#it’s so bad man I almost burst a blood vessel

[bemorekleinman]

me genuinely tweaking trying to have a serious conversation and someone says “it sucks” or “it’s hard” (I have the humor of a 12 year old boy)

#it’s so bad man I almost burst a blood vessel #rambles from katie

[waugh-bao]

#god I think I almost burst a blood vessel in my brain laughing at this #what is it with boomers and making terrible ‘tribute’ photoshops of bands? #it’s so incredibly bad #mick taylor looks like some random homeless dude that just wa drew into shot #the picture those chose of bill looks like one you would see warning you to keep your children away from this man/tell the police if you see #him within 500 yards of a school #and for someone reason Charlie is old #even though they chose a young picture of Stu #plus they put him at the weirdest possible angle relative to Keith and Mick #genuinely what the fuck were they thinking? #the rolling stones #charlie watts #keith richards #old married band #mick jagger #ronnie wood #bill wyman #mick taylor #ian stewart #brian jones #fan edit

[lace-coffin]

HII!! Dude I wanna marry your writing like ?? 😍🥹 but could I possibly get a nsfw thing with a male reader x asa Emory, but the male reader refuses to do anything and just keeps messing a lot of stuff up and like causes a lot of trouble for asa and almost kills one of his bugs (on accident)? And they kind of just go and hide until Asa finally finds them and catches them for punishment ?

How would Asa Emory punish a bratty s/o for hiding from punishment? (Nsfw)

Asa Emory x Bratty!Male!reader

(Reader can be read as cis or trans/gnc!)

Requests are open!

(I typically try to get to requests in a few days to a week <3)

Thank you so much for the kind words! I really appreciate it and I hope u enjoy this! Mwah!

Tw for power dynamics/power exchange, spiders, sexual content, sub/dom, general asa emory stuff

You were really getting on Asa’s last nerve and that was even before today. He loved you, he did, cherished you even, you’re his special little pet, but man were you on thin ice recently.

Recently you seemed hellbent on causing as many issues as you can for asa, being incredibly stubborn about even the most basic orders, at this rate Asa swears he’s going to burst a blood vessel. He’d only asked you to clean up after yourself, dumbly he left you alone in the kitchen under the guise of making a quick snack (well not completely alone, the camera’s were always watching, easy for Asa flip up on his phone and check in on you)

Unsurprisingly Asa came back to a mess, it was probably naive on his part to even allow you to prepare food on your own with the way you’ve been acting up recently, but really?

“Think I messed up the instructions, my bad” you drawl lazily as your head is hung over the back of one of the dining room chairs. Behind you in the kitchenette area the microwave has been left wide open, the inside looking worse for ware and that’s being kind. Food is splattered and stuck to every surface inside the microwave from where it burst, the ‘food’ in question (calling this abomination “food” is generous) lays burnt and smoking, somehow still frozen on the inside and burnt on the outside.

“What the hell did you do?” Asa lets out a defeated sigh, pinching the bridge of his slightly hooked nose.“I’ll make you a snack ok? Just clean the mess first, pet.” You finally look over his way, eyes meeting his dark ones, challenging in a way you know will rile him up. “I don’t think I will..” you respond feigning nonchalance. In reality you can already practically feel the wave of excitement teeming under your skin, knowing how much trouble you’re going to be in.

It seems counterintuitive really, you’re here under your master and things go well if you behave for him yet you deliberately wind him up until he boils over and leaves you sore and breathless. You never were one to have conformist tastes you guess.

Asa clenches as unclenches his fists a few times before continuing. “Clean this up now. I’m not sure why you thought that was a request and not an order, maybe your stupid puppy brain can’t comprehend it. Clean it now and do it properly or come here so I can show you what happens when you’re being a brat. Regardless you’re cleaning it one way or another so you may aswell choose to be a good boy.” Asa tries to keep a level head, despite your best efforts to infuriate him.

The room hangs in silence again as you continue to stare him down, dumb bratty smile painted on your face, oh he’s going to hate this. You can’t wait.

Instead of gracing him with a response you bolt, not unlike his tarantulas when startled.

You almost can’t hear the pissed of rumble he lets out over the sound of your own laughter, skidding down the hallway and around corners. This becomes a lot less amusing as you crash into the ornate dark stained cabinet that houses the enclosure to your masters prized tarantula. You only have time to make a face of pure horror as the glass enclosure shatters against the floor.

Punishment now thrown to the back of your thoughts and the least of your worries you move slowly towards the tarantula as not to startle it worse. Poor bramble is now under a side table and disorientated thanks to you, skittering away under there in fear when the tank fell. (You defiantly named bramble after finding Asa hadn’t named him, appalled. Asa rolled his eyes but eventually started calling it the chosen name in time, he can’t say no to you.)

You slowly prompt bramble onto your hand, letting him plod his way onto you with his chubby legs. You frantically give him a look over, making sure nothing is broken or damaged, he seems to be in perfect health still, just a little shaken. You let out a deep sigh of relief and walk him over to one of the temporary hospital tanks, thinking it will be best for him to stay there until his own tank is replaced for now.

You turn from the tank and meet Asa’s stunned eyes, your not sure wether he’s angry or impressed at your quick thinking with bramble.

“Sorry…I’m sorry sir” you say quietly, upset that you put bramble in danger with your recklessness.

You whip around and sprint off down the haul again, not wanting to face the consequences of your actions so soon. You bunker down under the master bedrooms bed, not an amazing plan you know but it’s the first place your brain came up with in the moment.

The imposing figure trudges after you down the haul, shattered glass from the tank crunching under his heavy boots. He’s pretty sure he knows where you are. You’re an incredibly smart boy when you want to be, not particularly smart at hiding though unfortunately.

The door creaks open and you see your masters boots appear In front of the bed, you wince in anticipation. The yelling never comes.

“I’m not angry pet if that’s what you’re worried about. What happened with Bramble was an accident and you looked after him exceedingly well afterwards. However between that and the kitchen you aren’t getting out of this punishment. You may come out on your own or I will drag you, your choice.”

You think it over for a moment, you know what ever is going to happen once you come out is going to suck. Might as well go out with a bang right? “Get fucked”

“That’s what I guessed, such a pretty thing with such a foul mouth” he shakes his head.

Suddenly you let out an undignified scream as strong gloved hands rip you from under the bed by your leg. You’re slung over his broad shoulder and taken back to your room.

Asa stands you in the middle of the room and closes/locks the door, he turns back to you with a stern face. “Hands” he orders, moving behind you. holding out his palm expectantly. You give a little huff but extend your arms behind you. Asa grabs your wrists firmly and handcuffs them behind your back. tight enough to let the metal bite into you if you squirm too much but not enough to cause damage. Usually he’s a fan of intricate rope work in these situations but he doesn’t have the patience after your performance earlier. He gives a tug on the cuffs and enjoys the groan it pulls out of you.

Asa circles back around you like a vulture, waiting for you to be at your most vulnerable to strike, now face to face and forced to look into the deep inky eyes In front of you. A black nitrile gloved hand strokes over your hair gently. “See? You can be a good boy when you want to be” Asa gives a your cheek two soft patronising pats.

“Down.” He snaps his gloved fingers and points to the floor, this is a basic command you know off by heart, not that you intend on letting it be easy.

You stare Asa down for a few moments, he looks incredibly unimpressed and steely. Before you can even get a smart retort out of your mouth your hair is gripped roughly, your face pulled towards Asa’s. “If you know what’s good for you, you will do what you’re told” he sneers, you yelp in pain as you’re forced to your knees by your hair. “Much better”

Now you’re situated on the wooden floor he reaches to slip his belt from the loops, a dumb horny grin spread on your face. “Aww look at you puppy. you don’t even know what’s about to happen but you’re practically dumb just thinking about my cock aren’t you?” Asa removes the garments on his bottom half and sits on the edge of the bed, legs spread. “Come. You know what to do.”

The way you scramble between his legs is almost pathetic, so eager to get yourself attached to his cock anyway you can. Asa lets out a deep groan of content as you press a little kiss to the head, looking up at him through your lashes. “This is all your good for hm? Looking pretty on a dick?”

You giggle and continue, slowly taking him into your throat, just as your gag reflex starts to kick in he grabs the back of your head, slamming you down onto the last inch of his leaking cock. Your eyes go wide as you struggle, now unable to push him away for air because of the handcuffs. Asa looks down at you with a sick grin as he enjoys your struggling. “Did you forget this was a punishment, mutt? You think you’re going to cause me problems all day and just get to suck my cock as a reward? You must be dumber than I thought.” He chuckles above you.

Wrenching your head back he lets you up for air, loving how ruined you look already, face ruddy and eyes teary, excess saliva connecting to his dick in a string. “Don’t look at me like that, you knew this was coming slut.” You’re pulled back onto his dick until every last inch is so deep In your throat you’re practically breathing it. Asa lets you adjust for a moment before guiding you back and forth, starting off slow as you get used to it but working up to a brutal pace, balls slapping your chin with a lewd sound. After a few minutes of rough treatment Asa finishes, not bothering to alert you first, you don’t deserve it right now.

Asa’s gloved hands press into your scalp as you take all his seed down your throat, not wanting to waste a drop. Once you think you’ve gotten it all you pop off his cock with an exhausted glazed over look. Your master gazes over you fondly, holding your chin with his thumb. “Open up, let me make sure you didn’t waste any” Asa lets out a pleased noise after inspecting your mouth. “Good boy”

You practically vibrate with need, it’s not lost on Asa the way you’ve been wiggling and clenching your thighs together as you gagged on his dick, he knows how impatient you are and how bad he makes you need it.

“Want me to touch you, puppy?” You nod eagerly, palming yourself over your jeans. “Ah” Asa swats your hand away. “No touching unless I say so, don’t forgot your place. Now, undress and close your eyes for me.” You send him a questioning look but do as requested, throwing your clothes aside for now and wrenching your eyes shut.

You hiss in relief as he finally touches you, wetness already pooling from your need, keening into his hand, loving the attention after waiting so long. You hear something clink and flinch a little, a toy maybe? You make a small noise of complaint as the cold metal touches you. Asa slaps your thigh in retaliation. “Be good” a beat passes as he finishes whatever he’s doing. You look down in suspense only to be instantly mortified. A chastity device sits mockingly around you. (Chastity belt if afab or cock cage if amab < 3 )

“But I- I was good i-“ Asa presses a warm hand to your mouth, cutting your sentence short. “This is the rest of your punishment, did you really think I would get you off after how you’ve been acting?”

Asa grips your chin again, tearing your glare away from the toy you’re essentially trying to burn a hole in with your mind. “What do we say?” He asks sternly, rubbing a hand between your caged legs and making you whine. “Thank you sir”

“You’re welcome, cricket”

#slashers #slasher x reader #slasher headcanons #asa emory #asa emory x reader #the collection #writing #my writing #slasher fandom #slasher fucker #horror #slasher horror #horror fan

[thefiery-phoenix]

Hi. English is not my first language so I'm sorry if I make grammatical mistakes. I read almost all of the marvel and viral hit series and had a lot of fun. The things you wrote are very nice. Could you please write yandere young seong hansu x reader? If you don't want to write, feel free to ignore it.

You know what, sure and thank you so much for liking my work, I really appreciate it

Hansu seong as a romantic yandere? It would be a blessing for you and a damn nightmare for the other people around you. We all know Hansu was the poster boy and the epitome of bad boy behavior, his son Taehun doesn't even match the rebellious things he used to do when he was younger. However he genuinely loves you and cares for you, too much rather to the point that he's willing to kill people for even looking at you for a second too long for his liking

Despite his stoic tough exterior he's a soft man at heart when it comes to you. He just wants to come home to you after a long day and melt into your gentle loving touch as he wraps his arms around you shielding you from the harsh realities and cruelty of the world. He's endured a lot and he'd rather burst a blood vessel than let you go through the same pain and burden as him. All he wants to do is just shower you with his love and affection keeping you safe from all those scumbags who dare to take advantage of you. He's had a lot of experience already so he's kind of justified with wanting to protect you and keep you safe, even if he has to wrap you up in silk and keep you all for himself that is

Hansu didn't undergo all that brutal and harsh training with his teacher for nothing you know. There's a reason even his friends Kim and Jincheol are a bit scared of him secretly, he's known to be a walking time bomb when he's enraged and coming from THOSE two, that's actually saying something. Alas, it's not like you'll be able to ask them for help either, they just want to see their dear friend happy with you and will do whatever the hell it takes to ensure that you remain with Hansu. So, congratulations, you also have two more soldiers with insane kill ratios and years and years of war history after you who're platonic yanderes for you now. Escape? From Hansu? Oh, you poor sweet innocent little one, how naive you are if you think you'll be able to escape from someone like Hansu. Clearly, you have no idea the extreme lengths he'll go through to get you back safely in his arms and when he does find you, he won't be too amused about the whole situation

Like I've said before, he values your safety and prioritizes it a lot. The idea of you being somewhere without him, your man, to protect you is enough to send him into a spiral of worry for you with his over protective tendencies skyrocketing through the roof even more if that's possible. He won't yell at you or anything nor will he ever hit you, he doesn't believe in hurting the one he loves. He'll just firmly tell you with a stern expression to never do such a thing again, it's like a parent scolding a child but don't worry, he'll shower you with lots of love and affection later on. He can't afford to be mad or angry at you at all, he loves you too much and before you know it, you'll be on his lap cuddling him while he wraps his around your waist possessively ensuring you'd never leave him. Oh, but don't think you're off the hook yet, he'll baby proof the whole house and lock the windows and doors and hide the key somewhere and there'll be a few secret cameras here and there without your knowledge of course, to keep an eye on you to make sure you're safe

I want to be sympathetic to the person who's trying to take you away from Hansu but honestly, they should just know better. If Hansu's icy cold glare isn't enough to send the other person running in the opposite direction screaming with fear, he'll have to get physical. We all know what happens when Hansu gets mad and gets physical, he's not above killing the other person like I've mentioned before. The only person he cares for and lives for is you, so if someone takes away the very reason he's alive, he feels like someone's ripping his heart out. You're his everything, his heart and his soul. No way he'd ever allow someone to lay their filthy hands on you, they better be praying to all the gods above and hope the fates are kind enough to ensure they won't get murdered or brutally attacked by a livid raging Hansu and wake up the next day in a hospital room. Actually, scratch that, they should be praying he even leaves them ALIVE in the first place

Of course, Sir Cho Pyunggyeon would know about you being Hansu's darling and he's amused that the stoic Taekwando obsessed boy who showed up at his bar years ago finally found someone for himself and honestly, he's impressed and amused. Oh, which reminds me, unless you want a whole freaking mafia group after you if you ever try leaving Hansu because Sir Cho will obviously come to his aid, don't try escaping Hansu. He just wants to love you that's all. Hansu would treat you like a precious fragile doll about to break at any second, he's so gentle and caring and kind towards you, you'll almost forget he literally kidnapped you

He can't bear to see you crying or scared or upset, you're his precious darling after all and seeing you in any kind of discomfort hurts his heart. He doesn't mean to be controlling and stern all the time but this one time he caught you reading a gory and dark and gruesome murder novel and his eyes narrowed at you as he demanded to know what you were reading. His jaw clenched as his fists clenched shut tightly that his knuckles became white. You could literally see his angry veins protruding and bursting from his fists however he forced a smile and gently took the book away from you as he tried to distract you with something else. Later on when you went to get back to the book, you found a pile of ash sitting where the book previously used to be there as you looked at Hansu in suspicion who just looked proud at what he'd done with no ounce of remorse or regret on his face. "Hansu...you're not supposed to burn books like this, they're an epitome of knowledge, it's wrong... and besides, I didn't even make it past the first chapter anyway and it was listed as a best seller" you pouted and looked at Hansu reproachfully. Hansu pulled you onto his lap as he looked at you with a love sick obsessive gleam of love glinting in his eyes as he gently caressed your cheeks and softly but firmly replied "This is for your own good my love... I will not have my sweet darling get corrupted by such dark and negative thoughts and acts like this. I don't want your innocent pure mind to be tainted by such dark material like this which will only make you sad and it hurts my heart to see you sad....'' as he kissed your lips softly and passionately

You're going to be babied and spoiled by him. He won't allow you to miss out on any meals and will ensure you follow a strict bedtime and sleep on time. With him, on the bed as you're in his arms, right where you belong. One stern look from him is enough to make you swallow down your protests. Oh, you won't be allowed to cook in the kitchen either, it's off limits for you since he's worried you'll hurt yourself but don't worry, Hansu can take good care of you and whip up some delicious meals for the two of you. Starving yourself isn't an option of course, he'd literally tie you down and make you sit on his lap and feed you and yes, he has done this before and isn't above doing this again, it's a matter of your health and well being after all

He knows you weren't too happy when he literally kidnapped you and you were angry and scared and honestly, he doesn't blame you for your feelings. He'd never hurt you or be mad at you whenever you screamed at him or just threw things at him demanding to be set free, he gets how you feel. However he loves you too much to let you go, he'd rather walk through hell than ever let you be in the arms of someone else other than him, your rightful husband. He knows and he's certain you'll love him one day just as much as he loves you, he's confident in it and when you finally do admit your feelings, he'll be over the moon with happiness and pure joy. He's such a soft man only for you though...you're his world and his heart, he'd do anything to keep you safe, you're HIS after all....

#yandere manager kim #yandere manager kim x reader #yandere manager kim x reader webtoon #yandere manager kim oneshots #yandere hansu seong #yandere hansu seong x reader #yandere hansu seong headcanons #yandere hansu seong oneshots #yandere hansu seong scenarios #yandere hansu seong imagines #yandere manager kim characters #yandere manager kim characters x reader

[angelofacidx]

Pet pt 3

Read at your own risk, and read the tags

Compliance.

Compliance, fawning and disassociation so heavy that your head feels like it’s filled with thick cotton gets you by, helps you survive in this hell. You are surviving, no longer living. You trade pieces of your soul and dignity for small comforts.

Eating three meals a day without complaint leads to Simon asking your food preferences and even taking suggestions on what he might prepare for dinner that week. Gritting your teeth and baring Johnny pinning your beaten body to the couch with his dead weight so that he can cuddle you earns you the privilege of sleeping at the edge of their bed, right by their feet. Enduring the pair using you as a sex toy though you feel nauseous down to your bones guarantees you a daily bath.

“I ken, I ken. Just a little more fer me bonnie.” Johnny’s voice is laced with concern and pain, as if the situation at hand is ripping him open while only shallowly scraping you.

His left hand is rested on the arch of your foot while the right has a vice grip on your calf, moving your stiff muscles and nearly causing your vision to fade to black; your body trying to escape from the pain. The road to hell was paved with good intentions when Johnny took on being your doctor and physical therapist. He was right, without moving properly your muscles would atrophy and you’d have a worse situation to deal with. However this isn’t the Middle Ages, so pain killers would be nice, bastard.

Though you get better everyday, your broken ankles still leave you unable to use your legs properly. You can crawl with mild discomfort, hobble with excruciating pain if you’re picked up and given a shoulder to cling on for support. Regular walking and running is so from the horizon it discourages you from even toying with the idea again.

Johnny pats the outside of your calf with a pleased hum, lowering your leg slowly to the mess of pillows, propping up your legs and taking the pressure of gravity off them.

“Did so good today. Getting better everyday pretty girl.” He hums, placing a kiss to your clammy forehead, before lowering himself to rest his head on your lower belly.

Arms snake around your waist as he nuzzles the softness below your belly button, making himself a home there, and letting his eyes close in contentment. Before you can stop it, your hand cards its way through the tuft of hair atop his head, fingers dancing down towards the freshly shaved sides. This is disgusting. You’re disgusting. You should be strangling him until the blood vessels burst in his eyes, not petting him like a lap dog.

You can’t keep yourself from feeling bad for the man. Though the treatment he receives is much better than yours, he doesn’t seem to have much more freedom in or out of the house. Your leash was pulled taught while his had a little slack. Your mind wanders to what he was before this, before Simon. Was he like you? Terrified, missing friends and family, or was he a willing participant?

“Something wrong?” He asks in a soft tone, reserved for when the two of you are alone. You’re not sure what tipped him off, almost as if he was reading your thoughts.

“How uhm… How long have you been here. With Simon I mean.”

“Ach, been a long while.”

“…And how long exactly would that be.”

“Well, ah moved in when we were still serving together out of convenience. Then we retired a few years back.” He says, eyebrows knit together as he tries to do the mental math and recollect dates in his brain.

“Do you like it here? With him?” A bold ask, but something you’d been dying to know.

“Course. Ah love the big bastard.” A small smile tugs at the corner of his lips fondly.

“Do you love him or were you trained to? Do you love the pain? Never being alone?” You ask softly, hand moving to cup his chest, right over his heart.

His smile falters down, his eyes zoning out slightly and he seems to retreat to somewhere in his head you hadn’t seen yet.

“Well….” He starts, before being interrupted by Simon’s voice.

“Dinner, get washed up.”

…

After your meal, you’re carried up the stairs and to the master bathroom. Johnny tenderly strips your clothes while you’re sat on the counter, careful to not put any strain on your injuries. Just as you’re about to be hoisted into the tub, a hand stops him.

“Go get ready for bed, pup. I’m supervising bath time tonight.” Simon’s tone is so sickeningly neutral.

The shift in routine causes your heart to immediately hammer in your chest, especially when Johnny slinks away and closes the door, trapping you in here with the monster. Everything in you screams danger.

Unceremoniously you’re lifted off the counter and plopped into the tub, sloshing water out of the side and onto the floor as you hiss in pain, ankles making contact with the porcelain walls. Simon kneels beside the tub, lacing his fingers tightly into your hair, flush against the base of your skull.

“You dirty conspirin’ fuckin’ mutt,” He hisses before snapping your head backwards and under the water for a moment, saturating the locks.

You come up as quick as you were pulled down, coughing and doe eyed.

“What are you talking about?” You all but shout before remembering your place and lowering your tone.

“M’ not fuckin stupid. I know you’re tryna get in his head. Wriggle your way in there like a parasite.” His hands are extremely rough as he shampoos your scalp, no doubt ripping small chunks from the root that makes you hiss in pain.

“I don’t—.”

“I have a baby monitor in every room. Y’ really think I’d leave two stupid pups unsupervised?”

Before you can brace, you’re dunked under the water again, pulling fluid into your lungs. This time however, you’re not brought up as quickly. Your body’s natural reaction to cough only makes your situation worse, inhaling more water. You begin to panic, thrashing around with everything you have, beating on his arms and chest with your hands. Black spots form in your vision and your muscles start to betray you, becoming more and more useless before you’re wrenched out of the water by your hair.

Your lungs scream in pain as you violently cough water up, which turns into vomiting the clear liquid back into its basin. Your chest heaves as you regain vision and your balance, tears brimming your eyes as you look up to Simon. He looks all too pleased, simply grabbing the soap bar and moving on.

“I was just startin’ to become fond of you too.” He muses before pulling the black plug nestled at the bottom of the tub to let the water drain.

You’re wrapped in a towel and carried out of the bathroom, before he deposits you on the bed in front of Johnny, giving him the tedious task of brushing and styling your post bath hair, a task he is usually happy to do.

He gets to work, applying the usual products into your hair before running the brush through it. A large clump of your hair falls into his hand, causing his expression to fall. He’d hoped he was wrong in his assumption of what was happening to you in there.

By the end of it, Johnny brushes four clumps of your hair out before he’s done. You take your regular position at the foot of the bed, huddled up in a ball as the pair settle above you, your eyes grow heavy with exhaustion from your near drowning.

The real Johnny is in there somewhere and you know it. You just have to get him out.

#dead dove do not eat #cod #cod x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley #cod mw2 #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #john soap mactavish #soap x reader #soapghost #cw vomit #cw drowning #cw violence

[onewmin]

the perfume on the shelf. pt. 7 | bangchan

Pairings: Bang Chan x Fem!reader, Kim Yugyeom x Fem!reader

Summary: Falling in love with your best friend was never a part of the plan. So you end it up. But does he want to put a stop to it, too?

