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mullermilkshake · 3 days ago

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The apartment.

Part 1 <- Part two -> Part 3

Kento manages to get you back to his, not without a fight. But you’re still back there.

Kento Nanami x Fem! Reader Tags -DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT,Possessive,Kidnapping,Physical abuse,Psychological abuse,Planning/ fantasying over murdering someone,Held underwater/drowning,Implied pregnancy,Oral sex / blowjob,Bodily harm,Face fucking,Dry humping,Grinding

You weren’t really sure how he actually got you back to his place, but he did.

It was a blur, one big nightmare. You almost crashed the car, one smack with an almighty pop it almost knocked his glasses from his face.

But it wasn’t enough and in hindsight only made him more angry, more silent in your presence. Now that made your stomach flutter in anticipation for what he had planned.

He didn’t say a word when the car reached his home, an apartment in the middle of the city. It was stupid to think no one could hear you in that place considering how many people lived there. But they couldn’t.

He must have soundproofed the place.

”Now, I expect you to behave on the way up.” The elevator to his apartment door. “Don’t get any funny ideas, I won’t hesitate to be like those other men, you don’t want that, do you?”

“No, I don’t.” You responded a little too eagerly, you hoped he hadn’t noticed.

You were going to wait for someone in the lobby and scream as loud as you could. But that time never came, not because there wasn’t anyone there, but because before you stepped in the front door, Kento took your arm and delivered a quick swing to your gut, completely winding you and turning you over hunched in agony.

“Fuck.” That was all you got out as he walked you to the elevators.

Someone did manage to notice though. “Are you alright dear?”

Yes. Finally someone who had fucking eyes in their skull. You breathed, laboured and prepared to speak, but Kento spoke first.

“My wife is tired, pregnancy is already taking its toll, I’ll be taking her up to bed for rest. Thank you for the concern, but she is in good hands.”

“N-no, I…”

“Come on, Darling. The doctor said the longer you’re up, the more the chance of hurting the baby.” He started to walk off wrapping his arm around and you didn't have the strength to pull away, like your stomach had moved and organs shifted.

Nausea set in, delayed by the assault to your stomach, nothing came except retching, you hadn’t eaten the whole day or you were sure you would have thrown up on that poor lady as you walked past her.

“Okay then dear, I’m on the sixth floor, six-o-two if you need some chicken soup or advice, pregnancy can be so tough on a new mother.”

The doors to the elevator opened and he ushered you inside, keeping you clung to him like that affection was real. You cursed so loud in your head, you had no fucking shoes on, filthy dirty socks like you’d gone for a bear foot jog, how did she miss that?

“Thank you for your concern.” The doors closed and you were both alone.

You coughed, spluttering away to no one, none that cared for the brutality of the man next to you.

“It’s quite clear you aren’t going to behave. I’m disappointed. All I ever wanted was for you to be happy and take everything I provided for you. But it’s never enough is it? You’re way too demanding.”

“Maybe if you listened to me and let me go, I wouldn’t fight you on it.” You gasped as the pain intensified. “I hate you.”

“You were always so dramatic.”

“You were always such an asshole.”

Your mouth ran that cheque and there was no way your ass could cash it, Kento rammed you up against the wall of the elevator by your throat, his hand squeezing.

“Mind your manners. If you want this to go smoothly, I suggest you start being a little nicer to me.”

It was only really setting in now the gravity of the situation you were in. There was no way you were getting away from him again without some sort of dumb luck.

Kento Nanami was not dumb.

His intelligence far surpassed yours, no matter how much you thought you were clever enough. It was always luck, and even that was running out.

He dropped you and you slumped to the floor, his figure looming over you with all the malice across his face.

Yeah, your luck was running out.

“We’re going to make this work, regardless of how long it takes to train this response out of you. This is how it is despite how much you fight it.”

You didn’t respond, not that there was much to say. You just sat in the corner contemplating. You couldn’t overpower him, but you could kill him. Everyone was capable of it, including him, it made you hesitate.

Careful planning was paramount.

Maybe a knife to the throat when he slept. He wouldn’t fall for the drugged drink again, but he was still human so he had to sleep eventually.

If he restrained you, you’d have no access to anything and that was more likely. So the other way to get out of that was to gain his trust again and that could take months maybe even longer.

You despised the thought.

You hoped a car hit him, or he’d fall down the stairs and break his neck so he couldn’t come after you again. You prayed for a giant dragon to fly down and rip his head off and you’d play in his blood and laugh at his corpse.

Woah. That was dark even for you at a time like this.

You were nothing like him. You judged everything he did, how he dragged you from the elevator with his fingers dug into your arm to keep you compliant. How he pulled you into the apartment and held you there whilst he closed the door like you were an inanimate object.

Whoever these ‘ other’ men were, Kento Nanami was the biggest one of all and you’d make him regret this even if it killed you, because when the lock turned, it hit home that you were never going to be rid of him, not until he was dead.

“Bathroom. Now.”

You didn't appreciate his tone but you did as you were told, rubbing your arm that had lost circulation, definitely ready to bruise by morning.

Maybe ignoring him would do something, just not talking? Surely he would get bored of you then?

You waited, he turned the faucets on, letting the water flow, rolled sleeves showed just how much muscle he had behind him. He could break you if he wanted. He was holding back.

His tone softened, though it wasn’t to be mistaken for a caring nature. “Get undressed.” He stepped outside for a moment.

Like hell you were getting undressed. Stepping to the door, you peaked out of the crack, he had gone to the open plan kitchen, his back was to you.

It took a moment to psych yourself up and you went to go for it, when you opened the door slowly, peeking back through, he was waiting there still in the kitchen but his eyes were on you.

“Do you need anything? Why aren't you undressed yet?”

You closed the door in a jump and started slipping your clothes off before he came back over. The blood flow thumped in your ears, beating away like a little rabbit evading a hunting dog. You were more vulnerable now than ever.

The door opened and he just walked past you, testing the water out, running his knuckles under the flow leaving dotted splashes on the ceramic. Your arms clamped around you, keeping your unclothed parts covered, he didn’t look back.

“You can get in now.”

You climbed in, never blinking in an attempt to catch whatever move he would pull not that you were in a small body of water. You couldn’t deny that the water was perfect, a small burn of red across your skin that would make you look like a lobster eventually.

“You’re so beautiful.” The water ran down your back, making you freeze.

Was he really going to bath you like a child, someone who couldn’t look after themselves?

You squeaked, pulling the pooled water from your palm to you arm. “I can do it myself.”

He stopped you, taking your hand in his. “I’ll do it.”

Exposed and vulnerable, that’s what you were with his prying eyes so he could play the loving husband.

“I said, I can do it myself.” Through gritted teeth you leant forward to soak your arms.

Kento growled, switched to someone you didn’t want to see again. He took a fist full of your hair and pushed you backwards down in the tub, holding you there. The muffled deafening water gushed over your ears and filled them with the static heat of the water.

You scrambled, the water far too intense for your face to deal with, you found his arm amidst your panic and pulled at it, scratching, scraping in hopes your hurt him enough to let go.

He did, but it wasn’t because you hurt him, it’s because you gave up and stopped thrashing. He yanked you up, spluttering in the water, blinded by wet hair stuck across your eyes, water from your nose. Gasping for breath, you screamed, you didn’t mean to, it just came out.

Kento covered your mouth, “If you don't love me at my best, then you’ll learn to love me at my worst and maybe you’ll appreciate my good side.”

Your fate was sealed now.

After your bath, things didn’t improve, they only ramped up, he dried you, dressed you, even plaited your hair.

He left you there by the side of the bed, standing like every virgin in those stupid rom- cons you loved watching so much. At least most of the time, their relationships weren’t toxic.

Then he laid down and was silent for what felt like hours. “Come.”

Hesitantly, you climbed, not getting close just barely on the corner of the bed, you’d fall if he got off and the weight displaced. He glared at you and you couldn’t tell whether he was angry or thinking because his expression never changed. He grabbed your wrist, your fiddling fingers close to him and you went with them, tumbling into his chest and he didn’t let go.

“Kento please.”

You wanted so bad for there to be good in him, or even for you to have love for him to make it all easy, but there wasn’t a universe where you could accept this.

The man was delusional, no matter how rational he seemed on the outside.

“I love you. I’ll do everything in my power to prove that to you. Anything and I’ll do it, even if that means keeping you here and fucking you until you can’t think… But you won’t leave me again. Ever.”

You blinked your tears away, nibbling away at your bottom lip to try and suppress the helplessness that washed over you. He loved his fingers in yours and it took anything you had not to pull away, punch him in the face and bolt it.

It had to happen this way. You’d make him regret it.

Cleaning your throat, you focused on a spot on the ceiling. “How will you show me?”

You didn’t need to see him to notice the lump in this throat of shock he had. “That depends on you.”

Not what you thought would escape him, that meant he was highly suspicious of your three point turn to accepting this.

“I can make you feel good.” You were sick to your stomach. “Will you let me?” Innocently enough.

Sliding your hand down hesitantly, you fiddled with his belt, he didn’t move and you took it as a sign to carry on.

You pulled the zip down and exposed his boxers. He wasn’t hard, no erection so you palmed him, hoping to get him hard enough to suck. You looked up at him for the first time and moved closer, putting a small, sweet kiss on his open lips.

He kissed back like a husband of ten years, tender with a firmness of celebrating an anniversary. He took your hair in his fingers with his other hand over your neck.

That hand could kill you.

You thought about it too. Maybe you could bite him once his cock was in your mouth until your teeth met, one swift bite and chomp down until he bled to death.

Would he even let it get that far?

He got firmer, an erection growing just by your touch, he kissed more feverishly, hungry for your ultimate cooperation.

Maybe you could bash him over the head with the lamp on the table, would the cable reach that far to get a good hit in?

He’d use that cable to strangle you in an instant.

He was fully hard now, the outline of himself visible and ready. Sitting up, you pulled his boxers away and pulled his cock out, but he took your wrist and squeezed.

“No teeth. Don’t even think about it.”

He was testing your resolve.

You weren’t sure if he would enjoy it, his expression didn’t change and he didn’t take his eyes off of you. The tip of his cock pressed against your tongue and ran it down around your lips and sucked him in.

The woman in the lobby. Maybe you could run down to the sixth floor at least, get a solid door between the two of you until the cops arrived.

Swirling your tongue around him made his throat seize, he tried hard to stifle a moan but you noticed it quickly. Tongue swirls were his thing, that was good to know, you sucked and the sounds of wetness in your mouth was deafening in the quiet room.

You went deeper, his hand moved to the back of your neck as you sucked, moving your head up and down too deep than you could take, making your gag a little. It was slow, controlled, but you couldn’t help but panic when Kento’s hand pressed your head down until your nose almost touched.

And he held you there, no air or control.

You hoped that it was all he wanted and would let go, but he moved his hips instead, bucking them against you as he fucked your mouth.

“Who knew you would give in so quickly, Darling. Is this what you enjoy, or were you just playing hard to get?”

Neither. You struggled for breath but you concentrated. You didn’t give up and you weren't playing bullshit games, you only wanted him to believe it.

He let go of you. Air filled your lungs and it burned, your mouth sticky with in need of moisture. You sat for a minute, but it felt like hours, wiping the drool from your mouth.

He would have an ounce of trust in you now that you sucked him with no issue. The lamp was looking more and more interesting, you were sure it would smash on his face, maybe break his glasses. Hell, you wished it would just electrocute him.

You didn’t say anything, just climbed on him, straddled thighs in each side, your sat directly on top of his wet cock.

“No.” He held your wrists again, making them ache. “Not like this, I want to do this properly.”

“So I could just…” Moving your hips slowly, you ground on him, his erection twitching against your private area. “Like this for now?”

He didn’t fight it, or object. Threw his head back in the pillow and watched you rub your pussy over him in a way that you could come from had you met him in a different time.

He was a beautiful person, but his soul was ugly. Even if he didn’t know it himself, hidden, disguised by love was the biggest curse.

You moved your hips, it felt good, had it have been someone else, you wouldn’t have done what you were about to do.

“Do you like that?”

His eyes closed.

You leant forward, close to his ear. “I like it.”

Picking up the lamp slowly in your hand, adrenaline pumped its way through your body screaming at you to stop, he’d catch you and it would end with someone dead. Namely you.

His eyes didn’t open, and wether or not it was the control over the situation getting you off, you weren't sure. But his cock brushed against you in the right way, so you carried on.

It was an orgasm you’d never want to chase.

“Keep going.” He said, voice tight, placing his hands on your hips to pull you in over him with more pace.

You dropped the lamp on his head, one more time for good measure. “Go to hell asshole!”

His hands dropped and you stumbled off the bed, throwing yourself away from him and made a break for the front door. You fiddled with the locks, cursing at the top fiddly one, you hadn’t heard him make a noise but you didn’t dare look back.

Come on, fucking stupid door!

It opened, barely, creaking away with echoes in the long hallway. It slammed and should have alerted anyone to your situation, but no one emerged from their apartments.

You ran, half naked and wet to the elevator, ramming your thumb at the button. “Come on you piece of shit.”

Your trembled, voice following suit.

It took too long, not moving from previous floors. “Fuck this!”

The stairs down would be quicker, but you ran the risk of being spotted if he wasn’t knocked out. But at least you could see him coming.

Four floors.

Bare feet slapped and stomped down the first flight, you still hadn’t looked back this entire time.

Three floors.

The top door of the level ripped open and you were sure the hinges splintered.

“That’s it!” Kento’s footsteps stormed down the first set of steps like a shark to blood.

Two floors.

You fled down those stairs to like they were going out of fashion, knees buckling to keep up with the rest of your body.

“Come back, Darling. We have much to go over.” Malice and hurt dripped from his words, you knew it was through gritted teeth.

One floor.

You almost tumbled and rammed your shoulder into the door to get past it.

Six- what was it? Three? Two? Fuck!

You couldn't remember, running around to nowhere. “Help! Help, he's trying to kill me!”

No one emerged, so you banged and shouted all sorts of obscenities, and finally getting to six-o-two, you weee sure it was the woman’s place.

“Help! Help me!” Nothing.

“Open up please!” You glanced down the hallway finally getting the courage and he wasn’t there.

“Open up! I need help!” Still no answer.

You were stuck on this floor, unsure of where Kento was. You’d fucked up monumentally with nowhere to go.

You took a step back to assess what options you had and something stopped you, it wasn’t the wall.

“What did I say about leaving, Darling?”

DISCLAIMER - Crossposted from my AO3 - I do not own any of the characters or anything from the anime. This is a work of fan fiction and is absolutely not representative of the views or intentions of the original creator(s).

Also please don’t post any of my work without permission thank you!

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #x reader #fem reader #yandere nanami #nanami kento #jjk nanami #jujutsu nanami #nanami x reader #kento nanami #jujutsu kaisen nanami #kento x reader #jjk kento #kento smut #yandere

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klaus-littlestwolf · 1 day ago

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Hello, can you write a one shot for the human yandere Klaus Mikaelson, where he generally maintains a fairly normal courtship with his girlfriend although he is still super obsessive and protective, but after they get married and she gets pregnant, they break into her house at night while they were sleeping and Klaus kills the thief so that he does not hurt his pregnant wife and after this event his Yandere side comes to light and he becomes extremely protective, to the point that they move to a house in the middle of nowhere so that Nothing and no one can see his wife, and he practically doesn't let her go out or do anything alone, which leads her to make a garden so she can have food for dinner and Klaus installs many cameras to monitor her and even learned to attend a birth.

Extreme Paranoia -Klaus M.

All Human AU

Summary: Klaus becomes overly paranoid after a break-in at his home. Even after killing the intruder, it is not enough for him-he needs to protect his wife and son no matter what.

Y/n had always known that Klaus was paranoid, but the break in seemed to have switched something in his brain into overdrive.

Y/n had heard glass shattering downstairs as she was tending to their 8 month old son in his nursery and she immediately jumped from the recliner where she was nursing him in fear. Elliot instantly began crying as he was ripped away from his meal and continued as Y/n carried him into their bedroom, seeing Klaus awake as he rubbed his eyes.

‘What fell?’ He asked, still groggy from just being awoken.

‘Klaus, I think someone is downstairs, something shattered and I could hear footsteps on-‘ she didn’t even get to finish her sentence before he was out of the bed, grabbing the fire poker he kept in the room.

‘It’s okay, stay here love, do not move from this bed, do you hear me? I’ll take care of it-‘

‘No, no don’t leave us. Please? Klaus, what if he has a gun? What if-‘

He shushed her instantly, kissing her lips firmly. ‘I’ll be fine. You just stay and keep Eliot safe. Here, call 911.’ He instructed, handing her the phone and she did as he said, calling the police as he shut the door behind him.

At the end of the night the medics had taken the man that broke in to the hospital, doubting he would make it that far with how badly Klaus had fucked him up. Her husband was put off by the fact that the police needed to see her before they could leave and she came to the stairs with their son who made grabby hands for his Daddy who instantly reached out for him.

‘Babe, you can’t touch him! You’re covered in blood!’ Y/n exclaimed and Klaus just seemed to notice. The police left and they locked up again and Klaus showered as quickly as humanly possible before rushing back to his wife and son who he held the rest of the night, Y/n cuddled to his side all while he had his laptop open, researching the safest places to live.

It took Klaus one week to have their entire lives packed and moved to the new house, one that he had bought in a bank auction and had fixed as quickly as possible. He has installed security cameras all over outside the house as well as one in the baby’s room, the doors were all triple locked and there were motion sensors that he had installed by the driveway entrance to their property (one that you couldn’t find unless you were really looking).

Y/n thought he was going a bit overboard when he bought the gun, but he kept it in a safe lock box that Eliot could never get in and insisted she learn to use it.

They were living happily for a few weeks but as Klaus made more and more “upgrades” to the house he seemed to get more paranoid. He wouldn’t let her leave anymore, insisting he do the shopping himself, and go out to get everything they need. She stopped going out with friends as it made Klaus physically ill with worry, and instead decided to tend to a garden. They were in the middle of nowhere so shopping wasn’t very easy and having fresh produce as well as a large chicken coup made it easier.

Y/n didn’t think that Klaus’ paranoia could get worse until she told him that she was pregnant with their second child. More cameras went up and he adopted a large female Pitbull and male Cane Corso from the shelter in the closest town, the dogs were the sweetest, happiest and loviest creatures they had ever met but Klaus was happy to learn that the large Cane Corso-Dantè didn’t like men that weren’t himself or his son, and hated them around his “mommy”. Something that set Y/n’s mind at ease was how protective the Pitbull-Scout was of their son. She was with him at all times so when he ventured off on his own-which was rare while his mother was making dinner-Y/n knew that he was safe and Klaus knew that both his son and his wife were protected as they needed to be.

The last crazy thing that Klaus did was learn everything he could about home births. He caved when she demanded a midwife that could be there and induce her labor as well as give her an epidural as she refused to push a baby out of her coochie without proper drugs. Klaus was just happy that he wouldn’t have to take her to a hospital.

It was actually Dantè that alerted Klaus to Y/n going into labor, running up to his office and barking like crazy. Eliot had just turned 2 and had been helping his mother tend to the chickens when her water broke and he was sitting with her and rubbing her belly sweetly when Klaus got outside-carrying her in as he called the midwife with their son right on his heels.

‘I’ll be fine, go make him something easy for dinner and set him on the couch with Scout. He will be fine and so will I, you’re going to give yourself a heart attack and leave us here all alone Nik, relax.’ The midwife wouldn’t be there for another 20 minutes and though she loved her son, Eliot being in the room was more of a hinderance than anything. ‘Go, feed him, feed the dogs, feed you and bring me a cup of my ice chips when you come back.’

That was a cute surprise that Klaus had gotten her when she had compromised about not going to a hospital, he found an ice maker that makes ice chips like the ones in hospitals as he knew she wouldn’t be allowed to eat much. ‘Alright. Yell if you need something and I will be right here.’

‘I promise.’

‘Okay. Come on buddy, Mommy needs to rest before she has your little sister and you need dinner. You and Scout can watch Bluey while you eat dinner. Stay here Dantè, I’ll bring you your dinner.’ He promised, carrying his son downstairs and setting him on the couch, telling Scout to stay with him which she did right away, Klaus turning the camera in the living room on and turning on the app on his phone as well as turning on the camera in his bedroom that he had for emergencies-wanting to keep an eye on Y/n if he had to, it being the only camera she didn’t know about…almost…

He had just given Eliot his dinner when the midwife knocked on the door, Klaus checking the cameras to be sure even though he’d gotten an alert on his phone when she had driven up. ‘Thank God, I think she would have killed me if you hadn’t come.’ He joked but was half serious as he led her upstairs to the bedroom and gave Dantè his food as well as his wife her ice chips making her happy as she could currently get. She got her epidural and had Klaus alongside her as she got ready to push.

2 hours later they welcomed their daughter into the world, the midwife handing the bundle to Klaus first who felt an overwhelming need to protect the little girl in his arms more than even he thought possible before leaning down and handing his wife their daughter that they decided to name Riley.

The midwife stayed for another hour as Y/n fed Riley for the first time before she was gone leaving Klaus with a sleeping wife and baby before venturing back downstairs and finding exactly what he expected. His son was asleep on the couch with Scout snuggled beside him as Bluey played on the TV. The dog jumped up at Klaus’ arrival and followed them up to his bedroom where Klaus changed him and put him to bed.

He turned up the alarms that night, not falling asleep for quite a long while. He spent the rest of the night wondering what other safety precautions they should be taking and he decided that he needed to have a panic room installed in case of emergencies. He knew that convincing his wife was not going to be easy but it was worth it. He was content that night with his family in his bed (Eliot crawling in with Scout 2 hours later) knowing that they were all completely safe with him there as he would always be.

Nothing would ever come so close to hurting his family ever again! He would make sure of it.

Klaus M. Masterlist

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cryinggirlnamedhelen · 14 hours ago

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Omg omg make "If she grew her hair long, act girlier, and stop looking so grumpy I think she would be more popular........ I'll kill you" a set of one shot scenarios for those bllk guys you mentioned😭😭😭✨

boyish - c. hyoma

fem!reader

“you know, chigiri, i feel like a lot of girls like you. like, a lot.”

chigiri stared up at the boy in front of him, one who had suddenly just sat down in front of him during lunch, who chigiri was also too apathetic to learn the name of. the crowded classroom was hot and far too packed for chigiri to go out of the room without bumping into at least ten people, so chigiri decided that he was simply too lazy to leave and just allowed the boy to sit in front of him and yap.

“uh huh.” chigiri mumbled, shoving a mouthful of rice through his lips. he wasn't interested in the least; he already had a girlfriend, and you were the best possible lover he could ever ask for. “i don't really care.”

sure, you were both off to a rough start with your cropped short hair and rather boyish traits as opposed to his long silky hair and more feminine traits, but all that mattered was that you both loved each other right now and will still love each other in the future. the boy laughed. “you got that apathetic rizz, huh? well, girls love it. i should try someday.” the boy hummed as his eyes darted to chigiri. “although i heard you've got a girlfriend.”

chigiri stiffened before his eyebrows knit together. he had a bad feeling about this; any mention of other girls and then suddenly his girl never meant something good. chigiri began cracking his knuckles underneath his desk, ready for a fight. he shoved his box of bento back into his lunchbox before glaring up at the boy who was talking.

“you know, she's alright, i guess, but wouldn't she look way better with longer hair and more makeup? maybe wear some nail polish too. i mean, her hair barely goes below her ear, and she doesn't really wear makeup, and her nails are always dir--”

“i'm going to kill you.” chigiri muttered, before kicking his leg directly into the shin of the boy. chigiri heard a crack before deciding to abandon his laziness and walk out of the room. the boy held his aching shin up to his chest, practcially screaming as tears flew to his eyes. “don't talk about her like that ever again. in fact, don't talk about her ever again.”

everyone surrounded the boy profusely, many hurrying out to call the nurse. meanwhile, chigiri walked down the hallway with long, slow strides. you had been in the teacher's lounge for a while to help the teacher with something, but you had ran down the hallway to see chigiri the moment you heard someone whispering about it when they entered the teacher's lounge. “hyoma? what happened? why-”

chigiri just shrugged, taking your hand to walk back to the classroom. “it's nothing. just gave him what he deserved.” your head cocked to the side, but chigiri remained silent. you could make your appearance anything, and as long as you were happy, chigiri wouldn't mind.

a/n: this is my first time ever officially writing for chigiri, so i hope this is accurate!

#blue lock #blue lock x reader #bllk #bllk x reader #blue lock x female reader #chigiri #chigiri hyoma #Chigiri x reader

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bumbled-bees · 2 days ago

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Remember: Lily constantly denies the existence of the cycle of abuse, even though she embodies it perfectly. Frankly, she kinda has to deny its existence, otherwise she’d have to acknowledge that she could’ve actually hurt people she cared about, while still being a victim of abuse.

Lily’s denial of the cycle of abuse is one of the most revealing things about her. She outright rejects the concept, insisting that victims can’t become abusers, because to admit otherwise would mean acknowledging a very real possibility—that she has harmed people herself.

Lily frames herself as someone who has been hurt, mistreated, and victimized. And while it’s entirely possible that she has suffered real abuse in her life, she uses that victimhood as both a shield and a weapon. She wants to be seen as incapable of doing harm, because if she admits that she has hurt others—even unintentionally—then she would have to do something she has never done before: take responsibility.

And that is simply not an option for her.

Lily has hurt people. We’ve seen the evidence. She’s verbally abusive toward her audience, quick to lash out at those around her, and openly hostile to anyone who doesn’t comply with her expectations. She’s gaslit her followers into distrusting any outside perspectives, berated people for simple mistakes, and justified her cruelty under the guise of “boundaries.” She constantly makes it clear: “If you upset me, it’s your fault. If I hurt you, you deserved it.” That is textbook abusive behavior.

To acknowledge the cycle of abuse would mean recognizing that being a victim does not inherently make someone a good person. It would mean acknowledging that victims of abuse can, and sometimes do, harm others in turn—often without realizing it. It would mean reckoning with the fact that she might have hurt people she cared about, even if she didn’t intend to. But Lily has spent years constructing a personal narrative where she is always the wronged party, never the wrongdoer. If she admits that being a victim doesn’t exempt someone from causing harm, then she has to admit that she might have caused harm too.

That’s why she has to reject the concept entirely. It’s a self-preservation tactic. It allows her to evade accountability while still maintaining her identity as someone who has suffered. It’s a defense mechanism that shields her from self-reflection and responsibility. If the cycle of abuse doesn’t exist, then there’s no need for her to confront any of her own behavior. There’s no need for her to wonder whether she’s ever lashed out at the wrong person. There’s no need for her to face the possibility that she’s not as morally righteous as she likes to believe. She can simply tell herself, “I was hurt, therefore nothing I do can be abusive.”

But ironically, as you pointed out, Lily embodies the cycle of abuse perfectly. She has a deeply hostile, adversarial view of the world, shaped by her own experiences. She learned that power and control are what matter, so she replicates those behaviors in her own spaces. She expects absolute obedience from her audience. She demands loyalty, punishes perceived disloyalty with humiliation and exile, and actively encourages a culture of fear and submission among those who follow her. That is abuse.

And yet, because she denies the cycle of abuse exists, she cannot recognize herself in it. She tells herself that her actions are different. That she is just "keeping people in line." That she is just "making sure they listen." That she is justified in being cruel because she knows what real abuse looks like, and this isn’t it.

