#there's something so satisfying about ripping it off someone's mouth and watching them flinch | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mrsalwayswrite · 3 years

Text

Rage Like Ice (Sihtric x Reader)

This is my first time writing Sihtric, so let me know what y’all think!

Warnings: assault, attempted strangulation, aftermath of assault (I promise the assault itself is only brief)

Words:2,100

Tag List: @happyveday @evelynshelby

Thyra dabbed away the blood dripping from your split lip. You could see her wanting to say something but soon as she opened her mouth, something would flicker in her eyes and she would snap her mouth shut.

"Thyra… I am glad it was me. We don't need Beocca committing murder." You tried to both tease and soothe, even as you winced after you attempted to smile.

She smiled faintly but you could tell it was hollow. Her lips moved but her eyes remained sorrowful. "The gods were watching over us." She murmured in her gentle voice.

You nodded. Being the only two Dane women in Wintanceaster and both having been saved from different places by Uhtred and his men, you two had bonded. She had become the sister you never had.

"Sihtric may kill him though." Her fathomless eyes dropped down to the bruises forming around your throat then back up to meet your own.

"Shite. I need to cover it up."

She stared, eyes trailing over your face and neck. Most likely realizing the improbability of hiding the evidence of the fight. "Let me see what I can do." She dropped the bloodied cloth onto the table next to you, then spun on her heel and walked towards the bedroom without another word.

Soon as she was out of sight, you dropped your head into your hands and exhaled like it would dismiss all the tension and frustration rolling around in your gut. Your throat was beginning to ache and talking made it worse, even as you tried to mask the pain. You did not need Thyra heaping anymore guilt onto herself. Especially when it was not her fault.

The afternoon had not gone according to plan. King Alfred had summoned Uhtred, Finan and Sihtric to talk about Dane raids. Of course, Beocca tagged along, most likely in an attempt to keep Uhtred in line. Osferth had said something about visiting the church to pray. So while the men were gone, Thyra and you planned on taking a leisurely stroll through the market, getting supplies for a special dinner and working on it together before the men returned. You knew the simple act of making a meal with female company was something she missed from her childhood with her mother, so you tried to do it every time you could.

Of course, fate had other plans.

On your walk, a Saxon man yelled 'Dane whores' at you two from his seat at a pub. When you two ignored him, arms locked together and you rolled your eyes… apparently that was the wrong action to take. He stumbled out of his seat, not quite drunk but certainly not sober, and followed like a stray cat, hissing and trying to be threatening.

What you did not expect was for him to sneak up from behind and shove you forcefully to the ground. It may have been the dismissive look you had given him or how you told him to 'just leave us alone, bastard', but he focused all his anger out on you. He shoved Thyra to the ground also, kicking away her basket, spilling all its content onto the ground. After hitting the ground, you rolled over, Sihtric's training forcing your body to move, to be ready. Before you could move further, the Saxon knelt over you, pinning you beneath him.

Time blurred before your eyes, unable to vividly recall what happened next.

You remembered his hands around your throat, the weight of his body on your hips. You remembered Thyra screaming and trying to beat him off but he shoved her away again. You remembered trying to get him off, lungs shrieking, desperate for air. You remembered your mind demanding, pleading for escape. After all you had survived, after all you had endured… this could not be your end. You remembered in a last-ditch effort, grabbing the dagger you had strapped to your waist and in a Herculean attempt, stabbing him in the thigh with it.

Then, you escaped.

A crowd formed at the sight of the fight. Two men grabbed your attacker, restraining him as he snarled at you, blood dripping down his thigh. Thyra and you did not wait to see what happened next. She snagged your hand and you two raced back to her home.

Now, you could feel your hands shaking. You leaned back in the chair to look at them, laying in your lap. There were some droplets of blood on your skin. Either from you or him, you were not sure.

Your dagger was next to you on the table, cleaned off thanks to Thyra. A gift from Sihtric. When he gave it to you, he explained he hoped you never had to use it but wanted you to always have some kind of weapon on your person. Wessex was not Daneland but it still was not entirely safe.

This was the first time you had used it.

A commotion outside drew your gaze to the door just as it opened and those that you called family spilled in. Beocca led the way into his small home, grumbling and throwing glares at Uhtred and Finan, who were laughing. Osferth came next with a blush on his cheeks. Whatever they were teasing Beocca about, you doubted it was appropriate. Lastly, Sihtric walked in shaking his head.

Your heart thudded a rapid tattoo in your chest as your eyes met his. Those eyes that saw so much, that were clever and loyal and oh so trustworthy. A small smile lifted the corner of his mouth and with that, the air left your lungs faster than when you had been knocked to the ground. Even after all this time, he still left you breathless and giddy like a young girl with her first crush.

Most of all though, he made you feel safe and cherished.

Thyra stepped back into the main room, eyes wary and jumping from the men to you and back. She gripped a scarf in her hand but it was too late.

When Beocca started talking, you ripped your eyes from Sihtric, dropping your head to stare at your still trembling hands in your lap.

"Thyra, dear. Are you alright? We heard there was a fight in the market today."

Before she could answer Beocca, Finan spoke, throwing himself onto a chair with a cheeky smirk. "Oh aye, we 'eard some fool started a fight with some whores and got stabbed. I'd love to find out who the whores were, perhaps see what other moves they have?" He wiggled his eyebrows making Uhtred chuckle.

You could not help sneaking a glance at Thyra, whose own concerned gaze met yours. Was that the story being told by those who witnessed it?

Then what you dreaded happened next.

The sound of footfalls came towards you. You clasped your hands in my lap, hoping to stop the trembling, wishing there was a way to magic the bruises away. It was too late though. He knew. Somehow, he always knew when you were in trouble, or hurting or just needed him.

Sihtric stopped, standing right in front of you. You could see his legs and boots but you refused to look up.

"Look at me." He said softly, yet the command rang loudly in his words. You shook your head, tears gathering in your eyes.

With a tender touch that seemed counterintuitive to his warrior skills, he cupped your chin, lifting it gently. That intense gaze swept over your face, drawing answers without even asking you a question. His thumb touched your split lip, as if confirming what he was seeing was not an illusion. When those dark eyes moved lower, your breath caught in your throat. You witnessed the moment he saw the bruises on your throat. His eyes narrowed, jaw clenched, his body suddenly tense and wound up like a coil, but his touch remained soft on you.

All the sounds of those around you vanished as he met your eyes once again. It was just him and you in this moment.

"Who did this to you?"

You flinched at the ice in his voice. Oh, this was far worse than anger. You knew of the anger that could burn through him, especially in battle. This though… the way frost practically coated his breath, the stillness that covered his body, the dead silence after his question. This was not the fire of anger so easily witnessed in others. No, this went beyond that. This was the icy depths of rage and fury. This was not something that would burn out after a quick fight. No, this lingered until the rage thawed away… only satisfied when the blood debt was paid.

He whispered your name, sweeping away a stray tear that escaped from your eye. "Who did this?"

"Some drunk. It doesn't matter. We got away." You croaked out, your throat suddenly feeling swollen as if words and emotions were stuck there.

He turned to the side, keeping his hand under your chin, baring your neck for all to see, and looked at Uhtred. "Lord… permission to hunt down this bastard and finish what he started."

"Sihtric, no…" You whined but he ignored you.

Uhtred's eyes narrowed, flickering across your face and neck. "Shouldn't be that hard to hunt the bastard down. He'll be limping from a dagger to the leg."

"Uhtred, Sihtric, no." Beocca moved to stand in front of the door. "We shall bring this matter before the king. Let him decide justice. You cannot commit murder."

"It's not murder if I'm stopping him from attempting to kill her again!" Sihtric stated coldly, eyes narrowed, body almost vibrating in rage. "That's protection."

"Sihtric, please, no." You clawed at him, trying to keep him with you. "Stay with me."

Finan stood up, hands raised in an unnecessary show of surrender. "We'll find the bastard, Sihtric. We'll deal with him but not when ya eyes are seein' red, aye? Father Beocca and I can go to the king right now. Uhtred and Osferth can find that piece of shite. We won't let this happen again."

"Please." You tried once again. At this point your voice was no more than a whisper, the dull ache transforming so it felt like someone was rubbing sandpaper against your throat. The adrenaline from earlier had drained and now exhaustion replaced it. All you wanted was for Sihtric to hold you, to stay and not race away on a man hunt for that damn drunk. "Please…. just stay with me."

The Dane stared at you for several long moments, those dark eyes trailing a heat over your exposed skin. Finally, his hard gaze shifted to look at the men across the room. He gave a single nod, draining the tension in the room. Immediately everyone started moving, either to fulfill their duties or to escape from Sihtric's cold fury.

"Thyra, come with me." Beocca said, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and escorting her outside. Finan and Osferth slipped out quickly with them.

Uhtred moved closer, eyes scanning over you. "Did he harm you anywhere else?"

"No, lord."

"We'll take care of this. One way or another." He said, but the last part he directed to Sihtric. You could see the understanding in Uhtred's eyes. If someone put their hands on Gisela like that, he would be out for blood…. and no one would be able to stop him.

"Thank you, lord."

After Sihtric's comment, Uhtred nodded once more to the pair of you then stormed out of the small home, presumably on his way to hunt down the man that hurt you.

Once alone, Sihtric whipped around, his hands cupped your face. The desperate fury and fear no longer hidden away on his face. "No one touches you. No one." He hissed out, a hand lightly trailing down your neck.

Many times before he had teasingly told you that the only thing to ever adorn your neck should be his lips. You had even stopped wearing any form of necklace because he would complain that it got in his way. Now seeing the bruises marring his favorite place to lavish his affection on you, you knew this only fueled his blood lust.

"I know. You taught me to protect myself and I did." You tried to soothe, your hands gripping the front of his tunic.

"I should have been there."

"No, you were doing your duty. You were with Lord Uhtred." You paused. "This is not your fault."

His voice dropped to a strained whisper. "I can't lose you."

"You won't. The gods brought us together, they would not tear us apart like this."

He pulled you against him, wrapping his arms around you and kissed the top of your head. With your head against his chest, you could feel the last of his icy rage thawed away as you sank into his embrace.

"I swear you're never leaving my side."

You smiled, burrowing your head further against his chest. "I could think of worse places to be."

#The Last Kingdom #the last kingdom fanfic #the last kingdom fandom #sihtric x reader #Sihtric #Uhtred Ragnarson #finan the agile #Osferth #FATHER BEOCCA #thyra #mz writes

532 notes · View notes

supercorpkid · 3 years

Text

Mind Controlled – The Series.

Part 2 – Pull the trigger.

Supercorp, Kara Danvers x Daughter!Reader, Lena Luthor x Daughter!Reader, Alex Danvers x Niece!Reader, Lex Luthor x Niece!Reader.

Word count: 2300.

Warning: Injuries, violence, pain, angst.

Previously on the series - part 1

You land on the same room, on the same building, waiting for Lex's voice to come out of the speaker with further instructions. You’re ready to do whatever he asks from you.

“You’re back, my bösewicht.” You hear his voice sometime later. “I presume you have done a good job leaving your mothers wrecked?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Such an obedient little monster. A Super with a Luthor’s brain. Why has no one thought about this before? Oh yes, I have. But they called me a mad man for it, and yet here you are.” And there you are. Standing still, staring at a wall, waiting for more orders. “In that stupid outfit, dear Lord, why would anyone be dressed in those stupid clothes?”

You look down on your super suit. You do look stupid. This stupid skirt, horrible boots, long sleeve shirt so tight if you were human, it would mark your skin. It makes you so sick you want to rip it off of your body.

“Nevertheless, with you playing pet for me, I can do whatever I want even still in jail.” The static comes again, but Lex doesn’t stop talking. “I should’ve known Lena would be greedy and want a smart and powerful kid. But I hadn’t had confirmation, that was until mother came here to visit and told me all about you. So impressed with her little granddaughter.” He lets out a chuckle. “I can’t imagine how infuriated she’ll be once she finds out it was her, who gave me the idea to mind control you.”

You think about Lillian, and how impressed she is with you. You give yourself a cocky smile. She should be impressed, you are impressive.

“Kryptonians might have strong minds, but Luthors? We’re unfortunately just humans. So my bright sister didn’t think that having a powerful kryptonian daughter with a susceptible mind wasn’t a good idea?” He scoffs. "Oh, Lena. You may try, but you will never be smart like me.”

There’s a loud breathing sound.

“That’s enough of chatting. I have better things for you to do, my bösewicht. You’ll break me out of jail when it’s time, but first-” There’s a wicked little pause. “Let’s destroy the Super name.”

Your body is suddenly filled with rage and wrath. You want to destroy everything. You want to drop a bomb in everyone’s head. You want to make them suffer.

“That’s it. Use your rage. Destroy National City, scare them, let them see you in your worst form. Let them fear the Supers, and then, come for me.”

“Yes, sir.”

You fly off the window, looking for a place to start. You want to cause damage, you want them to be scared of you, whoever they may be.

You start off by using your heat vision to draw the ‘House of El’ symbol in the middle of the park, so they know who’s responsible for all that it is coming their way. You watch the grass burning, the form coming along and your heart beats fast, enthusiastic.

You didn’t even start the destruction part yet, and this already feels fulfilling. You know exactly where to go next.

You fly to your training center and you look down. This stupid-ass place gives you no good memories at all. You got beat up, got yelled at, got annoyed every time your powers didn’t work like they were supposed to, got angry at people looking at you thinking you weren’t good enough. You remember their disapproving looks; you remember the tiniest of sighs you’ve heard.

Fuck them all.

Your heat vision hits the ground, and your heart gets heavy, but your powers never stop. You can almost taste the feeling of being a disappointment in your mouth. And it gets you incredibly proud of yourself. You want to disappoint them. Them being proud of you means nothing at all.

You look down on the entire place up in flames. This is the right thing. Destroying this place will send them a message. You are not their little pet anymore. They can’t keep you under a leash, pretending you’re not powerful and fucking special. You’re so fucking special, even Lex wants your powers.

It’s not long until Supergirl flies in front of you. You smirk at her looking down. There’s a powerful feeling cursing through your veins. You know she can see it too. Your hair blowing in the wind, your stupid super suit moving almost in slow motion, your eyes burning of rage with little flames dancing in the dark of your enlarged pupils.

“I believe you owe me an apology.” It’s the first thing you say, after unclenching your jaw. “You called me weak.” You spit, disgusted. “You were mistaken.”

“Deeply.” Kara agrees looking down, and you notice the cars from the DEO stopping, people getting out of them in desperation, trying to put out the fire. That makes you so happy. She looks back at you. “Is this what this whole thing is about? You’re trying to prove to me you’re strong, after all this time?”

“Trying?” You scoff, then your face goes back to a frown. “I don’t need to prove myself. Especially not to someone who uses her powers to stop bank robberies instead of having the world under her firm grip.”

“I know you’re not my daughter.” Kara comes a little bit closer; you don’t move. You’re not scared of her, but she should be scared of you. “Are you bizarro?”

“You’re too far consumed in this battle of ego to see right in front of you.” You tilt your head, letting a creepy smile dangle on your lips. “Don’t you recognize your little one, mommy?”

“If that’s the case, then I have to stop you either way, little one.” Kara does her whole superhero pose and you laugh at her.

“You can’t. You don’t have the stomach.” You look down to the ground and you see Lena there. “I see, you won’t be the one doing it. Clean hands, right? Let the Luthor hurt the Kryptonian. It’s the natural order of things.”

“I’m sorry, my love. It has to be done.” Supergirl flies towards you in one motion. You still try to fly away, but she is a little faster, so she grabs you easily. You push her, punch her, you even pull her hair, but she doesn’t let go.

She lands on the floor with you wrapped in her arms, and Lena comes closer. Kryptonite gun in hand. Soon, you’re surrounded by agents with their own guns. Supergirl lets you go, flying above you, but not leaving, in case you decide to make a run for it.

You look at Lena. Gun in hand. You listen to her heartbeat going crazy and you smile at her.

Let’s play, mom.

“Do it.” You dare. “I want to see you pull that trigger. I want to see you hurt your own daughter with Kryptonite.”

