each other, Bucky picks you up and takes you back to his room, wrapping his arms around you tightly. your head is resting on his chest, and your arm loosely wrapped around his torso.

“How do you feel now?” he hums.

You tilt your head up to look at him, “way better than before.”

Bucky smiles down at you, “that’s good, doll. You should get some rest, I plan on ravishing you again in the morning.

Chewing on your lip, you pull the blanket around your shoulders and look away.

So his smile turns to a worried frown, “Is something wrong? We don’t have to do it again if you don’t want to.”

“No, no I want to,” you pause, “it’s just… the nightmares again…”

“Hey,” Bucky lifts your chin so you can look at him, “as long as I’ve got you here in my arms, I promise you’ll be safe, doll. I get nightmares too, but now I’ve got you to hold!”

You smile and leave a lingering kiss on his lips before resting your head again, letting your eyes flutter shut, “good night, Buck.”

He kisses your forehead, “good night, Y/N.”

━━━━༺❀༻━━━━

mutuals:

@worksby-d @fairyevans @walkitoffsoldier @deadpocts @lokistoriesblog @sapphireplums @moonlight-onyx @witchysoldier @planetofawe @eun-dadplease @lvnarks @thesecretwriter @bucksgoat @sheisapoet @idontwannachill @gingerwriter97 @danneelsmain @titaniumstark @chanelfaerie @honeychicana @sharoncartier @jannqt @darlingsteve @a-little-counter-esperanto @just-one-ordinary-fangirl @writersbuck @cherryflavoredchapsticck @steebsbabygirl @balenciagabucky @brattycherub @sllooney

[hoaqins-funk-house]

Springtrap

Yandere

Male Reader

You can read part 1 here

Part 2

Quietly whistling, you enter the building, locking the door behind you and turning into the office, finding the familiar tall man leaning against the wall above the vent.

“Welcome back, Y/N. You ready?” 

You stretch, as per usual, humming. “As I’ll ever be.”

He walks past you, patting your shoulder with a grin as he murmurs two words into your ear.

“Good luck.”

You deadpan as his teasing hits you, watching him wave as he passes the glass. Sighing, you plop down into the chair, cursing as your tailbone hits the metal again. You follow William with the cameras, him speedily making his way back to the last room, where he motions to the vent next to him, crossing his arms in an x.

You nod to yourself. He isn’t going to go in that vent, as it would give him the unfair advantage of being in a vent where you can’t block him off.

When he smirks at the camera and slinks into the shadows, you sigh, beginning your defense.

-

It was five when you really lost him. He was nowhere to be found. 

You had exasperated a few more shades, excluding the one who seemed to really enjoy being about three inches from your face at all times. You didn’t really mind him, though; he was pretty hot.

Your brother wasn’t wrong when he called you ‘gayboy.’

Still, looking up, you see the man with a ripped up uniform staring down at you amusedly, his hand placed on the glass. Quickly, you play audio in the room to his left, making his grin lower as he gets led away by his body, you playing another sound in a further room before resetting audio.

You hear his rapid steps as audio reboots, watching him dart across the glass before finding him at the door frame. You lock eyes with him, a drop of sweat flowing down your cheek. Hearing the audio finish rebooting, you blindly grasp at the camera pad, violently and repeatedly pressing the sound button in a vain attempt to lure him away. Audio broke again because of how quickly you were spamming the button.

Right before he could take a step into your office, the bell chimes, and you shove the camera pad away from you, face hitting the desk with a thump as you let out a relieved sigh, feeling the stress leave your body.

“Hmm. You did quite well, all things considered.” William praises, watching amusedly as you wearily raise your hand, curled in a thumbs up. 

“I think I aged about a decade.” You groan, pushing yourself up to face your hunter for the night. You breathe heavier than usual, hair either sticking out or to your face from sweat, along with the light flush that comes with occasionally losing your oxygen supply.

It’s a sight he plans to see again; granted, not in this context.

“I’ll take that as a sign of quality pursuing.” He states, further entertained by your half-hearted glare. “What, do you have a problem with that?”

“You’re too good.” You say.

His brow quirks at your words. “Too good?”

“Yes, too good a pursuer. And you know what?”

“What?”

“Feeling like your prey for fifteen minutes was enough to completely wipe me. A whole six hours would genuinely kill me.”

He laughs, ignoring the feeling he gets from you calling yourself his prey.

“Well, I’ll just have to hunt to your limit. Now... isn't your shift over? Or do you just want to stay the day with me?” His grin makes his offer into what would easily be interpreted as a joke.

“Something came up, unfortunately. I would stay and chat, but it seems I must be going.”

Of course, this is you we’re talking about.

William was somewhat taken aback. You said you would?! 

You would stay back to talk with him?

He practically short-circuits, lips slightly open in shock. He only comes back to reality with the feeling of your hand running through his hair, ruffling it. Instinctually, he grabs it, looking at the hand in his grip and then at you, a small smile on your face. 

“Should I not-”

“No, you may. I just… wasn’t expecting it, is all.” He cuts you off, releasing your warm hand and watching with a pang of disappointment as your hand lowers, you stepping away. With a wave, you turn. 

“See you tomorrow, William.” 

He nods nearly breathlessly as you exit the building, lifting a hand and letting his fingers drift over his chest. 

A pulse.

… 

Then another.

…

And another.

His gaze lifts from his hand to the door you had exited through, expression shocked before his eyelids droop once more, lips forming a drunken grin. 

You are his, the one he needs most, his perfect prize and his perfect prey.

You, who gave a corpse his heartbeat.

It’s about 17 hours later that you stumble in, Your frazzled state catching William off guard. You slouch over as you walk, the dark color under your eyes speaking to how many hours of sleep you got. 

Entering the office, you, for once, sit down calmly in your chair, your head hitting the table in front of you. You turn to face the rabbit-eared man, eyes half-lidded and dull.

“I came in an hour early to sleep, if you don’t mind…” You drawl, him grimacing at your state.

“Feel free to.” 

He hums as your eyes shut, and he watches your body fully untense, noting the chair slowly rolling out from beneath you. Your face is peaceful, nearly the same expression you gave him on the first night after first meeting him face-to-face.

He sighs, stepping closer and grabbing your midsection right before you would've fallen. Your eyes don't even open, but you quietly groan, continuing to sleep as the man considers his options. 

He can rest you on the floor? 

No, when you wake up you'll need to peel yourself off of it.

He can put you back in the chair?

You'll probably fall out of it.

There is that staff room he found… 

Eh, it's his best option.

There's a couch in there, too.

He lifts you onto his back in order to not continue holding you like a wet towel, walking out of the office and into the area where cam three was active, finding the door in between a few props. Opening it, he feels the floor beneath his bare feet shift from grimy tile to thin carpet, colored black, along with a dark, ugly green couch. There’s a vent on the wall, a secret entrance to your office’s vent.

As he goes to place you down on the couch, he realizes that your arms are wrapped around his collar, head leaning into his. 

He regrets not paying attention earlier, as you were practically a heating pad. His arms, very loosely circling your legs, release as he leans closer to the couch, hovering with his back over it before realizing that, hey, you were asleep!

So, he lets himself turn, your arms still wrapped around the back of his neck, instead holding you up on his front.

Now, he decides to lay down on the couch, his tall physique making his legs have to be propped up on one arm of the couch. You lay on top of him, head nestled in the crook of his neck, allowing him to feel your soft breaths across his skin.

His arms wrap around you, feeling your warmth. With a small, satisfied grin, he feels the slightest flush cross his cheeks as you nuzzle closer. You were made for him; made to fit perfectly against him, made to be his, forever.

He doesn’t even notice as his eyelids drift down, consciousness fading. 

Goodnight, Y/N.

-

It was to the chime of the bell that you woke up, letting out a small sigh before you begin to take in your circumstances, eyes still not open. 

You fell asleep at work, but it certainly isn't midnight, as the bell had just chimed. It also isn't the chair you fell asleep in.

As they shift around you, holding you tighter to him, you realize that arms surround you, and that it seems likely you're sleeping on the rabbit man. 

Before you try to roll over and off of him (which was a dumb idea; William would've fallen with you), you feel him wake up based on the rumbles in his chest as he lowly groans.

You sigh, half-heartedly pushing yourself up. "Good morning, William."

His eyes shoot open, and he looks down, noting you and the position you were both in. "Mind letting me go?" 

"Uh- yes, sure." He releases you, allowing you to get off of him, stretching with a yawn. Meanwhile, William was reeling. 

You, saying good morning?

Your rusty morning voice?

You, apparently not caring about how you were just asleep on top of him?

Actually, he almost wishes you did care about it; you being embarrassed would be adorable.

"So… where is this?" You ask, looking over your shoulder at the man as he sits up, already feeling the void of your warmth.

"We're in the staff room. The door leads right into the attraction." 

You hum, nodding, him standing with a small sigh before standing at your side, his hand placing itself on your shoulder. 

"Nevermind that - what exactly made you into a walking corpse? Don't you know I already have that role covered?" He asks, a joking tone in his voice. You smile.

"Well, remember the funerals I got off my main job for? I had to go to one." You sigh, feeling his understanding shoulder pat. 

"How unfortunate that you had to do the thing you were getting off of work to do." 

That understanding shoulder pat turns sour!

"Listen. I, uh, can't really argue with that…"

William smirks. "No, you can't."

You sigh again, defeated. "Well, I need to head home. Thank you for letting me sleep through my shift, by the way. You make for a spectacular bed." It is with those parting words that you exit the room, not even allotting him the time to process your words.

Stiffly, he stands, following you out the door and back into the main area of the building, where the last he sees of you for some hours is the door closing behind you. 

He finds that watching you leave each night makes the cold emptiness hit him once more, returning him to a state similar to how he was when trapped. His lips, previously in a stricken pout, now fall into a scowl. 

You, you, you…

He fell asleep easily and dreamt of a peaceful void when you were there. But now that you aren't…

His dreams will never be calm. That brief instance of tranquility was like a drug to him; he wants more, the quiet, warm existence in a space consisting of nothing. Nothing to bring him pain. Nothing to bring him fear. 

But, nothing to bring him joy.

If he stays with you, will his dreams return to light? Will he feel your arms wrapped around him, holding him close as he buries his face into the crook of your neck?

Letting out a shuddering breath, he forcefully breaks himself out of his thoughts, looking down at his hands as they shake. Lifting one to his face, he feels his mouth in a wide grin. 

He already knows what he wants. 

He already knows what he needs to do.

But he needs to be patient.

-

As you reenter the building, William perks up to the sound of the door closing behind you. He purposefully replaces his wide, unsettling grin with a casual smirk, entering the hallway and seeing you. 

He will never get tired of you in your uniform.

You lift your head to meet his gaze, hearing him approach. He waves through the glass, you doing the same thing in return. You, per usual, stretch your arms above your head, feeling them get grabbed by William. Looking up at him, you raise an eyebrow, not noticing his grin. 

“Say, could you get out of that seat real quick?”

You hum in confirmation, him releasing your wrists as you stand.

You deadpan as he takes the seat, sitting down in it. "Wow. Asshole."

He laughs. "Think of this as charity."

"I'll think of it as what it is, thievery." You huff, sitting on the desk as a replacement for your stolen chair.

He laughs again. 

You roll your eyes, leaning your head on your arm, which is propped up on your leg. "I think the dude who got you made a really good choice."

William pauses. "Okay, now I think you're actually flirting with me."

"Take it as you will. But what I mean is he made a great choice for a horror attraction in finding you. Your big form is scary as hell, what with the actual organs about to spill out and stuff. Your human form… I wouldn't describe you as scary. Intimidating to someone who doesn't know you, maybe, but not scary."

"And what makes me... intimidating?" He asks, face forming into an amused expression as he watches you deadpan for a moment at his tone.

"Your scars, sure, but the main thing is your height. You're like, what, 6'7?"

"I was still quite tall when I was fully human, too."

"Really? How tall?"

"Around 6'4 or 6'5."

You whistle. "Damn, you didn't even grow that much, even when you got a boost from the suit. Actually, how does that even work?" 

"The suits? Well, when bodies are shoved into the suits and become trapped, their souls begin to merge with the vessel. For me, it took a long time, because I was around your age, but for the other suits…" He pauses, flicking one of the bobbleheads. "It didn't take them very long at all."

You nod. "Because they were kids… I never understood it."

His brow lifts. "Never understood what?"

"Why someone would kill them, and 11 of them at that. Kids can be annoying, sure, but… they still deserve a chance to grow." Your eyes focus on the ground, brows drawn together.

"I see." He responds, silent other than those words. You don't notice how his expression turns cold, lips in a downward curve. His reason for slaughtering the kids is simple. 

He wanted to. 

You look up, his face shifting to solemnity. 

You offer him a weak grin. "Sorry 'bout bringing that up, it's a bit heavy."

"No, it's fine."

You hum, leaning back while your hands grip the edge of the table. "I think I'm gonna miss this. The fifteen-something minutes we got here."

He tilts his head, so you take that as a sign to elaborate. "Tomorrow's my last day. I can still visit, of course, but I'll be heading back to my job on Tuesday."

His eyes widen as he processes it. Of course, it was never going to be permanent. The pay was shit, and you even told him that you had a month off, nothing more. 

He doesn't want to let you go, not when you're right there, not when you won't be showing yourself as often. 

"You good?" You ask, him nodding as his gaze shifts quickly to the door you leave through. All he needs to do is block it, then you'll be forced to go through the whole attraction if you want an immediate exit.

"Yes, just wondering how often you'll stop by." His eyes shift back to yours. Of course, he hadn't even considered the question. He knows there isn't any need to worry, not when you'll be at his side the whole time. He'll bind you to him, make it impossible for you to escape.

"I should be able to on weekends, and maybe Wednesdays? It depends on my schedule. So at least twice a week." You smile, the slight head tilt adding to the charm. "It's good to know I've made an impact on someone here, though. William, I really do enjoy your company."

His soft smile holds a hint of euphoria. 

You enjoy his company? 

He hopes you will feel the same over the years. His idea… 

He knows exactly how to do it.

"I enjoy yours as well."

"Well, I'd hope. Me waking up on top of you would've been a bit more awkward if you didn't." You chuckle, his smile slightly widening.

Of course, it couldn't happen tonight.

"I suppose so."

Your brow raises, arms crossing. "You sure you're good? You seem rather… subdued." You question.

He shrugs, feeling the strange warmth form in the pit of his stomach as he hears you worry for him. "I'm just a bit tired, I suppose. Sleeping last night threw me off." Well, he is actually a bit tired.

You nod, still feeling as if something is off. "I can get that. When I got home last night, I immediately crawled into bed and passed out again."

"You were still tired?"

"Well, seven hours isn't much when I had stayed up for over 40. Wait, you were tired? Animatronic-corpse-hybrid-whatevers can get tired?"

His casual grin returns. "Especially in this form, yes. I'm still a close-enough-to-living-thing to get tired normally." 

"Huh. How strange." You simply respond, eyes slipping upwards and not noticing as he rolls forward. 

"Hey, could you hold out your hand real quick? Like this." He holds out his hand in a way similar to how you grab a drink, you copying him with a slightly confused expression. With that, he rolls slightly closer, and after closing his eyes, rests his head on your hand, your fingers cupped over his cheek.

You feel your brain lag.

Your mouth opens once, you soon figuring out that whatever you would say would be incomprehensible, so it's best to not even try.

William lets out a breath, seeming to deflate into your touch. A few moments later, his eyes open to the sound of the 6 am bell and the sight of your somewhat flushed face. He leans away, leaving you still very confused. "Thanks for that." 

"You're… welcome?" 

He's already missing your touch. "Well, we should both get some rest, tomorrow's your final night." But certainly not your last with him. William rolls back, giving you the space to get off of your desk.

You nod slowly. "Uh-yeah. That's true." Sliding off of the desk, you let out a small groan while you stretch, a lot of air hissing into the noise. After you shake your head to clear it, you send a smile towards William before beginning to leave. "Well, I'll see you tomorrow." 

"Of course." He responds. When he hears the click of the door, he stands up. He needs to get some rest if he wants to be in top shape. 

His lips curl into a sneer, already knowing his plan would be successful. 

Exiting the room, he heads to the back of the attraction, returning to his animatronic form and standing in the spot he started all of this in. 

Tomorrow. 

Tomorrow.

Part 3

[honeydarlings]

Can you please write a one shot about yandere!All Might in his hero form stalking the reader (knows their schedule, habits, etc.) and in his mind, he’s just protecting them? Then later on, he notices the reader isn’t back home at their usual time and finds them hurt after being mugged in an alley way. Perhaps he takes them back to his place to fix up their wounds and when they want to leave, he won’t let them since he’s overprotective.

First request !!! I hope you like it !!

I'm Doing this for You

TW || Stalking, kidnapping, manipulation, drugging, gore and violence.

7:30pm, you walked through the front door to your apartment. Right on time, as always. Whenever you got home after work you would tie your hair back just to get it out of your face as you started cooking dinner. All Might loved the way you looked with your hair back, he got to see more of you. He sat atop a building right across from your apartment window with a pair of binoculars. Everyday he watched you. He would watch you wake up, take the train to work, eat lunch, return home. Almost everywhere you went he was watching. “7:45, you always turn on the radio.” The hero mumbled to himself as you turned on the small radio sitting on your kitchen counter. He smiled, happy to know your every move. At first he was unsure about following you, worried he would be found out by you or another hero. But then he realized he was doing this for your sake, to protect you. It’s a dangerous world out there, especially for someone as delicate as you. As 8:15 rolled around so did your dinnertime, you sat down on the couch and turned on the TV. “True crime.”He muttered. True crime indeed, you turned on one of your favorite true crime shows as you began to eat. Suddenly All Might’s phone buzzed, startling him a bit. “All Might we have a situation downtown, we need you here” The text read. “Damn.” All Might huffed, couldn’t it wait until after you went to bed, so he knew you were safe?. Another text came through, “It’s urgent.” He scowled and got to his feet, leaping off, leaving you all alone.

8am. He barely made it, watching you wake up was one of All Might’s favorite things. Your messy hair and groggy face. You were so damn adorable, he couldn’t help but smile. Everything you did was absolute perfection to him and he wanted nothing more than to stay by your side and keep you safe. You departed for work, walking to the train station. All Might following close behind, leaping from building to building. He made sure that you safely boarded the train before going off to do hero work. After all, even though it tore him up, he couldn’t watch you all day, he was still a hero.

By the end of the day, All Might was exhausted but he still rushed to get to your window to watch you come home. 7:30, on the dot. He sat, staring at your front door. It didn’t open. He felt a pit form in his stomach. “Maybe they’re running a little late.” He reassured himself, trying to stay calm. He waited five more minutes, still no sign of you. The panic had now settled in, All Might quickly stood and raced to find you. He followed your exact route to the train station, you weren’t there. He scrambled to the small library where you worked and peered through each window, you were nowhere to be found. He quickly made his way to the train station, checking every shop. He had never felt like this before, he had never been this panicked fighting villains or saving others. He reached the alleyway you always cut through and was met with a sickening display.

You were sprawled onto the pavement, covered in bruises and blood. Soft whimpers escaping your lips. A tall lanky figure stared down at you with a led pipe in their hand, your bag in his other. “What the hell is going on here.” All Might boomed, trying to maintain his composure. The figure looked up at All Might with fear and then took off in a sprint, dropping the led pipe but still holding your bag. “Bastard.” All Might growled, chasing after him. It didn’t take long to catch up to the criminal, seeing as All Might was much faster and could cover more ground. He grabbed the thief’s shoulder and pulled him downwards onto the pavement. He landed on his back, knocking the wind out of him. All Might made sure that he was out of your sight, then picked the man up by his head, gripping it tightly. He started to squeeze. The man screamed, clutching All Might’s massive hand trying to pry it off. “You are lower than scum.” All Might snarled as his hold tightened. A crack rang out through the alley. Blood started pooling out of the man's eyes, nose and mouth as All Might continued to squeeze. Another loud crack followed by silence as the criminal's body went limp. Blood and teeth were splattered onto the ground as the man’s corpse hit the pavement. The blonde hero shook drops of blood off his hand then wiped the rest off on the corpse's jacket.

