#peter ends up with a knife in his thigh

[justaz]

loki growing fond of peter and since his love language is stabbing peter ends up with a large collection of blades, some of which still have his blood on them

#loki transforming himself into a dog laying outside avengers tower #peter who must pet every single dog in existence otherwise he will Die #peter ends up with a knife in his thigh #peter tells the story to the avengers later and tony almost has an aneurism while thor laughs and recounts smth similar w him #mcu peter parker #mcu tony stark #mcu loki #mcu thor #marvel mcu #spiderman #the avengers #hc #headcanon #head canon #irondad #spiderson

[ravenromanova]

I don’t like gifts

Parings: Loki x Female reader

Warnings: SMUT SMUT SMUT DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE UNDERAGE!!!! Master kink, Unprotected sex, Fingering, Oral (m and f), Squirting, Praise kink. DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE UNDER 18+!!! Slight angst with happy ending, Fluffy Loki.

Kinkmas masterlist - Main masterlist - Send me requests!!!

~ You smiled as you put the finishing touches on the final gift for your team. This specific gift though you spent extra time in picking out and wrapping wanting to make sure it was perfect. Granted the person it was for didn’t like gifts and thought the whole holiday was stupid. But you ended up getting him some nonetheless because he deserves something nice.

Once you finished you put all the presents in a bag and headed to the living room. The sounds of christmas music and laughter filled your ears as you walked into the room. There sat your family, the people who you loved more than anything sitting around the fireplace. Smiles adorned everyone’s face as they exchanged gifts and shared stories. The only person you didn’t see though was Loki though which wasn’t surprising but still a little disappointing.

“Heya sunshine!” Steve beamed as he walked up and took the bag of presents from you to help you. “Are these for the whole team?” He asked a little shocked with how much you got everyone.

“Uh yea i might’ve gone a little overboard” You responded a little sheepishly. Steve sat the gifts next to the tree where Tony and Pepper handing out gifts to everyone.

“Might’ve is an understatement sunshine” Tony chimed in as you sat on the couch next to Wanda. You smiled shyly as Tony started handing out the gifts you got for everyone.

Bucky got two new knives and a book about astrology. Natasha received a new thigh holster and gun. Wanda got more of her favorite painting supplies. Vision got a book called “emotions for dummies” which everyone found hysterical. You got Clint new arrows to which he thanked you profusely since Kate lost all of his and you also gave him gifts for his family. Peter got new comic books. Steve got a new sketch pad and pencils. Kate got a new super suit and Lucky got a pizza toy. Yelena got three bottles of vodka and a knife. Tony and Pepper got an all expenses paid trip to cancun for a week. Morgan got endless barbie dolls and stuffed animals. Thor got ten big boxes of pop tarts. Bruce got a new lab coat and a bunch of sciencey books you didn’t understand. Pietro received three hoodies and new running shoes that he’d been wanting for a while. You also got the guardians and Carol gifts but they weren’t on earth right now so they get them when they came back. And last but not least you got Loki a first addition of pride and prejudice, two new knives with gold and green details engraved, a new journal with feather pens and a soft dark green blanket.

The reactions everyone gave to their gifts made your heart grow three sizes. Pretty much everyone gave you a hug… even the bionic staring machine which took you by surprise. And on the flip side you got more gifts than you thought possible.

Tony gave you five grand in cash. Pepper got you a huge basket of self care goodies. Morgan gave you multiple drawings of you and her doing her favorite things together. Nat and Wanda gave you a spa gift certificate claiming you need to relax more. Vision gave you the new pots and pans set you’d been wanting forever. Clint and Kate along with his family got you a puppy you named “Lucy” and some new hoodies. Bucky gave you a knife to which you both laughed. Bruce and Steve teamed up and got you atleast fifteen books. Thor gave you endless sweets and candy. Yelena gave you five bottles of your favorite liquor. Peter gave you a new supersuit that him and Tony designed specially for you. Pietro thoughtfully got you some soft throw blankets, slippers and a new stuffed unicorn.

Needless to say by the end of the gift exchange you never felt so loved by everyone. The night ended around one am when everyone decided to head to bed. But fortunately for you this was your time to give Loki his gifts. You knew he was more than likely hiding out in the library not wanting to deal with humans and their stupid holiday. So once everyone bid goodnight you gathered his gifts and headed to the library.

And of course when you entered the library there he was in all his glory. He was sitting in the bay window is the library reading a book with a slight smile on his face. The light of the moon hit his face lightly and made him look even more ethereal than normal.

“Hey Lo” You said softly as you approached him with all his gifts in hands.

“Hello” Was all he replied with making you frown a little.

“You weren’t at the gift exchange “ You stated with your brows furrowed causing him to look up at you.

“That is correct” His voice was gruff as he spoke making your knees a little weak and your heart sped up.

“Well i know you think this holiday is dumb but i still got you some gifts” Your words caused him to raise his eyebrows at you and scoff a little.

“I don’t like gifts” He said as he closed the book and turned to fully face you. The way his eyes bore into your soul made you even more nervous about giving him the gifts than before.

“Yeah well i still got you some so deal with it” The sassiness of your words surprised the both of you. He smirked and nodded his head a little telling you to hand him the gifts. You swallow your nerves and hand him the wrapped gifts with shaky hands.

Loki takes the gifts and starts unwrapping them one by one inspecting each of them as he goes. You watched as his eyes lit up as he ran his fingers across the lettering on the book, how he moved the new blades in between his fingertips, his fingers grasped the dark green fabric of the blanket and he smiled softly, and you swore he giggled a little at the new journal and pens.

“I take it back” He said suddenly as he looks at all the gifts. “I love gifts” The smile that adorned his face made your heart melt.

“You like them?” You asked nervously. Loki then stood up and took your hands into his and his blue green eyes stared into your soul.

“y/n i love them” He said honestly and you smiled brightly at his words. His hands moved up your arms and then cupped the sides of your face. “Tell me if you want me to stop” He whispered as he leaned in.

“Dont stop” You whispered back looking up at him. That was all it took for his lips to crash into yours and bring you in for a bruising and passionate kiss. The both of you simultaneously moaned at the taste of each other.

You were so caught up in the moment that you didn’t even notice that he teleported you two to his room. But eventually you had to come up for air which is when you finally realized.

“I like your room” The words were soft as they left your lips. Your eyes scanned his room and you took in the dark green couch, extremely soft looking bedding and the ancient paintings that adorned the walls. The room was decorated just like you thought it would be.

“I think you’ll like it a lot better on my bed” His boldness made you weak in the knees and arousal pool in between your thighs.

“I think i would too” You said with a smile as you climbed onto his bed. “Oh yea this is definitely better” Loki smiled as he watched you sprawl out on his bed.

“You most certainly belong there pet” His voice was low and his eyes darkened as he slowly crawled on top of you. “Such a pretty pet” He cooed rubbing his calloused fingers over your cheekbones.

“I need you” The pleading look in your eyes made his cock stir in his pants. He then flicked his wrist and suddenly you were fully naked underneath him.

“I’m going to ruin you for any other man” He husked in your ear causing a shiver to course through your body. His rough hands trailed up and down your body as he admired your beauty.

Loki slowly cupped your face again and brought you in for a much more passionate and loving kiss. He snaked his hand in between your thighs as he kissed you making you moan in his mouth.

“So wet for me” He kissed below your ear before he sat on his knees and looked at your pussy with desire. He smiled again before he decided to get comfortable in between your thighs.

Your brows furrowed in confusion . “W-What are you doing?” Your voice was laced in nervousness as you looked directly into his eyes.

“I need to taste your pet” And without any further explanation his tongue darted out and licked a bold strip asking your folds.

“Oh god!” The sensation of his warm mouth on you made your back arches off the bed and your eyes shut in pleasure.

“As much as i love hearing that title fall from your lips… it’s master to your pet” Your eyes snapped open at his words and you nodded your head in understanding. “Words pet or i wont touch you” He commanded bringing his free hand to grip your chin.

“Yes master” A smile quickly over to his face as you spoke and that was enough for him to dive back in. He spread your lips and started sucking on your clit like a man starved.

You threw your head back on the pillow feeling overwhelmed but in a good way. The sensation was something you’ve never felt before but welcomed it with open arms. The way his tongue lapped the bundle of nerves make you reel in pleasure.

“I-I’m gonna cum master” The words were broken as they fell past your lips.

“Cum for me pet be a good girl and cum” He commanded and before you even registered his words he was shoving two of his thick fingers in you.

“OH FUCK!!” Your hands flew to his raven locks and pulled for dear life at the intrusion. His fingers curled as he thrusted them into you and hit your g-spot deliciously. Before you could speak again your felt your orgasm rip through you and you came all over Loki’s face.

Loki smiled as he came up from between your thighs and he licked his fingers clean. “You taste as delicious as you look pet” His praises made your heart speed up again and another wave of arousal hit you.

“I wanna taste you master” You pleaded sitting up on your knees and moving your gave up and down his body. “Youre wearing too much clothing” You whined as your snaked your hand under his black t shirt.

“So eager to please” He smiled as he flicked his wrist again and he was naked in front of you. You couldn’t help but marvel at the god in front of you. His tanned skin, rippled abs, thick thighs, and not to mention his pretty cock. Never in your life did you ever find a man’s dick attractive but holy fuck his was perfect.

His hands on your cheeks brought you out of your trance. “Go ahead pet make your master feel good” His gruff voice was enough to send you over the edge again. You simply smiled at him and changed positions so he was laying against the pillows.

Once he was situated on the against the pillows you settled in between his thighs but not before kissing all over him first. Finally you got settled and sent him a devious smile. At first you started slow with some gentle kitten licks and kisses all up and down his shaft making sure to pay attention to the thick vein running from base to tip.

“Fuck” You heard him moan when you finally took him into your mouth. You bobbed your head up and down and luckily your gag reflex wasn’t a problem. “Just like that baby” He groaned and you hummed at the new nickname falling from his lips which in turn make his cock twitch.

You continued sucking him like a lollipop which caused a series of moans and profanities fall from his lips. Suddenly his hands were in your hair and he pulled your head up.

“As much as i’m loving this is much rather cum in you than your mouth my dear pet” He said softly rubbing his finger over toe bottom lip.

“Please” You begged him sitting back on your knees and then slowly crawled on top of his lap. His hands found home on your hips as he helped you straddle him.

“Gonna make you feel so good” Loki said with determination along with his signature smirk.

“Please master” Your begged again as you lined yourself up with his aching cock. That was all the go ahead he needed and before you knew it he was slamming himself into you.

“Oh gods” You moaned throwing your head back in pleasure. Loki gave you time to adjust to his size before he started thrusting into you.

“So fucking tight” He groaned squeezing your hips harder. Your hands flew to his chest and you held on tight as you rode him. Never in your life had you felt this full and satisfied. And now that you’ve had a taste of what being with him was like you knew you couldn’t be without him again.

“Fuck Loki i’m gonna cum!” The moan that escaped you was nothing short of sinful.

“Cum for me pet” He demanded as his thrusts became harder and rougher. It didn’t take much longer for you and him to cum with loud and pornographic moans. Loki came and filled you with every last drop of his seed till there was nothing left.

“Oh fuck” You said breathlessly as you collapsed onto his chest. “That was fucking amazing”

“Agreed” He said rubbing his hands up and down your back in a soothing manner.

“I dont want this to be a one time thing Loki” You admitted still laying on his chest not wanting to look him in the eye.

“Who said this was a one time thing darling? Who said i wasn’t planning on keeping you here forever?” He said as he brought his fingers up lightly from your chin and look up at him.

“Really?” The question came out more insecure than you wanted but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

“Really” He brought his hands to your face again ava kissed you passionately. It was that moment you knew he was the one for you.

“I love you Loki” You smiled brightly as you held onto his face.

“I love you too darling” He responded with so much passion and love in his voice something you knew was only for your abs that made it that much better.

Shortly after the both of you fell into a blissful sleep wrapped around each other. Content smiles adorned both your faces as you two slept. Neither of you thought you end up here when you first walked into the library tonight but couldn’t be happier that it did.

~The end~ A/n: I GOT WAY TO CARRIED AWAY BUT OH WELL!! i hope you enjoyed by first loki story ;)

#ravenromanova #loki laufeyson #loki laufesyon x reader #loki laufeyson x female reader #loki x reader smut #loki x reader #loki x you #loki x y/n #loki x female reader #loki x female reader smut #loki laufeyson fluff #loki laufeyson x reader #loki x female reader fluff #the god of mischief #kinkmas 2023

[makethatelevenrings]

I have no idea if the bingo card is finished yet or not (last i checked there were a few left!!)

but "What did you just say?" with Jason <3 idk it sounds...angst in a way and while I value my heart i do like a good "gasp??" read.

mwah mwah mwah <3

I said I was going to take a break tonight. I wrote this in an hour. I am a liar to myself.

He flinched when the hand landed on his shoulder. Jason Todd, the scourge of the underworld and solid wall of muscle, flinched at the touch of his partner. He shrugged you off and moved to the other side of the room so he could start stripping off his weapons and placing them in their respective cases. He’d be damned if he left a knife or gun somewhere you couldn’t see and you accidentally injured yourself.

Fuck. He was just a walking red flag for you. His very presence was a danger to your life. How many times had someone come close to you because you were Jason Todd’s partner? He could only dread the amount of people that would follow if they knew he was the Red Hood.

“What’s going on, Jase?” you asked quietly. You didn’t try to come any closer and instead you sat down on the end of the bed and watched as he went through the post-patrol motions.

“Nothing.” His voice was gruff and low as usual, but you could sense something under the veneer of ice and metal that coated that one single word. Your eyes narrowed and you repeated yourself, slower and with more intention.

“What is going on in that pretty head of yours, Jay?”

“I said nothing so stop fucking pushing,” he snapped. He slammed the lid of his gun safe a little harder than normal and he winced. He was glad his back was turned to you because he didn’t want to see the look on your face. Hell, he didn’t want you to see the look on his face. He was doing this to protect you. To keep you out of this life and away from the blood that he could never clean out from under his nails.

“No.”

The word was crisp and it cut through the silence that enveloped the apartment. Jason’s hands hovered over his thigh holsters and then his shoulders tightened. He turned around to face you, all six feet and three inches of pure muscle looming over you like a warning. His lips curled up into a sneer before he spat out his next sentence.

“What did you just say?” Venom laced his mouth and spat out into every word, coating his tongue with hatred and rage. For a brief, vicious moment, he relished in the way your nose twitched and your brows sank for just a moment, but then the venom turned to the burning acid of bile in his throat at the realization that he was hurting you from his words. He didn’t even need to use his fists.

You composed yourself and he blanched for a moment when he saw the way your hands curled up into the sleeves of his hoodie that hung off of your body. You looked so small in that moment even though he knew your personality could capture an entire room.

“I said no. I said no because you don’t get to tell me to not push. Because I know what you’re doing.”

That little hitch in your voice was nearly enough to bring him to his knees but he just glanced away and crossed his arms over his chest, as if they would defend his heart from you. As if you didn’t already hold his heart in the gentle cup of your hands.

“And if this is how you want it to go, Jason Peter Todd, then so be. So fucking be it.” Rage sparked in your eyes and he flinched just barely under the shaking tone of your voice that reeked of barely suppressed anger. “But I’m not going to sit here and let you self-destruct our life because you think that by pushing me away that you’re doing me a favor. You can take that notion right out of your head because I’m not leaving even when you’re being the biggest dick alive.”

You stood up now and your pointer finger jabbed into his chest. He could barely feel it through his body armor, but the pressure grounded him. Tears shone in your eyes and his face fell. God, you were always so good at reading him. He should have known you would catch on within seconds.

“My love has made me selfish. I cannot exist without you,” you whispered. Your jabbing finger turned into a delicate, open palm pressed against his covered heart. He dropped his head onto your shoulder and let out a long, shuddering breath.

“I am forgetful of everything but seeing you again,” he announced to his traitorous mind. He sank to his knees and pressed his forehead against your stomach. You cradled him to you, your fingers running through his sweat-soaked hair.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“I know. I know you are. I know you’ll do this again.” He had these moments after particularly violent nights. All brute strength and barbed words in the hopes that you would leave him because he knew that he was strong enough to go head to head with metahumans, but he would never be strong enough to walk out on you.

“You should leave me,” he voiced his thoughts.

“Shhh.” Your nails scratched across his scalp and he pressed himself closer to you. What a sight he made. A man kneeling in penance at the altar of his deity. He could offer nothing but his broken vessel, but you always accepted it and filled it with love, even when it leaked out and spilled onto the floor.

His fingers clutched at your hips and you laid a gentle hand on the back of his neck, your skin soft against his armor. He should pull away. He shouldn’t let his gear touch you. Taint you.

“Stop thinking,” you ordered. “Whatever you’re thinking, just let it pass. Focus on me.”

This would happen again. Not tomorrow. Tomorrow he would wake up before you and make your favorite breakfast, not as an apology but as a thanks. He would lay on the couch with his head in your lap as you read aloud whatever you were currently reading. He would kiss you with the sweetness you deserve and love you with the heart he should have.

But when he came home with that look in his eyes in a month or maybe even in a year, and he got ready to push you away, you would simply sit on the edge of the bed and bring a grown man to his knees.

#jason todd x reader #jason todd imagine #red hood x reader #red hood imagine #red hood angst #honey's 3k celebration

[blooming-violets]

CREATURE LIKE ME || CHAPTER SEVEN: MURDERER

[TASM Peter Parker!Werewolf AU]

Story Summary: Kraven and his guild of hunters have been tracking and quelling the werewolf population for centuries. The time has come for Aylin to complete her first solo hunt to prove herself to the guild. It was supposed to be simple. One wolf, one death, one victory. She never expected to end up with a secret hostage on her hands.

Chapter Seven Warnings (spoilers): this chapter contains a SA scene and a depiction of a murder

[link to chapter index]

Aylin leaned her shoulder against the stone wall and watched with a placid detachment as Kraven carried the naked wolf girl over to the table. He laid her limp body down with a sort of tenderness Aylin wasn’t used to seeing from him. The wolf girl’s eyes remained closed. Though, her dark, wet lashes clumped together as if she had been silently crying only moments ago. Through the thick layers of dirt and caked over blood, her body was painted with a myriad of scars. Old and new. Knife slices, whip slashings, bruises, bite marks. Aylin could make constellations out of the red marks of abuse hidden among her black and purple galaxy skin. Whatever she had experienced down here, the wolf girl had experienced much, much worse. 

Her death was the last piece of the puzzle for Aylin to gain her freedom 

Her life would amount to nothing more than a final sacrifice. One life traded for another. Her death meant Aylin could live again. 

And Aylin didn’t even know the girl’s name.

Kraven took a step back from the table and observed the young girl with a quiet contemplation, “Don’t ever mention this to Calypso but I think I’ve grown a bit fond of the wolf. She was a fierce fighter for being such a little thing but, alas, everyone gets broken in the end. Look at her now. Wasted away to nothing. Her blood has served me well. Even now, it still courses through my system. They only last a few hours inside of you depending on how much you drink before the effects start to wear off. I tell you, it’s like a power you’ve never felt in all your life, Aylin. Truly an addicting substance. It’s no wonder the wolves fight so hard to stay alive. They must feel incredible all the time.” He paused to glance down at the girl, rethinking his statement. “Well, not all the time.”

Aylin pushed herself off the wall and padded over to where he stood. Each step shot an agonizing, fiery pain up her thigh. She had to position her legs further apart than usual so her thighs didn’t rub together. Even with Calypso’s special salve covering her brand, it still seared red hot and angry. 

“Why are you telling me this?” She muttered, standing at his side. “What you and Calypso are doing is a direct betrayal to the guild. You’re consuming the blood of the enemy. You’re drinking wolf blood. Does that make you a werewolf, too? Are you one of them now?” 

The guild had no prior knowledge on how Lycan were made as far as she knew. Wolves kept their secrets close to their chest but the Colt’s always assumed it had something to do with consuming their blood. Peter only mentioned that a person could be turned or born into it. He never stated how that transformation took place. It seemed like blood would be a key factor in it, though. 

Kraven gave her a side eye and shrugged, “Who are you going to tell? You’ve been branded with the Kravinoff emblem. You’re one of mine now. If I go down, you go down.” 

Kravinoff emblem. This symbol of the sun belonged to the entire Silver Colt guild. It wasn’t something only for him to claim. Her mother wore a golden sun pendant around her neck. Her father had it tattooed on his shoulder. She had it embroidered into her hunting jacket. That didn’t mean they were all claimed by Kraven. The sun united them together against the moon worshiping Lycan. It didn’t claim them. Her brand meant nothing to her except a physical reminder that she lived a lifetime of lies. Her sun, charred into her skin like a farmer’s cattle, did not signify anything other than a sun. She gave it no power over her. No matter who manipulated her body, her mind would never belong to anyone but herself. 

Unless he managed to sever what little grasps of sanity she was still desperately clinging to down here.

“We’re not werewolves,” he stated. “Neither Cal nor I have experienced any change besides feeling stronger and more youthful than usual. We’re not one of them. We’re just enhancing our bodies to be better hunters. Clearly, blood isn’t what transforms a person. We were wrong in our assumptions.” 

The Silver Colts were wrong about a lot of things. 

The broken, naked wolf girl laying half unconscious in front of them was one of those things. 

They were two abused, degraded women confined to a torture chamber with a hot-headed narcissist and his psychopathic wife. It didn’t matter where either of the girls originally came from, only that they ended up in the same place, at the same time. While one’s story was going to end in this room, the other’s was just about to begin. 