That’s the terrifying part. She genuinely believes she’s in the right.

#lily orchard #cd-call #lily orchard analysis #lily orchard critical #ask #mini writeup

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liz-allyn · 1 day ago

Text

new rules: sugar + vice vol. 2 (ch. 3) [mob!tasm!peter x fem!reader]

summary: how Peter spent his spring break from Honey, and how the summer vacation is going... 😬

words: 10.4 k

tags: fluff and angst (my otp), also: Peter being insatiable, Peter having PTSD, non-graphic smut scenes, voyeurism, Hawaii, TW: flashback to SA in Vol. 1, child abuse, domestic violence, being spied on, being creeped on by a drunk guy, please take care of yourselves if this isn't your cup of tea).

This took me a ridiculously long time to write. Thank you, everybody, for your patience and your support!

back to sugar and vice masterlist.

3 - New Rules

For a crime boss, Peter Parker was surprisingly good at following rules.

Rules were good. Rules were safe. Rules created order out of chaos. Peter always made the rules. For the Spiders, following the rules meant life or death.

1. Don’t use real names. 2. Never walk into a place without an exit strategy. 3. Always bring a weapon. 4. Remember that someone is watching—always. 5. Respect appointments. 6. Respect partners. 7. Respect the Boss.

Respecting the rules meant respecting the Boss. No one would dare question that. Even if his rules didn’t make sense.

8. No killing.

“Say what again?”

“I said ‘no killing,’” Peter repeated, firm. His voice carried more authority than it had in weeks. Not since he’d left the city.

The Penthouse in Queens was in escrow, sold in record time after John Walker’s disappearance. Leaving the city was against Counsil’s advice. (Matt even took the Lord’s name in vain!) But Peter didn’t care how it looked to anyone else.

So, it was an early spring afternoon at the Catskills cabin when he announced the latest rule to his crew. Their reactions varied.

Peter distinctly remembered Miguel’s mouth forming a tight line before an explosive coughing fit. He choked, it seemed, on nothing—nothing other than the utter nonsense he’d just heard.

Johnny leaned back in his chair, literally scratching his head. He let out a long, whistling exhale.

Jess adjusted in her seat with a wince, not-so-subtle in her discomfort.

Peni and Noir stared at Peter with deadpan expressions. In Noir’s case, he was as “deadpan” as capable before he stood up to pour himself five or six fingers of bourbon.

The only one who appeared unfazed was Felicia.

She lounged in the back, a diamond nail file swiping against her manicure, watching Peter beneath the fringe of her false lashes. Her coral lips, painted in Chanel Rouge Matte First Light, remained perfectly still, though the nail file never stopped moving.

Peter could deal with everyone else’s grumbling.

Matter of fact—Fuck ’em, he thought.

Peter was the Boss.

But Felicia Hardy was scary.

It wasn’t the 4-inch stilettos she wore on Casual Fridays, or the sharp, carbon steel hairpin she sometimes used to twist back her frosted-platinum hair. It was all in her eyes: dark blue as the Atlantic, which held secrets just as deep. Her eyes were on him, unreadable as ever.

It drove Peter nuts.

He hated that he could never tell what she was thinking, only that she was thinking. Or maybe her eyes were smiling, a self-satisfied smirk that she could withhold from the rest of her face. She could’ve been thinking about leading the group into a slow clap. Or poisoning his water bottle. She gave up nothing.

Neither did Peter. He announced the Spiders’ new law, uninterested in giving anyone any explanations. Peter reminded them that he didn’t owe them one. If they didn’t like it, they could leave the organization whenever they wanted. No one was his prisoner.

Not anymore.

He knew they wouldn’t quit. They were loyal, but that wasn’t the reason. (Although, lately, he had reason to question everyone’s loyalty.)

The truth was they couldn’t leave. Not until it was over.

‘Over’ was the variable; the finish line was different for everyone. Everyone had a list of wrongs to right, and they were all prisoners to it.

Just like Peter.

Peter was released the same afternoon he was arrested. He learned the cops had no real case. There was nothing Commissioner Alexander Pierce could pin on him. Nothing that District Attorney Frank Castle could charge him with. Not yet.

Peter had won. But the moment he came home, all he felt was loss.

The emptiness was so loud it made his eardrums throb. The quiet of his lavish, twentieth-story penthouse felt like a black hole, tearing him apart the farther he ventured inside. Soon, he was alone in the dark, swallowed by memories.

He saw the image of Eddie Brock rummaging for snacks in his pantry. A day later, Eddie would be dead.

Peter’s eyes drifted to the large terrarium in the great room. From his illuminated basking rock, Rex locked eyes with him. The bearded dragon was motionless under his heat lamp, glowing red with piercing black eyes that suggested pure contempt.

Those judgmental little eyes triggered another memory: this time of Honey referring to the reptile as ‘the angry guy’ from a Pixar film that Peter hadn’t heard of. She’d laugh about it as she fed him blueberries, grinning wide as he’d eagerly snatch it from her fingers and gnash like he was starving. The dragon perched on her shoulder like he belonged there, his spiny tail spread down the length of her arm like armor.

Honey’s scaly guardian glared at Peter now, live crickets bouncing around his terrarium unfettered. He looked angrier than ever. Why wouldn’t he be? Peter sent away his best friend.

Me too, buddy. Me too.

That was nothing compared to Peter’s nausea when he glanced into his office. What used to be his office.

He surveyed the damage from the threshold. The giant floor-to-ceiling window had been boarded up with plywood. The blood that previously coated the hardwood floor and walls had been cleaned up, but its scent lingered in Peter’s nose. All the destroyed furniture had been removed from the room, leaving it empty.

Empty. Empty. Empty.

Within seconds, Peter’s skin felt clammy. His lungs shrank to a walnut’s size. The tightness in his chest nearly brought him to his knees as he was ambushed by the memory of—

Peter was on his knees. He had been fighting to no avail. Unable to intervene, unable to stand, he was bleeding out from a gunshot wound and multiple broken bones. Never mind the guns that his treacherous guards held on him. Peter was watching helplessly. Uselessly. John Walker was assaulting the woman he loved. The woman he’d die for was rigid beneath Walker’s grip, her breath strangled in her throat. Walker was digging his claws into her flesh, bruising her while he salivated and rutted against her like a rabid dog. Honey’s eyes were vacant in a way that scared the shit out of Peter. Her mind was elsewhere—retreating to a state of dissociation—while her ex-husband violated her. She was quiet, but Peter could hear her heart pounding. He was trapped and panicking. He could hear it in his own voice as he screamed profanities at Walker. In his heart, he screamed that he was absolutely gonna kill that motherfucker with his bare hands. His screams were ignored. The whole attack felt... performative. Walker was taking his time, drawing the assault out, all while his guards howled with laughter. He was putting on a show of torturing them. Honey had mentioned before that her abuser used to enjoy subjugating her in front of people. That’s why Honey suggested this—enduring this nightmare from which she had worked so hard to escape. She had apparently hoped to appeal to John’s barbarity and obsession, maybe as a diversion. She was offering herself as a ‘trade,’ buying time for Peter to rescue them. “It’s not a fair trade” is the only thing that comes to his mind. Peter is worthless.

When Peter returned to reality, he clutched the doorframe so tight that the wood cracked. Sweat beaded down his neck. His breaths came short, and he could taste bile in each one.

He shot out of the room like a bullet. He left the penthouse just as quickly. That was it. Peter could never sleep another night there. Not while every thread in his bedsheets and every fiber of his being still smelled like her.

The Cabin was the only place he had left to go. Even if different ghosts haunted him.

Peter’s thoughts shifted to the present meeting with his crew, hearing how the gang was reacting to his new rule:

“—we might as well call ourselves The Sugarhill Gang and organize ourselves a flashmob—” “—seriously, man, what decade are you even from?” “—fucking insanity, ya tryin’ to get us all killed—?” “—whatchu think our allies are gonna say when we can’t back them up?—” “—gonna need a whole lotta well-placed banana peels—”

Well. That went well.

Peter smirked as he mused. Sarcasm was his only friend.

Honey had rules, too.

Never serve espresso in a cold cup.

Don’t trust anyone who won’t sing along to their favorite song. (Run if they tell you they don’t have a favorite song.)

Always look someone in the eye when you clink glasses in a toast, lest you be cursed with seven years of bad sex.

Then there was their most sacred rule, established early in their “situationship”:

“I promise,” he said. “No touching. Until you ask me to.”

It was the night Peter begged her to sleep with him—or next to him. Beside him, in his bed.

It wasn’t that weird, right? Maybe it was a little inappropriate, but it didn’t cross any lines...

Who was he kidding? It was an episode of “Dateline.” Creepy as hell. It’s a wonder Honey trusted him at all.

How was he supposed to explain (to the woman he’d essentially kidnapped) that he needed her nearby to sleep? He couldn’t close his eyes if it meant losing sight of her. He couldn’t rest without feeling her warmth, knowing he wouldn’t be abandoned.

Maybe Peter was just scared to be left by himself.

See? That’s what I’m talkin’ about, man. Creepy. A.F.

Or left with himself.

Peter had spent twenty-seven days alone in a cabin. He had nothing but his own thoughts.

On Day 28, he had a plan. He just needed to break it down into its most simple rules.

TWO WEEKS AFTER THE REUNION

“I think we should establish some ground rules,” Honey whispered to him, seated beside him. Almost.

There was a short distance across the aisle of the twin-engine jet where they sat apart. If it were up to Peter, he’d have her draped across his lap, safety be damned. She declined the seat next to him, where he could easily wrap his arm around her. Or at least lace his fingers through hers.

He couldn’t remember when he wanted to hold someone’s hand so badly.

They were halfway to Honolulu; once again, she was barely outside his reach. Peter worried they were going back to ‘no touching.’ He would respect it if that was the case. Even if every second of not touching her felt like he was on fire.

“Yeah?” Peter croaked, a little too enthusiastic. He was trying to sound supportive yet subdued. Not too excited—but not dismissive. The result was some kind of “delighted grimace” as he nodded along like a bobblehead. “Ya, ah-uh, ye-yeah, that’s great, I love rules.”

If his nervousness was apparent, she didn’t call it out.

“For the trip?” she added, providing some context.

“Oh, right. Right.”

The trip to Hawaii. The one they were just beginning.

Peter began preparing almost immediately after their reunion. He would’ve gone the following day, but Honey argued that she couldn’t bail on her co-workers. So, they waited until she was granted a week off at her request.

He called in a few favors (friends of friends) and secured a private jet. Later, he learned what the owner meant when he said it was “built for a romantic getaway.” He found a cozy, king-sized bed in the back draped in luxurious silk sheets, and he was eager to spend most of the 11-hour flight from JFK making use of it with Honey.

But it was clear to Peter that wasn’t going to happen.

The loud pop of a champagne bottle reinforced this. Felicia’s voice echoed through the Cabin with an enthusiastic “yowww!” He glanced behind his seat toward the sound.

The silver-haired vixen stood in the galley behind the seats with a bend in her slender waist and her lithe arm extended outward. She poured a generous amount of liquid gold into a crystal coupe, gripping a champagne bottle from beneath its base. It was a tantalizing display of isometric strength, poise, and raw muscle, showcasing her experience as a gymnast and ballerina (and occasional alcoholic).

At the receiving end, Rebecca’s sparkling eyes scanned the toned arm of her server as champagne filled her glass. With bright, flushed cheeks, she quickly darted her tongue out to taste the foam overflowing from the rim. Felicia nodded in approval.

Rebecca Jimenez. Honey’s adult sister. Honey invited her on their romantic getaway. Along with her other sisters. And niece. And far too many of Peter’s crew for him to be comfortable with.

It wasn’t so much a request as it was a condition. Honey reasoned with something thoughtful about memories and sharing moments. Peter worried that it was more about avoiding time alone with him.

Becca fluttered her thick lashes and shimmied her shoulders flirtatiously to Chappel Roan’s synth-pop melody. Music blared from the in-cabin speaker system while hidden LED light strips flashed in sync with the music. Cat and Becca were in sync with each other.

Peter couldn’t help but roll his eyes. At this point, Felicia had a better shot at getting laid.

Across the aisle from Rebecca, their mother Ana audibly ‘harumphed’ at the fun being had. The matriarch’s baggy eyes were full of judgment, trying to ignore the middle sister’s scandalous behavior. Anxiously, she glanced out the plane’s windows while unconsciously clenching her fists, a glass of wine in one hand and a rosary in the other.

Further back, Bella and Miles sat side-by-side, battling each other on their handheld Switches. They were wired on the excitement of travel and Sour Gummy Worms.

Gabriella Jimenez occupied the row behind Miles and Bella, buried in a black Billie Eilish hoodie. The youngest of Honey’s sisters kept her head down and her phone within four inches from her face. Peter had never seen her any other way.

By contrast, Selena Jimenez looked elated. She sat across from Rebecca, delighting in the makeshift celebration between the adults. The teen had the giddiness of a child being allowed to stay awake to watch the ball drop. It contrasted with the “cool girl” vibe she tried to feign.

At the airport, Peter saw Honey and Selena off to the side, engaged in a heated whisper. He could hear Honey grilling her to explain her clothing choice. Specifically, why was her little sister wearing a mini dress, heels, and a full face of makeup on such a long flight? Peter didn’t quite understand the problem, but he figured it was a sister thing and said nothing.

As they taxied on the runway, Honey vented about it to Peter, mentioning her regret that she invited Johnny Storm on the trip. Only then could Peter connect that and the cartoon hearts shooting from Selena’s eye sockets.

Johnny was in the galley with Felicia, dancing like a fool while holding a whiskey bottle in the crux of his tattooed bicep. The brash, charismatic show-off was ‘just being himself.’ That included wearing a muscle shirt that was two sizes too small.

To his credit, he wasn’t trying to draw the attention of a 17-year-old. For someone best described as ‘only sorta occasionally vain,’ Johnny talked a lot of shit about himself. He even admitted that he was dyeing his grays, to Peter’s shock. I mean, he knew about the hair dye, but would never have imagined Johnny being honest about it.

Johnny avoided Selena’s longing gazes like the plague. Peter was pretty sure he heard him fart and belch—simultaneously—just to solidify his unattractiveness. He worked diligently to squash any suggestion that he would reciprocate the girl’s affection.

Honey flashed a look at Johnny that suggested murder, which likely encouraged his efforts.

“So, first, I think we should split up the days we’re going to the Polynesian Cultural Center and the Zoo,” Honey explained, with her well-worn planner in her lap. “I hate going to museums and not being able to read all the stuff.”

Peter brought his attention back to Honey, nodding along. “Yeah, me too. But––”

“And I already know Bella’s gonna want to spend half her time in the peacock enclosure—did you know they bite?”

“Oh.” He didn’t. “I, uh…?”

“And I already know Becca’ll blow her entire paycheck at the mall, but if she maxes out her credit card, that’s on her. She’s a big girl. Do not offer to buy anything, please. It’s like bringing an alcoholic to a bar.”

“Okay, well, maybe—”

“While Bella, Miles, and Selena are staying the extra day at Aulani,” Honey rattled on, “we can hit up Kualoa—Oooh, we need to do the group photo at the log! You know, the—”

“The one from Jurassic Park,” Peter finished, proving that he had been paying attention.

It had been a topic in Honey’s fascinating presentation of facts about Hawaii. Along with the fact that the Hawaiian alphabet only had 16 letters. And that in the 1990s, a Category 5 hurricane blew all the chicken coops away, so now, chickens roam free on some islands like pigeons in New York.

“We gotta force Gabby to get up for Diamond Head, but I think she’ll really enjoy it.”

“Yeah, about that,” he jumped in, attempting to shift the conversation. “I was thinkin’ we might get some time, y’know?” She blinked at him. Peter’s gaze darkened, voice low and dripping with seduction. “Just you and me? Have a little fun? Y’know... alo—”

“Chaperones!” Honey yelped as if just remembering forgotten keys. Her train of thought jumped the tracks. “We should split up to chaperone the kids! We’re gonna be spread out across the island, sometimes across multiple islands. I want to make sure that no one gets lost, everyone has fun, and no one gets bitten by a shark... or a peacock—should we start making lists? I’ll make a list!”

Without waiting for a response, she pulled out a pen attached to the cover of her notebook and dutifully started jotting down names. Peter let out a soundless huff. She was definitely avoiding him.

He calmly stewed in frustration but simultaneously reminded himself that the trip was about her. Only two weeks had passed since their reunion, and emotions were still inflamed.

9. Stay the hell away from her.

That was Peter’s rule throughout their separation. Ending his relationship with Honey wasn’t an easy decision to make. He struggled with it, especially in the weeks after he returned to New York City.

One morning, he resolved to let her go; by that afternoon, his longing for love chipped away at his stubborn instinct to stay alone. The cycle repeated endlessly.

Gwen used to hate that, too.

Stay away from her.

Peter had spent more time than he’d like to admit watching Honey from afar. Not stalking her or anything, just... watching.

Out of sight, usually concealed on the rooftops, he’d watch her leave her apartment building in the early morning and follow her until she reached the greasy spoon diner where she worked as a waitress.

She was safe there. She was fine. Peter just needed to know she was okay, and then he could simply—

Stay away from her.

Except for when he thought he had her schedule figured out, she would then stray from the routine. She would visit a coffee shop, linger for a bit, and then go to another coffee shop. Like she was ranking every latte in Manhattan.

Who drinks that much coffee? (Besides him.)

Then, she would switch to a string of night shifts, which were the worst. Once, she got home after midnight and was headed back to work less than 4 hours later.

That can’t be legal, right?

Sometimes, it seemed like she was covering every available shift. It was exhausting to keep up with, and he knew she had to be even more worn out. He couldn’t understand it.

It wasn’t a financial issue; Peter had loaded her bank account with enough to cover her expenses for at least two years (in the event he needed to disappear for any reason). There was no way she needed the money. So why on Earth was she taking on so many extra shifts? At this rate, the coffee or the excessive overtime would drive them to an early grave.

Stay away from her.

He nearly broke his own rule one night when she took another detour after work. Instead of going home, she hurried down the stairs of a southbound subway station. It was after 11 pm, and the image of her alone on the train made his stomach twist.

He didn’t think. He just ran.

When he found her again, she was just stepping off the platform onto the train, with the doors closing behind her.

Again, he just ran. Like an idiot.

At least I’m staying away! He argued while clinging precariously to the top side of a subway car.

Miraculously, he made it to her stop without being noticed. He trailed behind her until she reached this mysterious, new destination. He was relieved. Then, he was incredibly irritated to see she had traveled to... yet another coffee shop.

Fortunately, his phone buzzed. When he answered, Felicia was already in the middle of a straightforward greeting:

“Where the FUCK ARE YOU right now, Spidey? We said MIDNIGHT! Whadda I look like, a stilted prom date?”

It was enough to pull his focus.

The ridiculousness of the situation wasn’t lost on him. He reflected on the absurdity of his frustration—hypocrisy. Honey had spent nearly her whole life in New York; it’s not like she’d never taken the subway before.

She wasn’t with ME before.

Honey never had to worry about a target on her back. Or Fisk’s goons going after her. But Peter did worry. All the time. He was caught between two fears: one, that his enemies would follow him to her, or the other, that she might never make it home.

It wasn’t her home, he’d reason. That shitty, rundown apartment with the lazy Super who couldn’t just fixthefuckin’ A/C wasn’t her home. He couldn’t fathom why Honey decided to stay. It wasn’t where she belonged.

But it’s where I left her.

Peter was very familiar with her ‘living situation.’ Her apartment had become a part of his regular commute, no matter where he was headed. He hung out on the building across the street, where he would monitor the windows from the roof. Hiding—Staking out (like a coward) waiting in anticipation for her to close the curtains.

Stay far, far away from her.

Honey was as skilled a marksman as anyone he’d ever met. Even from across the street, seeing her made Peter feel like a bullet had pierced his lung. It took his breath away and stung like hell.

Across the street felt more forgivable than watching her like a pervert from the fire escape outside her window. The idea of being caught like that was mortifying.

If he needed to be closer, he would stick to the walls. Literally. It was risky—crawling up the buildings near Times Square and its thousands of tourists. He hoped they were too distracted by lights, selfies, and Sesame Street characters to notice him in the shadows.

Peter clung to the stonework by his fingertips, stopping inches from her windowsill. Not close enough to see inside. He didn’t intend to spy on her. Not a lot.

All he needed was to hear her. He would close his eyes and just... listen.

Despite the chaotic symphony of the streets, he learned to distinguish the beeping of her microwave. He also knew her favorite radio station and which local news channel she preferred. He learned the sounds that marked her good days and her bad days.

The bad ones are on me.

There were days when she couldn’t hold it in. Her muffled sobs and shuddering breaths devolved into heartbroken wails, and Peter forced himself to listen.

I did that.

Maybe the best thing he could do was leave her in peace and hope that one day... maybe... she’d—

She’s not alone.

The realization turned his blood cold. Peter climbed the wall on this particular night and stopped just beneath her open bedroom window. He heard sounds coming from inside, but not the ones he had been expecting.

These were intimate noises that he’d recognized almost immediately. He had caused those sounds before.

They were branded into his brain, echoing in the empty cavern of his dreams at night until he would awaken and realize he was still alone. He lay in bed with tears burning in his eyes while the rest of him felt harder than petrified wood.

It was almost embarrassing how quickly her breathless sighs, needy groans, and moans of pleasure brought his obnoxiously painful erection back to life. Hearing them now, with one palm flat against the exterior wall, he knew he couldn’t be the cause... So, the logical conclusion was one that he did not like.

There’s someone else. Fuck, fuck, fahhhck she’s found someone else!

Of course, she’s found someone else! Because she’s fucking gorgeous, you idiot! What did you think was gonna happen?

One-half of Peter wanted to punch his fist through the wall and rip whoever was touching his girl right out of the room.

The other half wanted to throw up.

Beneath those emotions, his brain was scrambled by heartbreak, grief, and a ridiculous sense of betrayal. Rage drove his pulse, but shock kept his thoughts empty.

“Ohh, Pee-ter...”

He froze. Wait, did she just—his name is... also Peter?

That was definitely Honey’s voice. She sounded almost... pained? Her voice was strained tighter than a wire about to snap.

Nooo. The odds of—

“Pleeease, Peter, please, just like that...”

Peter’s breath caught in his throat as his jaw hung open. He could have been dreaming again, but the whine that came out of her mouth was unmistakably erotic. Outside of the unlikely event that she’d taken some other guy named Peter into her bed, she was moaning his name.

Why did that make him so proud? Why did her inability to move on make him happy? What kind of monster wants that? How fucked up was he?

He was fucked up enough to not move.

Peter stayed still, regardless of how his conscience criticized him. The shame wasn’t enough to overcome his greed. Not this time. And what he did next—savoring her lewd sounds, hanging off her wall with one hand while the other deftly unbuckled his belt—was monstrous enough to prove his point.

10. Never break a secret you can’t control.

Peter didn’t tell her about that night. He avoided discussing his stalking dutiful watching altogether. The times she avoided his eyes had him convinced she already knew.

No touching.

Respect the Boss.

Now, Honey was the Boss. And if Peter wanted to win back her trust, that’s how it had to be. That’s what Gwen would say. He needed to be brave. He needed to trust her.

And that’s how Peter Parker ended up at a karaoke bar: Scared shitless.

It was Honey’s idea (of course, it was). It came off more like a challenge. They were at the end of their trip, and Peter had all but totally failed to woo her. Honey dodged every romantic display of devotion, every attempt to charm her, and his every effort to make her happy.

No romantic private dinner cruise on a yacht. No couples-only spa day being lavishly pampered in a secluded lanai. No honeymoon villa, either—not for anyone but Peter, who spent the last six nights sleeping alone.

Honey’s excuse was that she had to keep watch over her sisters. “Can’t have Gabby up all night on TikTok and Selena sneaking out to creep on Johnny...”

Honey made the rules.

How Peter ended up at the hole-in-the-wall bar with Honey’s family and his crew—the baddest, most feared mob in the Tri-State Area—was a blur.

He watched Felicia climb onto a dinky stage covered with a musty, stained carpet. She approached a mic stand in front of a cheap backdrop lit by old Christmas lights, topped by a tiny disco ball swaying overhead.

She was fueled by a bottle of champagne and three healthy pours of Clase Azul.

“It’s not for shots! You don’t shoot it, you South Shore meathead; ya savor it! Didn’they teach ya anything about culture at the country club back in Long Island?”

Concealing herself behind a shield of boldness that had always served her well, Felicia belted out “Diamonds Are a Girl’s Best Friend.” She practically writhed with the mic stand. The song's lyrics scrolled down a small LCD screen next to the stage, but she didn’t spare it a glance.

The Black Cat was as theatrical as a diva, fearless in her delivery. She milked whistles from the crowd while she passed suggestive glances at Rebecca.

Honey ate it up, relishing how Becca’s face flushed at the attention. It triggered a cackle that Peter had never heard from her before. She teased her younger sibling gleefully as she danced around the dive bar with Miles and her other sisters.

Not being of legal drinking age, the teens were sober, but nobody else could tell. They all let loose, chasing a different kind of high.

Honey’s aura was as intoxicating as it was contagious. The woman radiated childlike energy, bright rays of sunlight burning through clouds. She was effervescent and enchanting, even as she fist-pumped through an improvised 80s training montage. She really was a maniac. And a sorceress.

When the DJ called Johnny’s name, she wildly applauded, hooting and hollering like they were in a saloon.

Johnny wasn’t even at “their table” anymore. He’d abandoned his party a half hour ago, instead preoccupied with charming the pressed linen pants off a group of elderly Japanese women. Each of them was adorned with pearl earrings, flowy pastel blouses, and a variety of sun hats perched atop carefully styled hair.

That whole exchange began when Johnny Storm swaggered up to their table, his shirt unbuttoned just enough to be suggestive, flashing them a grin that had probably left a trail of broken hearts across multiple continents.

The tallest of the four women, the one with the silk scarf tied under her chin, exchanged a glance with her friends before giving Johnny a slow, assessing look. The one in the strawberry-patterned cardigan hid a giggle behind her hand, while the others sat up a little straighter, eyes twinkling with mischief.

Johnny, undeterred by their age or their unimpressed expressions, leaned in slightly. “Ladies,” he said in a velvet voice, “I have a feeling you’re the real stars of this place. Tell me—do any of you sing?”

The one with the visor, who had been stirring her drink with a tiny umbrella, let out a dramatic sigh. Like she had been waiting all night for this question.

“Young man,” she said, adjusting her pearls, “do you think we came here not to sing?”

Now, he was squeezed between his adoring fans. He’d bought the round of neon-colored cocktails they were sipping on through dainty straws. The women cheered for him with their perfectly manicured hands.

He tipped back his head and put a shot glass to his lips. In a second, the spicy cinnamon amber liquid was gone. He extinguished the fire in his throat with a growl, clanked the empty glass down on the tabletop, then pressed a quick kiss with an exaggerated ‘mwah’ to Strawberry-Patterned Cartigan’s cheek before pulling away.

The woman instantly flushed with shock, almond-shaped eyes going wide. Her friends burst into laughter, which had them shaking their delicate, birdlike shoulders. She brought a hand to her cheek as if to verify the audacious gesture was real.