“I don’t want to do this, baby.” Lena assures you, taking a small step towards you. “I promise you, I’ll figure out what’s going on with you. You just have to come with me.”

“You’ve always known, haven’t you?” You lock eyes with watery green eyes behind the gun. “You’ve always known someday the Luthor genes would shine through. Because no matter how good the Super gene is, the Luthor one is worse. So, so bad. Rotten to the core. You’ve always known I wouldn’t be able to resist.”

“I’ve told you before. We are not Luthors. We are Luthor-Danvers, and that means something. Please, stand down. Let me look at you.”

“Tell me to stand down one more time and I’ll throw-” You look at one guy on your left and point at him. “That guy into space.”

“Baby.” It’s Lena’s last try, you can see it in her face. You can see the way her finger presses lightly at the trigger. You also hear how that makes everyone else do the exact same movement.

“I’m not going to run away. But I won’t surrender, either.” You defy her. “If you want me to go with you, then you have to do it. You have to pull the trigger and you have to live with the guilt all your life.”

“I’m sorry it has come to this, baby.” But her face doesn’t hold much sentiment, nor does she lower her weapon. “But you know I have to do this. You can’t go on pulling stunts like this. You can’t keep thinking there are no consequences to your actions.”

“You are not sorry.” You smirk. “Don’t try to play me for a fool, Lena.” It’s the way her name leaves your mouth that makes her flinch. “I know you’re dying to pull that trigger and be the one who tamed a Kryptonian once again. It’s what all Luthors want in the end.”

She pulls the trigger, making you fall on the floor in pain, after a blast of kryptonite hits your chest.

“You should be so satisfied now.” You whimper. Kryptonite filling your body. “You’ve used kryptonite on your wife, and now on your daughter. It’s a full circle, isn’t it?” You spit out your words.

Lena puts you in handcuffs that strip you off of your powers, and strokes your cheeks gently. Eyes full of tears and instant regret.

“I’m bringing you back, my baby. I promise you.” She whispers delicately, like she’s not even talking to you anymore, but maybe to the memory she has of you.

But the two agents that come from behind you don’t pick you up delicately. In fact, they seem very pissed at you, and you’re shoved into the back of a van where Alex is.

“Aunt Alex.” You start with your bitchy tone and Alex breathes deep.

“Listen kiddo, I’m not in the mood.” She shakes her head, upset. “You just caused us millions of dollars in damages, Kara is a wreck, and don’t even get me started on Lena.” Alex raises her eyes from her tablet. “I know you’re not yourself, that’s why I don’t give a fuck about this. You start talking? That gag goes in your mouth in a second. Don’t think you can play me like you did with your moms.”

“I think the story would be really different if Lena hadn’t cuffed me and stripped me off of my powers.” You raise an eyebrow, not breaking eye contact. “You’re scared of me too.”

“Have you looked at yourself in the mirror?” Alex smiles unbothered. “I’ve dealt with things much worse, and much scarier than you and your babyface.” She grabs the gag and looks at you. “Now shut it, or I’ll make you.”

You decide to shut up. Your quarrel isn’t with Alex and the last thing you want it’s to be shut up. The best course of action is going willingly, and working something up in the DEO, because you know for sure there is where they’re taking you.

It’s Alex who shoves you inside of a cell, when you get there. Locks the glass door, and turns on some red sun lamps. You bite your mouth at the idea of it. They are very scared of you; they keep finding ways to strip you off of your powers.

It takes a few minutes until you hear talking on the other side of the glass. You can’t see them, or hear them well enough, but there’s one voice that stands out. You bitch grin to yourself.

Let’s play, momma.

"Mommy” You use your best and sweetest voice. Kara comes closer to the glass cell, and you stare at her from the other side. You want to destroy this place brick by brick until there’s nothing left, but you know if you’re aggressive about it, they won’t let you out. “Please, let me out. Can you open the door, please?"

"Kid, I'm sorry but we have to understand what's-" Kara starts, but you interrupt her.

"I'm begging you, please, please mommy." You drop on your knees. Tears falling from your eyes, and that act allures a crowd. Lena and Alex soon join Kara on the other side.

"Baby, I'm sorry." Kara gasps, and you watch Lena’s hand squeezing her shoulder reassuring. “You know I want to-”

"You said you would protect me. This isn't protection.” Your tears stop falling, you’re angry again. The act isn’t working. You clench your fist, using all the strength you have, trying to focus so the anger doesn’t consume you. You feel the palms of your hands burning, with nails digging into your flesh. “Please, this isn’t fair. Mom, please, do something.”

"I swear this is for your own good." Lena takes a deep breath, not buying into what you’re saying. Great. You’re done faking either way.

“FUCK YOU! LET ME OUT OF THIS CELL!” You bang on the cell, screaming as loud as you can. You see your blood leaving hand-shaped marks on the glass. Your scream is loud, but the banging is louder.

“Baby, please, you have to calm down.” You hear Kara’s voice trying to sooth you. It gets you angrier.

"FUCK YOU TOO! LET ME OUT! LET ME OUT NOW!" They look at the blood splashed onto the glass. Your face is burning red, and Kara flinches at the sight of you. Lena doesn't, so you know your best shot is with your momma. "Kara, I swear if you don't open this cell right now, I will hate you until the day I die."

“That’s enough.” You hear Alex’s voice and the glass turns black. You can’t see them on the outside, and you know they can’t see inside either. You can’t hear their voices, so you suspect they’re not listening to your unrelenting yell anymore.

Fuck. You need a new escape plan.

#supergirl #kara danvers #lena luthor #supercorp #kara x lena #kara x reader #supercorp daughter #supercorp fanfic #supercorpfamily #lena x reader #reader insert

143 notes · View notes

s11e17 · 3 years

Note

popping in to say i'm sorry to hear that and also your writing is so, so good. i get chills every time i read your work. got any excerpts or tidbits you'd like to share? anything you're especially proud of in past or current works?

wahh thank you so much anon! <3 <3

right now i'm kind of pleased over this little bit in the big bang fic - dean can't say "i love you" to cas, so instead, he asks him if he's ever been to the grand canyon.

Cas’s mouth tilts up sleepily, would be a smile if half of it wasn’t squashed against the pillow. He’d say it now, if he could, the thing that Cas deserves to hear, the thing Dean has never told anybody in his adult life.

Instead, he asks, “Have you ever been to the Grand Canyon?”

also i started writing this like 15k pwp (the plot is basically that dean and cas keep having sex in dreams, aka put up your dukes but not as good) but i feel like it'll be ages before i actually finish it so here are the first two scenes (mostly under the cut bc its like 1600 words lmao):

The few times Castiel has been put under by a djinn, he hasn’t felt particularly disturbed by it. Dean flinches when djinn are mentioned. Sam is deeply distressed when the possibility of unreality is discussed. But Castiel is not so committed to this distinction as the Winchesters are.

Yes, undoubtedly, there are things that are real, and things that are, well, unreal. He likes the prefix un-. It implies a sense of reversal; undoing. Something is real, and then made fiction. Fiction, of the Latin fingo: to make. To invent. To create.

Things are, or they are not. If they are not, then they’re nothing — unless they’re something, in which case, they are. So on and so forth. This is to say, a djinn dream must be as real as Dean’s smile: both created and natural at once. Nature, creation, it is. I am that I am. We are.

This must surely be why Castiel is satisfied with being, when it comes to his love for Dean. Isn’t it enough to create? To speak, and to therefore move from nothing to something? From unformed feeling to articulated truth, Castiel has heaved himself down to Earth from out of the sun more times than he can remember. Dean is his lodestone, and Castiel dreams of him often. It is enough.

Sam’s the one to ask him, in the end. Castiel supposes that makes sense. Dean’s always aimed his comfort at Castiel’s shoulders and his stomach, offering back pats and warm meals, as if even his hands can’t meet Castiel’s gaze.

Sam invites Castiel out to the roof of the bunker to look at the sunset, while Dean is out buying supplies for his tune-ups from the 24 hour mechanic shop he likes to visit when the usual customers aren’t around. Castiel knows this because Dean once told him, once said that he liked to go when the guys were just “shootin’ the shit,” so to speak, liked to roll up with Baby and have them look her over and tell him he’s done a good job. Castiel knows he likes the camaraderie of it, likes having men touch his shoulders and slap his ass the way men do, the way Castiel does not.

So Castiel and Sam are on the roof. “It’s beautiful,” Castiel says.

“It’s real,” Sam says, as if in reply.

“Yes,” Castiel agrees. “It’s that, too.”

Sam sighs. His cheek twitches, and he looks at Castiel. His body is so big— that’s what Castiel thinks, whenever he looks at Sam Winchester. So much goodness, in that broad and wiry body— how could anyone beat him down? Castiel’s heart clenches with love for his brother, because that’s what Sam is to him. “You know— you know this is real, right?” Sam asks. “You know it’s not— you’re not— you’re not in the djinn— in the dream anymore.”

“I know.” Perhaps it’s some angelic power, which makes Castiel so certain of his place. “I know where I am.”

“Good. That’s good.” Sam sits back in his chair, then. “Do you— do you wanna talk about what you saw?”

It’s kind of Sam to phrase it that way. Dean would’ve asked him directly. He would’ve said, What did you see? And Castiel would’ve had to tell him.

Maybe that’s why he didn’t ask. In any case, Castiel says, “I’m happy to tell you if you’re curious.”

Sam huffs out a laugh. “Damn,” he says, “you’re well-adjusted.”

Castiel smiles, too. “I don’t have much to hide from you, Sam,” he says. And he thinks of Dean, who surely must know— who must feel the weight of Castiel’s desire every day. Dean sees how careful Castiel is. He sees Castiel’s hesitance to touch him, sees Castiel’s eyes shining when Dean makes dinner for him, and knows the depth of Castiel’s feeling. The depth of Castiel’s feeling drives Dean to the 24 hour mechanic shop whose men can give Dean what Castiel can’t.

But Dean comes home to Castiel, too.

“Okay,” Sam says, “sure. If you’re really okay with it, then yeah, I’d— I’d love to know what an angel dreams about.”

Castiel wonders how to say it. “We had a house,” Castiel starts, “me and Dean.”

It was a small house. Castiel remembers that vividly. It was tall enough to feel comfortable, but with only a single floor. Two bedrooms— their room, and a guest room. Roof access. It was the kind of house where you could bump shoulders with someone in the kitchen easily, the kind of house that built intimacy. Castiel remembers Dean standing in the back door with his coffee, face turned up to the sun, as he did every morning. He was so beautiful. He’d had a smile on his face, an easy and gentle smile. He’d taken a sip of his coffee, and said, glad we started shellin’ out for the good stuff, Cas, because he knew Castiel was behind him. After so long together, Dean could trust that Castiel would always want to watch him in the morning sunlight, freckles coming in across the bridge of his nose. Some days, Castiel would kiss his shoulder, and say, You are who I cherish most in my life. Do you know that? and every time, Dean would say, Yes, sweetheart. I know.

“We were so happy,” Castiel whispers. It’s all he can think to say. He looks at the sunset. Dean will come home in an hour with new parts for the ‘58 in the garage and a spring in his step, and Castiel will say, Welcome home, Dean, and Dean will say, Thanks, man. They will sleep in separate rooms. Dean has no need for the kind of love Castiel dreams of. Dean is already as happy as he will ever be. In his own way, in the way Dean has outlined with his words and his body, Dean has delineated what it is that he wants and what it is he finds unnecessary. Castiel is honored to fit almost entirely into what Dean wants. The only thing he wishes is that he could jettison the remains.

“Did you— did you know you were in a dream?”

“The whole time.”

“And you—” Sam cuts himself off. “Jesus. That’s— wow. Did it, uh… I mean, what did you feel?”

Castiel considers the question. “I think a better way to phrase it is that I knew it… I knew it wasn’t material. That what I was experiencing was a construction. But it’s not… that distinction isn’t meaningful to me, the way it likely is to humans.”

“No shit,” Sam barks, too aggressive to be a laugh. Castiel looks at him. He’s hunched over, knee wiggling. “It’s— it’s important to me to— to— to know what’s real. That means something to me. Being certain about what the truth is.”

“I understand.”

“But I can’t know,” Sam says, and he looks at Castiel. Half-chuckling still, he says, “I think about it every day, but I can’t know. And you do know, but you don’t care. How fucked is that?”

Castiel’s mouth twitches, but he isn’t happy. He knows Sam isn’t either. “I wish I could give you my certainty,” he says, and Sam looks away. “All I can say is that you are real. I see you. I sense you, in all ways.”

Sam nods. He breathes, deeply, and asks, “Do you miss it?”

Castiel doesn’t pretend to misunderstand. Does he miss his house with Dean, the warm sunlight through the bay windows, the way Dean’s hands would slide over Castiel’s thighs in the front of the Impala? “No,” he says, because he thinks also of Dean’s bunker kitchen chili, and his unfettered delight at cowboy movies. “No, I don’t think so. Once — you remember, with God — once Dean asked me what about all this was real.”

“Yeah. I had the same question.”

“I told him we are.”

Sam exhales. “Oh.”

“Maybe that’s why it doesn’t matter to me,” Castiel realizes. “I know that Dean and I are real, that our friendship is— is a truth which has shaped our paths, in all ways. Whether it’s a djinn dream or a material place, I know the truth.”

Sam nods, considers it. Eventually, he asks, “What made you wake up?”

“I tried the moment I first realized,” Castiel says. “And again, a few— what I perceived as a few weeks later. That was when you found me. The first time I was too weak to escape on my own, and the djinn captured me again.”

“Shit, Cas,” Sam breathes. “You— you— you did it twice?”

“I’ve killed more often for less,” Castiel says. “Killing myself was easy.”

Sam doesn’t ask. Perhaps they’ve all tallied each other’s body counts. Castiel wonders if Sam keeps a list of all the people Castiel has killed.

Instead, Sam says, “Well. Here’s a— okay. The distinction between dreams and real life doesn’t matter to you. I get that. My question is, is it right to say that the material world has— that it’s primary, I guess?”

It’s interesting, to attempt to apply dialectical materialism to an angel. But perhaps faithful to God’s original purpose. “You’ve seen Heaven,” Castiel says, working it out as he says it. “It’s nothing but memories. Consciousness. You’ve seen Hell, too.”

“Yeah.”

“The only way to describe these places is through metaphor. A hallway. A cage. Ripping, tearing. I think that tells us that Earth is where true creation happens. No matter what Chuck says or does, you create your own destiny. Here.”

“Shit.” Sam shakes his head. The sun has gone down; now, Sam and Castiel are accompanied by twilight mosquitoes, by stars coming in up above. “We make our own choices, huh.”

“We have to.” That’s perhaps what was wrong with the djinn dream, the reason why Castiel couldn’t stay there. It had nothing to do with whether it was real or not. It was about choice. That Dean in that back doorway of that sunlit house must have had no choice — because this Dean, his Dean, would’ve chosen otherwise.

#asks #anon #suicide tw #(fictional suicide to get out of a djinn dream)#agoodsoldier fic

42 notes · View notes

cleanlenins · 3 years

Text

Ectober Day 2: Scream

He Just Screams Uncool

Ectober Day 2: Scream

During Fright Knight, Mr. Lancer gets sent to a fear dimension after being stabbed by Soulshredder. What would have happened if Dash had gotten stabbed? What would his fear dimension look like?

AO3

Warnings: Light body horror

Dash trembled, covering his ears and crushing his eyes closed. He cowered in a corner, unable to muster the courage to move. This wasn't real. This wasn't real. This wasn't real .

Freaky Fenton must have done something. He was so desperate to win the stupid Haunted House competition that he had cheated. Yeah, that must be what he had done. He had gotten help. Maybe he didn't even do any of it himself. Not that Dash had done anything himself either-

He heard a distant laughter and crushed his palms against his ears. He didn’t want to hear it anymore.

Leave it to the freak to come up with something like this.

He whimpered as he heard the laughter get closer, pressing harder into the corner. The brick walls digging into his arm. He thought back and tried to find some explanation for this madness.