Aylin stepped forward when she noticed the girl shivering. She had no comfort to offer her, no blanket, or clothes for warmth. All she had was herself. Aylin placed a hand over the girl’s forehead and gently stroked it over her hair like her mother used to do for her when she was ill. She could tell the girl had a high fever from the heat radiating from her skin and the cool, clammy sweat clinging to her forehead. Her body was starting to shut down. 

"Give me your shall, Sergei,” she demanded. 

Kraven shrugged it off and passed it over. Ever since he branded her, he’d been much more compliant to her wants. It seems she had him fooled. When he told her she would want for nothing if she agreed to his terms, she didn’t think it would happen so quickly. As long as he still believed she would give her body over to him, he seemed to adhere to her. 

Aylin draped the Lycan shall over the girl’s torso. She was so petite that it nearly reached from her shoulders to her ankles. Aylin rubbed her hands down the girl’s arms to help warm the chill in her bones. She hoped that maybe the feel of Lycan fur against her skin might be of some comfort to her. She was so out of it that Aylin hoped she wouldn’t take much notice of the morbidity of the pelt. 

“You’ll be home soon,” she leaned down to whisper in her ear. “You’ll be welcomed home by the ones you love. Think of your mother. Your father. Anyone who brings you comfort. Imagine their faces smiling back at you. They love you so much and they’re so excited to see you again. Your pain is all gone. It’s all over. You did so well. You were so strong but now it’s time to rest. You’re ready to go home.”

The wolf girl gave a quiet moan, her brows scrunched together, and then relaxed as a small smile graced her chapped lips. It wasn’t much but it’s what Aylin would have wanted to imagine as her last thoughts on this plane of existence. She’d want to be thinking of the people she loved most in her world. In times like these, she missed her big brother. He would have noticed she was missing. He would have come searching for her. She wondered what Emir’s last thoughts were as the bullet lodged into him and blood poured from his stomach. She wondered if he thought of her or their mother right before the wolf’s teeth sunk into his flesh. 

Peter’s teeth. 

She couldn’t think about that. She had to push that thought away. All this time she had been searching for reasons to hate him to make killing him easier. Here it was. Right in front of her. The perfect answer to all her problems. And, still, she couldn’t find a single ounce of hate left in heart to aim at him. He was too soft. Gentle. Caring. Sad. Those big, grief-stricken solid brown eyes. 

She didn’t hate him anymore than she hated the girl in front of her.  

Aylin could feel Kraven’s stare burning a hole in the back of her skull but she refused to turn around. This was between her and the girl. If she was going to kill her, she was going to do it her way. Her freedom came with a heavy price and she wasn’t going to pay it lightly. 

“What’s your name?” She whispered down to the girl. 

The wolf mumbled out some pained, unintelligible sounds. Her dulling emerald eyes cracked open into tiny slits to look up at her. 

“Stop delaying the inevitable,” she croaked out. “My name will not save me. You don’t deserve to know it. It’s all I have left that is mine and only mine. I’ll take it to my grave.”

She was right. Her name would not save her but it would soothe a piece of Aylin’s frantic mind. It would give the girl an identity she could hold onto after her death. A name to remember her by when she thought of her in the future. She would not have to be the nameless Lycan ruthlessly slaughtered at her hands. She was also correct in saying that Aylin didn’t deserve to know. Knowing that bit of personal information would only be used to serve Aylin, not the girl. She would be dead whether Aylin knew it or not. She didn’t care how her memory stuck around with a Silver Colt. She had the right to keep the last of her secrets even if it left a heavy weight of guilt and unsolved answers on Aylin’s mind. 

She reached her hand behind her back, “Give me your dagger, Sergei. Let’s finish this.” 

She felt the hilt press into her hands.

“I don’t want blood all over my sh-” Kraven started to speak but Aylin cut him off. 

“It will wash out.” 

She was hyper focused, zeroing in, on where she assumed the forever nameless wolf girl’s heart was under her chest. She wanted to be as precise and quick as she could to make it as painless as possible. 

This was going to happen. She was going to take her life. Right here. Right now. It was suddenly too real. 

Aylin’s vision blurred but she fought off the tears. In another world, it could have been Peter laying here, half dead, with her dagger raised above his chest. This was what he wanted from her. He wanted her face to be the last he saw. He wanted this death at her hands. In another world, she would have never hesitated. Now, she couldn’t see past the haze of tears clouding her sight. The lump in her throat grew heavier with each passing second. 

All she wanted was to go home. 

“Once I do this, I can go?” She asked, her voice thick with heartbreak, seeking assurance that this won’t all be for nothing. “I get to walk out of here and go back home to my mom?” 

Kraven paused for a beat too long. His silence was deafening. 

The hairs on the back of her neck stood up as all the alarm bells started ringing in her head, “Sergei? Answer me.” 

When she got no response, Aylin whipped around to face him, overcome with dizziness at how fast she spun. Whatever numbing drugs were in that tea earlier had all worn off. She could feel every twinge of pain branching out through her entire body. Her knees felt weak like they were struggling to hold her own weight. Her rapid heartbeat sent shockwaves of anxiety penetrating through her chest. Kraven’s dark eyes bore into her with a look that told her all she needed to know. 

She was not going home. 

Ever.

“After you complete the ritual, I will bring you upstairs. I will bathe you, Calypso will reclean your wounds, and then I will bring you to bed to rest for the remainder of the night. While there, I will have you tied. You are not to be fully trusted. Not yet. You will not experience this basement again, as long as you behave, but you will not have the freedom you seek. You are mine now, Aylin. You made a promise to me. We will care for you, treat you kindly, but you will not leave until your deal is done. You have promises to keep and debts to fulfill.”

There was no freedom in her future. She was still a prisoner. She was naive to think she’d ever be anything other than that after experiencing this basement. This was going to break her mother. She wouldn’t ever be able to understand the weight of what Aylin did to get in this position. She would never understand where her daughter went or why she disappeared. Peter would think she abandoned him. He’d think she chose her guild over him. He’d never know just how alike they really were or how much comfort the memories of him brought her down here. He’d never know how much she fought just to keep him safe. She trimmed off parts of her soul for him and she’d only be remembered as another disappointment in his life. All the pain she suffered through was for nothing. All hope was lost as the reality of her situation took over. 

A single tear slipped through her tight hold to carve a path down her bruised cheek. 

She swallowed at the lump in her throat threatening to send her into hysterics. She was so weak, in so much pain, and so tired that her willpower to keep upright was draining. She bit down on her bottom lip to keep it from quivering and turned around to face the girl. 

Her death would truly mean nothing when there was no hope left to be had. There was no escape in sight. 

Aylin wished they could trade places. Death was better than what Kraven had in store for her. She wished she was the one on the table instead, waiting for the dagger to hit, waiting for it all to end. Death was the only escape from Kraven. The girl had helped to grow her fire and give her hope when Aylin was at her lowest. Now, there was only darkness. For both of them. 

Give ‘em hell. 

The time for hell giving had passed. She had missed her shot. Even with Kraven’s dagger clutched tightly in her hand, she knew she couldn’t overpower him. The drugs had worn off. She could hardly hold her own arm above her head. Her shoulder muscles trembled as she wrapped both hands around the hilt and hovered it over the wolf girl’s chest. 

At least she could end the girl’s misery before Aylin’s own life was lost to Kraven. She’d be a murderer but at least the girl wouldn’t have to suffer any further at the hands of a Silver Colt.

She could have the freedom Aylin dreamed of. 

“I’m sorry,” she mouthed, mostly as an apology for herself since the girl’s eyes were closed. 

I’m sorry it had to be this way. I’m sorry I was a part of a life that caused you so much suffering. I’m sorry I wasn’t strong enough to get either of us out. I’m sorry it was all for nothing. 

A massive portion of her carved up soul would be shed with this futile murder. 

She wasn’t sure how much soul she had left to hand over. 

Kraven placed a steading hand against Aylin’s hip, “We’ve wanted her dead for some time but something about having her blood in our system made it impossible to kill her ourselves. It was like that with Parker, too, all those years ago. Like it’s their last defense against death. We figured we might as well keep her around until someone took care of it for us. Your failed solo hunt was a perfect opportunity for that. Or so we thought.” He grazed his nails up her side as he molded his pelvis against her bottom. “All will be set right soon enough. Pierce down with enough force to break through her sternum then use the curve of the dagger to pull downwards towards her stomach and rip her open.”

Aylin could feel his cock twitching against her ass as he spoke. He was getting off on the thought of mutilation. She let her hatred for him blaze through her and push out the hopeless numbing that had taken hold. He ruined her life. He had a hand in her every move even before her own conception. He had lied and manipulated and murdered and tortured until he got what he wanted.

Well, he did it. He got his prize. Here she was, branded and claimed by him, doing exactly what he wanted like his obedient, little pet. She’d kill for him. She’d spread her legs for him. She’d birth his children. She’d lose every bit left of herself because he gave her no other options. Groomed until she was nothing but a shadow of who she once was. She wasn’t just killing the wolf girl today. She was killing herself along with her. 

Aylin steadied her shaking breath and closed her eyes. She mentally placed herself on the table instead. She looked down into her own hazel eyes and hated the woman she saw staring back. Her hair was clean and waved around her soft, rounded cheeks. There was no blood or bruising painting her skin, only an air of innocence written all over her face that she no longer recognized. There was sadness and grief too but nothing like the hollow emptiness she felt now. This was the woman she was before she left on her solo hunt. This was the woman who she had been before she found Peter and learned the truth. A woman kept in the dark and living a life of lies. 

She could never be this woman again. She could never go back. That Aylin was gone. Forever. 

With a rage driven, exasperated, feral scream ripping from her throat, she drove the dagger straight down with every bit of declining strength she had left in her body. Her stab landed true. The wolf girl never even opened her eyes to watch the incoming blow. She never cried out in pain. Her body simply jerked into itself at the sudden attack but quickly collapsed, listlessly, back against the table. 

A spray of warm blood splashed against Aylin’s face. It splattered across her clenched mouth. Without thinking, she instinctively licked at her lips to remove it, tasting the copper there. She stumbled backwards into Kraven in shock. Her legs gave out. She collapsed onto the floor. She couldn’t finish the job. Not yet. She was too weak. It had taken everything she had in her to make sure she killed the girl with a single strike. Her body was failing her as the adrenaline flooded through her veins. The clotting wounds on her back ripped open. Her blistering thigh rubbed with a searing fire against her other leg. A flash of horrified agony ricocheted through her body. She was unsure if the pain was physical or mental. 

It didn’t matter. 

The wolf girl was dead. Aylin was dead. She had killed them both. 

Murderer. 

Kraven was crouched by Aylin’s side. He was scooping her limp form into his lap as he sat on the floor. His hands were all over her. Grabbing at her ass. Groping her chest. Pushing against the thin fabric protecting between her thighs. Pulling back her underwear to probe his finger inside of her. His tongue was bathing over her blood splattered lips. Lapping it up. Licking along the blood on her cheeks. Pushing his blood stained tongue back into her mouth to forcefully tangle with hers. She could taste the metallic as it mixed with the salt from her flowing tears. She couldn’t move to stop the assault on her body. Her hands were shaking as she openly sobbed, losing all control, while he molested her. 

He was moaning into her mouth, “You look so sexy covered in blood. I’m doing everything in my power not to fuck you over the table but you need to finish what you started. Soon…soon…I can have you soon.” 

He was collecting her in his arms and pushing them to a stand as the basement spun around her. She couldn’t catch her breath as the whirlwind of spiraling emotions overtook her. Her vision fuzzed black around the edges. She felt like she might vomit except there was no food in her stomach to bring up. All that was there was the taste of acid burning up her throat. 

Kraven steadied her in front of the dead wolf girl, holding her upright by clutching onto her hips. There was a desperation of longing in his voice, “Now finish the job. Get her heart. Throw it in the fire. And we can finally put this behind us.”

She could never put this behind her. She would never shed herself from this guilt. 

Murderer.

Aylin stared down at the dagger sticking from the wolf girl’s chest. Dark, fresh blood soaked over her small breasts and trickled in thick, slow lines down her side to pool over the table and sink into the cracks in the wood. There was no name to remember her by. Nothing to memorialize her with. There would be no loved ones to mourn for her. No happy memories shared between old friends. No last goodbyes. They would burn her body until there was nothing left but the polluted memories Aylin held. She was gone with nothing to show for her sacrifice. 

Peter was right about the Silver Colts. 

They were a bunch of violent murders. She included herself in that group. She deserved everything Kraven did to her. She deserved to be punished for her crimes. 

Her slack hands were being placed back on the hilt of the bloody dagger by Kraven. He wanted her to finish this quickly so he could get to fucking her. 

She couldn’t move anymore. She was only remaining upright because his arm was wrapped around her waist. Everything about her was limp. 

“I know you’re weak but just a little more. We’re almost done. I’ll help guide yo-”

He was cut off by an ear splitting shriek from upstairs. 

They both froze and whipped their heads towards the sound. 

“Sergei!” Calypso was shouting. There was fear evident in her voice. It was an unusual, alarming sound to hear from her. From the look on Kraven’s face, it was one he didn’t hear often. They listened to her hurried footsteps banging above their heads as she ran towards the bookcase door to throw it open. “We’re under attack! Fire!” 

His brows furrowed with confusion and he pulled away from Aylin, “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”

She tumbled against the table, holding herself upright with her forearms, and watched as he leaped up the stairs and disappeared from view. 

A hushed, breathless silence fell over the basement.

Aylin stared down at the wolf girl then back to the stairs. She was alone. Uncuffed. 

Her heart leapt with a sense of hope she thought was long lost. 

She could hear a frenzied commotion happening above her. Lots of bewildered shouting. Lots of stomping footsteps back and forth. 

Aylin pushed herself up and away from the table. She took a few stumbling steps towards the stairs before collapsing at the bottom. Her knees cracked against the concrete floor but she was shocked to find that there was hardly any pain as her bones made contact with the hard surface. She stretched out her back, waiting to feel the terrible sting of her wounds, but felt merely a light tickle. 

Her breath began to grow rapidly as a wave of warmth spread throughout her veins. She could feel the liquid fire traveling down her arms and into her finger tips. It spread throughout her chest and coursed down her legs as it consumed her entire body in its bathing glow. Aylin squeezed her eyes shut then reopened them, searching around the basement as if she was taking in an entirely new sight. What was once dark, damp, and dreary was now exploding with colors she never noticed before. She could make out each varied speckle of gray and brown and tan in the cobblestone walls. The light from the still burning fire raged in beautiful hues of deep orange and vibrant yellows. Light danced across each surface like a delicate ballet for her eyes to savor. 

A strength flowed through her. A power unlike any she’d ever felt. Aylin had never been a weak person apart from when she’d been tortured into submission. She had always been physically strong and capable. But this…this was different. This was an inhuman type of strength. Something was happening to her body. A change was taking over. 

She stared down at her bloodied hands in front of her, able to make out every line of her skin with a rapidly improving vision. She focused in on the different tints of red, some dark, some lighter, that stained her fingers. It wasn’t her blood. It was the wolf girl’s. 

Lycan blood. 

Aylin’s eyes widened as she staggered to her feet. She had tasted Lycan blood. It had only been a few drops but clearly that was enough for it to have an effect. It was morphing the very fabric of her being with each passing second that ticked by. Her strength returned to her in a way she never thought possible. 

The unmistakable smell of smoke reached her nose to drag her attention away from her shocking, new developments. Her sight darted up the stairs. The bookcase had been left open. Thick, gray and black smoke was starting to billow through the door and creep along the ceiling down the stairs. She could hear the blaze of roaring fire as clearly as if it was in the room with her. She could hear Kraven and Calypso moving in a panic above her. The accuracy of her acute hearing allowed her to place them directly in the kitchen. They were distracted. 

This was her one chance. 

Aylin paused for only a moment to take one last look at the Lycan girl, nodding her head in her direction as a silent sign of respect, before she darted up the stairs with a remarkable agility for someone who could hardly stand only moments ago. The last gift the girl had given her was that of her blood. It was a gift she would not waste. She would get out of this hell. She would regain back control. She would enact revenge on both their behalf. The Lycan would not die in vain. Aylin would make sure her death was not wasted. 

She burst across the Kravinoff hallway, emerging from the basement like a gazelle escaping a lion. Her elbow slammed into the opposite wall to break her stride. She wasn’t used to being able to run this fast. Her body surged with power and speed. It electrified her skin. Vibrant colors flashed across her vision, swirling around her, as she stumbled down the hallway. She could hear every panicked breath the couple took in the room beside her. The heavier, deeper one was Kraven’s, panting in anger, as he tried to douse the growing flames. The lighter, more birdlike breathes were Calypso, desperately spraying water from the kitchen sink hose. She could hear their every breath even over the sounds of the roaring fire. Through sound alone she could visualize the fire crawling up the kitchen curtains and licking at their house made of wood. If they weren’t fast, it would quickly eat up everything in its path. Smoke rolled out into the hallway and slithered with thick layers of black over her head. She crouched down to keep under it. Whatever had started the fire had been her saving grace. She may have killed off her old self in that basement but she would be reborn again thanks to the flames. A phoenix emerging from the ashes. 

Aylin made her way down the hall with a near silent stealth in the opposite direction of the kitchen fire until she landed at their backdoor. All it took was a quick switch of the lock for the door to push open. 

She leapt into the chilly night air and broke out into a sprint back towards her house. 

Running for her life.

Running for her freedom. 

Her lungs expanded and filled as she drew gulps of air into them. It tasted sweeter than honey. The night had never looked so bright like she was gifted with her own personal night vision. She would have guessed it was morning if it weren’t for the explosion of stars plastered in the sky through the treetops. They were brighter than ever before as she neared a clearing in the overhead branches. Beautiful. Stunning. She could have been looking at a photograph straight from the Webb Space Telescope. The sight was so mesmerizing, her frantic sprint slowed to a light jog. She couldn’t pull her eyes from the vibrant milky way splitting across the sky. 

She could stare at its hypnotic beauty for hours. 

The sounds of screams drew her back down to planet Earth. Her head darted around to search through the woods for the alarms. Through the trees she caught sight of another blazing fire down the dirt road from Kraven’s cabin. Behind that fire was another breaking out. Three different houses were ablaze. Distraught shrieks of chaos erupted in their little town. She could hear people running into the woods, running towards the destruction, all trying to extinguish the flames before their entire forest went up like a box of tinder. The Silver Colts were under attack. This was no accident. Those fires were intentional. They were being targeted. Houses were being set to burn while everyone slept. 

Her newly eagle eyed vision set straight towards her own home. They lived on the outer edge of town. It was quiet and dark in that direction. Her mother would still be safe. Aylin left the chaos behind her and sprinted, barefoot and nearly naked, through the forest towards her chance at freedom. 

The mossy ground under foot hardly touched her soles before she was pushing off again. Her heart pounded wildly in her chest. Her hair blew out from behind her like a cape as she took flight. She sprinted like her life depended on it. She ran from that basement with every ounce of strength the Lycan blood allowed her to have. Every smell consumed her, every breath felt like ice in her lungs, every sight swirled in pools of color around her until she no longer felt human. 

The spirit of the wolf soared beside her and carried her in record time to the one place she thought she might never see again. 

Her charming, humble cabin with its peeling, painted brown wood and faded, white trimmed windows. It had never looked so perfect, so dreamy, so inviting in her life. Tears flowed freely down her cheeks as she jogged towards her safe haven. Pine needles softened her tread under her bare feet to welcome her home. 

She slammed open the front door, accidentally ripping it from its hinges, and stumbled inside. She was drunk from the overwhelming power flooding her body. 

“Mom!” She screamed into the quiet house. “Mom! Wake up! We have to go! We have to get out! 

A small, black shadow darted out from under the couch and past her ankles in reaction to her cries. She jumped back with a shocked yelp, ready to pounce and attack the intruder until her sights settled on the frightened cat lurking under a table leg and eyeing her suspiciously. 

“Fuck, Kedi. Scared the shit outta me. Fuckin’ cat,” she mumbled, holding her hand over her chest.

Her breath was catching in her throat. Her heart was racing. She was finding it harder and harder to breathe the longer she stood still. Her body needed to run. Move. Jump. Climb. Fight. Anything. Her emotions all tumbled together along with every new smell. She could smell the sweet scent of lavender vanilla from her mother’s body lotion clinging to every surface. She could smell Kedi’s dander in his fur. She could smell the spinach and feta filled gözleme her mother had eaten for dinner still lingering in the air even though hours had passed since it was last cooked. 

“Mom!” 

The sound of her own voice was too shrill in her ears. She could hear a battering ram chorus of moth wings hitting against the porch light. Every pur rumbling inside Kedi’s chest, as he slinked out from under the table to rubbed his side across her legs, vibrated in her own head. Her heart beat was thumping in her ears at an unnaturally rapid pace. 

“Mom! Wake up! We have to…have to…go…” 

It was too loud. Her skull was cracking under the pressure of her own voice. The smells were making her dizzy. Colors blurred together and swirled in front of her spinning eyes. 

Aylin stumbled through the living room towards her mother’s bedroom door, shoving it open, and collapsing onto the cold, hardwood floor. 

Her bed was empty. The sheets were pulled back and tossed to the side like she had run from a sound sleep. Her slippers and robe were missing. She must have heard the commotion in the village. She must have heard the fires and gone to help. 

Except that Aylin would have met her along the way. She would have seen her running in the opposite direction. 

Something wasn’t right. 

Aylin’s breath was picking up speed into quick, short bursts. Her knees and forearms dug into the wood under her as she pressed her throbbing forehead down to the floor. Her entire world was shifting, tilting back and forth, until she felt like she couldn’t hold on any longer. What was left of her fingernails, clawed into the wood in a desperate attempt to try and keep her balance. 