Then, with the grace of a woman who had raised children and scolded many men in her time, she delivered a light but decisive smack to Johnny’s bicep—not in true anger, but in a way that sent the entire room into a fit of delighted laughter.

“You little scoundrel,” she huffed, though her lips twitched upward despite herself.

“I regret nothing!” he shrugged, taking the stage.

Speaking of “no regrets,” Johnny Storm nailed Shania Twain’s “That Don’t Impress Me Much.” And Peter was very much impressed.

The room transported to another dimension of reality, one where troubles were far away, and the only thing left behind was good cheer. Honey was the star at its center, Peter observed, an absolutely mesmerizing sight to behold. Her delight burned through everyone’s inhibitions and fear. Peter felt lightheaded and giddy witnessing her joy.

It was almost enough to distract him from the fact that Honey mandated everyone, including Peter, sing a song by themselves.

Peter wasn’t scared. He wasn’t.

He just wanted to die. His complexion turned a pale green. He gripped his bourbon so tightly it was a surprise the glass didn’t shatter.

It was like flipping a switch on a time machine. Honey’s request—no, Honey’s sadistic act of torture—reverted the most ruthless Mob Boss in New York back into an awkward, insecure teenager.

Singing in front of Honey that night at his old Baby Grand piano (the one he eventually, to his great embarrassment, tossed into a wall) was a rare display of vulnerability.

Peter remembered that night vividly. It was back in a time when Peter had wanted her so badly that he was willing to do anything. He would have sung her the entirety of Dear Evan Hansen if it brought them closer. If he could just touch—

Goddamnit, we’re really doing this all over again?

Honey’s given name was announced over the loudspeakers. Peter blinked in her direction, watching as she took another sip of her mojito, set down the glass, then bounced up to the microphone.

“This one goes out to someone special,” she purred. The slight slur in her voice from her buzz was almost undetectable.

She placed both hands on the microphone as a few bright, metallic guitar strums rang out through the giant speakers. Peter gulped, staring like a spaceship had landed in the middle of Central Park.

Honey’s eyes didn’t meet his directly. Instead, they scanned the room, seeing only her friends and several unimpressed (and frankly annoyed) patrons. “You know who you are.”

The lead electric guitar strummed the Major chords in an unhurried, lazy rhythm—

D-major, A-major, E-major, F-sharp minor...

Honey closed her eyes and crooned, “You make me come...”

Peter choked on his drink. Full-body short-circuited.

“Owww!” someone catcalled from the audience.

Peter had actually died, he was pretty sure.

But the melody repeated—

D, A, E, F-sharp major...

Now her eyes were fixed on Peter, the kind of mischief in her gaze that only meant trouble. “You make me com-ple-eete...”

The melody repeated. Honey failed to match the higher D-major note on the last syllable, falling a little flat. It wasn’t totally tone-deaf, but it was the kind of sound that triggered an eye twitch in those who were sensitive to off-key singing. Honey didn’t notice or didn’t care.

Peter didn’t criticize. He was still dead. Or speechless, his brain stalling during its system reboot.

At the next chord of F-sharp major, she found the right key again, heartachingly passionate as she laid out the next grenade of a lyric:

“You make me com-plete-ly miserable...”

The music died down momentarily, a dramatic pause in the song. A second later, the whole band—bass, drums, and guitar—roared back to life. The A-major chord thrashed in staccato jabs beneath Honey’s voice as she began the next part of the song.

Peter was still jarred from the force of the blast. The whole thing was a stunt, capped off with a not-so-subtle jab at his persistent demand for her attention. Or at least that’s how she saw it.

It was a stunt, right? That means I don’t have to actually sing now—?

A vibration in his pocket jolted him out of his daze.

Quickly, he grabbed his iPhone clad in a spider-adorned case. Miguel’s name lit up on the screen. Saved by the buzz. He hopped up from the table, phone to his ear, and shuffled out the front door.

A few minutes later, he was wrapping up the call. It was a straightforward status report. Enough to distract Peter from the karaoke bar but caused its own kind of stress.

Honey had invited Miguel and the others to Hawaii, but they all were suddenly busy—or so they said.

Peter knew Miguel wouldn’t be caught dead in a karaoke bar.

When the call was over, Peter tipped his head back and exhaled slowly. Fatigue weighed on his shoulders. He needed a vacation from the vacation. He pocketed his phone into his khaki trousers, brought his free fingers to his forehead, and rubbed at the worry lines there.

When he reopened his eyes, he stood beneath a canopy of stars. The moon hung low over the black ocean horizon, and the tide glistened in its light. Staring at the stars above felt like a mirror image of his experience staring at the streets beneath the Empire State Building. Peter stood on the edge of both worlds, belonging to neither.

No touching.

The thought was accompanied by the sensation of his body hairs standing on end. Lightning erupted beneath his skin, setting his nerves on fire. His hickory eyes blackened, pulling focus like an owl in the night until they found their target.

Honey stood alone outside the bar’s entrance, shifting her weight between her wedge sandals. Peter observed her, raising an eyebrow at how she wrapped her arms firmly around her middle. The curve of her spine and shoulders made her appear to be cocooning herself. Peter could feel waves of anxiety radiating from her.

That’s when he noticed the strange man lurking closer to her. He stood just over six feet, and with his silver hair and fake teeth, he looked old enough to be her father.

The tourist sported a crooked grin as if he had shared a joke, but Honey didn’t find it funny. Instead, she stepped back while he swaggered closer. Clearly drunk, his gait resembled a stumble. He wobbled just a foot away from her, which was eleven feet too close for Peter’s comfort.

“I’m jusss’ sayin’—” the creep slurred with a deep, gravelly voice. “I can getcha a drink.”

To anyone else, Honey remained calm and composed. No surprise there. For years, she fought for her life while hiding in plain sight.

But Peter knew her signs. Each time her eyes darted to the side, her alarm was as noticeable as sirens and flashing red lights. Her whole body signaled a fight-or-flight-or-fawn response. He didn’t rule out the possibility that feral was just as likely an outcome.

Stay away.

Peter waited, feet glued to the Earth. Not hesitating, but not moving. Not intervening. Not breaking the rules. Not crossing any lines. Not touching.

The glassy-eyed man reached for her. “You ain’t gotta be alone—”

“She’s not.”

They heard Peter’s voice before they noticed his presence. It was calm, but foreboding—like the stillness of a cemetery. The Earth seemed to quake from the quiet intensity radiating off of him.

Conversation stopped cold. He had their attention.

There was no urgency in Peter’s tone or movements. Just the slow, deliberate precision of someone who had already decided how this would end. He stood as a monolith, radiating darkness and authority. Like Anubis, ready to guide the dead to the underworld.

Honey blinked at him… several times. Peter loomed large over the drunk man with a sovereign sparkle in his eye. It was a serenely vicious display of what could only be described as reverent malice. The proud way the Devil gazes upon his own Kingdom in Hell.

No killing.

No blinking.

No touching.

Peter’s mouth made no sound, but his eyes spoke volumes.

11 - Don’t pick a fight you can’t win.

Her drunken predator scoffed dismissively as if he could read Peter’s mind. Simultaneously, he took a big step back and abruptly stumbled off. A heavy odor of sweat, sunscreen, alcohol, and piss-your-pants terror trailed behind him, while he muttered something that sounded like “whore” beneath his breath.

Peter didn’t bother watching the man leave. But when the threat was clear, he finally met her eyes.

Honey’s shoulders slowly relaxed, releasing the tension in her body. Despite her apparent calm, she seemed frustrated with herself for becoming flustered at all.

Peter’s gaze held no victory or smugness. Instead, he looked endearingly patient, like waiting for a signal of some kind.

11.5 - Never lose a fight that picks you.

Honey crossed her arms over her chest, feigning disinterest. “I had it handled,” she declared.

Amusement sparkled in his brown eyes. “Yeah?” he murmured with a slight head tilt.

Now, she was the one to huff. Honey sighed with irritation, shaking her head as she briskly walked back inside. “Go fuck yourself,” she grumbled, but without any actual malice to it.

By that time, the party was over.

Honey gave hasty goodbyes, explaining her drop in enthusiasm as exhaustion from an eventful week of travel. Her only desire was to go back to the hotel and crash. She didn’t object when Peter insisted on walking her. He was unsure if she was finally accepting his help or if she was too tired to argue.

They walked side-by-side down a main road in unhurried silence.

Peter stole a few anxious glances at her, observing with concern the way her brows drew together pensively. Unexpressed feelings tugged at the edges of Honey’s smile like an argument was on the tip of her tongue. She didn’t seem like she had enough energy to fight.

Peter didn’t know which scenario was worse.

The uncomfortable silence ended with a whack.

Both of them froze mid-step, halted by the familiar sound. Like a baseball hitting a leather mitt. It was the unmistakable sound of a fist to flesh. The next noise was all wrong. It was a strangled, breathless shriek. It was like shattering glass, a foreign wail that was too high-pitched for any man or woman.

The cry of a terrified child in pain.

Wide-eyed, Peter and Honey snapped their gazes over to the source. Shadows played beneath the fronds of a palm tree on the street corner, the canopy illuminated by a golden streetlamp. They concealed the figures of a man, a woman, and a smaller person between them.

A boy, they noted—a baby. No older than three. The family likeness was unmistakable. The boy’s father had his tiny forearm twisted up behind his back. The child was screaming like his arm was broken, his face soaked with hot tears that glistened in the streetlights. He shrieked and wailed—like a toddler should.

Standing a few feet away from the boy and his father, the woman watched the scene in silence. She hugged herself while swaying slightly, her eyes drifting in and out of focus.

That look, both Peter and Honey knew very well. Judging by the scene, it wasn’t the first time this had happened.

Peter jumped to action, rushing from Honey’s side. He caught the grown man’s arm just as he was about to strike his son a second time. By the time the father looked back to see who interrupted him, Peter had already crushed the bones in his wrist.

The boy tumbled to the ground, still sobbing with an added level of panic. But his cries were overshadowed by the howl that tore from his father’s throat.

Honey watched in horror as the man’s entire arm seized in Peter’s grip, his useless fingers twitching helplessly. The father was on his knees, staring up at Peter with sudden desperation. His breath came in ragged gasps, the pain suffocating him.

Peter appeared to wait a few moments, not for the screaming to stop, but for his victim to come to terms with what just happened.

The crime boss had no remorse in his eyes. No shame to be found, not even for the pleasure he took in splintering the man’s bones. He exacted justice. He righted a wrong. It was as simple as that.

Panicked screams persisted, with the boy’s mother now shrieking. Terrified, she clung her sobbing child tightly to her chest and fled the scene.

Peter appeared unaffected, leaning down close to the whimpering man’s ear. He placed a calming hand on the shuddering man’s back.

“Next time,” he whispered, sharing a secret that was cast down like a curse, “I take the whole thing.”

Once Peter let go, the father flattened on the ground, crumbling faster than his carpal bones. The situation ended as Peter stepped backward, leaving the man to writhe on the pavement alone.

An eerie calm fell over them, contrasting the pounding of their hearts.

Then, Peter directed his attention on Honey, studying her with worry. She blinked at him, wide-eyed and shaken, as he closed the gap between them. His hands surrounded her shoulders, his fingers gripping her tight. The action seemed as if he was reassuring himself.

An unspoken exchange between them set them off towards the hotel.

They walked briskly, his hand on her lower back to guide her and keep her moving. His pulse wasn’t racing—he wasn’t panicked. But he remained on high alert, scanning their surroundings even though the immediate threat seemed to be over.

His main concern was Honey. Her heavy silence left him wondering how she processed everything. The pressure didn’t let up until they stood in front of the gated entryway to Peter’s villa. It wasn’t located near the luxury suites where Honey stayed with her sisters, but she didn’t question it.

The entrance to the private villa was secluded, with lush greenery forming an arbor that nearly enclosed them completely. The shroud of nightfall was almost like a protective bubble around them. It was the closest thing to a haven that Peter had within 5,000 miles.

He was still holding her close, though they didn’t move to go inside. The distant rolling surf and heavy evening air helped to calm them down.

At some point, they both looked down. Peter’s eyes widened in horror to see a bloody handprint on the dress’ waist. It was from where Peter’s hand had been. The blood belonged to the father, obviously, but he snatched his hand away like he’d been burned.

It was Peter who appeared to be struggling now. A storm of emotions raged behind his eyes, an amalgamation of relief, revenge, and regret. Honey kept peering at him, at his hands, and at his face. He could almost see the moment replaying in her mind endlessly. She was either at a loss for words or silenced by her fear of him.

“Honey...” Peter stuttered, trying to find his voice.

He jabbed his fingers into his hair, running them across his scalp. His voice was thick in his throat, making it harder to breathe, and every sound died before it left his mouth.

“I... You... I-I-I—”

“I’m sorry,” she replied abruptly. Melancholy filled her eyes.

He raised an eyebrow at that. “Wh... what?”

“About tonight,” she explained, but her explanation only confused him further. “About the karaoke bar. And about my song.”

It took several moments for Peter’s baffled mind to catch up, during which he’d side-eyed her like she’d grown another head. She was apologizing...? For karaoke? For that 90s song?

He didn’t know the song well or remember the band’s name, but he had a vague recollection of a 50-foot-tall Pamela Anderson-giant in a sporty bikini. He did, however, remember the song’s takeaway: “You make me miserable.”

“It was—it was very rude of me,” Honey admitted remorsefully, a small line forming between her brows.

Peter blinked, still unsure how to respond. “I’m... sorry...? I’m sorry,” he mumbled despite his confusion. She continued to study the flagstone beneath her toes. He tucked his chapped lip between his teeth, pondering quietly as the tension between them faded.

A sheepish half-smile warmed his face. “I’m, uh... sorry I didn’t get to hear the rest of it,” Peter said. He slipped both hands into his pockets, rocking back on his heels.

Honey released her lip and sucked in a courageous breath. “I shouldn’t have made you feel like you were forced to sing,” she confessed. “That was... not cool.”

“Nah,” he chuckled lightly. “You were great. Everybody had fun.”

“Not you,” she frowned, still hardly able to meet his eyes. “You weren’t having fun.”

“That’s just ‘cos I’m a pussy and I had no clue what to sing,” Peter revealed to her conspiratorially, scrunching his nose and bobbing his head from side to side. “It’s- it’s like my mind went blank. Just... ‘Happy Birthday’ and ‘The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air,’ and no way was that gonna happen.”

The conversation fell silent again, but the mood had shifted. The waves seemed calmer in the distance.

“I would’ve liked to hear it,” Honey added as an afterthought. She met his eyes with a genuine spark. “Whatever you would’ve chosen.”

They were quiet again, suspended in time and space, with Peter caught in her endearing gaze. It made him want to melt. It was like staring into the sun, where he could only observe her light in fleeting glances. Meanwhile, his hands in his pockets ached for her warmth.

It felt like they were on the precipice of their journey.

“Are you, um—” she cleared her throat while her fingers twisted the edge of her sleeve. “Are you going to invite me in?”

Peter froze at her modest question as his thoughts came to a standstill. Too many seconds went by with Peter staring at her like a flustered fool, his lashes fluttering.

“Y-you mean... to-to stay?”

He framed it like a question, but he simultaneously nodded his head in unspoken agreement as if there were no doubt. At this point, he was afraid to make any assumptions. Worried that he possibly misunderstood, Peter added, “Or did you want— I-I-I can... get a different room—?”

“Stay,” she whispered, feather-soft.

The simple reply left her lips while her eyes contained volumes of words—entire essays on longing and fear of intimacy that she had memorized and was prepared to defend. Sonnets penned with heartfelt sincerity.

“Stay with me.”

Peter didn’t look away. He stared back, questioning if his eyes and ears were lying to him. Wordlessly, he watched as she reached over, freed his hand from his pocket, and pressed her palm to his.

He studied the action intently, trying to document every moment. Only letting his eyes shut when their fingers wove together. Peter was enraptured, awestruck at the way her touch soothed him, as chaste as it was. He was suddenly lightheaded, heart thrumming in his ears, and he craned his neck forward. With tenderness, he pressed a soft kiss to her hairline, taking a moment to rest his chin against her hair.

Their last night in Hawaii was spent in each other’s arms, adorning one another with tender kisses and comforting caresses. They melted into each other. Every blissful moment Peter spent inside of her felt like a wildfire, setting his soul on fire. The lines between their bodies blurred like smoke billowing and twisting in the wind.

Admittedly, Peter had forgotten what this was like. The signs were familiar; their hair was damp from perspiration. Their sweaty chests heaved as they panted from the exertion. The rhythmic pounding of skin connecting with skin overlaid with the melody of their moans. The pitch ranged from soul-shattering groans to helpless whimpers while they poured filthy words and devoted praise into each other’s ears.

It wasn’t fucking. It wasn’t just sex.

It was something Peter had only experienced a few times in his life. Gwen was the first— the first woman he’d ever made love to. Honey was the second. There was nothing Peter wouldn’t sacrifice to have her be the last.

Two hours after they landed in New York, the couple stood outside of a different entrance. In the hallway outside of Honey’s apartment, stray voices from televisions turned too loud, and shrieking young children competed with the echo of distant sirens. Overhead, a flickering yellow bulb buzzed like it resented the effort.

Peter avoided having his gaze linger too long at the stained carpet beneath his Flower Moon lace-up trainers. The floor stains blended well with the frenetic carpet pattern that reminded him of an old movie theater.

Her building was uncomfortably warm—and so humid for a moment he thought he was still in Hawaii—but he avoided criticism about it. He made a mental note to have one of his associates pay a visit to that useless Super, so they could “discuss his timeline” on getting the A/C fixed.

He had the handle of Honey’s suitcase in his palm, having carried it up the stairs for her. A chartered car waited outside her building.

The two of them stood facing each other in front of her door, a pregnant pause between them.

“So,” Honey timidly began, pointing with her eyes. “This is me.”

“Yeah.” He swallowed. “I wish it wasn’t.” A tinge of blue colored the statement as it sat unanswered.

She cast her glance down at her shoes. “Thanks again… for everything.”

“Oh, yeah…it was— um, it was nothin.’” Sheepishly, he looked everywhere but at her, and when he finally did, he found her studying him. Her gaze was soft and curious.

“It’s not nothing,” she said, resolved. “We never went on any family trips. At least not like that.”

He blinked at her several times, not sure what to say.

“I’ve got an early shift,” Honey sighed, glancing at her door handle expectantly.

“Oh? Oh. Yeah, right. You, uh, gotta—”

“Clean up around here. Tackle some of this laundry—“

“I, uh—yeah, I get it, I gotta, um—“

“You don’t have any laundry to do.”

“Well, no—"

"Someone else does it."

"I, um—”

“I don’t think you know how to do laundry.”

Pink traveled up the back of his neck and painted his cheeks a lovely color. “I remember how to do laundry,” he argued coyly. “It’s-it’s easy—”

“Someone folds it for you, too. Turns your briefs into tiny little squares.”

“One mishap. I had one laundry mishap—”

“Aren’t you, like, a scientist or something?” Her lips curved into a cheeky grin.

“I am perfectly capable of laundry,” Peter gently affirmed. A thousand-watt grin adorned his face. “I have a Ph.D. in laundry from the school of… cleaning.”

“Don’t worry. Your laundry handicap is safe with me,” she teased.

Peter turned his head away, unable to shake the smile off his face. “You seem like you’re an expert in this field.”

Honey pursed her lips, with courage balled up in her throat. “Well, maybe I can teach you.” Her eyes caught his. “If you’re not too busy.”

For the second time in 24 hours, Peter questioned his hearing. Confronted with her fluttering lashes and somewhat suggestive tone, his jaw hung open like it had forgotten its purpose.

“Do you want to come inside?” Honey stated clearly, purposefully—recognizing his distress.

Peter gawked at her like a pot of gold, transfixed by the preciousness of the moment. He felt like swallowing a powerline just to get his tongue to move. “I…uh…”

“C’mon, don’t make me use some dumb, teenage boy metaphor," she rolled her eyes playfully. "I'm not gonna ‘help you with your load—’”

"I can’t," he blurted, with the pain and urgency of ripping off a bandaid.

The smile fell from her lips just as abruptly. For a moment, they were both stunned.

“Oh.” She quickly redirected her gaze.

Peter bit his tongue, his brain screaming at him to recover. He tried to think of some kind of explanation, knowing that a simple ‘no’ wasn’t going to be enough.

“I-I-I have—I’m… I’m sorry, I gotta—” He took a breath. “I just—I-I have this—y’know—”

She nodded stiffly. “Yeah, I get it.”

“It’s not that—I would. I want to—”

“You’re busy. I get it.”

“It’s just this—um, this, uh—thing I have. Johnny and me. And Miguel. And Jess. It’s uh-a-a meeting. Hotel business, y’know. Numbers and boring stuff—”

“You don’t have to lie.”

It was a soft declaration that felt like a stab to Peter’s stomach. Her gaze was razor sharp, while her face retained a tight-lipped smile.

Peter shook his head more aggressively. He looked at her the way a captain watches his ship sink. "No, no, I’m not—"

"I had a really good time, Peter," Honey interrupted, with her hand on the doorknob. “Thanks again.”

Before he knew it, he found himself standing alone in front of her closed door. Almost entirely full circle.

Closing his eyes, he let his head fall backward with a heavy sigh. His fingers twitched at his side, debating whether or not he should knock.

Peter’s phone once again came to the rescue, but he yanked the device out of his pocket with a scowl on his face.

An unread message was waiting for him. He already knew who it was from. The phone unlocked with a scan of his face, then the encrypted app unlocked once he entered a six digit code—041894.

A message was waiting for him, sent from a contact only labeled by two emojis.

Don’t use real names.

🇮🇹🏋️ “Where are you? We had a meeting.”

Peter’s immediate reaction was a wince. Out of an abundance of caution, he glanced over his shoulder, despite him being alone in the hallway.

Somebody’s always watching.

Gritting his teeth, he tapped out a reply.

🕷️ “Late. Got held up.”

Respect appointments.

🇮🇹🏋️ “I’m putting my ass on the line for you. The least you could do is be on time.”

Respect partners.

🕷️ “Don’t go gettin’ your panties too wet. I’m not far.”

🇮🇹🏋️ “If you stab me in the back on this, it’s your funeral.”

The Boss pursed his lips at that. Part of him wanted to snark right back. He’d hate to disappoint.

🕷️ “Threatening again? And I was gonna use 👅”

🇮🇹🏋️ “I don’t need to remind you of what’s at stake.”

Peter bit down on his tongue, feeling his stomach suddenly churn. He glanced back at Honey’s door, recalling the trip he’d finished. The memories he’d made.

Honey never went on any family vacations. Neither had Peter. The difference was that Peter had gone so long without a family, he didn’t know what to do once he’d found one. He still didn’t know.

🇮🇹🏋️ “Don’t forget. You came to me. This was your plan.”

Doubt suddenly filled his mind—not just about his plan, but also this “family” thing.

Peter had never considered his associates as family. The most attachment he had was to Miles. Mostly, he’d felt sorry for the kid and maybe a little protective of him. Considering how he met Miles, that was understandable.

Miles was nearly killed because his uncle was a punk. Couldn’t keep his business separate from his family.

Don’t pick a fight you can’t win.

Business and family are a volatile mix. That’s why Peter wouldn’t get mixed up in ‘families.’

Or... he hadn’t. Not yet.

He hadn’t met Honey. During the short time they were together, she wove a tapestry into his heart, pulling together threads that went unseen. He hadn’t noticed them for years. Knowing her forced the tapestry to take form: the picture of Peter’s family was finally clear.

It was almost worth risking everything. But winning? It was worth losing it all.

He chewed on the rough skin of his lower lip, eyes narrowing on the blinking cursor on his screen. Then brought his thumbs to the keyboard.

🕷️ “Slow down, tiger. You keep ridin’ my ass like that, you’re gonna make me cream my pants right here.”

As soon as he hit ‘send,’ Peter heard the familiar ding of a microwave. His eyes flicked toward the source. Like Pavlov’s Bell, he was conditioned to it. And a split second later, he made a choice.

Fuck it. Frank can wait.

🕷️ “Ttyl, babe. gotta take care of a little problem.”

Peter shoved the phone back in his pocket, throwing himself towards Honey’s door. His fist went wild, knocking erratically. Seconds later, he heard her footsteps approach, alarmed. When the door opened up, she gazed up at him with owlish eyes.

“M’m sorry,” Peter leaned inwards on the doorframe. “I seem to have forgotten something.”

Her brows shot to her hairline. “Oh?” She glanced over her shoulder to where her suitcase was parked—that sweetheart—an apology of some kind was already on her tongue. She looked worried, like she was about to ask him if she accidentally switched toothbrushes.

When she faced him again, Peter’s lips were on hers. His hands cupped her cheeks, fingertips crawling across her scalp. Honey’s body was stiff for a moment, but then she melted like butter with a swipe of his tongue. Her body softened until he scooped her up in his arms, his hands kneading the flesh on the back of her thighs.

Peter pushed her over the threshold. With abandon, he let his tongue brush against hers like he wanted to commit it to memory. Both of her arms went from his shoulders to his nape, hooking herself around his neck as she groaned into his mouth.

The vibration from her groan triggered another one from deep in his belly. He let his fingers wander across the silky fiber of her leggings, greedily squeezing the mounds of her ass while grinding her warmth against his waist.

“I forgot...” he muttered in staccato breaths between kisses, “turns out... you’re the only... thing that I give a shit about.”

Honey hissed as his fingertips prodded at her heat through her tights. Her eyes rolled back at the pleasure, and it took her a moment to regain her focus.

She found Peter staring up at her with a dopey half-smile. His eyes were a different story; full, unbridled passion burned inside their amber hue. Pure admiration glowed in his gaze, with tiny laugh lines that shot out like sun rays from the outside corners of his eyes.

One of his hands traveled beneath her shirt, gliding up the skin of her back. She shuddered at the touch, meeting his lips hungrily for another batch of kisses. He let her control the kiss, relishing in the sublime feeling of her nails across his scalp while her tongue played with his.

It was a crime to pull away. But he was a criminal, after all.

“Jus’so you know, you were right,” Peter interrupted, stealing his lips away from her as much as she would allow. “I gotta huge load that I need you to help me with—”

The laugh that burst from her lips was punctuated by a snort. He basked in the light of her grin, idly kicking his foot backward against the door. The door latch clicked as it slammed closed.

@blooming-violets @moonyslove78 @raindropsandteaandtears @withahappyrefrain @sincericida @lanadelreyscokewhor3 @backtothefanfiction @zhanylai @webslingingslasher @moonstruckme

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yokumirumerafan · 2 days ago

Note

Hello are you still taking mha requests…?

If you are could you please do a charismatic and cunning Y/N with the pro heroes?

A Y/N whose number one priority is their S/O’s needs and happiness so they somehow always manage to charm their S/O into taking care of themselves even when their S/O is being as stubborn as hell. Tired? Y/N will manage to get them to snuggle up with her, Hungry? Y/N will suddenly appear with their favorite foods, Depressed? Y/N will comfort them and cheer them up

I want to see the pro heroes get cared for. I know most of the heroes in the mha verse are stubborn so I thought it might be funny if they were paired with a Y/N that makes sure their S/ O gets taken care of no matter what in such a smooth and sly way that much later will they be able to realize that Y/N has tricked them into taking care of themselves again

I just want these guys to have a warm home and a hug my poor traumatized babies 😭 (except Endeavor. I do not feel any sympathy for Endeavor)

Omg get you in every way Endeavor can just die

Here's how the pro heroes would react to Y/N's smooth and caring tactics

Aizawa Shota (Eraser Head)

Y/N's Tactic: Y/N knows Aizawa’s stubbornness, so they subtly coax him into resting by pretending to need his protection or presence.