All Might returned to you, your bag in hand. “Are you alright?” He asked softly. You slowly shook your head, unable to get any words out. “Please, let me take you back to my home, I can patch you up and keep you safe.” He gently wiped your tears from your cheeks as you nodded. He smiled and picked you up bridal style. “You don’t have to tell me what happened yet, we can wait until you’re all fixed.” You nodded again, clutching his chest. Once the two of you reached his house was when you managed to speak up. “Thank you, All Might.” You said in an almost whisper. The hero’s stomach fluttered, you were so damn cute! “Of course, anything to keep you safe.”

He walked you through his massive mansion, up the stairs and into his bedroom. He set you down gently onto his large bed. The sheets against your bruised skin was like heaven, you’ve never laid on anything softer. “Wait here while I get my medical supplies and something to drink, I shouldn’t be long.” All Might said as he exited the room. You laid in silence, still trying to process everything that had happened. You were mugged, some creep attacked you with a led pipe and took your bag. Good thing All Might showed up when he did, if he was even second later you could have been killed. The thought made you shudder. You looked around his large bedroom which was surprisingly empty. Nothing except a bed, dresser and a TV mounted on the wall. You were still trying to process the fact that you were inside the number one hero’s home. Does he give treatment like this to all civilians he finds injured? Your thoughts were interrupted by All Might entering the room holding a tray with painkillers, bandages, tissues and a tall glass of water. He set the tray down and grabbed the tissues. He lightly brushed the soft paper against the semi dried blood that gushed out of your nose earlier. “Is it broken?” You asked. “No, but pretty close. You’re lucky I showed up.” He said. He sounded stern and a little bit angry. “Here, take these. I’m sure those bruises are hurting.” He said handing you three small pills and a cup of water. Without hesitation you swallowed the pills with a big sip of water. All Might continued to work in silence as he bandaged your hand, suspecting it to be sprained, and cleaning out the scrapes that covered your hands and knees. As he worked you started to feel dizzy. All Might noticed as your wrist went limp in his hand. “Feeling sleepy, y/n?” He asked. “H-how do you know my name.” Your speech was slurred as your body relaxed into his bed. He brought his hand up to your face and caressed your cheek. “Y/n, sweetheart. That’s not important right now. You should rest. I’ll finish patching you up.” Suddenly all the worry you just felt went away as you drifted off. “You’ll be safe here, y/n. Safe with me.” All Might whispered as he gently kissed your forehead. “I’ll be back in about an hour, my dear.” He stood and planted a kiss on your limp hand. He picked up your bag and fished out your keys. He sighed and shrunk down to his small form, leaving his house and catching a taxi.

The blonde hero stood outside your apartment fiddling with your keys, trying to find the one that fit into the keyhole. “Bingo.” He muttered with a smile as a silver key slid in perfectly, unlocking your door. He stepped into the darkened room and inhaled. He couldn’t believe it, he was in your house! It smelled just like you. He rushed to your bedroom excitedly. He stepped inside and grinned. The whole room just screamed “you”. Even your bedsheets reflected you. All Might grabbed a suitcase laying on the floor and began to pack things for you, inspecting every single one. He smelled every shirt and sweater. After a few minutes he closed the suitcase and was about to head to the bathroom to pack more but then he noticed something on the top shelf of your closet. It took no effort for him to grab it, seeing as he was still massive, even in his small form. A small All Might plushie, a soft shade of pink dusted his face as he held the stuffed toy. You were his fan. He toyed with it before gently placing it in the suitcase. He then made his way to the bathroom grabbing your toothbrush and toothpaste placing them in a plastic bag and then inside the suitcase. He pulled his phone out of his pocket to check the time. 9:01. “Shit! They’ll be waking up soon!” He rushed out of your front door, quickly locking it behind him. Once he reached the street he changed back into his muscle form to get to you quicker.

You slowly opened your eyes. You were still in All Might’s house. Why would he keep you here for so long? Footsteps quickly approached the bedroom. You groaned and sat up, still groggy. All Might burst through the door. “Ah you’re up! How did you sleep? Feel better?” He questioned as he rushed to get by your side. “I slept well, and I’m feeling a lot better, thank you.” You smiled. “I should probably start heading home soon though. It’s really late already and I have to work tomorrow.” You swung your legs off the side of the bed and tried to stand. All Might jumped in front, knocking you back onto the bed. “I can’t let you do that, y/n.” You stared up at him, wide-eyed. A pit formed in your stomach. “What the hell do you mean?” You shouted, instantly regretting when you did. “I can’t let you leave. It’s way too dangerous for you out there. I’m the only one who can keep you safe.” You tried to stand again only causing All Might to push you back down. “Please listen to me y/n. I’m doing this to protect you!” You were too scared to move anymore. “Wh-MPH!” All Might pressed his thumb over your lips, shutting you up. “The only place that you’ll be safe is here, with me.” Tears stung the corners of your eyes. He pulled his thumb away, letting you speak. “You’re scaring me.” You whispered. All Might’s face fell. He was scaring you? “Darling, I’m so sorry. I just want to keep you safe! Isn’t that what you want? To be safe? To be with me? I planned everything out! Here, I’ll show you!” He ran out of the bedroom only to return with your suitcase in hand. “I packed all your clothes and I even brought your All Might plush!” He held up the small toy, smiling wide. You started sobbing. “I want to go home. Please just take me home.” You choked. “Darling. I don’t think you’re in the right headspace right now. You’re still a bit woozy from the sleeping pills. You can’t possibly be thinking straight right now. How about you sleep on it again and then we’ll discuss this again in the morning?” He picked your legs up and placed them back on the bed, pulling the soft sheets over top. You were frozen with fear. He kidnapped you. He drugged you. “You’re a monster.” You whispered as he placed a kiss on your forehead. “It might seem that way right now darling but, in time, you’ll see that I’m doing all this for you. We’ll speak more about this tomorrow.” He smiled and left the bedroom, locking you inside. He had you now. And he would never let you go.

(This was so fun !!! Feel free to request as much as you like while they’re open !!)

[tales-unique]

FAITH, LOST  IV

Oh honey she starts off so spicy! Hence why it's all under a Read More since I don't wanna get done for showing the nasty straight out the gate. Minors better beware! ;3

Tagging the boos, for obvs reasons @chelseareferenced @buckysbaby1 hope you all like it! 😘😘

Chapter 4

It begins as soon as your eyes flutter open. The darkness, familiar, like an old friend, coerces your senses into a heightened state. Exposed, your skin prickles at the coolness of the room, writhing against soft sheets. You exhale in exhilaration; you know what’s to come. It starts small, a low thrum of electricity in the air that tickles your bare flesh. Then it builds, tantalizingly slow, a measured surge of power that has you twisting yourself in knots. You want more. Only He can give you more. His arrival is heralded by the scent of oil and whiskey, leather and smoke. It caresses you, embraces you, and sends you into overdrive. It’s instinctual, a primal desire. It corrupts your mind, the sequence disjointing in its take over. Thick boots echo on a wooden floor, your mouth falling open with a heated breath. Your back arches when you feel his weight dip the bed, heat radiating from him. The contrast has you trembling, body wired. His hands, strong and calloused, grip the backs of your thighs easily. A simple tug and you’re at his mercy, legs parting easily in his strong grip. You moan, he growls. He likes what he can see, those beast eyes glowing a dangerous red in the blackness. Sharp indents form against delicate skin, his claws marking your inner thighs. His little lamb, so sweet and so ready for the slaughter. Then there’s movement, the shuffle of fabric, the chink of a belt buckle. You tense, but you’re ready. The air surges with the oncoming crescendo, the room spinning, or maybe it’s you? You’re not sure, preoccupied with the molten heat that pools suddenly between your legs. You feel his grin, all teeth and tongue helping to blot out the sharp stab of pain.      Forgive me Father, for I have sinned—

The sudden chaos of a burst steam pipe in the hallway outside your room abruptly shocks you from your slumber, a cacophony of sounds assaulting your sleep-hazed senses. You hear Heisenberg shouting, the scraping of metal being reshaped at will, the harsh hissing of escaping steam. Groaning at the rude awakening you flop back against the lumpy couch cushions, kicking off your blanket in protest. A light sheen of sweat covers your body, making your nightclothes stick to you in an uncomfortable way. As you stare up at the ceiling you try to decode the meaning behind your dream. You recall with an embarrassing amount of clarity just what it was you were doing and who you were enjoying it with. Humiliation blooms within you, coloring your cheeks a shade of scarlet. It wasn’t as though you hadn’t indulged in the past, you just never had desires so blatant before. Especially for someone who was your superior in every way. “Hey, you awake in there?” Heisenberg’s voice cuts your thoughts short. All the racket has stopped, there’s just the usual hum of the Factory. “Y-yes!” You squeak, stomach clenching uncharacteristically as you sit up, “I’m awake!” “Well get your ass up, we have work to do!” He claps his hands hard to exaggerate his point and you lament your new found torture as his footfalls recede down the corridor. Oh merciful Mother Miranda how were you supposed to face him anymore?

Heisenberg is, for lack of a better word, pissed. It surges through him and it shows in the haphazard, volatile approach he takes with his work. It isn’t rational, this level of response on his part, but he can’t help it. You’ve barely spoken a full sentence to him all day. Now, he’s under no illusions that you were going to become the best of friends. After all, you had been sent to him by Mother Bitch herself to be his servant and he knew that you were three sheets to the wind over this religious bullshit, but he’d thought that you’d been showing progress in becoming your own person. At least, you were , until that little incident where he had you pinned against his desk and decided to take his teasing to the next level. It isn’t often that Heisenberg considers that he may have gone too far with something, or someone , but he’s definitely considering the possibility now that you seem to be avoiding him wherever possible. You’d even brushed off his blatant last ditch attempt, an offer to accompany him to see his forge and the projects he’d been working on, in favour of praying to Mother Miranda. It’s the exact opposite of what he wanted to happen. You’d been so close to opening up, to no longer being a tool, but instead you’re become even more the meek little lamb of Miranda’s flock. Frustration bubbles within and his temper, short-fused as it already is, takes a critical hit. As a result everything he does has a sharp, volatile edge to it; even something as simple as opening a door is menacing in his current state. It serves to further deter you from him, giving you the space you so desperately desired. That is, until Heisenberg reaches his limit. “Just open up already! You can’t ignore me forever!” He thunders where he stands in the hallway, gritting his teeth in a vicious snarl. When he’s met with your persistent silence he howls in frustration, throwing his arms up in the air. The irony of him choosing to remain outside your door doesn’t go amiss, since it’s well known that he could easily rip the door from its hinges with the flick of his hand because of his nifty little ability to manipulate metal. Which, coincidentally, nearly everything in this Factory is made of in some form or another. But he doesn’t and you’re thankful for that, even if you still don’t want to face him. It continues on relentlessly, neither side backing down, and without realizing it, the whole thing becomes a game in its own right. One that pits you against one another to see who cracks first. So it’s a surprise when it’s Heisenberg that seeks you out first. It’s a situation of his own making, having followed you on the gritty live feed from his security cameras. With ease he catches you off guard on your way out of the elevator, taking your fright in his stride. “Easy now!” He exclaims, his hands raised in surrender. You’re cagey, looking for a way out. He isn’t going to give you one because he’s had about enough of you giving him the cold shoulder over a goddamn joke . You’ve pressed yourself tight against the wall, watching him like a hawk. He can hear the frantic flutter of your heart, the sharp intakes of breath, and his jaw tightens. He can’t get distracted now, he needs to focus — this was not the time to enjoy your distress. “Now I know that I can be a bit of a handful,” he starts, then falters, mouth working to try and word it just right, “but, really, hasn’t this gone on long enough? I didn’t mean any harm by it! Just a little teasing, you weren’t meant to get upset.” Oh, he thinks this is because of that time. You stare up at him in utter disbelief. You want to slap him. It’s the first time you’ve ever felt the innate burning desire to inflict bodily harm on anyone, but here you stand, about ready to knock those glasses right off his face. “You have literally no idea how you make me feel , do you?” You accuse him, incredulous, your posture straightening. Things might have slipped back to the way they were before all of this if he had just let you be, allowed you to warm back up to him, and maybe you might have been content with that. This was a turmoil of his own creation, after all, so why not let him stew in it a while. But now? Now you were at your limit. You’re tired of constantly tip-toeing around yourself because of him and his stupid games. If anything, you’re even more tentative to rekindle whatever this relationship is that you have with him, to throw in the towel and tell Mother Miranda she’d been wrong about you. It made you sour to think that what little progress you had made had been lost and it’s taken its toll on you. There’s a harsh look to you that has Heisenberg’s head spinning, apprehension gripping him. “H-Hold on a minute,” he attempts to defend himself, an uncomfortable blend of emotions sitting like a stone in his stomach. He’s conflicted over your new found confidence. You’re no longer the mild-mannered devotee that was wound around Mother Miranda’s finger, standing tall. You’re practically shining. It’s a good look on you, but he’s not exactly thrilled to be the one on the receiving end. “No!” You snap, squaring up to him. You see his brilliant eyes widen behind his circular glasses and for once in your life you feel powerful and in control . “I’ve done nothing but try my best here, trying to make something good out of this situation and you made me feel like a complete idiot !” The words feel heavy on your tongue, but you feel lighter now that they’re out in the open. Who knew that having your shame out in the open could feel so liberating. You take a deep breath when you feel the pinpricks of tears sting your eyes, trying to ground yourself. You wouldn’t forgive yourself if you cried in front of him. Not in this lifetime, or the next. Heisenberg stares down at you with a look of realization on his face, now fully aware that there was more to this than your feelings of inadequacy, that you were little more than a joke to him. It’s always been there, in the way your heart races when he gets just that little bit too close or how your eyes soften when he’s agonizing over his work. He goes to speak this revelation but you shake your head, lower lip trembling. “I was just trying to help .” The way your voice breaks has him in a tailspin, the look of pure anguish in your eyes cutting him deep. This is in no way what he had envisioned when he spotted the chance to clear the air with you. “Oh come on, don’t cry!” It’s a desperate plea, something you never thought you would hear from him. “You’re making me feel really shitty here!” “That’s because you are!” You sob, unable to hold it back anymore. You feel like such a pathetic idiot. That overwhelming monster of self-degradation looms, fueling your misery. If only a dark abyss could just swallow you up and save you from this embarrassment, but you know that’s not going to happen. There’s only this awkward moment, lingering between you. You whimper, trying desperately to wipe away your tears. They stream down your cheeks, burning against your already flushed skin as you sniffle. Suddenly his hands are encasing your own in a firm grip. With a surprisingly gentle touch he tugs them down, exposing you. The whites of your eyes are marred with tiny lines of red and your long lashes clump together from your tears. You’re a mess, but he doesn’t mind. In fact, he finds you oddly endearing in the moment. Swallowing, you try to understand what’s going on. Your hands are still held in his, the feel of soft leather almost comforting against your skin, and you wonder if you’re dreaming again. Something stirs in you, glowing embers kicking up from ashes, and you try to pull away. It’s an admirable attempt but Heisenberg easily catches you, holding you in a vice-like grip against him. You whine at the harshness of his grasp and he frowns, loosening his hold just enough to make it bearable. “I’m sorry, alright?” He mumbles, hesitating. It’s been so long, too long, since he’s been in such close proximity to someone who wasn’t prey. You aren’t fighting him, you aren’t trying your damnedest to get away. In fact, you look as though you’re captivated by him. It’s a side of him that no one has ever seen before, the dejection of a man twisted into being a monster. Something inside you breaks anew at how lost he looks, the last and most dangerous of the Lords at Mother Miranda’s disposal. He’s nothing more than a dog on a choke chain, to be used when it’s suited and then discarded afterwards. Just like you. “Heisenberg,” your voice is hushed, woeful. The words are so genuine and your heart isn’t yet made of stone to be immune to their plight. When you shift in his grasp there’s no resistance and you reach up to gently cup his cheeks in your hands. The stubble on his face tickles your palms and his skin is warm and smooth to the touch. You find you quite like it, the contrast of textures. He does little in the way to stop you. In fact, he encourages you. His hands find purchase on your hips, thumbs brushing the delicate spots just below your rib cage. It elicits a soft gasp from you, your body stiffening beneath him. Glistening eyes stare up at him, a swirling maelstrom threatening to drown him along with you. He’s curious whether or not you’re ready to commit to this. Heisenberg knows what you want, or better yet, what your body wants, but your mind eludes him. He waits with bated breath to see what path you will take, the uncomfortable feeling of anxiety creeping in his bones. It’s like poison, a crawling taint that threatens to take over him. What have you done to him? The exact same thing he did to you. It’s a disquieting notion, one that almost overtakes him, until it doesn’t. The doubts are suddenly banished and relief washes over him at the feel of your silken lips against his in a tender kiss. The chain breaks; you're both suddenly free, and it feels euphoric .

[xlovelyyoongix]

happy birthday | myg

♥ summary: When a birthday foot massage turns into something a bit more interesting 18+ ( established relationship) 

♥ paring: slight dom yoongi! x f. sub reader (established relationship)

♥ warnings: SMUT! swearing, female receiving, multiple orgasms , over stimulation, creampie, squirting and use of a sex toy.

♥ a/n: Not gonna lie I wrote this for myself on my birthday because I’m such a simp for Min Yoongi. Also, I apologize that this post is a day late. I watched Day 1 and Day 2 of the MOTS 7 concert and I was so sleep deprived so please forgive me. Enjoy! Feedback is welcome!  

You always hated being the center of attention, in a room full of crowded bodies with all eyes on you was never your forte. So, when you explained to your boyfriend of 2 years that you wanted a simple celebration of your birthday, he promised you just that. Your special day consisted of breakfast in bed, shopping, a movie, and dinner at your favorite restaurant. To others, a birthday spent like such would be considered a boring one, but for you, a day spent with Yoongi by your side was perfect.

"This was such a fun day!" Your exhausted body pushed through the door for your apartment, dropping your shopping bags on the living room table. "I'm beat!" Kicking off your shoes, your body collapses on the couch, releasing a heavy breath as your lashes flutter shut to relax.

Yoongi closes the door behind him, chuckling at your animated demeanor. "I'm glad you had a great time,__" Before anything else, Yoongi escaped into the back room, only to reemerge with a few items in his hands, an eager smile stretched across his face. "But it's not over yet."

Your lips curve in question, "Huh?" and the moment your eyes blink open, a romantic flickering of dim orange light begins to dance across the apartment walls along with the soothing scent of lavender. Your brows crinkle together, dimples digging into your cheeks upon realizing, Yoongi lit your favorite scented candle. "What's this about?" You pull yourself up with a toothy grin in observance of the scene before you.  

A twinkle of delight shimmers within Yoongi's onyx orbs, taking a seat on the carpet between your legs. "Your last gift of the day." His proud gummy smile gleaming up at you.

It wasn't until Yoongi gently placed your foot onto his lap, removing your socks, that you realized what he was doing. Your cheeks lighten with an innocent hue as his long fingers brush against your tiny toes. "Y-Yoon?" You question, with a rapid heart beat.

"Hm?" He questions, pulling a bottle of oil out of the silk bag only to pour a modest amount into his hand. "You act like I've never touched you before,__" His hooded eyes dart up at you, though only for a second before talented fingers are massaging the warming oil into the balls, arch, and toes of your foot.

"Mhm..." A small moan vibrates from the back of your throat, the newly found pleasure rippling throughout your being, practically melting your body into the sofa. "Feels good~" You purr.

Yoongi takes pride in the blissful expression plastered across your face. "I'm happy you're enjoying yourself." Voice music to your ears as his fingers work between your toes, ankle, and back up the sole of your foot. "Just relax and let me take care of you."