Dash had already won. He knew it. He could see on Lancer’s face as he showed off his room. There was no way Fenton could top this. Fenton’s room was a joke, just like everything else about the loser. It was just up to Mr. Lancer to say the final words.

And then...what had happened? Dash can't remember. It was all so hazy, like trying to remember a fading dream. Someone had shown up, dressed in armor and face obscured in darkness. He almost remembered the horrifying feeling of metal sliding through his chest. But he checked and he was whole. There was no wound. No blood. No pain-

One minute Dash had been standing next to Lancer, the next he was suddenly outside the school? How did he get there? And it was daylight? Dash blinked at the sudden light. It was crowded with students milling around, but he immediately spotted Paulina and Kwan. His friends could never be mistaken for the normal geeks and freaks that populated the school. Both of their backs were turned to him. Maybe they would know what had happened.

Dash had walked up to the duo, raising his hand to clap Kwan on the shoulder with a cocky grin. The smirk melted away as his hand went through Kwan's arm. Dash stared at his hand, completely dumbfounded. Frozen in place in his confusion. Was he tripping? He didn’t remember taking anything. Then Paulina and Kwan turned and walked through him. Dash gasped at the foreign feeling, like the ice baths he and the team would take after training. Except the cold was under his skin. Under his muscles. Like his bones were made of snow and mist. And then it was gone.

“Guys!” Dash shouted in surprise, but neither Kwan nor Paulina turned to face him. Neither showed any signs of even seeing him. They continued to walk up the path. Dash ran to cut them off, waving his hands in front of their faces. Neither blinked. Dash tried to block their way but once more they walked right through him. He bit his lip, scanning around the school ground for any other familiar faces.

He rushed over to Valerie and tried to grab her shoulder, intent on spinning the girl around to look at him. But once more his hand went through. Star gestured wildly and her hand went through Dash’s head. He flinched away from the uncomfortable feeling. Dale threw his football through the air, and instead of catching it, Dash watched it pass through his chest before nailing that nerd Mickey in the head. Dash couldn’t even take pleasure in the nerd’s broken glasses.

He wasn’t panicking. No, he would never panic. He was the school star for heaven's sake. The hero of Casper. He wouldn’t be beaten by some freaky trick. He started screaming, yelling for someone to notice him. He tried to grab people. Tried to throw books and binders. Yelled expletives in their faces. Tried to punch random people. He definitely didn’t cry, no, those weren’t tears. He was just sweating. His heart was pounding against his chest from the running, not fear. His scream broke off as he choked down a sob. No, it wasn’t a sob! He leaned heavily against the flag poles, somehow not falling through them. He glanced around the grounds in despair. He was at a loss. He was...losing?

His eyes snapped to a trio not that far from him. He focused on Fenton, who seemed to be engrossed in a conversation with Foley. Dash nearly growled in anger, before marching over to Fenton.

Fenton seemed to shudder as he approached, a cold mist floating from his mouth. Typical freak weirdness. The smaller teen looked up and met Dash’s eye. Instead of cowering in fear, a wide grin split Fenton’s face. Dash flushed in rage.

“What did you do, Fenton?”

“What do you mean?” Fenton asked, grin widening even more.

“Why is everyone acting like they can’t see me? Why can’t I touch anything? If this is something your weirdo parents made-” Dash stuttered to a stop as he watched Fenton’s smile only grow wider, every tooth on display and...were his teeth sharper than usual?

“What do you mean no one can see you, Dash?” Fenton tilted his head, unblinking eyes seemed to be staring directly into his soul. The pupils were blown wide, only hinting at a circle of blue around the black. “I can see you. I have always been able to see you.”

Fenton took a step. Dash swallowed as he took a step away. Fenton’s grin grew even wider. Impossibly wide. Could mouths even reach that wide?

“W-what’s that supposed to mean, you freak?” Dash stuttered as he put distance between him and the nerd. Fenton continued to stroll, a very low chuckle.

“That’s why you don’t like me, Dash. Because I can see you for who you are and who you will be,” Fenton giggled. “A nobody.”

“J-just-Shut up, Fenturd!” Dash tried to hold his ground, balling his hands into fists to hide the tremors.

“You know that someday they are going to see it, too. See you for the nothing you are. Stupid, useless, boring, lame-the list goes on, doesn’t it? You had hoped it would be after high school, but I guess everyone just came to their senses sooner than you thought, Dash .”

Dash lashed out, as he always did when he was afraid. He was expecting the satisfying crunch of his fist against Fenton’s nose. But his fist went right through Fenton’s grinning face. The smaller teen stepped to the side. He reached up and gently grabbed Dash’s wrist. Dash tried to rip it away, but found that Fenton’s hold was stronger than iron. He grunted as he yanked his arm, but Fenton didn’t budge.

“The only thing really good about you is all this strength, isn’t it?” Fenton asked, a cruel excitement in his eyes. “But that won’t last, will it?”

Like the rippling of wind on grain, the skin around Dash’s wrist began to change. Tanned and smooth skin became translucent and liver spotted. Chiseled muscle seemed to deflate and loose skin hung from the bone in a wrinkly mass. The effect flowed up from his wrist to his elbow, as Dash screamed in horror. He once more tried to pull away from Fenton, this time with success as he fell and sprawled on his back. He sobbed and he tried to crawl backwards away, Fenton giggled down at him with hand still aloft. Dash felt tears overflow, he glanced down at his arm which still held it’s withered appearance.

Fenton took a step forward, and Dash’s eyes were back on him.

“Are you crying, Baxter?” Fenton laughed. “Well, that just screams uncool doesn’t it? Don’t worry. You don’t have to cry for long.”

Fenton took another step closer, and Dash was on his feet. He sprinted away, cradling his arm and screaming for help. Anyone. Help him. Please. Someone save him. But while the school had been full of people before, now there was no one. Dash sprinted around the school building, making his way to the brick storage building. He fumbled with the latch, before ripping open the door. Closing it quickly behind him, he shoved himself as far into the room as he could, leaning up against the cold corner of the brick wall. He tried to muffle his sobs, his hands trembling. He listened hard, waiting. Waiting to see if Fenton would find him. Tears flowed freely as he scrunched up his eyes.

So here he was. Trembling in fear of the kid he usually beat to a pulp, with no explanation for his change in fate. He waited, tense as a bowstring, as he heard Fenton calling his name. Taunting him. Laughing. When the voice came close, he held his breath and bit down on his unwithered hand to try and muffle the noise of his chattering teeth. He heard the latch on the door wiggle, creating an eerie squeak into the silence and Dash swallowed a scream. Dash waited with baited breath to see if the door opened. The clack of the rusted metal latch continued, the door remaining closed. Eventually, the noise stopped, the latch thudding against the wooden door. Dash heard Fenton laugh as he passed by. Footsteps inaudible through the thick brick walls. Dash waited, sure that Fenton would come back to unstick the latch. Sure he would come back to continue whatever sick game he was playing. But he didn’t. Finally, Dash felt safe enough to let out a cautious breath. He clamped his eyes shut, trying to calm his racing heart and block out the reality around him.

“Found you,” A voice whispered in his ear. Dash looked up to see Fenton, inches from his face, half of his body phased through the wall. Dash screamed, nowhere to run as Fenton reached one hand towards him.

“Mr. Baxter! Dash! You’re okay! It wasn’t real!” Mr. Lancer backed away from the screaming football star. Mr. Baxter scooted into the wall, eyes wide as he continued to scream and cover his face. Mr. Lancer glanced at Mr. Fenton and Miss Manson, who stared at their classmate in a mixture of concern and guilt. “One of you two should go and find a phone so I can contact his parents. “

“Right,” Miss Manson agreed. She locked eyes with Mr. Fenton, before rushing back through the haunted house.

Mr. Lancer tried to calm Mr. Baxter down. But the boy just continued to scream incomprehensible nonsense, clutching his arm to his body in such a way that Mr. Lancer was growing concerned that he had hurt himself. Mr. Lancer tried to distract him, tried to get him to get him to focus on something other than whatever it was that was scaring him.

But Dash Baxter would not look away from Danny Fenton.

#Ectober Month 2021 #Ectoberhaunt 2021 #Ectoberhaunt trick #Danny Phantom #Cartoons #My writing #horror #Dash Baxter #I had more trouble on this one than day 1 #Horror is just really new to me

31 notes · View notes

sweetchup · 3 years

Text

💌With You💌

Type: Kirari Momobami x reader (Ft. ????)

Prompt: 7– Innocent/Corruption Kink + Surprise

Author Note: Wow 😳. I honestly don’t know what I’ve just written but at least it’s ✨Delicous✨. (Also, I don’t think I need to say this, but just in case, Reader is Bi in this)

(Valentine’s Day Masterlist)

It felt as if your breath had been ripped away from you.

Shocks and jolts of hot pleasure suddenly streamed through every nerve in your body. It felt euphoric, like as if you were on cloud 9 and had no worries in the whole world. The pleasure was like a drug, addicting; Making you practically go delusionsional from it all. Totally unaware of the very movements your own body was making at the moment.

It crashed in waves. So much so, You didn't think it was even possible for it to be stopped.

That was until it did. And, your breath suddenly came back to you. Making you hyper aware of everything happening around you.

From the slightly sore, yet addicting, pleasure located between your legs to Kirari’s subtle smile on her ever blue lips. To you, coming down from a high was almost as good as the pleasure itself. Especially when you saw that satisfied look on your wife’s face.

Exhausted yet happy, you give a tired smile up to her. One she quite enjoyed to be on your face. Though, yet again, she loves every expression you make.

“Hey…” You sighed out, unable to hold back a small giggle that rose up past your lips. You couldn’t fathom how exhausted your voice sounded. It was almost as if you had just sung through a whole chorus concert.

“Did I really tire you out that much, my love?” Kirari questions, unable to hold back as she places a couple of kisses on your face. Her hair, undone from her usual braided look, tickled slightly at the skin of your face and neck.

“Of course, Kirari. I mean… what was that? The third or fourth time tonight?” You tell her, still trying to rack your brain to remember the exact number. However, instead of confirming or denying what you said, Kirari's face held a small smile. One you clearly knew, especially from back in your high school years, spelled trouble, “However, I doubt that’s not the last time tonight…right?”

Kirari lets out a small giggle before getting up from the bed to grab something, “You know me so well, My Love.”

It doesn’t take Kirari a long time to find what she was looking for. She must have already been planning for this to happen ahead of time.

“A blindfold?” You question as Kirari comes behind you to tie it on. You feel her pause for a second before suddenly giving you a loving kiss on the lips. As she pulls aways, she stares at you; Admiring the features of your face. You looked so innocent and fragile under the moonlight streaming into the room.

“Take a gamble with me, (y/n)?” Kirari asks lovingly. The same words she had asked you when you two first met.

“Of course.” You replied instantly, no hesitation or distrust wavering in your voice.

At first, you will admit you didn’t understand the premise of the blindfold. With your sense of sight blinded, you couldn’t see what was going around you or see Kirari. It just didn’t make sense because you knew Kirari loved it when you kept your attention trained on her.

Well, that was until you felt the bed dip slightly, making a creaking sound.

Someone else was in the room.

“K-Kirar—“ Kirari cuts you off with a light hush, her fingers lightly combing through your hair to calm you down.

However, Kirari’s words did little to calm you down. You knew your wife liked to take risks and gambles, especially when it came to you, but this? Having someone (possibly a stranger) that you couldn’t see at the moment in your bedroom while the two of you are naked? Your wife must have gone insane.

You flinch slightly as two cold hands suddenly touch your thighs. You sit there stunned for a couple of moments, unsure of what to do or if to say anything, before you hear your wife whisper in your ear.

“Go ahead. Why don’t you grab one of them?”

Very hesitantly, as you are still kind of skeptical, you reach down to take one of the person’s hands in yours. It wasn’t calloused or rough in any way, actually quite soft, but you could tell that just by the fact the hand was generally larger than yours that they were probably from a male.

“H-hey. Kirari!” You shout out, shocked as you suddenly feel your wife's hands touch the lips of your pussy, pushing them apart. “W-what are you doing?”

Kirari hushes you again.

“It’s okay, my love. Don’t you want to have fun? Experience something you have never done before?”

“W-well… yeah. But….”

“Don’t worry so much,” Kirari whispers out, placing a reassuring kiss on your temple. “I’ll enjoy it as well. I want to see you ravish by someone else.”

“Y-you do?” You questioned out. Confused because Kirari has never mentioned that fantasy before and she usually tells you everything that she wants.

“Of course, just think about it…” Kirari voice trails off as she shifts behind you and you can’t help yourself from letting out a soft gasp once you realize what she is doing.

“Feels good?” Kirari giggles out, her hand rubbing the person’s dick against your folds, “Imagine it. I’m sitting behind you, watching you get ravaged by a man in a way I couldn’t possibly dream of achieving. After all I don’t have one of these. It’s risky…, adrenaline rushing, in a way.”

“I-I get that…” You mumble out, your face now starting to feel extremely hot from how flustered you were.

“Good… Then, let’s just cut to the main course. I’m—.” Kirari is cut off as you let out a small yelp. She can’t help but let out a small moan as she watches you take his length inch by inch. It looked like you were still struggling to accommodate his size even though she made sure to stretch you out a lot with her fingers for your first time. “Couldn’t wait any longer? You're usually not like this.”

“True. But you were taking too long and I know you can go on for hours just because you like to listen to yourself.” The male murmurs out, his voice slightly stuttering from how tightly you were squeezing around him. That voice… it was oddly familiar but from where?

You wanted to rack your brain to figure it out but found yourself unable to. Your jaw falls open in a silent gasp as the male pulls his length out, all the way out until the tip, only to slam it all the way back in. Oh god, it felt so good. You were practically melting on the spot.

“Fuck…” He murmurs out, throwing your legs over his shoulders to get a better position. Making you let out a small whine from how it only made him get deeper inside you.

“Gorgeous…” Kirari murmurs out as she stares down at your face. She had shifted her position so your head now layed down on her lap. And from there, she could really appreciate you in a way she couldn’t have before.

Kirari slowly stops rubbing your clit and brings her hand up in front of her face. As she pulls her fingers apart, she watches as your glistening arousal leaks and strings off them before putting them in her mouth. Unable to stop herself from letting out a small moan as she attempts to suck every drop up. God, you tasted amazing like you always did.

Pulling each finger out of her mouth with a loud pop, she puts her fingers back at your pussy before deciding to travel further up to take in the rest of your body.

Traveling higher up to your chest, Kirari gives your breasts a couple of squeezes, watching your expression change in surprise and pleasure, before soon letting them go. Her eyes train to them as they jostle up and down with each thrust. Perfect.

Finally, Kirari slowly brings her hand up to your face. Your hair, slightly wet from sweat and sticking to your body. Your lips, lightly red and puffy as you tried to silence the never ending trail of moans.

However, Kirari soon found herself tutting in disapproval. She thought it was a good plan at first, making you wear a blindfold, but now found herself wanting to take it off.

Quickly reaching out, she untied the silk fabric and threw it somewhere in the room.

There you go. Now, it’s perfect.

Kirari can’t help but let out a small moan as she sees your eyes staring up at her. Those wonderful looking eyes that were filled with love and pure innocence. Even though you were getting your organ practically rearranged at the moment.

“K-Kirari…” You mumble out, your head falling further backwards into her lap. “I-I’m… I’m about to…”

“Go ahead, my love.” Kirari coos at you as she cups your face. “Come for me.”

Kirari’s vibrant blue eyes stare down at you as you slowly lose yourself. Watching your body wiggles and jolts in agonizing pleasure. How your lips can’t help but spill out all your thoughts at that moment. And finally, the cherry on top, how your hand grabs onto her for dear life. As if you were about to lose yourself and melt into nothingness.

Kirari honestly couldn’t dream of it getting any better. After all, her favorite part of sex is watching you orgasm. But then it did.

“Oh god—“ “Fuck.”

Kirari feels her breath hitch as she switches her attention from your face to your pussy. Watching as ever so slowly white beads of cum spill out of you and onto the sheets.