What Happens: Aizawa will grumble but eventually give in, resting beside Y/N to “keep an eye on them” (even though he’s the one who needs rest).

Aftermath: He realizes later he’s been tricked into relaxing, but he doesn’t mind. He feels more refreshed than expected.

Y/N's Smooth Line: “I can’t rest properly without you by my side... come on, just for a little while.”

Present Mic (Yamada Hizashi)

Y/N's Tactic: Y/N uses their warmth and enthusiasm to match Present Mic’s energy, gently leading him into moments of calm with a snack or a fun distraction.

What Happens: At first, Present Mic resists, but Y/N’s energy pulls him in. He ends up laughing and having fun, but before he knows it, he’s lying down, feeling lighter.

Aftermath: He realizes how much Y/N’s care helped him destress, and he’s grateful, though he’d never admit how much he needed it.

Y/N's Smooth Line: “You’re always taking care of others, it’s my turn to take care of you!”

All Might (Toshinori Yagi)

Y/N's Tactic: Y/N makes sure All Might gets his well-deserved rest by distracting him with a comforting gesture like tea or making him a meal. They play on his gentle nature, making him feel like he’s doing something good by letting them care for him.

What Happens: All Might, despite his pride, gives in to Y/N’s warmth, allowing himself to be pampered. He’s taken aback by how nice it feels to have someone care for him.

Aftermath: He feels recharged but also a little emotional that Y/N would do so much for him.

Y/N's Smooth Line: “You’ve done so much for everyone. It’s time for you to take a break, hero.”

Mirko (Rumi Usagiyama)

Y/N's Tactic: Y/N knows Mirko is fiercely independent but gently urges her to take care of herself by being playful and persistent.

What Happens: Mirko is initially resistant but softens under Y/N’s charm, letting them rub her shoulders or get her something to eat after a tiring mission.

Aftermath: She’s a little embarrassed at first but appreciates the thoughtfulness. She might even want to return the favor.

Y/N's Smooth Line: “You’re strong, but even you need to recharge, Rumi.”

Hawks (Keigo Takami)

Y/N's Tactic: Y/N knows how to play to Hawks’ playful and slightly flirtatious nature. They make sure he gets proper rest by using gentle teasing, getting him into the habit of relaxing while making him feel special.

What Happens: Hawks laughs it off at first but is soon too comfortable in Y/N’s care to resist. They manage to convince him to take a break while they handle everything else.

Aftermath: He might not realize right away, but later, he finds himself wanting to stay with Y/N longer for the comfort and care.

Y/N's Smooth Line: “You’re too busy flying around, Keigo. Take a break, and let me pamper you for once.”

Midnight (Nemuri Kayama)

Y/N's Tactic: Y/N knows how to use Midnight’s soft spot for nurturing to get her to rest. They bring her something soothing like a warm drink or make a comfortable spot for her to relax.

What Happens: Midnight reluctantly allows herself to be taken care of, loving the gentleness and thoughtfulness Y/N provides.

Aftermath: Once she’s rested, Midnight feels incredibly grateful for Y/N’s care, though she may not admit how much she needed it.

Y/N's Smooth Line: “You deserve this just as much as anyone else... rest a little longer for me.”

Sir Nighteye (Mirai Sasaki)

Y/N's Tactic: Y/N knows Sir Nighteye’s tendency to overwork himself, so they use their charm to gently convince him to rest or take care of himself. They may even “insist” on taking over a task he’s avoiding.

What Happens: Nighteye initially tries to resist, but Y/N’s calm and determined presence slowly wears him down.

Aftermath: He’s surprised by how well-rested and clear-headed he feels afterward, and even though he’s stubborn, he’s grateful for the care.

Y/N's Smooth Line: “I know you don’t like to take breaks, but trust me, you’ll be more effective after some rest.”

Mount Lady (Yu Takeyama)

Y/N's Tactic: Y/N knows Mount Lady’s pride, so they’ll carefully encourage her to relax, making it seem like it’s her decision. They’ll bring her a snack or a soothing drink and insist she rests her giant frame.

What Happens: Mount Lady is surprised by how much Y/N’s gentle care helps her unwind. She gives in, taking a break with Y/N, feeling lighter afterward.

Aftermath: She doesn’t want to admit it, but she’s relieved by how well Y/N takes care of her and appreciates them more than she shows.

Y/N's Smooth Line: “You’re strong, but even giants need to take it easy sometimes. Let me take care of you.”

#merafan #mha #mha headcanons #mha x reader #mha boys #mha scenarios #mha girls #aizawa x reader #present mic x reader #all might x reader #mirko x reader #hawks x reader #midnight x reader #sir nighteye x reader #mount lady x reader #pro heroes x reader

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icejello · 2 days ago

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Wrote a little something? I guess? I'll probably write a more proper one if i ever have the time but uh yeah

There was silence, some whispering, and stares. So many eyes looking and staring at him, eyes that he can't ignore even if he closed his eyes. He wanted to glare at them, shoo them away but they were already staring at him as if he was a monster, he didn't need to add more to the whispers going around him.

Yoo Joonghyuk was used to the stares. People have stared at him throughout his whole life for as long as he can remember. Whether it was due to his looks or his reputation, people never failed to stare. He'd like to think that he didn't care, he certainly gave off that impression, an impression of a beautiful cold-hearted monster. He wasn't always seen as a monster but after turning out to be the strongest, people hesitated to get near him.

At first it was alright, people still tried to talk to him but then they found out about his stigma. That damned stigma that he's honestly not sure to consider a blessing or a curse. That same stigma made him one of the strongest people there is but the very same stigma is what makes him unapproachable.

Whatever his body received, will be returned back to the giver. If anyone were to hit him, they would feel the pain back. In fights this was helpful but then they discovered, he can't control it. People can't treat him and his injuries without getting the same pain reflected back to them. He can't even get a shot without hurting the other person too. A light slap from a friend would hit them back harder. Nobody wanted to care for a monster, not if they would get hurt too.

Yoo Joonghyuk has accepted that. It's whatever, he didn't need people getting hurt because of him anyway. It doesn't matter if other people avoided him- it did hurt when his own little sister started avoiding him. She is too young, too soft, too fragile, she is a child and she does not understand. She couldn't understand why when she was trying to play around with her older brother and accidentally kicked him a bit too hard, why she suddenly got hit with a pang of pain so strong she buckled over and started crying. She didn't understand why her brother looked so worried and guilty and saying "sorry" and "it was his fault" over and over again. She could not understand and it was simply not her fault for being a child.

Yoo Joonghyuk blinked that memory away. It has been a few weeks since she last played with him. He's been busy with studies and missions anyways, maybe it was for the better. Yoo Joonghyuk started to head for his class when he heard some noises behind the building he was passing by. Despite telling himself that it was none of his business, he still found himself walking towards the source of the noise. He didn't know what he expected to find but it wasn't the sight of someone being bullied and about to be hit.

He slowly walked over to them, making sure that his footsteps were loud enough to alert them of his presence because he didn't feel like talking. The bullies didn't seem happy with this interruption and they seemed to be getting even more upset as he ignores their questions and stayed silent instead. He stood in front of the person who was on the ground and the leader of the group tried to hit him. Yoo Joonghyuk didn't bother to move away, that kick did hurt but it was enough to see the guy immediately throw up blood from the impact being reflected on him. It didn't take long for the bullies to realize who he is and in a blink of an eye, they were gone. Nobody wanted to deal with a monster after all.

Yoo Joonghyuk was about to walk away before he remembered the guy behind him. He turned to look at him and was surprised to see the guy already looking up at him. The guy immediately looked away and stood up when Yoo Joonghyuk turned to look at him. He didn't look like he was any older than him and judging by his outfit, he must be one of the students too. A student from another class? Yoo Joonghyuk can't recall ever seeing this guy, is it because he's plain? There truly was nothing remarkable about this guy who was dusting himself off in front of him. He reads the name tag, Kim Dokja, but then Dokja looks up and they finally locked eyes and one thought crossed Yoo Joonghyuk's mind at that moment, "his eyes looks like the night sky."

"Hey, let me check the place where he kicked. Considering what effect it took on him, it must've hurt and left a bruise," Yoo Joonghyuk was surprised to hear this guy ask about it. What was he doing? It's not like he can do anything about it, nobody can. Yoo Joonghyuk thought that it would be easier to just walk away and so he turned around to do just that. But then Kim Dokja called out to him again, "hey, you annoying bastard, I get it you're strong but I don't like feeling indebted so come over here." Yoo Joonghyuk stopped in his tracks, who is this guy that he dared to be rude to him? He turned around to glare at Kim Dokja. "What? Just because you're the strongest person ever doesn't mean that you'll get all the respect you want, alright? Besides, you were the one disrespectful first for ignoring me, I'm older than you." Wait, this guy is older than him?

Kim Dokja didn't waste any time to pull Yoo Joonghyuk down to sit and he didn't wait for an okay before pulling up Yoo Joonghyuk's shirt to check where he was kicked. Yoo Joonghyuk felt like he could just slap this person for their audacity alone if he wasn't so surprised. "Oh, I guess the rumors really are true that you're one tough guy. Barely any bruise from that kick, guess I was worried for nothing." Kim Dokja just stood back up and picked up his bag. Yoo Joonghyuk stood up too and watched Kim Dokja about to walk away before he suddenly stopped and turned back around. It caught him off guard when the older student suddenly slapped him at his back and reminded him not to be so rude next time before turning around and walking away again. But perhaps the biggest surprise that he felt at that moment was when he realized something important that didn't immediately hit him, Kim Dokja never received any reflected pain from the slap he gave Yoo Joonghyuk.

Just read a character duo trope which is someone who is sick and dying but a danger to everyone else x the only person who can treat him and somehow immune to him and that is so so delicious i started thinking of joongdok.

Like imagine this, yjh is one of the strongest and most dangerous ppl there is but everyone tends to stay away from him. It's not just bcs of all the scars that makes him look scary but it's the fact that he has a stigma where whatever happens to him will be reflected to the person who causes it. However, the downside is that it's automatic and he can't control it so even ppl trying to treat him by giving him injections or something would get hurt back so ppl try to stay away from him.

Cue kdj who ppl also seem to stay away from most of the time. There doesn't seem to be a specific reason, probably just because he's not someone you pay much attention to. Maybe one day he finds a hurt yjh and for some reason, he was able to treat yjh without anything reflecting back to him. He's somehow immune to it and so comes this co-dependant relationship between them.

#orv #joongdok #honestly? this is kinda shit #idk what the FUCK i did there #it feels ooc tbh but mehhhhh whatever it wasn't a proper fic anyways #just felt like writing something short and chose this one out of all the fic ideas i have #yeah in this one both kdj and yjh are students although I wasn't sure if i wanted them to be highschool students or college students #but yeah this is a world where normal still goes on despite the monsters and shit ig?#i thought of making this like an esper/guide thing but i simply do not have the brain juices to come up with that kind of story #who knows maybe it will be that kind of story if i ever properly write it #so yeah yjh is just a student who also takes on mission to hunt monsters #and ofc i love Yoo Mia i just love the Yoo siblings so ofc i had to slide her in this too

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priceofreedom · 1 year ago

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#Elmyra approving of Zack makes me so happy 😭 FF7 Rebirth 20 / ?

#final fantasy vii #ffgraphics #elmyra gainsborough #zack fair #gamingedit #ff7 remake #ff7 rebirth #ff7 #elmyra #ff7 rebirth spoilers #rebirth spoilers #medeasgifs #i always thought she'd come to love him if only they had the chance to meet #glad to see it's exactly what happened :')#if zerith reunited she'd be so happy for them 🥺#knowing aerith would have the best boyfriend ever by her side #someone who would always take care of her no matter what #someone who would do the impossible just to make her happy #and he's good with kids too. like 🥰#zack already calls aerith's home HIS home i'm gonna go crazy #sorry for the fangirling but akhssjd if part 3 doesn't have them reunite and live together i'm gonna riot #the three of them deserve happiness!!!#and also i want zack to contact his parents so bad :( they deserve to see their son again #i'm making myself sad. i'm gonna stop now lol

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melniibone · 3 days ago

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❝ I've a friend who's convinced my gloomy fate is of my own making. That every choice, however unconscious, whether to aid a stranger or spare a lover is born of some self-indulgent illness inside my own mind that pushes me to ruin, ❞ as the light ascended, there was one potent moment where Elric existed in a fully bifurcated state. It was all too easy to cast someone with his complexion into shadow, but then the moment passed, becoming no more than another one of Zatanna's illusions. He simply said, ❝ You are welcome to think whatever you like on the matter. ❞

Then, when she mentioned ' stage magic, ' his face contorted with evidence of something else entirely. Clearly, the concept of that was somewhat foreign to Elric, who's own sorceries ( to put it mildly ) would be ill suited to the performing arts. More than that though, he found it bizarre that someone of her talents would need to do anything else—but then, he himself was the LAST Emperor of Melniboné, set to wander the Young Kingdoms as a sell sword for board and bread.

He continued to saunter after her, though he did take time to marvel at the rune work & sigils that she had carved. There were some he almost recognized, like a language half-divorced from his own, but the overall design was a complex entity onto itself. As he traced a pale finger over one of them, he wondered if Zatanna knew them all intimately, or if she ( like many practitioners ) merely copied what she could out of legers and hoped it would have the intended effect.

Too much of what they dabbled in was guesswork, but if he had been trying to flatter her, he would have said that her generosity fascinated him more than her magic. Instead, Elric found that the situation had suddenly made him a lion in a cage, or a rabbit in a hat as Zatanna may have preferred. He was not unaccustomed to the curiosity of others, but what fewer got to witness was that it was a mutual affair. He had always been awe-struck at the morality of humans, perhaps even envious as he'd admit to in more tender moments.

So, Elric set to work. He took one more moment to absorb the breath of her own little ' corner of the arcane, ' as she had put it, before splitting open his own skin. His blood hissed as it pooled overtop a small fire, until with a dying scream, and careful manipulation of the temperature, it turned BLACK and tar-like in the glass. He went this way and that, raiding what he needed from well stocked shelves and improvising as best he could while the Ring of Kings glinted on his left hand. All the while, Elric moved with an inhumane grace, because he was not human, and a deliberate, painful slowness, because he had given in to the sudden urge to test her patience.

❝ Might you hand me that? ❞ he asked, indicating to a calcinator behind her. Knowing her, Elric fully expected for it to fly towards him, and had a hand up and ready for when it did.

❝ You know, I have never claimed that any of the tales people spin about me are untrue. You're searching for a mystery in me because you've made one of yourself, but I can assure you, I am every bit the monster you've heard of. It is no façade, and you will find no man standing behind it. ❞

In truth, if he did not hurry up and figure out how to fabricate some drug to help, he would not be standing at all.

A slow, knowing smile curved her lips as Elric finally placed Stormbringer aside, a gesture that felt as much a concession as it was an act of trust. When Elric finally moved, setting Stormbringer aside, she exhaled slowly, tension she hadn’t fully acknowledged easing just enough for her lips to curve into something wry.

“Would I have you do otherwise?”she repeated softly, as if testing the weight of the question herself. Then, with an easy flick of her wrist, she conjured a flickering orb of light between them, letting it dance along her fingertips before sending it lazily drifting toward the ceiling. “That depends, Elric. On whether you see that separation as a cage… or a choice.”

There was no judgment in her voice, just quiet curiosity, laced with something thoughtful. But she didn’t push. Not yet. Instead, she turned, leading him deeper into the heart of her laboratory, letting the glow of arcane symbols and alchemical wonders speak for themselves.

She let her focus shift as he moved through her space. She took in the way he carried himself—how effortlessly he navigated the organized chaos of her laboratory, recognizing some tools, pausing at others. It was always fascinating to watch another practitioner at work, even if their methods were different. And Elric, for all his burdened grace, was fascinating.

“Queen? Goddess? Now you’re just flattering me,” she teased, stepping past him to trace a fingertip along the edge of her worktable. With a flick of her wrist, a floating sigil sparked to life in the air, humming softly between them.

“I’m neither, but I do have a reputation to uphold. Stage magic, real magic, what’s the difference, really? It’s all about the spectacle.” She smiled “You got me with ‘showing off,’ though. Guilty as charged. I do have a reputation to uphold. People believe what they see, and I make sure they see exactly what I want them to.”

She gestured toward a corner of the lab, where an elaborate alchemical array shimmered faintly with arcane energy.

“Now, come on. If we’re going to talk legacies and secrets, we might as well do it over something interesting. Let’s see if your world’s alchemy holds up against mine.”

#zatannazee #i feel like every brooding man in zatanna's life #has gaslit her into thinking this is just normal stuff men say

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quietwingsinthesky · 1 year ago

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the amount of time i spend thinking about Even carrying the metacrisis doctor’s fob watch is really quite disproportionate to how much ive fleshed out that part of the story in my head

#i still find myself not caring if the metacrisis doctor couldnt use one. he can because i said so and because donna shouldn’t get amnesiaed #alone.#but anyway. even. its just something about like.#here is your best friend. the man who showed you how big the universe could be. its still him human or not. its still the doctor.#can’t call him that. have to watch your tongue always because no matter how familiar their faces are. these two people do not remember #everything you did together and never can. at least they still love each other. nothing could change that. that’s what matters. you steer #them into each other’s lives so carefully and watch to see if they’re going to get hurt. but they don’t. it’s okay.#and still. and still. you carry your best friend’s life. everything that he is. you can hold it in the palm of your hand. he gave it to you.#he entrusted it to you. well. that’s not entirely true. technically you volunteered. but how else could you say thank you.#you made your world so so small again. for him. larger than you would’ve been used to once but you know what galaxies feel like to fly #across. and now you’re stuck in time and space. this is for love too. this is for the life you hold in your hands.#or wear around your neck on a chain. and because you chose this. you can never see him again. or you see him every day and he doesn’t #recognize all of you.#that would make anyone desperate wouldn’t it? make you do something stupid. make you turn to someone you shouldn’t.#even makes bad choices when they are cornered. i think.#dw oc #the important bit is of course that the only way they can ever get rid of it is by their own choice. which they never would choose to do.#(because tentoo won’t take it back. he’s his own person. impressions of the doctor influencing him. but the part of him that is donna doing #so as well. a whole new person. who does not want her memories back and to be unmade.)#but the point is that the moment even takes it. they will never let it go. they will lose it. on painful occasion. but it always finds its #way back. depending on the context this presence and responsibility is either comforting in its constancy.#or. in a less kind world. a horrifying reminder of how far they have fallen from who they tried to be for him.

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tristanzaire · 18 hours ago

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Tristan blinks. Of course, he knows that street voices whisper, and that enemies have a way to feed those channels with any damaging rumor they can find. "I don't know who has sold you this idea — but it's not what I believe in." Beat. "Compassion is at the core of who we are, it's always been. You will never find me downplaying that."

In the short time that he's been leader, Zara isn't the first to ever ask questions. In fact, he would sooner suspect someone who doesn't have any — likely a hint that they they don't care enough. So, he's patient, and touches every point as though it's his first time he's ever thought of it.

It doesn't mean I'm blind to the fact that you can take from others to feed this 'family.'

"Billionaires," though he's calm, that word sounds like a bark, "take everything from the rest of us, every day of their lives. They accumulate more wealth than anyone would be able to spend in a thousand years. So yeah, I'll take their money to feed every family in this country if I can." He believes in true justice — in the leveling of rigged scales. Everyone should have enough, not too much or too little. "And you know what's fucked? Is that even if I did that, they wouldn't even notice."

Tristan watches her as she moves, though he stays in place. He's comfortable in his own home, and confident in his ideals. All there is to do is watch if Zara connects to them, too.

"My vision is a world where everyone gets treated fairly — and equally. Who wouldn't want to be a part of that vision?" At the top of his head, he can only assume his opposers to be the ones who would rather hoard, than share.

His head bows, then his gaze seeks to meet her eyes. "We would be stupid not to want you. But what matters is— ...Do you want in, Zara?" He bounces the question back, honest at its very core. Tristan could never rope someone into this, if they don't feel it in their hearts. "Knowing everything you know now, do you want to fight our fight? There is a place in our family for you. A chair at our table with your name on it." Beat. "Do you wanna change the world?"

Zara listens carefully, her posture poised and unyielding as Tristan speaks, her eyes sharp as she processes his words. When he finishes, she lets the silence stretch for a moment before responding, her voice calm but deliberate.

"You speak of family, of skill, of revolution," she begins, "but I can't help but wonder where all of that leaves the ones who aren't in the fold. The ones who, despite the 'family' you boast of, are still left on the outside—left to fend for themselves or pay the price for things they didn’t choose. A family doesn't just look after the ones in it; it builds something that includes those outside, too."

She steps forward slightly, her gaze unwavering. "You talk about compassion like it's a flaw—something that doesn't belong in this world you've built. But let me tell you this: without compassion, there's no revolution worth having. All the logistics in the world won't matter if you're building an empire on the backs of people who have nothing but fear and necessity driving them. If you don't understand that, Tristan, then you're already too far gone to see it."

Zara’s lips curl into a subtle, almost knowing smile. "As for how a 'gang' funds itself... I don't think I need you to spell it out for me. I already know. And yes, I asked about the money because I wanted to see if that was the bait you used to lure people in—if you were just like the rest of them, offering quick cash to get bodies in line. But it's clear that you're not. You're more thoughtful than that."

Her eyes lock onto his, calculating. "But even though you're not trying to buy loyalty, Tristan, that doesn't mean I don't still have questions. It doesn't mean I'm blind to the fact that you can take from others to feed this 'family.' And that's where my real concern lies—not the cash, but the cost to those who aren't part of your vision."

She stands taller, voice steady and firm. "So, you want me in? You have to know—I'm in for the change. Not for the power, not for the profit. You don’t get to take one without the other."

#zara

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sinner-as-saint · 7 months ago

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scary? my god, you're divine

Hitman/Mob!Bucky x Reader

Run-through: Your marriage to Bucky Barnes was crucial in stopping the rivalry that had been getting rather violent recently between the two families. You agreed to it. But there was one little problem. Although people knew of Bucky as being a ruthless, fiercely loyal, and feared hitman, no one had ever seen his face. In the rare occasions when he’d been seen out during assignments, it was rumoured that he always wore some sort of mask which covered most of his face. So you ended up marrying a man, and had no idea what he looked like. But surely that wouldn’t be an issue. It’s not like his one touch would get you addicted. Who cared what he looked like? It’s not like you could grow to love someone like him anyway… right?

Themes: arranged marriage, age gap (reader is in her mid twenties, bucky’s in his late thirties), mentions of violence and death, hitman!Bucky, smut, fluff, explicit language, virgin!reader, HEA

Something woke you up in the middle of the night.

And you’d been staring at the dark ceiling above your bed for the past few minutes now. What had woken you up? It could’ve been the strong winds hitting the large Georgian windows. Or perhaps it was the soft ticking of the nearby clock. Or maybe even the weight of all the incessant thoughts running through your head.

Gods, you thought, what a day.

It had started out like any other. Your father was pacing around, worried and barking orders on the phone, trying to find a way to put a stop to this chaos that was quickly forming into a full war between him and his number one rival. Small attacks had turned to frequent drive-bys, threats had turned into taking turns and blowing up each other’s warehouses and clubs. And it would only get worse and worse.

But this morning, as he watched you come downstairs and into the dining room for breakfast, something in his eyes was different. And you could tell what was coming. You had been thinking about this for days. So when he sat you down and discussed how you could do your part in helping to put an end to all of this.

“It’s only a matter of time before he sends his son, his favourite weapon after us all,” Your father sounded defeated. “And none of us would survive him. No one ever does. You know that.”

You nodded, understanding what he meant. “I know.”

The son of your father’s rival, Bucky Barnes, was a name which could make even powerful men like your father tremble in fear. He was like a ghost. No one ever saw him. No one knew what he looked like. Those who had seen him claimed that he always wore a muzzle-like mask to conceal his identity. He was known for being his father’s most prized weapon. They say he never misses, that his aim is and has always been as sure as Eros’ arrows. He was like an evil Cupid.

“The marriage would only be on paper of course, you don’t have to live with him.” Your father explained, seeming desolated, “But you being married to him would make us family, and…” He trailed off, sighing.

But you knew what he meant. Family meant everything in this society. If your family and the rival’s were joined to each other by marriage, all attacks would cease. Because keeping family safe was everyone’s number one priority, even in this line of work.

So this was all up to you now. Your family’s safety, the safety of people who worked with and for your father, all the allies, and friends, and acquaintances. It was a heavy weight to carry.

“I’ll do it.”

Things happened so quickly after that. Phone calls were had, arrangements and deals were made, and by the afternoon, a sheet of paper was brought to you. That’s it. No groom, no fancy shit. Just a piece of paper on which Bucky Barnes had already signed. And with your signature added next to his, you two were now forever husband and wife by law.

It was weird, being married to a man you had never seen before. He was just a name. Granted, a name with immense magnitude in the society, but still just a name. No face to go with it.

By the evening, your things were packed. It was an order by your new husband. He wanted his new bride in his home, and things were so freshly mended that neither you nor your father wanted to argue. So Bucky sent cars and a bunch of his soldiers to escort you to his house. It was not unexpected that he was so absent from all this. Bucky Barnes had a reputation of living in the shadows. He was so rarely seen.

Bucky’s house was not too far from your family home. In fact, the closer you got to your new home, the more you realised that despite everything, you did not mind this as much as you thought you would.

Your husband’s home was this stunning piece of architecture. A lavish Georgian-style mansion. Beige stone, carved details and mouldings around the many windows and main entrance. Dark shingles on the roof, well-manicured lawn, a long driveway giving it a sense of both elegance and exclusivity. The mansion sat on a beautiful, seemingly endless estate. Lush and green. It was a testament to the wealth and the power of its owner.

You were politely led inside the home by one of the many staff members who took care of the house. And the interior was just as breathtaking. Luxurious, with the right amount of vintage accents.

“We did what we could with the limited time we had to prepare a room for you.” The kind lady had said to you. She also mentioned that this room would be entirely yours. Bucky apparently had his own on the other side of the mansion.

You murmured that it was alright, and when she finally showed you to the room they had ready for you, you were pleasantly impressed. The layout, the colour theme, the decor, all of it was to your liking. You even had a personal little balcony which looked over the endless green backyard.

That night you dined alone, which was not a surprise. Everyone knew Bucky Barnes was a busy man, and he was apparently above trivial things like dining with his new wife. But the silence was welcomed. After dinner you found yourself back in your bedroom, and soon in bed with a book.

Well, maybe this was your new life now. Grand mansion with an impressive library. Solo dinners and kind staff members. A giant, dreamy bedroom all for you. Dare you say, it wasn’t too bad.

–

But here you were now, unable to fall back asleep after some mysterious thing woke you up. You sighed, sitting up and leaning against the headboard. You couldn’t even blame your new surroundings for your inability to sleep. Everything here was so quiet, and comfortable. Even this new bed felt like laying on the fluffiest cloud. Perhaps you could read some more–

You froze when you heard it.