"Okay." Your lashes flutter shut, body loosening up as the soothing scent of lavender sways within your nostrils. Yoongi, being skillful with his hands, takes his time and massages all the spots you seem to like most. He doesn't speak, merely allowing you to fully embrace your very own euphoria.

You're unable to recall a time your body experienced this type of tranquility; with work and school swallowing your livelihood, you're surprised you're able to even manage a relationship with your hectic schedule. Always a paper due, an extra shift that needed to be worked. There were times you barely even had time to sleep...

"SLEEP?!" Realizing your body was a bit too tranquil enough to doze off, your back arches off the couch, frantic eyes darting across the room in search of your boyfriend. Had it already been that long he chose to leave for the night? "Yoongi?"

"Don't worry, you weren't asleep for too long." A teasing smirk pulls across his full cheeks, taking a seat on the floor between your legs again. "Had to wash my hands and get your other present." Unlike before, his demeanor changed. His hooded eyes, a shade darker than normal, tongue lapping across his bottom lip, along with a seductive arched brow. Surely, Yoongi was up to something.

"I thought the foot massage was my last gift." Your head tilts with confusion.

Yoongi chuckles at your obliviousness, placing a pink rectangular box on your lap. "This is just the other part of your present." He nudges you to open it.

You sport Yoongi an -what are you up to- expression, only for your curiosity to become interrupted by the heaviness of the box. What else could he possibly be gifting you with after a day of shopping and dinner? "Okay." Your fingers slowly unravel the bow, careful with removing the lid. The moment your eyes make contact with what's inside, your jaw drops in awe at the objects.

"I saw you googling them a few weeks back. I figured I'd get the set for you." There's a moment of hesitation in Yoongi's tone, your silence instantly forcing him to contemplate his gift. "I-It is what you wanted,.. right?"

Your eyes bounce back to your blonde-haired boyfriend, noticing the doubt trickling across his expression. "Yes, Yoongi, it is!" You praise, heart fluttering that your boyfriend paid that much attention to notice your personal interests. "Thank you so much!" It was a set of 3 clear glass dildos, all shape and length in different sizes, with adorable pink, heart-shaped handles at the end.  

Regaining his confidence, his blond head slips between your legs, lips ghosting over the sensitive spots of your inner thighs. “Ya, know..." Mint breath slapping across your skin, causing a delightful shiver up your spine. "We can test them out right now if you want." His jet eyes cutting dangerously at you before placing a kiss on the spot that causes your abdomen to tense deliciously.  

With the tempting look in Yoongi's eyes and the grip he has on your thighs, your body heats with desire, feminine core throbbing against the now annoying material of your panties. "I-I mean..." You swallow hard, attempting to catch your staggered breath. "D-do you want to?"

A dimple forms in the crevice of Yoongi's cheeks, snickering at your timid question. "Of course I want to, kitten..." He purrs, fingers working to unbuttoning the metal of your jean shorts. "But today isn't about me, is it?" dark eyes rolling up to you while the echo of your zipper tauntingly fills the room.

If you blinked, you would have missed the dark, carnal switch that happened deep within Yoongi's eyes. Clearly, he was ready for whatever the night had in store. You gulp, "No," You answer back modestly but also notice the rising heat growing between your thighs. "It's about me tonight." You answer back with a nod, slightly more confident than last.

Yoongi snickers devilishly at your reply. "Yes, it is." He pulls at your jean shorts, helping you shimmy out of them. Yoongi gestures at your shirt with a tempting bite of his lip only for it to disappear behind you a second later, leaving your body in nothing but a black bra and panties set.

Your boyfriend takes in the magnificent sight of your hair framing around your adorable cheeks, romantic flames of candlelight across your skin and eyes, and your practically nude body that lit a hungry flame within his core. "Fuck..." Unable to hold back any longer, Yoongi lunges forward, harshly gripping onto your thighs as if to hold you in place while his plush lips place rough kisses and love bites along the innards of your thigh.  

"Mhm, Yoon..." Your hips stutter forward, a zap of electricity zipping up your spine, awakening your body with a fevering heat.

As Yoongi's tongue laps across the sensitive parts of your inner thigh, his sneaky index hooks onto the wetness of your panties, slowly sliding down the flimsy fabric before tossing them over his shoulder, not caring where they landed. "Hope you're ready for your gift." His tone holding velvety dominance as his lust-filled eyes peer up at you.

Before you could even mutter a response, Yoongi's crafty tongue laps across your throbbing slit, hands spreading your thighs open for better access. You release a whimper, and the moment his lips latch onto your pulsing clit, your hips snap forward, tongue slipping and sliding between your folds, leaving you a stuttering mess.

Taking his time, Yoongi lapped figure eights around your sensitive nub, large hands cupping at your ass cheeks, sliding you forward into his mouth. "You taste so good, kitten." Words vibrating against your delicate flesh as he spoke.

Even with his tongue moving so deliciously between your slit, body floating into cloud nine, the flame burning inside of you craved more. "S-so good b-but...please~" your walls clenching around nothing in dire need to be stretched. "Inside~." You mewl with a needy wiggle to the edge of the couch.  

Yoongi cocks a brow, peeking up at you while working your marvelous wet pussy. "You can't wait anymore, can you." He teases with a confident chuckle. "Your pussy is always so needy for attention." He cheekily mutters, slowly slipping two long digits into the slick of your folds.

"Fuck!" You yelp at the instant pleasure of Yoongi’s curving fingers locate the spongy surface of your inner walls. Back arching off the couch only to roll deeper into Yoongi's thrusts and tongue. "So good..." Managing past the dryness of your throat to whimper.

Yoongi's fingers pump in and out of your gushy slit with ease, tongue attacking your clit for maximum effect. "I want you to cum." the curve of his digits jabbing at your g-spot. You whimper a moan, walls tightening around his knuckles, sending waves of pleasure through your core. "I want your pretty pussy to cum all over my face, kitten."

Feeling your orgasm quickly approaching, the pit of your abdomen tightens in a knot, tight pussy swallowing long fingers, teasing at your approaching release. "Y-Yoongi..." You pant, fog of tears swelling at the corners of your eyes, cheeks a misty hue with thighs opening as wide as humanly possible for your boyfriend's assault on your pussy. "G-gonna cum.... Uughh." Your fingers thread through Yoongi's blonde tresses with a yank, guiding the male's mouth all the places you need him most.    

Yoongi snickers at the aggression you have with his hair but doesn't let up. Feeling your soaking muscles clenching around his digits, your fucked out expression says it all, that you're ready to burst at any given moment. "Be a good girl," His fingers pick up their pace, assaulting the sweet spots of your insides at devilish speeds. "and cum for me."

As if on-demand, the tight knot built in the pit of your abdomen finally bursts, sending your body into an eruption of pleasure. "FUCK!" Your back arches off the couch, vision clouded with an assortment of colors, legs collapsing into jelly, as your sopping pussy leaks creamy arousal.

Plunging from the high of your orgasm, your exhausted body plops back onto the sofa, glistening sweat built across your brow with lungs heaving for breath. "So good." You murmur with what little strength you have left.

Yoongi snickers at your weakened expression. "We're not done yet,__" His words are sly as he opens the birthday box that contains a multitude of glass pleasure wands. "Which one should I use on you first?" He takes a second to observe, index tapping his chin in thought. "Got it." Picking out the wand, he knew would send you over the edge.

"H-huh?" Before you could comprehend what was happening, a sudden stretching of something strong and firm slips inside you. "Hmhmm." Your body awakens again, teeth digging into the bottom of your lip as your hips unknowingly roll forward, allowing the glass dildo to plug into your soaking slit.

"You almost forgot about this, didn't you?" Yoongi grins devilishly, the deep ridges of the wand satisfying your greedy entrance.

Your body shutters with delight at the feeling, lashes fluttering as your neck rolls back. With your body still processing the high of your first orgasm, you feel a new wave of arousal collapse over you. "You wanna make me cum again, Yoongi~?" Your once shy innocence, now engulfed by the sparks of lust dancing within your hazed eyes.

Yoongi wiggles a brow at your confidence. "You know it, kitten," he answers back almost too quickly. "Let's see what this thing can do." And without the need for direction, Yoongi slips the rigid object back into the hilt of your core, tilting at just the right angle.

"Shiiiiiit." Yoongi picks up his speed, your ass cheeks bouncing on the glass dildo as he rams it in and out as if it were his profession. Your walls take a liking to the newly discovered object, aroused and clutching tightly around the ridged glass, welcoming it deep within your pussy like the slut it was.

Being the generous pussy eater that he was, Yoongi positioned his mouth against your overwhelming heat once again, plush lips latching onto the sensitive nub, nibbling and sucking all the while thrusting your new favorite toy into your shameful entrance.  

A new wave of pleasure zaps through you. "F-fuck, Yoon!" Unapologetically, you grab at your boyfriend's blonde hair, pulling and yanking at the tresses as if your life depended on it. Your brows furrowed together and teeth tugging at your bruised lips as your foggy gaze peers between your legs at the man feasting upon you as if he were starving. "Yoongi, s-so good." Your neck rolls, the familiar tightness in your abdomen returns, threatening to rupture your release.

Your pussy is gushing, sending streams of milky arousal down the shaft of the dildo and onto Yoongi's glistening chin. Even though he couldn't feel your muscles tightening within you, he knew you were reaching the peak of your second orgasm; your words slurred, legs shaking uncontrollably along with the death grip you had on his hair. Yoongi smirks, your incoherent and shaken state, stroking his ego.

Your body uncontrollably humps into Yoongi's mouth, hips matching the rhythm of the glass wand slamming into the wall of your cervix, hitting all the spots you need it most. "P-please..." You're a whimpering mess. "Baby, m-make me cum again...wanna so bad..." Addicted to the taste of release, you plea your boyfriend to fuck another orgasm out of you like that dirty whore that you were.

More than happy to oblige your request, Yoongi stiffens his tongue, lapping over your glistening clitoris at record speed while your soaked pussy sucks in the rigid wand. "Cum,__" He orders with a stern tone.  

As if Yoongi's voice was the switch to your light, the tightness within your abdomen snaps on queue. "Shit!" You're crying out again, white noise clogging the tunnels of your ears as your vision fogs with an explosion of different colors. Your lashes flutter the tears from your eyes all the while attempting to catch your staggering breath as the second orgasm pulls from your body. "W-wow,..." Your nearly horse voice stutters out. "T-that was great I-"

The moment your glossy orbs stutter open, you're immediately met with an immaculate sight. It was none other than Yoongi standing proudly naked before you. Smooth, ivory skin that seemed to glow under the romantic candlelight. A hard chest that sculpted into a lean abdomen, showcasing a happy trail of hair leading down to the object you desired most to see. "We're still not done, kitten," Yoongi smirks devilishly, gripping at the base of his thick shaft, standing proudly.

You gulp, the curve of his impressive dick bobbing against his lower abdomen, thick veins protruding from the sides of its girthy shaft. Hungry, Your eyes follow up to the summit of it's red, angry tip, slit oozing delicious pre-cum. You lick your lips at the sight, aroused walls clenching around nothing.  

Yoongi stands over you, stroking his monstrous dick with a bit of dominance. While he patiently took care of the needs and desires of your body, Yoongi's dick grew angry and more impatient against the fabric of his boxers. Finally freed, it was more than ready to plug deep into the warm, wet sleeve of your walls. "Tell me what you want, kitten." Yoongi's voice dipping an ungodly tone.

"I-I..." You know precisely what you want, for your boyfriend to fuck you so hard you won't be able to walk in the morning. The heat and slick of your previous orgasms, still fresh between your legs, ready to be put to good use, but you wonder if your body can take it—the anxious build-up of another orgasm. You swallow hard at the thought, eyes faced with the perfectly crafted perfection, which was Yoongi's hard dick, a erection you didn't want to go to waste. "I w-want." Your eyes flicker back up at Yoongi, shimmering orbs glowing with desire and lust. "I want you to fuck me, Yoongi." Your voice, dripping with confidence.

Leaving no time for his response, Yoongi pens your legs back with a growl, using his free hand to align his angry tip to the soak of your heated entrance. His hooded eyes cut to you, giving one final look, "Happy birthday, kitten." and as quickly as the words fell from his lips, Yoongi sends his hips soaring forward, plugging his dick deep within your walls as if he were a missing piece to your puzzle  

You wince at the sting of his stretch, girth unmatched to any finger or sex toy that could be purchased. "Yoongi~" Due to the multiple orgasms your body endured, the stretch of your entrance was met with a tasteful mix of pain and pleasure. Your orbs slamming shut, releasing a stream of lovely tears from the corners of your eyes.  

"Fuck your so tight." Yoongi grunts, gripping onto your thighs as if to hold you both in place. "So fuckin' wet." He leans in, his button nose ghosting over yours as his lustful jet eyes peer into your glossed orbs. "My perfect peach." It was then his lips forced onto yours, tongue dancing within your mouth to give you the sweet taste of your arousal.

You moan into Yoongi's mouth, welcoming the taste of your own pussy as thick thrusts pump into your core. "S-so good." You're a whimpering mess, hips rutting forward as the song of slapping skin echoes throughout the living room.

Typically, Yoongi was slow and patient when making love to you, but something about watching your pussy orgasm and your lips moaning his name awakened a carnal side of him, hidden deep within his psyche. "Sorry, I'm so rough...mhm." Yoongi grunts, eyes rolling while your juicy walls hug around his hostile dick.  

"I-its okay..." Your fingers grip onto Yoongi's shoulder blades, nails digging into his flesh as he pounded into the spot that made you see stars. "Fuck, just don't stop." Your walls begin to clutch around him, along with the tight build-up of the familiar knot in your abdomen; however, this time is different. A pressure building behind the structure of your pubic bone that you desperately want to find the reason behind. "Y-Yoongi...." Somehow your release feels out of reach "I-I don't think I-I c-can." You whimper, feeling as though your maximum peak was untenable.  

"Y-yes, you can, kitten." Yoongi huffs out, placing kissing and love bits along the lobe of your ear and the curve of your neck. "Cum for me again." Knowing exactly what would bring you over the edge, Yoongi snakes his arm between the two of your sweaty bodies, fingers locating the ball of your clitoris, slowly swiping across the needy nub before attacking with rougher speeds

"Naha!" An electric jolt zips throughout your body, causing your back to arch off the couch. Your senses are on fire. The sweat dripping down your flesh, Yoongi's breath puffing into the shell of your ear, skin rubbing against one another as his thick dick takes you savagely. Was there ever a better feeling than this?

Like a volcano about to erupt, your body begins to shake, unholy moans screeching from your throat, as the knot in the pit of your abdomen becomes incredibly tighter as a sudden urge to pee spikes. "F-fuck Yoon, I... I-I t-think I'm gonna..." And just like that, the build-up inside you snaps, an explosion stronger than ever before. "Fuck!" Your soaking pink muscles push out, liquid squirting out like a waterfall as colors of red, purple and blue, fog your blissful vision, body going limp    

Your warm wetness sprays across Yoongi's pelvis, lines of pearling liquid trickling down his flesh. "Kitten, did you just...?" He silent for a moment upon realizing what exactly just happened. You squirted, the evidence of your unholy release trickling to Yoongi's shaft, still plugged into you. "So. Fuckin. Hot!" The carnal need to release overpowers Yoongi, large hands grabbing hold of your hips, and he snaps his thrusts at record speed. With your walls sucking in Yoongi's girth, the tease of release trickled throughout his body. "F-Fuck, kitten, gonna..." He releases a throaty grunt. "Shit!" One final thrust and he was over the edge, ropes of semen coating your insides like a painter, his canvas.

For a moment, Yoongi's body is in tranquil bliss, limply plummeting onto the couch to lay beside you. The two of your eyes following the shadows of candle-light  flames dancing around the walls as you gasp for air. "Wow." Yoongi snickers with a toothy grin. "I can't believe you squirted." He comments proudly.

You giggle. "I didn't even know I could do that." Responding between breaths.

"Well, know that I know how to make you squirt," Yoongi pulls you into his chest, fingers caressing your hair as he places a kiss atop of your glistening forehead. "I'll be sure to fuck that glass dildo into you more often." His lips pull into a smile while taking in the beautiful sight, which was you... "Happy Birthday, __."

a/n: this is the first time I’ve posted a smut that is this detailed. So, if you have  any pointers or recommendations on how I can improve, please don’t hesitant to reach out. Thanks for reading! ♥

[ssa-pretty-boy]

Love and Thunder

Summary: When a thunderstorm rolls in and the power goes out what will Spencer and his girlfriend do to pass the time?

Word Count: 4.4k

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Warnings: smuttttttt - fingering, unprotected sex (WRAP IT BEFORE YOU TAP IT KIDS), penetrative sex

——

The smell of coming rain had been in the air for days. So when dark clouds rolled in, threatening to open up at any given moment, no one really gave it a second thought.  But as the day progressed the normal hustle and bustle of the city grew into something more palpable, its people trying to get indoors before the torrential down pour that was sure to come. 

Spencer Reid was no exception. Though there was something about a good thunderstorm that he found extremely relaxing, he didn’t want to be caught outside in one. Like the rest of the city’s inhabitants he was speed walking down the concrete sidewalks, eternally grateful that his apartment was only a couple of blocks away from his metro stop. 

He managed to make it into the lobby of his building just as the first drops of rain started to sprinkle down. With a grateful sigh, he shucked off his rain coat as he watched the droplets slide down the glass door. The drizzle was slow and lazy, honestly more like a fine mist than true rain. Maybe this was just going to be an average summer rain shower after all.

Taking the stairs two at a time up to the fourth floor, he made it to the last landing with an astonishing amount of grace. For someone who was as uncoordinated as Spencer tended to be, it was a surprise even to himself he made it without so much as stumbling. He unlocked the door and was greeted with the sound of pots and pans clinking together coming from the kitchen. Rounding the corner into his tiny kitchen he saw Y/N at the stove, stirring what smelt like pasta sauce with one hand and holding an open book up to her face with the other. She was mouthing the words as she read and Spencer smiled, he found it incredibly endearing and told her as much as he left his satchel and raincoat on the small table tucked into the corner of the room.

Y/N laughed, glancing up over the top of her book with a warm smile as he came over to her. He wrapped his arms around her from behind and settled his chin on the top of her head. “Wasn’t expecting you home yet.”

The book forgotten, she tossed it to the counter and leaned back into him, tilting her head up to place a soft kiss on the underside of his jaw. “I was just extra help today so I got cut loose early because of the storm.”

He hummed again, certainly not complaining that his girlfriend was home. “What are you making?”

She took the wooden spoon out of the pot and held it up to Spencer’s mouth for him to taste, smiling when he groaned and nodded his approval. “My mom sent me a new recipe for a creole Alfredo sauce. Everything else is ready so I just have to it throw in and let it simmer for a few minutes. Why don’t you go wash up and I’ll start setting the table.”

——

When Spencer and Y/N were in each other’s company, they had a habit of blocking out the rest of the world. Spencer had always thought it sounded lame and cheesy when he heard couples say such things but when he met Y/N he understood it instantly. They were just so comfortable around each other, so…compatible, that nothing else mattered to them as long as the other was happy. Especially when they were in the comfort of their own home. 

They had been so wrapped up in each other, in fact, that they failed to notice the changing atmosphere outside. It wasn’t until they settled into bed for the night, when Spencer finally flipped on the TV and mindlessly turned to the weather channel in hopes of seeing a sunny forecast for the following day, that he realized just how intense this storm was going to get. So much for that picnic in the park with Derek, Savannah, and Hank they’d so been looking forward to. Spencer studied the swirling diagram of colors, noting that area which he and his girlfriend called home was already far into the red and it didn’t look like they would be in the green any time soon.

A flash of lightening brought his attention away from the television and towards the window on Y/N’s side of the bed. Pushing the thick duvet back, Spencer climbed from the warmth of the bed and padded towards the window. He reached out with a little hesitance and pulled the curtains back, eyes widening at what he saw on the other side of the glass. Several of the small trees lining the street had been blown over, the street itself in front of the building was flooded, and a few blocks away it looked as though the power had gone out. 