“My love… Does it feel warm and go— Oh…, how silly.” Kirari mumbles to herself, unable to hold back a giggle as she looks back to your face to see you were totally passed out. The pleasure must have been too much for you. “I guess I prepped you too much before. Oh well.”

“Hmm? I was hoping to see her reaction to seeing it was me.” The male chimes in as he pulls his length out of you. Causing even more cum to spill out of your hole. “Oops, can’t have that.”

The male nonchalantly scoops up some of his cum and pushes it back into you, slightly chuckling as you unintentionally shiver in your sleep.

“Hmm. You really are trying your hardest. Aren’t you, Rin?” Kirari mumbles out, watching as the black haired male finishes pushing all of his cum in before slipping your underwear back on. Securing that it will mostly stay put.

“Of course. I’m here on business after all, not because I want to be” Rin says with a fake smile as he gets up from the bed to put on his clothes. “Also, do me a favor and put a robe on at the very least. It’s quite unsightly for me to see you naked.”

Kirari lets out a small laugh, amused with Rin’s confidence, as she leans against the headboard of her bed, “I think I’ll pass on that. It’s my bedroom after all.”

“True. True.” Rin states as he finishes fixing his tie in the mirror. He chooses not to address Kirari any further and instead walks up to you. He looks down at your sleeping face for a second before placing a small kiss on your forehead.

“Be a good girl like you always are (y/n) and keep every drop of my sperm in you.” Rin murmurs against your skin before pulling away and walking out of the room. Not even bothering to look or say goodbye to Kirari.

For a while, Kirari sits there in silence with her eyes closed. Just taking in the sounds of the chirping of cicadas and you softly breathing.

However, once she opened her eyes, she was anything but calm. She was excited and for the first time in a long while.

She was glad she took this gamble with the branch families. Especially since the odds were stacked against her.

“Ok. So the deal is if (y/n) is able to get pregnant by one of the branch members. That family will become the new head when the heir comes to power. Correct?”

Kirari feels herself shiver as she recalls her conversation with Terano. How she and the other families wanted to deny the request out of pure respect for you but soon found themselves accepting as they knew they couldn’t afford to pass up such a big offer.

And, then the events that happened afterwards. Those were just delicious…

Of course, she just couldn’t let them all get a piece of you. You were her wife after all. So, she made them gamble for a final winner. And she loved every moment of it. Especially since 4 families ended up risking it all only to get devour in the end.

Kirari lets out a small sigh as she lightly slips her legs out from underneath your head, placing it softly on a pillow nearby. As she carefully crawls her way further down the bed, she can’t help but feel herself get more aroused.

“Ah… This is so great.” Kirari mumbles out as she lays on her chest, slowly pulling your underwear off. “Rin just pumped so much into you... It’s really likely you will get pregnant….”

Shifting forward more, Kirari pushes her face in between your legs. Once she was close enough to be face to face with your folds, she stuck her tongue out flat and began licking up the cum in you. Shivering as your usual sweet taste was altered by Rin’s salty sperm.

Ah, what a bad situation she was in. She couldn’t wait for you to wake up to take a shower as some of the sperm would have already travelled to your womb by then. Meaning the only option right now to get all the cum out of you was either for her to physically and manually suck or push it out. And even that couldn’t work as she could end up accidently pushing his sperm further into you.

Kirari feels herself moan at her own thoughts. Slowly, slipping one of her hands down to play with herself. Hoping to release some of that built up tension from all that excitement she was feeling.

Especially, when she knew nothing got her more riled up than gambling with you.

#Kakegurui #kirari x reader #kakegurui kirari #kirari momobami #kakegurui x y/n #kakegurui x you #kakegurui x reader #rin obami x reader

234 notes · View notes

plush-rabbit · 3 years

Text

I Want To Hear You Say It

Chapter 4: Missed Comfort

Word Count: 3.8K

A/N: I just realized that this is my story and I can choose what happens

Prev.

Memories are fragmented, pieces of glass that has broken and shards that escape him and hide elsewhere, leaving his past broken, blurry and incomplete, painful to pick at and there has to be a reason why, there has to be a reason why whenever he thinks about who he was before he was found by All For One, that he scratches at his skin, tearing the flesh off from body, dirty blood that covers his hands and leaves him gasping for air, making him fear that he’ll suffocate before the memory grows clear. He can remember kind words, he can remember breakfast and playing, he can remember something soft under his chin, he can remember love for a moment, a moment that leaves him sick and broken, clasping his hands around his neck and hoping that he’ll die. He can remember the harsh stare, eyes that belong to a monster, eyes that are unforgiving with a hand that is merciless, the harsh feeling of the ground and the eyes that can only look away until he’s forced to face the monster in front of him, the monster that strikes over and over again and it fills him with hatred, it fills him clarity, the one moment where he can breathe and he stares into his reflection, covered in his own blood with red rimmed eyes, and he’s home.

Tomura Shigaraki stands in a room with few possessions, his body cold as he lays above the worn out bed, springs that dig into his back and a pillow that is far too flat to bring any sort of comfort.

He grew up in the care of All For One, molded and cared for, the embrace clear in his head and there are flashes of memories that are clear, ripe for the picking and allowing him to view who he is now. But he brushes past them. He brushes past the dust on the floor and the tantrums, past the cold wooden floorboards under his feet, the weight of the hands on him are lighter and heavier all at once, lifting him into the air with the promise of love. The hands pinch around his body and threaten to drag him into the depths of hell, moaning out to him, his name broken and unsure, calling him something too different and too similar that leaves him retching and covering his mouth with his hand.

Tomura Shigaraki can remember Kurogiri. He can remember the wisp of a man, purple and black mixing, shades light in certain areas, mixing and swirling with the darker colors, creating a beautiful shade that disappears and is never shown, a shade that was never meant to be seen hides deep within the man. He can remember the apprehension, the choked up feeling, like something small was lodged in the base of his throat, uncomfortable and manageable. He can remember the soft words, the hands that touched him, defying physics and the vapor having actual feeling to it, actual touch that moves the hair across his face. He can remember the shared meals, proper and simple, the hatred in his eyes that soon turned into acceptance and silent compliance with every meal.

People come into his life and they leave. So far, the League of Villains has remained whole. Kurogiri separated but for the good of the mission. For the good of the plan. For the good of him- Tomura Shigaraki. People separate and they come together.

He doesn’t want to admit it, but he’s developed a kinship with the team. He’s developed genuine emotions towards them. He doesn’t want to call them friends. It feels odd- heavy and foregin, the word unspoken of, even when he was just a child, he never spoke the word, flinching when he thought of it because he knew that he was alone. All For One was his sensei, his master, a father-like figure to him but never a friend. Kurogiri was … something. Kurogiri was something else, heavy and comforting, wanted and pushed away. The team right now, they are his comrades. They are the people that he cares about- their wishes and likes, their desires and wants- that’s what he cares for. He’ll spit at the idea of caring, deny it with a wave of his hand, but he cares.

He’s lived a lonely life. And in the blink of an eye, it became filled with people. And he was accepting of that, he can handle people following his bidding, he can handle people if they’re there to serve his cause. But then you come along.

You aren’t there to serve anything. You are nothing to him. And yet, you still fill his mind. He lets it wander and you come into view, the way you brushed his hair and dried it for him, offering to pick something that he’d like to eat. You called him a friend. You were lying. You told a lie to save your skin from a prying neighbor. It’s easy for him to believe that you told a lie. You did. You lied only to protect yourself. But then he can feel your hands again and the touch has faded, it’s nothing more than a ghost that caresses his skin when he’s falling asleep, his own hands crawling to hold the place where you held and his sleep ruined when his hands are not like yours. They don’t hold the same delicacy, the gentleness that made him feel at ease- they aren’t your hands. Your touch is fading and he hates it. He hates that he misses the way you cared for him, the way you let him into your home and cared for him. He is a wounded man, alone in a world with only a few companions, and it’s been so long since he’s felt a touch that wasn’t filled with malice, that wasn’t a rough, teasing punch or a reassuring squeeze of a shoulder, but one where it was focused on him and being gentle, treating him like he were glass.

He doesn’t want to admit it to himself but he wants to see you. He needs to feel your touch again. He needs a moment where your hands are on him and then he can be satisfied, he can be fine without your touch that haunts him.

Learning your schedule is relatively easy. People don’t want to admit that they’re predictable, they want to remain a mystery, they want to be hidden from view and open up when they feel like it and you are no different. You stick to yourself. You don’t talk to people in your apartment complex- minus a few people who stop to chat, a forced smile that takes place on your face. Even at work, you give polite smiles, you eat alone in your car, watching a video on your phone and always peering outside the window, like you’re scared that someone is watching your every movement. You’re polite and you stick to a routine, you treat yourself to the bakery and leave with a white bag curled in your hand and you pass by the alleyway where you first met. And there’s a leap in his heart when you pause, and he can see your hand tighten around the paper bag and then you move on. You continue to walk, faster, a pace that catches the eyes of a few pedestrians and before you can reach the stairs, your keys are in your hands, and you’re inside your home and you’re out of view.

It has to be a sickness that he has. He has to be sick with the way that he always finds himself wandering into the alleyway, crouched where you found him and he hates that he can’t remember your scent, hates that he was too disorientated to focus on the important details that you had. He hates that he only realized that he wanted- that he craved and desired your touch when you were gone. He doesn’t bother lying to himself, he’s not in the area to clean any loose ends, the blood that had fallen from him has long since dried, fallen into the crevices of the ground, weeds that have bloomed and raised where he had squashed them. He’s here filled with hope, hope that diminishes whenever you don’t arrive at the same time that you once did. And he hates himself when he feels disappointment, the feeling coursing through his body and leaving him empty, leaving him with acid in his mouth and blood on his neck.

It was fate then. You worked a late shift and you came to him. You had saved him because he was meant to continue on. You pushed him to live another day. He wonders if you know who he is. How would you react? Would you accept his views? Do you believe that society is damned? That everything within hero society is corrupted and needs to be changed? Would you accept him?

He laughs to himself. It’s a short burst of laughter, bubbling past his lips and it’s short until he presses himself further into the brick. Of course, you’d accept him. Of course you would accept him. You did it once. You let a stranger into your home, welcomed him and brushed his hair, held him in your hands and let him live in your life for a moment- you’d accept him with open arms.

It was a miscalculated risk. Heroes that were unaccounted for due to how close they were. He’s injured, face trickling with blood that mixes with his sweat and he’s unsure of where the wound is. His clothes are singed at the end, fabric crumbling and fingers painted in soot as he runs through the night, gasping for air. It’s cold and sharp, entering his lungs and chilling his throat, every breath painful and heavier, as he runs. Red ruins his vision and he swipes it away with the back of his hand, blood flickering onto the pavement, seeping into the cracks and leaving nothing but dark spots. He runs and he runs. His legs hurt, aching at the joints, muscles pulled taut, and he knows that if he stumbles, he’ll collapse. Father is held tight against his face, piercing at his skull, hands pulled taut around him, pulling him back and the hands on his neck choke him.

He knows where he’s going. He’ll deny it to himself, lie and say that it was his own moving on it’s own accord, leading him past the convenience store, hands ripped from his body and shoved into pockets, bulging and pale gray fingertips that peek beneath the pockets, stiff fingers intertwined with each other and he’s lying to himself, telling weak lies that even he can’t believe. He runs towards you, running and gasping, a burst of adrenaline spiking through his body and sirens are ringing through the air, colors flashing and you’re so close. He runs, sweat mixing with blood, a heavy red color that reminds him he is only human, he’s covered in his blood, he’s covered in people’s blood and ash, weighing him down and clinging to his ankles, dragging him to hell as the devils rush behind him. His steps are heavy, slapping against the stairs and he’s knocking at your door, pounding and there’s a moment of fear where he thinks someone else will awaken before you do and he’s begging, calling your name in a whisper that cracks and cuts through his alreadys scarred lips and he’s begging for you to open the door, a silent prayer that is echoed into the night and there’s nothing more than he wants to do than to touch you. He’s close to touching the doorknob, desperate to find safety inside until the light turns on underneath he’s cursing you in his mind for being so careless, for letting the person outside- letting him know that you are home- and he steps away and the door opens and you stand him front of him with heavy eyes, a disheveled appearance with an annoyed expression that only lasts for a second, a moment where he has you entire attention and then you break and you call his name and he stumbles inside and he’s safe.

The door is closed behind him and the ringing stops. He’s inside your home, leaning against the wall, and he’s filthy, coated in grime and sweat, blood that runs down his face from an unknown wound, legs heavy and he slides down the wall and he can see you, standing away from him, a horrified look on your face and maybe this was a mistake. That you didn’t feel whatever he felt. That you were just trying to be nice. A hand reaches, fingers outstretched and he can imagine how soft you’d be, the look of horror frozen on your face as he’s the last thing you see and then you kneel down, and you’re shaking and your words are stuck in your throat.

Your hands are soft. Softer than he remembered, cusping his face and he’s grateful for it, leans into your touch until you grab at something foreign on his face, and Father is removed and held so tenderly in your hand. His eyes widen. He forgot to remove Father. Sirens grow closer and you look out the door and he’s weak and unable to stand as you lift and walk towards the door and there’s a shake of your hands, you clasp around the door knob and you seem to struggle with yourself internally before you latch on the locks and turn back to him. You call his name and he calls yours and he wants to lean in but he’s bloody and you are clean, and he sits against your wall as you hold Father and walk away.

He sits on the floor and closes his eyes for a second and when he opens them, you’re crouched in front of him, Father beside him and he watches as you bring up a wet rag and whisper to him. “I’m just going to clean you up, okay?” Your voice is shaky, hands matching as they dab against his forehead, your other hand pushing his pale blue hair upwards. “Tomura?” He grunts in response. You pause, your lip is bitten and he wants to know what you’re thinking. “Why are you here?” You dab and the pale blue cloth in your hand turns into a horrible shade, sweat, blood and dirt standing the ruined piece of fabric. Realization has set into your eyes, the fear leaking off of you and yet your hands are nothing but gentle.

“I wanted you to touch me,” he mutters and your hands still. “I needed it.” He lets his words hang in the air. He can feel the press of your palm against him, and you don’t respond. You clean him, cleaning the sin from him. “Do you know who I am?”

“I think I can take a guess.” Your hands leave him and you turn from him, pulling out a pack of wipes, the white bright against your palm and then you’re cleaning at him again, discarding the wipe after wipe, the pack becoming thin as you clean him. “Are you going to-” you swallow nervously and you meet his eyes, unsteady and glistening with unshed tears- “you know.” Your eyes dart to his hands and then back to his eyes.

He laughs. It’s rich and filled with something indescribable and he leans towards you, peeling himself away from the wall and you stiffen when his forehead rests against your shoulder. Father has slipped and is on the floor. You’re still, faltering against him and he wants nothing more than to touch you. His lips brush against your neck and he can hear a sharp intake of breath, hands that react and grip the sides of his shirt, pulling him closer to you, and he wonders if you’re crying as he’s pressed against you.

“I could never hurt you,” he whispers against your neck, nuzzling closer, feeling your pulse quicken. “You were so nice to me-” his hands are unsteady as they brush up your shirt and he hears you whine, and his fingers are pressed against the soft side of you, and he smiles, hidden from you- “I will never hurt you.” It’s the truth- a wholehearted truth that he will never use his quirk against you, he’ll protect you, watch over you and dig his nails into you. He won't ever hurt you, he won’t have you bleed because of him, he’ll keep you with him and protect you, have his hands wrap around you in the loving way that his do, remind you that he’s letting you live and giving you all his love- whole and innocent, twisted and pure. “I love you,” he murmurs and there’s a swell in his chest when you twist his shirt in your hands and your pulse beats against him. “Perhaps it’s too quick to tell each other that-” he hums into you, smelling the sweet scent of vanilla on you- “but I love you. And I’ll protect you.” His nails dig into your skin, red appearing, a pale shade that stings and doesn’t stain his fingertips.