Warnings: AU, angst, profanity, everyone cries, mentions of sex, mommy and daddy issues (the reader has both), the mcs don’t hear each other and are unable of normal communication, both Chan and the reader are mentally unstable and have major trust issues, typos, a slight Taylor Swift reference (yes, again). Mind you, these two are grown adults, who are unwilling to find a compromise and communicate, putting the blame onto each other. No one is right and no one is wrong (kind of). What I wanted to say is that this is a description of an unhealthy relationship and it’s bad for both of them (but more for the reader) ok tnx for coming to my ted talk

Author’s note: this is the shortest part so far, cause I felt like this chapter should only revolve around the main conflict. This is a breaking point for both of the characters, so tell me what you think of it so far!!

Disclaimer: the names and appearances of real people are used for inspiration and writing purposes only. I do not claim anything, everything belongs to its owners.

Part 6 | Part 8

“What? Why would you say that?”

With your back facing him, you swore you could see the atrociously saddening expression he wore on his face. That was heartbreaking, wasn’t it? Harsh words barked at him so abruptly he couldn’t even fathom them, unexpected, right, Chan? It’s not like he had done something similar, yeah?

“You fucked it up, that’s why”, ouch.

To Chris, it seemed as if he was seeing a completely different person, not you, not the you he was so used to. The caring you, the you that was smiling and asking him about his day, the girl that would hold him tight whenever he felt bad. He’d never heard you say things like that, things that would actually hurt him. But wasn’t he the first to shove his thunderous inability to demonstrate human emotions down your throat?

“I know”. His wobbly voice made your turn around to face him yet again. Glistening cheeks, arms crossed at his chest, wrapped in an unsuccessful attempt to hug himself. You hated seeing him like that, knowing you were the reason he was audibly sobbing. “I know I fucked up”, Chris muttered through his cries, “I know I did. And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry that I don’t-”, he took a breath only to let out a heavy sign, resulting in another weep.

He stood there, right in front of you, silently begging to take a step further. And his figure, once of a confident man and now so small, shoulders shaking while he was wiping the running tears. His collarbone glistened too; and you could only hold back the upcoming tears, nails digging in the palms of your hands. You’d rather bleed than show him it affected you as well as it did him. But you’d rather die than admit it.

You slightly moved — automatically almost, the urge to pull him in and never let go clouding your head for a moment. You’d cry together, and then the two of you would reconcile. That’s what you wanted, right?

You stopped amid your movements, hand still reaching out to him. You wanted him for so long and when you finally had the chance to be together, he washed it down the drain.

“Why did you tell me all that, then? If you’re so sorry”.

His eyes darted to your face; you had to bite the insides of your cheeks to alleviate the lump in your throat. Chan looked defeated — eyes puffy, blood vessels in his eyes had burst making even the apples of them red; and his whole face, you saw, you fucking saw it, slightly lit up when he looked at you. Unbelievable, the thought ran through your head, how could I make Chan cry? Am I the heartless piece of shit in this scenario?

“I thought”, he stammered, “I thought it’d, uh… It’d be better for both of us”. You scanned him as if he were a criminal you were interrogating. “I’m a mess, every, uh, every girl I’m with… I always lose interest when they… When they fall in love with me, and I didn’t…” He stopped to take a breath. “I didn’t want the same… The same happening to you”.

His last words came out as a whisper, but you heard him. Loud and clear.

“I lo-“ He gulped. “I value our relationship too much to… To let it go too far and then, uh”, Chan rubbed his eyes nervously; every word seemed to come out with a lot of force. “I didn’t want our relationship to get too far and then dump you, ‘cause I fell out of love. I just didn’t want that”.

Now you were gawking at him. The tears you were suppressing so much appeared to cautiously creep up your eyes, breaking every barrier in their way. However… You couldn’t allow yourself to give in the most desirable emotions at the moment for one specific reason. And that reason was,

“What the fuck did you just say?” You almost barked.

The tone of his voice turned calmer for some reason, “I didn’t want to break your heart if it went too far”.

“That’s exactly what you fucking did!” You bawled, tears spilling from your eyes. “It went too far, are you kidding me with that “if” shit? Or”, you kept on spouting, “is having sex with your best friend a ‘norm’ to you? A daily routine?”

Chan took a step further, but you put a hand in front of you, signaling him not to even try. “I get it. Just calm down for a sec”.

Yeah, you knew you were being too loud for 2 o’clock in the morning or whatever the time was. You knew, but you didn’t care. His neighbors might as well call the police, you really couldn’t care less. You couldn’t hold back the wrath growing inside of you; it was unbearable to eat his words up and keep on going. It wasn’t possible anymore.

“Don’t fucking calm me down!” Blaring, you looked at him in awe. “What do you get? That you let this come too far, and then what? Bolted, ‘cause you’re incapable of being a decent human being?”

Chan sighed. “I didn’t bolt. I wanted to, uh… Minimize the damage. To make it less painful. I didn’t want to hurt you, ever”.

“But you fucking did!”

“Baby-“

“Don’t call me ‘baby’!” You raged. “Look at what you’ve made out of me, Chan! You hurt me, you caused me so much pain that I don’t think it can be fixed!”

Before that, before another set of his absolutely moronic confessions, Chan looked defeated because you were leaving him with no reasoning. Now he looked defeated as you spat all of the suppressed, unsaid emotions at him. He deserved to know. Bang Chan wasn’t the only person who could be brutally honest while loving the other. Allegedly loving, in his case, you thought.

“Every moment”, you wept, “every time you’d leave me, I’d cry myself to sleep ‘cause I knew you’d never, ever love me back. But then”, you chuckled, “I find out you actually have been in love with me this whole time, and the next thing you do? Throw me away”. You put the hands on the hips, head thrown back to prevent more tears from falling.

“I didn’t need your confession, I didn’t need nothing”, you resumed. “I just wanted, ugh… I just wanted, I thought my best friend would at least talk to me instead of crushing my heart”, and self-esteem. That one was wreaked as well.

“Oh, not you bringing up the ‘talk’ thing”. Did you mishear it, or was the tone of his voice quipped?

“What?” You panted.

“You, asking me to talk?” He let out a breathy chuckle. “Yeah, right. Like you’re the one to share your feelings when the time’s given”. His rant implied, no, it directly stated something. You knew what it was, but as soon as the words left his mouth, you desperately needed to hear them. As if… As if you craved a real reason to leave him. Something that would hurt you even more than his previous actions. And, goddamn, you anticipated what he had to say.

“You said it yourself, didn’t ya?” Chan leaned on the doorframe; as if he needed physical support for the next poisonous words he was going to spit. “You’re unable to express your emotions because it scares you. And you’re the one asking me to talk? Huh”, he huffed. You stood there, hands squeezed in fists, the pain of your long nails digging into the softness of your palms almost unnoticeable now.

“You told me, I remember that”, he kept on, as if he hadn’t said enough already. “You told me your worst fear was to be like your dad. But you know”, Chan moved further, the space between you only a few inches now, “you’re as emotionless as he is. Or at least, as emotionless as you painted him to me”.

The cocky look on his face, almost as he was enjoying the pain he had caused you. Your father might have been an insensitive bastard but you were not like him. Chan wasn’t wrong while saying it was hard for you to express emotions, but god, you did! You cried, you apologized, you complimented, you praised, you comforted. You were there for everyone with a mug of tea, warm hugs and cozy silence. Sure, it might seem like you were callous ‘cause you didn’t say many soothing words, and yeah, it was hard for you to express your feelings and show vulnerability, but never in a million years have you neglected any of your friends needs. Chan included, Chan, actually, atop of the list, always.

“Say something else if you’re trying to hurt me”, you blurted out even before thinking, “I’ve come to this conclusion on my own. Sorry I’m not the perfect girl straight out of your wet dreams”.

Chan let out a sigh of exasperation, hands on his hips. “You’re right, I’ve seen you…differently in my head. Guess I’ve been projecting this whole time”.

“You’re not the only one”. You took the backpack, which was now on the floor next to you, in your hands. “Could never imagine the guy I’d thought to be the best one”, you put the backpack on your shoulders, “could never imagine he’d compare me to his ex all the time”.

“And when’s that happened?” The irritated sound of his voice and the eye roll had awoken some primal desire to punch him in the face right then and there, but you kept on standing, almost froze in your place.

“Let me enlighten you”, you answered, “that when you say ‘My ex-girlfriend was so good at swimming’ to your current girlfriend, when she can’t swim, is not the greatest thing to say”.

“You were not my girlfriend”.

That’s not something you didn’t know; that’s what you’d settle in your head, clear enough to have it understood. But you never heard it from Chan. And having the words flown out of his mouth, so effortlessly and carelessly, got you physically restraining yourself from grabbing your chest, right where the heart was. ‘Cause there was a spike of pain that shot into your heart and chest, and it immediately faded into a throbbing ache, your heartbeat pulsating in your brain.

“And don’t get me started on exes”. He continued. “I’m not the one to pine over a boyfriend I broke up with years ago”.

“I-I d-don’t-“

“Yes, you do!” You flinched at the sudden raise of his voice. “You’re still wearing the fucking necklace he’s given you! Even now!” Chan took a deep breath. “You don’t wear the ring I gave you, you don’t treasure it as much as you do this, as much as you have this stupid necklace glued to your skin”.

A moment of silence between the two of you. You observed him, not recognizing the man at all. Some minutes ago you were in his bed, “I love you” whispered to you as he desperately wanted to show you it was true. But now… Seemed as if all he was trying to do was to push you even further away.

The realization dawned upon you like a heatwave. It was him, not you. He was so incapable of recognizing his own feelings that now you were the bad guy, the villain in his story. Oh god, you hoped you were. Otherwise, it’d turn out that the both of your were wrong, that both of you were the cowards who couldn’t admit their feelings and faults.

No, you could admit (some of) yours, though. You did wear the necklace with Yugyeom’s initials, however, not because you were waiting to get back with him, but for the same reason you wore the old rings of your mom’s: you liked the jewelry. There wasn’t much you could wear, as you preferred wearing the same things for years when it concerned jewelry. Goddamn it, you wore the earrings your school friend had given you on your seventeenth birthday just ‘cause they didn’t make your ears itch! It’s not like you were wearing them with a hope to reconcile a long-forgotten friendship, for god’s sake! And the ring Chan gave you? It was completely out of your personal style, not fitting any of your fingers, but what, you were supposed to tell him you didn’t like the gift he’d given? Were you supposed to throw the ring at him, saying it didn’t fit your ‘aesthetics’? For god’s sake, some men and their logic. Unbearable.

However, you weren’t willing to explain all that. Chan had already projected a possible outcome of this situation, and your interference wasn’t even necessary. No matter what you said or did, he’d find a way to blame everything on you.

“I think I got it”, you mumbled. Turning to the door to leave him for good this time, you couldn’t but point out the last thing. “D’you know what the worst part of all this?” His face didn’t give away any emotions except for extreme annoyance and anger. “I still love you, Chan. No matter what you say, I’ll still love you. ‘Cause you’re my best friend, and you always will be”.

The way you slammed the door might have demonstrated your level of rage, but you sprinted down the stairs, ignoring the elevator. Stopping at the stairwell between the fourth and third floor, just amid your way down, you gripped the railings while quietly sobbing with your eyes squeeze shut. Your phone vibrated shortly, announcing the Uber had already come, and at that same moment, you heard the loud noise up the stairs. He called out your name, simultaneously running down. Oh shit, oh no, no. You knew you’d yield to him the moment he begs for forgiveness, and you couldn’t, just couldn’t let yourself fall into that pit again. Nothing good would come out of it; so you didn’t need another second to stand and think as you scurried down the stairs, into the street, almost flying into the car. The driver seemed to read your energy; after checking your destination point, he quickly drove away.

Through the car window, as you were literally drifting away, you saw Chan run out, panting, watching the car leaving his apartment complex parking lot. You’d think about it being a scene straight out of a rom-com later. You’d overanalyze it with your therapist later. You’d cry at home in several minutes. It all would be later.

Now you stared at the early sunset through the window, as the driver steadily drove through the city. Your apartment complex was pretty far away from the central area near which Chris was living, so it took around thirty to forty minutes to get back home at night. Good. You’d watch the buildings, the trees, the parks, the rare people on the street. You’d listen to the soothing music the driver had put on and melt into it, ‘cause that music was better than Chan’s loud banging in your head.

Love is a losing game, your mother once told you. You weren’t sure if she was talking about your father or some other guy she’d lost in her younger years, but you’d listen to this advice now. You wish you could just ask the driver to change the destination, to get you to your parents’ house, so that your mom could comfort you while you’d be crying in her tight embrace. But that was Eunjoo’s mother, not yours; yours would scold you for coming that late, she would spat ‘I told you so’s’ at you, cursing you for ‘peddling’ yourself for sex, as she liked to state. She’d blame everything on you, berating you for crying, saying, “The damage’s done already, why are you crying now?” Shit, you wish your mom would let you sob in her arms and tell you she’s there with you. Holy shit, that’s the only thing you craved right now — just to be comforted by, what’s supposed to be, your closest person in the entire world.

But you were being driven home. To home where the only one to comfort you, besides your sweet cat, would be yourself. Maybe you should really call Eunjoo tomorrow. That’s too much to handle on your own; you couldn’t bear the thought of going through this alone. You needed someone to confide in, someone who wouldn’t put every action of yours under scrutiny, like your mother would.

So you texted Eunjoo, simultaneously setting the alarm to 7 A.M. You’d have around three hours to sleep, but maybe you’d nap tomorrow — it was Saturday after all.

Later. All of that later. Now it was just you and the view outside the car. You and the jungle of thoughts in your never resting mind.

Taglist:

@heylookwhoitis @amaranth-writing @itstorimf @tenshimara @whyyougottadothatbro

Fic masterlist <3

#bang chan #bangchan #bang chan imagine #bang chan imagines #bang chan x you #bang chan x female reader #bang chan x reader #bang chan x y/n #bangchan imagines #bangchan imagine #stray kids imagines #stray kids imagine

[sixstepsaway]

thinking of a fic where ed and stede are in an on-going, hot and heavy sexual relationship, and after a thorough boning ed feels all loose limbed and floppy and happy and so when he sees izzy stomping around like a man possessed by the Ghost of Anger Past, he decides the obvious answer is to get izzy laid

and when he tells stede this, stede is just like, "*nose wrinkle* are you sure?" and ed is like "yes! of course! once you've had your way with me i'm boneless and relaxed and that is what izzy needs!"

but before stede can say anything more he's already decided the course of action and he's decided where the best port to Get Izzy Laid is, somewhere that's fine with gay pirates but has other options available too (just in case ed misread him, you know), and he's telling the crew to set sail and a few of them are overjoyed to be going somewhere like that but izzy looks like he's about to burst a blood vessel

and when they arrive ed has made it very clear stede is to come along and so stede follows him as he grabs izzy by the shoulders and herds him on out and off the ship, ignoring all of his complaints the whole time and yammering on about how he's too tense! he just needs to get laid!! it'll make him feel better!!

and izzy is so desperate for this Not To Happen he's even trying to make pleading eye contact with stede and stede feels so bad for him he's giving him sympathy eyes in return but ed is a man on a mission and so off they go

they sit in this shitty bar because izzy refused point blank to partake in the sex workers and izzy and ed are getting progressively more drunk and starting to argue over the table about ed's plan, and finally ed gets mad and stands up and storms off, so stede follows him

and they have this frantic, hushed discussion as ed gets more and more upset because ed just wants to help!!! he just wants izzy to feel better!! he wants izzy to have what he has but izzy seems intent on isolating him and ed just cares so damn much okay and izzy deserves to feel good too

and stede is ever so sympathetic and he suggests they go out there and tell izzy that and explain ed's reasoning and ed is horrified at the thought but stede convinces him, so they go back in and--

Izzy is being chatted up by a very, very handsome stranger.

stede doesn't think he's more handsome than ed, and ed doesn't think he's more handsome than stede, but they both see him as a 20/10 compared to their own 10/10 and this guy is all over izzy and, worse still, izzy is receptive to it

there's a smile on his face! the guy is touching his arm! izzy almost seems like he's flirting

the guy is about to sit down and then ed is just gone from stede's side and intercepting all, "You're in my seat," and the guy has to stand back up and izzy is just

"...?"

because isn't this what ed wanted wasnt this the plan all along

but ed's all over izzy now and he's pulled the "Do you fucking know who I am? I'm Blackbeard," card at the hot guy who's scarpered like his ass is on fire, and izzy looks as livid as he is confused

he gets up with a grunt of needing to piss and storms out, leaving stede to sit next to ed and ask what the fuck just happened

stede's like "i thought this is what you wanted?"

"that guy? no way! you saw him! you saw his--his hands, all over izzy! i swear i saw one on his thigh. fuck that guy. taking advantage of izzy like that."

he knocks back another drink and stede just stares at him because, "i thought you wanted someone to take advantage of izzy and put their hands on his thigh?"

"well not that guy!"

"do we know that guy?"

"no, but he looked slimy."

ed looks like he has a thundercloud over his head and it takes stede a few minutes to ding the real problem.

"you know," he says, conversationally, "when you first told me you thought izzy needed to be 'fucked into a state of lethargy' and relax, i thought you meant we should do it."

ed's head shoots up, eyes lighting up, "now there's an idea."

when izzy comes back the drinks have been paid for and the table is clear. ed stands and once again herds izzy, this time apologizing for his actions earlier: he's sorry, he shouldn't have dragged izzy out like this, he knows better

izzy gets all grumbly, you know, "yeah yeah you're sorry you thought i should get fucked to feel better"

and ed's just like "no no, i'm right about that one. i'm sorry i thought the job should be outsourced, when stede and i are both right here."

izzy nearly walks right off the dock, but ed still has his hands on his shoulders, so they herd him home to their cabin just fine

#ofmd #ofmd fic #izzy hands #edward teach #stede bonnet #our flag means death #steddyhands #blackhands #my writing

[yourlocalwriterandreader3451]

The Runt - Billy the Kid

Warnings for this chapter: Jesse Evans, swearing, slight misogyny?, mentions of abuse, PTSD

Chapter Ten

The next day, Laurie, Billy and Pat galloped through the plains in the direction of where Jesse and his gang were apparently now residing. Artax whinnied with glee upon feeling the wind in his mane, tossing his head around like an energetic colt with a snort. This caused Laurie to smile a little bit, she was feeling incredibly nervous about reuniting with Jesse, so it felt nice to have her best friend distract her for a moment, but she couldn’t help but let her mind wonder back to how Jesse might react to seeing her after all these months.

Would he be mad at her?

Would he hate her more than he already did before she left?

As they approached the ranch, a man stood up with a shotgun, he seemed ready to shoot them dead until he recognized Pat and called out to his buddies, letting them know that their comrade had returned with guests. Artax skidded to a stop as Laurie turned to Billy, she was visibly nervous and Billy could tell right away. The outlaw gave her a reassuring smile and nod, letting her know that it’ll be okay. It helped a little bit but it did not completely calm her nerves.

“Jesse, you may wanna come out here,” a man that Laurie immediately recognized as Bob called out into the house, taking a drag of his tobacco filled cigarette as he did so. Laurie took a deep breath, stroking her horse's fur as she waited for Jesse to come out. Her heart was pounding and she felt like her blood vessels were going to burst due to the adrenaline. 

Jesse walked out of the house, a cigar in his mouth. It was hard to tell what he was thinking when he saw Laurie and Billy on their horses, standing side-by-side. Laurie took another deep breath before she spoke.

“Hi, Jesse,” she said, adjusting Artax’s reins in her hands. Jesse didn’t say anything as he took a drag of his cigarette, Laurie recognized the gaze that was plastered on Jesse’s face.

And it was safe to say that the blond son of a bitch was beyond pissed at her. 

“We met Pat Garret here out on the road, minding our own business,” Billy jumped in, trying to take Jesse’s glare away from the already nervous teenager. Jesse just hummed in response as Billy looked around at the small ranch. “It’s a neat little hideout.”

“Oh, I like it. Real private,” Jesse answered, throwing away his cigarette, shoving his hands into his pockets as he walked over. “You remember the boys?”

“Sure do,” Billy answered, his horse subtly taking a step forward, almost acting like a shield for Laurie. “This okay, Jesse?”

Jesse simply smiled at Billy, nodding his head. “Sure it is, Kid. I’m really glad to see you, Billy. And I’m even more happy to know that Lauren is safe.”

“She prefers Laurie,” Billy said to Jesse, who simply nodded with a shrug.

“Surely fate’s brought us back together again,” Jesse continued, “You gonna ride with us this time?” Jesse looked over at Laurie. “And actually stay with us?”

“Depends, you gonna treat Laurie like a human bein’ now?,” Billy asked, glancing at Laurie and then at the cow that was in the process of being prepared for food. “Also depends on what you’re cookin’.”

“Rustling John Chisum’s cattle. You’ve heard of John Chisum? They call him the Cattle King of America. He’s got cattle here in Texas, in New Mexico, all over Lincoln County. He is one rich son of a bitch, and we’re making good money selling his cattle to the army,” Jesse replied, “And as I’ve said before. I am gonna make it my life’s mission to make it up to Lauren for how I treated her. It was wrong.” He paused for a moment. “You two back in?” 

Laurie immediately called bullshit, she knew he didn’t regret a single thing when it came to how he treated her. Men like that never feel bad for what they do to the people who trusted them. But she nodded, saying yes for Billy’s sake. Because either it was to stay with the gang or go to some shitty orphanage. 

The red headed girl dismounted Artax, stroking the stallion’s neck before gently leading him to the water trough where she began to untack him. She gently tugged the bridle off of his face, giving him a mint before hanging it up on the fence post when she heard someone behind her. Laurie had memorized footsteps long enough to recognize it was Jesse who was approaching her. The young teenager whipped her head around to face him, she was still like a jumpy doe because of him.

“Runt,” Jesse said.

“Jesse,” Laurie sighed, hearing the all too familiar nickname never got any easier. Artax pinned his ears upon seeing Jesse, the stud never liked Jesse and the feeling was mutual on Jesse’s end as well.

“The hell were you thinkin’, running off like that?,” he hissed. Laurie took a slight step back, afraid that he would hit her again.

No, he wouldn’t do that.

Not when there were so many witnesses.

“I’m sorry, okay?,” Laurie responded, swallowing as she turned back around, undoing the cinch on Artax’s saddle. Jesse would’ve said more if Billy didn’t walk over to them, leaning on the fence as he tilted his head to the side.

“Just getting reacquainted,” Jesse reassured, seeing the look of suspicion on Billy’s face. Billy nodded, the look on his face screamed ‘better be.’ 

Laurie removed Artax’s saddle and rested it on the fence before gently putting a rope over the horse’s neck and leading him into the small pasture, but Artax didn’t leave Jesse unharmed. The stud purposefully stood on his foot and once that was done, he swished his tail, directly hitting Jesse in the face, whinnying in amusement. Laurie giggled quietly, secretly giving him a treat for that as she let him go into the pasture. 

ⅠⅠⅠⅠ

Later that night, Laurie sat at a table with Billy, eating her dinner quietly while the two friends engaged in conversation. She wasn’t really contributing anything but she knew that the two older men knew that she was there and that she was also listening. 

“What happened to Barbara?,” Billy suddenly asked, Laurie lifted her head upon the name. Even though Barbara did little to nothing to stop the ongoing abuse that Laurie would receive from Jesse, she also couldn’t help but wonder what happened to her, especially because she hadn’t seen her around. 

“Oh, you know, she, uh�� moved on,” Jesse explained, “She left not long after Lauren ran off.”

“Moved on to where?,” Billy asked, wanting to know more as Laurie reached over, taking his whiskey and drinking it. 

“If you must know, she got herself a job as a schoolteacher,” Jesse sighed, getting a little annoyed at the constant stream of questions about his ex. “Can you imagine that? Miss Jones.”

Laurie shrugged, putting the bottle down and sharply inhaling. Her head becoming fuzzy as the alcohol clouded her mind, she shook her head, feeling rattled. SHe really needed to stop stealing drinks.

“Actually, I can,” Billy chuckled, smiling a little bit at the thought.

“Is that right?,” Jesse responded, “You didn’t think for a second that she was too beautiful just to waste her life as a teacher in school?”

“It ain’t a waste, Jesse,” Billy countered, adjusting his posture in his seat. “There are plenty of kids out there who would kill to be able to learn how to do stuff like readin’. Besides, Barbara was always a teacher. Shit, I think she taught me and you more than we could ever know.” 

“Jesus Christ,” Jesse scoffed, “What do you figure you can learn from a teacher in school you can’t find out for yourself?”