“It’s nasty out there,” he mumbled more to himself than Y/N. She was so preoccupied with painting her toenails, a shade of deep red that Spencer secretly found incredibly sexy, that she hadn’t even noticed him get out of bed to walk over to the window. 

“Is it?” She wasn’t really paying him any mind as she finished painting her left pink toe, the very tip of her tongue sticking out between her lips in concatenation as she did so.

He mumbled a soft ‘yeah’ as he sat down in front of her. Grinning at him, Y/N leaned back against the headboard of the bed and screwed the cap back onto her nail polish before tossing it into the small canvas bag sitting on her bedside table. 

“You like?” The question was rhetorical, she knew how much he liked the color on her and maybe she picked out specially for that reason. She lifted her foot just in front of his face and wiggled her toes to show off the color of the polish. 

Smirking at her, Spencer grabbed ahold of her ankle and pulled her down the bed closer to him, laughing at the squeal that the action got from her. Holding her foot up to his mouth, he pressed a kiss to each toe before slowly beginning to kiss up her foot to her calve then her thigh, all the way up to her waiting lips. “I fucking love it.” 

He let put a playful growl as he dove into the crook of her neck and began to place sloppy wet kisses all over the exposed skin, his fingers ghosting over her sides to start tickling her relentlessly. Her giggles ringing out through the small bedroom were like the most beautiful music he’d ever heard. Their playful fun was cut short though by a bright flash of lightening that washed the room in a bluish hue, both of their head snapping towards the window. Holding his breath, Spencer began to count in anticipation for the clap of thunder that was sure to come. 

1…

2…

3…

4…

There was the deafening crack of thunder he had been waiting on. It sounded like it was directly over head, the very walls of the building seeming to quake. Y/N let out a squeak, clutching onto Spencer’s biceps for dear life as she hid her face in his chest. 

Trying to lighten the mood however he could, he laughed and and pulled back to look at her face. “It’s alright, sweet girl. Just a little thunder and lightning, nothing to be scared of. Well, there’s no need to be afraid of thunder, anyway, seeing as though its really just a sound caused by the lightning. Lightning, on the other hand, can be quite dangerous if-”

With a playful swat to his chest, she silenced him. “As much as I usually love your facts and tangents, that one really didn’t help. Like at all. You know how I am about bad weather! It just freaks me out a little." She admitted the last bit sheepishly, no matter how many times he assured her she had no reason to be embarrassed by her fear of storms, she still hated to admit it. Everyone is afraid of something, he always told her. 

Brown eyes flashing, he looked down at her with a smirk before leaning back back down and pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth before working his way to her jaw.

“Well then, why don’t we do something to take you mind off of it, hm?” He was kissing her throat again as he suggested it, pressing the words into the column of her neck with wet, open mouthed kisses. Her head was already swimming, thoughts foggy as his mouth trailed lower, pulling at the collar of her shirt to get access to her collar bones now. The only response she was able to supply him with was a mumbled “mhm” and a shuddering gasp as his cold hands slipped under her T-shirt to find her bare chest, much more purposeful than the playful tickling had been. His thumbs ghosted over her nipples and she arched into touch, moaning when he pinched the hardening peaks between his thumbs and forefingers.

Just as he pulled the old Caltech shirt off of her, the lamps on either side of the bed along with the TV began to flicker. “Shit,” he cursed as he rolled off of her. “The power is probably about to go.”

Spencer stood from the bed and grabbed his phone from the bedside table just as the electricity flickered off entirely. Switching on the flashlight that was built into his phone, he shone it into Y/N’s face. She squinted into the light, holding up her hands to shield her eyes from the blinding brightness. “I’m going to go get some candles and a lighter. Stay in here, bubs.” 

Quickly making his way down the dark hallway, Spencer headed for the hoard of scented candles he knew Y/N had stashed in the linen closet. He scanned the shelves, and spied the decorative basket tucked into the corner of the top shelf. Honestly, he didn’t even want to know how Y/N had managed to get up there. Even for as tall as he was, he had to stand on his tip-toes to reach it.

He pulled the basket down and rummaged through it, crinkling his nose at a few of the names… Pink Sand, Midnight Cashmere, Home Sweet Home. Why did they all have to have weird names? Why couldn’t they just be named what they were supposed to smell like? Eventually he gave up on trying to find normal ones, just deciding to take the entire basket before going to the kitchen to retrieve a lighter from the junk drawer under the microwave. 

Once back in their bedroom, Spencer began to scatter the candles all over the small space, lighting them as he went. Before long the entire room was aglow with a soft, flickering light. After finally lighting the last few, he tossed the lighter down onto the dresser before going to flop onto the bed next to Y/N. 

Still half naked, she was sitting up with her knees pulled her to chest and staring absentmindedly out of the window. She was too busy worrying her bottom lip between her teeth and watching the rain slap against the glass to pay the slightest bit of attention to Spencer. So he turned onto his side and took the opportunity to watch her.

Right arm propping his head up, he shamelessly let his eyes rake over her from the top of her head all the way to the tips her toes. On their fifth date, he’d noted that candle light made her look ten times as gorgeous as she already was. The tiny flickering flames illuminated her features in ways a light bulb or even the sun failed do. Every date night he had planned since usually involved a lot of candles for that very reason. 

Not being able to resist the temptation any longer, Spencer reached up and cupped her cheek in his hand. Y/N turned her face into his palm and pressed a kiss to the center of it. Their eyes locked and Spencer swore he felt his heart swell in his chest as she stared down at him with what could only be called adoration. It was funny how time seemed to stop completely when she looked at him like that. Like he hung the stars and the moon in the sky just for her. It made him feel like he could fly. 

She moved to lie down facing him, so close that their noses were just centimeters apart, and ran her hands up his arms to his shoulders. The muscles of his arms tensed in the wake of her touch and she batted her lashes up him, feigning total innocence at her actions as his pupils blew wide. Her hands slid back down his chest, her nails pressing into him just hard enough to leave faint red lines in their wake. “I think we were doing something a minute ago.”

“Yeah, I think we were.” His words were husky as he cupped her cheeks in his hands again and leaned in to kiss her. Winding her arms around his neck, she pulled him on top of her and he fell to rest perfectly between her thighs.

One of his hands slipped into her hair and gripped tightly at the roots, snapping her head back so that he could have even more access to her throat and jaw. A wanton moan accompanied the sharp sting of her nails raking over his shoulders when he bit down hard enough to bruise. He bit and sucked relentlessly at her pulse point, fully intending to give her a rather spectacular hickey to sport the next day at work. When he pulled away to inspect his work he smirked at the mark, his thumb brushing over it with just enough pressure to have her whimpering.

Becoming desperate for some sort of relief from the growing tension between her legs, she started grinding herself down onto Spencer’s thigh. The cocky bastard was smirking down at her as his iron grip forced her hips back down onto the mattress. She was already so blissed out she didn’t even realize his hands had left her neck and hair. “Be patient, princess.”

The use of the pet name had her eyes fluttering shut, the asshole knew the effect it had on her and used it to his advantage every change he got. Kissing her swollen lips once more, he pulled away and sat back on his calves to drink in the sight of her; pupils blown wide, lips red and swollen. When she looked like this, all flustered just from his touches and kisses, Spencer could barely control himself. Before going to crawl back over her, he grabbed the collar of his t-shirt and quickly tugged it over his head before tossing it to join her’s on the floor. 

Y/N sat up on her knees, meeting him in the middle of the bed, to kiss him. It was feverish and sloppy, their teeth clashing and nipping at each other’s lips. Both were breathless when they finally parted, heads swimming from the lack of oxygen.  

Placing a firm hand on her chest, Spencer pushed her back to lie back down on the bed. Hovering over her again, he dipped his head down to her chest and took her one of her nipples into his mouth. Y/N’s breath caught in her throat as he bit down and tugged at it. He released her after a moment and laved over the bite marks with his tongue before he moved to her other breast. She arched up into his touch, hands tangling in his hair as he continued to lavish her chest with attention. 

“I love your tits,” he told her shamelessly, placing a kiss on each raw nipple before licking up the valley between them.

Despite the filthiness of the words and actions, she snorted out a laugh and shoved his head away from her chest. He was laughing as he pulled away, “I do though!”

“I know you do. And I love your cock but I would really love if it were inside me right now.” She reached down and started palming him through his pajama pants to emphasize her point.

“Remember what I said about having p-patience?” He choked on the words as she gripped him tighter, his head dropping forward onto her shoulder as he shuddered. When he lifted his head back up his cheeks were flushed and his pupils had blown so wide there was only a thin ring of honey brown surrounding them.

He sat back and hooked his fingers into the waist band of her sleep shorts and underwear and jerked them down her legs. When she was completely naked under him, he cupped her sex and practically growled,“I want to play a little first.” 

The words alone were enough to have her moaning and bucking up into his hand, aching for some sort of friction. Spencer ran his middle finger up her slit, gathering her arousal on the digit before bringing it up to her mouth. Without having to be told, she opened her mouth and stuck out her tongue, taking his finger in her mouth and moaning at the taste of herself as she sucked it clean. 

She released him with a soft ‘pop’ and he instantly brought his hand back down to her core. He ran the same finger up her slit again, ghosting over her clit with a few slow, lazy circles this time. Y/N gasped, her hands flying to Spencer’s biceps as he slowly slid the offending digit into her and began to pump it in and out of her. 

She moaned out, arching her back off the bed as he started to pick up the pace, curling it up to perfectly stroke against her front wall each time. “More.” It came out as more of a breathless moan than an actual word but Spencer understood her none the less. “Gimme another one, Spence.”

“So fucking needy, aren’t you?” Despite the comment he complied with her request  instantly. She couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe as he slipped another long, nimble finger into her aching heat, not even bothering to give her a chance to acclimate to the slight stretch. Spencer’s fingers were fucking into her at a relentless pace, still curling them at just the right angle to have her seeing stars. She had asked for more and damn if he wasn’t delivering.

She was slack jawed as her eyes were rolled back in her head and god damn he had never been happier to have an eidetic memory. The look on her face was going to be what got him off when he was in those cold, lonely hotel rooms across the country. 

“Ah god,” she was panting now, her chest heaving as she chased after her high. “Please don’t stop. Please. Please. Please, Spence.”

He added his thumb to her clit and started pressing small, tight circles to the swollen bundle of nerves. A lewd moan ripped from her throat as her hips bucked up into his hand, much to Spencer’s amusement. With a deep chuckle, he leaned down to whisper in her ear, “Please what, princess? Use your words.”

A delicious warmth started to settle in her belly as she clenched around around his fingers and Spencer had to bite down on the inside of his cheek to keep from groaning at the tightness. “Please let me cum. Please,” she was begging, her voice raw and breathless. And he would be lying through his fucking teeth if he said it didn’t go straight to his cock. He hummed and sped up his fingers, still making sure to curl upward with each thrust. 

Stars flashed in front of her eyes as that warmth in her belly burst into a full blown flame, the fire licking up her body from her toes all the way to her head. Her nails dug into Spencer’s tensed biceps as he continued to pump his fingers in and out of her, milking her high for all it was worth. Even as the pleasure started to ebb, he kept up his ministrations to the point where her mewling moans turned into whimpers. She was spasming around his fingers, her walls gripping so tightly around him that he couldn’t help the bucking of his hips into the mattress below them.

“S-Spencer,” she moaned, her hands finally finding his and trying to shove him away. She could already feel another orgasm building, riding the tails of the aftershocks from the first. 

“C’mon,” he purred. “You can do it, baby. Give me another one.”

Her skin felt like it was on fire as her toe curling second orgasm hit her. She was trembling as Spencer worked her through it, his fingers slowing and eventually pulling away from her aching pussy altogether. Another lewd moan was the only sound she could manage at the loss of contact.

“You did so good, princess,” he mumbled as he pressed sweet kisses to the side of her face while she came back down to earth. “You took my fingers so well. Think you can handle my cock now, baby?”

Bleary eyes fluttered open to look up at him and she nodded slowly. Spencer smirked down at her and made quick work of wiggling out of his pajama pants. Y/N reached down to take him in her hand but he swatted her away. His cock was aching and he knew if she took him in her very capable hands he wouldn’t last long at all. “Trust me baby, I’m good to go.”

Grabbing her by her forearm, Spencer hauled her up to sit on her knees before climbing back on the bed behind her. Still fucked out and pliable, she didn’t fight it when he put a firm hand between her shoulder blades and pushed her face down into the mattress. With one hand firmly planted on her hip and the other gripping his dick, he lined himself up with her entrance and slowly pushed in. 

Every nerve ending in her body felt like it was a live wire; everywhere he touched he left fire in his wake. She was a mewling mess beneath him as he set a slow but purposeful pace, pulling out almost completely before slamming back into her. There were sure to be finger shaped bruises along her hips in the morning but she didn’t care, couldn’t care as he started pounding into her like his only purpose in life was to fuck her into sweet, sweet oblivion.

“Fuck,” he panted, “you feel so fucking good, baby. So tight and warm.”

The sound of skin slapping and Y/N moans filled the room as he settled into a quick and brutal rhythm, his hips snapping forward even harder. One of his hands slid up her back and gripped onto the back of her neck, hauling her back to rest against his chest. Her mouth dropped open in a silent scream, her eyes screwing shut at the deeper angle the position allowed. He was so deep and she swore she could feel him in her belly when he took her this way. 

“Nu-huh,” he breathed in her ear, thrusts not faltering in the slightest. The hand on the back of her neck came to grip her jaw and turn her head towards the mirror resting on the dresser directly across from the bed. “I want you to watch yourself get wrecked.”

Her eyes fluttered open and looked at her reflection in the mirror, moaning at what she saw staring back at her. The hand he had on her hip slid around her and dipped down to spread her open so they could better see where he was fucking into her. 

“Touch yourself for me,” he told her, his voice husky and commanding. She did as she was told, sticking her fingers in her mouth first to wet them with her tongue before bringing them down to her clit and swirling them in small, quick circles. With a particularly sharp thrust Y/N was cumming again, crying out as her vision went completely white this time around. 

Her walls clamped down around his cock like a vice and Spencer’s head dropped to her shoulder as he groaned, his thrusts starting to get sloppy. “S-Shit. I’m right behind you, baby, just hold on.”

A couple of thrusts later he was cumming, groaning out a string of curses as he spilled into her. His arms around her waist were the only thing keeping her upright as they caught their breath. As gently as he could manage, he pulled out of her and her lie down before collapsing to the mattress beside her.

After a few minutes of basking in their afterglow, Spencer pressed a kiss to the crown of Y/N’s head before he got out of the bed to get a washcloth to clean her up. As he turned off the faucet he realized there was a sudden lack of howling wind and pouring rain. Making his way back into the bedroom, he peeked out the window before returning to bed.

“It stopped storming,” he mused as he gently brought the warm washcloth up between Y/N’s legs.

She winced at the sensation but was otherwise quiet for a moment before admitting, “Honestly, I had forgotten it was even storming in the first place.”

Mission accomplished then, Spencer thought to himself with a soft chuckle as he tossed the washcloth in the hamper next to the dresser. He settled back down on the bed with her, pulling her back to him. He had just about drifted off to sleep when Y/N started to giggle uncontrollably. He peaked an eye open to look down at her as her shoulders started to shake from the fit of laughter.  

“God, the neighbors probably thought we were making a porno.” She was still laughing as she said it but knew fully well that the elderly couple next door probably did hear them. And would no doubt make comments about it the next time they ran into each other in the stairwell. 

A wicked grin took over his face as he looked down at her and laughed, “Now there’s an idea.”

[mizunetzu]

my request is flaaaaaacidddddd peeeeenisssss

Flaaaaaaaciddddd peeeenisssss

——————

Iida x reader - Iida Tenya’s Imaginary Boyfriend (True Ending)

⚠️warnings - good ending HAHAGQ

Pronouns - male, he/him

Part one can be found here!

Part two can be found here!

——————

He woke up in recovery girls office.

He wasn’t sure how he got here. All he remembered was his head feeling a bit faint walking back to the dorms, then waking up here. Looking out the windows, vast colors of orange and yellow flooded in between the cracks of the blinds, making colorful stripes paint his bed with light. He presumed it was around sunset.

The door clicked open. Recovery girl, Aizawa, and detective Tsukauchi walked through the door.

“Do you know where you are right now, Iida?” Aizawa was frank, as usual.

“I believe I am in recovery girls office, though I have no clue how I got here.”

Tsukauchi cleared his throat. “You were hit with a villains quirk about 2 days ago. You’ve been asleep ever since. It caused you to go in a nightmare-ish dream state until we caught them.”

Iida retrieved his glasses from the bedside table. It was then he realized he was in his pajamas. Aizawa stepped forward. “What’s your full name?”

“Iida Tenya.”

“How old are you and what school do you go to?”

“15 years old and I attend UA high school.”

Aizawa hummed. Nothing seemed to be wrong with his memory. “Do you know what day it is?”

“March 17...no, 19? Forgive me, it’s somewhere between there.”

“Iida,” Aizawa looked confused. It made Iida feel sort of uneasy aswell. Like getting a problem wrong and having your teacher be disappointed in you. “That’s almost a full month away. It’s February 3rd today.”

February 3rd. If Iida recalled correctly, that was around the day that everyone seemed to forget that (Y/n) existed. He checked his wrists out of habit. (Y/n’s) watch were gone. He was about to ask where it was, when the detective clicked his tongue.

“Well-thats to be expected,” Tsukauchi held up a case file, most likely a report on the criminal who used their quirk on Iida. “Time passes differently in the quirk-induced coma Iida-san was in. Some people affected by them claim it’s been years when it’s only been a couple of days. Truly terrifying.”

Recovery girl tutted. “All of his vitals seem to be in check. He should be able to return to the dorms now. Just have him take it easy for a couple days in training.”

“Mm. Make sure you make up your missed work,” Aizawa turned back, as Tsukauchi exited the office and recovery girl sat in her desk. “And tell your classmates you’re alright. Your friends were freaking out when you wouldn’t wake up in the morning. They should be in the dorms by now.”

Iida nodded.

———

Walking back to the dorms, there was one thing Iida couldn’t get off his mind.

He’s been in a ‘quirk-induced coma’ for 2 days. The passage of time is different with their quirk as to real life. And he could’ve sworn it was late March instead of early February.

So when did he fall asleep? And what was his ‘dream’ about?

He, at first, thought it was the result of walking home with his friends after seeing that sketch artist Kaitekina, but that doesn’t happen until almost a full month later. So, most of the things Iida remembers doing and learning in class has not happened yet.

And, nightmare? He remembers falling asleep and seeing (Y/n) in his dreams, but that doesn’t fall under ‘nightmare’ territory. Actually, it was rather pleasant.

“Oi! Iida’s awake!” He heard Kirishima yell, as he walked through the door. Most everyone was in the common room, and turned their heads. Each one of them erupted into a smile, saying things like “are you ok?” Or “glad to see you awake, Iida-san!”

He, unintentionally, tuned them all out.

What was his ‘nightmare?’ What made his dreams about a boy who doesn’t exist so bad? Was he waking up in his dream just to go to bed in that dream to dream another dream? What-

“-and (L/n) was so worried bro! I mean-he looked ok like usual but I guess he doesn’t really go out of his room unless you force him t-“

“I’m sorry, who?” Iida’s disbelieving voice sharply cut off Kaminari’s ramblings. He didn’t hear that correctly. His mind had to be playing tricks on him.

“...bro...” Looks of worry or confusion flooded the 1A students. Similar to when they looked at him like he was insane, asking for a non-existent student named (L/n) (Y/n).

Kaminari awkwardly chuckled. “(L/n)...? Your personal hype man? Dude who follows you around like a dog?”

“Kaminari-that was mean, he does not follow Iida around like a dog.”

“But he does!”