Perhaps it was too quick to give each other your love. But when he pulls away and he sees you crying, hands still gripped against his shirt, a rise and fall of your chest and he smiles. His hands leave you and your shirt flutters and it’s covered in grime, sticking to your chest and it’s wrinkled. Tears fall from your eyes, tracing down the curve of your face, polling and dripping off your chin and you can only look at him with wide eyes and you’re doubling over, gasping for breath, your hands wrapped around you, trying so desperately to control your breathing and you look over, watching the door with hope that vanishes in a second. It’s quiet outside. There are no heroes around. You look back at him and he smiles at you.

“Shigaraki?” You ask him, and there’s a frown on his lips. You need to check if it’s really him, praying that this is a sick joke, exchanging your life for a moment of false reality, to be laughed at because this is some cruel, sick joke that doesn’t exist and isn’t happening before your eyes. “Tomura Shigaraki?”

“You can call me Tomura,” he coos, his hands bringing your face up, held so tenderly, so carefully, with poised and raised fingers, trying not to touch you and you’re crying and he’s shushing you. “You don’t have to cry,” he murmurs. “I mean it-” he leans in closer and your eyes shine with fear, colors mixing together to create a lovely shade of color that he has never seen before and when you cry, it glosses over and he tilts his head, smile stretching past his lips- “I would never hurt you.”

“Be-” your voice cracks and there's a soft pink that licks at your lips and he leans in. “Because I was nice to you?” You’re so hesitant and so scared, trembling under his palm and your tears pool onto him.

“Because you cared for me, yes.” He could never hurt you, never bring himself to cause you to cry. He’s so careful to pull away, hands fisted once he’s moved and he looks around and grabs at a wipe, brings it under your eyes and he shushes you when you flinch from him, his hand gripping at the side of your face, string and firm. “I hate seeing you cry,” he murmurs. You’re scared and new to these feelings. He won’t push you. He’ll stay by your side, faithful and patient, wait for you to come to him and profess your love, and he’ll wipe away your tears. “I love you,” he repeats.

He rises and pulls you up and you stand in the entrance, you stumbling into his chest, and his arms holding you up and he’s nuzzling into the crown of your head, and when you start to sob, shaking into his chest and clinging to the back of his coat, hands threatening to spill from the pockets, he pats your back carefully, run the side of his hand down your back in a comforting motion, slowly turning until his palm is against you and your sobs are muffled into his chest, with your tears staining his shirt. Your name is whispered into the room and you cry until you pull away and he stares at you patiently and you can hardly meet his eyes when you tell him he can use the shower and he stands alone, as you walk into your room, letting the door remain open.

He showers and he lets the water fall from him, dries himself with the same towel he had used from the other day. He washes himself free from grime and wears the same clothes, filthy and hanging from his body, sticking uncomfortably and he wears clothes that are his and he smells like you. His hair is wet and tangled and he brushes at the knots, and makes himself look presentable. He won’t have the first night that he sleeps here cognitive sullied by the outside world. He sits on the chair in your room, watches as you pull the blankets up to your chin and have your back turned to him. He comes to sit at the edge, his hand slowly coming down until he’s holding onto your neck, stroking it, feeling the way that you jerk and go painfully still, and he whispers your name. It's a gentle call, feeling you brush against his fingertips, calling out to you because he knows you’re still awake.

“Yes, Tomura?” You respond and there’s a level of politeness that sticks to your words and makes him frown.

“I’ll be back to see you soon, okay?” He has to leave for now. He needs to go before he can give in to his wants and touch you, to let himself bury into your chest and hold you, and sleep beside you. “But I’ll be back, okay?” He pulls away and the bed creaks as the weight shifts. He’s closing your door, and his eyes are on your body and he’s smiling to himself. “Don’t try anything dumb, okay?” He doesn’t wait for an answer- you’re smart, you know who he is. It isn’t a threat, it’s just a phrase that he knows will keep you in line from trying anything reckless- he’s viewed you, watched you and he knows that an empty threat will keep you in check. “I love you.” He whispers your name and it’s filled with love, enough to make him sigh and close the door, lean against it for a moment and let his imagination wander on how you’d welcome him into bed and hold him. The door to your apartment clicks shut and he’s walking out, Father holding tight against his face, and a strange calmness flooding throughout his body.

taglist:

@dillybuggg @gladiatorandroid @mrgorewhore @justanotherlifeff

178 notes · View notes

jwritesandrambles · 3 years

Text

“Supposed to Be”

Hi there! Yeah I still barely use tumblr but hey lookit I did the wrote thing down!!!!

I would like to give a bit thank you to @schweeeppess and @dragonsworn05 for editing my messy dyslexic rambles. @noroomforcream and @just-a-little-in-over-my-head did some really cool art for this!

(if I missed tagging someone, it’s not personal I appreciate you so much, I’m just posting in a rush mwauh)

Jason was back in Gotham. For the second time since he died, actually.

The last time hadn’t gone well. Technically, it had gone according to plan--for the most part--but Jason was still shambling together the broken pieces of his mind. Back then in December, all that was left of Jason were the shards of hurt and anger. He had been living for nothing but the idea of someone else’s death. Coming back to the real world, away from the sheltered and hidden places of the League of Shadows and the All-Caste, seemed to bring a bit of him back. Seeing Bruce, talking to him…everything that went down, and the reminder that he cared about him--loved him, even--it woke something up in Jason. Something that he thought had died along with him and never came back.

He had spent a year by himself, taking any mercenary jobs he could get, trying to find something other than the all consuming anger that had fuelled him for the past few years, but his travels didn’t matter now, as he stood in a back alley of Gotham, the protective red helmet tucked under his arm. He wished his replacement, Tim Drake, hadn’t chosen this particular alley to meet up in.

The balcony and rickety old fire escape were unforgettable to Jason. It was where he had met the Bat, after trying to jack the tires off one of those many damn expensive cars that Bruce had. Not only where it began, but where he once thought it would end. It was only a year ago he had stood, gun trained on Bruce, the man he had, for a time, called father. His voice shook and tears rolled down his cheeks, “it would be so easy to kill you.”

Jason was ripped from his reminiscing as a soft thud signaled that Red Robin had landed behind him. Jason flinched more than he’d like to admit, but fought the urge to draw his weapon. Quick reflexes was a nice way of saying jumpy.

“Hood,” The teen greeted.

“Replacement,” Jason said with a nod, echoing Tim’s tone back at him, relaxing.

“Weren’t you a replacement too?” Tim pointed out, seeming to take no offence.

Jason shrugged, “True. I’m not denying it. Just as long as you know that’s probably what B expects. Another Grayson,” he mumbled.

Sure, he was less angry than before, but that didn’t mean Jason wasn’t a bitter son of a bitch.

Tim bit the inside of his lip, an awkward and slightly uncomfortable look on the visible part of his face. It flickered away and was replaced with a more professional, neutral expression as he cleared his throat.

“Yes... well... We’re here for a job so let’s focus. You got all the information B sent you?” He was honestly trying his best, but he was hesitant about this mission. Could anyone blame him? Jason Todd had proven himself to be... volatile. The memories of Jason’s violence were all too fresh in Tim’s mind.

“Yeah, I got it. I read the file over,” he mumbled. He puffed out a weak breath, “Scarecrow set up a chemical mixing shop by the docks, at least one shipment has come in, but we can expect more, right? Anything I missed?” Jason asked, rummaging through his coat pockets.

He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He had been trying to quit, but he didn’t want to be getting distracted with cravings while trying to focus on the mission.

Tim watched him quietly as he lit off, smelling the tobacco from up on his perch.

“Um... yes, that’s all,” the teen dragged his teeth along the edge of his lip. The skin felt slightly raw and sore from his empty minded nibbling.

Jason started walking off down the alley, leaving a slight trail of lingering smoke in damp air. Tim followed.

“So,” Jason pulled the cigarette from his lips, careful not to let his helmet slip from under his arm. He held it between his first and second fingers, “Uh.. Why’d you have us meet here instead of anywhere closer to the docks?” He asked, trying to break the awkwardly growing silence.

“Scarecrow has patrols circulating around the docks. We’re less likely to be spotted if we’re not waiting around there to meet up,” Tim explains with a little shrug.

Jason hummed a brief note of understanding, “Oh yeah, that makes sense. I’m, uh, I haven’t worked with anyone in... years,” Jason paused, taking another drag from the smouldering cigarette, “Y’know, really nothing team oriented since working with B. Even then I was a shitty teammate,” he laughed hollowly.

Tim nodded, thinking about what Jason’d just said. Had it really been that long? Maybe… maybe the fact that Jason was even admitting to being a bad teammate didn’t bode well. It could mean trouble for them later. If it was so obvious that even Jason could admit it, perhaps Tim shouldn’t have done this team-up.

Shaking himself out of his thoughts, Tim ran to catch up to Jason quickly, “Wait... how old are you?” He asked upon reaching him.

“I’m t- uh... hold on, well... how long was I gone?” He asked Tim in return.

“You were thought to be dead for five years,” Tim told him, in a tone like he was reciting a Wikipedia page written about the formally deceased, wayward Wayne boy. Now that Jason thought of it, he was certain Bruce had a file written up on him now. Bruce had written up for every major criminal in Gotham city.

Jason let out a low whistle and soft huff, “I must be… twenty one now? Weird.”

“So... you didn't know how old you were till now?” Tim raised a brow, causing the mask to shift.

“Yeaahh,” Jason drew the word out sarcastically, pretending to took him deep thought to reconcile. “Somethin’ about the severe head trauma, dying, comin’ back, and being isolated from the normal world for years, all while being a wreck the whole time seems to have made my memory a lil’ fuzzy,” Jason said with a wry, sarcastic smile.

Tim seethed silently, letting out a series of apologetic mumbles, eyes dropping to ground ahead of him- it was a tactless and rude thing to ask, and Tim should’ve known that!

Jason laughed weakly, hand quickly coming up towards him and... ruffled Tim’s hair? The boy hadn’t even had a chance to recoil. He was just confused; that was the last thing he’d expect from Jason.

The man stubbed out his cigarette and lumbered on ahead of Tim, dropping it in the trash, “Don’t worry about it, kid. I was just being a bitch, you’re fine.”

Tim opened and closed his mouth, eyes wide like a deer in headlights. A man who tried to kill him only a year ago had just ruffled his hair?! He decided not to comment on it, because-- after all--what the hell could he even say?

Tim cleared his throat again, “We should get into position, we’re almost there. Maybe get your, uh, helmet-thingy on?” He suggested.

Jason glanced at the helmet- he’d almost forgotten he had it tucked under his arm.

“Yeah, of course,” Jason said, lifting his helmet and plunking it on his head, “good reminder, Timbers.” His voice became modulated the second the helmet covered his head. His low, gravely, smokers growl of a voice, was nowhere near and deep and gravely as Bruce’s--but sounded like it took a step closer with every box of cigarettes--became a pitch lower still. An odd robotic twang edged his words, giving him a metallic, cyber sound.

Tim adjusted his own mask, making sure it was firmly in place before nodding to Jason. The two silently started up again, approaching a warehouse that was supposed to be locked until the next morning’s shipment. “Supposed to be” being the operative words. Instead, there was muted huffing and shuffling as two of Scarecrow’s workers uncomfortably hauled a large crate into the building.

Both Jason and Tim seemed to shrink into the shadows at the same instant; each becoming one with the wall. Jason drew his weapon quietly, earning a disapproving frown from Tim. “I’m not gonna kill them. Chill,” Jason whispered in that odd robotic voice.

Tim seemed satisfied enough to quit pouting at Jason. They crept closer, making little dashes between hiding spots when the coast was clear.

Jason let out a breath of curse as his eyes fell about the giant, glass, canister. It was filled with a bubbling, sickly, arsenic green substance.

“No way, that shit is all fear toxin? Fuck! He’s got enough to blast the entire downtown!” His voice came through in a synthesized hiss.

“Worse.” Tim whispered, spying the large pressurizer on top of the glass container. “That’s just the liquid form. When he releases it, it’ll be gaseous. If it’s released from the container from a high vantage point, a small breeze could cover the entire city in minutes.”

The severity of the situation washed over what little of Tim’s features were visible from beneath the mask.

This wasn’t just a quick little in and out operation anymore. One wrong move and there could have a small, yet very messy, catastrophic outcome.

Tim had to plan this carefully, because there was no way they could afford to mess this up.

He turned to Jason...or, rather, where Jason had just been seconds before.

Jason had evidently had a similar train of thought to Tim’s. He’d realized this was a serious situation, though, instead of drawing the conclusion to re-evaluate, re-plan, and carry on with caution, or something sensible-- he seemingly forgot any sense of subtlety he had. Oh, God forbid carefully thinking his actions out, like any sane rational person would do. Or calling for backup, like anyone with a vague semblance of self-preservation. No no, instead, Jason had decided it was best to act now and not waste a second with plans or any ideas of safety. He jumped into action.

Jason was already leaping over the crate the two vigilantes had been hiding behind seconds ago, as Tim let out a quiet imploring hiss of “Wait--oh no-”“ but it was too late.

Jason already had his gun drawn.

“Scarecrow!” he yelled, “this ends now!” He fired at the box the two workers were carrying, sending it out of their hands and clattering to the floor. A series of shattering followed the initial crash as the contents shattered. Whatever chemicals that had been inside hissed loudly, a faint smoke rising from between the boards of the wooden box.

“Hood!?” The Scarecrow rounded to face who he knew as the ex-criminal, ‘The Red Hood.’

“In the flesh.” Jason kept his gun trained on Scarecrow, while a third worker who had been off to the side started to shuffle his way towards him.

“Thought you moved your little operation away from Gotham when the Bats got the better of you,” Scarecrow commented, not seeming pleased about the interruption at all.

Scarecrow’s worker lunged at Jason. Tim kicked himself mentally and left hiding, kicking the worker --physically, not mentally this time-- back away from Jason. The third worker scuttled back, apparently deciding this altercation was above his pay grade.

Jason felt something he hadn’t really felt in a long time; it was a feeling akin to camaraderie. He had someone watching his back for once. If the circumstances hadn’t been so dire, he might have even cracked a smile. Or, rather, he might have felt a slight tug at the corner of his lips, at least.

“Well, yeah, the bats did get the best of me. Now I’m tryna give them my best. And that involves bootin’ your sorry ass out of here.”

“Quick witted, aren’t you?” Scarecrow tensed slightly. His eyes darted away from behind his mask for a moment. He was glancing to the side. Tim followed his gaze over to the-

Shit! The canister! If the bullet missed Scarecrow it would-

Tim knew what scarecrow was thinking, but it was too late.

“NO!” Tim shouted, helplessly watching as Scarecrow dove.

As expected, Jason pulled the trigger reflexively, but the Scarecrow had already ducked. The bullet made a resounding bang as it fired, hitting the large gas canister.

Tim seized up, every nerve buzzing, every muscle tensed, every fibre of his being filled with an awful sinking sensation. The room was deadly-still. It was like something written by the hand of a fool-hardy novelist, who was paid far too much for over-the-top paperbacks; The bullet had embedded itself in the glass, acting like a stopper. A sickening series of cracks emanated from the canisters, as a thin spidery web formed across the glass. All tendrils originating from where the bullet hit.

Jason let out a low whistle, “Well. That coulda been disastrous.”

Tim couldn’t help but feel relieved, a stressed laugh escaping his lips.

Scarecrow was scampering away, his workers already having pulled a quick disappearing act themselves, because, this wasn’t what he’d planned.

“Don’t even think about it, Crane,” Jason said as he turned, taking a heavy step.

Said heavy step was apparently too much. The glass gave a shuttering groan, followed by a small hiss as gas began to leak.

Tim made an involuntary distressed sound. Something akin to an exhausted sigh mixed with a whimper.

The one word that ever so eloquently graced Jason’s lips was, “Fuck.”

And the canister...

Burst.

The pressure placed on the glass had built up and could no longer hold.

Jason’s final step had been the breaking point, the spider work of cracks along the glass giving way with a great shatter.