“Reading,” Laurie suddenly said, the alcohol she had just consumed making her a lot more confident now.

Jesse just shrugged once more, not really wanting to hear anymore of this as he got up. Billy looked over at Laurie, confused at her newfound confidence but when his eyes landed on the whiskey bottle he shook his head.

“Lightweight,” he sighed, standing up and helping the drunk teenager to her feet, taking her to where she would be sleeping that night. 

A/N:

LAURIE IS MY BABY

Artax's beef with Jesse is my new favorite thing ever

Will Laurie find her Mama? Or is she gonna remain motherless?

Tag:

@slutforsnow

#the runt #billy the kid hc #billy the kid imagine #billy the kid x reader #william h bonney #billy mccarty #billy the kid #billy the kid 2022 #billy the kid x oc #runt of the litter #billy the kid gif #billy the kid fanfiction #coriolanus snow #tom blyth #the old west #motherless

[ecccentrick]

Binghe, do NOT fuck that old man!

WIP Wednesday, I guess, but also thinking of putting this up for adoption because I lack the spoons. Svsss spoilers!!!

Proud Immortal Demon Way had so much potential. 

PIDW had so! much! potential!

Shen Yuan, also known as Peerless Cucumber, accidentally stumbles upon the web novel after clicking on it by mistake. It had been on the top trending page, and despite Shen Yuan not even reading the summary, he figures he shouldn't spit in the face of fate. 

It takes him a few chapters to realize that this novel should be called Proud Immortal Gay Way! Luo Binghe is gay as fuck! And for his scummy shizun, of all people!

This is what you get for not reading the summary or checking the genre tags!

Shen Yuan's mouse pointer hovers over the exit button, shaking slightly. His finger almost clicks it, but he stops himself. The writing… the writing hasn't been too bad so far, and Luo Binghe is such a sweet white lotus. No way he'd actually end up with his shizun! Shen Yuan will call children's services!

He reads on, and almost bursts a blood vessel. Maybe he has, and he just can't see it. If he dies of an aneurysm, he will find and haunt Airplane, will curse his (most likely sticky) keyboard and never allow him to write again!

This shizun, this Shen Qingqiu, is a creep!

He dumps tea on Binghe's head, whips or beats him on the daily, and then one day, after years of this, he decides to be nice and give him medicine. The beatings stop, and the bullying decreases in intensity. 

Green leaves become weapons, and despite not getting his Guanyin jade necklace back, Luo Binghe isn't dumb and figures out the culprit of the unseen rescue. The incident with Without A Cure makes zero sense, as it happens right after Shen Qingqiu throws Binghe out to fight the demon! Consistency, Airplane doesn't know the meaning of the word!

Thus, the biggest plot hole of the novel begins. 

What the fuck was up with Shen Qingqiu?!

First, he's the stereotypical abusive Master from a stallion novel, cold, cruel and untouchable. Then, one day he has a Qi deviation, and suddenly he's all nice. He turns into a tsundere, for fuck's sake! Allowing Binghe to be in danger, and then rescuing him as though he enjoys being put into life threatening scenarios! Is he a masochist?!

Soon, Binghe becomes his coddled, treasured disciple. He lets him move into the side room of his bamboo house! There are pages and pages dedicated to the lust Binghe feels for him—and it is only lust, Binghe is too, too young for that man! He's too young to fall in love with an old man!—drawing out scenes that should be one page into chapters. When Meng Mo is introduced in earnest—teaching Binghe of his demonic abilities—it gets worse, the white lotus no longer so pristine with how dirty the dreams become.

His shizun is corrupting him, wholly and irreversibly!

And no one else seems to notice!

The comment sections of each chapter become battlefields. Shen Yuan simply and plainly points out the inconsistencies (is it brain damage? Amnesia? Did the deviation knock some conscience floating around that empty heart?) he gets flamed to the highest degree. 

The only other detractors are yelling plagiarism, which, if there is another novel similar to this, Shen Yuan mourns for the entire genre as a whole.

He scoffs at the lot of them, because as the only straight man reading this gay novel, he doesn't see everything through rose, perverted glasses. He isn't going to be won over by some two faced, green tea shizun who—for some reason—attracts men like flies to shit.

And, no, user BinghesMilkieTiddies, he doesn't want Luo Binghe to fuck him—and, no, Shen Yuan isn't trying for that vibe when he makes his comments! Luo Binghe is a fictional man, which makes it impossible. He's not gay! 

This shizun of Luo Binghe's runs hot and cold. Kind and cruel. Loving and hateful. He throws Binghe into the Endless Abyss, after years of treating him like his prized disciple. Like the blood that runs through Binghe's veins makes him dirty, unworthy. 

The worst thing about that arc, is even after the betrayal, Shen Qingqiu is all he can think about, down there in hell. 

He thinks about his shizun when blood drips through fingers that attempt to staunch the bleeding. About the sword in his chest, the scar aching.

He thinks about his shizun when beautiful, seductive demonic women throw themselves at him—usually after trying to kill him first. About how they pale in comparison to his shizun. 

He thinks about his shizun when his fangs bite into the still warm hide of the latest beast he's defeated, choking on the foul taste. About the meals he shared with his shizun, meticulously prepared by his own hands—the hands that are the same as before, but should be perpetually drenched in blood, gnarled and twisted from how many times they've been broken. Sometimes he rips the newly regrown claws out. 

Binghe! Your shizun is why you're in this situation! Forget about that old man if you're not plotting revenge! 

It's just too tragic. Why did women like these types of stories?

Any whump-o-meter would be broken from off the charts readings—if such a thing existed. Binghe continues to all but put his still steaming heart on a platter to serve his shizun, only for Shen Qingqiu to complain that he wasn't the one to rip it from Binghe's chest. 

Character consistency? Shen Qingqiu doesn't know her! 

Cruel! Wishy washy! So bleak, with only the faintest glimmers of hope, just so they can be snatched away. 

And when the last chapter is posted, Shen Yuan is liable to spit blood. 

First of all—as much as Shen Yuan dislikes the two faced shizun, being fucked to death by Binghe is a little overboard! Wouldn't Binghe rather die than be saved in such a way, his mind clearing only to awaken to his beloved shizun's body under him? Could he have at least figured out a different way to sacrifice himself, a stabbing of a different sort? Have some face!

Second—and most egregious—is the deus ex machina! The fake jade pendant is bad enough (he is seething, knowing that Shen Qingqiu had kept it for so long without giving it to Binghe) but just randomly reviving like nothing happened? How can readers choke that down? 

Then it ends.

And so does Shen Yuan's life. 

He really had choked it down! 

The feeling of something clumped in his throat is still there when he awakens. Which, for the record, is not something he thought would happen, not with the burning in his lungs and the encroaching darkness engulfing his vision still fresh in his mind. What he sees upon opening his eyes is even more confusing.

"—shidi, you're finally awake!"

Who the fuck is your shidi and why is his pillow so hard? Is it made of porcelain?

And why does it look like he's plopped down into the set of a xianxia drama? 

When Shen Yuan doesn't reply, the man takes a trembling breath. His voice is even when he asks again, "Shen-shidi, can you hear me?"

Has this man not learned to leave someone alone when they first wake up? Not everyone is a morning person! Smacking his lips, Shen Yuan yawns, but pauses with his mouth wide open.

Wait.

Shen Yuan quickly goes lax again and closes his eyes. He needs to buy more time, because if he died, and then woke up in a xianxia type house (come on, there is a mix of different furniture and clothing styles of different dynasties, all obvious with just a glance! Shen Yuan bets that this world has historically inaccurate crops as well, like potatoes!) then that can only mean one thing.

He transmigrated! 

And he's already made a fool of himself!

Shen Yuan has always promised himself that if he were to die—most likely tragically, his life cut short and loose ends left untied—and be transmigrated, he wouldn't act like those dumb protagonists, asking if the room is a movie set, if there's hidden cameras, if everyone else is crazy. That he'd keep a cool and calm head about him, learn whose life he is living, and adjust accordingly without fuss.

But when he thought of these scenarios, he always figured he'd have a helpful system to at least tell him the role he was meant to play! He's not too bad at RPGs, he can totally take advantage of those mechanics!

So, within the confines of his mind, where his screams echo within its empty caverns, "System, anyone there? Hello? Don't leave me hanging, what the fuck am I supposed to do, huh?!"

There is no reply, only crickets.

The man at his bedside gets more insistent, voice straining. Shen Yuan is left with no other option but to do something he's always loathed and complained about being cheap and idiotic. 

"Hrm," Shen Yuan groans, pretending to finally fully awaken. He blinks up at the man. "Where am I?"

#bingqiu #bingyuan #svsss #scum villain's self saving system #scumbag self saving system #shen qingqiu #shen yuan #luo binghe #mxtx #this will prob flop lol

[cloudbells]

How about 7, 8, and 16 for the grievances ask game?

Thank you for the ask! The game is here!

7) Without naming names what's something you've come across in a fic that made you genuinely uncomfortable/angry.

I happen to have a few answers to this, but I'll just list the first one that came to mind! Gonna be as vague as possible.

There was this one poly fic that I loooooovvvvveeeeeeeedddddd reading. Like when I say I was seated everyday, for every available hour, reading this fic. I MEAN it. Steve was the addition to the ship, I won't say the other two because it's a bit more identifiable. Anyways, the ship was great, the development of the characters was enjoyable and included some interesting headcanons for the other two in the ship that I haven't considered. And it seemed like the author was spending a certain amount of chapters per character to explore their psyche a bit more, yeah? So I was sitting around and waiting for Steve's turn.

When I tell you, I got a migraine from the amount of anger and frustration I experienced when we finally got to Steve's section. Like I'm getting a headache right now as I'm typing this because it irritates me so bad. They dropped the fucking ball SO hard, there's probably a new ground zero directly below their keyboard or something. I can't say exactly what happened because I think it might be too on the nose, but let's just say it has to do with Bucky. God, I was so angry. I still have them muted on ao3 to this day😭I had such a strong emotional reaction because I LOVED the fic and I ADORED the pairing so much! It's not super common of me to be all in like that. I learned my lesson! If you wanna know what it was, feel free to DM me though - I wish I could give more details, but I just don't wanna put anyone on blast in public.

Despite all this, I still finished the fic though. #NOTAQUITTER

The amount of Steve poly fics that have caused me to almost burst a blood vessel is about 3, but that's 3 too many. I'm fragile.

8) What kind of content tends to cross your dash that you dislike the most?

This happens a lot more on my main, but I do not care about antishippers as much as everyone else seems to. I just genuinely cannot muster up any kind of genuine upsetness that other people on my side of the fandom has. And I admit, I do get annoyed seeing people go blue in the face cause someone said a ship or kink or trope is nasty or whatever - I don't care! But I don't talk about it much because I don't want to hurt people's feelings who do care. I recognize that insults and shaming like that slides right off of me in a way it doesn't other people and well, I don't like to speak on things I can't sympathize with. It would be way too easy for my tone to come off as mean and I don't want that!

16) Name a canonical aspect of [insert 2 or more characters]'s relationship that you think is problematic/not mentioned enough.

I don't know who to talk about hm. I keep coming back to this question and for some reason I'm drawing a blank?? Trying to think about things I haven't complained about before. Damn, I talk too much LMAO.

I mean, I mentioned the thing about Tony and Pepper on discord before, but I don't consider it bad. In fact, I like this aspect of their relationship (I am a Pepperony shipper :>). But the way people get mad at Pepper for...whatever they get mad at Pepper for when the amount of stress she's put through in that relationship, specifically IM3 is ridiculous. Now, I like IM3. I know a lot of people hate it, but I like it for various reasons. And I have to say, I genuinely would not have blamed her if she noped out the second Tony told a terrorist coming to kill him where they lived 😭But she's a resilient woman and stuck beside her man iktr!

The answer I gave this feels lackluster so feel free to trade in another or choose a specific ship. Sorry!! <3

#me my mine #ASK GAME #got hit up #thank you! #bulkyphrase #INTERROGATE ME

[sgcairo]

Reading dottore’s lore got me hair loss from fear, he’s not a typical anime psycho but some serious psychopath

So can you share (the) moment(s) pantalone realized why dottore was named mad scientist. Like times where it’s like a remainder incase pantalone brushed off/forgot for a moment about dottore’s insanity. Surely pants isn’t scared of him but w “WHAT THE FUCK” moment

Let's just say that Dottore has taken things a bit far, more than a few times.

WARNING FOR GRAPHIC DESCRIPTIONS OF BLOOD AND CORPSES BEYOND THIS POINT. LET'S NOT FORGET THAT DOTTORE IS A VIOLENT PSYCHOPATH.

In this specific case, it was in the name of love, but it caused more problems than it solved.

As for the occasion: Another poisoning on Pantalone's part. It wasn't as bad as it had been in the past, but Pantalone suddenly spitting up blood at the Harbinger dinner is not something that can be simply overlooked. In fact, Pantalone staggering off made it even worse, practically leaving a trail of red as he collapsed in the entryway to the hall.

It's fortunate that it wasn't a high grade poison, and a quick antidote from Dottore stopped its progress. That didn't stop Pantalone from being in pain for the rest of the night, under close watch to make sure he didn't die.

If there's one thing Dottore hates, it's incompetence. But when he hears that a sleazy scumbag managed to poison Pantalone so easily... He's pissed. Pantalone doesn't explain how he missed the poison in the first place, but if anyone knows about degrees of human error, it's Dottore. And he will not have his banker so easily poisoned, especially when their child is involved. Callback to Dottore's previous rant about not being able to take care of Anastasiy by himself without hurting him again.

So Dottore decides to do something about it. Leaving one of his clones in charge of watching over Pantalone, he goes on a hunt, something he hasn't done in a long time. Sharpened blades and toxins at the ready, he plans to make this as painful as possible. The hunt itself is relatively short- he threatens a few of Pantalone's servants to give him the address of this scumbag's residence, and walks there on foot. It's harder to track, not to mention with predictable results.

Pantalone wakes up to blood curdling screams and his servants crying about a body hung outside his quarters the next morning.

Blood is quite literally seeping under the door when he gets up, puddling and ruining his carpet. He's almost afraid of opening the door, what could possibly be outside?

...There's a body pinned to the ice above his doorway, legs dangling in his vision. A dagger in its neck, eyes still wide in terror from the moment the man was killed. Pantalone isn't one to get sick from such scenes, but the body is fresh, and blood is still dripping down from his doorway.

Pantalone is furious.

It could be much worse, he knows- the legs are broken and contorted at awkward angles and the man seems to have burst a few blood vessels in the process of dying- but it's not the worst spectacle Dottore has put on. There aren't organs involved, so it's a win in Pantalone's book, but his carpet is ruined. Not to mention that he needed that scumbag for his plans. He's going to have a word with Dottore about this one.

When he arrives in the lab, he finds Dottore oddly smug, which is not a good sign. The Doctor being in a good mood means he's recently killed someone or something much worse.

"Why the fuck is there a body hanging from my doorway, good Doctor?"

"Oh, Panties! You're awake!"

"Don't fucking call me Panties. My carpet and business opportunities are ruined because of you!"

"And? Come on, Loney, you could replace him with the snap of your fingers..."

"Dottore, shut the fuck up!"

The Second Harbinger is taken aback. It's not commonplace for Pantalone to lose his temper, especially over something as pathetic as that maggot that he killed earlier. So why is he so upset?

"Just... shut up. I needed him for my plans! And now I have to placate pompous and idiotic aristocrats so they won't turn on me, all because of your-" Pantalone has to stop to take a breath, clearly about to lose it. "-your absolutely vile stunt!"

"Vile? My dear, that was for your own good. Consider it... a proclamation of passion-"

Smack!

Pantalone's face is so red with anger that it's comparable to a tomato, and now Dottore's cheek matches. He's physically heaving with his rage as he stares up at Dottore, daring him to continue.

Dottore is silent, before bursting out into laughter.

"THAT is what you consider a slap?!" Dottore gasps through his giggles, which only serves to aggrivate Pantalone further. "Please try harder, that was-"

Pantalone flushes an even brighter red, then paper white.

"Excuse me... I have to sit down."

Well now Dottore's concerned.

Pantalone looks... sick. His anger is gone in a second, now replaced by a look that is more horrified than anything.

"...Dear, if you're going to be sick, avoid my shoes."

"I'm not going to be sick..."

Silence. Pantalone squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, looking too haggard for Dottore's liking. It's likely the remainder of the poison still in his system, he probably got up in a hurry... And the sight of blood likely didn't help. Dottore now sees his own mistake... which is rare, but this is a special case.

"Oh, my darling... That sight must've been too much for you, hm?"

Pantalone glares at him weakly, but Dottore does not care, sitting down next to him.

"...Come on now, don't give me the cold shoulder. I must apologize, I didn't know you'd be so upset over something so aggravating."

Pantalone rolls his eyes, clearly not believing it.

"I'm trying to genuinely apologize, Regrator, stop looking at me like that."

"That doesn't earn you automatic forgiveness, Doctor."

"...Really?"

"Yes."

"Damn. Well, I suppose some tea would do you some good. I'll have someone mop up your quarters for you, yes?"

"...Fine."

"Excellent! Now, wait here!"

Pantalone is somewhat placated by tea and kisses, but he's still pissed about his million-mora rug being unsalvagable.

#pantalone #il dottore #dottore #dottolone #fatui harbingers #fatui headcanons #genshin impact #genshin impact headcanons

[this-is-where-i-hide-my-bullshit]

Sorry for venting but literally nobody in my house is on my side here and I'm feeling very bad emotions about it.

Didn't know when I moved in that someone who'd been abusive to me and my family would be staying over for Christmas and he's downstairs and I can't sleep.

Everyone wants to talk about how much he's "changed" but I don't buy that shit for a second. They all want to act like him no longer beating mom makes up for the YEARS of him beating her and telling me he'd kill me. The day I had to leave because he almost took my door off the hinges in a drunken rage, I had to look at my mother who had bruises around her neck from being strangled so bad there were burst blood vessels in her eyes, and accept that there was nothing I could do to make her leave him. I couldn't stay and wait for her to wake up, I had to leave for my own safety. And it fucking hurt because I couldn't bring her with me. I was so fucking scared that he'd go too far and I wouldn't have a mother anymore, but there was nothing I could do. The cops didn't care and I was and still am too small to fight him and win.

After he cheated, she finally moved out, and he moved out of town, but they're STILL married and she STILL talks to him and she says he's changed even though he still drinks and he's still violent.

He's a piece of shit and he's just trying to win her back so he can control and hurt her again, because this isn't the first time he's "changed".

I hope to god he gets what's coming to him.

It took me years to cope with the trauma of watching that bastard hurt the people I love without being able to do anything to stop him. It took me years before I stopped feeling overwhelming fear when I heard cars parking in the driveway. I almost never have dissociative episodes anymore. I still have to swallow the involuntary tears when someone yells at me.

And now that shit stain is in my home and I'm supposed to "be polite" to him. I want him gone.

I've never hated anyone as much as I hate that man.

#tw abuse

[tenjiiku]

1995 / i do

6k words

masterlist | next

“I’m never going to trust a man ever again! Never! Never in a million years!”

A woman wails to two of her friends in an empty ramen shop during a chilly Winter night in November. Said ramen shop was aptly named Minano Ramen, a few miles away from Minano Station, Saitama. Said woman had no correlation to the location (as she was a bona fide country-bumpkin, hailing from somewhere in Nagano), nor to the type of provisions being sold at the aforementioned ramen shop (she was in a committed relationship to whole wheat and everything which came from it). Still, her company grounded her — which is why said woman, Amaya Bando, persisted under such shoddy circumstances.

You, being one of Amaya’s closest accomplices, gently pat her back as she lounges across half of the dining table. Her blouse was an utter disaster, and her hair was in an even more uncanny state of disarray. Being as you were sitting in the stool next to her, you were in charge of physical comfort for the night: The Good Cop. Your friend, the owner of the family-owned Minano Ramen shop, Umeko, was overseeing the harsh, motivational talks — as she was across the counter from both of you, wiping down dishes to close up for the night: The Bad Cop.

“Amaya-chan, you will sprain a muscle exerting yourself like this,” you coo, ever-so-softly, gently running a hand through the woman’s chestnut coloured hair.

“So be it! It will just be another tragedy added to the list that is my life! What is one more, anyway!?”

“You’re turning red,” Umeko coolly interjects, passing a glass of ice cold water to the hysterical young woman, “calm down before you burst a blood vessel.”

Amaya, sniffling, finally lifts her head from the counter. She is, indeed, flushed in the face. Her nose is an almost violent shade of burgundy — and she blows it once more in the handkerchief you hand her. Your brows furrow and your lips pout. You did not like seeing your friend like this, even if she currently resembled a spider monkey.

“I just thought—,” a gulp of water, an exhausted moan, “I just thought Sota would—would be the one, you know?”

“For fuck’s sake— he made you pay on the first date. I’m glad he left you.” The Bad Cop chastises.

“You deserve someone so much better, Maya-chan,” The Good Cop consoles.

Amaya’s eyes fill with tears. She opens her mouth — presumably to resume shrieking — but nothing leaves. A few seconds pass just like this, her mouth gaping and her teardrops escaping her eyes to fall on her flushed cheeks.

“You think she’s paralyzed?”

“Umeko— you… don’t say that. She’s upset.”

“Over Sota…”

“Yeah, so?” Umeko shoots you a look which screams ‘Are you serious?’ which makes you snort and murmur a quiet, “What?”

“Sota.”

“I know Maya-chan’s ex-boyfriend’s name, Umeko.”

“The man with the receding hairline. Who made our dear Maya-chan take the bus home — knowing he had a car — from their first date. Which she paid for, by the way.”

Amaya chokes and you jump at the sound, gently patting her back and shooting Umeko a stern glance. Umeko only snatches the napkin you scrunch in your hand away from you and walks away into the back, presumably to throw it out. Or leave you and Amaya to your lonesomes. That too was a possibility.

“Why do you care so damn much about who and who didn’t pay on the first date?!” Amaya hollers, suddenly gaining the strength of twenty bulls when being on the receiving end of Umeko’s cold indifference.

Before you can interject, the woman is already returning to the bar, hot on her heels. You open your mouth — but, like Amaya, excluding the frenzy — nothing falls out.

“That should have been a sign! No good man would have taken you on such a shitty date. And what do you do? Call him an hour after you return home and tell him you had a good time! A good time! Your socks were soaked from the downright torrential rain for god’s sake!”

“Umeko—”

“Yeah?! Well— I—I’m a nice woman! Unlike you! I—I see the good in people. And Sot—So—… whatever-his-name, he—he did many good things after!”

“Amaya—”

“Oh yeah? Like what?”

“Ume—”

“He—He bought me flowers! Took—Took me on other dates that he—he did pay for, by the way! Since money is everything to you!”

You sigh shakily into your cup of coffee and lean your cheek against your palm, grinning when you receive a message notification on your phone.

>> (19:00) Where are you?

“Yeah, he bought you chrysanthemums! You’re allergic to chrysanthemums! He basically tried to kill you!”

“Why—Why are you so mean?!”

“Why are you defending the man who dumped you to be with someone else?!”

A silence befalls the shop after Umeko’s last statement. The two women engaged in the for-some-reason argument recline into themselves. Peering up at them, you shake your head before sending a reply to the message you received moments ago.

>> (19:02) Minano’s. Witnessing Ume and Maya in a brawl. Got off work?

“I think we can all agree here that Sota is the real McCoy of dickheads. And I think we can also agree that Amaya is much too beautiful and kind hearted for half of Earth’s population — and that Umeko can use Benadryl.”

A huff escapes Umeko’s lips and she runs a hand through her dyed yellow-blond hair. Amaya snorts a laugh, snot escaping her nose and the last of her tears pouring from her eye. You squint a little at the sight, and take a tissue from the rusted napkin dispenser to hand it to her.

It is a peaceful quiet for a few seconds. Then Amaya asks, her voice strained with a hint of pure amusement tinted between, “What the hell does being the real McCoy mean?”

“The saying originates from Elijah McCoy. Quite a famous inventor in the late 1800s, owned many patents after a bunch of dupes followed his name.”

Umeko guffaws at your statement. She looks at Amaya. “Can you believe she’s the one in a committed relationship between the three of us?”