A playful argument rang out between Jirou and Kaminari. Everyone’s attention seemed to shift from Iida, to Jirou blasting her heartbeat into Kaminaris ears with her ear jacks.

“Iida-kun, are you okay..?” Midoryia brought Iida out of his trance. “Did you lose your memory or something while you were asleep?”

“No no I just-I probably misheard Kaminari-kun. Who was he talking about?” His voice was wavering. His desperation hidden behind the glare of his thick cut glasses and messy bed hair. He needed to comb his hair once he sorted things out.

“(L/n) (Y/n)-kun?” There it’s was again. “He sits next to you in class? You...oh! You two fought in the sports festival? And...yknow...the whole,” Midoryia stuck out his tongue making a mask with his hands and pretending to lick someone’s blood. “-thing?”

Everytime he asked who he fought in the sports festival, everyone including Midoryia would say “Hatsume-san, Ibara-san, and Todoroki-kun.” He never recalled fighting someone named “Ibara” from class 1B, having fought (Y/n) instead, but he grew to just accepting it.

And when he asked about the Stain incident, Todoroki and Midoryia would claim it was just them three fighting him. There was no one with (h/c) hair that helped Midoryia, him, and Todoroki out immensely. As far as Iida was concerned, (L/n) (Y/n) did not exist to the world.

So why was everyone talking like he was a real person?

“Iida, if you really don’t remember, you should go get that checked out by recovery girl...it’s pretty odd that you forgot about your own classma-“

The sudden startup of engines, followed by the whirring hiss of smoke trailing past him cut Midoryia off. Iida burned through the pants of his pajamas, but he didn’t care. He ran as fast as he could to the 4th floor of the boys side of the dorms.

His heart quickened with every step he took. He wasn’t one to get his hopes up, but the obvious look of desperation on Iida’s face seemed to lead his thoughts. He needed to see for himself.

Skidding to a halt infront of the supposedly empty dorm room, he once again halted when he reached for the doorknob. Everytime he’d check this room on impulse, he was always met with the empty, white walls and drawn curtains supplied by the school. He didn’t want to walk in and face white again.

And he didn’t.

Almost taking the door off the hinges, Iida practically shoved the door out of his way. A small gasp ripped its way through Iida’s throat.

A dimly lit room, one that was never kept clean, that had an oddly sweet smell coming from it. He saw the vaguely familiar (f/c) bedsheets, with the sea blue comforter thrown lazily on it, half slipping onto the ground. He saw the messily taped Ingenium posters, crooked and wonky, plastered on his studying table, which was almost never used for studying. When they studied together, it was usually on Iida’s bed or somewhere outside.

But finally, he saw the patio slider door opened, curtains fluttering in the mellow orange sunlight with someone standing outside. They were leaning on the balcony, with their arms stretching up, the reflection of their cheap red watch burning light into Iida’s eyes.

“(L/n)...kun...?” The name felt foreign on his lips. Even if he technically ‘saw him two days/one month ago’, it felt like years since he’s actually felt like he was in the same room as him. The boy, (Y/n), turned around.

Setting sunlight painted his face with warm colors, making the (h/c) shade of his hair burn brighter. The light also seemed to reflect off the (e/c) iris’ of (Y/n’s) face, making it look like it was glowing. It lit his face well enough to make him seem ethereal. Breathtaking. Real.

It was him. It was (Y/n).

“Morning, Tenya. How’s it feel to be asleep for two days?”

Iida didn’t answer. Instead, he walked tentatively towards the patio sliding entrance, his burnt pajama pants cinching his calves now that his adrenaline high was subsiding. He stopped a few inches way from (Y/n), reaching out and shakily touching his cheek.

Instead of fazing through him, or flat out fading, his hand made contact with warm, soft skin. (Y/n) hummed and nuzzled his cheek into his hand. Iida’s vision blurred involuntarily, despite him having his glasses on.

“Is something wrong? Did something happen?”

His voice’s vibration, and the warm breath that fanned his chest was enough proof that he was here. Enough proof he was dragged down back to earth, no longer just a distant memory no one remembered.

Iida’s throat closed up, and he felt his knees go weak. He was a blurred mass of (h/c) and (skin/c), with the hint of red that protruded from his arm, but Iida knew he was still there. He was there, with him, and would be going on until forever.

A tender, hoarse chuckle escaped Iida. He leaned his cheek onto (Y/n’s) forehead, not caring that his face and bed hair was still messy and reeked of sleep. He smiled.

“Nothing. Nothing at all, (Y/n)-kun.”

——————

Haha. That was fun. Anyways-

[tiens-letters]

upon autumns day, where you and I met. upon autumns day where I remember all of what we were before youve passed. and upon autumns day would I have ever so slowly let go of that pain of the past

zhongli (angst)

@albeidoof its somewhere here hehehe

Time was a luxury. A treasure each and everything holds.

Yet time is a curse as well. It covets, devours and leaves. which humanity neglects to cherish until the heart ceases its steady rythmn, only then do they regret of the wasted minutes, hours and seconds.

Beneath the flow of the rushing waves of things that have come and gone. Only on this particular day would he sit beneath a certain tree. The rough bark brushing up against his back as leaves fell effortlessly to the ground, as if it were ready to let go of from the branches that gave birth to it, only to return once again to the waiting soil.

It was a sunny afternoon, clear of any clouds and only clear unblemished blue, a good time to enjoy a warm cup of tea yet there was no energy in his bones to even move from where he was.

He felt exhausted. Desultory even.

Gone were the halcyon days of the past, and now the present time of the vivid reality he had to face.

Morax, rex lapis, the geo archon. Names that weighted more than one could carry, memories that shackled his soul that lived for a thousand years on end, all but a stain that could never be washed away.

The breeze slowly danced in, playing with his hair softly, kissing his skin and welcoming him. It carried a hint of aromatic essence only he would know belongs to.

You.

He tried to desperately recount the days after youve left the face of the earth and yet he could not remember or did his mind not allow him to as if he did, it would bring him terrible and heavy consequences for an answer, one sane mind would never want to know.

Sighing, he sat back and recalled back the memories of you instead. When you were alive, warm and breathing in his arms. He remembers the way your eyes would shine brightly whenever he would be around, or the small sound of delight you would make when you have finished another one of the many interesting blends of tea youve done over the course of a week of mixing different flowers and tea leaves. Youve made up quite the fortune with this as your little hobby bloomed into a fully run business known across teyvat.

"Zhongli." he froze, youve never called him by his name ever since youve started getting close, it made him feal uneasy as he turned to look at you who stood by the doorway, a neutral look on your face.

"y-yes?" nervousness clawed at him as he racked his brain to what he couldve done for you to call his name like that, he couldnt think of any.

"I came back from the market and I heard youve made quite the generous payment. Why is that, I wonder?" he's done it again, that spending habit of his

"The price was reasonable for such a fine ceramic tea set, I dont seem to find why it shouldnt reflect its quality?" you sighed as you pointed towards the glass cupboard behind him

"You bought the same exact set a week ago, Zhongli. Thats why." having to realize his mistake after looking over the two identical set that on the shelf, he turned to apologize but only to see you missing from the doorway. Footsteps can be heard from the floorboards above him. You were upset.

After minutes of pacing in the living room, he finally mustered the courage to climb the stairs and enter your shared bedroom. A figure already under the sheets as the warm glow of the lamp illuminated your delicate features. The mattress sunk as he sat beside you, fingers brushing away the stray hair that fell on your face.

"Im still mad at you Zhongli." his hand flinched slightly at the way you called him

"I apologize. I seem to not have learned my lesson again. I would gladly return the set tomorrow."

"Its no use, they dont accept refunds." you replied without sparing a glance at him

"What can I do for you to forgive me then?"

"Just go to sleep, Zhongli." groaning you reached for the switch to shut the lamp off but a gentle grip stopped you, forcing you to look at his gloomy expression. Perhaps you went too far this time.

"Please stop calling me in that way. I dont like it." he whispers, drawing your palm to his lips, leaving small kisses upon it. He sure does know his way around your heart, no wonder why you could not stay mad at him.

"Just be mindful next time." you cursed yourself for being weak to his charms.

"I will." yet something was missing "Then can you call me as you did before?"

"Zhongli?" you could see the slight grimace in his face as you teased him

"Stop it." he kissed you without warning "Call me as you did before."

However, his lips didnt stop as they began to travel. From your cheeks to you forehead and then to your neck. Oh dear, he wasnt having any of your teasing.

"A-li." you giggled beneath him as he finally stopped and met your gaze

"Thats better."

He still remembers the faint smile that graced your lips whenever he would wake up next to you tangled in the same sheets. The softness of your skin on his calloused touch. Your lips melting his and your voice lulling his raging mind to peace.

Then everything changed when you drew blood that spilled from those lips he's kissed for a thousand times, painting a morbid image on the sheets. Anger and despair boiled inside of him once he learned of the secret youve kept. Zhongli was a calm and collected man all of the time except when he was with you.

Having to witness him at such a point felt as if his own spear was being driven right through his very chest. He held you in an arms width away, the panic and pain in his eyes increasing over the minute as he begged for you to explain why youve decided to lie about the flowers that bloomed in your lungs, the sickness youve inherited from your deceased mother, whose fate you soon would follow. You didnt want him to find out, not in this way.

He couldve done anything if he knew from the start but alas, you wanted to be cruel, thinking it was for the best. Until your symptoms persisted, a heavy reminder of the remaining distance of the string you have to walk on to reach the end. The heavy feeling in your chest started to worsen as cherry sweet liquid poured from your mouth.

Soon the once pristine sheets were stained in haunting crimson shades as you heaved and he watched in agony. If only he had the ability of what he once had back then, if only he could plant the seeds of the flowers from yours to his then he would, if only he hadnt met you one autumn evening

" please dont look at me like that. " you told him, cold hands caressing his cheeks, catching the streams of salty warm beads that fell freely from your darling's amber eyes.

"Im sorry. Im so sorry..." the last thing you wanted to see was this man to cry. The last thing you wanted to see was to see him relive the past tragic memories you promised to bring him out of

" my disease has nothing to do with you. In the end it was mine alone to handle. oh, you are far from that so please dont you ever blame yourself."

"How can I not? If I havent fallen so deep then you would experienced so much more in life, you couldve been happier if you met someone else. Yet you chose me and I couldnt give you anything, I--. " the words knotted up as he began to shake, hands holding yours as knuckles turned to white

You slapped him.

With all the strength youve gathered in that fading body of yours. The sound cutting the grieving sounds that spilled from him, soul and flesh alike.

"A-li, look at me. Do I look like someone whose unsatisfied with what youve given me? Did my smile ever fade when Im with you? Did your affections ever lack? Answer me." his watery gaze met yours, a torrent of emotions swimming in them

"No. Never." a soft smile was carved unto your lips

"My dear, youve given me all Ive ever wanted in this life and I regret nothing of it."

To him, you were the flower that bloomed at the highest peak of the mountain he's never reached and yet its petals voluntarily detached and fell down, making him the happiest as one thing he's admired was untouchable and now, lay softly in the palm of his hands. To cherish and to protect.

But of course, all things are evanescent.

The familiar feeling of soreness that wasnt supposed to be there rose, ebbed and flowed through his throat. He knew it all too well, it was after he woke from his week long slumber did he feel it along with what his ancient beating heart felt.

"You collapsed." the worried words of the qixing echoed in his head. He frantically got up but as soon as his feet touched the floor did his legs give out underneath him, what use was he in this sorry state. He was helped up and sat back on the edge of the bed.

He wanted to ask many things yet was unable to.

Ningguang spoke as if you were still breathing and was visiting her minutes ago with another one of your tea blends. "Dont worry and rest first, go to jueyun karst after. They will be waiting."

To where the adepti resides, who as well, favored you, that one soul among thousands of others. One to which they shared a few good memories with was allowed to slumber there in peace.

Zhongli found himself waking up to the sun setting in the horizon. Just like how youve gone and resurfaced back into his memories. It was time.

He stood up from where he sat, gloved hands brushing any dirt that clung to him as he made his way to where you slept.

The red bean that was planted by himself still remained, a token of his love for you. Picking one bead and placing it inside the hollow dice he brought along, completing another one of the similar handicraft he's made every visit.

The sun finally died and the moon began its reign. The small wisps of light gathered around before him, forming a blurry image.

It was then he felt at ease, he saw you smiling at him with all there is in the world. Your light seemed to dim a little, hinting the blessing the adepti gave was slowly diminishing. Soon your visits would cease and you were sure that by the end of the power spent, he wouldve let go of the torment that plagued him.

"A-li. Have you been well?" he knew what you meant

"Im letting go slowly my dear. Perhaps in time, I would learn breathe easily once again."

Longest yet lol. Hope yall liked it ehehe

[mrsgiovanna]

Don Giorno x Fem! Reader

This story has been steeping in my head ever since @abbabycchio created this prompt, I hope I did this justice 😅.

No warnings, just fluff ��💭🐞💜

Word count: 1508

The ambience in the grand ballroom was delightfully festive- soft light dancing about the glittering crystal chandeliers, the happy chattering of the partygoers mingling with the clinking of glasses and the music in the background, and the delicious scent of Giorno’s expensive cologne overtook your senses as he gracefully spun you around on the dance floor.

“Wow, you’ve gotten really good at this, everyone is practically staring at you,”

“Well practice makes perfect, we’ve been to enough of these events as it is. Come, let’s give them a show,”

Before you knew it, Giorno spun you around and caught you in a low dip, his face mere millimeters away from your own. Feeling every pair of eyes on you both, he smirked and brought you back to your original position just as the song had ended, earning many impressed murmurs from the other attendees.

“After all these years you still get flustered? I told you, I’d never drop you or let you fall,” said Giorno, through the laughs he was trying to suppress. You knew the real reason for your skittishness, but you wouldn’t dare let him know.

You had known Giorno ever since you were assigned to his elite guard when he had taken over Passione a few years ago. Your stand ability was very useful… you were able to disarm an attacker in under 10 seconds, and if the situation became really dire, you could dismember them in a minute, without so much as a hair left behind. In short your ability was terrifying. But Giorno seemed fascinated by it, you were a walking contradiction, so soft and bubbly on the outside, but something dark and menacing had to be lurking in your soul for such a stand to manifest. So he had reassigned you himself and slowly started to understand the nuances of your ability.

You excused yourself for a moment to go to the ladies room to freshen up your makeup, you were utterly exhausted, but when Giorno asked you go with him, you couldn’t refuse. Despite knowing that Giorno’s ability made him virtually untouchable and the fact that both Mista and Fugo were there as well, you still felt more at ease knowing that you were there to personally protect him.

When you rejoined the party you found Giorno nursing a drink on his own, so you took the seat next to him.

“What’s the matter? Why are you sitting here brooding on your own?” you ask, playfully mimicking the expression on his face.

“Is that really how I look? I’m fine though,” explained Giorno. He was just about to continue the conversation when you had let a small yawn escape your lips.

“Gosh, I’m sorry Giorno, what were you going to say?” you say, trying to coax the comment out of him.

“You’re exhausted, we should leave, come on, the car should be waiting for us,” said Giorno with a snap of his fingers, signaling the concierge to ready things for your exit.

“No, no, don’t worry about me, I’m fine, nothing a little caffeine can’t take care of. Besides, we still have to wait for Fugo and Mista, they haven’t emerged from that office yet,” you argued. All protests proved useless though, as Giorno sighed dramatically before picking you up and heading to the exit.

“You know I hate having to repeat myself, you’re clearly tired, we can wait for those two at the villa, at least you’ll be a bit more comfortable there.” There was a bite in Giorno’s voice that told you not to argue with him. As he gently set you down on your feet, the car drove up to you both. The drive back to the villa was a quiet one, the young Don focusing his attention outside, while you looked at him, noting how he had matured in the few years since taking over Passione, the soft innocence in his face being replaced with a mature handsomeness. He’d also gotten a lot taller and broader, experiencing a growth spurt that took everyone, including himself, by surprise.

“Thanks for looking out for me, it’s sweet, I appreciate it,”

“You’d do the same for me, it’s only natural,” he replied, his attention still focused on the moving scenery outside the car.

“I know… still… Are you angry? You’ve been like this since earlier on, I’m sorry, I didn’t want to upset you, I just didn’t want you to stop yourself from having fun on my account,” you apologized. Little did you know that Giorno was actually troubled by his own behaviour, and found it difficult to face you without his own face turning a rosy shade of pink.

“Don’t apologize, you did nothing wrong, I guess my lack of sleep is getting the better of me as well. I’m sorry,”

You finally arrived at the villa, and followed Giorno to one of the lounges. You threw yourself onto the comfortable couch and started to take off your heels, while he pulled off his bow tie and undid the top buttons of his shirt, sighing in relief.

“I’ll brew us some coffee, it seems like we both need it,” offered Giorno, which you accepted with a polite smile, while checking your phone for any communication from Mista or Fugo. You were concerned but also knew how powerful they both were so you decided to put your head down and relax for just a few moments.

Giorno walked in to find you huddled in one corner of the plush couch, the chill you felt evident in the goosebumps visible on your exposed skin. Getting a soft blanket and his laptop, he covered you so that you wouldn’t be cold any longer, and settled down next to you to work quietly while you slept, not wanting to disturb you, but also not wanting to leave you alone.

Every now and again, you would wriggle around and murmur something unintelligible, until you had somehow found yourself snuggled up to Giorno’s arm. Gazing at you affectionately, he decided to give in to his own exhaustion, put away his work and comfortably wrapped his arms around you. A content hum escaped his lips before he quickly fell asleep as well.

A few hours pass like that, with you blissfully unaware of what, or rather, who you were using as a comfortable pillow, until the room was bathed in ambient morning light. You wake up to a hand gently drawing circles on your arm, enjoying the gentle touch in your half woken state, until, a pang of panic set in when realized exactly where you were, you sprang upright, fully awake and aware of your situation.

“Buongiorno tesoro mio, did you sleep well?” asked Giorno, the slight smile he wore being evident in the lightness of his voice.

“Giorno, I’m so sorry, I feel mortified… I… oh my God, you’re my boss… just fire me please… better still, I quit, so this will be my…” you rambled on, until Giorno cut you off as he also sat upright next to you.

“Tesoro… would you just calm down? While having you quit would work in my favor for what I’m about to ask you, I reject that… resignation? If you could call it one… either way, I’ve been meaning to do this for a while now… so here goes-Would you like to have dinner with me? Maybe tonight? No mafia business or anything, just you and I, out on a date,”

You could feel your heart pounding in your ears, and you felt as if you’d forgotten how to breathe as hopeful green eyes searched your face for a positive answer. Building up the courage to look at him, your heart calmed down when you saw how earnestly he looked at you. The man in front of you wasn’t Don Giovanna, he was just a kind, handsome gentleman asking for your company… he was just Giorno.

“I’d really like that Giorno, thank you for asking me,” you said with a softer voice than usual, trying to contain the bubbly feeling in your chest.

“Great, then that’s settled, I’ll pick you up at six,”

Just as you were about to speak, you hear a commotion coming from the direction of the front door, realizing it was Mista and Fugo returning.

“Wow, took you guys long enough, what happened? Are you guys okay?” you asked, relieved that they both returned safely.

“Yeah, we’re fine, just exhausted… what are you even doing here?” replied Mista, speaking through a yawn.

You and Giorno exchanged a glance, smiling knowingly but chose rather to stay quiet. You were both saved from having to entertain any more questions from the complaints of Mista’s sex pistols.

“Alright, alright, you guys need some sleep and sustenance, I’ll make you guys some breakfast while you rest…”

“I’ll help you,” offered Giorno, wanting to spend more time with you.

And with that you both left the room, quietly enjoying each other’s company in that sweet domestic scenario, all the while thinking about what could transpire later on.