Shards of the canister flung themselves across the room. The liquid that had been held within instantly began vaporizing into a thick, sickening gas. To anyone that had the misfortune of inhaling it, it felt as though the gas was trying --with every atom of its existence-- to choke the life out of its victim. It reached into their lungs, clawed at their insides, grabbing at their desperately beating hearts, and squeezed. It forced their brain to fill their body with adrenaline and hallucinogens. Tim knew this.

He’d studied the Scarecrow’s fear toxin many times. He’d been exposed to it before, too. Tim knew this fear and knew he was helpless to do anything about it.

Tim was helpless to stop this. He had failed. He’d failed Bruce. He’d failed this mission. Because he was weak. He was weak, helpless, hopeless, a failure, a burden, unwanted. He was nothing more than a replaceable replacement. No one would care if he was gone, God, it’s not like anyone would ever notice! He was a forgettable nothing. Tim coughed and wheezed. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe!

Tim staggered. He tripped over his feet trying to get away from the intense fear that gripped his throat. Tim realized something physical was gripping his neck. The thing dragged him back roughly, towards what he could only assume was something horrid. Tim clawed at the thing gripping his throat. As he gasped for shuddering breath, he couldn’t help but begin to sob. He was going to die. He would die and no one would care. No one would even try to find him when he didn’t come home, they wouldn’t even notice because he was worthless, replaceable, weak, failure, helpless!

A new level of fear washed over Tim as he felt something cover his face, it encased his head. Tim could feel it squeeze his skull, he swore the pressure felt tight enough to crush his cranium like a tin can. It was claustrophobic. He felt his own shallow breath bounce back against his lips, because it had nowhere else to go. He was trapped and suffocating.

He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t BREATHE! OH--oh, oh no... no? Wait a moment... he COULD breathe.

Tim took a moment to try to get his bearings. He needed to remember how his lungs worked. He awkwardly sucked in a breath of filtered, recycled air. It tasted tinny on his tongue. Tim blinked the tears from his eyes. They rolled down his cheeks, and he became aware of the taste of salt too. There was the faint scent of stale tobacco and smoke. His mind was reeling as he processed each detail. He dragged tongue over his lips nervously, and began to chew at his bottom lip. Tim’s heart was still pounding and his hands were shaking. He raised his hands to feel his head, glancing at his twitching fingers as they passed in front of his face, confusedly. Everything had a red tinge to it. He pressed his hands to his head, feeling a hard smooth surface.

Tim’s brain felt slow and groggy, taking a moment to clue into what was on his head. Was it Jason’s helmet? Yes, yes it was Jason’s helmet, that was certain, but where was Jason?

The thick gas still hung in a green fog, but the helmet seemed to be filtering the worst of it out. Tim swept his arm though the air, watching the gas clear slightly, before swooping in to fill the gaps. Tim knew he needed to thin this stuff out if he wanted to have any hope in finding Jason before tripping over him. He rushed through the room, feeling his way over to the door. Scarecrow’s men had closed it, containing them --and more importantly the gas-- inside. Small mercy the fear toxin wasn’t being released on the city though.

Tim dragged his fingers along the wall. His senses were so heightened that it was almost overstimulating. It was likely due to the toxin, Tim guessed. He could still feel the rough brick as he scraped along, even through the tips of his gloves. It was oddly reassuring. A steady constant he could focus on until -thunk- His hand bumped into a smooth metallic protrusion from the wall. Exactly what Tim had been looking for.

“Bingo.”

Tim swept his other arm through the air again, doing his best to fan the gass away for him to get a bit of a better view of what he was hoping to see. A metal switch box, old and slightly rusted around the edges. Tim had been counting on any wearhouse by the docks having a ventilation system to keep the products safe from humidity. Of course, he was right. With some difficulty, Tim wrenched the switch box open. After straining to read faded, dusty labels through the gas in the air, he flipped what he hoped was the right switch.

There was a small whine of aching metal that hadn’t moved in a long time and Tim cracked into a grin underneath the helmet.

He’d done it!

The fans kicked into a regular pace. The smooth ‘whoomp whoomp whoomp’ of turning blades filled Tim with a sense of muted triumph. The foggy haze of fear gas began to thin as the building began to filter it out, mixing it with the humid air. Tim figured it would be condensed and drip out to puddle with the dirty water in the alley behind the warehouse. If Tim was right, which he usually was, it wouldn’t harm anyone unless they decided to drink from the puddle water. Which was unlikely, but not impossible. It was Gotham after all.

Tim looked around the room as the gas dissipated. His gaze found its way to a shaking heap on the floor next to the shattered remains of the canister he had been standing before. The proud grin faded from Tim’s lips.

That... that wasn’t a good sign at all.

“Hey, um, hood? Red hood, status?” He asked, the words felt strange as they left his mouth. Hearing his own modulated voice echo slightly in the room felt vaguely surreal.

The heap of muscle and leather known as Jason didn’t reply.

Seeing Jason’s twitching body on the floor emptied a hollow pit in Tim’s stomach. Jason had never seemed like he was even capable of fear. Capable of rage, capable of hurt, and capable of pain, sure, but fear seemed like something Tim would’ve assumed Jason was beyond. Something so... innate, that the unnatural nature of Jason’s second life would’ve swept it away.

Tim made his way over, hesitantly rolling the helmet forward off his head. The fear toxin seemed to be thin enough now that it wasn’t harming him.

“Ja-er, Jason?” Tim’s soft voice seemed thunderously loud in the quiet room. The only other sounds around were the fans quietly whirring away and, far more disturbingly in his opinion, the even quieter shaking breaths and distressed whimpering tumbling from Jason’s lips.

Jason was not in good shape. He was shaking violently, hands over his head. His whimpers were punctuated by violent spasms that racked his body every few seconds, accompanied with a louder more pronounced cry.

Tim felt the colour drain from his face. He quickly kneeled down, setting the helmet on the concrete floor next to them both with a slight clink. Tim grabbed Jason’s arm, trying to turn him on to his back. Jason heftily flailed the arm Tim pulled, unintentionally hitting Tim in the face. Tim yelped in surprise as a sharp pain sprung from his nose, warm liquid leaking down his face. The blood pouring down his face didn’t deter Tim much, the blood coursing through him seeming to do the opposite for pain as it did the rest of his senses. The pain was slightly numbed--or, rather, it had become easy to ignore. He fought to wrangle both of Jason’s arms, quickly scrambling to sit on Jason’s torso, struggling to pin Jason’s arms down with his legs.

Tim took off his mask. He knew it was against protocol, but an un-obscured face was easier to recognize when the toxin took hold, in Tim’s experience.

“Jason? Jason, look at me. Can you hear me?” he asked quickly, holding on to Jason’s shoulders. He desperately hoped Jason wouldn’t throw him off. Jason’s eyes were unfocused, spinning around wildly all over the room.

Tim tried to process Jason’s words, “No, not again, ple--I can’t I--it hurts! Fuck! It hurts,” Jason’s words became incomprehensible for a moment, then his fists clenched tightly. “I don’t want to die! Not again. Not again not again not again! He’s gotta come save me, take me home, he’s gotta! Shit, not again!“ he choked and broke off with a shout and another full body jerk.

Tim was jostled but didn’t fall off, by some miracle. “Jason!” he tried. “Listen to me!” Tim put his hands on either of Jason’s face. Jason flinched away from Tim’s touch with a sob of “It hurts, it hurts, I can hear all my bones snapping, I’m dying, it’s crushing me, I can’t--I can’t--”

“I know,” Tim cut him off gently, “I know it hurts and--and you’re scared, but you’re not alone, I’m right here. I’m going to help you,” Tim tried to catch Jason’s focus.

Jason’s roaming eyes stopped dodging around the room, and turned towards Tim. He kept looking from Tim’s shoulders, Tim’s chest, back up to his face and then to his eyes and back to his chest again. Perhaps not the ideal image of calming down but it was a first step.

“Good,” Tim praised softly in relief. He ran his thumbs over Jason’s cheeks gently. Now more so than ever did Tim take notice of the scars on either side of Jason’s face. On Jason’s left cheek, there was a jagged line that traced from his cheek bone down to his jaw. A similar yet smaller one was mirrored on Jason’s right. Tim could understand why Jason flinched from him. He shook the thought from his mind, “See? We’re okay. Just try to breathe, in and out. You can do that, right, Jason?”

“No! No! I c-can’t, I’m crushed, I can’t. My--my lungs, they’re all full of blood, and mud, and dirt, and fuckin’ I dunno what!” Another violent thrash went through Jason’s body, almost toppling Tim off this time. “I can’t breathe, it hurts! I want it to stop hurting! How do I make it stop!?”

“Uah--yeah, I know it hurts, but I promise nothing is crushing you. It’s just me, I’m light, and I’m here and I--I know it hurts I’m going to try to make it stop but I need to--” Jason thrashed, but Tim didn’t relinquish his hold on him, “--but I NEED you to stay still!”

Jason’s eyes finally locked on to Tim’s, “M-make it s-stop?” he echoed back to the smaller vigilante.

“Yeah, yeah I’m going to try to make it stop.” Tim slowly pulled his hands away from Jason, sitting back slightly, starting to fish through the many pockets and pouches attached to the strap around his waist.

He almost always had the antidote on hand. Bruce had trained him and prepared him meticulously, making certain that Tim would be ready with everything they had at all costs. The only issue was it was enough antidote for him; almost seventeen, about a head shorter and ninety pounds lighter--nowhere near enough antitoxin for the two hundred and forty pounds of murder that was the shaking mass of Jason Todd slumped before him.

Jason dropped his head back against the concrete floor, beginning to mutter once again.

“My fault. All my fault. I can’t--all dead.”

“No one is dead, Jason, everyone is okay,” Tim said, soon after feeling a small surge of triumph as he located his field fear toxin antidote kit. He opened it, quickly pulling out a small vial, and a syringe.

Jason’s eyes snapped to the syringe in Tim’s hand as he filled with antidote. Jason grew quiet for a second before starting to try to fight Tim off of him, “No, no no no no no no! Don’t go! don’t go! Not again, I can’t be alone, can’t be asleep he’s gonna kill us. Dad said he’ll get rid’f his mistakes!”

Tim knew Bruce wouldn’t have ever threatened Jason like that. He could only assume Jason meant his biological father.

“Said he would--don’t, don’t! It’s crushing me I can’t be alone!” Jason couldn’t keep hold of his own fears. They ran together, all mixed in to become some dread filled nightmare he couldn’t wake up from.

Tim was lucky Jason was so sloppy in this state. If he’d had a bit more of his wits about him, Tim figured Jason would’ve easily shaken him off already.

“You aren’t alone!” Tim reminded Jason, struggling to inject Jason without hurting him. “This is going to make it stop, I promise!” Well, that wasn’t fully true. But the dose would reduce it.

When Jason wouldn’t hold still enough for him to properly gauge where the vein he needed was, Tim unceremoniously jabbed at where he hoped it was instead.

Jason shouted, thrashing around like a heavy shark in a net being lifted out of water.

Tim pulled the empty syringe away quickly, letting Jason throw him off. He stumbled and crashed back down, landing on the concrete floor a few feet away. Tim only now realized how heavy his breath was as he watched Jason writhe freely on the floor before him. As Tim caught his breath, Jason’s movements gradually began to slow. The mutterings of fear faded into soft whimpers, then into deep breaths like Tim’s. Tim bit at his lip again. “Jason?” he asked, leaning forward slightly.

Jason groaned in response. He took a moment to collect himself as he grew conscious of reality again. Really, reality was a shit hole too, but it was a better shit hole. He shifted slightly, cussing under his breath.

Tim felt an invisible weight lift from his shoulders; swearing like a sailor was promising in Jason’s case.

He quickly scooted across the floor to him.

“Hey,” Tim said in a hushed voice. “Jason? How you feeling?”

Jason--with what felt like the struggle of Sisyphus rolling his boulder for the millionth time--rolled over to face him. The white shock of hair stuck to Jason’s forehead with panic induced sweat. He puffed out a lungful of air in a feeble attempt to blow the hair from his face. Jason swiftly gave up on that and swallowed heavily.

“I-I... yeah, yeah, I uh... I--okay. I’m feeling okay,” Jason rambled, looking dazed. He took up scanning the room again, hyper-vigilant to any danger.

Tim nodded slowly. He grabbed a water bottle that was shoved in one of his many pouches. He helped Jason sit up, just enough so he could sip at the water, and forced the bottle into Jason’s hands.

“Drink,” Tim ordered, quietly.

Jason’s hands still shook lightly, causing him to fumble with the cap in his hands.

Now that the danger had passed, Tim finally had time to process what had happened; he often found himself acting and only having time to absorb the details afterwards. Details like that Jason had traded his safety and immunity for Tim’s.

Why did Jason do that?

“Not... that I’m ungrateful,” Tim began hesitantly, “but that was a stupid thing to do, just… now- today,” he stumbled out awkwardly.

“I know,” gasped Jason after a long chug of water, a weak smile on his lips.

“I mean--it’s like in those before flight messages on planes. Put your mask on before the baby’s or whatever,” Tim joked slightly. Tim’s nose wrinkled slightly, cringing just the tiniest bit as he realized he implied he was the baby in this situation, “Well, you know what I’m getting at…”

Jason seemed to only take even more amusement out of the teen’s regret. Tim never thought he’d see the day where he felt tension draining at the sigh of Jason Todd, a man that tried to kill him and about eighty other people, smiling.

Jason laughed weakly, though it came out a little haltingly, as the shivering shakes hadn’t yet subsided. “Yeah, well, I d-did have my mask on. I just... gave it to the k-kid before the plane went down,” he mused. He didn’t really believe in his own point, and shook his head.

“No, no you’re right. It was stupid and I know that.”

They fell into a slightly awkward silence for a second, the burning question still gnawing at Tim’s mind.

“Why?” Tim said, abruptly. “Er, why did you do that? If you knew it was stupid?”

Jason didn’t answer for a long moment. Instead stalling by taking another swig of water. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand before answering.

“I don’t know,” Jason admitted, with a little smile.

Jason was breathing heavily, but seemed more focused, “I didn’t... really think. Maybe I was just makin’ up for other stuff I f-fucked up or... dunno. I guess I j-just... I knew if one of us was gonna be safe, it had to be y-ou.”

Jason swore he could practically see the little loading sign twirl in Tim’s nerd-brain as the teen processed what he’d said. The mental loading bar filled, and Jason’s words seemed to click. Tim’s eyes dropped away, and he smiled a little shyly. Not an awkward or uncomfortable smile. Just complimented.

“Thanks,” Tim’s voice was just above a whisper, “ that was... really nice of you.”

“It’s okay, don’t men-ention it. Like literally ever. It’ll ruin my rep,” Jason cracked a teasing smirk once again and Tim got to his feet laughing lightly.

“Annnnddd he’s back to normal,” Tim chuckled and offered Jason a hand. Tim yanked him, not without obvious difficulty, up to stand tall. Jason leaned on him for a moment before straightening, keeping a hand on Tim’s shoulder to steady himself. Tim quickly bent down and scooped up their masks from the floor where he’d set them down.

“Let’s get you home,” Tim hummed, putting Jason’s arm around his shoulders again when he stood.

“Hey, I’m fin-ne, you don’t have to take me back,” Jason argued, but Tim was already starting to lead him away.

“Too bad, I decided I am.”

“Rep-placement Robin number whatever you are--I am fine!”

“Sure you are, that’s why you can’t stand up right by yourself?”

“Shut up!”

“I speak only truth.”

The two bickered all the way back through away from the docks. All the way back through the city. All the way until they reached Jason’s apartment complex. Then they bickered some more. Though neither knew it yet, what had begun forming was the beginning of a close bond. One that nothing would be able to break.

#batman #robin #jason todd #redhood #red hood #Tim Drake #red robin #batfam big bang 2021 #Just for Fun #idk how tumblr works

26 notes · View notes

notcanoncompliant · 4 years

Text

I See You

So I finally got the writing bug again. This is pretty much PWP. It’s decent, I hope those of you who are into this stuff are into this fic. lol

Trigger Warnings: blood, implied cannibalism, non-con.

The FBI has been after Anthony Stark, serial killer-slash-mob enforcer, for a long time. Peter, special agent and analyst, dips into places he shouldn’t. There are consequences.