You snicker and smile smugly to yourself, with Amaya letting out a chortle of her own. She sighs, scooting her stool closer to yours to rest her head on your right shoulder. You pet her cheek with your left hand, the other holding your phone open.

“Where’d you find such a man like Rin?” Amaya sighs gently, nuzzling into the sherpa of your coat.

Umeko sets down the last bowl on the counter before leaning against it, elbows propped up as she sneaks a glance towards your phone screen. She leans closer, seemingly also wanting to know the answer.

“Find? They’d been attached to the hip since university. If anything, he wouldn’t leave,” Umeko teases. You grin shyly and shrug your shoulders, careful not to exert the gesture and disturb Amaya’s newfound calmness.

“Yeah,” you murmur, “I just got lucky.” Turning towards Amaya you lightly pinch the fat of her cheek, “It’s about to run out. I can feel it.”

The low lighting of the bar sets Amaya’s piqued expression so naturally — it was as though it were her instinctual reaction to everything.

“You’re just a perpetual pessimist. I’d be willfully ignorant and quiet if I were you. Evil eye is a thing, you know.”

“Since when did you become so spiritual?” Umeko retorts.

“Since my ex stole ¥11,000 from my shoebox and left without sparing so much of a goodbye in the middle of the night.”

Umeko and you still for a few seconds. It is so silent you can hear the bellowing of the snow outside the shop. Then, Umeko murmurs, very quietly, “The hell? You never told us that. That’s a crime.”

“It’s fine… he left his Grand Seiko watch.. I bet it will fetch a good price.”

You grin and Umeko huffs. “Good girl, Amaya.”

The chime of the door opening alerts the three of you. Though the closed sign was turned, the establishment remained unlocked. No one had ever dared come inside when the patio lights were off. At least, not until now. The sight of the person at the door, however, pains a pleasant smile on your face. You hop off of the stool, not without a groan from Amaya who has to resume laying on the cold marble of the bar table, wrapping your arms around your body to adjust your coat.

“Yo, Itoshi, we’re closed.” Umeko’s voice hollers from across the shop. Rin grins at the statement, and it grows when you approach him.

“Hello, Honda-san, Bando-san.” he greets formally, taking your purse with his free hand and adjusting it to fit into the crook of his elbow, where his briefcase rests. The side of his mouth lifts as he looks down at you — adjusting the collar of his peacoat.

“It’s Amaya, Rin-kun. A-ma-ya.” The half-drunk woman slurs into her mug of beer. You shoot Rin a teasing smile, making him apprehensively run a hand through his hair and loosen his wool scarf — a bright neon pink colour — which you bought him as a joke years ago, but for whatever reason he wears consistently through the cold season.

“What are you doing here?” You whisper to him as Umeko and Amaya argue on the latter’s alcohol tolerance — or, lack thereof. You place your warm hands on his cheeks, turning his face left and right as you look for any imperfections.

“I was in the neighbourhood. I thought you knew?”

Rin murmurs in the low voice you like so much — the one that leaks in the bedroom. Your eyes widen and you look up, meeting his roguish gaze. You subconsciously cross your legs and shyly adjust your hair and pencil skirt, looking down at your sore feet clad in heels.

“I—I didn’t think you were this close.”

And he really was not. His office was a good twenty minutes away from Minano Station, by train. Thirty, if you consider the harsh Winter blizzard and Friday night traffic. But if Rin Itoshi was anything, he was your overzealous lover.

“I wanted cheesecake,” he says, so casually deflecting your onslaught of guilt. It never hits you. He never lets it.

You laugh at this softly, shaking your head. He leans into your one hand that still cups his cheek and you can feel his smile against your skin.

“Your hair is a mess.” You mutter, bending down to meet his eye.

“You look very pretty.” He replies instantly, making you flustered all over again. Rin has gotten better with pouring out compliments in recent years. It still takes you aback each time you are the receiving end of them.

An obnoxious cry breaks the two of you out of the daze you find yourselves in. You turn to find Amaya glaring at you with disgust, then looking towards Umeko.

“Blah! If you both are going to be in love and whatnot, please do so with a five kilometre distance away from me.” She utters and Umeko resumes to bicker with her regarding what constitutes as too much beer to consume in one sitting for a four foot one woman in her late twenties.

Rin looks at you, confused. He bends down a little bit, to accommodate for the strain you put into your neck. You feel the side of your mouth twitch. You can practically see his tail wagging.

“Breakup. Sota is an asshole.” You explain. Rin hums.

“I never liked him. He tried getting me to invest in Worldcom. Its trajectory is not looking good.”

Amaya, still listening in on your conversation and tuning out Umeko’s incessant lecture, sits up as straight as a brick.

“What? So Sota’ll lose money?” She inquires.

Rin sighs, taking his hand to rest around your shoulder and nodding. “If he still holds, definitely.”

Amaya makes a sound between a choke and a laugh and simultaneously claps her hands. She leans back in her chair and you quickly step forward to catch it — Rin being pulled with you.

“Umeko-chan, keep the celebratory drinks coming!” The woman cheers loudly, chugging her empty mug and presenting it to the tired woman across the counter. Said woman sighs exasperatedly — turning her gaze to Rin and yourself.

“You two should leave. Amaya is an obnoxious drunk and I don’t want to ruin the eve of your 30th birthday.”

You giggle at this, and turn your eyes to Rin. You ask him mentally — “Should we?”. And he gives an answer by positioning your purse and his bag — “We should.”

“Alright. Maya-chan, drink responsibly.” You murmur, placing a kiss on Amaya’s temple. She hisses so you take a step back. You nod towards Umeko. “Umeko, take care.”

“Yeah, yeah. You better send us photos of the celebration tomorrow.” She answers, furrowing her eyebrows when Amaya raises her mug and slurs gibberish on simultaneously wanting to be loved and to be a cat.

As Umeko ushers you both out, the door chimes softly, signalling the end of the raucous camaraderie. The cold night air greets you once again as you step onto the snowy streets, your hand held tightly in Rin’s. Neon lights cast ephemeral shadows on the white canvas beneath your feet, creating a surreal ambiance. Rin’s touch provides a comforting anchor in the quietude of the night. The city, wrapped in its wintry silence, seemed to only amplify the tenderness exchanged.

“You’re so warm…” you whisper to Rin.

“Am I?” He mumbles, his voice deep and smooth. It sends shivers up your spine, “You’re making me incredibly nervous, dressed like that.”

A wind blows by. You blame the sudden gust of cold for the sudden rigidness you find yourself experiencing.

“Rin…” You mumble, hiding your face in his forearm.

He only laughs, and stops walking when the two of you are under a street lamp. Opening your eyes, you find him in front of you — looking as though you have a treasure he desires. He takes your cheek in one hand, caressing your cheekbone with his thumb. You lean into it, placing a kiss against the expanse of his thumb, and you giggle when you see a sudden redness develop on his face and earlobes.

“I love you.” He murmurs, leaning down to capture your cold lips with his warmer ones. You sigh, content at the warmth and the fluttering feeling travelling up and down your frames

When the two of you part, your whisper to him — a want, a need, something you have never received from anyone before. Until him.

“Never leave me.”

When Rin smiles, you know you are safe.

“Always.”

.

.

.

Five minutes after you arrive home, you vomit the contents of Minano Ramen Shop in a spectacularly violent fashion. In the quaint washroom you currently are in — still in your work clothes and with Rin in his half undone peacoat — resides two toothbrushes in a Miffy cup Rin bought for you for Christmas, a poster of the album cover of The Bangles, All Over The Place which the two of you found venturing small thrift shops in the corners of Shinjuku and pencil marks on the door frame — measuring your height for the last two years, bi-monthly (you have only grown half a centimetre. Rin has grown five.)

“Oh, love.” Rin mutters, holding your hair back as you clutch the toilet seat for dear life. You cringe at the smell, tear up and sniffle, then resume emptying the contents of your stomach — unwillingly, “I’m here. Let it out.”

Rin is very patient. You hang your head low, tears soaking your face. You do not want to see what you look like in the mirror. Probably anything but pretty. You can sense Rin bend down onto the soft bathroom mat beside you, massaging your shoulder and running a comforting, large hand down your back.

“Are you alright, darling?”

“Yeah, I—I think,” you gag before you can finish your sentence — and continue vomiting. Rin stays with you, his gentle voice acting as an anchor to ground you.

The whole ordeal lasts nearly a minute — but it felt like one hundred million years to you. By the end of it, Rin is carrying you to your shared one bedroom as you slur your words of protest.

“I can walk, Rin. I puked food… I think. Not blood. So I’m not dying.”

“You talk too much for a sick person.”

“I’m not sick,” you say, holding back another gag when you smell the remnants of vomit on your chin. Rin lays you down on your queen-sized bed, magically pulling wet wipes from his person and cleaning your face off. It is scary how overly attentive he can be at times. You were convinced he possessed psychic abilities for the first few months you started going out. Unfortunately, to your dismay, he was simply born with an innate sense of observation skills.

“Stay here.” He orders you, like you are a wet dog. He stands from his crouched position, and you feel much too dizzy to follow as he leaves the room.

He enters with a thermometer. You grunt.

“Rin… this is ridiculous.”

Of course, he does not listen to your demands. Hooking his index finger and thumb to your chin, he gestures for you to open it. You obey, of course — because you are hoping this attentiveness of his will stay after he is done this checkup of his.

“Your temperature is fine…” He murmurs, gazing down at the device. He looks up at your tear-stained face and his lips twitch, “I will go brew some tea.”

Anyway, he is gone again — and far be it for you to divert him from his rigid mind. You lay there, roughly for five minutes. You wonder if Rin is preparing anything else for you other than tea. You would not put it past him. Something possesses you when you are left to yourself, though. It has been happening for the past few weeks. A sudden intuition or shift in your brain — it tells you: ‘Something is wrong. Something is not right.’

You don’t know what exactly drives you to take a pregnancy test. You just turn your head to your bedside table, open the drawer, and see the plastic bag from the pharmacy. You picked up medicine for your frequent headaches and nausea, but, as stated previously — something possesses you when you are left alone. And, at that moment, it drove you to purchase some pregnancy tests. Plural, because this Thing is quite persuasive and nagging.

Rin returns to the bedroom, a tray with miso soup, warm rice, a cup of jasmine tea and leftover mackerel from this morning in his hands. He does not find you there. He calls for you, with no answer.

“Honey?”

A sound from the bathroom catches his attention. He places the tray on the bedside table, coming to you.

“Darling! What are you—”

You sit on the toilet seat, your hands shaking as you hold one of the tests in your hand. Your eyes are wide, and Rin sees it before you even have to tell him. He falls to his knees in front of you, bracing you by placing his hands on your thighs.

“It’s positive, Rin,” your voice is soft and weak. You can make out the sound among the ringing of your ears, “Am I losing my mind? Are you real?”

“Y/n…” Rin’s voice is even more gone. He opens his mouth, then opens it again. You can hear the tremble in his tone, “Is this real?”

You sniffle and your voice is wrecked as you whimper out, “What? Why are you asking me? I peed on the stupid thing and now it’s saying this. You think this is a sick prank?” You lightly hit Rin at the chest with your hands, but by the fifth swing he is bracing your wrists and looking up at your tear filled eyes with a pair of his own.

“Rin…” you feel your feet grow numb, and the ringing grows louder and louder, “I’m pregnant.”

.

When you were young — you would guess around seven or eight — you had a neighbour, Sana-san, who had a new man over everyday. Or, every night. You would watch her greet them from your parent’s bedroom’s terrace — typically around dinner time. Mama never let you watch television shows around 6:00 pm, so you resorted to watching your very own live reality show.

One particular evening, when papa was working overtime, and after watching Sana-san greet a man — who looked no older than 23 — with a hug and a kiss and a smile, you find yourself seeking out mama who cuts small chunks of potato directly into the hotpot. You only reach her hip, but you manage to fetch your stool so you can reach the counter height and observe as she makes your favourite beef curry.

“Mama,” You ask as she goes to wash her hands, “Why does Sana-san have so many husbands?”

Mama makes a sound between a choke and a grunt. You see her back stiffen and her hairs stand up. She turns to you, and in the softest voice she can manage, she explains to you.

“They—They are not her husbands, kitten.”

“But I saw her kissing them.”

“Where?! Where did you see that?”

“From the terrace. Every time I feed Inari.”

The stressed woman buries her face in the palms of her hands. You tilt your head, and follow her as she gestures to you outside the kitchen. Was she upset that you housed a bush warbler, whom you named Inari? You sit on the couch, as she crouches you in front of you with her apron still on.

“Kitten…” she starts, “Listen to me, Sana-san is a… very peculiar woman. She has her own ordeals and I have mine. I only have papa and she… she chooses to have many lovers.”

“Lovers? What does that mean?”

“It’s in the name. Someone you love. They are your lover.”

You hum at the explanation, then smile widely, “I want to be like Sana-san when I grow up. She has so many of them.”

Mama’s eyes widen the size of saucers, and she clasps your hands on her own. You flinch at the sudden movement.

“Kitten!” She blurts. You tilt your head.

“What?”

“You don’t— You shouldn’t strive for that. I mean, it’s nice, you’re right — she has many… many lovers. But it is even more special if you have one true lover that will stay with you forever and ever — like your Prince Charming. Right?”

You look into mama’s eyes. She seems tense. Strange, considering most of the time she is very much composed. It must be important, then, that you take her word for this situation. Though Sana-san seemed delighted every night, you were never the early bird — so you never saw her expression when her lover for the night would leave in the morning. Was Sana-san aware that they were going to leave? If she knew, how did she manage to say goodbye? Would she even get the chance to if they left without saying anything?

The possibilities all send an unpleasant feeling in your stomach. You want to eat curry and forget about it.

“I guess so…”

And that was it — at least for the night.

The next month, you saw Sana-san for the last time. She had come over, actually. You remember mama telling you to go upstairs when the woman came. But, being the sneaky seven or eight year old you were, you managed to hide yourself around the corner of your living room. You recall seeing Sana-san sob into her hands, and mama holding her small frame. You’d never seen Sana-san cry — not like this, not in general. The woman seemed so much smaller to you at that moment. You did not know what she was crying about, until you were thirteen and were running errands with your mother when you asked in the chip aisle — casually and erratically.

“She got pregnant. Her.. partner at the time wasn’t pleased. Neither were her parents. She moved to Australia, to live with her Grandmother.”

You swore to yourself from that day forward, you would never allow yourself to ever be in Sana-san’s place — even if you had to let go of everything good in life.

.

But you were a naive thirteen year old. You acted like you were thirty at that age. Now that you are twenty nine — you are acting as though you are nine again. Maybe living with your debilitated grandmother would be better than finding out you are pregnant with snot and vomit covering your shirt.

“Y/n.” Rin calls for you, squeezing your hands, “Everything will be okay. This is… it’s all alright. At least, it is to me.”

“You’re fine with this?” You ask, and your voice is drenched in anxiety and an unfamiliar rawness.

“Of course.” Rin expresses, looking down to meet your eyes when you lower your face to avoid his, “Are you?”

“I—I’m going to be a mother, Rin.” You whimper, “You—You’re going to be a father.”

The sudden realisation hits you — and it feels like a million pounds descend on top of you, not giving you any room to breathe. You feel terrified yet ecstatic, all at once. The beginning of an end.

“Oh—Oh,” you fall into Rin’s embrace, and he holds you — all of you, the dirty bits and emotional parts.

“I’m right here,” he whispers, “I love you.”

Through your sobs and whines, you murmur a small anxiety which makes Rin laugh and you feel alright.

“I drank black coffee. An hour ago. What if they’re hurt?”

“I’m sure they’ll be fine.” He whispers, and you feel a wetness fall on the top of your head, “We’ll be fine. Everything will be fine.”

.

.

.

The next morning and late into the afternoon, you decide to take on the role of an interviewer, with Rin being your more than willing subject.

Brushing your teeth together in the one bathroom you have in your shared apartment, staring at each other’s features — trying to see which one falls first:

“What if—What if my feet start to swell? And my boots don’t fit anymore? I’ve heard that happens…”

“We can buy new boots, love.”

Rin, frying an egg for you on the stove as you stir your cup of coffee again and again and again with a spoon — as though your milk and espresso could be anymore amalgamated. The pigeons you shelter in the heated house you impulsively spent two weeks salary on — when you stumbled upon one shivering in the corner of the building entrance — chirping a morning melody for you in the snow-covered balcony. Brrr brrr brrr:

“Where will the—the,” your voice becomes a whisper, as though you are uttering a profanity or a strange secret, “baby,” then it returns to its normal tone, “sleep for the first few months?”

“With us, of course.”

“What if I smack their face? You know I’m a violent sleeper.”

Rin brings you your egg in one hand, and in the other, a bowl of freshly cut strawberries. He places a kiss on your forehead when he leans down towards you, “I am pretty sure there are beds for newborns we can look into to prevent that from happening.”

Standing, frozen, in the food bar of the grocery store — eyeing today’s special: sashimi. Rin directly behind you, reading the discount of chocolate chip cookies — 2 for the price of 1!:

“I am not allowed to eat raw fish. I—I shouldn’t. Well, I don’t know. Mama ate it all the time when she was pregnant with me. I turned out fine, didn’t I?”

“You did.” Rin murmurs, holding your hand but not turning around, making his arm bend in an uncompromising manner, “You turned out beautifully.”

You turn your head to Rin, then back to the sashimi, then back to Rin. You walk up next to him, and wrap your two hands around his forearm, resting your head against his bicep.

“I will eat tempura.” You mumble, and without looking, he pets your cheek as he reads the sale written on the sign.

And, the present — as the two of you sit side-by-side in your childhood bedroom, on your twin-sized bed that still has the same sheets on it as you left it (washed, you hope, if your overzealous mother remained overzealous enough):

Only a lamp is on. Its golden hue sets a peaceful tone. The window is open, the curtains bellowing at the cold Winter breeze filters through the wires. This was your sanctuary for so many years — until you left for university. You shared so many memories in this room, and now your unborn child… (Fetus? Really, what should you refer to them as at this stage? They must be not even the size of an edamame seed) resides in the same room you had your first kiss in.

You sit quietly, just like this. You can feel Rin observing you, as he always does. Except, unlike all of the other times, he gives you your space — room to act as unadulterated as you please.

Your mouth opens, and you can feel your lips tremble when you hear your mother and Rin’s laugh with one another about the wilted tulips outside, on the porch.

“I— we have to tell… our parents.” You say, your voice the quietest it has been today, “Just in case… in case anything happens. They’ll… They’ll have to find out eventually— if—if that happens, right?”

Rin has your left hand in his lap. He holds it with both of his, gently massaging the skin. He picks it up, and places a small kiss, before returning it to rest on his thigh.

“Nothing will happen. But, you’re right. We should tell them, preferably before you start to show. It would be a little… awkward if that were to happen.”

You laugh, and you cannot help but let a few tears leave your eyes. You turn your face to Rin’s, urging him to hold you. He obliges, and runs his thumb across your under-eye to catch your tear before it falls. You cannot believe how hormonal you are already starting to act. You are apprehensive on finding out how you will completely and utterly change as a woman — as a human being — for the months to come.

“Papa is out buying me a cake, right now. And his unmarried daughter is pregnant. God.” You can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all.

“Is that what you are worried about? Having a child out of wedlock?”

You snort, “Out of wedlock? What are we? In the 80s?”

“Darling.” Rin whispers, and damn him for calling you that — because he knows you like it so much, “If that is what you are worried about… it’s trivial.”

You are hormonal and cranky and pregnant, so, obviously you flip out on him over a very rational statement with no hidden undertones.

“What? How is that trivial you bastard? Are you going to be a deadbeat father— only visit during holidays and their birthday, is that it—”

Rin cuts you off — shuts you up, for a lack of a better term — with a suggestion so out of left field it almost makes you jump.

“I want to—I want to marry you, Y/n.” He starts, his voice louder than it was before, “And… And I want you to want me to marry you, too.”

For a few seconds, you say nothing. You just stare at him, as the moonlight behind you paints him in an evanescent glow. For a moment you think you are looking at an apparition from a dream. But Rin looks at you — and he looks at you with all the seriousness of a thousand men.

“You propose like this? When I look so hideous?” You say, your voice weak.

“You never look hideous. Ever. For as long as I’ve known you.” Rin mutters, getting off of your twin bed to only bend down on one knee in front of you. His hand plays with the hem of the dress you wear. He kisses the tips of your fingers, each one, looking up into your eyes.

“You—You are serious about this.”

“I am always with you. You know this, more than anyone.”

You feel your breath hitch. You feel the urge to hold him. Do something to sedate this uneasiness within you. So you mutter a half-brained statement, successfully pushing this off of you.

“You… Grandma does not even know who you are. Neither do any of my distant cousins. We—We’d have to let them know, too. Right?”

Rin pauses. His eyes widened. Your lips tremble as he cups your right cheek.

“Is that a yes?”

“I—There’s so many—There’s so many things to take into consideration—,” you start. But Rin does not let you finish this time.

“I know,” he says, voice low and you feel the thousands of pounds lift from your frame. “But is that a yes?”

.

You hold Rin’s hand as the two of you make it downstairs to the living room. You adjust your dress, and Rin his tie. You make sure to stop in front of a mirror to wipe the remnants of red off of Rin’s lips. He only smiles down at you — almost as though he is proud of the current situation.

Really. What the hell was I thinking? Having sex with my parents downstairs, in the bedroom I used to play dolls in. What type of answer is that to someone’s proposal?

“Sweetheart,” you jump when Rin’s father and yours appear from thin air. You instinctively grab onto Rin’s forearm, and his hair falls on his face when he bows to greet your father. The man in turn only holds a hand out, and Rin stands up straight again.

“Happy birthday,” Rin’s father smiles at you, holding out an envelope. Your eyes widen.

“Otousan… you shouldn’t have…”

What leads from that conversation is a lot of back-and-forth. What the etiquettes one should follow on someone’s birthday are — even those who may be close to the birth haver. Your father rehashing his thirties, with Rin’s father going into vivid detail about all of the spicy details and drama which enfolded in the University of Tokyo, where he was taking his masters.

By the time your fathers let the two of you be, your feet are already sore.

“It’s starting, already.” You sigh dramatically, and you can’t help but giggle at Rin’s expression.

“Relax, honey. My feet are just sore. I’m not giving birth at this instant.”

Rin’s eyes widen even more, and he looks around him to make sure no one is listening. He knocks his forehead against yours.

“You’ll be the death of me,” he mumbles, low, eyes flickering between your eyes and lips.

“Keep it in your pants, Itoshi.” You bite back, kissing his cheek. He places a hand on your hip, but before you can even start, a tired voice speaks up behind Rin.

“Still seeing my brother, huh?”

Rin turns and you watch his face drop. You grin and step in front of him.

“You ask that every year, Sae-san.”

“And every year I hope to hear another answer,” The red-haired man retorts. You shake your head as Rin and him start to argue amongst themselves.

Hearing a knock at the front door, you excuse yourself to fetch it.

“I’ll get that.” You say, leaving Rin and his brother to fight in your living room — you have learned you can lead a horse to water but cannot make it drink.

You were not expecting anything when you opened the door. It could be a few other family friends mama invited. You were happy and you were content. You had a loving family, a loving partner, and a cake awaiting your arrival.

But, when you turn the door and your eyes meet the man who stands there — the same as he left you — you are suddenly nineteen again, and going through the first heartbreak of your life.

“Long time no see star-girl,” he says, a nickname you have not heard in nine years.

“Yoichi…”

You were right, last night — your luck was beginning to run out.

#writing #cw pregnancy #cw vomit #isagi x female reader #rin itoshi x female reader

[luxeavenger]

We Can't Go To Hell If We're Already There

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x female!super soldier!reader

Words: 7939

WARNINGS: PTSD, BRIEF DESCRIPTIONS OF TORTURE (in section TWO), nightmares, insomnia, angst, emotionsl hurt/comfort, idiots in love, porn with plot, nsfw, oral sex (f receiving), piv sex

Summary: Bucky and the reader offer each other comfort when PTSD and nightmares make it impossible to sleep.

Main Masterlist | Ko-fi

Please reblog/comment if you enjoy it!

——-

ONE

The first nightmare burrows through the walls, and straight into your head.