Someone breathing. Someone else’s breaths. A soft exhale, but it was enough to make your heart race in panic. It was the middle of the night. And there was someone in this dark room with you.

Slowly, you tried to reach for the lamp on your bedside table to turn it on, but then you heard a voice say, “Don’t.”

A smooth, relaxed, male voice. Sounding like it came from one corner of the room. It could only be one man, couldn’t it?

“Bucky?” You questioned, for some reasons pulling the covers up to your chin as if he was not a man but a ghost.

A pause, then he said, like he was gently teasing you, “Hello, wife. Can’t sleep?”

You blinked a few times to adjust to the darkness better. You strained your eyes until you could see the silhouette of a man in the corner of the room. He was sitting in one of the sofas near the unlit fireplace, quiet, still like a marble statue.

There was almost no light coming into the room. The thick curtains allowed very little moonlight in, and it was hard to see. But you couldn’t ignore that large silhouette now that you’d noticed him. Something near him was shiny, almost metal like, you couldn’t tell what it was.

“Do you always lurk around in the shadows like a ghost?” You asked, wondering where the hell you found the confidence to talk to one of the finest hitmen like this. It’s not like he would shoot you if he didn’t like you. A small voice said. Would he?

A chuckle. Deep, and careless. A boyish sound.

“It’s my house,” He responded in that same gentle but teasing tone, “I lurk wherever I please.”

Well, he did have a point there.

“Well then,” You said in a casual tone, “If you’re done lurking and spying on me, I’d like to go back to bed.”

A soft scoff. Then he said, “I’ve watched you toss and turn for the past half an hour. I’d say you’re having trouble turning your brain off.”

Half an hour?!

“Wouldn’t you?” You retorted, keeping your voice calm and steady. “If you were forced to marry someone who’s so mysterious that no one’s ever seen them before, wouldn’t you have some trouble turning your brain off?”

“Ah.” He got up, and you could tell by the sound of his footsteps that he was approaching the bed, “No one forced you to marry me. A suggestion was made and you agreed to it.”

You replied quickly, “The alternative was watching everyone I love and myself be murdered by you, so semantics.”

Another chuckle as he stopped at the edge of the bed, so close to you. You refused to move. You tilted your head up but could still only see his silhouette. He spoke in that teasing tone again, “They said you were smart, and beautiful. Guess they forgot to mention you were bratty too.”

You frowned. “What?”

Silence. Then he began moving away from your bed and towards the door. “Good night, wife.”

“Good night,” You muttered, slightly annoyed and confused, “Ghost.”

You heard his soft chuckle right as he shut the door behind him and left you all alone again in the dark. You didn’t dare turn the lamp on even after he left.

—

“Is Bucky ever home?”

You asked one of the staff members at breakfast the next morning. The lady smiled at you and answered, “He keeps to himself. We rarely ever know if he’s home or not. He works at odd hours, you see? Besides, our job is to take care of the house. We clean, we make the meals and leave them in the fridge, we get our paychecks each month. Everyone is happy. We don’t pry.”

You nodded, sipping on some tea. “So… are you one of the people who don’t know what he looks like?”

“Oh no. I saw him recently.” She said, smiling.

“How recent?” You asked.

“A couple of months ago. He’s a busy man, he’s rarely ever home.”

Unbelievable.

“Doesn’t it feel like you’re employed by a ghost?”

She smiled again, refilled your cup and said, “Oh, we’re used to Mr. Barnes. Sure, sometimes it feels like the house is way too empty. But look, now you’re here! We get to take proper care of someone for once.”

She was so cheery and kind that you couldn’t help but smile at her words. How on earth did a man that grim manage to have the best staff members in the whole world?

—

The following night, Bucky came to see you again.

You woke up upon hearing the door of your bedroom opening. You sat up again, leaning against the headboard. You didn’t reach for the lamp on your bedside table this time. Instead you said, “Lurking again, I see.”

“Oh yes,” He answered, taking a seat on the same sofa by the dark fireplace. “How was your day, wife?” He asked, as if this was the most normal way to have a conversation.

“Good.” You said, “I spoke with your staff members. They say they barely ever see you at home.”

He sighed, “I barely ever am at home.”

You rolled your eyes even though you knew he couldn’t see it. He was too… intangible. Faceless. There was nothing you knew about him aside from his profession. And not knowing was starting to annoy you.

“Why can’t I see you?” You asked. “I mean it’s not fair. I married you. I’ll eventually see you someday.”

He was silent for a moment. Then asked, “Will you?”

“Well, yes.”

“What for?” There was that teasing tone again. So subtle. But it was there.

Your face burned. “Well… we’re married.” You stated the obvious. “And it won’t be long till our families start asking for, you know, grandbabies.”

“Babies can be made in the dark.” His smooth voice felt like a gentle caress. Like the finest, cool silk sliding over your warm body…

Oh no. You can’t like his voice. Not yet.

“That’s not what I–,” You sighed, “Why are you so against showing your face? Are you ugly?”

He chuckled then. Loudly, if you could see him you’d surely see his shoulders shaking. “You think too much, wife.” He got up again, ready to leave. “Good night.”

You sighed, defeated, and listened to the sounds of him leaving the room. Then almost angrily whispered, “Good night, husband.”

—

“It’s because he’s ugly, isn’t it?” You asked two of the staff members one morning while they set the table for your breakfast. “That’s why he doesn’t show his face?”

The two ladies chuckled to themselves, and one of them said, “No he isn’t.” She sounded confident too.

“Have you seen his face? Like properly?”

They both nodded.

“And? You don’t find it weird that he doesn’t show his face?” You questioned. “He refuses to let me see him. He only comes to talk to me in the dark. Like some messed up Eros.” You whispered the last part to yourself.

One of the ladies said, gently, “Give him time. He’s not… terrible.”

—

“Your staff speaks highly of you.” You said to him when he came to see you that night. Again, sat in that corner like a ghost whose only purpose was to haunt your bedroom specifically.

“Do they?”

“Yes,” You made yourself comfortable, leaning against the headboard like you had the habit of doing. “Do you pay them to sing your praises?”

He chuckled. “Is it that hard to believe that I’m not some sort of monster?”

You sighed. “If not then why can’t I see you?”

“Not yet.” He said.

“Why?”

“Because I said so.” He replied, and by the sounds of it, he stood up. Surely ready to leave. “Now, is there anything you need?”

You tried to see if you could tell where he was standing but the room was too dark. However, it seemed like, judging by the sound of footsteps, that he’d gotten closer to the end of your bed. “There’s nothing to do around the house. The ladies take care of everything. I appreciate the library, but…”

He was quiet, like he was thinking. Then said, “I’ll see to it.”

“I’m assuming you won’t let me go back to work in my family’s companies.” You could tell he wouldn’t.

“No,” He said, as expected. “You’re my wife now. I’m well equipped to provide for you and see to your needs for the rest of our lives. But if you have any hobbies, please, indulge away.”

Something about his calm tone made you confess your little secret, “I like to paint. I’ve always wanted to be an artist.”

You didn’t know why you were telling him all this. Perhaps the dark helped you open up better. Maybe the fact that you didn’t know him made it easier to talk. Like how people tend to prefer texting over calls. Him being so invisible made it so much more effortless.

You continued, “I always wonder what it must be like to have an exhibition of my works.” You chuckled. “I know it sounds vain but… I’ve always wanted to let my mind and soul leak all over canvases, and share it with the world. I think it’s such a brave thing when people do that.”

He was quiet for a few seconds, then spoke in that teasing tone, “Painting, huh?”

You rolled your eyes. “You don’t get to make fun of me, ghost.”

He chuckled. “Get some sleep, wife.”

And then he left.

—

The following morning, you woke up to two surprises.

The first one was waiting for you at the breakfast table. You noticed the box on the floor immediately. It was partially opened, and had a note stuck to it.

The note read: ‘Since there’s nothing to do around the house…’ written in a messy handwriting. Surely Bucky’s.

You opened the box and in there, on a folded blanket, was a sleeping, fluffy little puppy. A black lab it seemed. With a pink collar around her neck. You gasped as you gently picked it up and couldn’t resist bringing it up to your face. Puppies always smelt so good.

The little one yawned and let out some cute noises as you held her up to look at her properly. By now the two ladies whom you saw frequently around the house walked up to you and one of them said, “He left something else for you.”

You followed the ladies, new puppy in hand, and they led you to what seemed like a newly built studio. It was in an area of the mansion where you didn’t go very often. And as you walked in, you gasped in surprise for the second time that morning.

It was located on the ground floor. A bright and spacious space. The beige walls felt like a giant blank canvas in itself. The large Georgian windows allowed the perfect amount of light in. And everything in the room was neatly organised. Art supplies, paints, canvases, palettes, easels.

Oh, it was perfect.

The ladies left you to explore on your own, saying something about bringing you breakfast in here. But you were distracted by the bright yellow sticky note on one of the easels. You walked up to it and it read: ‘For your mind and soul to leak all over. Paint me something. I’ll consider it a wedding gift.’

You couldn’t help the smile on your face as you read and re-read the note left by your mysterious husband. You whispered to your sleeping puppy, “Maybe our ghost isn’t so bad, huh?”

Hours went by.

The ladies brought you and the puppy your meals, a bed for the pup, snacks for you, all while you were busy letting your creativity flow as much as possible.

The first few canvases were horrible according to you. You hadn’t picked up a paintbrush in so long so it felt like day one all over again. But gradually, over the next few canvases, you could see what your brain was trying to create.

The blank canvas soon turned into flowy shapes. Curves, facial features, hands. Entwining bodies. Two of them. And the colour purple, lots of it. It didn’t make too much sense at first, but the more you worked on it the more you realised what you were painting.

It was your version of ‘The Abduction of Psyche’. How fitting.

By the time you were done and happy with it, your back was aching from sitting on that stool all day. It was almost time for dinner. The sun had set. The puppy was awake so you held her up to show her the canvas and asked, “You think our ghost will like it?”

She let out the tiniest, softest howl.

“Yeah, I think so too.”

You left to shower and have dinner. Then once it was time for bed you asked one of the staff members, “Does Bucky have some kind of an office?”

She replied saying yes he does, and that she could show you where it was. You grabbed the not yet dry canvas and carefully carried it all the way to where Bucky’s office was. The lady again left you all by yourself to explore.

At first you didn’t want to spend too much time in there. It was Bucky’s space after all. But then you thought, if he was comfortable walking into your bedroom at odd times during the night, why shouldn’t you check out his office?

So you did. You left the canvas where it could dry without any problem and where Bucky would see it upon entering the room. Then you began exploring. The room was not what you were expecting for someone like Bucky. You thought it would be less… old school.

He had a vintage looking typewriter on his desk for gods’ sake. Not one he used of course, but it added layers to his character you thought. Dark wooden furniture, comfortable looking chairs, more bookshelves filled with cloth-bound books. It was… cosy.

So cosy in fact that you grabbed a book and made yourself comfortable on one of the chairs. You’d read for an hour or so then head off to bed, you thought.

But soon, you drifted off to sleep. Right there. In Bucky’s office.

You woke up and felt something soft and fluffy moving around on your lap. You opened your eyes and quickly realised you weren’t in bed. The room was dark. With very little light coming in from the outside. There were no curtains in this room, but also it was situated in an area of the mansion where very little moonlight came in.

Before you could panic though, a voice spoke up from not too far away, “You’ve been busy today, I see.”

Ah, Bucky. And fuck. You’d fallen asleep in his office.

You refused to feel embarrassed. So you asked, “Did you like your wedding gift?”

“Yes.” He replied, and gauging by the sound you could tell he was sitting at his desk, in the darkest corner of the room. “I’ll hang it in my office.”

You smiled in the dark, feeling a little proud of yourself. “And where’s my wedding gift?”

“In your lap.”

Fair.

“What should we name her?” You asked, reaching to caress your puppy who let out an adorable grunt. “Hedone? Donnie, for short?”

He let out a chuckle. “You are really leaning into this whole Eros-Psyche thing, huh?”

You shrugged. “Well, I wouldn’t have to if you’d just show me your face. But you keep choosing not to, so deal with it.”

A pause. Then he asked, “You like your new studio?”

That made you sit up straighter. “I love it. Thank you.” Then you added, “My family always thought painting was a waste of time. They said it kept my head in the clouds too much. That it was… pointless.”

He was quick to say, “It’s not. Besides, your hobbies don’t have to make sense to anyone else but yourself. And I’ve seen the other canvases you left in the studio. They’re good.”

You turned to face the dark corner he was in. “You think?”

“Yes,” He said. “We can hold an exhibition if you want. Let me know when you’re ready.”

You let out a surprised chuckle. And when he didn’t laugh you realised he was serious. “Bucky, it's not so easy.” You explained calmly. “There’s so much work that goes into it, there needs to be some cohesion to the art pieces. There’s marketing, there’s research, there’s…” You exhaled, “There’s a lot of work to be done. Art exhibitions aren’t as easy or quick as you think it is.”

He replied, “Leave all that to me. Just let me know when you want to hold one.”

Just like that?

“I… okay.”

You felt warm in a way you’d never felt before. No one had ever taken your interests so seriously before. You’d never even been able to discuss this freely about your hobbies. And here Bucky was, ready to listen and interact with it.

You got up to leave because this was… a lot to process. “Well then. Good night, Bucky.”

A soft scoff. “Think I liked it more when you called me a ghost.”

You smiled as you approached the door, puppy in hand and amazed at how well you were able to navigate in the dark. “Night, ghost.”

He gave you a satisfied hum, then, “Good night, wife.”

—

It was bizarre to admit but you’d gotten used to those conversations in the dark with your husband. Days went by quickly given how engrossed you were with painting. Especially with the thought of a potential exhibition now in the back of your mind. Gods, that would be a dream.

And while your days consisted of painting, playing and training your puppy, exploring more and more of the grounds and your new home, making quick trips to the stores to get more supplies, catching up with your friends who were still trying to grasp the fact that you got married so quickly, getting to know the household staff and the guards better, your night consisted of waiting and fighting your sleep until Bucky came to talk to you.

It was always short conversations. Filled with easy banter and teasing tones, sarcastic comments and you asking each and every night if he was in the mood to show his face. Bucky always said no. And you always sent him off with a ‘good night, ghost’.

You had gotten used to your ghost. As had your puppy. She would bark happily each time Bucky would enter your bedroom door at night. She’d run to him for playtime and cuddles as he sat in his dark corner and spoke with you until you fell asleep.

Bucky would often leave you some kind of a note, for you to read in the morning. At the breakfast table, or in your studio. Sometimes he would leave compliments and comments on your dry canvases. Eventually, you stopped fighting the smiles which formed on your face as you read his notes.

But all of it only made you want to see him more. Not that it would change anything. Bucky had quickly become… a friend, you’d say. A confidant if you will. He had become a habit. Part of your routine.

And then one night, he didn’t come to see you.

You waited. He usually came around midnight. It was well past 2 a.m. and he never came.

At some point you went downstairs, pretending as if you just needed some water. One of the guards caught you trying to peek out into the driveway from the kitchen window.

“Boss is not home yet, ma’am.” He said.

You acted like you didn’t care. But still asked, “He does this often?”

“Sometimes.”

You nodded. You took your drink and with your puppy in your arms you walked back upstairs, passing by the many guards who were on duty inside the house at nighttime.

“It’s alright, he’s probably just busy.” You whispered to the sleeping pup as you made your way up. “Or maybe he’s hurt and tending to his wounds somewhere else.” You felt a gentle pinch in your chest at the thought of Bucky hurt and alone out there. So you forced yourself to think of something else. Something way worse. “Or maybe he’s with someone else.” You scoffed, nuzzling the soft fur of your pup, “This marriage means nothing to him anyway. But that’s alright, we don’t need him. I’ve got you. We’ve got each other. Don’t we?”

Safe to say, you went to bed slightly annoyed that night. And in denial too because you refused to admit that you missed him.

–

There was a note waiting for you in your studio the next morning.

It read: ‘No I did not spend the night with someone else. I’ll explain later. See you tonight, wife.’

Huh. Looks like the guards have really good ears.

Well, whatever. It’s not like you were impatiently waiting for night to come just so you could talk to your ghost of a husband. Right?

Except you were though. So much that you couldn’t paint a decent thing. You were easily giving up on each canvas, and leaving a trail of unfinished work the more time went on.

Eventually you sighed and left the studio. You tried reading but that wasn’t happening either. So you did the only thing you knew would take your mind off things. You asked the ladies to show you where everything was kept in the kitchen and you got to baking.

Which you did until it was time for bed. Your mood was off, and it was all because of a faceless man. And that somehow annoyed you even more.

You grabbed a plate of the mini muffins you’d made earlier and made your way upstairs. Your puppy had just gotten used to the stairs so she happily followed you everywhere you went now.

You proceeded to sit in bed, and eat your muffins angrily and forced yourself to try to sleep.

You woke up sometime later. And you just knew who was in the room with you.

Except he wasn’t in his usual spot.

He was standing by the windows which faced your bed this time, with his back to you. The curtains were pulled, the moonlight came and there was his dark silhouette. And… you frowned as you noticed the shiny metal arm.

“You’re home.” You said.

Bucky turned his head to the side, “I am.” He said.

You took a second or two to admire the side profile. With the moonlight shining all around his silhouette he looked like a fallen angel of sorts. “You didn’t come home last night.”

“I was out working,” He said.

“Maiming and killing?”

“You know me so well.”

“Is that a… metal arm?” You questioned.

“It is.”

“Were you hurt?”

“I was.”

You sighed again. “Is it always going to be bland answers and mystery with you?”

“Get used to it.” He said in that teasing tone.

You got out of bed as quietly as you could. “I think I liked you better without the attitude, when you sat in the corner like a ghost.” You took some steps away from the bed, approaching the giant windows. The room was rather spacious so it would take some more steps to get close to him. If you’d only–

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re trying to do.” He warned, but remained in the same spot.

You groaned. “Don’t you think this is getting tiring? I mean, I’m married to a man I’ve never seen before. In fact, no one has ever seen you. Why? What are you hiding?” You added, sounding defeated.

Bucky lowered his head, which only accentuated how broad his shoulders really were. He sighed. “Do you know how much trouble could’ve been avoided if only Psyche trusted Eros?”

You rolled your eyes. “I think she had her reasons. A mysterious, faceless lover who only shows up in the dark and hides in the shadows is bound to raise some doubts. Don’t you think so?”

He chuckled. You blinked and he’d turned around to face you. But despite that, you couldn’t see his face at all. Even though he was inches away.

He was quiet. Observing you with interest. The moonlight allowed him to see all of you, and he just… stared for a moment or two. A shiver ran down your back. An unfamiliar, but pleasant shiver.

Without a word said, Bucky reached out and gently touched the thin strap of your silky night dress resting on your shoulder. His metal finger gliding along your skin and making you gasp at his cold touch.

“What’s this?” He asked in his usual teasing tone. “Trying to tempt me with this excuse of a night dress, wife?”

Fuck. Had his voice dropped lower?

Fuck! He was so close to you. You didn’t even notice that your heart had begun racing. Your breaths had deepened. Shit. Why was this so hot?!

“Are you? Tempted?” You asked with a steady voice, without thinking obviously. You just needed to say something so he wouldn’t notice the way you were basically panting after him like a thirsty dog.

He chuckled. But remained quiet.

So you said, “Thought so.” You sounded smug but you were feeling the complete opposite.

Bucky scoffed in that arrogant way he often did. It was insane how easily you were able to pick up on his mannerism when you hadn’t even known him for that long. “Is that what you think? That I don’t want to sleep with you?”

Oh.

Oh this was bad. Because now your brain was making up hot, steamy scenes in your head. Scenes involving you and your faceless, mysterious husband in the dark. Entwining bodies on soft bed sheets. Fuck, you should paint that. No, what?

“Then why haven’t you?” You found yourself asking.

Okay then, bold as fuck it is. You’d gone past the point of no return now. Guess it was time for this conversation.

Bucky’s fingers remained on your shoulder, tracing the thin strap there. And you couldn’t see it, but you could hear the smirk in his voice when he asked, “You want me to?” His metal hand dropped to your waist and before you could fully process it, he pulled you closer, leaned in to whisper into your ear, “You want my hands all over you, wife?”

You could feel his slight stubble against your skin as he spoke. His lips brushing against your ear, making you gasp and tremble. Your hands found their way to his shoulders. And oh, he was pulling you even closer. Your chest pressing against his. The cool material of his suit felt amazing against your warm skin.

“Look at you,” He cooed into your ear. “Is this what you want? Hmm?” He placed both his hands on your waist, pulling you into him. His lips moved lower, brushing against your neck as he spoke. “You like how rough my hands feel?” He moved his hands up and down your sides. “Do you know how many people I’ve hurt with these hands?” He chuckled when he heard the tiniest moan leave your mouth. “You’re so soft and warm, aren’t you worried what these hands might do to you?”

He nuzzled your neck, hands roaming all over your sides and back and squeezing your butt. You became so pliant under his touch. Tilting your head back to allow him to kiss all over your neck, pressing your chest more and more against his like you couldn’t get enough. The layers of clothing, you wanted them gone.

With a shaky voice you murmured, “I can’t tell if you’re trying to scare me or turn me on.”

He laughed. And it was the best sound you’d ever heard.

“You’re sick in that pretty head, huh?” He teased. “That beautiful brain is filled with filthy, dirty, dark thoughts, isn’t it?” His metal hand reached up and carefully wrapped around your throat.

You gasped as he squeezed just a little bit. Those dirty thoughts he spoke about really started to fill your head.

“Are you just all talk or–,”

He cut you off by dragging you all the way to your bed, still holding you by the throat.

The back of your knees hit the edge of the bed and he gave you a slight push, ending with you falling onto your bed on your back. You looked up at him, hovering above you, his lower body pressing into yours.

“Do you just run that mouth?,” He asked, supporting himself with one hand while the metal one remained wrapped around your throat, his voice low and menacing but in a way that made your legs part on their own so his hips settled in between them. Your bodies fit together like the most perfect puzzle pieces. “Or do you know how to take it like a brat as well?”

You felt the need to let him know then. “I don’t know,” You said, sounding both breathless and bratty. “I’ve never had to take it.”

He paused for a moment. Then asked in subtle surprise, “What do you mean?” Even his grip around your throat loosened completely.

You squirmed in slight embarrassment but that only caused your hips to grind against his and for a moment there both of you let out a strained moan. Fuck. The tension between the two of you was almost physical now. Even in the dark, even with Bucky being nothing more than just a shadow above you.

“I, uh…” You cleared your throat, still feeling his cold fingers all over your skin, “I’ve never been with anyone before.”

He was quiet. As if thinking. You tried your hardest but you couldn’t see any of his facial features. You knew he had a slight stubble because you’d felt it earlier. But aside from that, you knew nothing. Not even his eye colour.

“You want us to stop?” He asked, shifting his body slightly as if he was ready to pull away if you asked him to.

“No,” You answered way too quickly. Then you got bold again and let your hands find their way back to his shoulders. You pulled him down, closer to you just a little and said, “This is okay.”

His fingers moved up, from your neck to your mouth. “Yeah? You want this, huh?” He mumbled, tracing your mouth with his fingers. You shivered under his touch. “You’ve been a whiny little brat lately, haven’t you, wife? Pouting and all just because I wouldn’t show myself to you.” He whispered, leaning in to just brush his lips against yours. You gasped at the sensation of his soft lips rubbing against yours. Bucky chuckled at your reaction. “Don’t think my staff doesn’t report back to me. I’ve been well aware of all the times you asked the ladies to give you details about me.”

Now that made you squirm in embarrassment. Still you said, sounding a little annoyed at being caught. “Can you blame me?”

“Can’t you just trust me?” He argued.

The danger and authority in his tone had your thighs clenching together to try and alleviate the torturous pain in between your legs. You were almost certain you had never been this turned on and annoyed at the same damn time before. You sighed in frustration. “This isn’t fair.”

“No, it isn’t,” He said, pulling away and began undressing you to your pleasant surprise. “Deal with it.”

Oh fuck.

Fuck… You had to hold back from whimpering each time his hands rubbed against your skin. He took his time in sliding the straps of your night dress down your shoulders, dragging the silky fabric down your body, leaving you more and more naked under him.

You shivered once he left your night dress bunched around your waist carelessly. It wasn’t just because of the slightly cold air. It was because even though you couldn’t see him, you could tell he was staring right at you.

You spoke in a hushed voice, not daring to speak loud in fear that it might break whatever spell you were under. “So you get to see me naked all you want, but I can’t see your face?”

He chuckled. “You want me to leave this room right now? Leave you here all wet and squirming? Or do you want me to take care of it and make you come? Huh?”

That shut you up really quickly.

“I thought so.” He sounded smug again when he said that. “I should spank you for the brat you are. But since it’s your first time… I’ll be nice.”

His hands touched you everywhere, your thighs, your stomach, your sides, your chest, your neck… everywhere. He left you gasping and trembling under him.

“Please.” You caught yourself whispering.

Bucky leaned down, his soft mouth brushing against your cheek as he said, “Please what?”

You squirmed, “Touch me, please.”

He chuckled. You felt his warm breath against your skin as he kissed his way down your naked body. “Look at you,” He murmured, lips brushing against your stomach, “You’re so eager already.”

You heard the faint chuckle which left his mouth the moment he noticed your legs spread apart for him naturally. Your face felt like it was burning but fuck, you were too turned on to even be properly embarrassed. Also, being in complete darkness helped.

Damn. You were really getting intimate with your husband whom you hadn’t even seen yet. And somehow that fact was making you want this even more.

But that mystery stopped being an issue the moment Bucky leaned in and kissed your wet folds, his tongue slowly circling around your throbbing clit and licking down, parting your wet folds with ease.

He poked at your entrance with his tongue and your body felt hotter than before. Back arching off the bed as you let out a soft moan at the foreign feeling. Fuck he felt good. You whimpered as you felt his tongue stroke your most sensitive parts. Your immediate reaction was to pull your hips back from the overwhelmingly good sensation his mouth was causing. And that made him grip your thighs tighter, keeping them pinned to the bed.

“Stop moving.” He ordered and the authority in his voice made you tremble.

You whined as you felt his strong arms wrapped around your thighs, keeping you in place and close to his mouth. The metal hand on your warm skin made you shiver and tremble so much that you were thankful for the darkness.

The small amount of moonlight which came in allowed you to only see the silhouette of his broad shoulders, and his head moving slowly, sensually in between your legs. Fuck… somehow the mystery only made it hotter.

Oh you were fucked in the head for real.

And oh, Bucky was a fucking tease. Once he noticed how easily you cried out and moaned for him, he slowed down and began kissing around your clit just to purposely mess with you. He kissed your thighs, purposely avoiding touching where he knew you needed him the most. He kissed down all the way to your core, and gently bit your skin around your inner thighs.

“Bucky, please!” You cried out, hand reaching for his hair. When you managed to grab a fistful of his soft hair, you gave it a gentle tug. “Stop teasing me.”

“You don’t get to give me orders, wife.” He said, sounding all proud and mighty. “I could just walk out of here and leave you like this. Naked and squirming.”

“Please,” You begged again. You could feel your arousal trickling out of you.