And away we go...

*************************************************

“Good morning, Starshine.”

Peter tries to swallow, his mouth and throat fuzzy from whatever had been used to knock him out, his head stuffed up and aching.

He opens his eyes, winces at the light. Shuts them.

His wrists are secured together high above his head, and everything is cold, chilly air on bare skin--bare. God. He’s naked; stuck in stirrups, strapped down. But, aside from the headache and the discomfort of waking up in bindings and completely exposed...he doesn’t hurt.

He lifts his head, forces himself to squint in the light at the figure standing off to the side.

“What did you give me?” he asks, voice thick.

“Standard knock-out cocktail. Painless,” says that familiar voice.

Peter swallows again, drops his head back against the headrest of the chair and shuts his eyes. “Thanks for that, I guess,” he rasps.

A soft, familiar chuckle issues from the right side of the room. He’s too tired to look.

He drifts in and out for a little while longer in the wobbling in-out of slowly returning consciousness.

Footsteps click behind him and then further back. A quiet humming lilts through the air, and then the rush of water--a sink--and the sound of something being filled. More footsteps, this time growing closer along with the humming.

Something pokes at his lips, and he opens without thought.

A straw.

He sucks, moans at the cool rush of water down his parched throat.

“Good boy,” the figure says.

Peter shivers involuntarily at the praise, heat curling lazy-sweet in his gut. Danger, a deep part of him whispers.

He takes another pull of water and then the straw slips from between his lips.

He opens his eyes.

Anthony “Tony” Stark moves away to stand off to the right, setting the glass of water down on the desk and sitting back against the edge. The enforcer looks good; dressed to the nines as he was in every fruitless interrogation video on record, a suit that probably costs as much as Peter’s rent, goatee immaculate, thick salt and pepper hair styled in a casual mess. He watches Peter with a pleasant look on his face that doesn’t match the emptiness of his pitch-dark eyes.

The room is small, an office, maybe. They’re in a warehouse; through the window behind Stark, Peter can see closed bay doors, concrete and metal and beams and silent, unmoving machinery. A quick glance around the immediate room tells Peter there’s no tray of instruments, nothing lined up on the desk. Nothing to do the kind of rip-and-tear damage Peter had seen in any of the crime scene photos.

“You look confused, Pete,” Stark says. “Were you expecting something?”

“I’m just well-versed in your usual, and this isn’t it,” Peter says. He tugs a little at the bindings around his wrists--leather. Stiff, but exponentially more yielding than the steel cuffs that left cuts and torn skin around the wrists of the bodies in the morgue, in the photos.

Stark smiles, and cold trickles down Peter’s spine. “You’re a special case.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“You got a little too close, all on your own.” Stark smiles again, looks...proud. “A real go-getter. You’ve got enemies in high places, Petey-pie. Kept poking your nose in all the wrong places.” He shrugs. “Or the right ones, as it were.”

The first unpleasant sensation prickles through whatever it is Stark gave him (definitely not standard knock-out; an unsurprising lie), and his stomach sinks.

Someone did this. Someone sent him right into the jaws of the monster--why ‘jaws’, why do jaws matter--and now he’s going to die in some creative way, some way that doesn’t include scalpels or knives or cattle prods or any of the endless list of horrifyingly inventive tools Anthony Stark has allegedly used to ruin human beings.

That ‘someone’ was probably--most likely--Rumlow, head of the task force and a first-class asshole. He’d warned Peter not to get involved, and Peter hadn’t listened, because...well, because he noticed the inconsistencies in the original ME reports versus what was included in Stark’s official dossier, inconsistencies made all the more suspicious by how tightly the originals were locked down.

Maybe Peter had ‘noticed’ them when he’d ‘stumbled upon’ the confidential files.

Maybe Rumlow noticed. Maybe someone above Rumlow noticed.

And now Peter’s shoulders ache from how his arms are suspended and there are straps wrapping his thighs and calves, keeping his legs spread in the stirrups of this medical chair.

“What are you going to do to me?”

Stark tuts. “Boring. Try again.”

Peter wets his lips nervously. “Do you take requests?”

“Better.” Stark pushes off from the desk, and comes to stand in front of him. “And no. But you’re free to beg for whatever you want.”

“Boring,” Peter says, a touch breathless, real fear finally beginning to worm its way through. “You know I’ll beg at some point.”

Stark smirks. He walks back to the desk, pulls a rolling stool out from underneath and moves it between Peter’s spread legs, shucks his jacket and tosses it onto the desk. He begins meticulously rolling his sleeves up to his elbows.

“Tell me something,” Stark says as he sits down, rolls a little closer. “Why would someone send a pretty little hacker into the jaws of death?”

Peter winces at the phrase, twitches back away from Stark’s nearness before he can catch himself. Too many sensitive parts on display, too close to that shark-like smile.

“Analyst,” Peter corrects inanely. “And I don’t know why you’re asking, why do you ca--fuck, okay,” he gasps, a bolt of pure panic shooting, short and electric, through his limbs at the sudden grip of Stark’s hands high up the backs of his thighs. “Okay. I saw some things and I knew they were wrong and I guess I went to the wrong people.”

“What was wrong?” Stark asks, faux-curious, trailing his thumbs back and forth along the sensitive inner skin of Peter’s thighs. His gaze is dark, flat, fixed on Peter’s eyes instead of all the flesh in front of him, and Peter can’t tell at this point whether that’s a (relatively) good thing.

“They...fudged the ME reports,” Peter says. “Doctored the photos.” He struggles not to squirm when Stark’s hands slide down to his ass. “They…”

Peter freezes. “They know who you are,” he breathes. “They know. They hid the marks because they know, and they…”

“They like to toss me a good meal every now and again,” Stark supplies casually.

That’s why there are no tools. No knives, no blades. Stark’s smile is a weapon, and Peter is beyond fucked.

Maybe it’s the drugs, maybe it’s just the intensity of the understanding, but Peter can practically see blood between those immaculate teeth, painting Stark’s lips. Can see those teeth cutting, pulling, ripping, tearing, chewing--

The grip on his ass tightens, and he lets out a strangled sound when Stark’s eyes drop from his in favor of the places between Peter’s legs.

“They gave you to me for disposal, Mr. Parker,” Stark says, distractedly. “A pretty little troublemaker about to throw a wrench in all their plans.” He leans in, and Peter jerks at the brush of lips against the inside of his right thigh. “I should send them a thank you card.”

Those lips part and teeth scrape Peter’s skin, not nearly hard enough to break through, but roughly enough to startle him into trying, futilely, to pull away.

“I can make it all disappear,” Peter blurts. “I’ll wipe everything. Every file, every scrap of anything that has anything to do with you. I could do it from my phone, right now.”

“Mm. I know you can,” Stark murmurs. He kisses Peter’s thigh again, squeezes his ass. Smirks up at him. “My job isn’t all wetwork. I know all about you, Peter.”

When he leans in toward the center, towards Peter’s most sensitive places, Peter squirms in earnest, leather straps biting into his limbs, across his middle. “No, wait, please--”

And then all he can do is moan, startled and loud, when Stark dips down between Peter’s cheeks and kisses him, open-mouthed, tongue thick and hot and wet, probing at Peter’s hole, alternating between long, dragging sweeps and penetration, slick muscle working its way inside Peter’s body.

“What the fuck,” Peter gasps, yanking downwards, flinching and struggling between the sharp tug at his wrists and the non-stop stimulation of Stark’s mouth. “What the fuck are you--oh, God, stop, you can’t--don’t, please,” he begs, tears springing to his eyes.

It feels good, scary good, his hips arching and bucking to the extent allowed by his bindings, but that all encompassing pleasure is going to stop at some point and turn to unimaginable pain and terror.

Images flash through his mind--the real photos; missing pieces, torn flesh, the mangled crescents he couldn’t--hadn’t wanted to believe--were bitemarks--

Stark drags his tongue from Peter’s tailbone over his hole and laves attention on Peter’s balls with a loud, satisfied groan.

“Fuck, that’s good,” he growls, grinning up from between Peter’s legs. Peter makes a high sound, a whine, at the sight of those teeth so near his thinnest skin. Stark nuzzles at his sack, sucks one of Peter’s balls into his mouth, rolls it around and releases it, takes in the other for the same treatment.

Still no pain. Still nothing but sparking heat prickling through Peter’s hips, low in his spine, his body aching for more even as tears free themselves and roll down his cheeks. He squeezes his eyes shut and slams his head back against the chair, unwilling to keep looking down at his traitorous cock, jutting up stiff and leaking on his stomach.

“Please,” Peter says, voice cracking. “Please don’t--” he cuts himself off, bites down on the words. Please don’t hurt me. Please don’t stop.

“Peter,” Stark croons, pressing a soft kiss to the base of Peter’s cock. “Baby. Sweetheart. Light of my life.” Peter flinches and moans, low and frightened, at the press of teeth against his erection, faint, sharp pressure. “Look at me.”

Peter swallows, steels himself, and looks down his body.

“I lied,” Stark whispers conspiratorially, breath washing warm across Peter’s stomach

The fluorescent light flattens everything, brings out the shadows in Stark’s eyes and the faint hollows under his cheekbones, monstrous and hard and beautiful.

“No one sent you to me.”

Peter stares, uncomprehending--unwilling to comprehend. “What?”

Stark smiles, slides his hands around to pet and squeeze the tops of Peter’s thighs.

“You’re here because I wanted you here. You’re here,” he kisses the tip of Peter’s cock, and to Peter’s shamed arousal, it twitches, a bead of precome leaking and rolling down the shaft, “because you’re better than all of the idiots who believe they have me cornered. My pretty little hacker, my little genius. Scooped up by the Eff. Bee. Eye.”

“Wha--” Peter starts to ask again, numb, but Stark sucks him down.

Down, down, into the hot, tight, pulsing heat of his throat, down to hell and farther, past any hope of return. Lost in the dark, reverent satisfaction of Stark’s gaze, and the stretch of Stark’s lips around his cock.

When the sharp edges of those perfectly straight, perfectly terrible incisors close around the base of his flesh, press in hard enough to hurt, Peter comes with a choked cry, straining against his binds.

Stark sucks and licks him through it, brushes open-mouthed kisses the slick, too-sensitive head until Peter twitches and moans from too much.

When Stark releases him, nuzzling at Peter’s trembling thighs like a lover, murmuring sweet, possessive nothings into his skin…

...Peter might as well have died here, in this warehouse. Lost, consumed. Gone.

“You’re mine, Peter Parker,” Stark says softly, watching him with pleased, victorious heat. “You have been from the moment you cracked the encryption on those reports. You saw me. And I saw you, sweet thing. I see you.” He smiles. “And I’m never giving you back.”

Peter stares down at him, breath slowing as the sweat begins to cool on his body. Slack against the chair, shoulders aching, muscles twitching from exertion, he gives up.

He nods.

*********************************************

Everything Tag List:

Feel free to untag yourself or request not to be tagged!

@the-amazing-spidertwink, @silkystark, @starkercrossedlovers, @hoeforthegays, @problematic-sofatini, @starkeroverlord, @starker-reader, @mrstark-please, @aoifelaufeyson, @fastenyourseats, @starkerhowlter, @smidnite, @starkeristheendgame, @readysetstarker, @awesomeimportantfan, @darker-soft-starker, @vanillapeter

#starker #starkerflowers fic #tony stark x peter parker #ironspider #nff #tw: noncon #tw: blood #tw: violence #tw: cannibalism #dark!Tony #FBI!Peter #serial killer!Tony #cannibal!Tony

239 notes · View notes

fbfh · 3 years

Text

light up the dark [V] - leo x reader

genre: romance + action + enemies to lovers kinda

word count: 2.4k

au: none

pairing: Leo x gothy!child of eros!fem reader

requested: yes teehee

warnings: spoilers for HOO but like what’s new, at least one fuck, mentions of breakfast foods and burger king, one “cranberry fucknut”, brief visit to a historical memorial site, I think that’s it????

summary: you have a very weird dream that leads you to realize you’re actually on some kind of quest! very fun! you, Leo, and Jason follow a lead, find out Chiron’s sending you guys some backup, and realize you’re going to need a very large airbnb

listen to: making mirrors - gotye aka the best dream sequence music

also we’re the rats. it’s not relevant just living in my brain.

a/n: honest to god it tookme so long to write this i forget what happens in the first half rip

also requests r open uwu

Your dream is unnerving, and not just because you had spent years in a dreamless sleep and forgot what dreaming was like. Okay, partially because of that, but also because of the atmosphere.

You’re standing in a dark room. It’s pitch black, but you can make out the shape of the room, which is unusual to say the least. It’s long and rectangular, and the ceiling has cylindrical indents, almost as if giant logs were supposed to fit there. The indents go across the short side, with another in front of it, like a rope bridge across a river. Giant curved metallic discs like flat mushrooms are embedded in the ground at regular intervals.

You get the feeling something’s missing. You stare up at the ceiling trying to get more information, when something hot and glowing presses against the roof. It shines through, casting everything in a strange pink light. You can’t see it, but you know what it is. A translucent sundial that gave off a glowing orange cast.

Sunstone.

You look back down not wanting to hurt your eyes, and they fall on someone else in the room. He hadn’t been there a second ago. He’s blonde, and looking up at the ceiling, seemingly unbothered by the blinding light.

“He has it,” he says, wistfully, almost regretfully.

"Who?" You question.

"I can't pronounce his name, no one can."

"How can we get it back if we can't find him?" He smiles, liking how you know what he needs you to do before he even tells you.

"I can't tell you his name, but he's very old… some may even say archaic…" He looks at you with intention, searching for a spark of understanding. He doesn’t find what he’s looking for, and continues, “and not far from here. Which is good, since I need you to get it back for me.”

“How do we find it?” He tosses you a small, clear container filled with what looks like yellow slime. You look at him, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“It’s a drop of sunshine,” he explains, “don’t touch it or you’ll burn up. It’ll glow when you get closer to what you’re looking for.” You tuck it in your jacket pocket.

“Can-”

Before you can get out the rest of the sentence, you feel like you’re being pulled out of deep water. Your eyes shoot open, and you take in a quick breath through your nose. You open and close your eyes a few times, and push yourself into a sitting position. There’s a weight on your stomach and you trace the hand back to Jason, who had gently nudged you awake moments ago. His mouth is open and there’s a stale smile, like he was about to tell you to rise and shine. Your stare is unwavering, and he retracts his hand.

“Uh… breakfast is ready,” he says, turning back and heading over to the couch.

“Kay,” you mutter, still groggy and disoriented. Maybe sleep just isn’t for you. Jason hesitates about half way across the room, noticing the lack of cat-like vengefulness in your tone of voice.

“...You okay?” he asks softly.

“Fine, just a weird dream,” you roll your shoulders, back sore and stiff, to try and loosen the two stubborn knots just below your shoulder blades. His eyebrows furrow at your words and you continue, “I’m starting to think I should add a little chloroform to my sleepy time tea.”

“What happened?” he asks, sounding way more serious than you’d expected.

“I dunno, I-” he cut you off, calling for Leo. Jason encourages you to tell them what you’d dreamed about as in depth as possible once Leo comes in from the sitting area, so you don’t have time to gauge how he seems after last night. You feel a little silly trying to describe a surreal dream to them, especially since they seem to be paying such rapt attention. After recalling as many details as you could, they sat in silence for a minute. They share a look, then sigh in unison. Jason pushes up his glasses and squeezes the bride of his nose as Leo lets out a soft ‘fuck’.

“I’ll go iris message Chiron, Leo, do you want to get some food and offerings to burn?” Jason says. Leo agrees, and Jason’s already in the sitting area, misting water in the air with a squirt bottle. Leo puts a hand on your shoulder.

“Why don’t you get dressed, I already made some coffee,” he says, the spike of hesitance that shot through his stomach at his instigated physical contact dissolving when you nod sleepily. An unusually warm feeling clouds through you, less distant and detached than normal. You realize while digging through your bag that for whatever reason, you didn’t hate the feeling of Leo’s hand on your shoulder. You grab your clothes from your bag, and feel a weight in your jacket. You reach into the pocket, and pull out the “slime” from your dream. It glows briefly, fading as you walk towards the bathroom. Huh, you think, at least now we know what to look for. You’re grateful for the example as you get dressed and freshen up, wondering what the hell happens next.