The shout wakes you from a dark dream of blood and death and pain burning through your synapses like a forest fire. A vivid and torturous nightmare; the scream blending seamlessly with the horrors that play behind your eyelids. You don’t even realize you’ve woken until you hear the slam of a door close by. It’s too benign a sound to be part of the miasma of images haunting your sleep. The screams you hear outside your room are a primal sound that makes you think of nothing but unending, unendurable agony. It’s the noise of someone who longs for the blissful silence of death, but is deprived the luxury of making the decision to end their own suffering.

Beyond your door, the Avengers compound lies silent and still, save for the mournful noises from the neighboring room. Steve Rogers is on the floor outside of the room from which the wounded cries issue. Lamely seated, with knees to chest, and forehead to knees, he starts when your door clicks shut. His blue eyes are wide and brimming with unshed tears. A purple bruise the color of an eggplant blossoms around his right eye, the eyeball itself blooms red with burst blood vessels.

“What’s going on?” you whisper.

“Bucky,” Steve answers. He doesn’t go on, so you assume he’s got the situation under control, almost turn to leave, but a blood-curdling scream sounds from behind the door.

You move to enter the room, but Steve grabs your leg. “Don’t,” he urgently demands.

“Someone has to help him, Steve.”

As a super soldier who was rescued from the Winter Soldier program, you had an idea of what nightmares haunted Bucky on any given night, maybe even better than Steve did. You’d heard the stories of what Bucky had endured, and they were enough to turn your stomach. Bucky had actually lived them. You couldn’t bear to leave him to wrestle with his own mind alone.

“It’s bad though. He hit me, y/n. We fought. I couldn’t even get him to wake up. It’s never been this bad. I tried to wake him up. He wants to kill me. Kept repeating it over and over again in Russain.” Finally his tears break loose, and dash down his face only to stick in his stubble. “It’s never been this bad. Don’t know what to do. He usually wakes up. I can’t get him to wake up.”

Steve is heartbreaking in a wholly different way. A man who loves Bucky with every cell in his body—who’d give his own life to spare Bucky even a single moment of suffering. A capable man who isn’t used to being ill-equipped to handle any given situation. You want to comfort him, but Bucky is more in need of aid right now.

“I’m going in there, Steve. He needs someone. I’ll be fine.” And you would. You were a super soldier too, so even if he broke you, you’d heal. You’d been broken before. Hell, Steve’s eye, a fresh injury when you’d stepped into the hallway, was already starting to fade, the purple dulling to a sickly yellow-green color, the blood spots in his eye already diffusing back into the aqueous humor. A week worth of healing time-lapsed into a five minute conversation.

“I’ll stay out here, maybe he’ll be less upset if I do. Just… be careful. Don’t touch him. It all went to hell when I touched him.” Steve sighs around the weight in his heart.

You slip soundlessly into the room. The air is suffused with the salty bite of sweat, and the coppery tang of blood. Signs of a struggle are everywhere: the dresser canting crazily to the side, desk chair smashed to kindling, bathroom door pulled off its frame, its hinges twisted and mangled.

Bucky keeps his television on at night, the static of white noise is supposed to help him sleep. But falling asleep has never been his problem. What happens in his sleep is the rub. The blue light from the TV makes the blood smudged down the side of Bucky’s face look purple. You can see the cut on his scalp from across the room.

Bucky is curled into a ball in the middle of the bed, bloody handprints drying tacky on his ash grey sheets. His cheeks glisten in the dim light, the sheen of tears make him look fragile, broken. He’s whimpering, making small pleading noises, begging no, no, not again, please don’t, please stop, please no.

You crouch at the foot of the bed, and softly say Bucky’s name a few times. He doesn’t react. You try soldat—if he’s stuck in the Winter Soldier’s memories it might work—but it just makes him flinch and sob no.

Okay. Something different then. “James,” you cheerfully singsong, “James Buchanan Barnes. It’s time to get up. Come on, James. You need to get up.”

Something about the casual way you speak to him cuts through his nightmare, shredding the diaphanous dreams with a machete. Bucky’s eyes snap open, and he bolts upright, scuttling away from you, retreating into the pile of pillows at his headboard.

“Shh. It’s okay, it’s okay. It’s all okay, Bucky. You’re awake now. Shh.” You adopt a soothing tone, hold up your empty hands, trying to quell his breathless fear. “I’m here, Bucky. It’s Y/N, you know me. I’m not going to hurt you. I just need you to wake up.”

He blinks at you owlishly. The tension in his body lets go in increments. Legs uncurl, shoulders climb back down his neck, jaw relaxes, breathing slows to normal. He nods, parrots your words back to you, “It’s okay. I’m okay. I’m awake now. You’re here, I know you, and I’m awake.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

He vehemently shakes his head. Squeezes his legs to his chest to armor himself against whatever memories still swim like sharks near the surface of his mind.

“That’s okay.” Maybe someone more familiar would help him feel safe. “Do you want me to get Steve?”

He shakes his head again, hanks of sweaty hair falling in his face. “I just… I don’t wanna-I-I can’t go back to sleep.”

“That’s fine. You don’t have to.”

“Can you stay for awhile?”

“Sure. I was having nightmares too, so I think I’m done sleeping for the night. If you want, I can make some popcorn and we can find a movie to watch?” He nods.

You come back from the kitchen, and Bucky has washed the blood off his face. You help him make a nest for himself on the floor using his blankets and pillows. Not wanting to invade his space, you make yourself comfortable on the floor just outside of his nest. You greet the dawn from your spot on the floor, Bucky curled up in his blankets beside you. He’s finally calmed down enough so tension no longer sings through his body like vibrations through a tuning fork. You’re discussing Return of the Jedi, which is playing on the television, while Steve snores softly just outside the door.

———

TWO

The next nightmare comes three days later. This time—it’s yours.

Hands are on you. All over you. They’re wielding needles and blades, cutting and digging into your soft parts, arms covered in hot, slick red up to their elbows, rooting around inside of you until the pain carries your mind away on a dark, salty ocean of blood. You regain consciousness days later, healed again, and the torture begins anew.

Your body is nothing more than meat, rocking violently when they saw through your tendons, scrape your muscles away from the bone, dissecting you with their too-dull blades. You’re muzzled, but you scream into it anyway, helpless to stem the hysterical outpouring of sound. You try to lash out. You always do. Swinging your arms, the restraints only allow you the barest inch of movement. You scream again, anger and pain bubbling up your vocal cords.

A shout in the dark startles you out of your sleep like a slap to the face. You dart upright, unrestrained arms held up for protection, unrestrained mouth pleading for mercy.

“Y/N, it’s me! It’s Bucky! Y/N it’s okay. You���re awake. Hey, it’s okay. You’re awake. I’m not gonna hurt you. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“Bucky?”

“Yeah, doll. It’s me. I’m here.”

“I-I can’t see you…”

Your bedside lamp switches on, illuminating Bucky’s worried face by the edge of your bed. By the door Steve stands, wringing his hands nervously. You see him there and flinch, hiding your face in the pillow. His stature is too reminiscent of the shadows invading your dreams.

“That’s just Steve,” he explains. Then to Steve he whispers, “I’ve got her, man. You can go back to your room. I’ll let FRIDAY know if we need you.”

You don’t peek out from the pile of pillows until you hear the door to your room click shut. You find Bucky where he was before, but Steve is gone. It lets some of the tension drain from your muscles.

Bucky slowly rises, and you see he’s sporting a vivid bruise over his cheekbone.

“Shit. Did I hit you?”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m fine.”

You swallow, “I’m sorry.”

“Hush. It’s okay.” He sits gently on the edge of your bed. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

A hysterical sob bubbles up from your throat.

“Hey, hey. You don’t have to.” He hesitantly reaches for your hand to offer comfort, “Is it okay if I touch you?”

You launch yourself at him, and he catches you with a grunt. Your arms go around his neck, you bury your face in his shoulder, and release the torrent of tears dammed up inside you.

Bucky makes soft soothing sounds, rubs gentle circles in your back until your tears become mournful sniffles. He scoots you off of his lap to retrieve some tissues.

“Bucky, don’t leave me. Please. I don’t want to be alone. I-I can’t-”

“I’m not going anywhere. I promise. You wanna watch a movie?”

You nod, and use the tissues to clean your face. Bucky asks, “You want snacks? I can text Steve, ask him to bring us something.” You shake your head, content to linger with Bucky’s soothing presence.

Bucky searches through the channels until he finds Raiders of the Lost Ark, an Indiana Jones movie you both love. You curl up on your bed, Bucky right next to you on the floor, his back pressed against your nightstand. The dawn finds you both fast asleep. You bundled in blankets, Bucky reclined on the floor, your hand gripped by his, clinging viselike together in the dreamless space between you.

———

THREE

The next nightmare hits and you hear it all the way in the medbay.

You’re fresh off a mission where you’d taken a bullet to the thigh. It tore through your femur, shearing the bone in two. Bruce assured you that being a super soldier meant that months worth of healing would only take a few days. You also needed skin grafts to cover the ragged, fist-sized exit wound on the front of your thigh, so Bruce wanted you to stay in the cradle overnight. The medbay was so quiet you’d fallen asleep in the contraption.

Bucky’s room is nearly on the other side of the compound. The sound of his hysteria reaches into your dreams, balls a fist into your hair, and drags you back into the waking world. Instantly you start trying to climb out of the cradle, causing Dr. Cho to panic. You tell her, in no uncertain terms, that you’re getting up, and she can either help you or get the fuck out of your way.

She wraps a quick and dirty bandage around your splint to reinforce it, and helps you into a wheelchair. She starts to push you down the hall, but she’s too slow, and you take off, speeding the chair towards your destination with your powerful arms.

Bucky’s door is open already, and Steve is trying to rouse him, but everytime Steve speaks another scream rips loose from Bucky’s chest. You stop the chair outside of the door, not wanting it in the room in case there’s another tussle. Steve looks relieved when you call him from the hallway. He picks you up and carries you into the room.

“Put me on the bed, Steve.”

“Y/N, if he fights…”

“I’ll be fine. Put me on the bed.”

He opens his mouth to argue, but you hold up a hand, “I’m not fucking asking, Rogers. Put me on the goddamned bed.”

He relents, setting you down gently.

You reach a hand out to Bucky, slipping your fingers into his open palm and calling his name. His hand grips yours and he yanks it toward him without waking. You roll over onto your injured leg with a groan.

Bucky’s eyes flutter open at your pained noise. “Wha’…? Shit, Y/N. You’re supposed to be in the medbay. Fuck, I hurt your leg.”

“No. I’m fine. You’re not the one who shot me, so you didn’t hurt anything. Are you okay?”

Steve sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose, “You two are a huge pain in my ass.”

“Yes. Yes we are,” Bucky says with a big grin plastered on his face.

“I’ll be in my room. Let FRIDAY know if you need me.” He exits the room with an eye roll.

“It must have been a bad one. I heard you all the way in the medbay. It’s just one of the many perks of this damn super-soldier hearing. Don’t suppose you want to talk about it?”

“It’s bad enough I have to see the shit whenever I close my eyes…”

“You don’t want to poison the air with it when you’re awake?”

“Yeah. Basically.”

“It’s the same for me, Bucky. It never really goes away, so it’s best left behind in the nightmares.”

“I’m so sorry you had to go through that.”

“Jesus, Buck. That’s a little heavy handed coming from you. You went through worse than I ever did. I’m sorry about everything they did to you.”

“Okay, okay. Enough of that. Now that the apologies are out of the way, you need to get some rest.” You try to argue, but he stops you, “No. Bruce wanted you to spend the night in the cradle. You had skin grafts, and given how fast you heal, that bone needs to be stabilized so it doesn’t mend wonky. If your stubborn ass won’t sleep in the cradle, you’re going to sleep in here so I can make sure you stay still and stay quiet.”

You give a petulant huff at his lecture, even though you know he’s right. Then you start struggling out of bed. “Well then, I’ll go get my blankets and pillows.”

“No you won't,” Bucky says sternly. “I’ll be dammed if you’re sleeping on the floor with a broken fucking leg. You sleep in the bed. I’ll take the floor.”

“Nope. I’m not kicking you out of your own bed. That’s a dick move.”

It’s Bucky’s turn to huff. “Fine. But I want you on this side, so your bad leg is away from me. I don’t want to bump it accidentally.”

You nod. “I find these terms acceptable,” you agree.

Bucky helps you scoot over to his side of the bed. He piles pillows up under your head, and props your leg up on another pillow, then piles blankets over both of you.

He turns the light out, and you tense. “Bucky,” you whisper, “can you… It’s too dark. Can you leave the TV on?”

“Of course, doll.”

You stare at the ceiling for awhile, unable to fall asleep. You’re surrounded by Bucky’s scent. Gunpowder, leather, and a spicy musk; it’s crisp and clean, and uniquely Bucky. It’s a heady feeling to be enveloped in his scent like this, and to have his body heating the mattress next to you. Your chest is full of a curious warmth.

“Bucky?” you say softly.

“Yeah?”

“I feel bad.”

“You want me to get Bruce?”

He assumed you meant your leg. It did hurt, because there wasn’t any pain medication that Bruce could give you that worked for very long, but that wasn’t what you meant.

“No. I feel bad about Steve,” you clarify.

“Why?”

“He wants so badly to help. He doesn’t understand though. He doesn’t know what it’s like at HYDRA. No matter how much we explain it, he’ll never get it.”

“He means well.”

“I know.”

Silence falls between you again, and it’s Bucky that breaks it this time.

“Y/N?”

“Hmm?”

“How much do you remember?”

“I remember everything.”

“Me too.”

The mutual silence is pregnant with over a century of accumulated pain and sorrow. You both know these memories have teeth, and to tamper too long is to risk destruction.

“Buck?”

“Yeah?”

“I promise I won’t let HYDRA take you away.”

“Me too. We can keep each other safe, okay?”

“Yeah,” you pause. “Hey…”

“I’m here.”

“Can you hold my hand?”

When the first threads of dawn spill into the room, you’re both sleeping soundly, dreams unbothered by darkness. Bucky is clasping your soft hands in his, holding them against his strong heartbeat. Bones mend in daybreak’s light, while hearts and minds begin their own journeys as each of you dream of one another.

———

FOUR

The next nightmare doesn’t come.

Steve is taking Bucky, Natasha, and Sam to Belgium on a mission. They’re supposed to be gone for three weeks—if everything goes well.

“Steve, I wanna go.” Steve just told you they were leaving you behind, and you’re already yelling.

“Y/N, I tried to bring you along. I did, I swear I did. I talked to Bruce about it. You were shot less than a week ago, your leg has only just healed, and he’s worried that going back to active duty this soon may reinjure it. I’m sorry. I know you and Bucky need each other, but I need Bucky. He knows his way around these Hydra bases better than any of us. I’m sorry, Y/N, but you can’t go.”

“I told him I’d have his back.”

“I know. And you have my word I won’t let anything happen to him. Our intel says this base has been defunct for twenty-plus years. It’s been sealed shut—no one in or out. No heat signatures. It’ll be completely empty. Sam is going to patrol the woods outside with Redwing, but I need Bucky and Natasha to help inside, there’s a lot of ground to cover, and a lot of computers and tech we need access to. If Bucky doesn’t come it’ll take twice as long. No one will lay so much as a pinkie finger on him. You have my word.”

You get right in Steve’s face, stabbing at his chest with your index finger, “So help me god, Rogers. If a single hair on his head is out of place I will make myself a pair of boots out of your hide.”

Twenty-one days pass about as quickly as a three week long root canal. You’re waiting in the yard thirty minutes before the quinjet is even in Avengers airspace.

When the cargo bay door opens it reveals Steve with Bucky leaning heavily against his side.

“What did I fucking tell you, Rogers?” you yell.

“Whoa, whoa. Easy. He isn’t injured. I didn’t lie to you. The place was empty. He had a bad dream the first night we were there, and after that he refused to sleep,” he lowers his voice, “Y/N, he hasn’t slept in twenty days. I tried to get him to sleep—even just take a goddamned nap—but he wouldn’t do it. I don’t know what he saw, but it scared the shit out of him.”

“Jesus fuck. Gimmie him.”

“How’s your-”

“I’m fine,” you growl. “Gimmie him.”

Steve sighs heavily, but he lets you slip under Bucky’s shoulder, and guide him inside. “I’ll come check on you both after debriefing,” he shouts at your back.

Bucky doesn’t say a word the whole way back to his room, despite you trying to engage him by asking questions about the mission the whole time. You sit his limp body on the edge of his bed and start peeling him out of his tac suit. You’re scared shitless at how quiet he’s being, and your fear turns into anger.

“Goddamnit, Bucky. Eleven days. Eleven days is the longest someone has ever gone without sleep, Buck—I checked! And you nearly doubled it. Are you trying to die? You’re supposed to take care of yourself. You have to take care of yourself,” a sob shudders through your chest, and you finish softly, “I love you, you idiot.”

You’re dangerously close to crying, and Bucky still isn’t responding to you, so you grab his chin and force his eyes up to yours. He looks like a ghost. His skin is translucent, the delicate blue veins that trace over his face are obvious through his paper-white skin. He’s gaunt, as if he hadn’t eaten the whole time he hadn’t slept. His cerulean eyes are dull and empty, and ringed by vibrant purple bruises. It shocks you, and you flinch as if you’ve been struck.

A distraught noise is all you can produce, tears rolling down your face. Bucky blinks at you slowly, eyes still flat and confused, but recognition brings life back to them bit by bit.

“Y/N?”

“Yeah, it’s me, Buck. You’ve gotta go to sleep. Now.”

“Can’t sleep. Dreams are red,” his words are slow and slurred.

“I know, babe. That’s why I’m here. I know how to chase the red away.”

“‘way?” His dull eyes search your face, “Yeah. Red go ‘way.”

He sounds like a child, all innocence and trust, and your heart shatters into a million tiny shards. “Okay, I’ll make the red go away, but you have to go to sleep first.”

He obediently scoots back onto the bed. His eyes track you around to the other side of the mattress. You climb under the sheets, and Bucky grabs you roughly and pulls you against him. His head goes to your chest, and he curls around you like you’re a human-sized security blanket.

It takes one inhale for him to register the vital lub dub sound of your heartbeat against his cheek, with the next exhale sleep has taken him. You gently kiss his forehead before sleep carries you away too.

Steve finds you both hours later as sunset casts a pink and purple blanket over the compound. Fast asleep, each clinging to the other like a life raft. He leaves a tray of food on Bucky’s dresser, with a few bottles of water. He watches you both sleep for a moment, his heart overfull, tears pricking at his eyes. Finally, he shuffles across the hall to his room and grabs one of his sketchbooks and a pen. When he slips out of the room again there’s a folded scrap of paper under the tray with a note:

Y/N,

I’m not a man who apologizes easily, unless I'm wrong.

I’m sorry.

I underestimated what you are to each other, and overestimated my ability to mimic that. The truth is, I understand I will never fully grasp what you have both been through. But I promise that I will never stop trying to learn, or listen.

I also promise never to let you both down like I did this time. Bucky means the world to me, and now I trust that he means the same to you too.

-Steve

———

FIVE

“Buck, you have to tell her.”

“I want to, but…”

“But, what? I’ve seen the way she looks at you when you’re not watching. It’s the same way you look at her.”

“But, what if you’re wrong, Steve? What if I tell her and she doesn’t feel the same way? What if she hates me? God, what if she thinks I’ve been using her?”

“Using her for what, Buck? To get a decent night’s sleep? You both do that. I’ve never seen someone so efficiently put you at ease—awake or asleep—as she does. When we came back from Belgium last week, I was scared shitless, man. You hadn’t slept in weeks. I didn’t even know it was possible to go that long without sleep and survive, even with the serum. I really thought I was gonna lose you. You slept for three goddamned days straight, and she never once left your side.”

“She’s been through so much.”

“So have you.”

“She deserves someone better.”

“Bucky, there is no one better than you. You’re the kindest, strongest, and most genuine person I’ve ever met in my life. After everything that happened to you, and how hard you fought back against all the shit HYDRA put in you, you are still such a genuinely good man. She deserves someone exactly like you.”

“Fuck. I just love her so much, Stevie. What if I fuck this up?”

“I’m telling you, the only way you’ll fuck it up is if you never tell her how you feel.”

——

SIX

Bucky spends the rest of the day in his own head. He’s vacillating between being brave and confessing his feelings to you, or convincing himself that a little of you is better than none at all. That losing you isn’t a price he’s willing to pay. That this small part of you he has now is enough, and he’d be selfish and greedy to ask for more.

That evening he’s detached from the unmitigated chaos that always takes place at the Avengers dinner table. You watch him carefully from your seat between Wanda and Steve. He’s intently focused on the food on his plate, pushing it around instead of eating it. His hair draped around his face like a curtain, so you can’t even see his eyes to gauge his mood.

Feeling strange and restless, you leave dinner early to walk around the compound for awhile. As the sun draws below the horizon you sit by the lake to watch the brilliant shades of the setting sun shift colorfully over the sky.

You often wished you had the aptitude for art that Steve possesses, especially at times like this. It would be such an incredible gift to be able to capture the way the sky looks as the sun drops behind the horizon, or the way Bucky’s eyes crinkle in the corners when he laughs, or the rapt attention on his face when you tell him a story, or the way his eyes glimmer with happiness when your eyes catch his from across the room. You could draw his face a million times and never grow tired of it, never fail to find some nuance you hadn’t noticed before.

But your hands are blunt instruments—weapons—better suited for cleaning guns, throwing knives, and taking apart HYDRA agents.

By the time dusk has fallen completely there’s a chill in the air, and the grass is damp with dew. You feel no less strange than you had before, so you ask FRIDAY where you can find Bucky. Sergeant Barnes is in the common room, she replies. You find him alone there, relaxing on the long couch, in flannel pajama pants, and a blue henley, reading a Neil Gaiman book he’d swiped off of your bookshelf.

“Hey, doll. Is everything okay?” he asks, looking worried.

“Yeah. I’m fine. I’m just… I don’t know. Restless, I guess.”

“You have to guess?”

You snort. “Yeah. I guess I do.”

“Oh-ho-ho, look who’s being a smartass tonight,” his eyes sparkle with laughter. “You wanna watch a movie, doll?”

“Sure. Your room in fifteen? I’m gonna grab some snacks. I didn’t really eat at dinner, and now my stomach is kinda pissed about it.”

“Sounds good, doll. Grab something for me too.”

When you push open his door he’s scrolling through the long list of movies. He’s made a soft and cosy little fort at the foot of his bed out of as many pillows as he could scavenge from the rooms on this floor. He looks comical in the middle of them all.

“On a scale of one to ten, how pissed are Steve, Sam, and Clint gonna be when they try to sleep later and find they have no pillows?”

His lips quirk into a smirk, “Oh, that’s going to be a ten, for sure. Well, probably more like a twenty, since I took Nat and Wanda’s pillows too.”

“Yikes. We may not live to see morning,” you laugh.

You drop the snacks on Bucky’s dresser, and open a beer for each of you. Neither of you could get drunk off of human alcoholic beverages because of the serum, so drinking beer was all about the nostalgia.

You flop down next to him, bumping your shoulders together accidentally on purpose. He bumps you back and you giggle.

Midway though the movie Bucky yawns, his arm coming down on the mattress behind you. A few minutes later it drops onto your shoulders.

You pause the movie and turn toward him. “Weaksauce, Barnes,” you tease. “Is that what passes for flirting in the forties? If you wanna kiss, just ask.”

His eyes dart down to your lips, and heat rushes up your neck. “Ooh.”

He licks his lips, “I’d very much like to kiss you now,” he breathes.

“That wasn't a question,” you whisper before you curl your fingers into the front of his shirt and pull your bodies together.

It starts out slow, a gentle press of lips, then Bucky’s tongue dips out to swipe over your lips. Your mouth opens for him and that small spark sets you both alight. You’re both all too aware of the other’s heartbeat kicking into a gallop as you devour each other.

You draw away first, panting. “What is this, Buck?”

He smirks, “Well, doll, I know I may be a little rusty, but I remember this being called kissing...”

“Bucky-”

“Sorry, doll. Look,” he presses a hand over your heart, “I can hear how your heart speeds up when I touch you,” he runs his fingers down your side to squeeze your hip, “and I can smell how wet you are for me right now.” He sucks in a deep breath through his nose, eyes falling shut, he whispers against the shell of your ear, “You smell so. fucking. good.”