There was too much stimulation piling on and suffocating her from every angle. There was no place she was safe, nowhere to hide, when it was her own body fighting against her. 

She clasped her palms tightly over her ears and let out a deafening shriek, curling tighter into herself, and begging for it all to be over. 

An arm snaked around her neck and a warm, strong hand tightened over her mouth to silence her.  

Her eyes shot open. She could hear everything but she couldn’t hear her attacker approaching.  In an instant, she scrambled out of the hold, flailing onto her back, to violently kick up at her assailant. 

Kraven had found her. He was going to drag her back. He was going to hurt her. He was going to-

Peter caught her ankle in his grasp before she could make contact with his chest and lunged on top of her. He pinned her to the ground, hand covering her mouth to keep her from screaming, and fastened his knees over her arms as he sat on her chest to stop her from striking him. 

“Shut up,” he hissed. “It’s just me.”

Aylin blinked up at him in confusion. All her senses that had been launched into overdrive, redirected themselves onto him instead. The edges of his outline waved in front of her bloodshot eyes but his face was as clear as it could get. His chocolate brown eyes had always seemed so dark and solid of color to her before. Now, they were flecked with specks of lighter caramels and circled his pupils with a honeyed bronze. They were nearly as bewitching as staring into the night sky. 

Her lips parted as she stared, wide eyed, up at him. Frozen in place. Mesmerized by the details of his face. His thick eyebrows raised in confusion. The way his nose dipped into a perfect slope. His succulent bottom lip peeking out from under his scraggly mustache. Every freckle over his tanned skin and every soft hair on his head was crafted with a transcended beauty. 

He was back. 

He was still here. 

He hadn’t left her. 

“We don’t have a lot of time,” he hurried her. “We have to get out of here. We have to-” He paused as he focused down on her face. “Are you okay?”

She shook her head ‘no’, still unable to pull her attention away from his eyes. They were like a cup of steaming hot coffee on a cold, rainy morning. Comforting and safe. If she dared to look away, the overwhelming senses would flood her again. He was her anchor keeping her from getting lost in the thrashing waves.  

“Your pupils are blown out. Your heart is racing. I can smell the adrenaline sweating out of you. Your skin is on fire,” he rolled off of her in horror, taking in the sight of her injuries and dried blood, slowly connecting the dots, “You look like…are you…” 

“Lycan blood,” she breathed. “I can feel everything and nothing at all. I’m falling and flying at the same time. I’m broken and whole. My brain is on fire. I feel like…like….’m gonna…” 

“Have a heart attack? Because that’s exactly what’s about to happen,” he hissed through worried, clenched teeth. “Your heart is about to explode if you don’t calm yourself. Not everyone is built to handle wolf blood, Aylin. It’s going to kill you if you can’t calm down.”

Her skin was tingling and breaking out a cold sweat. An uncomfortable, squeezing pressure gripped at her chest as her heart raced. Her breath felt constricted in her throat. Waves of panic rocked over her. 

Kraven was going to find her. 

Her mother was missing. 

She killed the Lycan girl. 

Murderer. 

“Peter,” she whimpered. “‘M don’ feel good.” 

“Fuck,” his distressed eyes darted around the room before landing back on her paling face. “Okay. I need you to listen to me, Aylin. You need to calm your body. You over stressed yourself. Pushed yourself too far. I’m gonna sit ya up, ‘kay?” 

He wrapped a protective arm behind her neck to avoid the wraps covering her back and helped her into a sitting position. He carefully leaned her back against her mother’s bed. He knelt down between her open legs and gently grasped her face in his large hands, covering her ears to help muffle the overpowering noises hitting her from every direction. 

“Follow my breaths,” he whispered. Even with her ears covered, she could still hear him perfectly. “Breathe with me.”

Peter pressed his forehead against her sweat drenched one, locking his eyes with her, as he demonstrated taking a deep, long breath. She held onto the intoxicating color of his eyes like a drowning person clings to a life preserve and followed his lead. 

Deep inhale for four seconds. Hold it for seven. Exhale for eight. 

Repeat. 

Inhale. Four. Hold it. Seven. Exhale. Eight. 

Peter continued the process until the sounds of her pounding heart started to slow back to a normal rhythm. The adrenaline leaving her body caused her to slump over with her cheek resting on the cool floor as he gently released her from his hold. She curled herself into the fetal position. 

The weight of Peter’s heavy hand, his palm pressing against her forehead, feeling her temperature, gave her the tiniest warmth of comfort. She let her eyes close and leaned into his touch. He would protect her. If Kraven came calling, he would keep her safe. 

He belonged to her. That’s what she had told him right before she dragged him from his confinement. Peter Parker was hers. She was safe with her Lycan but he wasn’t safe in the Silver Colts territory. They had to leave before the fires were put out. They had to get out before Kraven noticed her missing. Their time here was limited. 

The fight was leaving her body. She felt like her entire soul was draining out of her pores as exhaustion replaced the adrenaline. 

“I have to find my mom,” she muttered through sleepy breaths. “I have to get us out of here.” 

He swallowed, his attention flashing between his concern for her wellbeing and keeping an attentive eye on what was happening outside of the cabin, “I think the Lycan blood is leaving your system. Your heart has calmed down. You’re going to be okay. The worst of it is over but you’re going to crash once it’s completely gone. It’ll suck out every last bit of energy you have left. I have to get you out of here before you’re out cold.” 

He wasn’t listening to what she was saying. 

“My mom-” 

“How much blood did you get?” He asked, interrupting her. 

“Jus’ a drop or two,” she murmured. “Peter. My mom. Hafta find her. Gotta get’us out. All of us.” 

“Well, she’s not here, is she? We can’t go looking for her or wait for her to come back! There’s no time!” He shot angrily in her direction. He pushed himself up to his feet and paced anxiously around the room. “Where are your car keys?” 

Aylin tried to lift her head off the floor but was overcome with a nauseating dizziness.

“Left ‘em on the table on the porch before…before…he…”

She let her words trail off, unable to finish her sentence. 

Peter darted from the bedroom in search of the keys. She groaned. He wasn’t listening. He wasn’t going to look for her mother. He couldn’t be seen out there. She couldn’t be seen here. There was no time. Nesrin would have to find her own way out but she knew nothing of the true horrors lying under the surface of this guild.  

Aylin pushed herself onto shaky legs. She clutched onto her mother’s mattress as the room spun. Her eyes squeezed shut until she was able to steady her vision once more. When her eyes reopened, they focused in on Kedi sitting quietly on the mattress in front of her, gazing at her curiously with wide, amber eyes. He got up and headbuttted the top of his head into her arm as if willing her to keep moving. 

“Thanks, bud,” she whispered down to him. “‘M okay. I’ll be okay. Jus’ hafta go away for a little while. I got’ta warn mom.” 

She gathered what was left of her strength to shuffle towards the door and out into their small kitchen. Through the smudged, glass window over their sink, she could see out into the dark forest. Her sight wasn’t as vivid as had it been when she first ran from the basement. It was already settling back to its normal state. A blazing fire in the far distance illuminated through the dark trees. There was only one now. She couldn’t tell who’s house it belonged to but, whoever it was, there wouldn’t be much left once it burned out. The entire village would be focused on helping their neighbors but, once the fire was under control, they would be out for blood. A hunt like never before would begin. The village had never been directly attacked like this before. The Silver Colts would not take this lightly. Her and Peter needed to be as far away as possible. Any Lycan within the area, or anyone seen conspiring with one, would have their head on a spike. Literally. 

She wondered if it was Peter who started those fires. 

It must have been. 

With a surge of unmistakable devotion, Aylin reached for the empty grocery notepad left hanging on the refrigerator. She grabbed a pen from the kitchen drawer and scribbled a quick note. 

“Take dad’s truck and get out. Don’t speak to anyone. Trust no one. Pack as little as possible and run as fast as you can. Go to a hotel. Somewhere with people. Not safe here. I love you. I’ll find you again soon. -A” 

Peter had saved her. He had given her a way to escape. He had taken her from the clutches of her prison just like she had done for him. He did not abandon her and showed up when she needed him most. Her infatuation for him was growing. 

Maybe she was wrong. Maybe he didn’t belong to her. They belonged to each other. 

Aylin took a step away from the note and stumbled backward. The pain was starting to return. She was so tired. So broken. Her legs couldn’t hold her up any longer. Everything was draining just like Peter said.  

Her sight blackened around the edges as her knees gave out. 

Before she could hit the kitchen floor, Peter wrapped her up in his muscular arms. The last thing she felt was the feeling of safety as he cradled her to his chest, his voice echoing in her drifting mind. 

“I’ve got you. You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

[CHAPTER EIGHT]

Tag List Requirements: 🌒A reblog of this chapter will automatically put you onto the next chapter tag list. If you no longer wish to be put on the next list, simply don’t reblog this chapter. The list is updated with every chapter depending on who reblogged.🌔

TagList: @theorgansarerotting @sincericida @moonyslove78 @lazyxsquirrel @101maverick

A/N: Please remember that writers love to listen to every tiny, little thought you’ve had about their work. If you liked something in particular, let us know! We love to hear it!

#andrew garfield #andrew garfield fanfiction #andrew garfield fic #andrew garfield peter parker #tasm #tasm fic #tasm fanfiction #peter parker #peter parker fic #peter parker fanfiction #tasm au #the amazing spiderman #creature like me #creature like me chapter seven #blooming violets fic #blooming violets

[ao3feed-irondadspiderson]

death on two legs

https://archiveofourown.org/works/55042864 by lessiemarsh "There’s a knife buried in Peter’s leg. Not the little pocket knife, because that’s just his luck, but the large serrated blade is stuck nearly to the hilt in his left thigh. His hand hovers around the handle for a split second before he takes a quick breath, tightens his fist, and yanks it out with a barely contained whine. Blood sprays. It sprays in a way that if it were in a horror movie, you’d condemn the director for how unreal it was-- how it ruined the immersion-- but this is real and it just sprays out of Peter’s leg like he doesn’t need it to survive. Peter drops the knife. It hardly has time to clatter to the ground before a sharp, rusted pole pierces through Peter’s stomach." OR peter thought it'd be a good idea to mess with the suits programming again and ends up getting kabobbed, then refuses to call tony for help until its almost too late. WORK IN PROGRESS title undecided lolz Words: 4496, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English Fandoms: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Categories: Gen Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Pepper Potts, Aunt May Parker (Marvel) Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Pepper Potts & Tony Stark, Aunt May Parker & Peter Parker Additional Tags: Hurt Peter Parker, Protective Tony Stark, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Bathing/Washing, (between tony and pepper), Blood Loss, Impalement, Stabbing, Awesome Pepper Potts, Delirium, Surgery, Laparotomy, Near Death Experiences, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism read it on AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/55042864

#IFTTT #ao3feed #fanfic #iron dad and spider son #spider son #iron dad #peter parker #tony stark

[sublimecatgalaxy]

22, prompt list, billy Hargrove, nsfw

Teasing him all day and trying to get out of punishment. You pickin up what I’m putting down??😼

I did something similar to this last night but I like using the prompts.

I can tell that he's frustrated in more ways than one; the way his eyes avoid mine, the way his cheeks are slightly flushed in arousal as my foot trails up the inside of his calf. His teeth are tightly gritted as he eats his dinner, his knuckles white as he holds onto the knife in his hand and though the restaurant around us is bustling, I can't seem to focus on anything but the way his eyes trail over my frame when I look away from him.

By the time the check comes around and he pays for it without a word, my thighs are clenching tightly at the thought of being alone with him in his car. I can only imagine that he wants nothing more than to punish me for all of my teasing- my incessant taunting- that I worked hard on all day just to get a rise out of him.

But, like usual, he takes my hand tightly in his after helping me into my coat, guiding me out of the restaurant and out into the cooler air. I take a deep breath, calming the butterflies in my stomach as I sneak a few glances at Billy.

"Stop looking at me like that, Doll. You're already on thin ice." I bite back a snicker at his words, knowing full well that he's more than turned on and that my plan worked a bit too well. "Good thing you wore a dress because the second you get in that car, you're gonna be bent over." He whispers lowly yet manages to send a smile to the couple who passes us.

"Yes sir." My tone is mocking and it's obvious but he just goes along with the quiet agreement, letting go of my hand to pat my ass before opening my door for me. Still a gentleman nonetheless.

Slipping down into my seat, I'm quick to shimmy out of the panties that I had on, the material barely doing anything to maintain any sort of dignity that I had before seeing him today. I loop them around my pinky, holding them out in front of Billy as he slips down onto the drivers seat, his eyes looking between me and the lace.

"God-fucking-damn, woman." He snatches the panties from me and he's quick to shove them into his pocket before reaching over, tugging me by my shoulder to lean over the middle console. His hand pulls my dress up so he can sooth his hand over my ass, all while working at his belt and zipper with his free hand. I look up at him through my lashes, pouting cutely- only because I was hoping for me to be on the receiving end of the punishment, not the giving side. "Don't give me that look. Puppy dog eyes aren’t going to work this time, sweetcheeks." I huff but it quickly turns into a stuttered moan as his hand slaps hard down onto my skin without warning. "So, you're gonna take my cock in the smart-mouth of yours and you're gonna earn your redemption, got it?"

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o- Taglist: @bubblebuttwade @rafelover2405 @leslienjazzy @sorceresss @grxnde-dwt @alex–awesome–22 @bunnietoof @niyamar1e @serialghost @plantlungs @geniusohn @akaliltimmytim @lilaalouuxx @xshariex @elliotsbeigeguitar @elle4404 @lelieja @srhxpci @joselyn001 @taysirene @spinkspanther @thedivineuphoria @peter-maximoffs @tsukishimawhore @poohkie90 @szlaco @distantsighs @nstyles4299 @wolflover384 @givemefoodandlovesstuff @vane2828 @yeswhatever33 @amirrahfranson @vvaalleennttiinna @f-mu @yaspillz @jeyramarie @skylievin@abbybarnes17 @jointherebellion215 @visiondaddy @steezysimfinds @its-ya-gay-boi-luigi

@crunchytoenailsyum@glizzymcguirex @beth123lg @melovesmut @rafecameronswhore @ariianelle @write-from-the-heart @vampviolets@haylee-e@popehaywardssecretgf @honee-chai-tea @lokiandbuckywife @smoke-and-fire @officiallyunofficialperson@heyaitsklaudia@rosepetalsparks @bluetreecloud20 @scenesofobx @double-shot-of-tequila @1dluver13xx @colbysbrocks @iamasimpingh0e @smoke-and-fire386 @loveshineslikethesky @id-3-kbro @diorsitgirl @errorfound101-allideasburnedout @neverwillknowme18 @ellyskey @taylors-folk @loversjoy @myaloveee @thyris-is @lagataprrr @aaaaslaaaan @minjix @luvrosee

#billy #billy x reader #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove #stranger things #stranger things fic

[sebstan2020]

From Enemy to Master

Part 2

Pairings: Dom!Bucky Barnes X Sub!Peter Parker

Warnings: BDSM, Dom/Sub, Bondage, Punishment, Corporal Punishment, Cock and Balls Torture, Cock Bondage, Orgasm Denial, Begging, Blow Job, Sadism, Masochism, Cock Tease

Summary: No would believe him if Peter said he was a submissive to James ‘Bucky’ Barnes, the once Winter Soldier. But he was and when Bucky comes home from a mission, he wants nothing more than to play with his sweet little boy.

“I’m very disappointed in you Peter” Bucky scolded, twiddling the riding crop in his fingers as he circled the kneeling boy. Peter held his head down, his hands placed flat on his thighs as he kneeled in position for Bucky. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest with both excitement and nerves. Things had been going so well today, he left for school on time, got an A in the pop quiz in science, made plans with Ned to finish the death star Lego they had begun but hadn’t been able to finish. But then it all went to shit.

He was on his way home, strolling through Queens when he saw the guy with a knife, threatening a young lady for her car. The second he saw it he sprang into action, whipping on his suit Mr Stark had given him and chased the car down, stopping him with his web shooters. He disarmed him with ease, pinning him to the car seat and all while leaving the car undamaged. But that wasn’t the problem. Peter had felt so good with himself, preventing yet another crime from happening in this town that he decided to reward himself.

Bucky wasn’t home and he hadn’t cummed in three days. His cock was aching for it. He needed a release. So, he snuck himself into the bathroom, somewhere he wouldn’t normally masturbate but he had a paranoia that Bucky was going to return and catch him cock handed in the bedroom. So, he decided instead to do his business in the bathroom. Just a quick few wanks was all it was supposed to be, but he couldn’t resist so he carried on. Peter should have listened to his conscience because he was right at Bucky. He thought he had enough time to masturbate, clean up the evidence and then wait for Bucky to return from their mission in time but Bucky had returned early.

The second he walked into the bedroom, he heard the moans of the young boy and hoped he wasn’t doing what he thought he was. But as the door to the bathroom slammed open, Peter had jolted from his pleasure dream, his cum covering his hand as he jerked himself off and the pure look of shock, displeasure, and dominance was written all over Bucky’s face.

And now here he was, kneeling naked in the middle of the room, head slightly lowered, and eyes cast down, the only sight of Bucky’s boots falling into his eyeline as he circled him. Peter was regretting his decision to jerk himself off and knowing his luck, Bucky was most likely planning to do that when he got home… and he was. After a good three days of no orgasm, Bucky was excited to come home and fuck the shit out of Peter and give him a good, earned orgasm… not anymore.

“Here I am thinking I’m going to come home, and you’ll be ready and waiting for me to take you, to use that cock of mine and give you a mind-blowing orgasm but instead I find you breaking one, no sorry, two of the rules” he says sternly and stops beside Peter takes a deep breath. Fuck, he hadn’t realised until now he broke two rules. One, being no touching without permission and two being no cumming without permission. Bucky was so possessive about his cock and was constantly reminding Peter who it belonged to. It turned Peter on, admitting his own cock didn’t belong to him but to someone else and was only to be touched by Bucky unless he had permission.

“I’m sorry si- “.

“Look at me when you’re talking to me” the end of the crop was placed under his chin, tilting his head up so Peter could look at Bucky. The crop stayed there as he stared up at Bucky, eyes wide and mouth open. The sternness in Bucky voice both sent a tingle through Peter’s body and also a nervous flip in his stomach. 

“I’m sorry Sir” he breathed, and Bucky scoffed a little.

“Tell me, why did I come home to find you jerking yourself off”.

“Well…. because…” Bucky raised a brow, waiting for Peter’s answer and he flushed with embarrassment.

“Yes…”

“I wanted to reward myself, you see there was this guy, and he was trying to steal this car and he had a knife and I stopped him and so I- “.

“So, you thought you’d come home and be a little slut and make yourself cum” Bucky summarised for him, and Peter swallowed. It pretty much did sum up what he was thinking at the time.

“And you didn’t think I could do that for you” Bucky sounded offended, and Peter stared at him for a moment, wondering how to answer. Bucky dropped the crop from his chin, stalking around him like he was his prey.

“How many times have I told you Peter who this cock belongs to?” Bucky asked as he strolled back in front of Peter, the crop swinging around his fingers.

“You Sir, it belongs to you”.

“That’s right, it’s mine and that means I decide when it cums, I decide when it gets touched, I decide when its used, not you” Peter’s fingers pressed into his thigh as he stared up at Bucky, his face alight with guilt and his eyes begging for forgiveness.

“Yes Sir” Peter nodded his head fast.

“Obviously I need to make that clear to you don’t I” the crop fell back under his chin, pushing his head further upwards so his neck was exposed, and Peter swallowed hard. He nodded his head and felt his cock twitch and the feel of leather against his skin. He certainly did need a lesson to learn.

“Get on the floor, I want your ass in the air” Bucky pointed to the ground with the crop, instructing Peter to lie on the floor with his chest and his ass in the air. Peter wasted no time in doing so and planted his hands on the carpet, bracing himself as he lifted his ass in the air, his cock dangling between his legs. Bucky hummed softly as he dragged the crop across Peter’s naked back, teasing him with the leather and then down to his ass. He circled Peter’s ass with the crop, running it between his cheeks and over his hole. Peter jolted slightly, the feeling sending an electric shock through his system and turning his cock harder.

He wasn’t supposed to be enjoying this though and he suspected after the first whack, he wouldn’t. The crop came smacking down on his hole which as Peter suspected made him jolt forward, hissing at the pain.

“Back in position” Bucky said and leaned back into the position. He felt the crop sink lower, now tracing his balls and a smack came down on them, hitting the sensitive part. Peter yelped and composed himself straight after, gripping the carpet. Bucky continued to hit him with the crop, across his ass, across his cock, across his back until his skin turned a bright shade of red, tingling, and raw.

“Who does this cock belong to?” Bucky asked Peter.

“You Sir”.

“I want you to tell me that every time I hit you” Bucky instructed, and Peter did.

After every smack of the crop, Peter answered with ‘this cock belongs to you Sir’ until Bucky was satisfied that Peter knew.

Peter’s skin was stinging now but his cock was hard. He really was a slut, getting off on being punished for touching his own cock. But his punishment wasn’t over yet.

“Good boy, now get on the bed and show me that asshole of mine” a quick flip of the crop and Peter jumped from the bed, muttering a yes Sir as he did and climbed on the bed, getting into the same position as he was just in, ass in the air, face down in the sheets and fingers clenching the duvet. Bucky removed his fear, throwing it to the side before climbing on top of the bed.

He knelt behind Peter, palming himself in his hand and placed the crop down, using his flesh hand to grab Peter’s cock, giving it a few strokes. Peter moaned almost instantly the pleasure shooting through his body. Bucky smirked behind him, shaking his head.