[kookiesjoonies]

risk it — jjk | nine.

risk it | nine: one more chance.

a/n: i know this update is kinda late, pls forgive me. xo 

↠ main pairing: tattoo artist!jungkook x salon owner!reader

↠ side ships: namjin, vmin (fwb), hoseok x makeup artist!oc

↠ word count: 2.1k

↠ warnings: angst (duh lol), language 

SERIES SUMMARY:

✧ a drunken text ends with you wrapped up in the arms of your ex-boyfriend. aka the man that you dumped two years prior, after he refused to marry you. suddenly, all of the feelings that you’d seemingly had buried come rushing back up to the surface, and you’re not sure how long you can ignore them.

Jungkook’s hands were gripped onto the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles had begun to turn white. His lips were pursed, brows narrowed, and chest heaving with angry breaths as he drove toward your salon. 

He had half a mind to turn around and drive in the opposite direction— to your apartment, where Yoongi was, and pummel him into the ground until he was bruised and bloody from head to toe. 

But he wanted to see you more. He wanted to tell you exactly what he thought about you having sex with his ex best friend, and he wanted to know exactly what the two of you had done together. 

Ever since Taehyung had sent that fucking picture in the group chat, it was all he could think about. He kept imagining Yoongi’s hands traveling up and down your body, Yoongi’s mouth trailing down your stomach, and every time he’d envision Yoongi fucking you into your mattress all he saw was red. 

When he finally pulled into a parking spot outside of the front door, he took a deep breath and ran the palms of his hands down his face in an attempt to mentally prepare himself for what was to come. 

The sign above the door read Kookie Cutters, and he couldn’t help but to shake his head as memories of the two of you together flooded back in. 

He was lying next to you on your shared bed, one hand mindlessly on your breast (as it always seemed to be), while his other hand held the television remote. 

You’d been trying to come up with a name for your business all afternoon, and at first, he was eager to help. But after you shot down all fifty of his suggestions, he’d resorted to just nodding and grunting as he let you ramble on. 

 “I want the name to be something unique, yet personal. Something that nobody else has thought of.” 

He nodded his head in agreement, attention more focused on the soccer game in front of him than on your words. 

You rolled your eyes, plucking a pillow from behind his head and swatting him with it. 

“Hey! I was listening!” He insisted, swatting your attack away with his hands. 

“Uh huh, so what did I say?” You lifted a brow, hands on your hips. 

He smirked at your newfound attitude, always finding it so adorable and endearing. 

“Alright, alright. You caught me.” He admitted, to which you let out an annoyed sounding huff. 

“Kook! This is important!” your eyes lit up then, a theoretical lightbulb switching on above your head, “Wait, that’s it! I’ve got the name!” 

“Care to share with the rest of the class?” Jungkook teased, and you playfully punched his shoulder. 

“Kookie Cutters, but… spelled like your name.” You visibly blushed as you told him your suggestion, and he was sure you were the cutest person he’d ever laid eyes on.

“Sounds good to me.”

Jungkook inhaled one final deep breath before wrapping his hand around the door handle and opening it up, stepping inside of the decently sized building. 

He was immediately greeted with the smell of bleach and hairspray, the sound of gossiping hairdressers and clients buzzing through his ears. 

The place had grown impressively since the last time he’d been. You’d obviously hired more help, as well as made several renovations to the store’s overall aesthetic. The walls that used to be the ugliest shade of puke green were now a stylish cool toned grey, and the once tile floors had been replaced with dark rustic hardwood. You’d replaced the cheap light fixtures with spectacular chandeliers, and the waiting area that used to have a sofa and a small tv now housed several chairs and two wall mounted flat screens.

It suited the place, he thought. It suited you. 

“You look lost.” A feminine voice pulled him out of his trance, and he turned to face none other than Lee Mina. 

He offered her a small shrug, his eyes still looking the place over and attempting to catch sight of anything he might’ve missed. 

“Just impressed, is all. Looks a lot different than it did two years ago. Well, I mean, other than the name.” 

“You’re a cocky son of a bitch, you know that?” The brunette crossed her arms over her chest and tapped her toes on the floor below, exuding annoyance from every single one of her pores. 

“I’ve been told that a time or two, yeah.” He confessed, looking past her and scanning the other women in the salon— looking for you. 

“She’s in her office,” Mina informed, “but I highly doubt she wants to see you.” 

“I told her I was on my way here.” 

“Awfully bold of you to come into a place filled to the brim with scissors and bleach, don’t you think?” Mina held a bite to her voice that damn near sent shivers down the man’s spine. 

Luckily, you finally made an appearance and stood beside your hard headed friend. 

“Down, girl,” you placed a hand on her shoulder, nodding toward the waiting area, “you’ve got a client, no time for poisoning my ex boyfriend.” 

“Trust me,” she started, shooting a death glare in Jungkook’s direction as she began to walk away, “I can make time.” 

Jungkook was sure that if looks could kill, he’d be six feet under right now. 

“She doesn’t like me, does she?” 

You scoffed, hands on your hips.

“Can you blame her?” 

No, he couldn’t. 

He sighed, rubbing nervously at the back of his neck, “Can we go somewhere and talk?” 

You nodded, “Yeah, we can go into my office. Follow me.” 

He did as he was told, keeping a safe distance between the two of you as he walked behind you. 

“I like what you’ve done with the place, by the way.” 

You mumbled a thank you as you opened up your wooden office door, stepping aside and gesturing him to go in before you. 

Your office was just as impressive as the main space, but Jungkook could tell that you’d taken the time to make this room more personal. Pictures of you and your friends hung on the wall behind where your glass desk was sat, and he’d be lying if he said it didn’t upset him to see that there weren’t any pictures of you two. Not that he’d expected there to be. 

Apparently, you could see the way that his face seemed to fall at that realization, and you were quickly bumping his hip to turn his attention to the picture frame beside your laptop. 

It was a photo of you and Jungkook, around seventeen years old, he guessed. His hair was much shorter, and his skin had a lot less ink— as in, had no ink. Yours was the same way, bare and tattooless. Jungkook was kissing your cheek in the photo, and you were grinning from ear to ear with your metal braces on full display. 

He couldn’t help but to reach out and touch it, allowing his fingers to ghost over the picture as he reminisced about the past. You’d become his everything when the two of you were just sixteen, the typical high school sweethearts cliché. 

He shared his first kiss with you, and you shared yours with him. It was so bad— teeth clacking and tongues unsure of what to do. But eventually, the two of you figured it out. Together. 

Your first time having sex was even worse, because neither of you even managed to cum. Maybe you would’ve, if Jungkook’s mom hadn’t walked in in the middle of it and proceeded to give you the world’s longest speech about how she was too young for grandchildren. 

“Did you really think I’d have pictures of everyone else, but leave you out?” You asked, taking a step forward and leaning your back against the desk beside him. 

“Guess it shouldn’t shock me,” he shrugged, straightening his posture as he sat on the edge of the desk and allowed one leg to dangle down, “seeing as how I still have a picture of you on my station at the shop.” 

“You know,” he laughed, shaking his head, “I was so mad before I came here. Really, my blood was boiling. But as soon as I laid eyes on you—“ 

“Don’t,” you cut him off with a wave of your hand, “just say what you came here to say, Jungkook. 

You weren’t looking at him, your eyes were staring straight forward at the frames hanging on the wall in front of you. He could see the way they were glossed over, tears threatening to spill out at any moment. 

He’d made you cry so many times before, and every single time he did he felt like he was dying— like all of the air was being slowly sucked from his lungs. 

“Bug, don’t cry,” he stood in front of you instantly, his hands instinctively finding their way onto the sides of your face, “I just wanted to apologize, to tell you that I’m sorry for hurting you.” 

You closed your eyes, and to his surprise, leaned into his touch. He swiped his thumb across your cheekbone as a single tear fell down, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. 

“You keep saying that,” you choked out, fully allowing the sobs to take over your body now, “but you don’t ever make any effort to stop doing it!” 

Your body began to shake, and you could no longer hold yourself up. The weight of everything that had happened recently, and in the past, was clearly getting to you. You fell against Jungkook’s chest as you continued to choke out pitiful sobs, and he used his strong arms to hold your body up to keep you from slipping to the ground. 

“I c-can’t do this anymore, Kook! I’m so in love with you that I feel it in every inch of my body, but all you seem to want to do is h-hurt me,” you continued to ramble, using the back of your hand to wipe at your nose, “and I know you don’t mean to sometimes. But sometimes y-you do! And I just— I miss you, I miss who you used to be. I miss the guy that loved me and treated me right when we were teenagers! I know he’s in there somewhere, so either dig deep and f-find him or stay the f-fuck out of my life because I—“ 

The sound of Jungkook’s own sobbing cut you off. He’d begun stroking your hair with his hand as he let you get everything out, but it wrecked him to know he was making you feel this way. 

“I’ll try and be better, I swear to God I will. You’re all I’ve ever fucking wanted, and I am so sorry for all the hurt and pain I’ve caused you. You deserve so much better than me,” he lifted your chin with his fingers so that his sad eyes could meet your own, “but if you’ll give me one more chance… I swear I’ll be the man that you need me to be.” 

He could tell that the gears of your mind were working in overdrive, weighing out the pros and cons of putting your trust in him again. He hoped with every fiber of his being that you would, because come hell or high water, he was going to prove to you that he was worth your love again. 

You lifted your hands up to meet his face, wiping his tears from his cheeks and tucking his long strands of hair behind his ears. 

“Okay. One more chance.” 

The sigh of relief that Jungkook breathed out could no doubt be heard from the other side of the world. He nodded once, taking in the fact that you’d actually agreed to have him in your life full time again, even on a trial basis. 

His forehead leaned against your own as he pulled you tighter against him, giving your body with the tightest embrace— scared that at any moment, you’d change your mind and run in the opposite direction. 

“I promise you won’t regret this, bug. I mean it, I—“ 

Jungkook was cut off by Mina swinging open the door to your office and announcing your presence with her seemingly always excited, high pitched voice. 

“Oh, my God! I’m sorry, I-I didn’t mean to interrupt, it’s just— uhm,” she was stammering awkwardly, and speaking way too quickly, “Yn, you uhm… have a client. She’s waiting for you.” 

You gave her a quick nod, letting her know that you’d be out in just a minute as you wiped at the mascara running under your eyes. 

“Call me later?” you asked, finally breaking away from your ex lover’s hold, “We have a lot more to talk about.” 

“Sure thing.” 

As you turned to exit the room, you stood up on the tips of your toes and placed a hand on Jungkook’s shoulder before allowing your lips to peck a kiss to his cheek. 

“Get home safe, Kook.” 

⇠ masterlist ⇢

a/n: if you’d like to be added to the tag list, send me an ask! thanks for reading!

tag list: @ppersonna @taetaewonderland @preciouschimine @agaassi @honeyoongles @jinhitwhore @alterlovess @dontaskshhhhh @bonobonoya2001 @fan-ati–c @diorhobii @athenakyle @nerdycookiemonster-1222 @ashleyjoyx @sadgalsadpal @shaktibhardwaj @jeonsbananamilk @bat-shark-repellant @jkhey97 @sterynlis @aizuwusho @krystle1990 @crazylittlemay @betysotelo18 @cypheruby @deadleaves278 @awesomekpoptrashblogposts @styxdagger @kookoo-kachoo @jungkooksseuphoria @imluckybitches @ayasanuwu @sugaminh @kisskoos @tae165 @themyscirarey @janetgordyx3 @mini-coop25 @out-of-jams @sugalarity @yoongissugarmommy @missseoulite @amoreguk @meesheru @namugguk @guksweet @55west81st @barbikatherine @ilyeuphoria @jeon-joker

if you aren’t tagged, it’s because tumblr won’t let me tag certain people for some reason. so sorry! :(

[crash-cinematic-universe]

a beautiful sight

pairing: peter maximoff/reader

summary: peter maximoff is good at getting himself into trouble. you’re good at getting him out of trouble. what happens when you get tired of the same old routine?

warnings: there is angst for a moment and then they just start fucking. language warning and also sexual content warning

notes: this took so long. this took me so long to write. this took me so long to write and i am so sorry about that. this is 4k words long i hope that eases the pain. also i tried to keep the pronouns gender neutral but since they are having sex the reader is written to have “female” genitalia

taglist:  @stranger-names @gooseyhouse @parkersdarling @amourtentiaa @toodles-me-doodles @rottenstyx

            Your hands gripped the leather steering wheel with a white-knuckled grip, your teeth clenching so hard you feared your jaw would snap. Fat raindrops smashed against the windshield before quickly being swept away by the automatic wipers. Street lamps and stop lights sparkle in the rain, making for a beautiful sight; if you were traveling under different circumstances, you’d probably enjoy the drive. Unfortunately, you were currently being crushed by your current situation, anger simmering within your stomach.

            You pulled up in front of the police station, a withering sigh escaping your chest before the car locks popped open. Determined to keep your composure in front of a bunch of cops-- who, admittedly, you were not on the best terms with-- you kept your chin up and expression stoic as you walked through the rain into the main lobby of the station. 

            The police station was exactly like how someone would expect it to be: the floor was covered with dull white, the walls a similar shade of white. An unsuspecting visitor would be immediately greeted by the uncomfortable and unwelcoming lobby, decorated only with a dying fern in the corner. Four grey chairs sat against the wall, a small wooden side table between them. There were magazines on the table, each one more brain dead and empty than the last. One could only compare reading said magazines to eating only empty calories for their entire lives. 

            A shell of a receptionist sat behind a large desk across the room, and you walked directly over. This one is new-- you’d been here three times in the past three months, but you didn’t recognize her. She was typing away at a computer, her eyes tired and sunken in. There was a coffee cup sitting next to her, but it looked as if it remained untouched for hours. Sluggishly, she looked up at you.

            “How can I help you?” Her voice matched her exterior, a deep fatigue dripping off her words, Obviously, she didn’t want to be there, but you couldn’t really blame her. Who would want to work in such a lifeless place?

            “I’m here to pick up my boyfriend,” You sound tired, not as tired as the receptionist, but still tired. She shoots you a sympathetic look.

            “Name?”

            “Peter Maximoff.”

            You catch a glimpse of the receptionist’s name tag, quickly learning that her name is Nicole. She types something into her computer, adjusting her glasses and leaning in slightly.

            “Alright, miss, he’ll be out in a few minutes. You can take a seat over there,” Nicole gestured over to the makeshift waiting room and you nodded. 

            “Thank you,” Like clockwork, you spun on your heel and landed in the uncomfortable chair that had gotten used to your presence. 

            You hated police stations. They had a certain soul-sucking quality to them; whether or not that quality comes from the poor souls that get thrown behind bars or the pieces of shit that put them there is up for individual interpretation. Police stations reeked of stale coffee and sweat, the occasional police siren cutting through the air every hour or so. The sound alone was hair-raising, especially to someone who landed themselves on the “wrong” side of the law uncomfortably often.

            The sound of footsteps approached the double doors to your left, and soon enough Peter walked through them, his hands still bound in handcuffs. The police officer that escorted him out unlocked his cuffs before disappearing back behind the doors, leaving the two of you in the lobby alone. Well, mostly alone. Nicole was still sitting behind the counter, looking as unenthused as ever. Peter rubbed his wrists, his pale skin an angry red where his cuffs constricted them. 

            He had a black eye, his silver hair messy and unkempt. The Nirvana t-shirt he was wearing was ripped, and dozens of small cuts and bruises littered his body. You already knew he got into a fight, you just didn’t realize how banged up he had gotten. A part of you pitied him. Upon seeing his injuries, you almost allowed yourself to let go of the anger that had been festering inside of you. Somehow, you restrained yourself. Silently, you turned and walked out the front doors of the police station.

            “Y/n--” Peter calls after you, an incoming apology hanging on his lips. You got to the car before he could catch up to you, quickly entering the driver’s seat and waiting in silence. Soon enough, Peter clambers in.

            “Y/n, I--”

            “I don’t wanna hear it,” you cut him off, frustration evident in your voice. Wisely, Peter held his tongue. “You can’t keep doing this. You can’t keep recklessly running through the city doing whatever the hell you want. I can’t keep bailing you out, I won’t keep bailing you out.” 

            “I’m really sorry, doll,” He sounds like he’s being genuine, but you were going to need a lot more than one measly ‘sorry’. “I just… I saw these guys beating up some teenager in an alley. I couldn’t let that slide, and god knows the cops aren’t going to do anything about it. I did what I thought was right,”

            “I’m not mad at you for that, Peter. I would’ve done the exact same thing if I was in your position, I’m just… worried. I know you think you need to stand up for the little guys, but you can’t keep putting yourself at risk. I hate seeing you all beaten up like this,” You sighed, taking Peter’s hand in yours. His knuckles were bruised, the new purple splotches decorating his skin. The bruises from the last unfortunate encounter weren’t even fully healed you.

            “I swear, this is the last time you’ll have to do this. I promise,” He smiled weakly at you, and somehow, you managed to swallow the fury that had built up inside of you. 

            “It better be.” You ran your thumb over his injured hand, watching as the dark purple patches disappeared. Thankfully, your mutation guarantees that all of the scrapes and scratches will heal quickly. “Now, let’s go home so I can bandage you up.”

            “I’d like that,” Peter smiles softly. His hand remains in yours as he rests his head against the car window, watching other cars whiz by in the rain. The street lights illuminated the sharp angles and delicate curves that made up his face. Even with a busted lip, Peter was still one of the most beautiful people you’d ever seen. 

            The two of you sat in a comfortable silence, the sound of raindrops pattering against the windshield lulling you both. It was late, the sun had long plunged past the horizon and a dusting of stars had appeared in the night sky. You noticed a few constellations as you drove to your apartment, the three signature stars of Orion’s belt catching your eye. A few months prior, Peter had taken you to a large field in the middle of nowhere, the scenery free of the light pollution the cityscape provided. He talked for hours about the stars, going from constellations to the lore behind them to the planets themselves; he even spoke about the star signs. He spoke with such passion, you felt as if you could listen to him talk for hours. 

            You pulled up in front of your apartment, quickly switching off the car. The rain gradually grows harder as you and Peter scurry up the pathway to the apartment lobby. Peter practically dragged you inside; it was obvious that he was struggling to contain his speed. As it turns out, hiding superpowers is much harder than initially expected. With every mutation-suppressing day that passes, Peter grows more antsy and you grow more anxious.

            “You alright, silver?”

            “Yeah, I just wanna get home,” he replies, but it’s too quick. He’s too eager to ward off your concern. He’s hiding something.

            “Peter, don’t lie to me,” Your words are obviously a warning, but they come out much softer than intended. Peter is visibly unwell-- you can’t believe you hadn’t noticed it sooner.

            “Really, I’m fine, it’s no big deal,” It was obvious that he was trying to reassure you and quell your worries, but he was failing miserably. Finally, he surrendered. “Seriously, I’m totally okay. I’m just a little sore and, uh… bleeding,” It’s only then that he lifts up the part of his shirt that hadn’t been torn, revealing a poorly bandaged gash-- you can only assume he got stabbed.  

            “Oh my god,” You gasped, taking a sharp step forward. “Peter, you-- what-- how have-- oh my god,” 

            “It’s okay! Don’t freak out, it’s just--”

            “It is not okay! Not in the slightest!” You pulled him into the nearest empty elevator, immediately slamming your hand on the button for the fourth floor. Peter looked pale and sickly, and upon closer inspection you realized that he was trembling. Still, Peter managed to smile softly.

            “I’m okay, dollface, really,” The elevator dinged, and you practically yanked him out of the small compartment. “Once we get home, you can patch me up, good as new, just like always,” 

            “Peter, why didn’t you tell me?” You fumble with the keys to your apartment, a metallic jingling punctuating your words. After what felt like a billion  years, you finally managed to shove the key into the handle and throw the door open. 

            Like clockwork, you fell into the routine you’d come to know so well. Peter sat on the kitchen counter, taking off his torn and tattered shirt and waiting patiently for you to come to his aid. You took a sharp left into the bathroom, your knees hitting the floor as you dig through the cabinet under the sink. The glimmering white gloss of the first aid kit caught your eye; within seconds you had yanked it out from between the extra toilet paper and the windex. Although you could heal the worst of the cut with your mutation, you still had to bandage it and disinfect the giant gash. 