“And I can smell you leaking into your boxers right now. Is this… You want me? For real?”

“Jesus, doll. More than anything.”

This time when he kisses you your arms go around his neck. He leans into you, and pulls your hips toward him so you slide down onto the pillows. His vibranium arm pulls you tight against him, and you gasp when his stiff cock presses against your hip.

“This okay?” he asks, lips still grazing yours.

“It’s very-fucking-much okay,” you murmur, smoothing your palm over the soft cotton covering his broad chest, and curl your fingers into the fabric until Bucky ducks his head and lets you pull his henley off, his dog tags falling loose with a jingle. Your hands go to his bare chest, and a growl rumbles just under your fingertips and he seizes your mouth again.

His cool metal fingers move from your hip to dip under the hem of your t-shirt. He leaves a trail of goosebumps along your skin before his hand cups your tit through your bra, making you moan when the nipple quickly stiffens under his cold thumb. You push your chest up into his questing fingers, and he swears softly, urging you up so he can strip off your shirt and bra. His chilly thumb is replaced with his hot mouth, and he hums around the hard peak. Your hips rock, seeking friction, but only finding it between your own thighs as you squeeze them together.

“So fucking eager.” You aren’t sure if he’s talking about him or you, but it doesn't matter because he’s dragging your shorts and panties down your legs. He gently spreads your thighs wide, drawing warm fingers through your slit, dipping into your wet heat.

“Fuck yes, Buck. More.” You push your hips toward his hand, pleading. Demanding.

The slack-jawed adoration on his face ignites a flame in your core. “You smell like heaven. Fuck, wanna taste you, Y/N.”

“Bucky, please,” you whine.

His mouth lowers to your clit, his sky blue eyes on yours. When his tongue swirls around the sensitive bundle of nerves your head falls back with a groan.

Bucky stops what he’s doing. “No, doll,” he lightly taps your mound, “I’m right here. Eyes on me—wanna see your face while I make you feel good.” When your eyes are on his again he purrs, “There’s my good girl.”

He slips warm fingers inside of you and curls his tongue around your clit. Sucking and licking at the little bud gets you even wetter, slick dribbling out of you with every pump of his fingers.

“Bucky, is it okay—can you… can you use your other hand?”

Quickly, warm fingers withdraw and two chilly fingers press against your entrance to replace them. You gasp as a shudder licks up your spine. “Fuck yes,” you whimper, as the cool digits push into your slick channel, curling inside of you and stroking your g-spot. You keen and let your head fall back again. Bucky smacks the inside of your thigh with his right hand and forks two fingers at his eyes. It’s a stinging reminder: Right here. I told you to watch me. Chastened, you nod.

Bucky gives head with the same energy he has when you spar with him: every movement is quickly and carefully calculated, no effort is wasted. Bucky yanks an orgasm out of you with ruthless efficiency. The heated weight in your core builds, overwhelming one moment, and the next you’re groaning his name, and spilling hot slick over his chin and arm. He laps it up with a hum of gratitude, and continues to slurp at your cunt until your body goes lax and boneless under him.

“Fuck, doll,” he breathes against your mound, “taste so goddamned good. Look so fucking gorgeous when you come. Your pussy is so fucking wet. Want it wrapped around my cock.”

“Fuck,” you moan, “please, Buck. Want you to fuck me. Want you to fill me.”

He quickly strips his pants and boxers and climbs up your body. His dog tags drag lightly over your skin as Bucky stalks slowly up your body. He looks savage like this, an apex predator on the hunt, thick muscles undulating with every move he makes, back rippling when he dips to suck and bite marks your skin as he goes. His fat cock is on display, ruddy, thick, and heavy, trailing sticky precome as it grazes along your sensitive skin as he prowls up your body.

His short beard is shiny with your wetness, and he slips his vibranium fingers past your lips. The earthy flavor of you spreads mellow over your taste buds before he hooks those fingers in your cheek and wrenches your jaw open so he can slide his tongue against yours, his wet beard coating your chin with your juices. He kisses you like he owns you, and fuck if you don’t wish he did.

His hardness slips hot and heavy against your hip, and you roll your pelvis, grinding his cock between your bodies.

His voice is soft and gravelly against your lips when he asks, “You ready?”

“Fuck me, Bucky. Please, just need to feel you.”

“Of course, doll,” he says when he really means anything for you.

He wraps a hand around his dick and drags it through your folds, teasing the head around your clit before easing into your slick channel. He presses his forehead against yours while his thickness stretches you, he wants to stay close so he can devour every little whimper, plea, and breathy moan you make as he fills you.

Finally his hips are flush with yours, and you feel impossibly full.

“Your pussy’s so fucking tight, doll. Squeezing my cock so fucking hard.”

“Jesus, Bucky. You feel so goddamn good, but you gotta move. Fuck me, please.”

He grinds his hips against you, and just the small movement makes you moan. Then he pulls out so just the tip is resting in your entrance and pushes back in with a languid roll of his hips. He fucks you slow and deep, hungry to feel every inch of you, the way your walls quiver around him, to hear you begging for him, moaning for him, the way you whine his name into the space between your bodies.

His dog tags sit coolly between your tits, a stark contrast to the fire his body stokes in you. “Faster, Bucky,” you mewl, “‘m so fuckin’ close.”

��Taking me so fucking good doll,” his rough voice is full of praise. “Feel fucking amazing. Gotta come for me, just once like this, then I’ll give you whatever you want.”

He slides a hand between your bodies to circle your clit, and angles his hips in a way that drags his dick against your sweet spot perfectly.

“Bucky, fuck,” you groan.

“Say it again, doll,” he purrs, dropping a kiss to the corner of your mouth, “Say my name.”

“Bucky, god you feel so good,” you moan, right on the edge of your orgasm is making your voice breathy and needy. “Gonna make me come, Bucky. Gonna come all over your big cock, Bucky. Oh fuck, Bucky.”

He growls and slams into you hard. Electricity sparks through you, and your orgasm rolls over you, assaulting your senses, your cunt clenching a chokehold on Bucky’s dick.

Once you’re able to breathe again, you roll so you’re straddling Bucky. He groans a curse, “Fuck, doll. You’re so goddamn sexy.” You lean back and plant your hands on his thighs, and his thumbs trace intricate patterns over your hips as you start to bounce on his dick.

Bucky feels even bigger like this, and not just his cock, even though he’s filling you so full there’s barely room leftover in your body for breath. His whole body seems larger this way. The way his hips force your legs to spread so wide, the expansive plane of rigid abs, the massive breadth of his shoulders with the beautiful prosthetic arm he wields with such precision, the way his thick thighs expand and contract under your hands as he fucks up into you.

Bucky Barnes is a fucking work of art, and you can’t fathom how you got lucky enough to have him under you, inside of you.

“God, you’re so beautiful, doll,” his hands trace up to your tits, “can’t believe I get to have you like this.”

You put your hands over his, hot and cold and a bit overwhelming, and tell him, “That’s funny, because I was just thinking the same thing about you.”

A smile lights up his face, and damn, the hoops you’d jump through just to have him smile at you like that again. He pulls you down for a kiss that leaves your head spinning.

You twist your hips, and Bucky whimpers. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. I wanna fuck you hard, doll. Want you to still feel me in the morning.”

“Well, fuckin’ do it, Buck. I ain’t gonna break.”

He snarls, one hot hand going possessively to your throat, squeezing hard enough that the world goes fuzzy around the edges. His legs bend, planting his feet on the floor for leverage, and starts fucking into you hard and fast. The room is filled with the rough slap of your bodies colliding, the wet squelches his cock drives out of your cunt, and the breathless pleas and praise you both shower upon each other.

Chilly fingers ghost over your pussy, exploring the apex of your thighs, tracing around the area where his cock splits you open. A cold thumb circles your clit, and two chilled digits force their way into your cunt next to his cock. You’re perfectly, painfully, exquisitely overfilled, and the dam inside you bursts. Liquid heat sizzles through you, lighting up your nerve endings, and whiting out your vision.

It takes a moment for the world to come into focus again, and Bucky chuckles, “Where’d you go?”

You shake your head, “I’m here. I don’t think I’ve ever come that hard in my life.” Bucky’s lap is soaked, and moisture drips down your thighs onto the pillows under your knees.

“Good, ‘cause I’m close, doll. Gonna fill you up.”

“Please, Bucky. Fuck, I want you to come for me.”

He wraps his arms around you, squeezing you against his broad chest, and pistons his hips into you, chasing his own bliss with a groan. Soon his rhythm falters, and he buries his cock deep inside you and comes with a grunt. Heat floods your tight channel as he paints your insides with his come.

You lie together like that for a bit, but you can feel your juices drying on your thighs. You roll off Bucky, and he jumps up to retrieve a wet washcloth for you to clean yourself up.

He stands above you with a strange look on his face. You’re unable to decipher the meaning of the look, so you ask, “What’s wrong?”

His lips squeeze into a line and he shakes his head, “Doll, I don’t think anyone is gonna want these pillows back.” You laugh as he helps you off the floor and into his bed.

You lie facing each other with the sheets gathered around your waists. Bucky looks at you curiously. “What is it, Bucky?”

“I think it’s probably personal, doll. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“It’s okay. If it makes me uncomfortable I’ll tell you—no hard feelings. Deal?”

“It’s just,” he reaches out ever so gently to trace some of the scars that criss-cross over your torso, then touches his chest, which bears many of the same marks. “It’s just that we have a lot of the same scars. And, well, I know how I got mine…”

You sigh heavily, and before Bucky can wave away his question you hold up a finger. “I don’t like talking about it, but I’ll tell you, because you deserve to know.” He nods, so you continue.

“Hydra stole me from my parents when I was fifteen. It was during the sixties, and hippies aren’t big on watching their kids apparently. I was the youngest of a group of a dozen others that were given the super-soldier serum. They put me through tons of training, a lot more than the others, because most of the others were already trained soldiers who volunteered for the program.

“Once they decided I was done training, they sent me on missions. Sometimes I was supposed to collect information from important men—I was expected to sleep with them. Some were targets I was supposed to assassinate. I refused to follow a single order Hydra gave me, no matter how many times they tried to scramble my brain, I refused to kill, refused all orders given to me. I was just a general pain in everyone’s ass. I made one escape attempt after another, and at some point it became one too many.

“Rather than just terminate me and waste all the resources they’d already invested in me, they used me. They tortured me, cut me into pieces to test how a super-soldiers body worked, how much damage we could take, how much they could carve us up and still have us recover. I was the ultimate guinea pig. Over and over again in thousands of increasingly creative ways. They were using me to figure out how to… motivate all of the other assets who may be stubborn enough to resist their programming. They used me to figure out all the ways they could hurt the other soldiers—hurt you—but still be assured they’d recover afterwards. That’s why we have so many of the same scars. They used the things they learned from me, on you.”

You don’t look at Bucky’s face while you tell your story. You can’t stand for him to know you were the reason they were able to keep him in line so thoroughly and effectively. You stare just over Bucky’s shoulder, where everything is wet and wavering through the liquid screen of tears you can’t allow to fall.

“You were part of the Winter Soldier program?”

You nod and a traitorous tear breaks loose and dives off the tip of your nose. “The team knew I was a super soldier—that was unavoidable—but I asked Steve not to tell anyone I was one of the Winter Soldiers. He’s the only one who knows. It’s a lot of baggage to carry around and I guess I thought it would be easier if no one else knew. I’m so sorry, Bucky. I should have told you before… before we… I’m so sorry. You must hate me. It’s okay. I understand. I’ll go.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, hey,” his hand grabs your forearm to keep you from leaving, “Why on earth would you apologize to me? What was done to you wasn’t your fault, any more than the things they made me do were my fault. They used us, they tortured us… Hey, look at me,” he says gently, pinching your chin to lift your eyes up to his, “It is not your fault. Not in any way, and I need you to know that. You’re carrying around guilt that was never yours to begin with, and you’ve gotta lay it down before it crushes you.”

You break down, body shaking with the force of your weeping. Bucky gathers you in his arms and pulls you close to him. He makes soothing sounds, but lets you cry it out, because all that pain and guilt has to go somewhere and it’s a burden he’s happy to help you shoulder. Soon you run out of tears, and Bucky gently cleans your face with a tissue.

He presses a kiss to your lips, soft and tender, he pours all of his feelings into the small gesture. “Y/N, I love you.” He says it in a way that suggests he’d pluck the moon out of the sky if you asked him to. He says it in a way that means unequivocally and unconditionally and forever.

“Bucky, I love you too.”

The smile on his face is so incandescent it puts the sun to shame. With one big hand along your jaw he pulls your mouth against his.

Eventually there’s a knock on his door. He opens it, still naked, and unashamed of his nudity.

Natasha barks, “Damnit, Barnes. Put some pants on before you answer the door! Or a towel. Fucking something!”

He leans against the frame and shrugs. “What do you want, Nat?”

“Did you steal my goddamned pillows?”

He shuts the door, and grabs a couple pillows from off the floor, and shoves them out the door at Nat.

A few moments pass, and Bucky’s door flies open hard enough to bounce off the wall behind it. Natasha yells, “You perverts owe me new pillows! Fucking degenerates!” Two pillows fly into the room, and Bucky snatches them out of the air with a laugh.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x female!reader #bucky barnes x super soldier!reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes imagine #winter soldier #winter soldier smut #winter soldier imagine #soldat #soldat smut #soldat imagine #super soldier!reader

[semischarmed]

Inside

“Let me ask again- the FUCK do you think you’re doing!?”

I tremble in fear and stare in silence at the massive man in front of me, rank with the sweat of his daily session.

In my hands lay his used gym clothes, inches from my nose. My eyes widen. He was supposed to be showering. My eyes are drawn to the bar of soap among the pile in front of me. Shit. 

Fear becomes arousal when he leans down to my ear, tantalizingly close, and whispers. “If you wanted me inside you so bad, all you had to fucking do was assssk”. He draws that last word out with his teeth, lacing it with venom and seduction.

“Cmon, fucking say it faggot. Say you want me inside you” he taunts.

Ashamed. Terrified. Spellbound. He had reduced me to my most minuscule self. I reply meekly to answer him. “...I want you inside me.”

I hear the corners of his face widen into an unsettling smirk. “Good Answer”.

In the blink of an eye, he vanishes from in front of me, rushing past my side to my back before I can even react. Oh shit this is really happening. I am prepared for the night of my life. “Strip.” I comply.  I hear him make some movements and then... then... silence.

“What the hell?” I chuckle nervously as I look behind me in confusion and see his naked form crouching in a low squat with his hands clasped in a praying motion. I admire his massive sweaty muscles. He catches my gaze, looking up and giving me wink. I smile back awkwardly. “So-“

I am cut off by searing, unimaginable pain from the motion of him piercing my ass with his hands as he lunges toward me. Pound after pound of his thick arms shove up my asshole with so much force, he pushes me forward several feet. I stay still, breathing heavy for a few moments- not daring to look back- not daring to move an inch out of our precarious position. My mind races. “Shit. Shit. Shit. What was that!? God, was he ok?”

I finally muster the courage to look behind in horror. I could only see his shoulders. Shit. How is this even possible? God. Shit. I couldn’t see his head…he was probably dead- and judging by how far he pushed into me, I probably would be soon too. I whimper, tears streaming down my face, as recount my life and start fumbling for my phone. I felt sick to my stomach. How could this go so wrong? Every fucking time something good happens. Well… at least if I’m going out, I’m- My stomach churns. Wait. That... wasn’t my stomach. 

Impossibly, I felt worms squiggle inside me- no they weren’t worms. I dial in on the sensation. They were fingers. His Fingers. He was moving his fingers. I feel them claw at my throat from the inside. My mouth opens uncontrollably as his digging hands choke me from the inside, scrambling for a grip. I reach up trying in vain to get him to stop. Shit Shit Shit. As my consciousness begins to dip, the hands have finally found a patch of my flesh around my shoulder. I pant in momentary relief.

With each patch of my flesh they touch, I feel our nerves intertwine, tangling into each other until I myself could feel his fingers as a supplement to my own. What the hell was going on? Then, I feel him wrap his arms around more of my flesh and bundle more of our nerves together. Whatever this was, whatever he was doing, it was intentional.

He uses his arms as leverage and pulls the rest of his sweat-slick body inside, almost forcing my own to the ground. I fill up. Near-bursting. Impossibly full. As I stagger to stand, I watch from the mirror as he shimmies more and more of himself into me. I retch unprompted, dry heaving at what was occurring before my very eyes, but the motion only seemed to suck in his fleshy mass further inside me. Still, I couldn’t help but begin to get hard. Him being in here was hot as hell.  

I take shorter and shorter breaths, which again only slides more and more of him inside me, until the very last parts of him- his grimy toes- get slurped up in my asshole. My body wants to collapse from the strain of having to stretch to accommodate both our forms. Instead, I watch as his body is imprinted in my skin -near my stomach and chest, pulling me impossibly tight while he cemented himself in a fetal position. My legs begin to buckle from the pressure. 

Before I fall, he stretches out his legs out inside my skin, stacking his over my own. They are sticky when they slide over my bones and musculature, likely from the sweat he was aiming to wash off with his shower. As he fills into my skin, my toes are lifted off the ground as my body rises to accommodate his far-larger form. My very own body betrays its owner, as it is drawn to his legs over my own and he hastens the process by corralling my skin to realign to match his legs instead. I can only watch and feel in silence as I feel the skin covering my toes detach from myself and overlap over his. I feel pricks as our nerves entangle together. His legs then digests mine, inflating themselves from my added mass. My skin constricts in turn around his legs, crushing them from all sides. From the depths of my body, a moan in his voice escapes my still-hanging mouth. Skin constricts even tighter and I wince in anticipation from the pain. Instead, I am met with pleasure as nerves fire and I reconnect to my new legs. Oh my god. This was everything… I’ve never been this tall nor my legs this muscular. 

I wait in anticipation of his next move. His arms unfurl from their place, and I watch them slip over my shoulders. I look hungrily at my soon-to-be biceps. Yummy. This time, I put no resistance, as readily I allow his pythons to coil around my two stick-appendages. I give these arms of mine to him willingly, which he happily assimilates. Then, a massive tension in the skin of my arms, as they are forced to spread out, rocketed outwards from the mass of his flesh filling into them. By all accounts, it was uncomfortable, but knowing what was soon to come had overwritten any fear, any doubt, any discomfort I could ever have with lust. My arms were never buff, so watching him rearrange his arms to become mine makes me go lightheaded with an abundance of elation and desire. As his nerves join with mine, and I finally feel the strength inherent in my new arms, my head leans back from the sheer sensation of our parts being one. He flexes our new arm together, before caressing it over the imprint of his body still in my chest and stomach. This was a dream come true. Still… more to come.

I watch expectantly as the large mass of his head begins to travel up my neck. I prepare to accept my new self. I could want nothing more than to live as this god of a man as his new flesh. Before his head can reach me, however, I watch as the remainder of his body fill into mine, including that perky ass. My arms are helpless to my whim as he commands them himself. He smears my skin around the outline of his body, slotting his abs over my flat stomach, tracing their indents as they fill over, and giving me the exact very same six-pack I had always fantasized over. He pinches my nipples- holy shit- stretching them forward, before releasing. They rebound back, slotting into their rightfully place- right over his. They’re rock hard. 

When the bare outline of his forehead head begins to peek over my neck, I feel him flex our entire body. He tenses our entire form, forcing my skin to compress even tighter around him. He continues until I feel a pop in myself. I look down and see the results. I see his wavy hairs pierce and poke through my skin. The scene was bizarre. He was literally wearing me. Though it was my normally supple skin, it was dotted by the roughness of his hairs. When our pores align, I finally release some excess heat. The scent was immaculate. I sweated his sweat, emanated his scent. By all accounts, I am his body. There would be no turning back. In the continuing process, I feel his organs and blood rush into mine. He was I and I was him. We now shared the same insides. With his blood rushing through us, I felt invigorated. Fuck. God. This was what he felt like every fucking day. I happily invite his wellspring of strength and energy as my own. This is what I am going to be feeling like every day from now on. We could do a million pushups right now without breaking a sweat. With him driving me, we would be unstoppable. My trance is broken when I noticed my dick in disappointment, unchanged from the whole process.  

I licked my lips as his head finally slotted over mine. I screamed from the pain of my face being stretched out to accommodate both of ours. He had far better control of us and instead contorted my outer face into a crooked smile. He began panting and moaning as the force of my skin stuck our heads closer and closer together. At long last, I feel sweet release when some arbitrary barrier inside me breaks and a spark lights in me as his head accelerates and smashes into mine. I welcome him inside with open ‘arms’. ‘I want you inside me.’ 

He complies, greedily overlaying his very being into me. In all my memory, in all my thoughts, feelings, perversions, there he was and there he would be. I yield them all willingly, allowing him to become me, to transcend me. Our shared eyes close from the wealth of new identity he has captured as he and I become one. We would have each other in a way no one else ever could. It was beyond intimacy. With his tongue inside mine, he sticks it out of my face with a sneer. It’s a face I never made, but with our new selves, this just felt right. He guides them over my teeth. My jaw redefines itself on his terms, nose corrects itself to his shape. Altogether, he was wearing me as his own, comfortably taking and rearranging me to be a better vessel for him. Fuck did it feel good to be his outer shell. I think we both looked better like this- greater than the sum of our parts.

Dirty, lewd thoughts mix with my own as his personality bleeds into mine. I reflexively try to shake it off, but he is relentless. In his barrage of self into me, tears well in my face. Still… he continues to inject more and more of his self into me. And then... I finally let go. This felt good. Being his. Who’s to say if it was my thoughts on their own or our combined derangement, but the thought of him forever using me, forever being me? Sheer Fucking Ecstasy. This felt great. He subjugates my sense of self to forever be a part of him but I offer it willingly. Becoming me probably shaved a few years off him. Like my skin, He stretches my personality around his, further and further until we congeal into one. Goddamn. Fuck Yeah. This is fucking great. We lick our lips.

I feel a rush of confidence. The new me is brimming with it. We are alpha. My mouth and body move in a way that was alien to myself. He stands up straighter and cracks our neck, getting comfortable in our new form. We take our first real breath together as a new person, taking in more air than my old lungs had been used to. Amazing.

Then, his hormones rush through our body. Fuck. I feel an outpouring of raw, sexual energy. Our body steams up in the heat- look at me, who wouldn’t- and, before I could react further, he starts pumping my dick in manic glee. Fuck. As it stiffens, I hit my old body’s limit. Average. Our grin widens by his command. “Time for an upgrade, baby” I say with a jock-like inflection in my voice. It sounds immediately comfortable, self-assured, and it rolls off my new tongue naturally. It feels wholly unnatural. He speaks in a lower register than I normally do. Still I yield to him, trusting in my new owner and allowing his parts to coalesce into my vocal chords. A disturbing itch runs through my throat as our voices meld together but I know it’s for the best. This newer, hotter me needs a newer, hotter voice. We take a deep breath before roaring “FUUUUUCK YEAH! Muuuuch better!” in a voice that resembled a harmonius mix both of ours. 

The itch courses through the rest of my body as I allow him to fully wear the rest of me. He brings my head to face the new me in the mirror for a closeup giving another wink. Beautiful. I watch as my eyes water uncontrollably. His amber eyes then eclipse mine, and we blink away the tears. In my head, I feel his thick, wavy hair push out beside my own, as my old hair merge into his. In its place, we now wear a crown of his hair signifying my new place as royalty. He drags my now-vascular hand across our chin, pulling slightly while a bit of scruff grows where bare skin used to be. He quickly nods our new head in approval as more of my features contort to accommodate their new owner. Yeah. We were fucking hot.

Then, I feel his thick dick slot into mine, filling it out. Jesus fucking christ it was so big. It stretches me further and further, until I am hit by another wave of paralysis, until my skin snaps back into his, constricting weapon and sheath together. The sheer pressure merges them into one. Goddamn we were huge. Our shared tongue hangs from our open mouth, as we release a massive wave of cum. It rockets everywhere, covering me in my new, alpha seed. We sample a taste of our shared genetics. Fucking delicious. 

God we were so hot together. The feeling is surreal. There was nothing like it in the world. I was forever his. I am wrack in permanent pleasure from being us. He walks over to his old pile of clothes, putting them on. As they brush over my new body, I am flush with a sense of completeness. A perfect match.