“Look at you, getting all hot and hard just from me grabbing this cock, do you want me to fuck you” Bucky teased, and Peter nodded.

“Yes, Sir please I want you to take your hole and fuck it”. He wanted to feel Bucky fill him up and take him.

“That’s right, my hole, it belongs to me” Bucky whispered as he pressed the end of his cock into Peter’s hole, stretching it open and Peter groaned into the sheets. He still had a grip on Peter’s cock, and he slipped in more, his cock nearly buried deep inside Peter’s ass.

“Fuck your tight Peter, I need to start fucking you more to stretch it open” Bucky groaned, slipping further in until he was all the way inside, balls deep and he started to thrust in and out. Peter moaned deeply, pleasure riddling his body and his fingers gripping the sheets into tight fists.

“Oh, Sir it feels so good” he moaned, and Bucky smirked.

“Yeah, you like that don’t you, like being filled up with my cock” Bucky whispered as he picked up the pace. All the while, he was still stroking Peter’s cock, small jerky hand movements which was sending Peter on a high. His toes curled into the bed, and he dug his head further in the sheets.

“Oh my god, thank you Sir” Peter breathed, nearly sounding out of breath as Bucky began to pound him. He could feel his orgasm coming, his cock twitching and pleasure tingling all through it. Bucky’s balls slapped into Peter’s, the smack sounding in the room.

“That’s its baby, take it all for me” Bucky groaned, letting his head rest backwards as he fucked Peter hard. He still had a hold on his cock and continued to tease him there as well as fucking him. Peter felt his legs start to tingle, a sign he was going to cum and there was no doubt in his mind he wasn’t going to ask for permission.

“Oh, please Sir, please can I cum” he begged, pleading to get his orgasm and Bucky chuckled, squeezing tightly on his cock.

“Do you think you deserve to cum, you’ve already had your orgasm today seeing as you couldn’t wait five fucking minutes” he scolded and received a spank on his ass from his metal hand, the sharpens jolting him out of the sexy cloud.

“No Sir, I don’t deserve to cum” it was the truth but there was a little sliver inside Peter hoping he would be forgiven and that he would be able to cum.

Bucky groaned hard as he slammed into Peter, his own cock now tingling and the feeling of orgasm coming closer for him. Bucky moved his wrist faster on Peter’s cock, getting off on his begging and the fact Bucky was denying him.

“God Peter, you feel so good” he groaned, mouth falling open as he breathed hard, his orgasm getting closer. He thrusted quickly into Peter a good four to five times before Bucky stopped, as he began to cum. He came inside Peter, his juice leaking out of his hole and Bucky grinned in satisfaction. His head was sweaty, hair stuck to his forehead, and he took a minute to catch his breath.

He moved Peter so he was lying on his back down, legs spread so Bucky was kneeled between them as he continued to palm his cock, rubbing his hand up and down while peter begged to be able to cum.

“Oh, please Sir can I cum, please” Peter was pleading, and Bucky scoffed a little, shaking his head.

“You said you don’t deserve to cum Peter, do you think I’m just going to let you cum like that after today” Bucky teased, and Peter whimpered a little. This was torture, not being able to release after all that build up. Peter gripped the sheets, holding back the urge to squirt everywhere and he jolted as he felt a twitch inside his cock, the urge getting harder to hold back.

“I’m sorry Sir, please I won’t do it again” he begged once more, hoping he could get one last chance to release but the smirk on Bucky’s face said it all.

“No” and with that he dropped Peter’s cock, letting it fall and his pleasure sinking away, Peter whined like a puppy, desperately wanting to just grab it and give it a few more shakes to get at least one drop out, but it wasn’t happening. Bucky climbed off the bed and padded to the draws, pulling out a cock cage and Peter sighed softly.

Not the cage.

“Now put this on” normally Bucky would be the one to put it on, but he wanted Peter to do it just to tease him even more with the fact he wasn’t going to be cumming again today and most likely for the next few days if not a week.

Peter reluctantly slipped his cock in the cage, trying to not pinch the skin and when it was in Bucky proceeded to place a padlock, locking him up tightly.

“There, all nice and locked up, no more secret cummings for you and in fact I think no cumming for the next week”.

A week! Peter wasn’t sure if he would last but he’d have to.

“Yes Sir” he whispered, and Bucky smiled. He hummed softly and reached over, wrapping his hand around the back of Peter’s neck, and bringing him up.

“Good boy” he kissed him softly, dragging Peter’s bottom lip and pecked them sweetly, a soft moan escaping Peter. Bucky pulled Peter over to the pillows where he laid down, resting Peter on his chest and ran his hand down to Peter’s ass to give it a soothing massage. Peter moaned softly and soon forgot about the fact his cock was locked away and instead fell into the comfort of Bucky’s arms, slowly drifting off.  

Hey so I hope you like it, don’t forget to leave a like, comment and reblog

#bucky barnes #Bucky Barnes dom #Bucky Barnes fanficiton #bucky barnes x peter parker #peter parker #bucky barnes smut #sub Peter parker #Peter Parker whump #Peter Parker smut #sebastian stan fanfiction #sebastian stan #tom holland #the winter soldier #winter soldier

[indouloureux]

sleepless nights; sweet nothings

tasm!peter parker x reader

summary: peter parker comes home one night bloodied and bruised, and his night ends when you both talk about your dreams

word count: 2,997

warnings: mentions of blood, violence, knives, ag!peter being a softie, baths, fluff

a/n: when i posted this on ao3, there was no specificity if this was a tom peter or andrew peter, i only wrote in that it can be any peter. but figured this could be a perfect andrew peter so here it is. some lines are inspired from @/waitimcomingtoo (not sure if i can tag w/o consent)'s posts

MASTERLIST

༻✦༺ . ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ . ༻✧༺

He could feel the blood percolate through his red and blue spandex.

Peter Parker never shied away from stupidity danger. He loved the thrill it gave him every evening even if it resulted in him nearly bleeding to death in his small apartment. He was never reckless, but nor was he discreet of the weapons his opponents brought.

So, if his friends knew that it was Peter who harbored the mask, they would have instantly understood why Spider-Man didn’t give a single consideration to the knife unsafely ensconced deep into his left thigh as he swung himself up and kicked the man in the face.

It hurt, obviously. He wasn’t made of stone. But the adrenaline he felt when he continued to pivot around and pierce his man-made webs at the man that stabbed him had reduced the agonizing pain in his muscle.

“Come on, man!” he playfully lamented, aiming for the bald man’s mouth. “Just give me the bag so I can go home and sleep, please? It’s like, what, 2 am? Don’t you need sleep? You look like you need sleep.”

The man’s exclamation was muffled, his expression stayed aggravated as Peter raised his legs, intentionally aiming his clothed crotch on the man’s face, tackling him down as he fell to the ground, puncturing him to the pavement.

“So, watcha say? Gonna give me the bag or not?” Peter set his hand on his hip, the other tugging the man’s trousers down with his quagmire. “Oh, would you look at that! Spider-Man undies. Still don’t know why they had my face printed on the crotch,” he rubbed his chin, “but I still am very much flattered.”

He hauled the knife off his thigh, observing his blood smothered across the luminous silver that caromed from the street lights. “Nice knife. It’s really shiny. I could use it as a mirror- oh look! It reflects on your head!” he smiled underneath the mask. “You recently bought it?”

The man was unamused but nodded nonetheless. He took the bag off his hand, replacing it with the knife from Peter’s thigh.

The corners of Peter’s lips tugged downwards under his mask. “Figured. Thanks for the bag, by the way. Matches my outfit. Sadly though it’s not mine so I’m going to have to give it back!” He aimed his wrist one last time at the man, aiming for his crotch, so the Spider-Man print on his underwear was cocooned. “By the way, if you wanted a bag, don’t steal buddy!”

He turned around and gave the girl her purse, staring blankly at him with wide eyes. With shaking hands, she took the bag from him. Peter frowned at her physique – was she afraid or traumatized? Or was she just shocked?

“Sorry you had to witness that,” he scratched the back of his neck. “Anyway, gotta go, kiddo. Call your mom!”

He reached his apartment in no more than five minutes, dismounting carefully on his fire escape. Though he winced when his feet collided with the metal with a thud, which was loud enough for you to push yourself off the desk and remove your earbud to look around.

Eventually, your eyes landed on the window, where you saw Peter posing down with his forehead on the cold glass, clutching the wound on his thigh that was slowly latching itself.

“Shit,” he heard you whisper, fingers fumbling with the lock. “Sorry, shit. I forgot you were out and it was so cold so I had to shut the window. I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”

Peter wrapped an arm around your shoulders, rubbing your tautened muscle. You helped him off the window, slowly sitting him down on the bed nearby. “I’m alright, lovie,” he replied softly. “Just a small stab wound on my thigh. But something hurts and it needs your complete and utter attention, gorgeous. Please?” he pouted.

Your eyes widened in panic, pushing him back to rest against the headboard. “What? What is it?”

“My lips,” he answered. He wasn’t lying – he’d been previously punched on the corner of his lips earlier this evening, but it didn’t hurt than it did back then. “They hurt, baby.”

Peter laughed when your shoulder sagged and you rolled your eyes. “You come home bleeding, and the first thing you do is ask me for a kiss? So needy.”

In spite of your critique, you placed your lips on his. Peter’s lips were dry as opposed to your wet ones. Yours tasted of watermelon, and he took the opportunity to seize the morsel as he hugged you closer with his hands on your waist, letting his tongue graze your bottom lip negligibly before pulling away.

You hummed in satisfaction, and so did Peter when he reeled in the flavor of watermelon from your lips.

“Your lips taste amazing,” Peter whispered against them, pecking you softly one more time. “’m never getting sick of that taste. Never getting sick of kissing you.”

The hands on his chest grasped his suit slightly when you almost fell on top of him. “You’re a sap.”

Peter pulled back, mouth parted in playful shock and offense. “Hey!”

“I’m kidding,” you chuckled. “Now show me that wound.”

Peter obliged, carefully extracting his suit off his body until he was only left in his boxers. Your fingertips delineated the small scars across his stomach, unhurriedly dragging them down until they reached the deep cut on his thigh.

He chewed on his bottom lip to retain himself from teasing you when you milked in the sight of his naked chest right before you diverted your attention to his thigh. Peter knew you liked it when he was shirtless, but you knew when to enjoy and when to be serious at points like these.

He didn’t mind it when you relished his fit aspects. Peter wouldn’t admit it, but the satisfaction that he gave you roused his somewhat-existent ego more.

“What’s it look like, love?” he said. You looked up at him, a cute but concerning frown on your face. You pulled the bedside drawer open, taking the first-aid kit and placing it on your lap.

You blushed at his nickname. “It’s not that deep, really. But I guess it’s because you were self-healing and the wound was closing itself. So it doesn’t really need any stitches.”

When you cleaned the blood around his cut, he couldn’t help but take your left hand between both of his and place a soft kiss on your knuckles.

Peter often did that – holding one of your hands while you did something. He did it so much that you got used to doing certain things with one hand like cooking or studying. You knew he found solace whenever he touched you; you could sense his body unwind when his skin abuts yours, and you never really found yourself internally complaining.

He placed pastel kisses on the pads of your fingers that he delicately held, all while his eyes visually delineates the arcs of your cheeks, the lustre of your lips, and the engagement on your eyes.

“Take a bath with me,” he whispered softly against your palm. His breath was hot against your skin, warming your previously cold hands from the weather.

You looked up from your work. “But I’m not finished…”

“It’s alright,” Peter sat up, straightening his back, pulling you up to stand with him on the carpeted floor. “My wound will be okay. I just need a bath with my girl.”

Too tired to protest seeing as it was 2 am, you nodded, holding his hand to pull him inside the bathroom. Peter smiled at your acquiesce, planting another soft kiss on your knuckles.

When he carefully removed hisyour shirt and your sweatpants, all he could think of while he watched you slowly undress with his help, was pretty, pretty, pretty.

Peter hinged the faucet on, hearing the robust water fill the marble of your tub. He reached out and helped you unclasp your bra, frowning when you turned around and wrapped your arms around yourself to cover your naked chest.

He’s seen it before, so how come you hid it away from him?

Carefully, his fingers wrapped around your wrist to pull it away from your chest, placing an affirming kiss on your forehead. “Don’t hide it away from me. You know you’re beautiful, right?”

Unexpectedly, your eyebrow raised. What you said next made his cheeks redden from embarrassment. “I’m not hiding it away from you, Pete. It’s cold.”

He playfully glared at you, taking the band of your underwear and snapping it against your skin. “I’m trying to be romantic here.”

You laughed, removing your underwear, followed by his. Peter’s libido remained hidden deep within him, choosing to cherish this moment without any sexual insolence. When the tub filled with water, he held your hands, helping you get on the tub before he followed.

Peter pulled your bare back flush against his chest, you sitting between his legs as he turned the faucet off, reaching for the bar of soap to gradually run it across your skin.

His touch felt relaxing, your eyes closing while you let out a deep sigh of pleasure as you snuggled closer to him, letting his hands wander innocently around your body.

He placed soft kisses on your wet shoulder, letting the soap foam around your body.

Peter could hear everything – the benign sway of the water you both sat in, the droplets from the leak on the sink, the grave traffic from outside the building, and the frigid breeze that swept through the ajar window from the bedroom.

But instead, he focused on your soft breathing that was synchronized with his.

He was never the type of person to rely on people, let alone his life. Peter considered this as the responsibility that was given to him; he only had himself to rely on, because other people needed him more than he needed them. That was until he met you, and it felt like he wouldn’t breathe if you didn’t breathe.

It wasn’t like Peter depended his vitality on yours, but he would (unhesitatingly) retorque his friendly neighborhood bearing to a brutal tyrant’s incentive to be feared if ever you were hurt.

He loved you too much that if you died, he might as well die too. It gave off ‘Romeo and Juliet’ vibes, from what Ned said, but he didn’t care because it was the truth.

So when he heard your steady breathing – your steady heartbeat – he felt himself relax like you, sinking into the tub further while he lathered your body with soap.

“Tell me about your day,” you spoke carefully, your fingertips tracing small patterns on his knee.

He pursed his lips, not knowing where to begin. “We were together the entire day, (y/n).”

“No- I mean your patrol.”

“Oh,” he chuckled. “’T was alright, I guess. It was just normal – hairless dudes stealing bags, accidentally getting pepper sprayed. Oh, and I saw a pigeon riding on the back of a taxi.”

You smiled. “Did you chase the pigeon?”

“…no…”

“Pete.”

“Alright, yes,” he sighed in defeat. “You do know it’s illegal, right?”

You frowned, eyebrows furrowing. “Animals riding on vehicles?”

“No, no. I forgot the name, though. Oh! And I saw a dude dressed as a Stormtrooper at the street earlier this evening.” He breathed out when he felt your hand run through his damp curls, massaging his scalp slightly with your nails. “What about you? What’d you do today?”

Peter smiled when your eyes lit up in excitement. “I watched Tangled.”

“Again?”

“What? Flynn Rider makes me feel things.”

“More than I do?” he pouted.

“He’s a thief and you’re a super hero. Sorry, Pete. But I’m into bad boys.” You smiled sweetly, kissing his cheek.

Peter smiled, squinting his eyes slightly. “I can be a bad guy. Here,” his hands, which were filled with soap, smothered itself on your face, getting some on your eyes. “There.”

“Now that’s just mean,” you laughed, opening your eyes a little. “Get your grimy, soapy hands off me!”

“Oh, you don’t like my grimy, soapy hands?” he continued to wipe them across your arms. “You don’t like my grimy, soapy, good hands?”

He stopped for your protest, carefully washing his hands and placed his thumbs on your eyes to drag the soap off them, kissing your forehead to tell you that it was okay to open your eyes.

“Peter?”

You placed your head on his shoulder as he aimlessly, and quite lazily, continued to run his hands around your stomach and the space between your breasts. “Hm?”

“Have you…ever had a dream?”

You took your soapy hand in his, observing the tendril veins that coated almost the entirety of his back hand. “What do you mean?”

Your torso turns so you can look at him easier without having to give yourself a neck ache. “Like, have you ever had a dream that you just want to happen?”

When his fingers touched your soaked and supple arm, he felt as though you were spilt gas all over the pavement and he was the lit match awaiting for contact as his thoughts exploded with ruminations.

Peter had a dream: he wanted to flawlessly balance his life and his duties pliantly without having to put those he love in danger. And maybe he could go out there and date whoever he liked, and give them the love they deserve.

When he met you, it was the same thing. Except this time each dream of his included you: he’d like to wake up every morning beside you, he’d like to cook for you every day, get to hold you in his arms for as long as he could, love you for as long as he could.

His dreams were focused on you so much that he realized you were his dream.

“You’re my dream,”

Peter placed the soap back where he took it from and washed your skin. You looked up at him, eyes glossing. “Really?” you smiled. “Are you quoting Flynn Rider?”

“Actually, it’s Eugene Fitzherbert,” He corrected, wrapping his arms around you, enclosing your knees to your chest before he went on to answer your question. “Yeah. I dream of you. I dream of things about you. About us.”

He smiled softly at your shy smile, hiding your face on the crook of his neck before he continued. “Just, there are a lot of things I want for you. For me. But the thing is, I feel like it’s so selfish for me to want those things. You-you make me want things I can’t have.”

Your small smile fell into a confused one. “I’m sorry?”

Peter’s eyes widened when he replayed his words, realizing what he just said. “No! No that’s not what I mean. I-I meant that you make me want things that are impossible for me to have, but I realized I was wrong because now I have you.” His finger dragged along the sculpture of your cheek. “I have you. I wanted you and now I have you and that’s all I need.”

You hold the hand on your cheek, kissing his palm. “I feel like something’s coming up but I don’t want to stop you.” You said. “Your eyes are so pretty, P. They remind me of the ocean.”

Peter looked at you skeptically. “My eyes are brown, baby.”

“Well then it looks like the toilet after I took a huge dump.”

“How romantic,” he kissed the space between your eyebrows. He loved kissing you – anywhere, really. It was his way of showing his affections, even after fights. “The way your eyes light up reminds me of an XBOX controller.”

“Oh, Jesus.” You laughed.

“Nah, you know I kid.” He smiled. Then he placed his fingers on your chin, his forehead against yours. You and Peter’s noses bump together, and he couldn’t help himself but plant another kiss to the bridge of your nose.

“Let’s just runaway," he placed his fist underneath your chin, knocking his head back and shaking his head as you laughed. "Let’s just fucking runaway."

“Pete,” you whispered. “You know we can’t. You know you can’t.”

“Yes I can. I can stop being Spider-Man. Let’s get married. Let’s elope. And we’ll hide away where our life will be peaceful, and we’ll have kids. Or not, you know. We can get a dog, or a cat, hell even a fucking baby cow if you want to.” He raised his hand, looking deeply into your eyes. “And then we’ll grow old together. Or not, if you don’t want to grow old together.”

“I’d love that,” you whispered. “But you love being Spider-Man. You can’t just give that up.”

“Yes I can-”

“Peter,” you stopped him. “Peter, even if sometimes you end your nights coming in through our window and beat up and tired, I can sense that you're happy inside- happy that you helped save people from their untimely deaths, using your gift for the greater good. And I can sense my relief to see you alive, even if you're all bloodied up and sometimes on the verge of death. I'm not going to keep you from doing something that you love. Seeing you happy makes me happy and that's enough.”

And then he kissed you.

He kissed you like it was his last time doing so, though both of you knew it wasn’t. Your hand reached up to cup his cheek, the other to enlace his fingers with yours to rest on top of your stomach as Peter kissed you deeply.

He broke away. “You are like a warm hug from the sun. The greatest gift in my life. A heavenly soul." Peter kissed you again. “I love you so much, I really do. Sorry for not knowing how to express it better."

“You staying with me is enough of an expression,” you answered. “You’re an awfully gung ho person. And I love you for that.”

༻✦༺ . ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ . ༻✧༺

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#peter parker x reader #peter parker oneshot #tom holland imagine #peter parker imagine #peter parker x you #andrew garfield #andrew!peter x reader #andrew garfield my beloved #indouloureux's writing

[sunsetbois]

New Intimacy - Chapter 4 - In The Name of Love

Warnings: graphic description of murder, Peter's lewd ass fantasies, heavily implied non con and... curse words?

If I missed anything let me know?

It went well! It couldn't have gone any better than this... well it could have but Peter knows you were not the type to fuck a stranger especially on the first date...

Ever since the coffee shop, he had felt elated and more positive about the progress he was oh so obsessed with. It couldn’t be helped. Peter scanned over the confirmation email he had received two days ago and zeroed in on the first “official,” treatment. Who was he to pretend the “unofficial,” treatments were not as valid after all? Sure you might have been unconscious for them, but you received them so well like he knew you would. His fingers tingled as he shuts his eyes and relives the moments for the numerous time. His warm batter felt like heaven against the soft but tight ridges of your boiling hot walls. If he concentrates, he is certain he can feel the wild clamping squeezing tightly around him. It sets him on fire.

Peter knows he shouldn't indulge...

But it feels so fucking good.

There was no one around, not for miles and no one he was expecting, he thought as his hand slithered down his tight jeans. He can picture you right there behind his eyelids. The way you would look so peaceful whenever he entered your room at night. Sometimes he would lick the drool from your slack lips and sometimes he'd give you something hard and unrelenting to drool on. Peter likes those nights the best of all. No clean up needed, not when his Darling so graciously offers them the welcoming embrace of their throat. If Peter didn't know any better, he'd have said you did that on purpose.

His hand pumped furiously over the glistening length between his legs.