            “Okay-- just try to hold still. You know the drill,” Peter nodded slightly, sharply inhaling as you pressed your fingertips to his pale skin. He leans back on his hands, his eyebrows furrowing as he hisses. The open wound on his abdomen begins to slowly recombine causing blood to gush out of the cut. You’re quick to wash it away with a wet cloth. As extraordinary as your healing abilities might be, they don’t take away the painfulness of any given laceration. For the next minute or so, your beautiful boyfriend is going to be in near agony. Peter’s head falls back as he tries his best to avoid looking at his injury-- he claims it “always makes it worse”.

            “We’re almost done, Peter. You’re doing very well,” You soothe, trying your best to make the process as quick as possible. Peter whimpers as the cut closes and the blood flow stops. The skin where the cut closed was still very red and tender, and any sudden movement risks reopening the wound. This one was particularly bad, the severity and depth of the injury dangerous enough to warrant the consideration of double bandaging.

            A deep sigh escaped your chest; you were tired of this routine. This awful, never-ending chain reaction that almost always ended with you trying to scrub blood out of your clothes. The police station, the arguments, the cuts and gashes and hushed apologies-- you were just so tired. And you loved Peter, you really did, but he didn’t love himself. He was willing to put his own survival on the backburner at the drop of a hat, and even though he usually came out fine, the thought of him getting hurt was weighing down on you. 

            “Y/n?” Peter chimes up, his voice pained and gravelly. You hum in response, too occupied with disinfecting the now healed cut to answer with a full sentence. Peter winced every time you pressed the washcloth to his skin. “I’m sorry,” he spoke softly, his voice wavering with each brush of the rag. Genuine remorse coated his every word, and beneath the gentle tremors and the sharp breathing, his voice is thick with building tears. 

            Peter sits up, a strangled grunt forcing its way out of his mouth. He moves slowly, trying desperately not to agitate the healing skin on his stomach. His shoulders slumped over and his head hung low, strands of silver hair falling over his eyes. It’s getting long. You’ll have to cut it later. Gently, you run your hand through his hair and pull his head up so your eyes meet. Some of the tears had spilled over, leaving glistening tracks in their wake.

            “I’m so sorry,” He coughed, although it seemed as if he was trying to cover a sob. You pulled him off the counter before wrapping your arms around his waist, minding his injury. His skin is warm and littered with scars. He practically collapses on your, gripping at your shirt like it’s his lifeline. “You do so much for me, and I always end up asking for more. I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry,” 

            “Peter, it’s okay--”

            “No! It isn’t! You drove all the way across town at midnight to pick me up from  the police station, only to immediately find out that I got stabbed and decided to hide it from you,” he stuttered, his grip on you tightening ever-so-slightly. “I’ve been a really shitty boyfriend lately,” 

            “Hey, look at me,” you softly cup his face with your hand, running your thumb over the fading bruises from past altercations with assholes in alleyways. Peter Maximoff is nothing if not a hero at heart. “Yes, lately you’ve been reckless and it freaks me out. Sure, I didn’t exactly think I’d be spending my Friday night sitting in a police station waiting room. And, yeah, I’d prefer if you didn’t hide stab wounds from me, but you are not a shitty boyfriend. You’re a wonderful boyfriend who happens to have an uncontrollable urge to help others, even at your own expense,” You press a kiss to his forehead, brushing the hair out of his eyes once again.

            “I just don’t want you to get tired of me,” Peter’s voice is quiet and vulnerable, hesitancy hiding between the syllables. 

            “Me? Tired of you? Impossible,” you enthused, reveling in the slight smile that cracked on Peter’s porcelain face. “I just hope you don’t get sick of my constant worrying,”

            “You know I could never,” A grin grew on his face, and suddenly the sadness and the tension in the air was replaced with content. Peter looked at you with admiration, and within seconds his lips were on yours. 

            Any remnants of the anger you once felt was snuffed out like a dying candle. Your head felt warm and fuzzy as Peter’s hands found their way to your hips. If someone were to tell you that Peter had a secret secondary mutation that granted him the power to subdue any person just by kissing them, you’d believe them wholeheartedly. There was something about the way he leaned against you, encapsulating you in a tight embrace as every aspect of personal space was thrown out the window. You’d call it intimacy, but it seemed like so much more than that. Sometimes words aren’t heavy enough to describe what you felt for Peter, and what he felt for you. That’s alright, though. You do what you can with the words you have.

            Your silver-haired companion takes a tentative step forwards and you proceed to follow his lead, walking backwards until your back hits the wall. He huffs, pulling away from you for a split second so he can whirl you around; Peter always preferred to be the one against the wall, for lack of a better analogy. It didn’t take a genius or a prognosticator to see where this was heading, and judging by the eagerness behind his movements, Peter could see it too.

            Hesitantly, you push him away from you for just a moment. His chest rises and falls in a brisk rhythm as he rests his forehead against yours. You’re still pressed against his chest, and he’s still clutching you like you’re some sort of flight risk. Almost instinctively, you run your hand through his shimmering silver hair. 

            “Peter, less than ten minutes ago you were lying on my counter with an open wound. Are you sure you’re feeling up for this?” A wide smile grew on Peter’s face, and with each passion second you could see his signature cocky stature returning. You knew it wouldn’t last much longer, but hey, might as well let him enjoy it while it’s there. 

            “You fixed me up pretty well, dollface,” Peter pecks you on the cheek and a momentary chuckle escapes you. “I feel better already,”

            “Alright, if you say so,” You grab him by the collar and pull his lips to yours once again. The kiss was eager and needy-- Peter melted beneath your touches, just like always. You ran your hands over his bare skin, reveling in the shutters and shivers that ran up his spine. He pulled you closer, almost as if he thought you’d disappear if he let go. Gently, you raised your arm and began to toy with the hair at the nape of his neck, accidentally tugging on the silver strands. 

            This seemed to set something off in Peter, and in the blink of an eye you found yourself lying on your bed with him hovering over you. His lips were on your neck in an instant, leaving a trail of soft kisses that led all the way down to your collarbone. You could feel Peter’s warm hands snaking under your shirt, tentatively caressing your skin. Although you’ve done this a thousand times, he was still incredibly focused on making sure you were enjoying the interaction as much as he was. 

            You spurred him on in the most obvious way possible; by pulling him back up to your face and flipping him over, swinging your leg over his hips and resting your hands on his bare chest. This position oh-so-conveniently happened to result in your knee pressing directly against Peter’s crotch. You’re quick to replace your knee with your hand, gentle palming him through his impossibly tight jeans. He swallows back a groan, his teeth digging into his bottom lip hard enough to break his skin. You’re quick to reach up and wipe away the blood that formed on his lip, a smirk growing on your face. 

            “Careful, pretty boy. Wouldn’t wanna hurt yourself any more than you already have, now, would you?” The sudden use of his favorite pet name sent shivers down Peter’s spine, his heart rate steadily increasing with every second that passes. You quickly unbutton his jeans before pulling them off, dragging your nails down his thighs as you do so. Before you had the chance to slip your fingers under the waistband of his boxers, he managed to use his mutation to flip you onto your back. His hands pinned your wrists to the mattress, a smirk stuck on his face. 

            “Y’know, you really do take great care of me,” Slowly, Peter starts making his way down your body. There’s something about how the light hits his face, casting shadows over his sharp features that make him look like some sort of greek god. He hooks his thumbs in the belt loops along your waistband, his eyes not leaving yours for even a second. “I think it’s about time I take care of you,” With that, Peter fluidly tugs off your jeans, discarding the rest of your clothing before settling between your thighs. He rests your legs on his shoulders, his hot breath fanning over your cunt and sending shivers up your spine. The feeling of light kisses on your thighs catches your attention and frustration spreads throughout your chest. You reach down and tug on Peter’s hair, whining in reaction to his ceaseless teasing. He looks up at you through his eyelashes with a cocky smirk growing on his face. After one last sultry look, Peter lurches forward and buries his face in the apex of your thighs. 

            A low moan escapes you as a soft string of praises falls from your lips. The grip you held on his hair tightened as Peter’s tongue circled your clit, sending white-hot waves of pleasure through your body. He pulls his hand off your thigh and immediately buries two of his fingers inside of you. Your head was scrambled, any semblance of coherency that you once had flying out the window with each jerk of Peter’s hand. 

            “Fuck, Peter,” You moaned just a little too loud. Just when you were regaining some sense of composure, the earth-shattering feeling of rapid vibrations ignites every nerve in your body. The combination of Peter’s vibrating fingers buried inside of you and the feeling of his lips working at your clit was just too much, and within seconds you were spasming around his fingers and calling his name. 

             You can’t bring yourself to form words, instead opting to pull him back up to your lips. All either of you could do was grab at each other, desperately trying to pull the other closer than you already were. Peter practically tore off whatever clothing that got in his way, leaving the both of you completely bare. With one last glance up at your face, he waited for confirmation before pushing his cock inside of you. 

            It was as if everything fell into place, the feeling of fullness and passion sending electricity through your body. You hooked your leg around his side, pulling him deeper inside of you as his thrusts fell into a steady rhythm. His pounding was relentless, his chest heaving with every jerk. Peter’s name fell from your lips like a mantra as he punctuated your words with deep thrusts. 

            “S-So good, Peter,” Your words are slightly slurred as you look up at his face. His eyebrows are furrowed in concentration; long, low moans fell from his swollen lips, and for a moment, it felt like music to your ears. “Such a good boy for me,” 

            Peter whimpered and his movements faltered; in one final act of defiance, you used your leverage to flip in around once more. You anchor yourself on his chest before rolling your hips against his, watching Peter’s eyes roll back as you begin bouncing on his cock. A string of senseless noises and incoherent ramblings fall from his lips as he thrusts his hips upwards to meet your movement. His nails dig into your hips so hard that it hurts-- you can’t exactly blame him. 

            “Y-Y/n, please,” Peter begged helplessly, tears building in his eyes. He didn’t know exactly what he was begging for, but he begged regardless. The feeling was so much; it was everything at once, and it was so good he almost couldn’t take it. “P-please, please...” He trailed off. 

            One slight adjustment resulted in Peter slamming into your sweet spot, causing your moans to get damn near screams. Your nails left angry red trails on Peter’s chest, taking their place amongst the countless hickies you left behind before. Then, in a beautiful amalgamation of moans and whimpers and screams, you and Peter came in unison. He snapped his one last time before throwing his head back, emptying himself deep inside of you.

            You watch Peter’s face intently, his eyes fluttering closed and his hair sticking out in every direction. He was practically glowing; completely blissed-out with a golden halo hanging over his head. A soft smile played about his lips as he began to finally catch his breath-- it’s only now that you see the dozens of little marks you left on his body. An odd sense of pride filled your body and for a moment you felt like an expert artist admiring your latest mural. 

            Slowly, you pulled yourself off of him, collapsing to his side and exhaling deeply. He immediately wrapped his arms around your torso, pulling you into his chest and pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. Peter is practically radiating warmth, a strong sense of comfort settling over you and you gently trace his collarbones.

            “I love you, y’know that?” His voice is quiet and dripping with fatigue; it’s music to your ears. 

            “Oh, really? I couldn’t tell,” You joked. Peter chuckled and rolled his eyes before resting his head on top of your shoulder. “Seriously, though, I love you too. Nerd.” He seemed satisfied with that response, nuzzling his face further into your touch.

            Rain softly drummed against the windows, light from the moon and from the city skyline reflecting off the droplets like a billion multi-colored stars. Peter had drifted off to sleep, the gentle glow from the outside world making him look like an angel that fell out of the sky and into your bedroom. Your eyelids grow heavy, and as you succumbed to the influence of a deep sleep, you kept your eyes trained on Peter’s face. He truly was a beautiful sight. 

[sabraeal]

Sic Semper Monstrum, Chapter 6

[Read on AO3]

Obiyukiweek 2021, Day 2: Death Upright: Change, Ending, Release Reversed: Refusal to Change, Unfulfillment, Stagnation

A seam strains along a well-worn shoulder, so stretched he can actually hear it creak over the din of the canteen. That clinches is: that asshole’s got to be picking out too-small fatigues from the GI bin.

There’s no other way for him to look like that, biceps testing the tensile strength of cotton every time he takes a sip of his coffee. Sure, this guy’s jacked the way all the active rangers are, ready to heave 750 tons of metal onto their backs at a moment’s notice, but he’s not Mitsuhide. It makes sense when he pops buttons off his coverall, or stretches out one of their dingy cotton tees. But that’s not this asshole.

He’s lean, the kind that telegraphs that taking an elbow from him might be career limiting. There’s no reason the general issue tee should cling to his back like it’s painted on, his coverall hanging off his hips like he’s got an occupation other than freeloading. Shirayuki leans over, fingertips brushing over his sleeve with a laugh--

“Just punch him already,” Kiki drawls, “get it out of your system.”

Zen blinks, suddenly aware there’s still some Taco Tuesday left in his mouth. “What?”

“Kiki.” Dark bruises circle the skin beneath Mitsuhide’s eyes, underscoring the weary strain in his voices. “We shouldn’t be encouraging that sort of behavior.”

“Why not?” Her elbows dig into formica as she leans over her plate, shoveling rice into her mouth. At her father’s table, Kiki knows the use of every spoon, the name of every fork, but this deep in the dome, Ranger Seiran’s never met a meal she can’t inhale in five minutes flat. “I did it.”

Air hisses right through his perfect teeth, the only sign he’s annoyed besides the tense bar of his shoulders. “And you’re lucky you didn’t get caught.”

Kiki hums around the lip of her mug. “You mean like you did with Lugis?”

Mitsuhide doesn’t have skin like his, the sort that flares up like flash paper at the barest hint of sun or taunting. But still his neck flushes red as a burn, so bright Zen’s half tempted to slap it, just so he knows what it’s like.

“T-that was an accident,” he insists, even as his mouth settles into a satisfied smile. “Even the inquiry said so.”

It’s a struggle to keep his own from curling at the edges. “Only because Lugis didn’t want to press charges.”

“Only because he didn’t want it getting out that a girl ran circles around him on the mat,” Kiki corrects, each word a scalpel’s slice, excising those particulars from that shitshow with surgical precision. They can talk about this; Lugis’s challenge and the way Kiki swept him; that he was hardly on his feet when Mitsuhide somehow mislaid his fist and found it in his face, but everything else, the whys of it--

Those are all off the record. Forever. Or at least they would be, if Lugis wasn’t crawling through the dome like a stoat that’s caught whiff of an egg.

But that’s not what this is about. “And you want me to do that with that asshole?” Zen mutters. “Since it made Mitsuhide such good friends with Lugis, after all.”

“Obi isn’t Hisame,” Kiki informs him with the kind of steel in her tone that suggests she won’t be taking critique on that particular assessment. “All your issues with him are external.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he snaps, teeth gritting down.

It’s a mistake, a rookie one at that: never ask a Seiran a question you don’t want the answer to. “He’s got Shirayuki’s attention and you don’t.”

Mitsuhide clears his throat, shoulders set like Zen better plan to shelter in place. This particular storm isn’t about to hit its usual conversational breakwall. “Attention you’d have, if you hadn’t skipped out on your session.”

Zen grips the table to take that hit. But it’s not nearly the last; the stare Kiki turns to him is wide-eyed, half-betrayed. “You didn’t say anything about that.”

“It’s none of your business.” Even as the words fly from him, he knows it’s not fair, that he’s spitting nails into the wind so that they’ll hurt someone else instead of him. It doesn’t stop him, it never does, but a guilty knot settles in his gut. “The sessions are voluntary. They always have been. I don’t need--”

“Someone to keep your head on straight?” Every syllable snaps like ice, her eyes twice as cold. “That was the whole point, wasn’t it? So if something happens to us, you’d have--”

He can’t listen to this, not another word. “That was never the plan! I would never plan for you guys...”

Not coming back. For Redwood Dancer to be left a ruin on the sea floor, their bodies strapped in, hermetically sealed until the ocean wore the jaeger down to parts.

“Nothing is happening to you guys,” he grits out. “Shirayuki was always an addition, not a-- a replacement, because you’ll never--”

“No one can promise that.” Mitsuhide’s never one to throw a first punch, but oh, does he know how to end a fight. All the breath’s knocked clean out of him, and there’s Dancer’s right hand, shoveling down another bite of rice like it’s nothing. “Every time we go out there it’s a flip of a coin. It doesn’t matter how good we are, one day there’s going to be a kaiju that kicks us clean off our feet.”

He shakes his head, wishing the words would fall right out of them. “No. That’s not--”

“Zen.” He’s never heard a siren’s call, but it can’t be as inexorable as Mitsuhide saying his name in that tone, both firm and pitying and mournful all at once. “You know better than anyone. Rangers don’t grow old.”

There’s no thought when he levers himself up from the table, just up with away chasing its heels. He just can’t be here listening to this, not now, not after they just barely crawled home from another kaiju clawing its way across Korea’s shoreline. Not when he knows he should be fighting shoulder-to-shoulder with them-- that he would be if they stopped trying to saddle him with every rookie that rolled out of the simulator and finally put him with the only person that could fill that brace beside him.

“Zen!”

It’s easy to ignore Mitsuhide’s shout over the dinner rush; it’s just part of the noise, a buzz at the edge of his senses. Something to goad him, to push him out of there before either of them think to follow after. Their pity’s the last thing he needs, the last thing he wants. After all, it’s not him that won’t climb in the Conn-Pod, but his--

“Boss!”

Zen blinks, the empty corridor resolving around him. He’d let his feet carry him, their only imperative away-- and now he’s all turned around, every bulkhead the same. He’s heard about this happening to rangers when they lived in the dome too long; chasing the Minotaur, a ranger called it, three drinks down at the local hangar. And no fine little princess to give you string to find your way out.

Except he did have one of those. A person to help him through the labyrinth, even if she couldn’t show him the way. He’d been avoiding her.

That seems stupid now. It’s not like she’s on that asshole’s--

“Hey! Hey, boss.”

Speak of the devil. Zen turns, and there he is, too-tight t-shirt and all: his own personal problem. “What do you want?”

“Nothing.” He holds out his hands, as if that’s proof enough to clear him of ulterior motives. “I just...saw you head out and it looked like...”

Zen’s shoulders square, body braced like they’re back on the mat. “Looked like what?”

Obi’s breath rushes out of him. “It looked like you shouldn’t be alone.”

It’s not until he lifts his hand that he realizes it’s trembling, barely able to push his bangs back where he needs them. “Yeah? And you thought-- what? I’d want to see you?” Even to his own ears, his laugh is bitter, wrong, like it came from someone else’s mouth. “You, the guy who won’t get out of my way?”

Something ripples across this asshole’s face, too fast for him to catch more than its wake. “You think I’m the stick stuck in the mud here?” When those strange cat’s eyes stare at him, it’s out of placid waters, but that grin on his face-- it doesn’t reach them. “Rock, meet hard place.”

Zen’s hands clench, so hard his knuckles creak. “You think this is a joke? You’re trying to shove your ass in a seat that isn’t for you, and you--”

“You think I want to be out there?” He lets out a bark somewhere between pitying and derisive, arms folding over his chest. Zen takes special care not to check how stressed his seams are. “I did my time, Your Highness. I got out. I got told no one would ever look for me again.”

“Then why are you here?” Zen spits. “No one wants you.”

“You don’t know how true I wish that was.” A hand pulls at his shoulder, long fingers digging in around the blade. “But your brother dragged me down the coast because I’m not done. I’ll never be done, because I can’t sit on the sidelines and watch Snotju or Head Banger or whatever cosmic asshole crawls out of the rift wreck another wall.”