---End---

Ok, Ok, so not as ‘light’ as I would have expected. I was gonna make something cute for Valentines day, but got sidetracked by... I mean... look at him.

#male possession #male shapeshift #male body suit #male transformation

[cherienymphe]

Crave (Peter Parker x Reader)

WARNINGS: DUB-CON, NON-CON, vampire!Peter, bloodplay, mentions of animal cruelty, mentions of murder, mentions of X-Men characters

DNI IF THIS OFFENDS YOU

divider provided by @/k1tty4rk

summary: when Peter goes missing while on a mission, he’s not exactly himself when he returns. His appetite is a little different now, and you soon find out that he’s hungry for more than just blood

~

You should’ve known that something was wrong when your phone went off at nearly 3 in the morning. No one ever called you that late, not even Peter. Your best friend was more likely to slip through your window if he needed something. Groggy with fatigue, it took you a moment to realize that you had not plugged your phone up before going to sleep like you thought, and that it was instead in your sheets somewhere. 

“Hello?” you finally grumbled, eyes still closed as you wondered just who in the world was calling you.

“Kid, it’s Tony. Is Peter with you?”

You were suddenly wide awake, blinking your eyes open as you forced yourself to sit up.

“No…? I thought… Isn’t he on a mission?”

Worry began to bleed into your heart, and it only increased at Tony’s words.

“He was, yeah.”

You threw the covers off of you, hurriedly sliding out of bed as you searched for some shoes.

“What do you mean ‘was’?”

The older man sighed, and you noted that his voice shook a little bit. You froze, heart dropping into your stomach as the severity of whatever was going on registered. Tony Stark was worried.

“He was supposed to check in 2 days ago. He was supposed to be back today. Neither of those things have happened.”

“Wh-what do you mean?”

Your pitch had risen, and you didn’t bother to mask your fear. 

“I don’t have much time to explain. Capsicle and Robocop are coming with me to see if we can find him. We’re leaving shortly, but my coordinates show that he’s still in Bulgaria. That’s where we sent him. We just haven’t heard a word from him and can’t seem to get in touch with him.”

You could hear things going on in the background, and you figured that they were only moments away from leaving. Your stomach churned, and you felt like you might be sick. If Tony Stark with all of his gadgets and resources couldn’t get ahold of Peter, then something was really wrong.

“Look, I have to go. If he shows up there, let us know immediately.”

He hung up before you had the chance to tell him that you were coming straight to the compound. You stared at your phone for a bit, brows drawn together as you processed this news. You hadn’t thought anything of it when you hadn’t heard from Peter in a few days. He wasn’t a kid anymore, had graduated college alongside you only last year, so his presence on the team was needed a lot more. His missions were less juvenile, so losing touch for a week at a time was nothing new.

As you threw on a coat to combat the biting New York air, you tried not to dwell on the worst. It couldn’t be helped though, and as soon as you stepped into your apartment hallway, shoulder grazing your door, tears filled your eyes. If Tony could see where Peter currently was...and he wasn’t able to get in touch with him...then that meant he was dead right? You shook your head, locking your door and tightening your fingers around your purse. There could be so many reasons for that. It didn’t mean he was dead.

The entire drive to upstate New York was a quiet one. You couldn’t even find it in yourself to fill the car with mind-numbing music to distract you. Your fingers were tight on the wheel, legs so tense that when you finally arrived at the compound, they actually hurt when you stepped out of the car. You leaned your back against the vehicle, the warmth seeping through your coat, and you released an unsteady breath.

You had known Peter since high school, easily finding a place with him and Ned, and eventually, MJ too. When Ned and MJ took their college education elsewhere, you had remained. You told yourself it was to save money, a partial truth, but you never wanted to admit that it was also to stay by Peter’s side. You couldn’t imagine being away from him. It was pathetic really, but Peter was more than some guy you loved. He was your best friend.

“I had a feeling you’d show up here.”

The familiar voice reached your ears, and you looked up at Wanda just as she floated down next to you. Her auburn hair was ruffled with a gentle breeze, her eyes sympathetic as she reached out to pull you into her side.

“They will find him,” she assured you.

You could hear Sam on the phone as soon as she guided you inside of the compound, and he sent you a tense smile and wave, which you returned. You could faintly hear other voices as well, and you figured that everyone who stayed back was wrapped up in doing whatever they could to get in contact with Peter. You felt helpless.

“What can I do?” you asked Wanda, already knowing the answer.

“Just be here,” she told you, making you sigh.

“Wanda…”

You gave her a reproachful look, and she smiled at you.

“We know you’re worried just like the rest of us, probably even more than the rest of us,” you swallowed at her knowing look. “...but everything will be okay. The last thing we need is you putting yourself in harm’s way or bursting a blood vessel.”

You nodded, heeding her words. You made your way to your room with a heavy heart. You were far from being a member of the team, you could barely throw a proper punch, but seeing as you came over so often with Peter, sometimes in the dead of night, Tony decided to have you a room put in. Right next to Peter’s.

One of his old college sweatshirts was on your desk, still there from the last time you borrowed it, and without thinking, you got undressed and put it on. It still smelled like him, and with the scent of your best friend filling your nose, you laid down and sought out sleep.

The next day brought bad news. They had found Peter’s suit, but no Peter. It explained his stationary location and their lack of success with getting in touch with him. You had just stepped into the door of the room when Tony told them, his virtual face wracked with fear and worry, something you weren’t used to seeing.

You could tell that you weren’t meant to hear the news just yet by the way Nat’s eyes widened when she finally noticed you. The rest of the team turned as she hurriedly rose, making her way to you just as your face crumbled.

“Y/N-.”

“Wh-what does that mean? What does he mean?”

Tony’s voice faded as she pulled you from the room, and you almost tripped over your feet as your legs shook.

“Hey, Y/N, it’s going to be okay,” she said, attempting to calm you.

“What does he mean by that? Why doesn’t he have his suit- where is he?”

You were in your room now, and she shushed you as she guided you to your bed. You sat down, staring at your feet as your brain whirled. You hadn’t realized how fast your heart was beating, and your whole body shook as you fought to process this news.

“I don’t understand,” you mumbled, more to yourself than the spy before you.

She came into your vision as she knelt before you, her hands taking yours.

“Me neither,” she mumbled.

You fingered Peter’s shirt. You were still wearing it, just with some jeans, and Nat observed the movement.

“How long?” she quietly asked.

She didn’t need to elaborate. You knew what she was asking.

“Since…” you shrugged, releasing a heavy breath. “...practically since forever.”

“Does he know?”

You sadly shook your head. She pursed her lips, red hair framing her face as she studied you.

“We’re going to find him, and when we do, you can tell him. Okay?”

You nodded.

“Okay,” you quietly replied.

Nat didn’t stay for long, and you guessed that she needed to get back to the team to plan the best course of action. You barely left your room for the rest of the day, not having much of an appetite nor energy for anything. It was late in the evening when you found yourself making your way to Peter’s room. You lost count of how many times you slept in here, but Peter was usually with you, and if not, he at least showed up at some point. You liked waking up to the sound of his soft snores.

It felt weird with him gone, even weirder when you accounted for the fact that you didn’t know when he’d be back. If he’d be back. Your face almost crumbled at the thought, and you laid down, grabbing one of his pillows and hugging it to your chest, unable to stop the tears that spilled over, no matter how much you tried.

You slept in his room for days, and for days there was still no sign of him. The team was beyond worried now. You knew it, no matter how much they tried to portray otherwise. They were getting restless and scared. You couldn’t exactly say that you were any different though.

Sleep was hard to find, and even when you did, you found yourself tossing and turning throughout the night. Every time you woke up, you kept hoping that he’d be there, that you’d hear his voice. You were met with a dark empty room each time though, and it always broke your heart. After Peter had been missing for 8 days, Wanda finally came to you.

“I think you should go home,” she told you.

You were sitting cross legged on Peter’s bed, and she sat before you, hands in her lap with her feet on the floor. You frowned at her, wondering if you had overstayed your welcome, but she continued.

“It’s not that we don’t want you here, because you know we love having you around, but… You do not look good, Y/N.”

You squirmed under her concerned stare, clearing your throat.

“I’m fine,” you quietly argued.

“You’re not, and that’s okay. You just...you look exhausted and worried, and you’ve lost weight. A considerable amount in such a short time. What would Peter think if he came back right now and saw that you weren’t properly taking care of yourself?” she wondered.

Guilt flooded you, and you reluctantly nodded.

“I know that being here brings you some comfort, but I don’t think it’s worth the toll it’s taking on you.”

Your shoulders sagged, and you reluctantly admitted that she was right. You wanted to be near Peter in any way you could, but constantly waiting and listening out for any news was stressing you out.

“Go home. Sleep in your own bed. Get some rest. You can always come back,” she said.

“Okay.”

So, you did. You took a shower as soon as you made it back to your apartment, finding another one of Peter’s shirts he’d left. You forced yourself to at least eat something of substance, and when you had all you could take, you made a cup of tea. You had tried to watch tv, but funnily enough, the news was reporting on a crime that Spider-Man’s had helped solve months ago. Unable to stomach it, you turned the tv off and opted for bed.

Strangely enough, you were able to sleep better in your own bed. It happened quickly, and you didn’t toss or turn much. The first time you floated back to consciousness, it must have been around 3 in the morning. It was the longest you’d slept in days, and you knew that you’d be drifting back soon. However, you faintly noted that goosebumps had erupted over your skin, like you were cold.

Considering it was cold outside, you kept your heater blasting.

You blinked, staring at your window. It was closed, but the curtains were parted, and you could see that it was snowing outside. For the first time in days, a small smile tugged at your lips, and with a sigh, you rolled over. A dark figure was standing beside your bed, and the scream that you let out echoed through the apartment, filled with terror.

You fought back against them as they reached for you, struggling to get away and move further back on the bed. Their hands were cool, like they’d been outside for a while with no gloves. You were sitting up, pushing against them when they reached over and flicked on your lamp. When light flooded the room, your eyes widened.

Peter stood before you, dressed casually in dark clothes and looking completely unharmed. You sharply inhaled, all of your breath leaving you as your lips parted, eyes welling with tears. You blinked a few times, feeling like you might have been dreaming, but Peter remained. You reached out to him with shaking hands, and your vision had started to blur.

“Hey, breathe. Breathe, Y/N,” he softly ordered, brows furrowed.

You did as he said, and your chest burned as you moved closer. You slid off of the bed, moving to stand up, but your legs were unsteady. Peter caught you just as you fell into his arms, wrapping your own around him. You buried your face into his chest, your tears wetting his shirt, and he enveloped you in his arms as he shushed you.

You were shaking so much, and you just couldn’t stop. You couldn’t believe that he was here, and he looked perfectly fine. You sobbed into his chest, and you felt him tighten his arms around you. You clung to him, maneuvering to bury your face into the crook of his neck, feeling guilty about his shirt. You could feel him do the same, his nose brushing against your skin, and he took a long inhale, breathing you in.

“You’re okay,” you blubbered.

“Yeah...yeah, I’m okay,” he whispered.

You pulled away from him, roaming your eyes over him before meeting his own eyes.

“Where...where have you been? Everyone is looking for you,” you softly told him.

“I know,” he replied, looking sheepish.

“We have to call Tony,” you said, reaching for your phone.

Peter stopped you before you could, his hand tight on your wrist, and you found yourself wincing at his harsh grip. You looked at him with a frown, heart skipping a beat at his sudden dark countenance. He swallowed, and your eyes were briefly drawn to the subtle movement in his throat before he eventually let you go.

“I can’t...I can’t go back,” he told you, shaking his head.

Your eyes widened at him, and confusion filled you. What?

“What are...what are you talking about? Everyone is worried sick, more worried than I’ve ever seen them. Peter, they have no idea where you are or if you’re even okay! We should at least tell them-.”

You swallowed the rest of your words as you noticed that he made to leave.

“I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t have come here-.”

“Wait, wait!”

You grabbed onto the back of his shirt. You weren’t any match for him, but you were thankful that he halted. You wrapped your arms around him from behind, your lips brushing his shoulder as you spoke.

“Stay. Please stay,” you whispered.

His shoulders heaved as he sighed, and you continued.

“I’m sorry, okay? We don’t...we don’t have to tell them anything. If you don’t want to go back that’s fine, but… I’ve been so worried.”

That last part was said so softly, it was a wonder he even heard you. He didn’t say anything, nor did he move for a while, but eventually he turned around, and you let your arms fall. When your eyes met his again, you watched the way they narrowed, forehead creasing just a bit. You didn’t understand why until he reached up to press his fingers to the skin beneath your eyes. You could see the disapproval in his eyes, and all you could offer was a shrug.

“I was so worried.”

Peter blinked, face falling before he pulled you into his arms again. You returned the hug and let your eyes fall closed, just basking in the feel of him. You could hear his heartbeat, so slow...and so faint, something that seemed impossible. You told yourself you were imagining it.

“You’ll stay, right?”

He threw you a small smile when you pulled back to look at him, and you watched the way his dark eyes ran over you, lingering on your neck a tad longer than the rest of you before his eyes met yours again.

“Yeah, I’ll stay.”

You smiled at him, pulling him towards your bed. You settled in, only just realizing how cold you had gotten, while Peter got in behind you. Your head hit the pillow just as he turned the light out, and you frowned when you noticed that he wasn’t completely laying down. He was on his side, facing you with his head propped up onto his hand.

“You’re not tired?”

His eyes trailed to your window, staring out into the night for a moment before he shook his head.

“No...not really.”

You chuckled.

“So you’re just going to watch me sleep?” you wondered.

He reached towards you with his other hand, brushing his fingers along your neck and collarbone, fingers cool against your warm skin. A shudder passed through you.

“I missed you,” was his only answer, and it made your heart soar.

You knew that he didn’t miss you like you missed him, but it made you happy to hear that nonetheless.

“I missed you too.”

He didn’t respond, and you closed your eyes, the feel of his fingers on your skin oddly soothing. He always made you nervous, but not tonight. You wondered if it was because you had gone without him for so long, unsure if he would ever return. Sleep was just within your reach, but something weighed on your mind that prevented you from grabbing hold of it.

“Why don’t you want to go back?”

Your voice was small in the otherwise quiet room, and when Peter didn’t answer right away, you peeled your eyes open. He had stopped touching you, fingers curling into the covers as his jaw clenched.

“They won’t want me back.”

You frowned, forcing yourself to sit up. You blinked at him a few times, lips parting as you processed what that meant. Why wouldn’t they want him back? Peter was part of the team, one of the most loved members of the team. Said team was practically sick with worry, had been for over a week. Despite the fact that Peter was right in front of you and seemingly safe and sound, worry began to take hold again.

“Why wouldn’t they want you back?”

Your best friend didn’t answer you, and your worry grew, heartbeat picking up. Peter’s eyes were on you now as he sat up too, so focused and intense.

“What happened on your mission, Peter? What happened in Bulgaria?”

Again, Peter didn’t respond, but the minute you moved closer to him, he snatched your arm. Startled, you almost fell over, but his fingers curled around your wrist and pulled you closer, guiding the palm of your hand right to his chest.

Where his heart was.

Again, like before, you noted that his heartbeat was so slow. And even fainter. It was almost nonexistent, and your brows crinkled. You had felt and heard his heartbeat many times before since he’d become Spider-Man, and you knew that this was no effect of the spider bite. You had a hard time wrapping your mind around what you were feeling, and you looked at him again.

“I have...I have to tell you something…”

You fought to keep your worry at bay, noting the way Peter’s voice shook.

“I may even have to show you...but you have to promise me…”

His hand tightened on your wrist, and he released a shaky breath.

“...promise me that you won’t be scared.”

Scared of Peter? He was your best friend, and you couldn’t ever imagine being afraid of him. Still, you felt like he needed this so you nodded.

“Okay.”

Peter’s side of the bed was empty when you woke up, and your heart lurched in a mild panic before you realized why. The sun shone through your window, bathing your room in the warm rays, and you swallowed as you wondered where he could’ve gone.

“I’m right here.”

You snapped your head up to find him standing in the hall, just outside of your doorway. He was out of the sun’s reach, and you slid out of bed to join him. He was watching you like he couldn’t anticipate your next move, and you sent him a smile to reassure him.

“Do you...need anything…?”

You didn’t come right out and say it, but you both knew what you were asking. He studied you for a moment before shaking his head.

“No. I...ate before I came here last night,” he told you.

You nodded and folded your arms over your chest with a long sigh. You could feel his eyes on you as you looked away.

“Look, Peter...I know you're not going to like what I have to say, but…”

You chanced a glance at him and found his dark eyes narrowed at you.

“I think you need to tell Tony.”

He briefly closed his eyes before letting them fall to the ground, hands shoved in his pockets.

“If anyone can help you, he can.”

Peter scoffed, a humorless sound.

“Help me with what? It’s not like he can fix this, Y/N. This goes past Tony Stark and all of his intellect,” he practically spat, frustration coloring his tone. “This is what I am now.”

You grabbed his hands, squeezing them as you moved closer.

“I know, I know. I just meant...maybe he can help you safely get what you need.”

His eyes met yours, albeit reluctantly.

“...and maybe he can help you control your appetite better. That way...that way you won’t hurt anyone else,” you quietly finished, recalling everything he’d told you.

Guilt passed through Peter’s features at the reminder of what he’d done. He closed his eyes, practically squeezing them shut as his shoulders heaved, a small sigh escaping him.

“Maybe...you’re right,” he hesitantly admitted.

You could see the war going on within him when he opened his eyes, conflict and guilt and self-loathing all passing over his face.

“Hey.”

He looked at you.

“You’re still you. You just...your diet’s a little different now, that’s all.”

He cracked a smile, a small chuckle leaving him, and you joined him.

“When the sun goes down, we’ll go to the compound, and...and everything will be okay,” you promised him.

He nodded, and hours later, when the sun was safely behind the horizon, that was what you did. You drove. Peter was still wary of his new strength, strength that far surpassed what he had before. Your wrist was still sore from when he’d grabbed you last night, but you didn’t want him to feel any worse than he already did.

Having called Tony on the way, he was waiting outside when you arrived. As per requested, he was the only one. You didn’t want Peter to get overwhelmed. You weren’t exactly sure of what he was capable of now, neither one of you really were, and you didn’t want to stress him out.

Tony had pulled him into a hug the minute he reached him, and your heart clenched for many reasons. You hoped that you’d made the right decision. Tony loved Peter. He’d help him, right? When he pulled away, the bearded man’s eyes flickered between the two of you with a frown.

“So you’re going to tell me what the hell this is all about?”

Before you could respond, Peter moved to pull him inside.

“It’s a long story, Mr. Stark…”

His voice trailed off as they went inside, and with a small sigh, you eventually followed. Neither one of them were present, and you figured that they went to the lab. You had a feeling that everyone else was there too, or at least not far off. They’d been worried sick and now Peter was back, seemingly unharmed. Of course they’d be concerned and curious.

Wanda was the only one who greeted you, and her eyes were wide as they met yours. They were a bit accusatory, even fearful, and you pursed your lips. She probably didn’t mean to, but it was easy to guess that she’d been inside of Peter’s head. She knew, and there was no telling what she saw. 

“Y/N…?”

You shook your head.

“He’s still him, Wanda. Okay? Everything is going to be fine.”

She didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t argue as you moved past her to go to your room. You didn’t see anyone else the rest of the night, and you knew that they were all caught up with Peter. Figuring out how this happened, running tests, coming up with the best course of action. You were in and out of sleep when you heard Peter come into your room in the early hours of the morning.

He wrapped his arms around you as he slid in behind you, and even though he wasn’t as warm as he used to be, the familiarity of it all immediately relaxed you. You felt him bury his nose in your hair, taking a deep breath as he breathed you in, fingers brushing over the skin of your arms.

“Everything okay?” you mumbled, referring to Tony and the rest of the team.

“Yeah,” he whispered. “He wants me to drink pig’s blood, but yeah. Everything’s okay.”

You chuckled at that, sleep finding you once more as you smiled at Peter’s joke. However, it was the next day when you discovered that he hadn’t been joking at all.

“You’re serious?”

Peter nodded with a frown, arms crossed over his chest as he leaned against the counter.

“He wants to start weaning me off of human blood and start transitioning to animal blood,” he grumbled.

You noted that he wasn’t happy about that, and your curiosity got the better of you.

“Is that bad?”

“Not necessarily, no,” he sighed. “He thinks it’ll help me. That maybe I’ll...crave human blood less and it’ll lower my chances of losing control around someone.”

You blinked, wondering if you agreed with that.

“I mean, he doesn’t exactly know. This is all just trial and error, right now, because probably for the first time in Mr. Stark’s life, he’s stumped,” Peter said with a shrug. “...but it’s worth a shot.”

You felt like there was more to it, like he wanted to say something else.

“He doesn’t know that I already tried that,” he whispered.

You leaned against the opposite counter, watching as his frown deepened, eyes troubled.

“When I woke up...I felt like I had swallowed fire,” he murmured. “My teeth hurt, my throat burned, and my mind was going a mile a minute. I felt like I was losing it.”

He sounded angry as he glared at the floor.

“The only thing that even smelled slightly appealing was…”

He trailed off, shaking his head, a light chuckle leaving him.

“I must have killed at least 100 animals. Anything I could get my hands on… It was like an itch I couldn’t scratch, only 1,000 times worse. It wasn’t until...it wasn’t until I came across those hikers…”

He swallowed his words, letting his face fall into his hands. You neared him, resting your hand on his arm.

“It was the first time I’d felt okay in days. I could finally freaking think,” he said through clenched teeth, letting his hands fall. “There I was...covered in blood...surrounded by bodies of innocent people...and I was finally at peace.”

You pulled him into a hug as he recounted what he’d already told you. You knew that Peter wouldn’t ever forget that moment, but God, you wanted him to. That wasn’t who he was, you knew it, and you wanted him to know it too. He pressed his face into the crook of your neck, nose brushing over the skin, and his hands rested on your waist.

Your conversation with Nat weighed on your heart. Like she’d said, Peter was back, and you could finally tell him, but it didn’t seem appropriate. The man had been attacked and turned into something you thought only existed in books. This was a hard time for him, and it seemed silly to drop one more thing onto him, one more thing that could definitely wait.

“I wouldn’t get too close to him if I were you, Y/N. He might mistake you for a quarter pounder.”

You pulled away just as Bucky’s deep chuckle reached your ears, and you turned to see both him and Sam enter the kitchen. Sam seemed pleased with his little joke.

“You’re not funny,” you told him, completely unamused.

“It’s a little funny,” Bucky disagreed, and you huffed.

You felt Peter pull away, and by the time you looked over your shoulder, he was gone.

“Seriously?”

You threw them an incredulous look, and Sam shrugged.

“Look, we’ve got to find some humor in this okay? The kid’s got fangs and he lives off of blood now,” Sam said like it was the most absurd thing in the world.

Considering that you all were friends with literal Gods and even a woman who controlled the weather, you were inclined to disagree.

“This is hard for him, okay?”

You weren’t sure if they knew the full extent of what he’d done, but you heard Sam sigh, and Bucky at least looked a little sheepish.

“I’m sure he’ll joke about it when he’s ready, but please let him do it in his own time. His whole life has changed...again.”

“Yeah, well, welcome to the club,” Bucky sighed.

You rolled your eyes and turned away with a scoff.

“What’d I say?” you heard Bucky ask, but you were already making your way to Peter’s room.

You were surprised that he told you to come in when you knocked, and you slowly stepped inside. He was on his bed, hand behind his head as he scrolled through his phone.

“You okay?”

He let his hand fall, greeting you with a smile.

“Yeah, I’m good. They don’t mean any harm, so I’m not going to let it get to me,” he replied, reaching for you.

You joined him on the bed, laying your head on his shoulder as he told F.R.I.D.A.Y to turn on the tv.

“Want to watch a movie with me? As silly as it seems, all I could think about was curling up with you and watching a movie the whole time I was away,” he confessed.

Your heart fluttered, sure he could hear it, but he didn’t comment on it. His arm slid around your waist, pulling you closer, and you nodded.

“Yeah, I’d love to.”

His hand tightened on your hip as you figured out what movie to put on.