But those were not the best memories he had of you. No, no. On his phone there were folders of you sprawled out by his own hand, glistening in sweat as your unconscious eyes rolled in your sleep. Cum splatters all over your cheeks, voluptuous chest and sticky thighs. Sometimes his hand would record him fucking the shit out of you whilst you sleepily groaned under the influence of the water you thought was safe.

“Fuck,” He worried his lip underneath razor sharp teeth. He didn't need to be quiet, but what was the fun in that? It was more practice for his night time visits~

Strong hips bucked into the warm embrace each time. His balls slapped against their denim covered confines. Fuck, how he wished it was you.

“It better fucking take this time Darling~” He purrs as he envisions your cunt wrapped around his cock and not his hand. With a squeeze, he felt himself paint your walls deeply.

It almost feels sad that he could not do that any longer, especially with the doctors involved. Careless eyes opened in annoyance. At least this way it could be organic. He sits his phone in his jean pocket and retrieves his laptop with stride. A photo shows up on the screen as soon as he opens it. The representatives case seems to have died down now, thankfully. There should be no more obstacles in his way now but his trusty- recently sharpened knife in his inner vest pocket was ready to play whenever.

Whenever may as well have been the moment he saw a customer be rude to you at the diner. Peter could see through the customer service facade they had you wear, he knew. So when he followed the person after wards, he struck without hesitation. Soemthing about hearing his darling being degraded in front of not only staff and not only other diners who looked away, but in front of him, boiled his blood and he was sure it would be the last mistake they’d ever make once he wiped them from the population count.

They blubbered apology after apology in the pursuit. Trails of red surrounded the poorly covered stab wound peeking out from their agonizing side. Peter smirked, he always enjoyed a chase. Luckily there was a dead end just down the alleyway he had herded them into. “Look at you now, hmm. Pathetic.” Peter spat. The dry skies threatened to cry beneath the heavy sigh of the winds.

Their hand tried to protect their face as Peter gained on them and he briefly wondered if the life would drain from their eyes faster than the last one had. His craved blue eyes callously took in the prey before him and with a swift swipe of silver, the skies cried.

Another face lost to the cool, unrelenting steel hiding in the pocket of a crazed man. Unluckily for him, he too won’t be seen again.

No one could know and Peter could not afford to let the reigns loose. As he fished out his packet of battered cigarettes, he inhaled the cool air with glee. There was nothing like killing to get the blood pumping but Peter knew he'd enjoy it better if you were here. No more facades, no more annoying masks, just you and him. Maybe he'd fuck you against that wall, his heavy eyes flickered towards. If he felt daring perhaps even in front of the corpse he sacrificed as retribution for his love.

The body remained curled, bloody and unrecognizable from the blunt trauma it took. There was no recognizable feature left to tell who they were before, not when Peter bashed their jaw into their trachea and all but left them a bloody and chunky mess.

Now they would never harass his darling again... he thought with a love sick smile. Peter knew he had to be the one to do this becuase who else would look out for his darling, but him? He knew that only he had the balls to do it and that was the primary reason why he hadn't gone after your beloved TK so much... he knew when it came down to it, that nobody but him would ever be able to go to the lengths he will. Although the green haired pest was beginning to get on his nerves.

Nothing would ever be able to get in the way. He saw that look in his eyes when you had told TK about the surrogacy clinic. How he wept with glee at the.. not quite disappointment but unrequited yearning he saw flicker in those hideous golden orbs.

It didn't matter now. Tk would never get the chance, not when Peter had his plans for you. The rain battered heavier and eith each lashing, Peter begrudgingly pulled the hood over his face and accepted that he would only get half a cigarette in.

As he crushes the remaining dying embers into the dirty ground with his boot, he heard his ring tone blast. He lazily tugged the device from his jean pocket expecting either his stupid sister or one of his sponsors. When he unlocked it however, his heart stuttered.

Darling is calling...

#yb peter #your boyfriend peter #peter your boyfriend #yourboyfriendgame #yb fandom #your boyfriend #yb y/n #your boyfriend game #your boyfriend visual game #your boyfriend visual novel #yb au #yb tk #yb lucy #y0urb0yfriend

[bluejayblueskies]

can i be gentle?

Words: 7.1k

Relationships: Jon & Tim, Tim & Martin

Tags: Canon Divergence, Tim Lives, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Whump, Post-Unknowing, Injury Recovery

Warnings: suicidal thoughts/ideations, blood, injury, hospitals and hospitalization, survivor's guilt, body horror, minor gore, gun and knife violence, mentions of death, mentions of canon-typical worms, implied child abuse, meat, alcohol, swearing, crying, smoking

Ao3 link in source

.

Tim aches. It’s full-body, radiating through his arms and back and legs, and he wishes more than anything that he could go to sleep, to chase away the pain for at least a little while. It feels like he’s been hit by a bus.

 Or been on the receiving end of several kilos of C4 igniting all at once. But that metaphor’s a bit too on-the-nose, in his opinion.

 He should be dead. He should be dead. 

 (Does he wish he were dead? He hadn’t cared, in those few moments of clarity before he pushed the button on the detonator and the colors solidified into black nothingness, whether or not he would wake up when the smoke cleared. It’s hard to tell. He’d attached so much of himself to revenge, before, when it was easier than feeling everything else bubbling up underneath, and now that it’s been ripped away from him, he doesn’t know what emotion should be filling the gap. Probably relief.

 He doesn’t feel relieved.)

 The nurse is speaking to him. Her lips are moving, but he can’t hear her. His ears ring and ring and ring, and it sounds like spirling, mocking laughter.

 They do some tests. Blast-induced hearing loss, the pamphlet they give him proclaims. Prognosis is good. Most patients recover in 6 weeks. Hearing aids can help with high frequencies.

 His ears ring and ring and ring, and he’s alive.

 He’s alive.

 Jon is not.

 .

.

.

 “It’s because of him, you know.”

 Martin startles badly at Tim’s voice. Tim wonders if it had been too loud; the ringing in his ears is incessant, and every word spoken sounds as if it’s coming from a very, very far distance. He moves a bit further into the room that they’ve placed Jon in, his hands shaking where they grip the wheels of the wheelchair they’d given him. Hard to walk when your leg is shattered. And some ribs as well. 

 Martin says something, Tim thinks, as he’s turning. His eyes are wide and rimmed with red, and he’s looking at Tim expectantly. Tim sighs, then winces as the motion sends tendrils of pain through his ribcage. “I can’t hear you, Martin. Either speak up—way, way up—or just… move your lips more or something. I don’t care.”

 “What?” Martin enunciates, and it’s so ridiculous, Tim wants to cry.

 He answers anyway.

 “Me. Being here. I’m alive because… because of him.”

 It was stupid, thinking he could protect Tim from an entire building collapsing on top of them. But his hand had gripped Tim’s wrist and he’d pulled him to the floor and he’d covered Tim’s body with his own, so when the shock wave had hit, Jon had gotten the worst of it.

 Tim refuses to feel guilty about it. He does anyway. Because they’d argued, and Jon had stalked him, and Tim had cultivated his anger and fear into a simmering ember deep in his chest, but at the end of the day, Tim wasn’t supposed to survive.

 Jon was.

 Tim swallows, hating the bitter taste in his mouth, and says, “Do you… do you think he’s going to wake up?”

 Martin says something, too softly for Tim to hear. His mouth twists into something small and pained, and he looks at the floor.

 It’s answer enough.

 Tim doesn’t ask again. 

 .

.

.

 They arrest Elias a few hours later, after Martin’s collected himself enough to bring his plan to completion. Tim’s only regret is that he isn’t able to see the look on Elias’s face as he’s dragged away.

 Knowing Tim’s luck, he’d probably have just looked smug.

 The name Peter Lukas crosses Martin’s lips, spelled out in exaggerated motions when he visits Tim again. Tim thinks, absurdly, of the hydra. Cut off one head, two grow back.

 Lukas probably won’t be better. Knowing their luck, he’ll be much worse. But Tim thinks of the way Melanie had shaken after she’d come out of Elias’s office, of the haunted look in Martin’s eyes when Tim had asked how his plan went, and can’t find it within himself to care.

 .

.

.

 They release him from the hospital with a hefty prescription of pain meds, small plastic hearing aids tucked in each ear, and a thick folder of discharge papers. Martin’s there when they do; the bags under his eyes are dark and smudged, and he nods mechanically as the nurses talk to him, outlining Tim’s care regime for the next few weeks. His eyes keep flicking to the side, to the corridor that leads to the long-term care section of the hospital. Wordlessly, Tim reaches over and takes Martin’s hand in his, giving it a single squeeze before holding it tightly.

 Martin lets out a breath through his nose and squeezes back.

 “Do you want me to, er. To take you back to yours?” Martin asks once they’re out, his voice on the softer side of muffled and overlaid with that constant ringing but audible enough now that he doesn’t have to shout. 

 Tim feels something almost like embarrassment curling in his stomach. “I, uh. I don’t have a place anymore.” Tim drums his fingers on his thighs, looks at the ground, and says, “I canceled my lease. About a week before we left for Great Yarmouth.”

 There’s silence between them—or at least, as close to silence as Tim can get right now. Tim thinks Martin says something, a word or two brushing up against the edges of what the hearing aids allow him to hear, but he can’t grasp any of it. So, Tim looks up at Martin, at the pinched, pained expression on his face, and says, “Don’t pretend like you didn’t know.”

 “Know what?” Martin says bitterly. “That you never expected to come back? Yeah, I got that part. I even got why, you know? Doesn’t make it better, though. I didn’t want to lose you, Tim.” Martin pauses, then says, so quietly Tim can barely hear it, “I didn’t want to lose anybody.”

 “Yeah,” Tim says. But that’s not how this works. We were never going to all survive. Everything is fucked, and it still is, and it always will be.

 “I’m sorry,” he says and finds he means it. Then, to clarify: “For hurting you. And… and for Jon.” He doesn’t elaborate on that point. He doesn’t know what he would say even if he tried. “But I’m not sorry for going, and I’m not sorry for pressing that button. If I would have died, I wouldn’t have been sorry for that either.”

 “Right,” Martin says slowly. “But you didn’t. And the Circus is gone now, so do you…?”

 “Do I still want to kill myself?”

 Martin winces.

 “Hey, your question, not mine,” Tim says, holding his hands up in a defensive gesture. After a moment, his hands drop back to his lap, and he gives a small shrug. “Don’t know. I knew I would do what I needed to in order to destroy the Circus, and I did. Thought I would die in the process, but I didn’t. I’m still trapped in the world’s shittiest job, and I don’t really…”

 Tim shrugs again. “I don’t know,” he repeats. Then, because it feels true: “It was never… it was never the dying bit I was chasing, you know. I didn’t do this because I thought it would be a good way to get killed. I did it for Danny, and that’s it. Plain and simple. So if you’re asking if I want to die, the answer is no. But I can’t guarantee that I won’t make the same decision again if I have to.”

 Martin’s quiet for a long moment. Then, calmer than Tim expects, he says, “Okay.”

 “Okay,” Tim echoes. Then, with a levity that only feels slightly forced: “I suppose it’s back to your place, then. Just be sure to buy me dinner first.”

 Martin doesn’t smile at that like he used to, but his face does soften a bit. His voice is lighter when he says, “Oh, I will. Within your dietary restrictions, that is. Which means no alcohol.”

 Tim groans. “You’re no fun.”

 “Uh huh.”

 They begin the commute back to Martin’s flat, and the atmosphere between them grows more lighthearted than it’s been in months. Tim feels something warm and familiar curl in his chest, and he realizes just how much he’s missed this. It’s not quite easy conversation, not like it used to be, but it’s nice all the same.

 Tim’s ears ring, and his entire body aches, and he still feels a numbness in his core in the shape of suspicious glances and calliope music and a face he can’t remember, but for the first time in a long, long time, he allows himself to smile.

 .

.

.

 Tim doesn’t visit Jon often. At first, it’s the guilt, acute and cloying and weighing him down. Then, it’s old hurt and stale anger, resurfacing and driving away any passing thought of Jon that isn’t tinged with bad memories and broken trust. After that, it’s just habit.

 It also hurts, if he lets himself admit it. To see Jon lying there, motionless and clad entirely in white, the heart monitor attached to him reading out a constant horizontal line even as his eyes move in small, jerky motions behind his eyelids. 

 See? a part of him whispers. He’s not human. Maybe he never was. Maybe he was always a monster, and you just never noticed. It wouldn’t be the first time.

 A newer part of him, one that gets more prominent by the day, recognizes that even if Jon isn’t human anymore, he never would have chosen this. This stasis, this half-death. Not what came before, either. That part of him remembers the way Jon’s hand had gripped his tightly as they’d opened that trapdoor, and how it had continued to do so even as the worms had begun to bite into their skin. He’d tried to protect Tim then, too, putting himself between Tim and Jane Prentiss. For all the good it did, when the worms began to come from all directions. But Tim remembers the way the terror and pain in Jon’s eyes had been tinged with sadness, with a silent apology as he gripped Tim’s hand hard enough to bruise and they both accepted that this was it.

 It hadn’t been, in the end. And now it is, with Jon all-but-dead and Tim still here, wheeling his way into Jon’s hospital room for the first time in weeks. 

 He’s halfway in before he realizes he’s not alone.

 “Oh,” he says. “I… I didn’t know you’d be here.”

 Martin lets out a sharp, jagged laugh. “Where else would I be?” he says, and it’s tinged with something bitter and broken that takes Tim a bit off-guard. It’s become almost routine now, for Martin to visit Jon, and usually, he comes back looking drained but otherwise fine. Sometimes, when Tim asks him for status updates on our resident medical mystery, Martin even manages a small smile and responds, still dreaming.

 Martin scrubs a hand across his face, and Tim realizes belatedly that he’s crying.

 “Martin?” Tim says carefully, moving a bit closer to where Martin’s sitting. “Are you… did something happen?”

 “No,” Martin says, his voice catching in a way that indicates that something very much did happen. “It’s fine.”

 “Is it…?” Tim pauses, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. “Is it about Jon?”

 Martin’s laugh this time is more like a whimper. “Nope, he’s- he’s the same as always. Still asleep.”

 Tim moves closer but doesn’t say anything. The clock ticks rhythmically in the background, and he waits. Patience has never been his strong suit, but it’s been something that’s been required of him as of late, and he’s getting better at it.

 He likes to think he’s getting better at a lot of things.

 Martin doesn’t speak again for a few minutes. He stares at his hands where they rest just shy of one of Jon’s, his fingers restless against the sheets, coming up occasionally to fiddle with the thin black ring that rests on the middle finger of his right hand. Then, so quiet Tim almost can’t hear it, he says, “My mother died today.”

 Oh.

 “I’m sorry,” Tim says. They’re empty words, but they’re better than the good riddance and about time and you’re better off without her sitting on the back of his tongue, begging to be released. He doesn’t think they would be appreciated right now, no matter how true they might be.

 “Yeah,” Martin says. He’s still staring at his hands. “They called me a few hours ago. She… she passed away in her sleep. Natural causes. From- from her illness.” He falls silent for a few moments, his fingers twisting in the sheets. Then: “I… I think I should be sad?”

 Tim studies Martin’s face—the tear tracks down his cheeks, the unhappy set to his mouth, the way he’s shaking ever so slightly where he sits. His face is one of grief, but Tim doesn’t ask. He waits for Martin to continue, and after a moment, Martin says, “She was the only family I had left. She- she was my mother. I took care of her, I- I did my best to be a- a good son.” He takes in a shaky breath, curls his hands into fists, and says, “I haven’t seen her in months, you know. I- I visited at first, but she… she never wanted to see me. So I just stopped going. I’d call, every Saturday, but it was the same every time. She’s resting. She doesn’t feel up to talking right now. Call later, and we’ll see what we can do.” 

 Finally, Martin looks at Tim, and the guilt in his eyes is so acute Tim can feel it cut through him to his core. “I should be sad that she’s dead, but… but all I can feel is relief. And that hurts. I- I don’t know… why am I relieved? God, she was right, I- I’m horrible, no wonder she- she never wanted to see me, I- why can’t I- I can’t—”

 Martin cuts off with a wet sob, and all at once, Tim understands.

 “It’s okay,” he says, and he collects Martin’s hands from the sheets, holds them tightly in his own. “You can feel however you like, it’s- it’s okay.”

 He squeezes Martin’s hands, just once, and repeats, “It’s okay.”

 He knows Martin won’t believe him. But still, he sits, and Martin cries, and he says, It’s okay.

 It’s okay.

 .

.

.

 The hearing aids are a permanent fixture in his ears now, as most people have full hearing restoration after six weeks apparently doesn’t include him. The tinnitus is still particularly bad some days, but they help with everything else. It’s not perfect, but it’s a small price to pay for living, he supposes.

 He’s not sure when, exactly, he decides that he’s glad he’s alive. But he does. 

 He wishes he hadn’t been able to hear at all, when the Flesh attacks. He wishes he hadn’t been able to hear the wet, sticky sounds of things that shouldn’t be able to move without bones slipping through the vents, shattering the relative peace they’d begun to cultivate. He wishes he hadn’t been able to hear the pops of Basira’s gun, bullets burying themselves in things that barely flinched at the contact. He wishes he hadn’t been able to hear Melanie’s screams of anger, the responding screams of pain from things with too many eyes and teeth and limbs as her knife carved a violent path through them.

 There are yellow doors and hands slick with blood and a sudden quiet as the last of the twisted, mangled creatures falls, sliced neatly in two in a way that’s just a bit too clean. 

 Melanie is breathing heavily, but her hands are steady and her eyes are hard with something raging and violent. When Basira reaches tentatively for her knife, saying, “It’s over now, Melanie. We’re- we’re safe,” Melanie stiffens but doesn’t resist.

 “This isn’t right,” Tim says after Melanie comes back to herself in bits and pieces, enough to shudder at the blood coating her arms up to the elbows and mutter something he can’t quite catch before disappearing into the toilet. “None of this is. God, can we ever catch a fucking break?”

 “We can deal with it later,” Basira says. She’s calm, but she can’t quite hide the tremor in her voice. Her Al-Amira is splattered with viscera. “Right now, we need to make a call. Get this cleaned up.”

 “What,” Tim says bitterly, “so we can continue hiding away in the Archives? You’re the one who said we should start sleeping here. Should have known it wouldn’t be safe. It’s not like it was before.” 

 He rubs at one of the small circular scars on the back of his left hand, his skin crawling with a phantom itch that makes him vaguely nauseous. 

 “We stay here,” Basira says, leaving no room for debate. “We make the call, and we stay here.”

 Tim makes a low, frustrated noise, and bites out, “Fine. Because Basira always knows best. Whatever.” He unlocks his wheelchair and says shortly, “I’m going outside for some fresh air. The smell of rotting meat is making me sick.”

 Basira doesn’t follow him.

 Martin does.

 They situate themselves just outside the glass doors, and they don’t say anything for a long time. Martin still looks vaguely ill. His face is pale, and his hands are fidgeting at his sides. His fingers are resting on his ring, twisting it back and forth, agitated. His shoes are stained a glistening red.

 Finally, Martin tilts his head back so it hits the wall behind him and says to the air above him, “Is it horrible that I wish Jon were here?”

 Tim snorts, anger still bubbling under the surface of his skin. “Because we’d have done so much better with our own flavor of spooky bullshit?” He bites out a bitter laugh. “Maybe he could have compelled them to explain exactly why every single monster out there has a personal vendetta against us. Working for an eldritch horror of voyeurism doesn’t give you much in terms of an offense.”

 “Stop,” Martin says sharply. “You know what I mean.”

 Tim does. He’s just not particularly inclined to wax nostalgic about the power of friendship and comradery when he’s got bits of meat stuck in his hair. 

 Still, he finds that he means it when he says, “I wish he was too. For what it’s worth. Which isn’t a fucking lot, but it’s what we’ve got.”

 “Yeah,” Martin says. His hand brushes against Tim’s, and they fall back into silence.

 The police arrive, followed closely by the ECDC. It’s a messy affair, even messier than the last time Tim had been in this situation, and Tim wants nothing more than to get away. Forever.

 He doesn’t make any jokes this time. He just nods in the right places, and when they’re finally released and he and Martin return to a flat they haven’t seen in weeks, he can feel weariness cutting through him to the bone.

 When he wakes the next day, Martin’s gone. His note, stuck to the door of the fridge, says, At the hospital. Be back around noon.

 It’s ten in the morning, and the sunlight is bright as it streams in through the kitchen window.

 Tim digs out the bottle of rum that Martin keeps tucked in the back of his cabinet and pours himself a drink.

 .

.

.

 “Peter Lukas wants me to be his assistant.”

 Tim looks up from what’s turning out to be quite an impressive doodle of the little figurine of a frog in a top hat he’d purchased back in research from a charity shop and says, “Absolutely not.”

 Martin sucks his bottom lip between his teeth, holds it there for a moment, and then says, “I don’t know if I have a choice in the matter, really. It’s… it’s not safe here anymore.” Quieter: “He said he can help. Off- offer protection.”

 Tim audibly scoffs at that. He sets down his pencil and notepad and crosses his arms across his chest. He can already feel a headache coming on. (More than the usual, that is. He’s almost able to tune out the constant ringing in his ears now.

 Almost.)

 “What’s he going to do, isolate them to death? It’s not like the Lonely’s any better of an offensive force than the Eye. We’re doing just fine without involving him.”

 “Are we?” Martin’s voice is hard and a bit choked when he continues, “We’re living down here because it’s not safe to stay outside for too long. We’re still finding bits of- of flesh in- eugh.” Martin shudders and folds inward on himself. Quieter, enough so that Tim has to watch the motion of his lips to make out the words, he says, “Jon’s not waking up.”