A scoff. Then he leaned in again. You whined and whimpered under him, with your legs wrapped around his head. Fingers in his hair, massaging his scalp instinctively as he flicked, and sucked, and teasing your clit as much as he could.

“You’ve been a brat because you wanted your husband’s attention so badly, huh?” He taunted. “Is that what you wanted? Just my attention?” He chuckled. “You’re as calm as a happy kitten now, aren’t you?”

His stubble rubbed against your sensitive skin, and the friction burned a little but it was the kind of pain you kept wanting more of. You wanted more of him.

“Fuck, your mouth feels so good,” You murmured, throwing your head back, moaning as he kept teasing your entrance with the tip of his tongue.

“Come for me, wife.” His hands wrapped around your thighs, securing you in his grip as he pushed his face further into you, making you cry out loud.

You couldn’t even hold on for much longer, and ended up coming undone all over his tongue. Heart racing, legs trembling in his grip as you came. Your moans were soft and incessant.

Fuck… that felt amazing.

You had barely gotten your heart to stop racing, and Bucky was already standing up and in the dark you couldn’t see very well but it did look like he was moving away from the bed.

“You’re leaving?” You asked, unable to stop yourself from sounding a little upset at his departure.

All he said was, “Good night, wife. See you tomorrow.”

You scoffed after he shut the door behind him, leaving you in darkness yet again. “Ghost.”

—

That night ended up being the first of many.

Your days consisted of painting, and finally finding a flow in most of your pieces. Perhaps if you’re able to make a decent collection, you could start thinking about the exhibition seriously, you thought. When you weren’t painting you were either training your rapidly growing puppy, or baking. You’d begun taking your puppy out for walks around the mansion, consequently doing some more exploring of the grounds.

After all that, each night you’d get in bed and wait for Bucky. It became part of your routine. And each night with him was different. He’d spend his time touching you slowly until you were purring for him like a kitten. Kissing you all over your body in the dark. Making you come all over his tongue and fingers. Kissing you until you moaned and pulled him closer just to feel his weight pressing down on you.

But he would always leave after making you come. And you two never actually fucked. Neither would he let you make him come.

On nights when he wouldn’t make it home, you’d worry yourself to sleep. But then each morning you’d find a note from him either in your studio or the breakfast table. He would always say some cheesy shit. And he would always promise to come see you later that night.

On nights when you two didn’t engage in anything sexual, it was still just as fulfilling. Bucky would tell you things about his work, his past, his family. You learnt that he was over a decade older than you, and teased him about being an old man until he pinned you to the bed and tickled you until you couldn’t breathe.

You learnt that he liked to keep to himself and stay as far away from his family as possible. He liked peace and quiet, which would explain his lovely home being here away from most people.

The more you learned about him, the easier it was to grow fond of him. But the more you grew fond of him, the greedier you got. You wanted more. More of his time, his touch, his attention, and most of all, you wanted to see him.

The mystery, while hot as fuck, was killing you.

—

One night, things changed.

Bucky came into your room as usual. He’d gotten bolder lately, he wouldn’t sit in the corner like a ghost anymore, instead he would find his way to your bed and only leave that bed after making you come hard.

Tonight started out the same way.

You felt his hands all over you as he pulled you closer to him under the covers. You giggled as he bit and licked that one sensitive spot on your neck. Your fingers had a habit of finding themselves in his hair. It was insane how easily you’d gotten used to being with him in the dark. How easily you could find his mouth with your own. How easily you’d find your way into his arms.

It was weirdly comforting. His warmth, his voice, his touch.

“Tell me about your day,” He murmured, kissing your neck while his hands grabbed you and caressed you wherever he could reach.

You squealed when you felt his metal fingers wandering dangerously close to your clit. Then said, “It went pretty well. I went out to buy some supplies, made a new friend at the store, I went to see my father but he wasn’t home. I took our dog for a walk, I painted…,” You gasped when his mouth trailed down till he took a nipple into his warm mouth, while he slid two fingers inside you gently. “Oh fuck…” You whined.

He kissed his way up to your mouth again and said, “You sound so good when you moan for me, wife.” His lips brushed against yours.

He was so close. And it was dark. And you wanted so desperately to see him.

He moved his fingers expertly in and out of you. Making sure to brush against your most sensitive spots each time, turning you into a whimpering mess under him. He gave you a gentle kiss, swallowing your moans as he brought you closer to the edge.

You whimpered and whined, then in the moment you just blurted out, “Can I please see you now?”

Bucky stopped. He pulled away from you, making you whimper again as he got up and got out of your bed.

In the dark it took a while for you to figure out where he was, whether he was still nearby or already making his way out the door. But he was here, standing near the bed.

“We talked about this.” He said, sounding grave and disappointed.

“But it’s been so long.” You argued. “I trust you.”

He let out a loud exhale and said, “Then trust me when I say, it’s better this way.”

You let out a sigh. “You can’t keep me in the dark forever, Bucky. Literally!”

“Yes I can. I will.” He said arrogantly. That tone of his bothered you. “It’s better this way.” He repeated, but it sounded a lot like he was trying to convince himself instead of you.

“Oh screw you!” You said with enough bitterness to make a grown man flinch. “If you won’t let me see you then stop coming into my bedroom. I don’t want to see you unless you agree to let go of this weird persona.”

“Fine.”

—

That night was the last time you heard from Bucky.

He didn’t come home the following day. Nor the one after that.

And no one knew where he went.

You could tell something was wrong when you began noticing that the guards were talking in hushed voices whenever you were around. You noticed that the amount of security around the house doubled. That’s when you began to worry.

By the third night, the entire house was filled with this almost tangible tension, worry, and fear. The house staff wouldn’t talk to you as much. The guards were always in and out of the house. The head of security advised you to not wander too far away from the house while you roam the grounds.

You noticed the guards would follow you whenever you left the property. Be it when you left to visit your father at your old house or when you went out to buy supplies.

Then you worried some more. But no one had answers to your questions. Nobody knew where he went. Whether he’s away for an assignment or if he’s simply choosing to be away from home.

You tried your hardest to pretend that you didn’t care. You were still a little angry. After all, why couldn’t you see what he looked like? You’d spend so much time with him in the dark, running your hands all over him, tracing the outline of his facial features, he never had an issue with that. But why couldn’t you see him?

You were angry, but also very much worried by the fourth day. You missed him, you realised. He had become such a habit, such a constant in your days. His sarcastic humour, his gentle hands, his comforting embrace, the way he left you notes in the morning, the way he took your art seriously.

Fuck. You sat up in bed one night, patting ‘his’ side of the bed softly. You missed him. Badly. You felt a pinch inside your chest which you had never felt before. It hurt. You wanted him home. You admitted to yourself with a painful sigh.

“Where are you?” You whispered, looking at the dark corner of your bedroom where he used to sit in silence like a ghost. “It’s okay if you want to stay in the dark forever.” You looked around the dark room which now without him seemed so much bigger and empty, “Just come home.”

—

The next morning, as you half-heartedly approached the kitchen, you overheard something. And quickly realised you shouldn’t have heard it. It was the two ladies talking in hushed tones, the ones who usually served you your meals and often kept you company while you baked.

“...cannot tell her, she’ll be heartbroken.” One of them said gravely.

Sudden panic made your body freeze. You pressed your back against the nearest wall to keep yourself hidden while you processed those cryptic words. No, no, no. Is he hurt? Do they know something you don’t?

The other replied, “But she deserves to know. Even if it’s not confirmed yet. I mean, do you see how she smiles when she reads his notes? Clearly she had grown to care for him. She needs to know.”

The other argued, “I know, but I cannot imagine how hurt she will be when she hears about the rumours that her own father kidnapped her husband due to some past rivalry which was supposedly laid to rest after their wedding.”

“They’ve been looking for him for days now. It’s been too long, he should’ve been found by now.”

Fuck. Fuck. FUCK!

No. This cannot be happening.

You carefully walked away from the kitchen. Thinking, processing, analysing.

If your father did it, it must’ve been for some shitty, arrogant reason. He probably just wanted to rub it in Bucky’s family’s face that he could still eliminate his biggest threat if he wanted to. To show that he could still get rid of them by holding their most precious weapon hostage. To toy with them by making them wait in anticipation. Your father had done it before. Not with Bucky, but other people. He usually never asked for ransom but he liked having his rivals beg him for mercy.

Shit. He’s had Bucky for days now.

You moved without thinking twice about it. For some reason, your brain knew exactly what to do even though your heart was still bothered by a multitude of emotions. It felt like you were on autopilot.

You rushed into Bucky’s office and grabbed a handgun from his desk drawer, checked if it was loaded. It was. You knew Bucky kept it there for safety, he had told you that one time when you two were in bed together.

You let out a frustrated sigh, then felt movement around your ankles. You looked down at your puppy and gave her a sad smile as you bent down to pet her. “I’m gonna go find daddy, okay? I’ll be home soon.” You left her with a kiss.

You rushed back downstairs and found a group of armed guards in the foyer near the front door. You didn’t have the time to explain it all to them, especially since you were driven by a gut feeling. Instead you asked, “Do you guys have a way of tracking my phone, or my car?”

One of them nodded. The rest frowned in confusion.

You tried to keep your calm as much as you could even though your heart was racing. “Okay, I’m gonna go to my father’s house. Don’t follow me yet, but I need some of you to come find me as soon as I begin driving away from there.”

Surprisingly, they just nodded and let you go.

The whole time you drove to your father’s house, it felt you were constantly having to force yourself to keep calm. After four days of having no idea where he was, and now as all the puzzle pieces fit together, it was hard to remain calm. You just wanted to get to him.

And while you drove, unanswered questions tormented you.

Was he hurt? Where was he being kept? Was he beaten up? Was he even conscious? Would this end badly? How far would your father take this? Would he hurt him?

Before you knew it, you were entering your father’s property. The guards let you in like they always did. You had to take a minute to breathe in your car before stepping out and going inside your old home.

Luckily your father was home.

You walked in and stopped in the middle of the foyer as you saw him making his way down the stairs. He slowed down when he noticed the glare you sent his way. And when he stopped in the middle of the grand staircase, with you still glaring at him, the guards who were scattered around the entrance noticed. You caught the way they silently got closer and closer, slowly reaching for their guns.

Good thing you’d brought your own.

The guards, as well as your father, froze in place the moment you pulled out Bucky’s gun and pointed it at the man responsible for all of this shit. No one made a single sound. No guard moved to even try to disarm you.

You looked at your hand, which was surprisingly steady as it held the gun. And there, on the side of the shiny metal, you spotted Bucky’s initials. Your heart throbbed in a painful way, but you refused to be emotional right now, even though you needed a good cry after having bottled up your feelings for the last few days.

You glared at your father, who was still shocked, and asked in a cold tone you’d never used before, “Where’s my husband?”

Your father frowned. “What do you think you’re doing?”

You repeated, “Where is he?”

Your father scoffed, “You’ll shoot your own father? Is this how I raised you?”

“And you’ll kidnap your own son-in-law? For what? To show that you’re still the shit?” You questioned in a slightly raised voice.

He sighed like he was disappointed, “You don’t know what–,”

You cut him off. “We had a deal, right? That these petty attacks would stop after the wedding? That’s why I got married, isn’t it? Because we’re supposed to keep family safe?”

He was quiet for a moment. Then began talking again, “If I could just get them to–,”

“Enough!” You sounded just as tired of his bullshit as you were. “Whatever plan you have, just stop!” Then it came spilling out of your mouth, “You were supposed to protect me. All of us,” You said, referring to your older siblings, “Instead you married each of us off in exchange for whatever or whoever was going to benefit you more.”

He argued, “If this works, you can come back home. Don’t you want that?”

“No,” You said, and realised you meant it. “This was never home.” You admitted. “He treats me better than my own family ever did. He doesn’t tell me that my art is a waste of time. He doesn’t keep me imprisoned inside his home. He doesn’t choose who I should mingle with and who I shouldn’t. He doesn’t force me to join family businesses because it’ll be good for his image.” You taunted your father. “And he’ll never sell me to the highest bidder.”

Your father made a sound like he was disgusted. “Don’t tell me you’ve fallen in love with him?”

You remained quiet. I care for him, you wanted to say, deeply. But that would be lying, wouldn’t it? Truth was… you did fall for him. His calm voice. His gentle but playful demeanour. His dark humour. His brilliant mind and sharp tongue, always ready to argue and debate. His gentle touch… you loved him.

“What I do and who I care for is none of your concern anymore.” You concluded, stepping forward and keeping the gun aimed at his face. “Now, where is my husband?”

The smirk on your father’s face was maddening. “You’ll never find him,” He said. “I’ve hidden him well.” He added.

You gave him a smirk as well. One which mirrored his.

“Oh don’t make me do this.” You cooed. “Did you forget all those times you got drunk and confessed all the bad things you did?” You began listing, “All those times you spilled all your little secrets. About our family businesses, about your allies, the lies and betrayal. The bodies that are buried on this very property. The skeletons in your closet.” You gave him a sick, sweet smile. “Imagine if all that information just magically ends up in the ears of your rivals, dad. Imagine the carnage.”

His smirk disappeared. “You would betray me by siding with them?” He asked in disbelief.

You were getting tired of this. So you lowered your gun and said, “I am one of them.”

You walked out without a single glance back at your father, but you could tell he had his jaws clenched in anger. He hated being outsmarted. But his mistake was underestimating you.

And as for Bucky’s location, well your father gave it away when he said ‘I’ve hidden him well.’

There was only one place he believed you knew nothing about since at the time that he told you about it, he was drunk out of his mind as he confessed more of his crimes: the rundown warehouse which he used as a hideout/storage for weapons and arms.

Your father had always referred to Bucky being a ‘weapon’ so it was only fitting that he would think to hide him there. Thinking no one would find him.

But you would.

As you drove to the warehouse, you hoped that the guards were tracking you as you had instructed them to. Because if Bucky was truly there, there was a high chance that there would be some guards, and that Bucky must be injured. And you’d need help getting him out of there.

Driving to the warehouse, you had silent tears streaming down your face. Not just out of sadness, but also frustration. Fuck, what had your life become?

The warehouse was a disaster, you realised as you approached it. Large, crumbling, windows boarded up with rotting wood, broken machinery scattered around the outside. It looked like it had been abandoned for decades. And it was exactly the type of structure no one would bother to look twice at. The perfect place to hide illegal things, and son-in-laws you hate.

There weren’t as many guards as you expected. Which would mean that Bucky was either chained and locked up like an animal, or that he was injured to the point where he was too weak to fight his way out of here.

Or both.

You shivered as you got out of your car. The few guards who were around noticed you and one of them began walking faster towards you the more you got closer to the entrance.

“Miss, you can’t be here. Your father explicitly said no one is allowed–,”

You scoffed and said, “Oh, I know what he said.” You kept walking. “What will you do? Shoot me?”

“Miss,” He tried again, “I can’t let you–,”

You turned towards him and placed the barrel of Bucky’s gun right under the guard’s chin. “You were saying?”

Then you heard it. A fleet of cars approaching. The guards heard it too. You heard them yelling at one another while the one in front of you remained frozen in place. You smirked at him and said, “Now go play with them.”

You had just enough time to duck and run inside before the gunshots began. You didn’t stop. The interior of the warehouse was just as dilapidated as the outside, and by the sound of it, there were quite some guards on the roof. Their heavy footsteps as they ran to duck and try to escape the bullets raining down on them echoed inside the empty warehouse.

It was fairly easy to spot Bucky. But fuck was it painful to see him that way.

He was chained to the wall, shackles around his wrists and ankles. His body slumped on the ground, his breaths ragged. You could tell he was tired. Perhaps tired of fighting against the chains. You couldn’t hold back your soft sob as you ran to him.

They had left his muzzle-like mask on him, covering the lower half of his face. The leather jacket and gloves he wore were covered in blood and dirt. A lot of blood. You knelt down in front of him and that’s when you noticed the bullet wound on his thigh. It looked fresh.

“Bucky?” You called, reaching a hand to touch his face. He was cold to the touch, but stirred at the sound of your voice. “Bucky, come on. Wake up. Please.” You sniffled and inched closer to him, “I’m here, I’m gonna get us out of here, okay?”

He let out a weak cough. You could barely hear it over the sound of the gunshots outside.

“Bucky,” You tried to get the chains and shackles off of him, “Come on, wake up. We need to go home.” Your own voice cracked as you felt the silent tears streaming down your face as you were unable to get the shackles off. “Please,” You begged.

Then as the gunshots outside faded away, you heard Bucky’s faint voice saying, “Use the gun.”

You turned to face him. “What?”

He spoke again, his voice raspier than usual and sounding muffled due to the mask. “Shoot at the chains.”

Your hands trembled just a little as you reached for the gun you had brought. His gun. And you said, “Okay, don’t move.”

You did. And only missed twice.

Breaking the chains left the shackles still around his wrists and ankles but that could be dealt with later. You were panicking, wondering how you’d get him out of here but the guards barged in just in time. And you let out a sigh of relief when they ran straight to Bucky and carefully picked him up.

As a couple of them managed to get Bucky in the backseat of your car, one of them let you know that there was a doctor and his assistants already waiting at home to tend to Bucky. Another one asked you what to do regarding the warehouse.

“Burn it.” You told him. “I’ll deal with my father later, right now we need to get Bucky home.”

On the drive home, Bucky kept trying to talk. But he was so weak he could barely get full sentences out.

“Weren’t you mad at me?” He asked.

You sniffled and said refused to answer that. Instead you said, “Try not to talk. You’ve been shot, we don’t know how much blood you’ve lost,” You rambled. “Let’s get you to the doctor, okay?”

“S’okay,” He mumbled, “It went through.”

That only hurt more. “Bucky please, you need to save energy, okay? We’re almost home.”

“They… shot me with my own gun.” He refused to keep quiet.

At first you thought his brain was being delirious and making him ramble. Because of the pain, exhaustion, thirst, hunger. But then a weak sound left his mouth. Still muffled by the mask because no one removed it, and it sounded a lot like a very weak, faint laugh.

“Eros got pierced by his own arrow after all.” He mumbled.

You held back a sob. Then muttered, “I hate you so much, Bucky Barnes.”

Another weak laugh. “No, you don’t, wife.”

Then he passed out cold.

—

The next few days which followed Bucky’s rescue went by so fast and so painfully. The medical team kept close watch on him for days. Bucky was in and out of consciousness a lot. All the meds and the exhaustion kept him constantly out cold.

The nurses and the house staff were constantly around him. But for some reason, you couldn’t bring yourself to go into his room. Not yet. You’d linger near the door and the doctors and the staff would constantly update you about his condition, but you never went in.

Mainly it was because of shame. At what your father had done to him. But also you were still making peace with and processing your own emotions and you couldn’t face him until you were fully ready. What was important was that he was rescued and safe in his home.

About a week later, the medical team finally left. And promised they would do frequent check ups and told you that Bucky needed a lot of rest.

And that night, you managed to find the courage to finally step inside Bucky’s bedroom. It was a lot like yours, just larger. The room was dark when you walked in. But the open curtains allowed some light in from the outside.

Okay. You spoke to yourself as you approached Bucky’s bed. It’s high time you find out who you married.

Your hands shook a little as you reached for the dim lamp on his bedside table. But you turned it on quickly before you could talk yourself out of it.

The golden light illuminated the room partly, and there he was. A little bruised, with a cut on his lip. His handsome face made you smile and tear up at the same time. You couldn’t hold back from reaching to touch his face softly, carefully. You ran your knuckles along his cheek and whispered, “There you are, ghost.”

He stirred. And soon, a pair of sparkling blue eyes look up at you. For a moment you panicked, wondering if he would be upset. But instead he said, “This is cheating.”

You let out a soft laugh and asked, “How are you feeling? You’ve been asleep for days.”

“I feel like beating your father up.” He mumbled.

“Oh, same.” You agreed. Then added, “I’m so sorry for what he did to you.”

Over the past few days, the guards had gathered what had truly happened the day Bucky went missing. Turns out, he did leave for an assignment but your father and his men had been keeping a close eye on him for days, and since the wedding was supposed to have ended all rivalry, Bucky had his guard down as he entered your father’s territory. And your father had the upper hand for once and took advantage of it. Bucky was cornered, outnumbered and taken. He was kept in that warehouse up until you found him.

“Don’t be,” Bucky whispered, reaching for your hand on your lap. He gave your hand a soft squeeze and said, “You saved me.”

You couldn’t look away from Bucky. It felt so intimate to finally be able to see his face. Then rather sheepishly, you asked, “Can I sleep here? I’ll be careful.” He was still injured and in pain, but you just wanted to be close to him. You needed to.

He smirked, “Come on.” You walked to the other side of the bed and slid under the covers, keeping some distance between you and him. He turned to look at you and said, “Want me to leave the light on?”

You nodded. And he did.

—

A lot changed after that.

Bucky was healing from his injury and was starting to walk again. Which meant that he was home a lot. He did ‘work’ but it mainly consisted of him ordering people around on the phone.

Him being at home meant that he followed you around as much as he physically could. He would spend time in your studio, sometimes he’d stay for hours and watch you finish your pieces. He also spent a lot more time with your dog, taking her on short walks and teaching her new tricks.

He’d stay with you in the kitchen while you baked. He’d go with you whenever you went shopping for supplies. Bucky became your shadow. And consequently, spending this much together made you feel closer than ever to him.

He became your best friend.

He also became a lot more… bold.

—

One night Bucky found you in his bathroom. After that night when you first slept in his bed, you hadn’t gone back to your bedroom. So now, most of your things slowly found their way into his space. Like your night time skin care products.

Bucky crept up behind you and wrapped his arms around you.

You met his eyes through the mirror and gave him a smile. “Your limp is nearly gone.” You announced, noticing the way he walked was so much better now.

He gave you a look which meant nothing but mischief, “And you know what that means?”

You could already tell where this was going. You immediately turned him down. “Bucky, we cannot. You’re still injured.”

“But it’s been weeks.” He said it like it was the ultimate torture. “Don’t you miss those nights we spent together? Hmm?” He whispered, leaning in to kiss your neck. He knew it was one of your weaknesses. “Remember how good it feels when I make you come?”

You sighed, letting him kiss you and hold you for a moment. “Buck… you’re still healing.”

“Come on, baby,” He cooed, nuzzling your neck, “I’ll make it so good. I promise I’ll tell you if it hurts.”

You almost gave in the moment he playfully bit your neck, his hands finding the belt of your robe and shamelessly undoing it before sliding in to touch your warm skin. “But,” You tried to find something even though all you wanted was to drag him to bed, “Your stitches…” Your words ended in a soft moan as his metal fingers found their way in between your legs, circling around your clit.

Bucky growled. Growled. Then said, “Fine, you get to be on top then.”

You froze, and let out a nervous chuckle. “But I…,” You opened your eyes and met his through the mirror. “I–,”

“Shh, it’s okay.” He reassured you, remembering the time you told him you’d never done anything with anyone before. “I know.” He gave you a sweet kiss on the cheek. “I’ll teach you.”

And he did. Patiently.

He took his time in undressing both of you and held your hand in his as he laid down and pulled you on top of him.

“I’m scared I’ll hurt you.” You murmured.

He gave you a reassuring smile. “You won’t, baby. Now come on.”

He watched as you carefully straddled him, settling comfortably around his waist. One hand holding his metal one tightly while the other remained splayed over his chest.

Bucky looked up at you with nothing but adoration and lust as he tugged on your hand, pulling you in for a kiss. You leaned down gently and pressed your mouth to his. His warm hand immediately rubbed up and down your side lovingly. He pulled away just a little and whispered against your mouth, “We’ll do whatever you’re comfortable with, okay?”

You nodded, already breathless.

“Tell me, baby. What do you want?”

You told him the one thing you desperately wanted. “I want to touch you.”

Bucky smirked and supported his upper body up on his elbows, with you still straddling his waist, your core pressing down on his crotch. “Go on then, touch me.” He murmured.

He watched you intently as you reached out and touched his face first. Bucky’s heart was racing, you could tell by the way he breathed, as your finger slowly trailed down his face, along his neck and down till his abs, so slowly that you could feel his muscles tensing underneath your touch.

You gave him a teasing smile when you noticed the effect you have on him, and how he couldn’t help but stare at your naked body.

“Don’t tease me,” He mumbled.

You chuckled and leaned in to give him a brief kiss before hesitantly wrapping your hand around his cock. Part of the reason why you kissed him while doing it was because you were worried about your lack of experience, so you did it to distract him.

But he caught it. And wrapped his own hand around yours, making you grip him tighter. You pulled away from the kiss and looked into his pretty eyes. Bucky was breathing heavily. You let his hand guide you as you gave him an experimental stroke, a gentle up and down movement.

He felt thick and hard, and big. You looked down for a quick minute as you let him continue guiding your hand, lazily stroking his cock, up and down. Your thumb rubbed his tip slowly, making him groan as you looked back up at him and kissed your way down his neck, around the base of his throat, making him gasp in pleasure.

“See?” He whispered, “You’re learning already.” He said as he slowly let go of your hand and let you touch him on your own.

You continued exploring this new feeling. He was completely fine with just being there and letting you take your time. And you did take your time, touching him everywhere you could, stroking him as slowly or as quickly as you wanted to. Until he was so close to the edge, eyes rolled to the back of his head, lips parted and occasional moans escaping his open mouth as pre cum started dripping down his cock.

Oh he was a sight to behold. But you were getting impatient, and you wanted him in you as soon as possible. So you stopped, earning a groan from him.

“I want you,” You said.

Bucky looked like he was barely able to hold back either. “Come on,” He held your hand again, pulled you in for a quick kiss as you straddled him properly. His hand reached down and aligned the tip of his cock to your hole, teasing you with it by sliding it up and down your slit a few times until you were whimpering. “Now sit on it baby come on,” He encouraged you as you began sinking down on him, gasping as his cock stretched you out. “You can do it.” He murmured, breathless as he watched his cock disappear inside you more and more. “That's it. All the way down, come on baby.”

You were a moaning mess by the time you sunk all the way down, impaling yourself down on his cock. Fuck. You had never felt so full before. So fucking full.

“You okay, baby?” He asked, holding you by your hips, moving you back and forth just a little bit to create some friction.

You nodded, moaning at the slight movement.

“Want me to help you move?” He asked, lips parted and he had that wild look in his eyes.

Fuck, he was beautiful.

“Yes, please,” You whined, placing your hands on his chest to brace yourself for what was coming.

He wasted no time. Bucky grabbed you by the hips and helped you move up and down his cock. Your wet warmth wrapped all around him, making him swear under his breath and groan at how good you felt.

You couldn’t look away from his ocean blue eyes while you rocked your hips against his. You moved against him perfectly, your walls gripping him tightly and feeling him twitch inside you.

“Look at you.” He cooed. “Look how well you're taking it.”

You couldn’t help but lean in to kiss his open mouth. He was so perfect. He was everything you had ever dreamt of, you realised.

His metal fingers moved to touch your clit while you rode his cock, teasing you and bringing you closer to that edge. It wouldn’t take much. You were so overwhelmed already.

“Bucky…” You whined, dragging your hands down and pressing both your palms against his toned abdomen, carefully avoiding touching him around his thigh area, where he was shot.

Bucky watched you, your breasts bouncing gently, lips parted, softly gasping as you got so, so close to the edge.

And he knew. So he quickened his pace, still moving you up and down his cock while he rubbed your throbbing clit.