Every day, Peter went to the lab with Tony and Bruce, and every time he returned, he always seemed irritated. You tried not to comment on the harshness of his eyes and tautness of his jaw, but eventually, you had to express your concern.

“It’s nothing,” he told you one day. “They just keep treating me like some science experiment gone wrong.”

He played it off like no big deal, but you could tell that he was genuinely bothered.

“...and its this stupid diet or whatever you can even call it! It’s not working. It’s not satisfying or fulfilling, at all. I can’t taste a damn thing, I’m just drinking to get full? If that’s what you can even call it. It does absolutely nothing to satisfy me or quell this desire…”

He trailed off at your light chuckle. 

“Alright, Edward Cullen.”

He threw you a hard look, and you swallowed your laughs. While he was finally making jokes about the situation himself now, you realized that now was not the time.

“Sorry…”

He heaved a long sigh, turning to stare out of the window.

“You wanna get out of here?” he suddenly asked.

You blinked at him.

“Now?”

He glanced at the clock, and so did you. It was almost 2 in the morning.

“I can’t think of a better time,” he replied.

You chewed on your lip.

“Where?”

“Anywhere,” he shrugged. “Just for a little bit…”

He hadn’t left the compound in weeks, Tony far too paranoid, and you could see how much he needed this.

“Okay.”

That was how 40 minutes later, you found your car parked near a small pond while you and Peter leaned against it, staring at the full moon. Neither one of you had said anything since you left, and you guessed that Peter was in his thoughts. You couldn’t blame him.

“You know, if I’d been bitten by a werewolf, we’d be having a totally different night, right now.”

You barked a laugh, and he joined you.

“If you were bitten by a werewolf, I’d be trying to play fetch with you,” you replied.

He chuckled again, and the two of you fell into another easy silence. Your eyes narrowed a bit as something weighed on your mind, and you suddenly crossed your arms over your chest.

“Why won’t Tony let you have any human blood? I mean, blood banks exist…”

Peter sighed, a frustrated sound, and you turned to look at him. The cool nightly breeze blew his dark hair around his face, and his jaw clenched.

“He thinks it’ll make me crave it more. Kind of like an addict, you know?”

You shook your head, disagreeing with that.

“...but...it’s not. This is part of your DNA, now, is it not? He shouldn’t be looking at it like a drug but instead like...food. It’s what you need to survive, now,” you explained.

“You’re right...but that’s blood I’d be taking away from people who need it. Besides, it’d be pretty messed up of me to…‘convince’ some stranger to let me drink from them and then alter their memory of the whole thing,” he mumbled.

“That’s right. You did tell me you can do that, now,” you mused.

“I’m pretty sure it’ll come in handy during missions. You know, if I ever go on one again,” he complained.

Your heart hurt for Peter. His entire life had been turned on its head again. He couldn’t go on missions, couldn’t even see his aunt, and on top of it all, he couldn’t even satisfy the craving his body had for what it actually needed. You pursed your lips and glanced at him again. You were positive he noticed before, but this time he commented on it.

“What?”

You glanced away from him, heart speeding up a bit as you wrung your hands together.

“What about me?”

He didn’t respond right away, and when you looked at him again, his eyes were on you. They were narrowed, hard, but you could see the spark of something in them that gave you hope that maybe this wasn’t such a horrible idea after all. Peter’s lips parted, his sharp teeth glinting in the moonlight before he snapped his mouth shut. He cleared his throat.

“You...you would do that?”

“Of course,” you said with a frown, turning your body completely to face him. “This is what you need, and you’re my best friend, and I’m willing. So you don’t have to let your morals get in the way.”

Peter stared at you for what seemed like a long time, eyes roaming over every inch of you. You watched as he swallowed, the conflict written all over his face. You could see that he was scared, afraid that he’d hurt you, but you could also see the fire in his eyes, the desire to take you up on your offer.

“Worst case scenario-.”

“You die?”

You rolled your eyes at him, stepping closer.

“You won’t let me die, Peter. We both know it,” you whispered, pushing your sleeve up and holding your arm out.

Peter’s dark eyes snapped to the bared skin, no doubt tracing the veins that you couldn’t see. Hesitantly, he grabbed your wrist, taking a deep breath before slowly lifting your arm as he bent his head. His breath, like everything else about him now, was cool against your skin. You watched as he closed his eyes, dark lashes contrasting against his fair skin, before opening his mouth. You barely got a glimpse of his sharp canines in all of their glory before they were sinking into your arm.

The reaction from you both was instantaneous. 

A loud gasp escaped you, but not from pain. No. Your body heated up like never before, blood on fire as Peter let out an equally loud groan. An addicting sense of euphoria descended over you, and you felt your legs shaking, lashes fluttering as you struggled to keep your eyes open. Sensing this, Peter reached out with his free hand and tangled it within your hair, pulling you closer until your head leaned against his shoulder.

You could feel him moving forward, and he didn’t stop until your back was against your car. His hand tightened in your hair, almost painfully, but all you let out was a moan, your breath choppy and lips trembling as he pressed his leg in between yours. Your free hand clutched his jacket, attempting to pull him closer, and a low moan escaped his own throat as he pushed his thigh more firmly against your now heated core.

You faintly noted that this was a lot more erotic than you anticipated, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. He was still pressing your head to his shoulder, and your lips brushed the fabric of his jacket as you murmured his name.

“Peter...Peter…”

You couldn’t tell if you were asking him to stop or not, but considering this was the best high you’d ever been on, you concluded that you were not. Suddenly, all too soon, Peter practically ripped himself away from you, and you would’ve fallen to the ground if he hadn’t caught you. Your chest was heaving, so was his, and when you peeled your eyes open, his own wide ones were focused on you.

“Shit,” he cursed, looking like he was seconds away from getting in trouble. “Shit, shit, shit. I shouldn’t have done that. Mr. Stark is going to kill me…”

“Hey...it’s okay,” you panted, weakly reaching up to brush a dark strand out of his face. “I’m okay. How do you feel?”

He seemed stumped by the question, and he suddenly blinked, brows drawn together as he stared down at you. His lips were stained with your blood.

“I...haven’t felt this satisfied in weeks,” he whispered, looking at you strangely.

You weakly chuckled, eyes fluttering closed.

“Good.”

You had only been seconds away from falling when he caught you, and he finally straightened as he lifted you into his arms. You could feel yourself on the verge of sleep...or was it the verge of death? Either way, you were happy that Peter was happy. He gently deposited you into the passenger’s seat, strapping you into place. Your head lolled as he shut the door, facing him as he settled behind the wheel.

You could feel his eyes on you, and with difficulty, you opened yours again. He was staring at you with that look again, and you were sure he thought you crazy for putting your life in danger like that. The car was quiet, just the sound of your shallow breathing could be heard, and you thought to yourself that you kind of wanted to tell him you loved him. However, before you could, Peter leaned over and pressed his blood-stained lips to yours.

It was quick and soft, just the barest of touches, but it made your eyes widen nonetheless. You stared at him as he sat back and started the car, and you wanted to keep staring at him, wanted to ask him what the hell was that, but sleep finally got to you before you could.

It was days before you finally discussed what had happened, and that was only because it was days before Peter needed to “feed” again.

“I think I can go longer without when it’s human blood...because it’s what actually satisfies me. What my body needs,” he murmured one night while you were watching a movie you’d both seen a million times.

“That’s a good thing. Surely Tony will see that this is the best thing to do. This is what will keep you in control and allow you to go on missions again...see your aunt May…”

You had decided to keep what happened between the two of you, but you didn’t exactly feel right about it. Peter sighed and shook his head.

“No. I think he’d send me away,” he quietly told you.

You quickly moved your head to look up at him, your cheek on his chest as you stared at him with wide eyes.

“What are you talking about?”

“He’s been doing research, trying to find others like me. I think he has. I overheard him talking to the captain and Sam one day. He’s thinking about sending me somewhere I can learn to control my thirst and utilize my new…abilities or whatever,” he grumbled.

You fully sat up now, looking down at him with a stricken expression. His eyes finally moved away from the screen, and he smiled at you, rubbing your back in a soothing manner. 

“I’m not going to let him send me away, Y/N, but he’ll definitely try if we tell him what happened.”

You nodded, forcing your heart to slow before you laid back down. Peter’s hand was still on your back, tracing patterns into your, well, his shirt. You listened to his slow heartbeat, the organ pumping what was left of your blood through his body. Your lashes fluttered when he dragged his fingers up to your neck, the appendages playing with the hair there. You found yourself humming when he tightened his hold there, and you looked up in confusion, prepared to ask him what he was doing when his other hand gripped your arm, and he pulled you up.

His lips met yours in a kiss that was nothing like the first one. You gasped against his mouth, and he wasted no time before taking the opportunity to taste the inside of yours. Peter moaned into the kiss, circling both arms around you now as he rolled the both of you over. He settled himself between your parted legs, and you sharply inhaled at the bulge you felt there.

Peter’s hand traveled to your neck again, grasping the hair at the nape, holding you in place as he dragged his mouth down. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as he bit you, throwing your hands out to grasp anything you could. Your right hand hit the lamp on the nightstand, and it fell to the floor with a soft crash. Peter’s other hand pressed into your back, forcing you to arch your chest into his.

His hips were rolling into yours, his clothed member pressing against the most sensitive part of you so deliciously. You let out a soft moan, one hand clawing at his shirt, pushing the fabric up to drag your nails along his back. Peter had you completely pinned in between him and the mattress, every curve of his hips sending pleasure through you.

“Peter,” you moaned, reaching up to drag your hand along the headboard. “Fuck, Peter.”

You could feel your blood crawling past your neck, staining his sheets, but he didn’t seem to care. The bed shook a bit from his movements, and you hooked one leg on his waist as he continued to grind into you. You could feel yourself fading, and you welcomed it, and before you could, one particularly slow roll of his hips sent you over the edge.

You were a moaning mess as you came beneath him, his teeth still embedded in your neck. Your whole body shook, legs practically vibrating as they fell around him, chest heaving as he finally pulled away. He licked at your neck, and your arms fell to the bed, soft murmurs leaving your lips to which Peter chuckled at. He brushed his thumb over your lip before leaning back down, lips grazing your ear.

“Go to sleep,” he whispered. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

You did, he was, and he greeted you with a kiss, further filling you with confusion as you wondered just what you were. You didn’t want to ruin it, didn’t want to break the spell by trying to make him define this. You simply wanted to enjoy whatever this was, and enjoy it you did.

Every few days or so, you found yourself squirming beneath Peter one way or another. Sometimes he simply pressed kisses along your neck as he rolled his hips into yours, sometimes his teeth were in you, and sometimes his fingers were in you, the sound of it so loud as he thrust them in and out of your fluttering core. The rest of the team was none the wiser as you both satisfied each other in more ways than one. It was usually in the dead of night when everyone else was asleep, and Peter was wide awake.

“Ngh, Peter,” you panted, fingers twisted into his dark locks.

You were completely naked before him, a first, as he swiped his tongue over your wet folds, another first. His own fingers were pressed into your thighs, holding them down in a way that hurt so good. The cool air hit the bite mark on the inside of your left thigh, and you hissed as Peter slid his tongue past your slick walls, tasting every inch of you that he could.

A thin layer of sweat covered your frame, and you realized that you lost track of how long Peter had been alternating between tasting your blood and tasting your lips. His mouth completely covered you, and you shuddered when he sucked on your little bundle of nerves, sharp teeth grazing your sensitive skin.

You could feel your...3rd? 4th? Or was it the 5th climax of the night that you felt approaching? You were so tired, but Peter didn’t seem to have gotten his fill of you, and his lips kissed along your mound before traveling to the space in the crease of your thigh before he swiped his tongue over your thigh itself, the unmarked one. It was dark in the room, and when Peter glanced up at you, dark promises in his eyes, you noted that they almost seemed to glow in the dark, like that of a feline.

He wasted no time before sinking his teeth into your skin again, and you pressed your hand to your mouth to keep from making too much noise. You knew that he’d ordered F.R.I.D.A.Y to soundproof the room, but it was a force of habit by now. Your climax crashed over you like a tidal wave, and that was how you fell asleep that night, with Peter’s face in between your legs, drinking from you in any way he saw fit.

“Look who decided to grace us with her presence,” Bucky sarcastically greeted as you walked into the kitchen the next morning.

Steve threw you a sheepish smile, visibly sorry on Bucky’s behalf for his behavior.

“Cut it out, Buck.”

“I’m just acknowledging that the princess has been holed up in her room more often than not as of late. If I didn’t know any better, I would’ve thought you went home, but I noticed that you’re still eating my cereal, the only other person who eats the kind I like, so…”

You rolled your eyes as he trailed off, and he reached out to pull on your shirt as you neared.

“What’s with the turtleneck, squirt? I know it’s freezing outside, but in case you haven’t noticed, it’s 77 degrees in here.”

You tensed at his words, and you ignored the way Steve eyed you over his mug.

“I just think I’m coming down with something is all. I’m a little chillier than usual today,” you lied.

He simply hummed, and that was when you finally noticed his attire. Steve too.

“Are you guys going on a mission?”

“You’d know the answer to that if you actually left your room once in a while,” Bucky grumbled, and Steve lightly shoved his shoulder.

“Yeah, the whole team’s heading out. Well...except…” Steve trailed off, and you nodded. “...but Nat and Sam are supposed to be returning from their assignment today, so they’ll be back later.”

You nodded at Steve’s words, not quite liking the way that he was studying you. You hurriedly poured your own cup of coffee, quietly telling them to “be safe” before moving to get out of Steve’s watchful eye.

Hours later found you and Peter on the couch, hardly paying any attention to the movie before you. You had the compound to yourselves, something you looked forward to, but Peter had other ideas than that of what you were thinking.

“You want to...leave?”

You frowned at him, unsure that you heard him right. Peter was facing you with his elbow on the back of the couch, propping his head up as his other hand traced your collarbone.

“Yeah,” he whispered. “Mr. Stark...I think he’s getting serious about sending me away for a while. I think he suspects us, but I’m not sure.”

You mulled over his suggestion, unsure of how you felt about it.

“They couldn’t even find me last time. I’d make sure they’d never find us,” he told you.

“I...I don’t know. I mean, I love you, but I’d miss everyone else,” you replied.

When you looked to him, he looked surprised, and his lips parted as he blinked at you.

“...what?”

Your brows drew together.

“What?”

He scooted closer, a slow grin forming on his pink lips.

“You love me?”

You scoffed at him.

“Of course. Peter, I’ve been in love with you for as long as I can remember,” you finally confessed.

You thought that it would’ve been obvious by now, but Peter just looked as if you told him he’d won a million dollars. Before you could register it, he reached out to pull you into a kiss. It was passionate and full of yearning...and hungry. You wrapped your arms around his neck and moved closer, Peter’s hand pressing into the small of your back. His lips trailed from your own down to your jaw, pressing kisses there and to your neck. You’d changed shirts as soon as everyone had left.

You knew what he wanted, what he needed, and you welcomed it as he pressed his teeth into your skin. A breathy moan climbed out of your throat as he laid you down. Your heart was going haywire in your chest, the realization that Peter returned your feelings finally hitting you. His hands ran over you, brushing over your breasts and down your sides before he hooked them underneath your thighs.

He pressed his bloody lips to your décolletage, nipping at the skin there before they grazed the swell of your breasts. He bit into the flesh that spilled over the top of your shirt, and you trembled beneath him, a loud moan escaping you. He growled into your skin, fingers pressing into your thighs almost painfully. You weren’t sure how long you remained beneath him, lashes fluttering and lips parted as ecstasy clouded your mind, but eventually, you felt yourself fading in a way you had never felt before.

Your vision blurred, and you could feel your heart starting to slow.

“Peter,” you worriedly murmured.

He seemed preoccupied with releasing himself from his jeans, fingers brushing over you as he reached underneath your skirt. You opened your mouth to protest, but all that came out was a choked sound, the sound transforming into a breathy gasp when he thrust into you.

“Peter,” you weakly called.

You could feel yourself fading fast, and Peter’s own breath was harsh as he drank from you, snapping his hips into yours with every thrust. You could faintly hear a door opening, and you wanted to warn him, but you could hardly move, let alone speak. Darkness creeped along the edge of your vision, and the last thing you heard before going under was a feminine scream.

You knew that you were in the infirmary before you even opened your eyes. The steady beep of the monitor next to you told you that whatever condition you had been in was pretty serious. You struggled to open them, but when your eyes finally peeled open, you noticed that the room was empty.

“Ms. Y/L/N, you’re awake,” F.R.I.D.A.Y noted. “I will inform Mr. Stark immediately.”

You cringed, squeezing your eyes shut at the mention of the last superhero you wanted to see. You just knew that you were going to get an earful, and you didn’t really care to hear it. You just wanted to know where Peter was and if he was okay.

Tony burst through the doors a lot sooner than you would have liked, and you avoided his eye. He didn’t say anything, and you knew that he was angry, because when did Tony Stark ever have absolutely nothing to say?

“Are you insane?” he finally wondered, and you sighed.

“Where’s Peter?”

“That doesn’t matter right now,” he snapped, and you finally looked at him as he stomped towards your bed. “You could’ve died.”

You shrank underneath his cold stare and harsh words, glancing away.

“Do you get that, Y/N? When Nat and Sam got here…”

He trailed off, face reddening as he was no doubt recalling what he’d been told, probably what he’d even seen thanks to F.R.I.D.A.Y. You watched as he swallowed, releasing a breath.

“Any later, and you would’ve been dead,” he whispered.

“I’m sorry,” you quietly told him. “I just wanted to help him.”

He heaved a long sigh, a tired and exasperated sound.

“I know you love him…”

You frowned at that, wondering if the whole damn team knew.

“...but he needs help from people who can help him. Help him to control himself, hone his new skills, help him so that he doesn’t kill you,” Tony finished, and you blinked back tears. “Go home and let us handle Peter. When the time is right, he’ll be able to see you again.”

The tears finally spilled over, and with a shake of his head, Tony left you. After a few more days in the infirmary, and several blood transfusions later, you did as Tony instructed. It felt strange to be back home after spending nearly 2 months at the compound with Peter. As you entered your room, sitting on your bed, you felt silly.

Tony had been right. You had almost died. You recalled the feel of your life literally slipping away as Peter drank from you, too lost in the taste and feel of you to notice that he was losing control. You had only wanted to help him, and you had ended up making things worse. Was Tony right to treat it like an addiction? Had you hindered Peter more than you helped him? You didn’t know. All you knew was that your actions almost led to your death at Peter’s hand, and that Tony’s actions had not.

You didn’t know where Peter was, but you had faith that he was alright. You hoped that Tony didn’t give him too hard of a time for what he’d done, but you knew that was unlikely. Nat, poor Nat, had literally walked in on him feeding from you and fucking you. There was no telling what the poor woman thought, and you hated the idea of them treating Peter like some wild animal that needed to be caged.

It was 3 nights later when you woke up to the feel of fingers ghosting over the side of your face as you slept. It took you a moment to register what was happening, but when you blinked your eyes open, you were surprised to come face to face with Peter as he stood over you.

“P-Peter?” 

You struggled to sit up, and you rubbed your eyes, noting the way his own dark ones lingered on your neck. 

“What are you doing here?”

“We’re getting out of here. C’mon,” he said, reaching for you.

You frowned at him, and you watched his own face fall.

“I don’t...I don’t think that’s a good idea,” you honestly told him.

He frowned at you, and guilt tore through you for more reasons than one.

“Don’t listen to Mr. Stark-.”

“Maybe I should’ve. Maybe...maybe he knew what he was talking about,” you said, cutting him off.

His hand fell to his side, and his dark eyes narrowed on you.

“You’re afraid of me,” he murmured.

“No! No...not really-.”

He cut you off with an angry sigh, and you folded your arms over your chest.

“I almost died, Peter!”

You watched the conflict on his features, brows furrowing ever so slightly.

“...and you would’ve never forgiven yourself...and I feel like it’s my fault…”

Peter stood over you, dressed plainly but darkly, chocolate locks kissing his forehead as he stared at you. He didn’t look happy.

“So you’re taking his side,” he surmised. 

“I just think you should hear him out,” you whispered. “We tried it our way...and look what happened.”

He didn’t say anything, and neither did you. You sat there, and he stood there, both of you just staring at each other. You watched the way Peter’s jaw clenched, and he suddenly reached out to tangle his fingers in your hair, pulling you into a kiss as he neared. You pressed your hands against his chest, but Peter forced his way onto your bed, knees pressed into the mattress on either side of you as he moved his mouth against yours.

“Mm, Peter,” you protested, turning your head away.

“They think I raped you, you know,” he quietly said, the loud sound of tearing fabric filling the room as he ripped your t-shirt straight down the middle.

Your eyes went wide at his words, and he chuckled, the corner of his lips quirking upwards into a smirk.

“Oh, yeah. They think I coerced you with my new abilities or even just flat out bit you and took you anyway I saw fit,” he whispered.

The irony of the situation was not lost on you, and you desperately fought against him. Your underwear was next, and you were no match against Peter’s newfound strength as he batted your hands away, moving to remove his own clothes.

“They don’t know that I had you squirming beneath me, purring and mewling like a desperate kitten.”

His voice was husky, thick with the desire to sink both his teeth and cock into you. He gripped your legs, separating them like it was nothing despite your efforts to keep them closed.

“They think that you’re bad for me…”

It was embarrassingly easy for him to slide into you, your velvet walls giving him a wet welcome. He sighed out as he pressed into you, dark eyes somehow darker.

“...they think I’ve formed some supernatural bond with you, some kind of blood tie…”

A choked moan slipped past your lips as he started to thrust into you, and Peter leaned down to press kisses to the corner of your mouth.

“...and they might be right, but it only cements what we both know.”

His hands pressed into the sheets beside your head, his labored breathing reaching your ears as he pulled back and snapped his hips into yours again and again. Your head was spinning from the way he dragged his cock through your clenching walls, completely unrelenting in his pace. While this technically wasn’t the first time he fucked you, it was the first time you were coherent enough to truly feel what was happening.

“Peter,” you murmured.

His nose brushed against yours with every thrust, and he released a shaky breath.

“...and what do we both know?”

There was a desperation in his eyes that took you by surprise, and your heart clenched.

“Say it...for me…”

You swallowed, lashes fluttering as he slowed down his thrusts.

“I’m yours.”

His own eyes fell closed at the admission, slowly sinking himself into you, basking in the feel of you wrapped around him.

“You gave me your blood...your body…”

He leaned down to trail kisses along your neck, rolling his hips against yours.

“...and you’ll give me your soul. You’re mine in every way a woman possibly can be. In every way a human can be,” he purred, sharp teeth grazing over your warm flesh.

His words made your stomach flutter, walls clenching around him, and just then, your phone buzzed. Like that first night, it was in your sheets somewhere, and the continuous buzzing told you that it was a phone call. You had a guess as to who it could be and what they wanted.

They were looking for Peter.

You looked to him when he paused, watching as his face darkened. He wrapped his hand around your noisy phone before throwing it at the wall, the device shattering upon impact. His dark eyes met yours again, and he kissed you, stealing your breath away as he moved within you again.

“They want to know if I’m with you...if you’re safe…”

You could feel him smiling against your lips, and your nails pressed into his sides, hanging on as he pushed his knees beneath your thighs, widening your legs and forcing a guttural moan from you.

“They think you’re in danger around me...and they’re probably right, but not the kind of danger they’re thinking of.”

One of his hands fisted itself into your hair, pulling your head back, baring your throat to him, and you knew what was coming.

“You don’t know how much I fought with myself that first night...how badly I wanted to tear into you anyway I could,” he whispered, voice strained. “You were all I thought about when I was attacked...when I changed…”

His hips sped up, the sound of slapping skin filling the room as he pistoned into you.

“For your sake, I’m glad you gave yourself to me, because I planned to take you from the very moment I stepped into your bedroom.”

His teeth pressed into your neck, breaking the skin, and your climax washed over you, euphoria clouding your mind and senses as Peter drank from you. His thrusts didn’t stop, and one hand pressed into the headboard above you, blood staining your pillow as the bed shook from the movement of his thrusts. You knew that Peter was far from done for the night, finally claiming what he felt was rightfully his.

~

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#dark!peter parker #dark peter parker #Dark!Peter #dark peter x reader #peter parker x reader #marvel fanfiction #Dark Fic