 Tim feels something inside of him twist. “We don’t know that. We don’t know what’s happening with him.” A touch bitterly—old habits die hard, he supposes—he says, “Maybe he’s just not done going through his monster metamorphosis yet.”

 “Tim.”

 Tim sighs. It’s a profoundly weary sound. “Yeah, yeah. I… I miss him too, you know.”

 He’s surprised to find that it’s not a lie.

 “Right.” A small, shaky smile crosses Martin’s face, and he says, “I- I suppose they’re right, then. Distance does make the heart grow fonder.”

 “Somehow,” Tim says, “I don’t think whoever coined that phrase had this situation in mind.”

 Martin’s smile fades as quickly as it had come, and Tim feels a pang of guilt. “Sorry,” he says, pushing away from the desk and wheeling across the room to where Martin sits. He hesitates, just a moment, before placing his hand on Martin’s where it rests on his knee. “I… I suppose I’ve forgotten how to be lighthearted about all of this.”

 Martin nods. It’s a small motion. He’s silent for a long moment; Tim squeezes his hand and says nothing. Finally, Martin looks down at his hands and says, “It’s been four months, Tim. Nothing’s changed.” He pauses again, his mouth pinching around the edges. “I… I visited him today. I begged him to wake up, to- to do anything to indicate that he’s even still there. I don’t know why I expected him to answer. It’s not like anything’s different now. He- he’s never going to wake up, Tim.”

 Martin’s voice cracks, and he repeats, wetly, “He’s never going to wake up.”

 Then, Martin’s crying, heaving sobs that overtake him completely and have him hunched over, dripping salty tears onto the back of Tim’s hand. “Hey, hey, hey,” Tim says, leaning forward as far as he’s comfortably able to and wrapping Martin in as hard of a hug as he can manage. He rubs his hands in circles across Martin’s shoulderblades, feeling Martin’s shaky breaths against the side of his neck, and says, “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

 He repeats it, again and again, as Martin cries into his shoulder and says, over and over, words thick with grief, “He’s dead, Tim. He’s dead.”

 “It’s okay,” Tim says. Maybe if he says it enough times, he’ll start to believe it.

 Eventually, Martin’s body stops shaking and he pulls back, the tear tracks on his cheeks already beginning to dry. His eyes are red-rimmed and glistening, and he looks tired, grief apparent in every line of him.

 “I said I’d think about it,” Martin says, in a voice rubbed raw and hoarse. “When Peter called me. I- I said I’d think about it. I- I don’t know why…” He cuts off, makes a small, distressed noise, and says, “What do I even have left? If- if this can help, what- what do I have to lose?”

 Tim feels a pang of hurt flash through him, but he suppresses it. He squeezes Martin’s hands, gives him as wide a smile as he can without breaking, and says, “You have me. And I’m not leaving—you’re stuck with me. So don’t think for a second that if you take Peter’s deal, I won’t be there still. I’m like a bad penny, or, I don’t know, a- a fungus or whatever. The point is, you’re not going to get rid of me. Whether or not you decide to work for Lukas—which you shouldn’t, by the way, in case I haven’t made that abundantly clear—you’re not going to be lonely, okay? Not on my watch. I can be very persistent when I put my mind to it.”

 Martin looks at Tim, eyes wide, and another small, hiccuping sob escapes him. “You really mean that?”

 “Yes, Martin,” Tim says, exasperation and fondness filling him in equal measure. “Christ, just because things got… rough for a bit, it doesn’t mean I stopped caring about you. Honestly, don’t know if I could. You’re a very lovable person, you know. It’s not like being your friend is a hardship.”

 Martin laughs a little at that, his voice still thick with tears. “Well, when you put it like that…”

 Tim gives him another smile, and this one feels easier. Like it would be harder not to smile. Still, he’s careful with his words when he says, “So, then. What are you going to do? I’ve made my opinion more than known, but…” Tim swallows around the lump in his throat and continues, “It’s your decision.”

 “Yeah,” Martin says, barely more than a whisper. “Yeah.”

 Peter calls again. And when Martin hesitates for a long moment before giving a quiet yet firm no, the relief that sweeps over Tim is enough to make him feel weightless.

 .

.

.

 Two months later, as a man who smells of death shuts the door behind him, Jon takes a rattling breath and finally opens his eyes.

 .

.

.

 “Tim?”

 Tim raises the hand that’s not holding a rather large bouquet of white daisies and baby’s breath in a half-wave. “Hi, boss. Been a while.”

 The look Jon gives him is half-shocked, half-nervous. “I… I suppose it has. Six months, apparently.”

 Tim makes a sound of affirmation before wheeling himself fully into Jon’s hospital room and letting the door swing shut behind him. “You know,” he says, allowing a blanket of levity to fall over him, “when we said you should get more sleep, this isn’t exactly what we meant.”

 Jon just stares at him for a moment, face blank and eyes wide. Then, a laugh escapes him, a small hiccup of amusement. “Yes, well. I can’t say that I feel particularly well-rested.”

 Tim imagines what it must have been like, to be locked in a dreamscape stasis for six months. He can’t say that the idea sounds particularly relaxing. “Yep, sounds about right. Guess we can cross ‘spooky coma’ off our list of possible cures for sleep deprivation.”

 Jon folds inward on himself a bit, hugging one arm to his chest and gripping the other tightly. “Right,” he says, his voice small. He looks away from Tim, focusing on the small window in the corner of the room, and says, “I… I’m sorry, Tim.”

 Right. Jon still thinks Tim hates him.

 Tim lets out a long, weary sigh and makes his way to Jon’s bed. He practically shoves the flowers into Jon’s hands; Jon takes them, more out of surprise than anything, white petals tickling the bottom of his chin. “It’s been six months, Jon. You’ve been… honestly, a bit dead? No offense. And I’ve been alive. And we both know it was meant to be the other way around.”

 Jon opens his mouth, and Tim holds up a hand. “Don’t. I know. I already hear enough about it from my therapist, I don’t need to hear about it from you too. The point is that I’ve… I’ve had time to think. And some of the things you did, I can’t forgive you for. But some of it…”

 Tim shrugs. “Martin would always go on about how it wasn’t your fault. About how you were suffering just as much as us. And maybe I didn’t believe it because I was already angry, or maybe I didn’t believe it because all I could think about was finally getting a chance at the revenge I’d chased after for years. But then you were gone, and the Circus was gone, and I just… didn’t have anything left for the anger to hold on to.”

 Jon clutches the flowers tightly in his hands, looks down at the petals. “But you were right,” he says quietly. “A- about me.”

 Tim casts himself back six months and sifts through a metric ton of bitter remarks and angry assumptions. “You’re going to have to be more specific.”

 Jon lets out a slow, shaky breath. “About me not being human.”

 Oh.

 “Jon—”

 “Do you know what I was dreaming about?” Jon cuts in before Tim can say anything else. “I- I don’t remember, not really, but… but I can guess. I… I Know, somehow, that- that they were the same dreams, over and over and over again.” Jon takes one of the flower petals between his fingers and rubs it back and forth, a nervous gesture. “I started having them soon after I took this job, you know. Naomi Herne was the first one, and I- I didn’t understand why. Every night, she was trapped in the fog, forced into her own grave, and I would try to move, because it- it felt like I should have been able to, but it- it never worked. So I… I stopped trying after a while. I would stand and watch as she relived one of the worst experiences of her life, every night, and I- I couldn’t do anything to stop it.”

 Jon crushes the petal between his fingers. “She was the first one, but- but there are so many more now. Lionel Elliott and Jordan Kennedy and- and, Christ, Georgie—”

 Jon makes a small, unhappy noise. “I don’t know when I realized that they could see me in their dreams too. That in trying to help, I- I’d just made myself another source of terror.”

 Jon falls silent for a few moments; the quiet is filled by the familiar tick tick tick of the clock in the corner. Then, so quietly Tim has to focus on his lips to catch the words, he says, “I… I think I made a choice. Before I woke up. I don’t… I don’t know what it means for me, not really, but I know it means that I’m worse than I was before.” He lets out a bitter laugh, devoid of any humor. “So, you were right. I’m just- just even less human now.”

 Jon falls silent again, and for a few moments, there’s just tick, tick, tick. Tim rolls the words over in his mind, looks at Jon’s pinched, unhappy expression, and says, “Okay.”

 Jon looks at him then, his brow furrowed in confusion. “Okay?”

 Tim shrugs and repeats, “Okay. You’re not human. I’m not going to pretend like that thrills me or whatever, but it’s… honestly, it’s a lot less of an issue for me now than it was back then.”

 “I- I don’t…” Jon trails off with a frustrated noise. “What?”

 Tim sighs. “A lot’s changed, Jon. Things have… well, things have kind of gone to hell. Honestly, we could use a few monsters who are on our side for a change.”

 Jon blinks at him in stunned silence for a few moments more before saying, bewildered, “... Right. Uh, I- I suppose I shouldn’t ask how you’ve been, then.”

 A wry smile cracks across Tim’s face. “I’ve been just peachy, thanks for asking. Blow up one Circus and suddenly every spooky monster out there wants to kill you. It’s been one big, long, horrible sleepover in the Archives. But hey, at least Elias isn’t there! Now we’ve just got Lukas, and if one or two staff members disappear every once and a while, well—that’s just how it is at the Magnus Institute. Nothing to be concerned about. Sometimes, we still go out for drinks.”

 “Tim,” Jon says flatly. The exasperated expression on his face is so familiar—so Jon—that Tim feels a tension he hadn’t known he’d been holding slip away. 

 “Yeah, yeah,” Tim says, waving a hand absently in Jon’s direction. “Point is, I’m not disappointed or angry or whatever that you’re back in the land of the living.” He pauses, and then, more sincerely: “Martin’s not the only one who’s missed you, okay?”

 Jon’s lips part into an O. Then, his mouth twitches up into a smirk, and he says, “Mm, you’re right. Basira did stop by earlier, and then of course Georgie, and I bet even Melanie—”

 “Unbelievable. And here I was nice enough to come all the way over here, to bring you flowers.”

 “Mm, they are very nice flowers.”

 “Damn right they are.”

 Jon smiles then, a fragile thing, and says, “Thank you, Tim. I… I’ve missed you too.”

 Tim could point out that Jon had been asleep for the majority of the time in question. But he knows that’s not what Jon means. So instead, he offers Jon a smile in return and says, “Be honest: more or less than the Admiral?”

 Jon shoots Tim a flat, unimpressed look. “Tim, don’t be ridiculous. Of course less than the Admiral.”

 .

.

.

 Tim’s been out of the wheelchair for a week when he finally manages to make his way to the roof of the Institute, still learning how to maneuver the crutches he’s moved on to. He swears he can feel every motion of the pins and the rods in his leg—skin covered with even more scars for the collection—as he finally heaves himself through the door and into the cool night air. 

 The view is just as good as he remembers.

 There’s the faint smell of cigarette smoke hanging in the air, and Tim’s entirely unsurprised to see Jon silhouetted against the glow of London, leaning against the wall that rings the roof with his back facing Tim. The cigarette glows a dull red as he raises it to his lips and breathes in.

 Jon doesn’t say anything, even as Tim painstakingly makes his way over to where he’s stood. Tim props his crutches against the wall before leaning his weight heavily against it, arms crossed atop the wall in a mirror image of Jon as they both look out onto the city below, humming with life and light.

 Finally, after a particularly long drag of his cigarette, Jon says, “I’m going to get Daisy.”

 There’s no room for argument in his voice. But that’s never stopped Tim from trying anyways. 

 “I thought you were done doing stupid shit that’ll get you killed,” Tim says, turning his head to look at Jon. Jon’s staring forward, but Tim gets the distinct impression that Jon isn’t looking out at the city at all.

 “It won’t kill me,” Jon says quietly. He moves his hands as he talks, surprisingly competent sign language that he’s begun using tentatively in his conversations with Tim. When Tim had asked him where he’d learned it, Jon had been quiet for a long moment before telling him that he hadn’t.

 Well. At least the Eye was being useful for once.

 “Yeah, whatever,” Tim says. “Dead or not, you’ll still be gone. You know people who crawl into that coffin don’t come back.”

 “I don’t—” Jon cuts off with a frustrated noise. After a moment, he continues, “I have a plan. I- I read a statement, and it said that I would need an anchor. A- a piece of myself to keep here. I can find it when I’m down there, and- and use it to guide me back.”

 “Right,” Tim says dryly. “Because our plans have always gone so well.”

 “What would you have me do, Tim? I- I can’t just do nothing.”

 “Why not?”

 Jon affixes him with an expression that’s half-affronted, half-stunned. “Tim.”

 “What? Jon, we barely know Daisy. She tried to kill you. No, don’t give me that look.” Tim jabs a finger in Jon’s direction. “You know I’m right.”

 “I…” Jon trails off. After a moment, he hugs his arms to himself, his snubbed-out cigarette still smoldering slightly on top of the wall. “I know. But I… I still have to go. I… I’m still going to go.”

 Tim exhales slowly and says, “Right. Suppose I should have expected that.”

 There’s silence between them for a moment. Then, Jon removes his hands from his arms and signs as he says, quietly, “Why don’t you hate me?”

 Tim stares at Jon for a long moment before saying, “What?”

 Jon sighs and repeats, the motions of his hands larger and more emphatic, “Why don’t you hate me? Basira and Melanie, they- they keep looking at me like I’m some… thing, and- and maybe I am. No, not… not maybe. I’m not… I’m not human anymore, and I- I know what you said, but what happens when I—?”

 Jon cuts off with a small, choked noise, like the air’s been sucked out of him all at once. Weakly, he signs, “I’m so hungry, all the time. What happens when I… when I can’t take it anymore? When I- I become dangerous, a- a monster, will you—?”

 Jon’s fingers curl into fists, and he drops his hands to his sides, angling himself away from Tim and staring at an arbitrary point in the distance. “It’s better this way,” he says, loudly enough that Tim can make out the words above the hum of London at night and the ever-present ringing in his ears. “I… I don’t want to go. I don’t want to lose this, to- to lose you and- and Martin. But maybe it’s better than becoming something that will hurt you.”

 Jon won’t meet Tim’s eyes. Carefully, Tim reaches across the space between them and takes Jon’s hand in his, uncurling Jon’s fingers gently in an attempt to release some of the tension. Slowly, he says, “You know, I… I shouldn’t be alive right now. Back after the Unknowing, when I woke up in the hospital, I… I didn’t want to be. It was supposed to be whatever it takes, and to me, that was always going to mean my death. Revenge and poetic justice and all of that. I should have died, but I didn’t. And… and you did. And it’s not something I feel guilty about, because we both made the same choice in the end, but that… that doesn’t stop me from feeling, sometimes, like it was my fault somehow.” He lets out a sharp laugh and says, “Well, I was the one to actually blow the place up in the end, but, you know.”

 Tim holds Jon’s hand carefully in his like it might break otherwise, the mottled texture of the scar tissue firm against his fingertips. His eyes find the thin white line slashed across Jon’s throat, the stark white bandage poking out from the collar of Jon’s shirt where it covers a fresh scalpel wound in his shoulder, the pale pink spots that pepper Jon’s skin in a mirror image of his own. He can’t see the splash of jagged scars across Jon’s back, a memory of shrapnel and white-hot explosions, but he knows they’re there. “You asked why I don’t hate you?”

 When Jon nods mutely, Tim says, “I just… ran out of reasons why I should. I still wanted to, but…” He shrugs and gives Jon a wry, humorless smile. “We’re all just stuck in the same shitty situation. And I guess at some point, I just decided that you hadn’t chosen to be here any more than I did.”

 “Oh,” Jon says, barely audible. 

 Tim takes Jon’s other hand in his, squeezes them firmly, and says, “And I’m sorry. Not for- for how we used to be, because I think the blame for that falls pretty evenly onto both of our shoulders, but… but for everything else. For what’s happened to you. Figured I’ve spent enough time feeling sorry for myself, I might as well extend you the same courtesy.”

 Jon’s fingers tighten around Tim’s, and he mumbles something Tim can’t quite catch. Then, he extracts his hands from Tim’s and signs, shakily, “I’m sorry too. For everything. But for what it’s worth, I… I’m glad you’re here. That you’re not dead. I- I know it’s been bad and- and I wish I could fix that, but I… I don’t know if I can.” Jon’s eyes when they meet Tim’s are sad but determined. “But I can fix this. I- I can get Daisy back. I can find my way out.”

 Tim looks at the firm set to Jon’s mouth, the furrow of his brow, and says, “Okay. But I’m going to hold you to that. Otherwise, I might have to go in after you.”

 Jon looks horrified. “Tim.”

 Tim holds his hands up in a placating gesture. “Hey, come back in one piece and we won’t have to worry about it.”

 Jon opens his mouth, then closes it again. There’s a long pause before he finally says, decidedly, “I will. I- I promise.”

 Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Tim wants to say. Instead, he shuffles closer to Jon and leans against the wall again, crossing his arms on top of it and looking out over the city. “Good,” he says softly. 

 After a moment, Jon shifts to face the city as well. His arm brushes against Tim’s, and Tim lets that point of contact ground him as he looks up and up and up at the stars above, pinpricks of light on a satin black sky. 

 “Thank you,” Jon says, just loud enough for Tim to hear. 

 Tim moves his hand to cover Jon’s where it sits on the wall and squeezes once. “Yeah.”

 They stand there until sunlight begins to tickle the edges of the horizon. And when Jon gives Tim’s hand one last squeeze, the other holding the lid of the coffin open, and says, “Be back soon,” Tim believes him.

 .

.

.

 Three days later, Jon climbs out of the coffin with dirt caked underneath his fingernails and a thin, sharp hand clutched in his. “Tim,” he says, and Tim ignores the pain in his leg as he lets his crutches drop to the floor and hugs Jon tightly.

 “Looks like I’m staying above ground after all,” Tim jokes, his voice light even as his words come out wet and choked.

 Jon’s laugh vibrates against Tim’s chest. “Yeah,” he says, burying his face in the fabric of Tim’s shoulder to hide his smile. “Yeah.”

#tma #the magnus archives #jonathan sims #tim stoker #martin blackwood #creators are revealed now so i can post this! #very exciting #blood cw #body horror cw #injury cw #hospitals cw #suicidal ideations cw #more cw in the body of the post as well #my writing #my fic

[deliciousangelfestival]

Wicked Romance

Chapter 1

Character: Mob!Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: Steve was hoping to meet the right one until he met her. But is he ready to be with her? He thought his life already dark because of his job. He wouldn’t able to find a woman that strong enough to face the hardship to stand beside him. Turn out his life is nothing compared to her. 

Warning: Maybe bad writing? Hehehe forgive me. This is my first time write and posting my own fan fiction on tumblr.

############

If an outsider sees Steve, he got everything: looks, money, status. But for him, he lacks one thing; the right person to stand beside him.  

But let’s talk about how Steve became the new mob leader.

Steve got raised by his mother Sarah Rogers, it was until he retired from the military he reconnected with his father again. 

He thought his father, Joseph Rogers owns a security firm every time he visits him when he was a kid after his parents divorced. Until he reaches a certain age he realized his father actually is a mob boss. He found his childhood friend Bucky, they went to the army together, also working with his father after he got into an accident that cost his left arm. 

He owes it to his father, but Joseph doesn’t need his son to pay his debt. He only wanted his son to stay with him. Joseph has everything, but he missing two things; his lovely wife and his son. 

Joseph loves Sarah, but he forgot she doesn’t come from a mobster background. When they got married, she was overwhelmed. Looking at her husband coming home with blood on his hands or they need to stay at the safe house when she was 8 months pregnant and when Steve was baby the rival gang tried to hurt her and their son. 

Sarah admitted to Joseph that she couldn’t live like this. In the end, she asks to separated but they never divorced. Joseph never sends the document to the court. 

When Joseph retired, he decided to be honest. He went to chase his wife again. With a lot of effort the couple reunited again.

Their love story was so sweet that could make Steve’s teeth hurt. Joseph appointed Steve as the new leader while he enjoys his second honeymoon with his wife. 

It’s been 5 years since Steve became the new mob boss, now he’s waiting for the one that could help him write a sweet story like his parents. 

## 

Right now around lunchtime at the fancy that owned by Rogers. Steve and others like Bucky and Sam are sitting at the bar. While Pietro is the bartender serving their drinks. 

It's a usual day for them but it's a little bit different with Steve this time.

Steve head not looking at his food because notices someone seating near the window. She wearing a dress, not too sexy but he could see her legs. She is completely different from a woman who dressed less to get his attention. The reason is simple Steve is an attractive man, tall, broad shoulder, the expensive three-piece suit that wraps his muscles. He only sits for 3 minutes, few girls try to seduce him but he politely or in a sarcastic way to shoo them. 

And the girl who he watched for a while won’t budge to turned around. It poked his ego a little bit. He quite used to with the flirt and attention. 

“You still staring at her.”

Bucky’s words made Steve snap up from his trance. 

Steve shook his head, he couldn’t help it because he wants to see the woman face who sitting alone. 

“Pfft.”

Someone who holds his laughter. Three of them turn their gaze towards the bartender served their drink. 

“Something funny Pietro?” Steve raised his eyebrows. 

“I’m just surprised my boss lose his game before approaching Miss Lilly.”

Steve tilts his head “You knew her name?”

Pietro nodded while whipping the glass with cloth “Yup, the gorgeous lady that always left a big tip.” 

“She has become a regular?” Sam asks surprised. 

“Perhaps, it’s difficult to forget her since the first time she came here.” Pietro is a sucker for a beautiful woman. 