“Baby, I’m gonna need you to come for me, okay?” His voice was low, barely even a whisper. His desperation was quite clear. He began to thrust his hips up even harder, matching your movements.

The air around you got hotter, and that look in his eyes made you want to live in this moment forever. Bucky was the most beautiful mess you’d ever seen. A sweaty, moaning mess under you, messy hair, swollen lips, and a throbbing cock.

You were sure you looked like a mess too as you felt your walls clench around him, gripping him and milking him perfectly.

“Come for me,” He whispered, “Come on, baby.”

You came without a warning, crying out loud and impaling yourself down on him one last time as you did. Bucky thrust up into you one last time and came undone as well, both of you breathing hard and fast.

You carefully got up from his lap and laid down beside him, body limp and slightly sore in between your legs.

You were still catching your breath as you asked, “Did I hurt you?” You sounded just as worried as you were.

Bucky chuckled. “I should be the one asking you that.”

You smiled and snuggled into his side, he wrapped an arm around you and pulled you closer.

“I’m fine, baby.” He said and kissed your forehead.

You both laid there in silence for a while.

Cuddling and relishing each other’s warmth, caressing each other’s skin.

You felt his fingers drawing random shapes on your back as you laid your head on his chest, feeling his steady heartbeats against your cheek. You felt the need to ask him, “Why were you so against showing yourself to me?”

He gave you a soft chuckle. “You just can’t let that go, huh?”

“Nope.”

He sighed, pulling you closer. “I was… afraid.”

You frowned. “Afraid of what?” You pulled away and looked up at him. “Why did you hide this pretty face from me?” You gave him a quick kiss on his chest as you waited for his answer.

He sighed again. “Everywhere I go, I… whenever people see me up close, it’s already too late. They don’t see a human anymore, they see death staring back at them.” He paused. You remained quiet. He continued. “I see it, you know? In their eyes. When they look at me and plead, or beg, or curse me.” A humourless laugh, then, “After some years of that, I began seeing it in the mirror as well. I saw the same thing they see. After years of brutality, and killing, and spilling blood,” A soft chuckle, “Years of being an evil Eros as you call it, I grew to hate my face.”

You felt tears forming at your waterline but you couldn’t look away from him. Not when he was being so brave and vulnerable.

He continued. “And then before our wedding, I looked you up.” He confessed, a little embarrassed. “And you were so beautiful.” He looked you right in the eyes and repeated, “You are so beautiful. I guess, I didn’t want you to look at me and see death, and ugly and all the other dark stuff. I didn’t want to see that look in your eyes, the same one I see in everyone. That look of fear and disgust.” He finally admitted, “So I thought, I’d just hide and be a ghost.”

“My ghost.” You corrected him, reaching out to cup his chin in your palm. “And I’m gonna need you to never stop haunting me.” You said, leaning in to leave a soft kiss on his lips. “I want you to always be in the shadows. Be with me, even in the dark.” You gave him a smile. “I look at you now and you know what I see? I see a man who treated me with respect. A man who wouldn’t touch me unless I asked for it. A man who gave me so much space for my creativity.” A faint smile, then you added, “You made me fall in love with art all over again, and now everything I paint, I paint with you in my mind.”

He gave you a smile which both broke and mended your heart.

“Oh Buck,” You cupped his gorgeous face with both hands and said, “You’re not death, or scary, or any other dark shit. You’re mine, and I love you.”

He pulled you in for a kiss so quickly you barely processed it. “And I love you.”

You giggled into the kiss and only pulled away when you were breathless. You kissed your way down his chin and nuzzled his neck, sighing in delight.

Bucky said, “I think I should retire.”

“Hmm,” You asked, “And what would you do in retirement?”

“Watch you paint, raise our dog, adopt some more animals, attend your art exhibitions, and eventually make some babies with you.” He listed it all so easily.

“Sounds like a plan.” You agreed.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes au #mob!bucky #marvel

5K notes · View notes

sunniques · 11 months ago

Text

— 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬 ?

➺ PAIRING: lee heeseung x female reader

➺ GENRE: stepbrother au, smut

➺ SUMMARY: the story of how your stepbrother’s girlfriend realizes her boyfriend has never really been hers.

➺ CW/TW: stepcest, infidelity, possessiveness, heeseung can lift reader, cucking kink, voyeurism, masturbation (f), oral sex (f), fingering, face sitting, unprotected sex, creampies

➺ WC: 4.6k

NOTE: don’t like, don’t read.

A lot of people find your relationship with your stepbrother cute. How could they not? He’s always so doting and protective like a real brother would be. In spite of being only slightly older, Heeseung takes on a very important role in your life. He constantly goes out of his way to take care of you, making sure you have anything you could possibly need.

Heeseung’s girlfriend never thought too much about the relationship between you two. It was natural that he took the naive college freshman under his wing and constantly had you by his side. Mina found it endearing, actually. The way he worried about you like a mother hen who wasn’t ready for her young chick to go into the world alone is adorable and a good sign. After dating so many inconsiderate losers, she thinks she’s finally chosen the right guy.

But somewhere along the way, Mina starts to grow tired of it. Time has gone by, and you’re no longer a naive freshman who can’t get around without her boyfriend’s help. Of course family is important, but it’s not like you’re entirely helpless. And yet, that’s exactly the way Heeseung acts. He’s always ready to drop everything when you need him. On several humiliating occasions, he’s even left her half naked on his bed just to go to you because you bought something you couldn’t figure out how to put together, or because you wanted to hang out with him.

It’s hard for Mina to admit that she’s a little jealous. Especially because it all seems so ridiculous. There’s no way her boyfriend actually wants you like that. But as time goes on, she thinks that maybe she’s not all that crazy. Especially with the affectionate way her boyfriend looks at you. Despite all this, Mina doesn’t say anything. At least, not until Heeseung starts to bring you along to what were meant to be dates.

“Babe, why do you keep bringing your stepsister? i thought we were going on a date?” It’s hard for her to not sound bitter and annoyed.

“Her roommate is going to visit her parents, and I don’t want Y/N to be alone.” His tone is kind and gentle like always, but it’s also firm and leaves no room for arguments.

What’s worse is that Mina can’t bring herself to hate or blame you. In a way, she understands why her boyfriend is always so concerned about you. You’re so nice and trusting that it would be way too easy for someone to take advantage of that. There’s also the fact that you’ve been more than willing to let them have some alone time, but Heeseung never lets you leave.

It’s all so strange and frustrating that Mina feels like she has to take matters into her own hands. So she does.

The key to Heeseung letting you go is getting you a boyfriend—or at least getting you to start dating. It’s easy enough to find a guy who’s interested in you. That’s never been a problem for you, and all it takes is her showing your picture to the cute guy in her communications class for her plan to fall into place. As luck would have it, you’re also into meeting the guy and going out with him.

Little did Mina know, setting you up with him would be a mistake that would cost her everything.

On the night you’re meant to meet up with her classmate, Mina excitedly goes to her boyfriend’s apartment. It’s been a long time since she got to be alone with Heeseung, and she was going to make the most of it.

She’s dressed in tiny tank top and a cute little skirt that Heeseung loves—it barely hides the lingerie she’s wearing underneath. Mina quietly lets herself into her boyfriend’s apartment using her spare key. Quietly, she tiptoes to his room only to find the door wide open. What she doesn’t expect is to find you sitting on his the edge of bed while Heeseung kneels in front of you.

Mina feels like a bucket of cold water has been dumped on her as his pretty hands rub your soft thighs. You look incredible, clad in a cute little dress with your makeup and hair done to perfection. It’s a mistake for Mina to keep watching, but she can’t find her voice at the moment.

“Seungie, what’s wrong?”

God, Mina hates that you call him that. Mostly because she can tell how much Heeseung likes it.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were going out to meet some guy?” Heeseung sounds almost venomous, but it’s like you don’t hear it. “Who is he? How’d you meet him?”

You tilt your head, pretty lips pulled down in a confused frown. “Didn’t Mina tell you? She set me up with a guy from her class. He’s really cute!”

A chill goes down Mina’s spine. She can see Heeseung’s back tense when you tell him how your date came to be. The air feels almost murderous as he gently squeezes your thighs.

It kills Heeseung that he was almost too late in stopping you from meeting some strange guy in the pretty little dress you have on. He softly rubs your thighs, eyes simmering with anger and desire he doesn’t care to hide. Not anymore.

“Oh, angel.” Your stepbrother murmurs, hands slowly trailing up to your thighs. “You know you’re my favorite girl, right?”

An unsuspecting smile graces your lips. “Yeah. And you’re my favorite guy.”

Heeseung hums in satisfaction as his fingers ghost the edges of your dress. He watches your eyebrows furrow, but you don’t say anything. As always, you have blind trust in your stepbrother. That’s all the indication he needs to get up and push you down on his bed. Heeseung hovers over you, loving how you’re staring up at him with sparkling, wide eyes. He swoops down to capture your lips in a searing kiss.

Your heart is racing in your chest as Heeseung forces his tongue into your mouth. Despite the initial shock, you quickly melt into the kiss. He swallows your moans, pulling you closer as he deepens the messy kiss. You mewl into his mouth, carding your fingers through his hair with desire you had never realized you had for him.

Meanwhile, Mina can only watch as her boyfriend kisses you with a passion that he clearly never felt for her. It feels like her heart is ripping in half as Heeseung begins to undress you. Tears well up in her eyes when he groans at the sight of the lingerie adorning your body. Mina can see how hard he is from where she’s standing, and the desire in his eyes is very different from the way he looks at her.

“Can’t believe you got all pretty for some other boy.” Heeseung spits as he starts to undress. “Were planning on letting him fuck you?”

You shake your head and go to speak, but you can’t when Heeseung roughly pulls off your lingerie then his own underwear. His cock is thick and big, possibly the biggest you’ve ever seen. It’s twitching and leaking as he looks at you with his dark eyes.

“W-We shouldn’t be doing this.” You whine as Heeseung shoves your thighs to your stomach and licks a broad stripe up your wet pussy.

Your stepbrother groans at your sweet taste, thrusting his tongue into your dripping hole. He laps up the juices leaking out of your slit, circling his tongue on your clit for good measure. The noise you let out is downright pornographic and pure music to Heeseung’s ears.

“Seungie!” You keen as you spread your legs and tangle your hands in his messy hair. “I– Fuck!”

Heeseung pulls back with a wet slurp to spread your cunt open with his big hands. “God. You have the prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen, angel. Just had to taste it.”

Each one of his words is like a dagger to Mina’s heart and confidence. Wet tears trickle down her face, but she doesn’t say anything as you pull on her boyfriend’s hair. Heeseung only moans and dives back into your slick cunt. He greedily laps up everything that drips out of you, sucking and kissing your clit.

“We shouldn’t be doing this, Hee.” You repeat through a needy mewl, making no attempt to stop him. In fact, you buck your pussy into his mouth as he sucks on your sensitive bud.

“Shh, angel.” Heeseung shushes as he flicks his tongue across your swollen bud. “Just relax and let me eat you out. Been wanting to do this for so long.”

Mina swallows thickly, the hurt slowly being replaced by something else. Her eyes grow bigger when she realizes which feeling is taking over. She shifts slightly, feeling a familiar wetness begin to pool in her panties. Mina feels sick that the sight of her boyfriend cheating on her can turn her on, and she thinks that she should leave right now and never return.

But she stays.

Mina licks her lips and continues to watch. Even she can’t help but think how hot you look, whimpering and writhing as Heeseung pushes your thighs apart so he can bury his face deeper in your pussy. He flicks his tongue, slowly descending until he’s lapping at your hole, slowly fucking the wet muscle in and out. Your eyes roll back as your stepbrother eats your pussy like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted.

The sounds coming from your pussy and the way Heeseung messily eats you out has Mina’s own cunt clenching with need. She can feel her underwear start to stick to her cunt as she watches her boyfriend lap up your arousal like a starved man. Mina bites her lip, feeling sick and twisted for being turned on by your pretty moans.

Heeseung suddenly pulls away, but not before he slaps your thigh playfully. He goes to lay on his back all while wearing a filthy smirk. “Sit on my face.”

You bite your lip as a hot flash of arousal pulses through your body. Both your and Mina’s cunts throb at the suggestion. Heeseung sees your hesitation, but doesn’t back down.

“C’mon, baby. Be a good little stepsister and ride my fucking face.” He growls out with dark eyes.

With your pussy dripping, you crawl over to him and kneel over his face. Mina watches with heated eyes as you slowly lower your cunt on her boyfriend’s face. The heat in her stomach grows when she hears Heeseung groan in satisfaction.

“That’s it. I want your pretty pussy suffocating me.”

With that, your stepbrother grabs your hips and pulls your cunt down onto his face with a groan. Mewling quietly, you rub your cunt all over his mouth. Every time he moans or grunts, it sends little vibrations through your pussy. The delicious feeling has you grinding down on his tongue as you chase that feeling. Heeseung eagerly fucks his wet muscle into your hot cunt, already addicted to your sweet taste.

Mina swallows thickly when he sees Heeseung thrusting into the air as he eats you out. His cock is leaking and throbbing with need. Fuck. How she’d like to go and lick all that up, to have him fuck her mouth as he fucks you with his tongue. Mina rubs her thighs to soothe the growing ache in her pussy as she watches you ride Heeseung’s face.

Your eyes roll back when your stepbrother slaps your ass. A loud squeal spills from your lips as Heeseung keeps fucking his tongue up into your cunt. He grabs your ass and kneads it roughly. With one last groan and flick of his tongue, he sits up and takes you with him. The effortless display of strength turns both women on, one containing her moan while the other cries out as she’s pressed back into the mattress.

“Such a sweet little cunt.” Heeseung moans as he buries his face back into your dripping cunt. “Shit, Y/N. You’re fucking soaked down here.”

“Heeseung!” You cry out as he pries your thighs further apart. Your stepbrother shakes his head to grind his tongue against your sensitive cunt.

“Fuck, you have the hottest little pussy.” Heeseung lifts his head with a groan, lips shiny with your arousal. “Missed eating some good pussy. It’s been so long.”

Mina feels pathetic that her cunt throbs at his degrading words. She bites her lip, hands trailing up her thigh and to her soaked underwear. It’s so filthy and humiliating, but the ache in her pussy is getting to be too much. She slowly rubs circles on her covered cunt as she keeps watching her boyfriend cheat on her.

“Fuck, Seungie.” You mewl desperately. “S-Shouldn’t like having your face buried in my cunt.”

Heeseung smirks into your wetness. He gently circles his tongue on your clit, kissing it tenderly before he gently starts to nip at it with his teeth. Mina shoves her panties aside when you moan out in pleasure. Now she’s furiously rubbing at her bare pussy, wanting to see you cum on her boyfriend’s face.

“But you do, baby. You like me fucking you with my tongue, and I fucking love eating this sweet little pussy.”

Your hips buck up at the words, grinding your cunt against his mouth as you moan for him. Juices drip out of you lewdly, leaking down to your ass and onto Heeseung’s sheets. Your head is swimming with pleasure, and you have to remember that this is all so very wrong.

“You like that?” Heeseung teases you, loving how you’ve turned into putty in his hands. “Answer me, Y/N. Do you like your stepbrother telling you how much he loves tasting your juicy cunt?”

Your back arches when Heeseung sucks your puffy bud into his mouth. “God—yes! Feels so fucking good, Hee! Love having your mouth on my pussy.”

Heeseung growls, the vibrations making your cunt throb as he sucks and licks your swollen clit. Eager to have you cum on his tongue, he slips two fingers into your fluttering hole. Mina follows in suit, unable to take her eyes off the erotic sight of you getting ate out and fingered. Fuck. This was better than any porn she had ever watched. Her hand is dripping with her own arousal, and she can’t even feel disgusted anymore that she’s so turned on by the entire situation.

“Mmmh, shit, Hee.” You whine as the tips of his fingers brush against the gummy spot inside you. “You’re gonna make me cum.”

“Do it, baby. Cream all over my tongue.” He purrs in delight. “Be a good girl and cum for me.”

Heeseung flattens his tongue on your clit while his fingers grind into the spongy spot in your cunt. Your back arches off the bed, orgasm whiting out your thoughts as you cum around his long fingers.

Mina has to cover her mouth as Heeseung moans along with you. By now she’s shoved her fingers into her sopping pussy, the squelching sound is drowned out from the sounds coming from your own pussy. The filthy sight is driving her wild, and she’s so delirious with arousal that she wishes Heeseung would just fuck you already.

“You’re amazing, angel.” Your stepbrother praises with his fingers still buried knuckle deep in your pussy as he softly strokes your velvety walls. “So soft and wet. It makes me want to shove my dick into your tight little hole.”

Heeseung slowly pulls his fingers out of you, and you can only watched with a lidded gaze as he moves his body between your thighs. His cock is twitching and leaking as he grabs the base. He smacks his cock down on your slippery pussy, dragging his drooling tip up and down your slit slowly. Mina has to press her hand into her mouth harder to stifle her filthy moans. The sight of her boyfriend pressing his drooling cockhead into your soaking pussy is so hot she might just cum all over her fingers.

“S-Seungie—fuck. We shouldn’t.” You whimper as he leans forward and braces his arms by your head.

You and Mina both know you don’t really mean your words. It’s clear that you want your stepbrother to split you open on his big cock. That becomes obvious when you don’t try to stop him as he shoves his cock into your pussy until he bottoms out completely, balls pressing against your ass. Shuddering with pleasure, you scratch your nails up his arms as you sink into the bed.

“Pretty pussy was meant to take my cock.” Heeseung growls, already drunk on the feeling of your cunt wrapped around his dick. “Fuck. I know it’s wrong, baby, but I just couldn’t help myself. Your hot little cunt was just begging for my dick. Doesn’t it feel all nice and full having your pussy stuffed with your stepbrother’s big cock?"

Mina starts fucking herself harder when you nod desperately. Your hands go to tangle in his hair as you grind your hips up to meet his thrusts. “Yes! Fuck! Love my stepbrother’s cock stretching me open! Feels so fucking good, Hee!”

Mina knows better than anyone how good you must feel. Although, she imagines you feel must better than she ever did because from the way Heeseung’s fucking you, she can tell he’s doing it with much more enthusiasm and passion. Even his moans are more guttural and full of more pleasure than she’d ever heard. They’re deep as he pulls out until just his tip is spearing you open. Then, he pushes forward, thrusting his cock deep into your fluttering walls.

“That’s it. Tell me how good it feels.” Heeseung leans down, lips brushing against yours. “Don’t be shy, angel. Let me know how much you like this cock fucking you.”

You gasp wantonly and pull him down further to press your lips together. He groans and licks into your mouth easily, tongue slipping past your lips as his cock thrusts deep into your hot, wet cunt. Your hips buck up to meet his, loving how his dick rams into your sweet spot over and over until your sight is painted with pretty little stars.

“Fucking love it, Hee.” You moan between sloppy kisses. “God—I love your cock!”

The coil in Mina’s stomach is close to snapping. By now, her juices are dripping down to her wrist. Luckily, the lewd squelching and sound of skin slapping together drown out any noise she’s making. Heeseung is fucking you so hard and good that she can smell the musky scent of sex from where she’s standing. The erotic aroma turns her on even more, pussy clamping down on her fingers in desperate need of release.

“Tight little pussy feels so good.” Heeseung moans out between the quick pecks he’s giving you. “God, I love you, Y/N. So fucking much.”

Your heart races as Mina’s breaks all over again. It hurts, but somehow that just turns her on even more. She keeps fingering herself as tears pool in her eyes.

With a low moan, your pussy clamps down on Heeseung’s dick tightly as you go to eagerly kiss him. A soft I love you, too goes unnoticed by Mina, but not by your stepbrother. He groans into your mouth, cock throbbing inside you.

“Mmmh.” Heeseung hums against your lips before he trails wet kisses down your neck. “I love my gorgeous girl. That’s why this feels so good. Even your tight little pussy knows how much I love you.”

His gorgeous girl? Mina thinks deliriously, orgasm dangerously close. It’s something he never referred to her as.

You cry out loudly when Heeseung bites your neck and sucks the skin into his mouth. His hips rock against yours, balls smacking against your ass as his pelvis grinds down on your swollen clit.

“Seungie!” You whine in ecstasy. “I’m getting close.”

Your stepbrother doesn’t let up. In fact, his thrusts seem to get faster and rougher. His cock pistons in and out of your cunt, creating sloppy wet sounds as you get even wetter. His eyes are dark as he pulls back to look at you, all pretty squirming and trembling on his cock.

“Cum for me, baby. Cover my cock with your sweet cream so I can fill you up.” Heeseung pants. “Cum on my cock, angel.”

His teeth sink into your neck again, and it pushes you over the edge. Your hot cunt throbs as you squeeze down on his cock. Somehow your pussy only gets tighter and tighter as you get fucked through your orgasm. You tighten your legs around his waist until he can barely pull out, rutting his cock in short shallow thrusts as your climax starts to taper off.

“So fucking tight.” Heeseung hisses by your ear. “Shit, baby. Get ready. I’m about to creampie your cute little pussy. Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

With a strangled grunt, he buries his cock to the hilt and shoots his load deep inside your fluttering walls while your pussy softly milks him for every drop of his hot cum. Mina reaches her own climax when she sees her boyfriend cumming inside you. She has to stifle her moans as she trembles and shakes outside the room that’s filled with the smell and sounds of hot sex.

“You’re taking it so well, angel.” Heeseung kisses your jaw tenderly as his fat tip spurts rope after rope of his thick cum into your clenching heat. “Milking my cock like I knew you would.”

He grinds his hips down, cock pulsing as he finishes stuffing you full of his hot, sticky load. Your stepbrother fucks his cum inside a bit more before reluctantly pulling out. Heeseung’s cock throbs as he watches his seed drip from your messy pussy.

He licks his lips, heated gaze never leaving your body. “Let’s do it again.”

You don’t try to protest as your manhandles into a different position. Mina is still coming down from her high when she realizes her boyfriend is still hard and about to fuck you again. She knows she shouldn’t feel excited or aroused by the fact, but she does. Especially when your face is shoved into one of Heeseung’s pillows just before his big cock rails back into your needy pussy.

Heeseung starts fucking you so hard his headboard slams into the wall repeatedly. The harsh sound pairs well with the plop plop plop sound coming from your cunt.

“God, Y/N. You’re so fucking good for me.” Heeseung groans when you clench down on him.

You moan loudly, bouncing yourself back on his cock. “Fu-Fuck, Seungie. This is wrong. We s-shouldn’t be doing this.”

“I know.” Your stepbrother smacks your ass, not sounding the least bit remorseful. “It’s so dirty baby, but I couldn’t help myself. Had to get my dick wet using your pretty little pussy.”

“Mmmh!” You whine out mindlessly, face turned to the side with your ass raised in the air for Heeseung to fuck deeper into your wet hole. “Feels so fucking good!”

“Yeah, it does.” Heeseung’s laugh sounds almost mean as he speeds up his thrusts to fuck his cock harder into your sopping cunt. “Your cute little pussy is the best I’ve ever had.”

His words shouldn’t please you as much as they do, but those lewd words turn you on so much that you can’t stop your cunt from tightening around him as he keeps spearing into you like an animal in heat. They also shouldn’t turn on Heeseung’s girlfriend but that’s exactly what they do. She isn’t angry, only extremely aroused as your ass bounces back on your stepbrother’s pelvis.

“Fuck!” Heeseung groans, fucking his cock right into your g-spot. “You’re so fucking hot, angel.”

You are. So hot that Mina finds herself wishing she could eat Heeseung’s cum out of your pretty cunt. She just knows you taste good, and mixed with her boyfriend she’s sure you must taste even better.

“Seungie, please!” You cry out, dizzy with arousal.

“Shit.” He growls, slipping a hand underneath your hips to rub fast circles on your clit. “Gonna make you cream on my cock again.”

“Heeseung!” You squeal as he picks up his pace, ramming into your squelching pussy as he rubs soft circles into your swollen clit.

Your stepbrother shoves his cock deep into your cunt and grinds, making you squirm and whine as his dick rubs against the spongy spot in your pussy. Your hands twist in the sheets. He flicks and pinches your puffy clit. God, do you look good, and so does Heeseung. Mina is groping one of her tits while the other hand goes to play with her pussy again. Briefly, she thinks she wouldn’t mind having a video of you two fucking so she can watch it over and over again.

“Hee, I’m gonna cum.” You moan against the pillow.

“Do it, baby.” He encourages you, free hand coming down to slap your ass hard. “Cum all over my cock. Want to feel your hot cunt squeeze me.”

It’s not long before your orgasm hits. You’re screaming into your pillow as your cream coats Heeseung’s big cock. Your pussy clamps rhythmically around his dick. Mina can’t see you, but with the way your toes are curling she can tell your eyes are rolling to the back of your head in pure ecstasy.

“Oh, baby. You feel so fucking good.” Heeseung praises you. His hands move to slap your ass again, making you squeal and tighten again. “Fucking work your little pussy on my cock. Fuck. Need to fill you up again.”

“Want you to stuff me full.” You whine back at him, pussy fluttering at the thought of Heeseung’s cum filling your cunt again.

“Yeah?” Your stepbrother laughs, sounding way too delighted. “Want me to creampie your hot little cunt again?”

“Please!” You whine as Heeseung’s fingers slide over your hip to start working soft circles into your clit again. You writhe back on him, feeling yourself get even wetter at the filthy thought of him shooting his hot load inside you.

“Cum inside me, Hee.” You pant, mewling when his fingers rub your clit even faster. “Want it so bad. Want to feel it.”

“Oh, fuck.” Heeseung groans, hips snapping hard against your ass when he feels how tight you’ve gotten. “You ready, baby? Fucking take it. Take your stepbrother’s cum in your needy little cunt.”

You moan loudly when you feel his hot cum filling your pussy, stuffing you so full it drips out around his cock. Heeseung ruts his spent cock into your sloppy pussy as he pinches your clit, watching as your back arches as a fourth orgasm sweeps through you. You lazily fuck your cunt back into him, loving the feeling of his cum dripping out of you and coating your thighs.

Heeseung pulls out of your warm cunt with a low groan. He’s quick to pull you against his chest and lays you down with him. His face is buried in your hair, eyes closed in bliss as you both try to catch your breaths. You feel his smile in your hair as he cuddles you and murmurs sweet praises against your temple.

Through your drooping eyes, you catch sight of Mina. Her eyes widen when you two make eye contact. You can’t hide your smirk when you see that she was masturbating to the sight of Heeseung fucking you raw. Instead of saying anything, you give her a seductive wink. Mina clenches around her fingers because the wink is full of understanding and promises.

It’s clear that Heeseung was never hers, but maybe you wouldn’t mind sharing.

#heeseung smut #lee heeseung smut #enhypen smut #enha smut #heeseung x reader #lee heeseung x reader #enhypen x reader #enha x reader

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urlocalmagicalcat · 2 years ago

Text

really long rant (happy rant) in the tags, mostly towards @synthetic-lavender /vpos

romance repulsed aros and romance favourable aros are both cool and valid but because i never see anything about us: shoutout to romance indifferent aros. romance neutral aros. aros who just couldn't care less. aros who have a conflicted relationship with romance. aros who are fine with romance in some contexts but not in others. aros who don't mind romance when it's not amatonormativity being shoved down their throats. aros who haven't yet figured out their feelings about romance. aros to whom romance is Just Something That Exists. y'all are rad as hell and it's okay not to 'pick a side'!!