His hand lifts, scrubbing through the bristle of his hair, just a shade too shaggy to be regulation. “It’s fucked up, isn’t it, Master? I’m the one who doesn’t want to be here, but I’m the one who’s got the balls to get back in that jaeger. And you--” a cold gaze rakes over him-- “you’re content to sit there and watch the world burn just because I’m not--”

“Shut up.” He’s trembling, every muscle straining against his self-control. “Shut the fuck up. You don’t know a goddamn thing--”

“I’ve been in your head,” that asshole reminds him. “I know exactly what I’m talking about.”

“You don’t.” He can’t. “You don’t fucking know a thing about me.”

He cocks a hip, grin loaded like a bullet. “The prove it.”

Kiki’s right: in the instant where his knuckles hit that cut-glass cheekbone, Zen feels great.

Shirayuki’s office has always put him at ease; he stepped in here the first time before she’d even properly covered the walls, the tension seeping right out of him into the push carpet under his boots. There’s just something about how she fills a space-- something that has nothing to do with furniture or wall hangings or motivational posters-- that makes his brain put out whatever chemical that means safe. He’d never understood why the other rangers avoided her, not when they could have forty minutes in the room equivalent of a warm hug.

But it’s different this time.

“Izana made you call me here.” He’s ramrod straight on her worn couch, hands clenched in his lap. Or rather, right over the throw pillow he moved to sit. “Didn’t he?”

“The Marshal’s personal feelings have nothing to do with this.” Her words snap like a window on a sill, closing on that topic with a sense of finality he expected from the top brass, not their therapist. “The PPDC’s code of conduct is quite clear on the procedure to be followed after a non-sanctioned physical altercation between personnel.”

There’s a loose thread right by the fringe; he’d noticed it months ago, but never dared to tug it. Every time he’d felt the urge, he’d think of dominoes and load-bearing pillars, of the whole edge unraveling in his hands right as she looked at him.

Today, he pulls. It comes right off with a snap. “And that’s the only reason you brought me in?“

Shirayuki turns to him, one incredulous brow raised. “You were the one who cancelled our last session--” her mouth twitches as she twists the knife-- “last minute.”

Well, he deserves that one. Sure, he’s had his reasons, but Shirayuki-- well, she deserved more than one step up from ghosting. If the thought of having to look anyone in the eye after all that hadn’t made his stomach turn for three days, maybe he would have come to that conclusion before Kiki ripped him a new one over it.

“Sorry about that,” he mutters, aware with every word that it’s not enough, that there’s not enough apologies to patch up the trust he broke. “I wasn’t...ready to talk.”

He expects the clap back; yeah I got the message, or but you were ready to take a swing? But he should have known: that’s not how Shirayuki works. She’s a professional, whether that’s what he wants from her or not.

Instead he face softens, right back into his friend. “I know. What happened in the drift can be...intense.” She hesitates, teeth sinking into the plush bow of her lip. “I just wish that you had felt comfortable conveying that to me. As my patient, you’re supposed to be able to control--”

“I don’t want to be your patient.”

Her mouth closes with a grunt, hand pressed to her stomach as if he hit her. “O-oh,” she murmurs, breathless. “I hadn’t realized that you, ah, wanted to terminate our sessions--”

“No!” God, it would be nice to be able to say this all smooth like he’s sure that jacked asshole can, leaning against a wall with his hand right by her head, sexual tension rocking the Richter scale. “I just meant--” his teeth try to grind down his thoughts into something palatable-- “Shirayuki, I don’t want to just be your patient.”

He could fall into her eyes they’re so wide, rounded ‘o’s that match her mouth’s geometry. “Ah, Zen, that’s...”

“I don’t mean because I-I like you.” Even though he does, but there’s rules for that. The kind the PPDC will look the other way on, but not Shirayuki. She’s not from under the dome; she still worries about what people might think outside of it. “I just...wish you were on my side.”

“I am on your side.” Her shoulders pull straight against the back of her chair, her soft look hardening into resolve. “Which is different from telling you want you want to hear.”

He jerks back, cheeks stinging like he’d been slapped. “I didn’t say I wanted that,” he mumbles, hands clenching over his lap. “But I don’t need you to tell me to do whatever it is Izana wants me to either.”

“I wasn’t going to.” The notebooks in her lap closes with a snap, and with trembling fingers, she sets aside her shield. “Izana wants you back in a jeager for the legacy. For the unbroken line of Wisterias standing between humanity and the rift. But I...”

Her eyes lift to his, and they’re no longer the lush, leafy green of a forest, but the hard glint of emerald. “If you get back in that cockpit, you need to do it for yourself.”

It’s an effort not to say, I don’t see the difference.

“I saw you when the siren went off.”

Zen scrubs a hand over his face; he remembers. Their eyes had met over that seething mass of fear and competence, and-- and he’d been so sure that if he saw her, something more than that glimpse of red in the corner of his vision, he’d forget every inch of his resolve and go to her. That he’d just take her in his arms and tell her all the thoughts roiling in the sea of his mind, but--

But he hadn’t. He’s taken one look at her and, without even a pang of guilt, left her there. A real hero.

“Zen.” She says his name so firmly, so seriously, that his head jerks up, gaze tangling with hers. “You don’t want to be on the sidelines. You don’t want to be the general hiding being his troops. You want to be out there, Rex Tyrannis shoulder-to-shoulder with Redwood Dancer. And you could be.”

It’s his breath that’s rasping, the death rattle of the man he’s let himself be these past few years. “How?”

There’s not an ounce of hesitation in her when she says. “You have to choose to move forward.”

And cozy up in the cockpit with that asshole. He thinks about that grin, cocked with a confidence he’s never been in the neighborhood of having, and...

It’s so familiar that his double vision makes his head pound. “I can’t work with that-- Obi. I won’t.”

“I know that...” Her lips press together, bursting apart with a pop. “I know there’s no limit to the amount of people a ranger could potentially drift with, but there’s something...special when you find the right one. That there’s something right about it than can’t ever be replaced.”

He stares, head galloping in his chest. She shouldn’t know that-- there’s no way she could. Most rookies out of the academy just drift successfully once, and that’s it-- that’s their partner, for better or worse, like marrying the first kid you kiss. There’s exceptions-- emergencies, injury, irreconcilable differences-- but even though this job has a high turnover...rangers rarely die alone. There’s not enough people for a paper.

“Yeah, I’ve...heard that too.” Probably from the same mouth she did, though it seems Mitsuhide’s polished the speech since he last gave it. To him, at least.

“I understand that you have a vision of who you want beside you in the pod,” Shirayuki presses, voice growing tighter, more tense with every word. “But Atri’s gone.”

Every drop of blood in him turns to ice. “Atri?”

Her breath hisses out through her teeth, relief slumping her shoulders. “I know no one can be him, but--”

“You think this is about Atri?” A giggle bubbles up from him, bitter on his tongue. “I’ve been sitting here for weeks-- no, months! And you think all this, the whole reason I won’t climb in a jaeger with just anyone off the street is because of Atri?”

Every corner of her face lost. “Isn’t it?”

“No, I...” He pinches the bridge of his nose, like it might stem the pounding of his heart behind his brow. This whole time he’d been so careful, trying to be understood for once, to let someone see him instead of his mistakes--

But he should have known; as long as his brother is obsessed with sending him an endless parade of nobodies which he sits behind a desk, it’ll only be his hang ups hung out for everyone to rifle through.

“I should go,” he finally manages, levering himself to his feet. The room spins, his heartbeat thrumming in his ears, but he can’t stay here, not when she thinks-- when she’s always thought--

“Zen,” she murmurs, voice muffled by distance. “Are you all right?”

--That he’s pathetic. “Yeah.” He stumbles to the door, swinging it open. “I just need to--”

And of course, standing right there is that asshole, hand half-raised to knock.

“Boss,” he breathes, clearly stunned. “I, uh, didn’t think you’d be...”

The awkwardness in the office is palpable, so thick that he might as well be moving through molasses. Before this guy showed up, he’d though he had half a chance; he was practically the only one outside of K-Science that would even look at her, and his sessions always felt like more, but now--

Well, it’s no wonder he didn’t stand half a chance next to him, if she thought he was waiting for Atri.

“Don’t worry about it.” Zen pushes back him, shoulder clipping his. Or at least near enough to claim the feat. “I’d hate to keep you two from your--” date-- “dinner plans.”

Shirayuki’s breath gasps from her. “Zen, wait, we’re not--”

“It’s fine,” he lies, every muscle tense where he stands, fighting the urge to look back. “A couple of things are clearer now.”

It’s not just her. They all think he’s waiting for him, that one day he might stroll back in here like nothing happened, and Zen--

“Please.” Shirayuki’s voice trembles, and even if he’s not looking, he knows she’s at the door, vibrating in its frame. “Let’s just finish the session.”

-- and Zen’s been giving them nothing else to work with. All these years, looking like a kid stood up on prom night.

“No, I just remembered there’s something I’ve got to do.” He forces a smile on his face, giving her a bare hint of it as he peeks over his shoulder. “I’ll see you next week.”

It kills him how much hope lights in her eyes. “Next week?”

“That our appointment, isn’t it?” he says, light tone limping. “Unless I see you around the dome before then.”

“Right,” she breathes, cheeks flushed at both corners of her smile. Obi’s watching her, concern writ large in his eyes, and well-- maybe he’s not as much of an asshole as Zen wanted to believe. “Until then.”

He gets halfway down the hall, before Obi calls out, “Hey, boss...”

It’s clear when he looks back that Obi hadn’t meant to speak, but now that he has, he clear his throat, giving himself a visible shake.

“You could come with us,” he says, hesitant. “If you wanted.”

It’s an olive branch, one he doesn’t deserve. One he should take, if he wants all this to heal over without a scar. But he’s not ready for that, not yet.

“No.” He shakes head. “I wasn’t joking about having something I got to do. Go enjoy yourselves.”

This is a terrible idea.

He knows it the entire time he’s walking, the anxiety cresting the second he sees the plate on the door, engraved and letters painted black: IZANA WISTERIA. MARSHAL.

“Well,” Izana hums from his desk. “Are you going pace outside my office all day, or are you planning to come in?”

Zen lets out a rush of breath and pushes the door open the rest of the way.

“You win,” he says, all in a rush. “I’ll do it. I’ll give him another chance.”

“I think at this point, he’s giving you another chance,” Izana tells him, barely glancing up from his pile of papers. “But...I’ll arrange it.”

He nearly says, I figured you’d have it all arranged already, but bites it back. “Thanks.”

“My pleasure. And Zen.” His brother looks up, capping his pen calmly before he folds his hands over the desk. “It’s not me who wins. It’s humanity.”

“Yeah,” he breathes, meeting that steely gaze. “But I’m not doing it for them.”

For once, his brother doesn’t have anything to say.

It’s Obi who’s locked in first this time.

His cheeky smile is already waiting when Zen steps on deck, body gripped by Rex Tyrannis’s hydraulics when he throws him a wink. “Second time’s the charm, right Your Highness?”

“Third time,” Zen mutters, keying in his code. “It’s third time’s the charm.”

“Right, but you were top of your class.” A guy like Obi shouldn’t be so comfortable when he’s got twenty tons pinning him in place, not when he’s got a face just asking to be hit. “So we can shave one of those off, right?”

“Depends.” His mouth twitches. “Where did you rank?”

Obi’s grin grows stiff enough to float. “I think you’d say I’m a natural talent.”

“That bad huh?”

A laugh saws out of him, raw in the loud silence of the pod. “You have no idea.”

“I think I could take a guess.” The hydraulics hug Zen tight; even lifting to his arm to the panel is a chore. “Ready?”

“For you?” Obi’s mouth stretches into a leer.  For once, he feels like he’s in on the joke. “Any time.”

Don’t chase the rabbit. It’s Obi’s voice that says it; not the way he had before, serious and concerned, a scolding and a reminder. No, this one is a laugh restrained, sing-song. One pill makes you big and one makes you small.

There’s a faint riff of guitar, and Zen’s about to tell him to can it, that putting trash in the drift just clogged up the flow, but--

But between one breath-- one blink and the next, he’s lost in the tide, rolling through his memories rudderless. When a hand grips his shoulder and--

“I’m ready.” Zen’s always too honest, too eager but he’s young here, younger than he ever remembers being wearing the badge. “To pick up the legacy. To be what father meant us to be.”

The memory runs true, his younger self still chatting away with Shidnote, unaware that his whole world’s about to be cut off at the knees. But he’s not watching that now, he’s watching the way shadows crawl across his brother’s face, a storm front that appears and vanishes in the moments no one looks.

“About that.” Izana settles his hand on the desk, but the drumming is no longer bored but...nervous. An asynchronous beat that runs at the speed of his thoughts. “I meant to tell you. I’m being promoted.”

“Promoted” The word still kicks his legs out from under him, still knocks the wind out of his lungs as efficiently as any punch to the gut. “But I thought we would--”

“They want me in a command capacity now that Mother’s taking over Anchorage.” Izana won’t look at him. The man who has built his career on being able to stare down Orochi in Sagami Bay can’t bear to look him in the eye. “I’m being taken off active duty.”

“But--” He looks between them. “But--”

“But--”

“But--”

The memory stutters. It’s him, he’s the one who’s pushing away. He’d always thought he couldn’t give this to someone, to some guy right off the street, someone who might pity him, but it’s-- it’s him. He can’t look at this. He can’t face failure another time.

And he doesn’t know how to stop.

Hey. Obi’s voice is too close, but he’s just an outline in the drift, blues and grays fuzzing between misfiring synapses. Hey, we don’t have to watch this.

They do. They have to, if he’s going to get through this.

Right. There’s no way for Obi to sigh here, where there’s no air, but he does, long and loud. It sounds...different. Almost...feminine. I have worse. Want to see me wet the bed when I was--?

The words fuzz before they can continue. Go ahead, Obi says, sounding like himself. Take as much time as you need. It’s not like we have clocks here.

Zen can’t nod here, not without a body, but he breathes, one solid in and out--

“It’s supposed to be us.” Even with the distance of time, every word is carves straight from his flesh, laid out on a platter for his brother to see. “We’re supposed to carry on the legacy.”

“Shidnote will continue on in his current capacity,” Izana explains, bored, as if he didn’t even speak. “He’s served me well. I’m sure you’ll both be sufficiently compatible.”

“But--” Zen grits his teeth. “It’s supposed to be us. Why are you giving me an excuse--?

He blinks. He never said that. He’d been thinking it the whole way to his bunk, but in the moment it had only been a yes sir. I understand, sir.

Then why--

“It’s an excuse.” The shine’s all worn off Atri’s grin, baring the raw edge beneath. “That’s all I’ve ever been to you.”

Scrap litters the floor at his feet; he’s never known what jaeger-grade parts sold for on the black market, but he knows it’s not pocket money. This is a small fortune if someone knew where to sell it.

Which clearly Atri does.

“You’re going to blame me?” Zen’s laugh limps with bitterness. “I catch you with stolen goods, and it’s my--?”

“It’s not stolen, it’s salvage,” Atri snaps, snatching a length of steel from his hands. “It’s not like they’re using it.”

A lie-- there’s not a shred of steel or wire that’s wasted in the dome. Jaegars come with a price tag that only governments can pay, and any corner that can be safely cut on maintenance is considered savings passed onto tax payers. There’s no way he can’t know it, not after six months, but--

He doesn’t care. He never did.

“This is why you agreed to be my copilot.” Every word aches as he births them from his lips, a truth that cuts even as he speaks it. “You didn’t care about protecting your friends. You just wanted access to parts.”

Atri shrugs, the barest twitch of his shoulders. “I never said I gave a single fuck about all that hero shit. You just assumed I did, because you do.”

“But the drift...” His breath wheezes, the way it did when he was a kid, before his dad paid for all that to be fixed. “How did you...?”

“I just thought about the stuff you cared about. Friends. Kaiju. Me.” Atri’s grin turns smug. “Some of us don’t wear our heart on our sleeves, Wisteria.”

Wow. Obi’s outline fuzzes as he circles behind Atri, a single brow raised. He’s a real fucknut, huh?

His memories are jumbles, him-now and him-then all tumbled together until his first instinct is to jump to Atri’s defense. He may not be an academy-trained ranger, someone who has a lifetime worth of experience in a simulator, but put him in Rex Tyrannis and he’ll--

Steal the toilet cover? Obi offers, mouth canting into that insufferable grin. The one that always reminded him of--

Ah.

Obi darts a glance to where Atri stands frozen beside him. Jeeze, you really know how to hit a guy where he lives. You think I look like this asshole?

Just the grin, really. He’s almost a head taller, broader in the shoulders, and Asian besides. Better looking too--

Obi’s smile stretches into a leer. You don’t say, bossman?

Maybe Atri’s right. He’s got to get better about what he thinks about in the drift. Especially with someone this insufferable around.

If anything, Obi’s more amused. So it’s this guy though, he’s whole hold up you have with me? It’s not--

Against his will, Atri springs to life, mouth curled into his nastiest sneer when he says “I don’t know why you’re acting so betrayed. After all, you only wanted me to get back at the Marshal, and I played my part, didn’t I? I’m sure he’d jump in the pod if that meant he could be rid of me.”

“That’s not--” true, he should say. He can’t though, not when he’s not this-Zen, when he’s just looking out from his eyes, straight into Obi’s.

“Yeah.” There’s no spit to swallow in the drift, but he does anyway, a force of habit. “It is.”

The memory fuzzes away from him, and it’s just them now, two men braced in the Conn-pod, staring at each other through their visors.

“Right hemisphere, calibrated.” Zen blinks, watching as his hand opens and closes, the robotic voice’s dulcet tones washing over him.

“I never wanted this, you know,” he murmurs, “not if it wasn’t with my brother. That’s how it was supposed to be, me and him versus the kaiju.”

“Left hemisphere, calibrated.” His arms seem to move on his own, and it’s strange how he can’t keep the smile off his face this time. It feels good, moving like this again.

“No,” he breathes. “It was supposed to be me and him versus the world.”

“Ready to activate the jeager.“

Obi’s arms lift, a fighting stance to mirror his. It’s easy, so easy. Easier than he ever thought it could be. “What changed?”

He’d shrug, if the hydraulics would let him, but this isn’t Redwood Dancer. “Seemed like a shitty reason not to save the world.”

“Calibration complete.”

Obi grins, teeth shining bright under the lights of his visor. “Doc tell you that?”

Zen laughs. “Pretty much.”

“She’s got a gift,” Obi agrees, hands moving in sync with his. “And it’s making you feel like an asshole.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Looks like you jokers are getting along,” Kiki deadpans through their helmets. “How do you feel about taking Rex out for a drag?”

“After being cramped under this dome for months, Princess?” Obi drawls, tossing him a conspiratorial wink. “It’d be my pleasure.”

“Just give us a sec!” It’s been a long time since Zen’s talked much with the crew in CIC, but he recognizes that voice-- Yuzuri, one of Shirayuki’s friends. The peppy one with the cute accessories. The one that told him she’d give him cement shoes if he made her cry. “Let’s see if we can get you off your leash.”

He’d always liked her. Hopefully the feeling’s mutual, since she’s right next to the plug.

“Hey, boss.”

Zen blinks, glancing across the cockpit. “Yeah?”

“I know Atri was supposed to be a big fuck you to His Majesty, but...” He hesitates, thoughtful. “You drifted with the Big Guy for a while after that. Why?”

“Ah--”

It’s impossible not to think of it, the siren rising in the air, the men running past them, voices drowned out by the drone.

“I’ll do it,” he says, glaring up at the man across from him. “At least you know you’re just a seat warmer.”

“Zen--”

He blinks, the memory stuttering beneath him. That’s not what Mitsuhide called him then, that wasn’t until after--

“Zen.”

That’s not inside the memory, that’s inside his helmet. “Mitsuhide?”

“You’re out of alignment.”

He shakes his head, uncomprehending. “What do you--?”

“You’re out of alignment.” He repeats, each words strained. “You both chased the rabbit, and...Obi went straight down the rabbit hole.”

It doesn’t make any sense. “But I--”

“You have to go get him,” Mitsuhide says, dire. “He’s pointing the plasma cannon at Mission Control.”