He put the clean glass on the shelf “The day she came here also the first day Peter Peter start his job.”

The alpha male grunted when Parker’s name mentioned. That kid is troublesome. He always late for his job and clumsy, but he’s the best chef assistant according to Wanda who the head chef at the restaurant. 

“So she’s been our customer for 5 months. How come we never notice her?” Sam whispered asking. They always come here every day for lunch and dinner. 

Pietro raised his shoulder “Usually she only stays for 10 minutes after buying one drink. Then she left. This is the first time she asks for a table.” 

After hearing the info from Pietro, Steve looking at her back once again. 

“Steve, if you don’t talk to her I will,” Sam said while moving from his seat. 

Steve stop Sam by grabbing his shoulder “I didn’t say I don’t want to.”

“Go get her punk.” Bucky raised his fist.

Steve nodded, he walks closer towards her table, he doesn’t understand why his heart beating so fast. 

He already in his game, using his usual pick-up line and smile, but before his foot stops at her table, she turns her head towards him. 

It felt like a slow-motion when he saw her looking at him. 

The first moment he looked at her eyes, somehow the time stop and world in only both of them. 

She looks at him with a friendly smile. ‘Her eyes,’ he couldn’t look away. 

“Hi…” He couldn’t believe he almost squeaked his voice. Steve could feel his face turn red like tomatoes. How he wishes, the situation could change.

‘BANG’

The loud sound came from the gun sound. The door abruptly opened by a bunch of guys who wear suits, some of them holding guns, and baseball bat, and the one who leads them is Brock Rumlow. 

Steve cursed, because of the annoying newcomer, he already lost the moment with her. But partly he blamed himself, earlier he wished to change the situation. Be careful what you wished for.

It must be his rival gang who crash his business again. This is the third time in one month. Since Brock became the new head after Pierce died. 

“Damn it.” He saw Bucky and Sam already start kicking and punching. 

He turned at her, he looks at her with puppy eyes “Forgive me for today’s distraction. You don’t have to pay. It’s free.”

Before she could reply, one guy holding a baseball bat, and swing at Steve but he able to stop it. 

“Everyone leave this place !!!” He screamed his lungs out to alarm the guest who still shocked. All of them ran to save their lives. 

Steve, Bucky, Sam, and Pietro busy fighting their rival. 

No wonder why he had bad feelings, today seems nothing could go wrong. He knew something bad will happen. Turn out it’s Rumlow. 

“What do you want Rumlow?” Steve hissed at the uninvited guest.

Brock shrugged his shoulder “Oh nothing, I just want to say hi to my rival, since I became the boss now.”

‘Because of that reason?’ Steve inwardly thought. But he knew why Rumlow did this, he want everyone to know his name since he recently got this position. And this bastard choose his place at the wrong time and the wrong place.

Both of them punches at each other and destroyed the furniture.

Brock always sneaky, he prepares a hidden knife under his sleeves aka phantom blade. 

He succeeded stab Steve’s shoulder. 

“Urgh.” But because of his muscles, it didn’t go that deep. 

Brock brings Steve to his shoulder and throws him to the ground. 

Steve landed on the ground while Brock put on a mocking smile looking down at him. 

“Boys~”

The seductive voice made both of them turn to see who it was. 

Steve widened his eyes when he saw the girl who took his breath away standing in front of them. 

When she stood, he could see she’s wearing a skirt that has a high cut on her left thigh. Steve and Brock were taken aback because under the fabric there’s a belt dagger. 

She slightly pouted which made Steve thought for a second she looks adorable. But what the hell is she doing here when he already told everyone to leave this place.

She put her right hand on her left chest “It breaks my heart seeing my favorite restaurant destroyed like this.”

Steve somehow felt happy when he knew she like his work.

She grabs the dagger and throws it to Steve. 

“I’m lending it to you.” She winked at him, and turn around to grab her coat. She headed to the exit door, easily avoided the fight.

“That’s one hot lady right there.” 

“Yeah, she is.”  Steve took the chance to give a butthead towards Brock. He doesn’t want this jerk to look at his ‘future date’. 

Brock screamed while holding his broken nose “That’s was low, I was distracted.”

“Let’s get this over with. I can’t do this all day.” Steve finally let out his rage towards Rumlow. 

####

Their fight is done with the result Steve side who won. 

“I’ll get you next time,” Brock screamed angrily, his fingers broken by Steve. He got carried by the paramedic. 

Steve wiped his bloody nose with a cloth while Bruce pressing his shoulder “Yeah yeah, just not in this place again.” He answered lazily. 

He sighed because he’s getting tired of Rumlow childish fight. After his wound got treated by Bruce, Steve went back into the restaurant. 

What he saw is a broken window, table, the custom leather chair that imported from Italy also ruined. There will be one person who will be crazy over this, Natasha who also his accountant, and Bucky’s wife. 

His shoes step on the broken glass, his eyes locking to the table where she sat. 

When he arrived he saw the book she read. Steve notice there is a bookmark inside of it. He doesn’t want to touch her touch without permission but he eager wants to see what inside. 

Steve put his hand on his mouth and gasped “Oh f**k!”

“Language you punk!” Bucky and Sam appear from behind. Their face and hands also bruised because of the short fight. 

“What’s wrong?”

They got no answer from Steve. He look like a statue still looking at his hands.

Bucky and Sam glanced at the bookmark on Steve’s hand. Both of them smirked.

’When the restaurant re-open, text me: (646)-xxxxxxxx’

Steve’s mind went back to the first time he saw her face and that beautiful smile, then the way she’s not afraid of the craziness that happens today, and she lent him a dagger so he can win. 

He didn’t think it wasn’t a thing, but it happened to him. 

He fell in love at the first sight. 

“We totally lose him.” Sam waves his hand in front of Steve’s eyes. 

They could see Steve on cloud nine right now. 

“Good for him, maybe he could move on this time,” Bucky murmured. 

Sam pointed one critical point “But first of all, we need to tell your wife about today.” 

Bucky sighed “That’s the difficult part.” 

While his friends busy thinking about how to coaxing Natasha so she won’t stun them with the lecture that could last for the whole day and make their ear hurts, Steve is planning how to renovate the restaurant fast so he could text her.

>>>CHAPTER 2

Taglist:

@cloudystevie​

#mob!steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #bucky barnes #sam wilson #pietro maximov #peter parker #cs4kwritingchallenge #marvel au #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers #steve rogers imagine

[mercurysstars]

All That Glitters Is Not Gold (part 1)

Summary: Y/n gets hired to be the avengers chief physician and also happens to be an ex assassin.

Word count: 2.5k

Warning: Violence.

A/N: this is an old story that I wrote the first few chapters of so I figured why not finish it.

𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘵 𝘮𝘦

𝘪 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘸,

𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥.

_

Y/n POV

_

"I'm pulling up Matt ill talk to you later," Y/n says while turning on to the gravel road that leads to the Avengers compound.

"Alright call me if you need anything." With that Matt hung up.

As Y/n was nearing the end of the road she looked up to see a tall black gate surrounding the compound. 5 feet in front of the gate there was a waist-length box where you could scan your badge or press a button to talk to the operator.

Y/n pressed on the button, and it began ringing. Three seconds after a muffled voice came through.

"Hello Avengers compound front desk, this is Teresa speaking. How may I help you?"

"Um hi, I'm Y/n Y/l/n. I'm the new Chief physician."

"Oh of course Dr.Y/l/n, when you hear a buzz pull right on in."

"Thank you!" Y/n exclaimed before she pulls in the gate.

Today was Y/n's first day as the Chief Physician for the Avengers. Everyone before her either quit because the job was too demanding or they were scared for their safety. Generally, doctors are 'nerds', and most time nerds aren't really Averger threat worthy of defending themselves. Tho you couldn't really say the same for Y/n.

_

Y/n pulled in the gate to see several buildings, she pulled in front of the biggest one with lots of windows and a huge A on the side. Y/n put her car in park and rested her head on the steering wheel giving herself a mini pep talk.

Who wouldn't be nervous the first day of their new job? Especially if you were working with superheroes. They'd have to rely on her in their most vulnerable moments. Y/n could only hope she could be what they needed.

A knock at the window caused Y/n to jump.

She grabbed her chest and took a deep breath while opening her car door.

"Hello, ma'am, would you like for us to valet your car?" The man said with a boyish smile.

"Oh, that would be great." Y/n squinted her eyes to get a good look at the boy's name tag "Torres thank you."

Torres gave a polite smile with a little nod and took the keys from Y/n.

_

The compound was crowded with SHIELD recruits, scientists, journalists, and other lower-level avenger employees.

Y/n began to weave between people to get to the front desk. She approached the desk to see a blonde petite woman with round glasses.

Y/n cleared her throat "Teresa right."

The stalled her typing and looked up from the computer screen. "Yes Ma'am and I'm assuming Dr.Y/l/n?"

"I am she, I was told I'd get my pass here," Y/n said

Teresa took a badge off her desk and swiped it on the side of the computer screen. "Here you go. You have a gold pass, so you can get into any room or floor you please. Happy is by the elevator to escort you up to your office."

Y/n looked over to her left to see a chubby man with short brown hair in a black suit with his arms crossed behind his back looking around standing exactly where the woman said.

Y/n quickly thanked Teresa, put the pass over her head, and walked over to the man.

_

As Y/n nears the man she could see the prominent scowl on his face which didn't change when she became within a few feet from him.

Happy gestured his head toward the elevator and Y/n followed. When they got in Happy swiped his badge and pressed the 2nd floor. She furrowed her brows in confusion her office was on the 11th floor.

"I thought we were going to my office," Y/n questioned as the elevator dinged and the doors opened.

They stepped out "He wanted you to meet the Avengers, so you wouldn't have to meet them in more unfortunate circumstances." Happy replied dryly.

Y/n just nods in response. They walk down the long hallway the only noise between the two is Y/n's heels clicking against the hardwood floor.

They arrived at the door of the Avenger's conference room. "Thank you," Y/n says. Happy gave tight-lipped smile in response. What a dick she thinks.

_

Y/n paused, she wiped her sweaty hands against her skirt. Taking in deep breaths didn't seem to help calm her nerves. Adjusting her bag, plastering a fake smile on her face, and tilting her chin up just the slightest, Y/n manages to walk into the conference room.

"And there she is." Y/n heard as she entered. Her eyes darted around the room when she looked to the left her gazed finally found the man she was looking for.

"TONY!" She shrieked happily and ran into his arms. "Hey, Sunshine long time no see." Y/n scrunched her nose at the nickname as she squeezed Tony nearly to death.

Everyone that sat at the table watched them confusingly as they embraced each other. After an awkward silence, Clint spoke up.

"Not that I mind the beautiful face compared to these hags, but who's the new girl." Nat jabbed him in the ribs. "OW!"

They pulled away from each other and Tony cleared his throat "Oh yes, of course, guys meet our need chief physician Y/n Y/l/n or more specifically our new personal doctor."

"Y/n this is Wanda, Vision, Natasha, Clint, Steve, Sam, And Bucky. Peter is at school and Thor's in Asgard, so you'll meet them later " Tony added.

Saying that didn't ease their confusion. "No offense or anything Dr.Y/l/n but you look quite young to be a doctor and a liability in the field" Steve Rogers or better know as 'Captain American' says.

"Just Y/n please, Captain Rogers, and I assure you that I can very well take care of myself when push comes to shove. As for the age, well I'm only 26, so I'm quite young for a doctor."

That catches Bucky's attention 'I can very well take care of myself when push comes to shove'  what does that mean?

He looks up from the table and looks at Y/n, he was immediately drawn to her. There was a familiarity in her eyes.

She had y/c/h colored hair and y/h. She wore a confident demeanor. Y/n had a white blouse, a black pencil with black heels. She had a lanyard around her need with her ID and a couple of keys.

Bucky felt a poke in his side. He looked over to see Sam with a raised eyebrow giving him the 'I totally caught you staring' look. Bucky rolled his eyes and gave him the 'I don't know what you are talking about' look. He huffed annoyed with Sam and looked back at Y/n.

The hair on the back of Y/n's neck stuck up as she felt like someone was watching her. She looked around for the source to be met with deep blue eyes.

She felt her stomach flip. Bucky Barnes or more commonly known to her as 'The Winter Soldier' the world's best assassin. Bucky quickly looked away.

"We bumped into each other a few years ago, right Y/n?"

Y/n eyes snapped to Tony's and nodded at him. It isn't technically a lie she told herself.

_

Y/n 7 years ago

_

"Goddammit." Y/n cursed herself while scooping up her textbooks off the pavement. She crossed the street while holding her books to her chest.

Grunting and wrestling caused Y/n's eyes to snap toward the alley. Out of curiosity, she walked closer to the commotion. As she neared she heard muffled screaming. Her eyes went wide she dropped her books, heard a splash, and she darted closer to the sound.

When she approached she could see about 8 men dressed in black tactical gear surrounding a man in an expensive suit. She caught a glimpse of a hydra sign on the van behind them. "Oh, fucking hell" she whispered.

The man started to scream again. She pulled her hoodie over her head "here goes nothing." She huffed.

Y/n rushed toward the man closest to her. She pulled her backpack off, wrapped the straps around his neck, spun around, and flipped him over her back.

She rushed towards the next man. She used her momentum to bring herself around up his midsection and sat on his shoulder. Y/n grabbed the hydra agent's gun off his thigh holster and shot the two men that were trying to shove the man in the van.

She tried to shoot the third one, but the gun clicked as it was out of bullets. The Hydra agent's shoulder she sat on kept trying to throw her off. "Hold on you cocksucker you'll get your turn," Y/n grunted.

She cocked her shoulder back and chucked the gun at the other hydra agent she couldn't shoot before, it hit him in the head, and he hit the floor within seconds. She took her knife flipped it around and shoved it in the man's throat that she sat on. The hydra collapsed, she hit the floor and rolled up onto her feet.

The next agent seen her a rushed toward her, he swung his knife, and she ducked, she faked a punch and the man went to block it. She saw an opening and kicked him in the stomach, he fell back with a thud.

She snuck up on the second to last man, she wraps her arms around his throat and pressed a pressure point to get him to pass out. Y/n turned around to take out the last agent but the man in the suit head-butted him and jabbed him in the ribs and they both collapsed.

At that time Y/n got a chance to really look at him, and it finally clicked. Expansive suite plus hydra agents equal Tony Stark. She felt her heart drop, only her luck that she would save an Avenger.

She yanked her hood down, walked over to Tony, and stuck out her hand. "Well, mister Stark it's good to see your suit wasn't too badly ruined." She joked.

Tony grabbed her hand and grumbled, she pulled him up, and he straightened his jacket. "I had them on the ropes." He commented dryly.

"Oh yeah, I'm sure you did." She rolled her eyes. They started to slowly walk back towards the street.

"Okay, what the hell was that? You pulled up all G.I Joe and took like 10 of them out."

Y/n figured after he saw that she couldn't lie and told Tony about how she grew up, and her training. They talked for a good 20 minutes. They neared the end of the alley and Tony turned to her. "You know we are always looking for more people on our team, we could definitely use you."

Y/n chuckled grabbing the books that she dropped earlier "I'm no hero Tony, and I'm a little busy going to school for my doctorate, which on that note I need new books because I dropped them in a puddle." She grimaced.

Tony paused to think for a second. "Here I'll make you a deal, I'll pay for your college, housing, and anything else you need if when you graduate if you consider joining our team."

Y/n's eyes went comically wide "Wait what? I can't ask you to do that, that's like 200,000 dollars of just school debt, let alone housing and all that."

Tony just smiled "Oh Sunshine you truly wound me, that's basically a trip to the Bahamas, c'mon think about it."

It was an offer she truly couldn't refuse, no one has ever been this kind to her sense well ever.   Y/n thought it over for a moment, She stuck out her hand "Well Tony Stark you have a deal, and don't call me Sunshine."

Tony gladly shook her hand.

_

"Funny enough, Tony wasn't paying attention to where he was going and ran right into me and spilled coffee all over me and him. But I don't blame him I know his eyesight is getting worse because of his old age, right Anthony?" Y/n put an arm around Tony mockingly.

Tony scowled and pushed her arm off with fake disgust. "What's with the insult's sunshine?" This time it was Y/n who grimaced.

"Any-who I've got another meeting to get to, so you're gonna have to have someone else show you around."

"Bucky will do it." Sam grinned.

Y/n looked over to see Bucky wide-eyed. "Well let's get to it, Sargent Barnes." She smiled.

_

Once everyone left the conference Bucky looked at Y/n with a pink tint to his cheeks. "Uh sorry, Sam can be a bit much sometimes." He rubs his neck sheepishly.

"Don't worry about it Sarge, I'm flattered that you'd show me around." She grinned.

Bucky looked torn for a split second, but his expression eases at Y/n's easy-going demeanor. "Well then, shall we get going." He Stuck out his arm.

She smirked back grabbing his arm "We shall."

He explained how the first floor is just mostly open to the public and where they hold press conferences. The second floor is where the SHIELD training room, a tiny med-bay, and the kitchen are. The whole third floor is for the Avengers to train which includes a weight room, sparring room, shooting range, pool, sauna, and locker rooms.

The fourth floor is where Bruce and Tony's lab is located. The 5th floor is where the Avengers common room and kitchen are. The 6th floor is where the debriefing room, weaponry, and where they get dressed to go on a mission. The next five floors are where their rooms were located.

"And here we have the 11th floor. Avengers med-bay and where your office is located also out the window you can see the Quinjet."

"It's awfully plain in here," Y/n murmured peeking into her new office.

"Our last doctor was a bit older in age and a little strict. No conversation, no joking around, and absolutely no color was her motto." Bucky crosses his arms while looking around the room.

"Thank the lord I won't ever have to meet her." She said with slight distaste.

"Actually Dr.Smith is the new SHIELD doctor, so don't thank god just yet."

Y/n playfully rolls her eyes and smiles back at Bucky. "Well thank you Sargent for the tour I appreciate it."

"I told you doll, call me Bucky." Her knees nearly buckled at the nickname.

"Alright then Bucky, thank you." Bucky put on his famous smirk

"Anytime doll, anytime."

Before Bucky walked out the door he turned to look at Y/n one last time. She gave him a mock salute and he chuckled.

Part 2

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #bucky fic #bucky x female reader

[babybatscreationsv2]

Marvel | Starker

Tony has some hesitance about bringing knives into the bedroom, but when he sees how much Peter wants it he lets loose.

Rating: Explicit

Warnings under the cut

Goretober 2021

Warnings: knife play, blood play, bondage, pain and violence

"You sure, Pete? I don't want to hurt you."

Peter rolled his eyes. "That's the whole point. You're supposed to hurt me."

"I know but..."

Peter pouted. "Don't you wanna hurt me?"

Tony looked at the knife in his hand, turning it so it caught the light. He grinned. "Well when you put it that way."

Peter chewed his lip as Tony's eyes ran down on his body, bare and tied down. He looked more excited than nervous. More importantly he looked vulnerable. It called to the dark, gnawing, hunger in his chest.

He put the knife against Peter's bare belly. Peter drew in a quick breath and went very, very, still. Tony smirked. "You scared, baby?"

"A little," he whimpered.

Tony salivated. "It's gonna hurt. You know that, right?"

"I know," he answered. His breathing was shallow as if he were trying to keep away from the blade. Tony tilted it and dragged it sideways up his rib cage, scraping against his skin. Peter's breath quickened.

"Excited?"

Peter nodded. "Please. Please..."

Tony lifted the knife, let him get a good look at it, then he brought it slowly down and let the point dig into the skin below his collar bone until Peter hissed. Tony licked his lips.

"Keep going," Peter whined. "Please, I want it."

His eyes were wide, his cheeks were pink, and his cock was still hard against his belly. Tony took it all in finally absorbing that he had Peter's full consent. Then he went for it.

Jaw set tight, he gripped the knife and dragged it through his skin. Peter screamed at first, then settled into heavy, ragged, breaths. He followed the line of his collarbone down to his shoulder. He pulled the blade from his skin and watched a single drop of blood drip down and land on Peter's pale skin. He took the flat side of the blade and smeared blood across Peter's cheek.

His cheek heaved in fear and pain. Tony gave him a moment to settle then he took the knife and set it above Peter's heart. He pushed in and slowly cut through his skin, drawing an X. Peter was crying now, sweet little tears shining on his cheeks, broken little whimpers coming from his lips. Tony kissed his tears away and licked the salt from his skin. Then he slid down the bed and ran his tongue over his latest carving.

Peter whimpered in pain. Tony licked away blood only to force more out as he opened up the cut with his tongue. He kissed a line down his belly ending just above where his cock lay. Then he took his knife and made a quick slash above his belly button. Peter screamed and came off the bed. His legs kicked. But he didn't go anywhere. Not with the chains made especially for his strength, though Tony thought he heard wood crack.

He settled between Peter's spread legs. "Hold really still for me, baby."

Peter's lip was clamped between his teeth, but he nodded as he lay with his eyes locked on that knife. Tony stuck the tip into the inside of his thigh and began to carve.

 A.

Peter screamed.

 N. T. H.

He sobbed and trembled and struggled to keep still. Tony gave him only a second to breathe.

 O. N.

"Oh my god," he sobbed.

 ...Y

"Oh, fuck. Tony!"

Tony knew what Peter sounded like when he was close. He laid his hand over the cuts and curled his nails into the line of the T. Peter screamed. His whole body shook. His cock jumped against his belly, then spurting out white that mixed with the blood on his belly in a sticky pink mess.

Tony set the knife aside. He leaned over him to kiss his tear-dampened face until he calmed enough to kiss him back. Tony stroked his cheek and pet his hair.