#I’m an aro who is heavily indifferent about romance except for when it comes to our beloved Freya because we love her as both a friend #and as a lover.#there’s a saying we like to go by that we picked up on from one of our favorite songs #“Kiss whoever makes you feel sound but it takes time man to figure it all out”#AND WE STRONGLY STAND BY THAT.#We’ve been through so many relationships that romance isn’t really a thing anymore to us because of trauma and abuse. We only felt romance #towards two people (Freya being one of them) that it’s lowkey so numbing to us but yet we also like the idea of romance because like #you get to share your life and your life experiences with somebody you love and it’s the most amazing thing ever because it builds the bond #between you guys closer and stronger and it’s beautiful.#but yet it’s so confusing and new to us still because like. whenever we think about freya it gets so gushy and messy because we actually #love her and it’s so strange and new because she’s actually a really good person.#I tell you. Freya is literally one of the best person in the world. Freya would literally sit there and wait for you to return and would #wait for you forever and looks past the abuse and misguidance you went through with the person that abused you previously because deep down #inside she knows that’s there’s a gentle and sweet and caring being within you that wants to be let out and free.#she looks past the facades and masks you’d go through to please people and brings out the best in you. she knows that you wouldn’t act that #way and she knows that you’re equally as much as a being as she is.#she knows deep down inside that you have a huge distaste towards cursing all the time she knows that you want to help everyone and she know #that no matter what anyone tells you that your interests will always be apart of who you truly are #a childish fun-loving sweet person who just wants everyone to be okay.#she sees past all of the dirt that’s been put in my mouth and understands that what you had to do was to survive.#and god darn it. you survived. you’re still surviving.#and you can’t help but melt because all you’ve known are false loves and friendships and relationships yet this is real.#she’s real. she’s so. kind and pure. she doesn’t want any trouble or rottenness to be spread around. she just wants everyone to be happy.#like you.#not all of us are designed to be with everyone. some of us need more care and kindness than others.#and. I think Freya. is the right one for me. for us. for us as a system. but. especially for. me.#Freya reminds me of the first person that first truly loved us and I love that because Freya is better than the first person we actually ha #feelings for. They even have a similar-ish name. Felicity. Freya. both begins with F has an e within their names and has a y close to the #end of both their names.#having someone that reminds you of someone you truly loved and cared for and having someone who’s an actual good pure person is. the best.

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iimplicitt · 22 days ago

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hiii 🤠 anon here

how do you feel about writing for mafia lando where he’s married to the reader who’s not his choice it’s basically an arrangement and his family hates her and she’s having a really hard time in his house and Lando doesn’t notice and he’s cold and one day her family causes her to have a panic attack and he sees her in his room all small and scared and then he helps her and makes her a feel better and etc something about a heated confession and people being put in their place. if you do write this thank you :)

HAPPINESS IS A BUTTERFLY | LN4

pairings: mafia! lando x arranged marriage reader

an/warnings: arranged marriage, violence, mentions of abusive parents, angst, panic attacks, fluff, hea

wc: 5.2k

୧‿̩͙ ˖︵ ꕀ⠀ ♱⠀ ꕀ ︵˖ ‿̩͙୨

He bit the inside of his cheek as he watched the sleek back car roll up in the long drive way from his office. Windows tinted but he could make out the faint outline of a person as they moved around before Oscar got out of the car to open the door for its passenger.

His new wife.

The words tasted sour on his tongue as he drank some of his whiskey, not caring that it was nine in the morning. He needed a pick-me-up for the day that was ahead.

Gleaming hair caught in the sunlight, a delicate hand with a blinding diamond hesitantly taking Oscar’s as red bottom Louis’ met the pavement.

His eyes narrowed a bit as he watched you, mere curiosity to see how you acted when he wasn’t around. When the wedding happened it was short and extravagant. All the glitz and glamour expected of such a pair. A politician's daughter and a booming business man whose money usually came tinted red. A shame that most of the world didn’t know your fathers money was just as dirty as his.

It was an alliance in London’s eyes. A step towards peace.

He hadn’t even seen you until the white lace veil was lifted.

You were pretty but that wasn’t enough to suddenly sway his mind into liking the whole arrangement. He didn’t have much choice. Having coppers on a payroll was a deal too good to pass up, so he agreed. Shook hands. It hadn’t mattered much, not in the long run. Lando was always busy. Always working. If a marriage hadn’t been forced upon him, he didn’t think he would’ve ever had a ring on his finger.

He watched silently as you waited for Oscar to grab your bags. Your eyes flickering around the property, taking in the well kept gardens and security cameras mounted every few yards. A fortress.

His eyes took in the dress you wore, expensive silk draped over skin. Flowing like liquid in the subtle summer breeze. He took note of how your hand kept flexing, the one with a ring. His ring.

The one he had slid on your finger a week ago as he whispered, “I do.” Your own voice low as you muttered the vow, eyes not meeting his.

He could barely remember what the kiss had been like. It was quick, soft. Obligatory. Both of you seemed relieved it was over with, arms linked with one another as you left the cathedral. White flower petals falling into hair as they were tossed into the sky.

Lando set his tumbler down and backed away from the window, trying to take a calming breath before walking downstairs. He needed to make this livable. An ecosystem. Staying out of each other's way, respecting boundaries. Telling where and what was off bounds. If you needed help, ask Oscar. If you wanted someone to talk to, also ask Oscar. Leave him be, because he was busy.

You seemed reasonable enough in the few minutes of shared company. You knew this was a business transaction. It wasn’t something to get hopes up on. Lando knew you were smart enough not to be a burden so hopefully it would feel like nothing had changed. Just an extra person in the household. Another echoing voice.

He could hear the sharp click of your heels as you entered the front foyer, the soft sound of your voice as you spoke in hushed tones. Your whole presence seemed cautious. Like you were treading in a minefield.

As he stepped down the stairs and into the light, your eyes met. The air shifting. Tense. Dangerous. Your painted lips pressed into a line as you waited for instruction. Ever obedient. Compliance being woven into you as a child.

He had met your father on more than one occasion and he knew he wasn’t a kind man.

But the problems of your past were yours.

Lando sighed lightly through his nose, head tilting and hands in pockets as he let himself look at you for another moment before dismissing Oscar.

The foyer was still. The only thing he could hear was the faint hum of electricity and birds outside. Watching you as you watched him.

“Nice drive?” He asked, not quite sure on the formalities of the situation.

You laughed slightly, the sound coming out in a short exhale as you looked away from him. “It was fine.”

He hummed, not seeing a point in furthering the conversation and he gestured for you to follow him.

୧‿̩͙ ˖︵ ꕀ⠀ ♱⠀ ꕀ ︵˖ ‿̩͙୨

The summer had gone by in a repetition of droning days and lonely dinners. The only thing keeping you company were the few books you packed, although you had already read through them all. An endless cycle of talking to the walls and sitting near your window, feeling like a modern day Rapunzel.

It’s not necessarily like you weren’t allowed to go anywhere, but it still felt off limits. Frowned upon. A burden if you were seen walking the halls.

His family didn’t like you very much. Which you both understood yet couldn’t come to terms with. They had to have known this wasn’t any more of your choice than it was his. And why shovel the blame onto someone’s child? It wasn’t your fault your father was corrupted and played a better hand.

Pressing your forehead against the cool glass, you watched as the world went by. The silent hum of air conditioning was the only thing to droll out your thoughts and lately it hadn’t been working. The room felt suffocating but there was no one to turn to. Even voicing your thoughts out loud to yourself seemed like some boundary was being crossed. Maybe even to yourself. That you were starting to get too comfortable.

Oscar seemed nice enough. Timid. Not sure how to approach you or if he even should. He brought your meals to your door like clock work. Part of you felt bad but the thought of eating in the dining room seemed like suicide. You had tried the first night, assuming that was just part of the routine. To have dinner with your…husband.

But Lando was nowhere to be found, leaving you at a large oak table alone and shoveling food around. Appetite non-existent. Oscar had told you he usually took dinner in his office. That most of the other members of the household ate out.

His words hit you dully as you stared at the polished wood, not quite believing this was going to be the rest of your life. Then again, you weren’t sure what you wanted. Did you want Lando to make an effort? Did you even want to be around him? You didn’t know much, just that he was a bad man. But aren’t they all? Apparently that’s all the world thought you were fit for. Violent men with money in their eyes.

No, you didn’t want to know him.

But god, loneliness caught up to everyone.

The hours ticked by and you sat there, tracing lines into the skin of your thighs with your nail. Over and over again till skin prickled and red lines appeared. The itch and sting foreign, numb. As if you’d shot your heart with novacaine. Your eyes unblinking as you did the action, pure muscle memory. You didn’t have to think. You didn’t want to.

At least you never wanted to think about yourself. Your situation. The listless marriage you now found yourself trapped in.

But your mind would wander. What did he get up to? What did he even do? Was it really any different from the current political affairs the nation got up to? Would he one day change his mind and want more?

The thought made you shiver, eyes trailing to your locked door. He’d never tried to come in. Hell, he’d never even been to your room. In the weeks you’d been there you had probably only seen him a handful of times. Walking down the hall and his eyes would catch yours for a moment but nothing else. Looking through you like a ghost. Cold. Indifferent. Sometimes you’d hear him in the house. Talking to Oscar or on the phone. Always business. Always something you didn’t understand.

He couldn’t seem bothered at the thought of you being around. Didn’t seem interested. And that weird, fucked up little voice in the back of your mind whispered that Lando was keeping himself entertained just fine. That he found comfort in other women. Having affairs. You barely felt married. There weren't technically any commitments beyond regurgitated vows. So why did the thought still make your stomach churn?

Perhaps it was the feeling of being unwanted. A constant companion of doubt. Your family didn’t want you, pawned you off. Your husband didn’t want you. You would never get to experience love. You’d go through life longing for creature comforts—

You pressed your forehead harder into the glass. Wanting the thoughts to stop. You pushed so hard you hoped it’d break and you’d go hurtling towards the ground.

There was a sharp knock on the door. Six o’clock sharp.

Dinner.

୧‿̩͙ ˖︵ ꕀ⠀ ♱⠀ ꕀ ︵˖ ‿̩͙୨

You felt like you were going insane. The walls bending inward. The wallpaper swirling. The ceiling breathing.

Crazy.

Wandering the halls was reckless but you started to care less and less if Lando saw you. For the first time in months you wanted him to see you. Be reminded that you were there. Proof you were alive. You were here. Even when it never felt like it. You felt like a phantom who haunted the house, mostly only coming out at night when the rest of the world slept. Chasing the creaks of wood and following the patterns in the rug. Chasing something. Feeling wild. Deranged like a white rabbit who was late for tea.

His mother yelled at you. For something, you weren’t sure what. It seemed like no matter what you did you were wrong. Skin not fitting right over bones. Disassociating and staring at her. That only made her more mad and she slapped you. Not for the first time. Hard across the face. You hadn’t noticed till you heard the echo of it around the kitchen. Didn’t realise till some of the staff gasped, hands flying over mouths. Glowing wide eyes staring at you in shock.

You blinked again, subtle warmth creeping into your cheek. Hand slowly going up to hold your face. What had you done wrong? Why were you always wrong?

His mother scoffed. “You’re no good. You’re not even all the way there are you?” With a look of disgust she turned away, disappearing down the hall.

One of the cooks slowly approached you, as if you were some wounded animal. Holding out a pack of ice. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled.

“For what?” Your voice sounded distant. Distorted. Like it was coming from somewhere else. Taking the ice, you left. Letting it sit in your hand instead, the bitter coldness of it sending a dull shock up your arm.

You felt like crying. At least you thought about it. But nothing would fall out. Your eyes felt dry and heavy. Staring at nothingness as you walked with your heartbeat thudding in your ears.

This was your life. This was going to be your forever. Sucked into yet another man's orbit who didn’t give a shit about you. Because fuck what you want, right?

You turned into what you thought was your bedroom. You weren’t quite sure how you got there. It had been odd lately. Like moments of time blacked out. Arriving one place and not knowing how you got there. Tuning out to your depressing reality.

You were going to die alone. It wasn’t even your fault. Or maybe it was. Maybe you should’ve tried harder. Fought your father and left as soon as you had turned of age. Why didn’t you try harder to fight back? Did some twisted part of you want this? The lack of effort. Things being handed to you. Maybe you thought you deserved it. After all, you'd been living off your fathers dirty money guilt free. Perhaps this was just your karma.

Longing for a life you’d never have.

You sucked in a sharp breath, tears finally beginning to prick at your eyes. The droplets stung so bad your vision went blurry.

You barely felt it as your knees hit the hard wooden floors. Didn’t register the scratching sound of your nails dragging against the planks, blindly trying to crawl your way out of the hell you were living. Feeling pathetic and ungrateful because you knew it could be worse. It could always be worse.

A sob left your throat, bubbling up and out like acid.

୧‿̩͙ ˖︵ ꕀ⠀ ♱⠀ ꕀ ︵˖ ‿̩͙୨

The door flew open to his office and he was about to yell at whoever had the audacity when he turned, paused. The look on Oscar’s face wasn’t one commonly seen.

“What?”

“There’s a problem.”

Lando sighed, tapping his pen on his desk. “Care to elaborate?”

“It’s your mother and your wife.”

Lando reared back slightly at the word. It wasn’t thrown around often. Hell, he hardly saw you. And when he did, when he’d catch you wandering around well past three in the morning something was just…off. He didn't know how to approach you. Or if he even should. You’d seemed equally disinterested by his company. Staring at him sometimes like he was an apparition that wasn’t meant to be there.

He wouldn’t blame you if you hated his guts. Lando knew most women would prefer a love filled marriage compared to whatever the hell they had.

“What about them?” He asked, eyes flicking down to his papers again. Not seeing why—

“The staff said there was an altercation in the kitchen.”

Pausing, his eyes flicked up. Brow raising.

Oscar sighed, “your wife is in your room.”

That got him up. What the hell were you doing in there? And why? It wasn’t like he kept important documents in there, he knew better than that but he still didn’t trust you much. You were your fathers daughter. Maybe this was all some ploy to get into his personal things, find weaknesses, cracks.

His feet moved briskly down the hall, his polished shoes clicking dully on the ornate rugs and painted eyes followed him as he went. Lando didn’t pause as he saw his door, didn’t pause as he turned the handle.

“What do—“

Lando halted to a stop as his eyes found you. Feeling as if the earth had been yanked out from beneath him when he heard you try to smother the sound of your crying with a hand. Curled up in the space between his bed and the nightstand. Looking so small as you trembled.

Your eyes didn’t meet his. He wasn’t even sure if you heard him come in. Your breathing was too fast, too ragged. Short bursts of oxygen, your lungs not being able to keep up.

He shut the door softly behind him and quietly made his way over to you, lowering himself to his knees. Debating if he should touch you or not. You hadn’t touched in months. Not since the wedding.

“Hey,” his voice was soft and you flinched. Head shooting up and staring at him. He’d never seen you look so frightened and you tried to push yourself back harder into the wall. Shaking your head as if he’d caught you doing something wrong.

He immediately caught the red outline of a hand on your cheek. His jaw clenched. An odd, unbearably awful sensation churned in his stomach at the thought of someone hurting you. Knowing it was his mother only made the fire burn hotter. He didn’t know why. It wasn’t like you were close. But the rage was itching up his spine like a spider.

“You’re okay,” he said again. His voice was rough, but a whisper. He reached out to you, slowly. Hands gently taking hold of you as he pulled your shaking frame into his, feeling the way your lungs struggled to catch up. Your muscles coiled in tension as he touched you. He hated it.

“You’re alright, darling.” He soothed your hair back, feeling your nails bite into his skin as you twisted the fabric of his shirt. Trying to ground yourself. Trying to make sense of it all. Of why he was here.

He knew it had to be confusing. That his sudden reassurance was off putting and regret was starting to inch its way up his throat. The spindly legs tickling and desperate. He should’ve handled this whole thing better. It was selfish. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. Holding your head beneath his chin as you tried to calm down. “I’m here, if you need me to be.”

You didn’t say anything. He wasn’t sure what to do. Where to go from there. This was new territory for him. Second guessing wasn’t usually in Lando’s playbook but you were something new entirely.

He began to lean away but your grip tightened on his shirt, your head pressing further into the crook of his neck.

Sighing, he maneuvered himself into a sitting position, holding you in his lap as he leaned against his bed. Giving you time. Gently running circles into the nape of your neck. His grandmother always did that for him, it always seemed to help calm him down. Lando waited patiently, taking in the faint scent of your shampoo. Smiling to himself a bit despite everything because it was the same one he used.

Slowly your harsh breathing began to subside but your body still trembled from the aftershocks.

His fingers still ran lightly over your skin, his voice a low hum and he could feel the vibration of his own rib cage with your weight against him. “I’ve had panic attacks too, you know?”

You didn’t do anything for a moment, and then, like the first break of daylight, you slightly shifted your head and your voice was a whisper. “Really?”

“Mhm.”

୧‿̩͙ ˖︵ ꕀ⠀ ♱⠀ ꕀ ︵˖ ‿̩͙୨

Something had shifted. Maybe others wouldn’t have noticed, but you did. That next morning there was a knock on your bedroom door. Eight o’clock sharp. You hadn’t slept much, your eyes still raw and body restless from the previous evening. The feeling of his light, delicate touch on you was on replay in the back of your mind. You hadn’t been held in what felt like years.

You hadn’t expected such kindness from him.

Padding over to the door, you rubbed at your eyes, trying to look alive before opening it. “Morning, Oscar–” you blinked at the form of Lando standing in the hall. Wearing a casual linen shirt and dress pants, jacket draped over one arm and he looked at you expectantly.

“Ready?” He asked.

You felt dumb as you continued to stare at him. Not expecting to see him so soon. Not thinking he’d even want to see you after yesterday’s mess. “What?”

He sighed lightly through his nose. “We’re going out for breakfast.”

“Why?”

There was a slight crease forming between his brows. “Do you not want to?”

You blinked again before reality finally caught up to you. “No, no. That’s fine. Just… let me get dressed.” You eyed him as you shut the door. He was acting weird.

It was nice.

୧‿̩͙ ˖︵ ꕀ⠀ ♱⠀ ꕀ ︵˖ ‿̩͙୨

“What on earth are you doing?” His mother shouted over the sound of a power drill. Standing in the doorway with her arms crossed.

Lando looked at her for only a moment. Still cross with her after the kitchen incident a couple of weeks ago. He had yelled at her after he managed to get you into bed. Yelled at his whole family. The staff, for not telling him.

“She is the lady of the household and my wife. You do not touch her, you do not say a fucking word to her unless it’s praise.” He looked directly at his mother. “Understood?”

“I’m building a reading nook.” He finally said, standing back to look at his progress so far. He took you to the fabric store yesterday but you were beyond indecisive and he wasn’t sure the new couch went with the interior of his office.

He had been trying to go out more, just small places. When he found out you hadn’t left the house since you arrived he was confused and furious with Oscar. His friend and right hand had merely raised his hands in surrender, muttering how you had never wanted to go anywhere.

“Whatever for? Since when do you read for pleasure?” His mother asked, mostly teasing. Trying to weave her way back into his good graces. He doubted that would ever happen. He was on the verge of throwing her out but you managed to talk him out of it.

“It’s not for me.” Lando left it at that. Watching how his mother’s shoulders fell at the realisation and she turned away.

He smiled slightly to himself as he set up the couch, pushing it under the window so you could get good light and a nice view of the gardens. Plus, he could watch you more easily from his desk when he worked.

You looked pretty when you were reading.

୧‿̩͙ ˖︵ ꕀ⠀ ♱⠀ ꕀ ︵˖ ‿̩͙୨

For the first time in months you were bored, and not in a bad way. Lando made sure there was always something for you to do when he wasn’t around. Part of you felt bad, following him around like a kicked puppy. But any time you’d start to back off, give him some space, it was like his hand blindly found yours, not even looking up from his work, tugging you back.

Muttering a quiet, “stay.”

You tried to ignore the butterflies that began fluttering in your stomach, chasing after whatever this was. You didn’t know why you felt stubborn over it. He was your husband after all, butterflies are supposed to be a good thing.

You took up cooking as a hobby, mostly different kinds of fresh pasta. Trying to keep your hands steady as Lando would walk behind you, fingers lightly dragging along the small over your back. Leaning over your shoulder, lips nearly brushing your neck as he quietly spoke, “that looks lovely.”

He always spoke so softly to you. His touch always delicate.

୧‿̩͙ ˖︵ ꕀ⠀ ♱⠀ ꕀ ︵˖ ‿̩͙୨

Lando fixed his cuff links as he stood in the foyer, making sure his suit was wrinkle free in the large mirror. There was a big Christmas gala that night in London. A whole cluster of politicians, businessmen, philanthropists, etc. He didn’t have much of a role to play besides being seen, given his bookies did most of the under the table work.

When he’d asked you to go with him, you hesitated. He knew seeing your father was something you’d like to avoid. Over time you slowly opened up to him about how strained the relationship was.

He had lifted a hand to your cheek, gently brushing his knuckles along your cheekbones, watching in satisfaction as your pupils expanded at his touch. “I won't let him near you,” he whispered. Watching as you debated before eventually nodding, leaning slightly into his touch.

When he heard the sound of heels clicking sharply against marble flooring his eyes flicked up, watching you approach in the mirror. Looking like heaven in high heels. Your black dress fit you perfectly, the white fur shawl was draped lazily over your shoulders.

Lando felt his mouth go dry as he turned, his heartbeat pounding in his ears as you approached. The sweet smell of your perfume swirling around him, making him feel hazy.

God, if you knew what you did to him.

It seemed like every night now that he dreamt of kissing you, doing a whole list of unruly things. Despite the ring on his hand and yours it still felt off limits. Not feeling sure of what you actually wanted.

“Ready?” You asked, a small smile playing on your lips.

He blinked at you, still in a daze. “What?”

You bit your lip, holding back a laugh and he felt his stomach pool.

“The gala. Yes, right.” He cleared his throat, not thinking twice as he took your hand. “Let’s go.”

୧‿̩͙ ˖︵ ꕀ⠀ ♱⠀ ꕀ ︵˖ ‿̩͙୨

You felt all the eyes on you as he took you around the dance floor. The whispers. Lando Norris’ wife who he liked to keep hidden away. Apparently most people hadn’t even known he was married. They thought you were just a new date till they saw the blinding diamond on your finger and his matching gold one.

You felt stiff. Too perceived.

But he lightly took hold of your chin between his fingers, making you look at him.

“It’s just you and me, love.”

Love. You felt equally reassured and nauseous.

୧‿̩͙ ˖︵ ꕀ⠀ ♱⠀ ꕀ ︵˖ ‿̩͙୨

Lando was using every excuse he could to touch you. Hand splaying on the small of your back where your dress dipped low. Fingers lightly brushing the back of your neck as he talked to the other guests. Hand on your thigh beneath the table. When he’d first done it you jumped slightly and his heart skipped a beat when you looked at him, eyes low, before turning away again and taking a sip of your wine.

He couldn’t help it as his lips pulled back slightly when he began to rub circles with his thumb, feeling the muscles of your leg tighten. But you leaned toward him, an invitation. He felt more drunk off of you than any wine he had been drinking.

He’d only see glimpses of your father. Lingering to the side of the ballroom walls. Whispering in corners with other greedy men. His eyes always on you, though.

Lando didn’t like it. Then again he never liked anything enough for that to be a fair test. But he knew never to ignore his intuition, so he took your hand in his and tugged you along until you were outside, the cold December air twirling around them.

You shivered as you waited for the valet to pull his McLaren around, blushing a bit when he draped his jacket over your shoulders. Or maybe it was just the wind, he wasn’t sure. But he’d liked to think he made you flustered.

The engine purred as he drove away, feeling your eyes on him as city lights flicked back.

“Why’d we leave early?” You finally asked.

His grip adjusted on the steering heel, looking in the rearview mirror, always vigilant. He hadn’t realised till now that going public made you a target. Made him vulnerable.

“Just wanted to,” is all he offered. Not wanting to scare you. He knew you already had a difficult time adjusting to his world. Then again he shouldn’t cut you any credit. Growing up with your father couldn’t have been any easier.

You hummed, not believing him. Your eyes finally pulled away to stare out the window. Letting him relax. It was strange, having somebody for the first time see him. The thought was equally relieving and terrifying.

When they pulled up to the house the car fell quiet, a heavy silence falling over like a blanket. He wanted to say more to you, but what? This was all new territory and the thought of messing up this bridge he’d built—

“Lando.”

He turned, looking at you as moonlight painted your skin through the window.

You reached forward, hand taking his, “I know you’ll keep me safe.” Another pause and you played with his wedding ring. “I trust you.”

୧‿̩͙ ˖︵ ꕀ⠀ ♱⠀ ꕀ ︵˖ ‿̩͙୨

A loud thud woke you up, your heart beating erratically as your door handle began to move. Thankful that you had locked it but fear was still crawling up your spine. You were just about to reach for your phone to call someone for help when a ragged voice poured out from the other side, weakly saying your name. The sound of a body slumping to the floor.

Lando.

You quickly tore off the sheets, stumbling a bit in the dark and you yanked your door open. A hand flying up to your mouth as you took in the state of him. Bruised and slick with blood, one arm wrapped around his rib cage, his breath rattling.

His eyes cracked open, gleaming in the low lamp light of the hall. His lips pulling back in a bloodied grin.

“Hello, darling.”

“Oh my god,” you did your best to get him up, almost falling under his weight as you maneuvered him to your bathroom. “What happened?”

Your heart lurched as Lando coughed, turning his head to spit out some blood into the bin and he sat himself up on the sink. Wincing as he did so. Not answering you.

“Lando,” you said quietly, afraid that even loud noises would hurt him and you gently took hold of his face in your hands. Not caring blood and dirt would get on them. Gently running your thumbs along his cheek bones.

He seemed to melt into you, letting his head fall forward and rest against yours as you brushed the damp curls back. Seeing him like this was a new kind of pain you never wanted to experience again.

“Who did this to you?” Although your voice was gentle, there was a layer of conviction under it that even surprised you.

He sighed, a wheeze coming up from the back of his throat and his hands came up to hold onto your wrists. You didn’t miss his cracked and bleeding knuckles.

“I have a duty of care,” he muttered.

Your father. You felt like throwing up.

Gently pulling his head forward, you held him to you. Letting his heartbeat bring some life back into you. He was okay. He was here. He came back to you. Everything would be fine.

Slowly, Lando’s arms wrapped around you, holding you as tight as he could.

“I’m going to kill him,” you mumbled into his hair and he laughed, not caring that it hurt.

He leaned his head back slightly, eyes flicking between your own and your lips. His hand that had snaked up to the back of your neck pulling you in slightly. Hesitant. Then all at once.

Mouths colliding, a kiss that felt like a tuning fork struck against a star.

His fingers twined in your hair and you tried to be gentle with him. As much as you could. But the feeling of finally was making you feel weightless. Reckless. Desperate as he held you tighter.

You felt high as he whispered the words my wife between kisses.

“So much for a marriage of convenience,” you managed after you pulled away. You didn’t want to, but he needed your help.

He smiled again, those dimples you loved so much deepening in his cheeks. “Nah,” he said lightly. “I think this will be a marriage of inconvenience.”

And he kissed you again.

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