"You did so good, baby. So perfect for me. You okay?" He reached up and started taking off the cuffs around his wrists.

"Yeah, I'm okay. That was so so good," he moaned. Tony chuckled. He sounded so out of it. He got Peter unhooked and pulled him into his arms, careful not to touch his wounds.

"How long until you heal?"

"A day or so."

"Good. I want to fuck you like this."

#marvel #starker #goretober 2021 #blood #violence

[kaiparker-avengerssmut]

Their Doll 3

Training

B.Barnes x Reader, S.Rogers x Stark!Reader

series synopsis: y/n Stark, all records of her non existent, and yet Hydra still find her. When she is kidnapped by a certain super-soldier and no one believes her, she finds herself searching for unexpected familiarity in her not-so-distant past.

Series Warnings: smut, violence, torture, swearing

Chapter summery: y/n starts training at Hydra and dicovers the other side of Bucky

warnings: violence

A/n: The timeline in this has been altered, as there I things I wanted to include but I also wanted this fic to follow the storyline/timeline of Winter Soldier and Civil war.So for purposes of this fanfic, Peter Parker was discovered by Tony at a much younger age - when he was bitten - and has been an intern with him since, almost like a protégée.(For the purposes of this story Peter was bitten much younger too - more like when he was 9 or ten rather than 14/15)

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

A little buzz sounded as my cell drew open, the chamber opposites sat empty. My head turned slightly to see a gruff man walk in, electrified baton in hand. I knew to be careful when they carried one of those.

"Up." Was all he said, hand wrapping around the metal cuffs and yanking me to my feet before he was dragging me through the desolate corridor.

It was strangely quiet - the past month the cells had been full, SHIELD agents and enemies of HYDRA clogging up the little glass rooms with blood stain clothes and bruised faces. I guess they'd been disposed of, and that though sent a chill down my spine. Is that how I was to end?

His hand pushed roughly between my shoulder blades, one foot falling over the other in a stumble as I fell into the room, the guard stepping in behind me and letting the heavy metal door slam shut with a threatening thud. The man I had first met when he smiled grimly at me once my alterations had first been completed was waiting with a smug grin - a sickening expression a rarely saw him without unless it was replaced with one of rage. I had come to know him simply as 'General'.

"Good afternoon, Miss Stark." He grinned, waving his hand menacing to motion me forward. I did as I was told, plodding forward tentatively until I was stood before him. A wince escaped me as he rough grabbed my chin, pulling it between his thumb and finger to tilt my head back so my gaze bored into his. "We are starting your training today." He stated, his free hand reaching around to unclasp the metal contraption laid over my mouth.

He tossed it to the bench that stood next to him before he raked a hand through my greasy hair, pushing the tangled locks out of my face. He seemed to observe me for a moment, letting his eyes wander over my body - which was clad in some simple black tactical suit - before landing back on my eyes again.

"You will be fighting the winter soldier every day for at least two hours. This training will only stop once you have beat him, and once this happens, we'll know you are ready to be released into the world." The General explained, letting go of my chin and giving me a nudge towards the centre of the room. It was only then that I saw the soldier standing there.

But he was not my comfort buddy. This version of him was rough, cruel looking. His teeth were bared, chest heaving and nostrils were flared. His bicep bulged against the leather of his suit and his face was set in a ruthless scowl. I gulped, meekly making my way to stand in front of him.

"Begin." Was all the general had to say before the soldier was on me, metal fist flying for my head in a fast punch. I ducked just in time, scurrying to the other side of him and taking the time to think.

I begun to hum a hypnotising tune, in hopes of stopping the lug of a man preparing to hit me harder this time, but with no luck. Distracted, his fist collided with my stomach this time, sucking the air from my lungs and lurching my backwards until my ass connected with the ground. I groaned loudly, rubbing my sore stomach as I tried humming again. All the while the soldier advanced on me, taking heavy step before his Chucky boat was connecting with my side.

"You may found his mind is much...stronger than a usual human's." The general smirked and my eyes widened as I quickly flipped onto my front, desperately attempting to crawl away. But I had no luck, the feeling of the soldier's gloved hand made me cry out as it gripped my hip and pulled me backwards harshly before his metal hand curled around my throat. He hoisted me up it the air, turning my small body in his hands as if I were as light as paper before slamming my head backwards into the wall, hand still tight around my neck.

My legs kicked aimlessly in the air, hands clawing frantically at his own as he repeated slammed my head backwards against the concrete.

"Enough!" The general barked as I felt my eyes rolling back, consciousness falling from my grasp. The soldier released me, my limp body falling the the floor at his feet as I coughed and spluttered. The soldier tune Ed away, walking to the centre of the room as I gasped for air and leant forward on my hands, retching at the ground from all fours. "Again!"

My eyes widened in realisation and I began to scramble to my feet, but the ominous footsteps reached my first and before I could utter a single word my body was crushed to the floor, the soldier's thick thighs straddling my own - tapping my arms at my sides too - to stop my from flailing.

The impact of his metal fist crashing against the side of my face burst my lips open and the wet trickle of blood down my chin made me shiver. Then it hit again and I cried out, a stinging echoing across the right side of my face. I could feel the flow of blood from my nose and the tangy taste of it on my tongue as it infiltrated my mouth, sliding over my lips.

I started to slip away, ready to let the pain take me when I heard the word boomed again.

"Enough!" The soldier pulled away instantly, pushing up from my thighs and thudding back across to the centre of the room again. A dizziness washed over me, and I soon came to realise that it would be a long time before I beat him. Then the dreaded word was ordered, reaching a groan from me as I climbed onto shaking feet, this time raising my aching arms and dusting my hands in order to attempt to block him: "Again."

... You'd think that was the worst part, huh? Well, guess again. What the general had definitely failed to leave out was the punishment for losing. For each game I lost, I earned myself five strikes.

When our first session was up, I was quickly escorted out - not before they replaced my silencer (that's what I opted to call it) - and dragged to another new room. This one also stood bare, only housing a single wooden pillar that stood around my own height that housed a round metal cuff of either side about half way up. I sealed thickly, eyeing the cuffs with fear and hesitation as I was shoved forwards until I was stood before the wood.

"Kneel." That order was spat at me, and the baton in the guard's hand made me oblige quickly, sinking to my knees before it and grimacing at the uneven gravel under my knees that bit into my skin even through my suit. He silently walked over to me, grabbing my wrists one at a time and locking them into the cuffs - nothing gentle about it. The jingle of his key was like nails on a chalkboard in my ears as he slipped my back into his belt and walked away.

The door was slung open, loud footsteps approaching me before an unsettling breath was at my ear.

"Maybe after this, you'll actually try to win tomorrow." The general gritted out, the cold tip on a knife hooking into the top on my suit and poking the back of my neck making me flinch. I gasped suddenly as he yanked the blade down, slitting the suit down the back and cutting it free of my arms until the fabric bunched at my waist. My sports bra was next to go, leaving me feeling humiliated as I felt the watchful eyes of both the general and the guards on my bared breast and nipples which were leaked from the cold.

I felt humiliated, knelt with my wrists bound and my top half naked in a room full of much less than honourable men in a place I didn't know. I flinched again when I heated the whip crack in the air, the general flicking the leather around in order to test it out.

"Why don't you count for me, princess?" He mocked, the sinister laughter of the guards adding to his at the sexual inference and my bottom lips quivered. The snap of the leather against my back sent a scream through me, snuffed out by the silencer. My body quaked and my eyes pooled with stinging tears as they became bloodshot red. Sweat broke out on my forehead as the once again sickening feeling of blood trickling down my skin filled my senses.

One, I counted in my head and a second later, the second hit harder than the first.

#smut #chris evans #chris evans smut #captain america #steve rogers x reader #steve x bucky #steve roger fanfic #steve rogers #steve rogers smut #bucky barns x y/n #bucky barns x reader #bucky barns imagine #bucky x you #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes smut #marvel fanfic #marvel smut #marvel #seb stan #sebastian stan

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Ready Or Not

Warnings: nonconsensual sex 

This is dark!Steve Rogers and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You make a run for it but how far can you make it?

Note: This was supposed to be a drabble for the incorrigible @lokislastlove​ but you know, I got carried away. That being said, I might just add more to this in the future because it was fun.

Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

One wrong step and you were toast. You didn’t hear Steve but he heard you. It all happened too quickly, you could only kick your dangling feet as he held you against the side of the house, his hand firm on your throat. It was all over and you’d barely gotten past the front door.

By your count it was nearly two weeks trapped inside; windows boarded, door locked, and your occasional yet unwelcomed visits from the only other person within miles. Your keeper, your warden. 

But you waited, and waited, and waited. One slip and you were out. How could he have expected you to get out when you hadn’t done more than laid on that thin mattress and stared at the ceiling for the last five days. Or was it six?

It didn’t matter now. None of it mattered. Not the thoughts that had gotten you through it all, that you might one day be out of there, away from that room; away from him.

His hand was like a vice and your own was nothing as you clawed at his iron grip. His eyes flared in anger as he came close. His breath glossed against your lips as it came heavy in his ire.

“You think you can run from me? That you can just leave me?” He snarled and he squeezed tighter. 

“Ple--” Your voice caught in your throat as all air escaped you.

“I’ve clothed you, fed you, put a roof over your head and this is how you repay me,” He dropped you suddenly and it jarred your legs. “But go ahead, run. See how far you get.”

You blinked at him, terrified. You looked behind him to the endless crowd of trees and then to the house behind you. You felt the siding and squished the leaves beneath your feet. He shrugged.

“Well,” He backed away. “You’ve got twenty minutes…”

“Twenty minutes?” You touched your sore throat.

“Let’s even the playing field, huh?” He crossed his arms. “That’s a good start.”

“I don’t-- I don’t--”

“What’s that, nineteen minutes and… fifty seconds?” He taunted.

You looked around, your chest rising and falling as the panic swelled in your chest. You glanced at him again and he smirked as he turned to look out into the treeline. Then his gaze fell to you and he lifted his brows in challenge.

Startled by the glint in his eyes, you charged forward towards the forest and plunged past the trunks as your feet were scratched by the twigs and stone mixed in with the dirt and leaves. You were out of breath within minutes and your legs ached but you pushed yourself onward. You had to get as far as you could. If you had any chance at all, you had to keep going.

You tripped over a root and went flying, barely missing a thick walnut tree as you stumbled to the ground. You turned over with a groan as the air was knocked out of you and your ribs felt as if they would crumple inward. You sat up and listened. Only the birds and the distant feet of the critters in the trees.

You coughed as you stood and fought to regain your balance. You were dizzy from the fall and the muscles in your legs were starting to throb now that you were still. You stumbled one way then the other as you tried to get a sense of which direction was which. 

Then you heard it. A stick cracked and your heartbeat pattered even faster. You searched around and hurried over the overturned tree across the forest floor. There was a space below just big enough for you to slip in. You shimmied under the thick trunk and swept a pile of leaves and dirt over yourself until you were content you could not be seen.

You could see with one eye from your vantage, not that it was very good. You breathed through your nose as the boots dusted through the dirt and you were assured of your pursuers approach. Had it already been twenty minutes? He hadn’t been very far behind, had he?

You listened as he got closer and closer then you saw his figure emerge from between a pair of trees. He looked around, hands on his hips, and bent to examine the remnants of your fall; the dirt showed the disturbance clearly. He stood and chuckled to himself. He pushed the leaves around with his foot then strutted around the small space encircled by brush and branches.

“I know you’re here somewhere,” He called out. “I can hear you.”

You bit down and squeezed your eyes shut as he continued to walk around.

“Your heart is racing, you know that?” He taunted. “You’re fucking terrified aren’t you?” You opened your eyes and he was turned away from you, staring into the trees opposite you. “You should be.”

You rolled over and scrambled out of your hiding spot. You didn’t care. You had to get out of there. You fell into a sprint as you dodge between trees but you didn’t hear him in pursuit; well not running. You only heard a few decisive steps before you could hear only the wind whipping past you.

You came upon a clearing and sped up, hoping you weren’t headed back to the house. You didn’t make it far as you were suddenly swept off your feet. You were flipped by the rope that snagged around your ankle, spinning until you were left dangling from the branch above. You reached out to try to still yourself, sick to your stomach as the blood rushed to your head.

Steve emerged as you spun to face the trees you’d passed only moments before. He didn’t hurry, only paced around you as he laughed.

“I always have a contingency plan,” He said. “You should know that by now.”

“Steve, please,” You begged, reaching helplessly to the ground below. “Please, you can’t keep me here.”

“I can’t?” He scoffed and squatted down to look you in the eyes. He grabbed the back of your head to still you. “No one’s looking for you. No one. These things go cold after forty-eight hours and we both know you don’t have anyone to push it past that.”

“Please--” You put your hand on his. “Please--”

“Shhh,” He brought a finger to your lips. 

“I--I--” You stuttered and he rubbed his finger against your lips gruffly. “Can you-- can you cut me down?”

“Cut you down?” He tilted his head.

“My head hurts, please,” You said softly.

He looked at you a moment and reached to his belt. He pushed back his flannel shirt and grabbed the thick handle of the knife sheathed beneath. He pulled out the large hunting blade and your eyes widened. He brought it forward, twirling it as he pressed it where his fingers had just been against your lips.

“You’ve been a bad girl,” He said. “Bad girls don’t get what they want.”

You winced in defeat and he dragged the blade up along your jaw and neck, over your chest as the tip caught in the vee of your drooping shirt. He unhooked it and stood. He grabbed the rope and you stretched your arms out as he steadied you. He began to saw the rope and you caught yourself in the dirt as you came loose.

You grunted as you managed to roll onto your back. You were wrenched up to your feet within seconds as Steve grabbed your arm. He sheathed his knife as he reached for the end of the rope above him and tugged your wrist up. He held the rope and your wrist in one hand as he forced your other one up. 

You struggled with him a moment but he was far too strong. He wrapped the rope around until you were on your tiptoes. You hung before him and he once more took out his knife. He brought it up and pointed it at your nose.

“You tried,” He smirked. “As pathetic as it was.”

"Please," You sobbed, trying to pull at the rope.

"I'll cut your fucking tongue out," He snarled and pressed the knife to your bottom lip. "I should do worse considering."

You stared at him and he dragged the blade down your chin and neck. He hooked it in your shirt and tugged, cutting the cotton wide open. It hung from your arms and bared your breasts to the chill autumn air that only now began to bite as your adrenaline petered out.

The cold metal of the blade touched your pelvis as he slid it down the front of your loose shorts. He made quick work of them and they fell to the dirt. You shook and swayed from the rope, unable to do more than hang helplessly.

He traced a line down your stomach with the tip and a low chuckle escaped his lips. He brought it up under your chin and made you look at him.

“I’d hate to mess up that pretty face,” He growled. “So I’ll just have to find another way to punish you.”

He retracted the knife and shoved it back into its leather sheath. His tongue poked out between his lips as his hands ran along his belt. You squirmed as he gripped the buckle, his hands moving swiftly beneath the hem of his flannel shirt.

“Please, don’t--” You begged.

“I won’t tell you to shut up again,” He spat as he loosed his belt and nearly broke the button from his fly. “I’ve waited long enough. It seems too long.” He shoved his zipper down. “I’ve been too nice but I thought you’d get it by now.”

You sobbed quietly and hung your head, your arms straining against your weight. You gasped as he grabbed your leg and pulled it up. He bent it against his side as he swung you closer. He took your other leg and placed it around his other hip. He squeezed just above your knees as he let out a gristly breath.

“You don’t wanna keep pushing me, girl,” He warned as his rough palms slid up your legs and to your ass. He urged you closer and you felt his bulge through his open fly. “Because I will push you back.”

He snaked a hand around your hip and along your thigh. He shoved it between you and reached into the front of his jeans, bunched the top of his briefs as he pulled himself free from the layers. You stared at him, frozen, frightened. You gave a shaky breath as he pressed the head of his cock against your clit. He urged himself along your folds and rubbed against your entrance.

“I wanted you to like it,” He whispered as he pressed his forehead to yours. “Now I really don’t fucking care.”

He impaled you at once. You squeaked and pushed your head back. His hand flew from between you and he grasped the back of your head, forcing it up so that his eyes bore into yours. His nails dug into your scalp as you closed your eyes.

“No,” He sneered. “Keep ‘em open.”

He thrust, hard, and you yelped. It hurt terribly. Your walls were snug around him. Your lashes fluttered but you didn’t close your eyes. You nodded fearfully and he crashed his mouth into yours. He forced his tongue past your lips as he rocked his hips. Each tilt made you whine, the pain never relented, even as your nerves began to buzz in pleasure.

He nibbled at your lip before he dragged his wet mouth along your cheek and down your jaw. He pulled your head back so that you stared up at the sky through the shroud of leaves above. He nuzzled your neck and bit into your throat as he rutted harder and harder, his deep snarls undercut your brittle moans.

Your legs tightened around him and you sucked in your lip as you tried to resist the swelling waves within. You could feel the orgasm mounting, even as you fought against it, and you quaked as he forced you over the edge. You mewled and the tears trickled from the corner of your eyes. You felt so helpless, not just against him but against your own body.

He sped up and removed his teeth from your neck. He raised his head, his nose pressed to your chin as he bounced your body at the end of the rope. Your pathetic groans floated through the air as you wrapped your fingers around the rope. The cool air swept over your back and sent a shiver through you as the heat of his body seared your front.

He jerked into you as hard as he could. You cried out and sniffed back the tears which had started to rise with your second orgasm. You gulped it back as it rippled over you, your body overwrought and weak as he used it so easily. He barely seemed to notice as he hammered into you harder and harder, his boots crunching the leaves below him.

His hand moved from the back of your head and he grabbed your throat. He grip tightened as he fucked you faster. You struggled to breath as his fervour crested and he let out a dusky yet ferocious growl. His hips crashed into you painfully, sharp thrusts which jolted your hips and sent and echo along your spine.

He spilled into you, easing himself through his climax until he was still, lingering inside of you as his hand fell from your neck. You lifted your head, dizzy, your arms achy and your body humming.

He pulled out of your carefully and his cum dripped down your leg into the dirt. He zipped up his pants and buckled his belt as his panting slowed. He closed his eyes and his chest raised as he inhaled deeply. When he opened them, his pupils were small pinpoints, eerie and startling. 

He reached up and grabbed the rope just above your wrists. He yanked, once, twice, three times. You heard a branch snap and the rope came free, falling in a coil over you. He gathered it around his arm and hand until there were only a few feet between you. He turned and tugged so that you nearly tripped.

He didn’t look back as he led you into the trees; didn’t say a word, and you had no choice but to follow him, just a dog on your leash.

#steve rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader smut #dark steve rogers x reader #dark!steve rogers x reader #one shot? #one shot #fic #mcu #marvel #captain america #hunter!steve #nomad!steve rogers

[waspenned]

CONGRATS ON 100 BABESS!!

YOU DESERVE IT <33

for 🧠 - tasm!peter and cleaning his wounds/ taking care of him

AAAAHHHH THANK YOUUUUU here's the mini fic I tried my best to stay under 500 words it's not my best work AND NOT PROOFREAD IM SORRY bc I'm going out soon n need to get ready but HERE

“Will you stop running and just sit still?” You’re coming at him with a cotton ball drenched in rubbing alcohol and he’s wriggling around like a madman, avoiding the jabs you make at him with every scrap of energy in his body. He’s moving sluggishly, wounds torn into his skin, but is still somehow evading you as you chase him around the bed.

“It hurts!” He’s whining, twisting his shoulder to escape another swipe at the slash in his side, only to hiss in pain, pawing at it with his other hand.

“Yeah, that’s what happens when you run full speed at a knife.” Somehow, you’ve got a hand on his ankle, yanking him towards you along your bedcovers, and then straddling him, pinning him down by the hips. “Don’t touch it, your hands are dirty!”

“Oh my God, I didn’t run at the knife!” Peter is still fighting under you, his warm hands braced against your bare thighs and pushing, pushing, pushing, trying to get out. With a small shift in position, your feet are tucked under his hips, and you clench down, essentially pinning him in place against you. His legs scramble against the sheets, rumpling your duvet, but you thrust your weapon against his injury before he could get out.

The noise he makes is awful, somewhere between a scream and a whine - his body tenses automatically, trying to get away from you. It pricks tears in your eyes, your mouth pursed tight as you try and clean it as best you can, swiping away the dark, crusted blood along his ribcage.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” You’re practically pleading with him as he fights the sensation, puffs of air bursting from his lips as he tries to breathe through the pain, shrinking away from you. His hair is plastered against his forehead in dark stripes, ending just where his eyebrows are drawn in tight, head pressed back against the mattress.

“It doesn’t even hurt.” He grits out between ground teeth, an effort to preserve your feelings, despite the fact it’s an obvious lie. Eventually, you remove the cotton ball from him, flinging it away to the other corner of the room, and you apply the bandage you’d lain out on your bedside table before he had a chance to complain.

“It's done now, it's okay. You're okay.”

Slowly, his body relaxes, the gash covered and away from eyesight, his back unfurling onto your bed. He takes a few deep breaths, eyes cracking open warily, and then looking up at you from under his eyelashes, hands running up your thighs. They’re as rough as ever, calloused with the constant climbing and tinkering and soldering things together, despite your valiant efforts to get him to use hand cream. His heart thuds, and you can feel it, thumping through him like a baseline before he eventually speaks.

“...Do you wanna have sex?”

“Dude, if you don’t shut the fuck up-”

#penned. #printed. #100 sleepover #girl I am so sorry for this but the student club beckons me and I do Not have an outfit ready #watch me lose all these followers from drunk posting annoying shit LMAOOOO