Burning the food doesn’t take long. Leo throws the extra breakfast they’d ordered onto the metal table on the patio, except for a piece of toast he held in his hands. He summons fire until the toast is engulfed in flames, and drops it with the rest. He fans the smoke and asks for guidance, protection, typical pre quest stuff. After a minute or two, he pours out a pitcher of water to extinguish the flames, and heads back into the sitting area with Jason. On his way, he watches you through the open bathroom door for a second as you put on your makeup. You sure are different from girls he’d liked in the past. A strong twinge of pain from the previous night makes him flinch. He shoves it away, and takes a seat, greeting Chiron through iris message. Jason had just finished filling him in on the dream and the sundial, and he looks worried.

“I was afraid this might be the case. I'd gotten word that something like this might have happened, but I hoped it was just hearsay… I'm sorry boys, but you're most definitely on a mission from the gods. The story behind that sundial is long and complicated; in summary, if Apollo does not have his sundial by june, summer cannot happen."

"Wh- like, time will stop?" Leo says.

"Will it just skip to autumn?" Jason adds.

"What about Persephone?"

"Can Demeter do anything?"

Chiron holds up his hands to quiet them.

"I wish I could say, but no one really knows what will happen, only that we do not wish to find out."

"So, what do we do?" Jason asks.

"Who can I send?" Chiron says to himself, "Dear gods, this is… unfortunate."

"Chiron," Jason says again, getting his attention.

"Right, I'm sorry my boy, this whole situation is… preoccupying." Jason agrees, and asks what they should do next.

"Get as much information as you can from what Apollo has told you. I'll gather some people to send over at once, they'll be on their way shortly. This is most distressing…" he trails off, lost in thought again, and the iris message cuts out. Jason's stomach is in knots.

After freshening up, you get dressed, having chosen your clothes deliberately before. If shit’s about to hit the fan, which it looks like it is, you’re going to need a strong balance of comfortable and kick ass. Plus, it’s still the cold part of spring, and New England weather is no joke.

You assess yourself in the mirror, satisfied with your choice; half black half gray cargo pants with chain belts, a long sleeved fishnet top with a black crop top over it, and one of your favorite pairs of platform boots. You topped it off with a layered choker studded with black jewels and delicate chains, asymmetrical earrings - one attached to an ear cuff, the other dangling - and a ring that looks like a snake wrapped around your finger. Last but not least, a dark olive green bomber jacket with ‘god save the queen’ written on the back in paint.

Your mind wanders as you lean closer to the mirror, laser focused on perfecting your eyeliner. The memory of Leo’s hand on your shoulder creeps back up, and your brow furrows at the panicked flush to your cheeks, wondering why you didn’t push him off.

‘Some cranberry fucknut broke his heart last night, I didn’t want him to feel worse’, you think deliberately, refusing room for any objections or alternative solutions your brain keeps offering up. You finish your makeup relatively quickly, pleased at how much better it looks when you don’t sleep in it for years. Your hair is… hanging in there, but you can’t drop everything and redye it now. At least you know what color you want next - a nice, coral tinted red. You’ll have to keep an eye out the next time you go shopping.

Finally, you’re ready. You put away your makeup and pajamas, and make your way over to the boys. You grab some coffee and pick at a muffin, the strategy session beginning.

Jason takes a sip of his own coffee, scowling at the slightly burnt taste.

“Where should we start looking? Do we have any decent leads?”

You sip your coffee, your face mirroring Jason’s moments before.

“The guy from my dream-”

“Apollo,” Jason interjects.

“Right,” you continue, “he said whoever has what we’re looking for has a really hard to pronounce name or something. Maybe we can start there.”

After some back and forth, and consulting of travel guides, you find a memorial for some historical figure with a name that definitely would have gotten him bullied.

“Wasn’t that guy a demigod?” Leo asks, and Jason confirms. You’re already checking the maps scattered around for a route.

“It looks like it’s pretty much just further west from where we are, we can probably get there pretty easily,” you remark. Jason and Leo look at you, then each other. No one has any better ideas, and at least it’s some kind of lead.

Four and a half hours later, you sat in the car in stumped silence. It took almost three hours to get up to the memorial site, an hour to look around and realize there is absolutely nothing there that can help you at all, ten minutes to debate what to do next, and twenty minutes to get burger king, since no one had eaten since breakfast.

“Well, that sucked.”

Leo and Jason give you a look, knowing you’re right.

“Yeah, it did.” Jason agrees matter of factly, earning a small chuckle from you and Leo.

“So what do we do now?” Leo asks.

“Well, no one’s around, we could probably iris message Chiron-” before he could finish his sentence, a shimmery image of a tan girl with choppy dark hair appears in front of him.

Jason and the girl - Piper, apparently - greet each other enthusiastically, then Leo follows suit. It looks like she’s in a cab, holding something at arm's length. You make it out to be a phone, probably to trick her cab driver into thinking she’s on a facetime call or something. Two other people lean over, one blonde and smiling, the other dark haired and irritable, and more greetings are exchanged. You lean slightly to the side so you’ll be out of site and hopefully won’t have to make any introductions. Leo seems to catch onto this, and when Piper’s eyes land on the edge of your shoulder.

“So did Chiron send anyone else?” he asks before she can say anything.

“Yeah,” she replies, “Frank and Hazel are coming from camp Jupiter; Frank’s flying, and Hazel’s getting a ride from Arion,” Leo and Jason nod in understanding, picking up instantly on her deliberate word choice. Christ, you’re going to have to get a bigger place than that hotel room.

“Uh… Percy and Annabeth just started spring break, so they’ll be coming soon. Hazel should get there first, for…” she glances at the cab driver, “obvious reasons, and me, Nico, and Will are on our way now, we should be there in a few hours.”

Your skin is already feeling prickly from the idea of being around that many people. They talk for a few more minutes, and Jason says he’ll tell them the specific address as soon as possible before ending the call.

Thankfully, you all had repacked the car with your bags from the hotel room before you left, just in case you needed anything, so there’s no need to make the two and a half hour trip back to the hotel. You sigh and turn to the boys.

“Why don’t we go get some groceries and stuff, and I can get us an air bnb.”

They agree, pleasantly surprised and grateful for the normalcy of something like grocery shopping, and you ask how many people there are going to be.

“Uh, should be te-”

“Eleven.” Leo says firmly. Jason looks like he’s going to say something, but he bites back whatever it is. Leo’s hands normally dance around like swirling snow, light and natural with subtle patterns if you can figure them out. But right now, his normal subconscious movements seem to be heavier, more intentional. His relaxed expression is set in stone, a silent plea to move on, act like everything’s normal, and you know he’s covering up the depth of the wound that girl left on his heart. A twinge of concern flares in your gut, and you blink, looking away.

“Okay,” you say, pulling out a pen and notepad from your bag to write out a grocery list, “Let’s go. What do we need?”

Jason pulls out of the parking lot, and begins to head to the nearest box store. Your eyes dart over to Leo involuntarily a few times, and by the time you’re almost there, he seems to be almost back to himself. Subconsciously relieved, your mind starts to wander back to the list, skimming it one more time to make sure you don’t forget anything.

Maybe you can pick up some hair dye while you’re here.

#Leo Valdez #leo x reader #leo valdez x reader #Heroes of Olympus #heroes of olympus x reader #LV light up the dark #enjoy babes teehee

82 notes · View notes

khaleesiofalicante · 3 years

Note

OK I’M HERE! I READ IT! I’M LATE BUT IT DID IT! SERIOUSLY REGRETTING NOT READING IT EARLIER! FUCK SLEEP WHO NEEDS SLEEP!

I LOVE THE TWINS SO MUCH SHCDUJUHKFDUISVFDHYDEBCSJ

LEXI TELLING EVERYONE THAT SHE CAN TALK TO RAZIEL BESTIE YOU DOING GREAT!!!

“Lying is wrong!” Selena had told her sister.

“Yes, but cookies are delicious,” Lexi had pointed out, munching on them.

“Daddy!” Selena had said. “Tell her it’s wrong.”

“Lying is wrong!” Daddy had said, but she had barely heard a word since his mouth had been stuffed with cookies too.

LYING IS OKAY IF YOU GET COOKIES

She did not care much for jewellery, especially expensive ones. But Magnus had given this to her – and she didn’t want to take it off.

She combed her long hair and tied it into a high ponytail. If she was going shopping with Magnus, she had to look her best.

It was fine. There were worse ways to spend your tenth birthday. She got to spend it with Magnus. She was not going to complain about it.

AWWW SHE’S LITERALLY MAGNUS’ NO.1 FAN UHSDUCSDUYSDCFUYKSVCD

“Oh!” Selena had beamed. “Like Magnus! He always looks so magnificent!”

“Sure,” David had said, his ears pink in the cold. “That’s who I was thinking about.”

I don’t know much but I do know that his ears were not pink because of the cold and he was not thinking about Magnus.

Selena remembered wishing she caught the fever so Magnus could take care of her too.

Same- I MEAN WOULDN’T WE ALL??

ALSO, MAX STAYING WITH DAVID WHEN HE WAS SICK DWHYDYGUFEYUKGFYEUGFEWUYG

Oh, Jocelyn died.

Rip I guess?

OOOO THEY INVITED THE COHORT TO TALK ABOUT THIS STUFF BECAUSE SHADOWHUNTERS ARE DYING OF MUNDANE ILLNESSES

I say we kill them.

Selena had never felt anger like that before. She had wanted to drown that awful man in the lake she floated around in her dreams.

BESTIE SAME

“Lettuce?”

“Yes?”

“No screaming when I show you the gift,” Daddy said. “We have visitors at the institute.”

“Is it a sword?” Lexi asked.

“No,” Daddy replied.

“Then I won’t scream,” her twin shrugged at him.

AHUEDCHGUHFEWUIFUIRUI SHE’S SUCH A HERONDALE I LOVE-

PUPPY OH MY GOD IT’S A PUPPY!!!!!!!!

“IT’S A PUPPY! IT’S A PUPPY! OH MY GOD, IT’S A PUPPY! DAVID GOT US A PUPPY!”

Her twin had jumped – no, leaped – off the counter and dashed towards their father, who was holding a small grey puppy in his arms.

“I AM SO SORRY I TOLD YOU I DON’T WANT YOU, LITTLE FRIEND. I LOVE YOU SO MUCH. I WILL PROTECT YOU WITH MY TWENTY TOY SWORDS!”

“Lexi, stop screaming!” Mommy said. “You will wake everyone up.”

“EVERYONE WAKE UP AND COME MEET MY PUPPY!” Lexi screamed even louder.

I LOVE HER SO MUCH DHJBSDCHJBFSJSFEDSF

She drew the unlock rune on the door the way her daddy did on his office door and sneaked into the Consul’s office.

I’m not even surprised anymore-

AWW, SELENA GOING THERE TO LOOK AT THE MURAL OF IDRIS. YOU’LL GO THERE ONE DAY BESTIE I PROMISE

ANJALI IS HERE Y’ALL!!!!!!!

Anjali walked over to her father’s desk, sat down on the chair, and put her feet on the table.

The Inquisitor’s table.

Only she could get away with something like that.

THERE’S MY FAVORITE PERSON EVER Y’ALL

EVEN ALEC IS WARY OF HER UHJSDVCUHSVDUUHSVUHSUIVGRVSR

Selena loved Idris with all her heart. But she knew Idris was not a perfect place.

Any place that was mean to Magnus could never be perfect.

EXACTLY

“Well, it turned out well for me,” Anjali winked. “Now when he gives me shit for my ‘bad judgement’ I just throw his dating history in his face. Dated Zara Dearborn? Broke up with Cristina Rosales? Yikes. Could not be me.”

BESTIE YES! HOW CAN DIEGO JUDGE PEOPLE’S JUDGEMENT WHEN HIS DATING HISTORY LOOKS LIKE THAT???

“Just because he looks like a movie star, it doesn’t mean everything should be handed to him,” Anjali answered, rolling her eyes. “Entitled piece of shit.”

You know I kinda ship them-

“Dang, girl. No practice swords for you, huh. You just straight up went for the mortal sword. I like your style.”

“Uncle Kit!” Selena yelled and ran towards him.

KIT KIT KIT KIT KIT KIT KIT KIT HISDUIDEUYKFSFUS7IKKIYGVFSDLY7TKGVFEDYTGFECYGU

ASH OMG ASH IS HERE TOO!!!!

"some man called Anus" BYE-

PARABATAI KIT AND ASH OMG

The whole pre-meeting prep is kinda giving me pre-wedding vibes idk how to explain but the whole rush and organizing that day and making calls and stuff.

“Ash was very beautiful. After Magnus of course” “She liked Aunt Izzy best. After Magnus of course,” GIRL HAS HER PRIORITIES STRAIGHT

"How bad can the cohort be?" well you see-

“Is that the cohort?” Selena asked, her voice a whisper.

“No, that’s a bitch.”

Yup. that’s accurate

“Is he here?”

“Whom?” Daddy asked.

“Alec Lightwood,” the woman asked.

“You mean the Consul?” Daddy asked.

“I meant Alec.”

“The Consul?”

“Alec!”

“Who also happens to be the Consul?”

“Fine, yes, the Consul!” the woman sounded impatient. “Is he here yet?”

It’s Lightwood-Bane bitch

AWWW SELENA DESCRIBING ALEC AS REGAL THAT’S SO CUTE

And accurate-

IT’S THE SAME BLUE AGAIN

Selena noticed her father was looking very emotional. She couldn’t blame him.

“My liege,” Daddy bowed deeply.

“Cut it out,” the Consul smacked him. “What’s the status?”

Yup, that’s them. Also same Jace.Same.

“I always expected the offspring of these two to be like…”

“Like what?” Daddy demanded.

At that moment, Lexi ran past the hall, yelling and screaming as she carried a toy sword in one hand and Dorian Gray in another.

“MAKE WAY FOR ALEXANDRA THE GREAT AND HER LOYAL COMPANION DORIAN GRAY! CHRISTOPHER! BRING ME MY OTHER NINETEEN SWORDS! WE MUST SET FIRE TO THE EVIL EMPEROR AND SAVE THE PRINCESS!”

“Like that,” Magnus chuckled.

Will in the afterlife, wiping tears: A true Herondale.

“I hope so too, Magnus,” Selena said shyly.

The Consul frowned at that. “It’s Uncle Magnus to you.”

Selena ignored that. The Consul was not the boss of her.

Well, technically he was the boss of everyone. But still!

UHNJCSDUHUSDHSVUDVUD SELENA

Do not remind me. I would like to remain blissfully unaware that not all of them are mortal :D

The Consul grumbled and turned to Mommy. “You were right to name her Fairchild. She is going to be a pain in my ass.”

“Hey!” Daddy covered Selena's ears again. “It’s like you guys didn't get my monthly newsletter on language modification!”

“No one here reads your newsletter, Jace,” Aunt Izzy rolled her eyes.

"I do," the Consul put up his hand.

Of course, you do Alec. I can totally see the LBAF gang defying Alec left and right UHKGXUYCSUYGCSYCFSED

“Izzy, how many times!” the Consul grumbled. “No placing bets on the children. Besides, everyone knows it’s going to be Alexandra.”

“Hey!” her parents said at the same time.

“What are y’all doing here?” Lexi came running then, cause her superpower was to magically appear whenever someone was talking about her. “We have shit to do! Come on!”

“Not helping, Lettuce!” Daddy shook his head. “Clary, take the lead.”

Of course, it’s gonna be Lexi.

FHUJCSDUHSDUHJ SELENA NOT UNDERSTANDING THE INNUENDO MAGNUS MADE LMAO NOT IN FRONT OF THE KIDS

“My name is Alexander Lightwood-Bane. I’m the Consul of the Clave. You will talk to me with respect.”

Selena saw Zara flinch at that. It was satisfying to watch.

Zara, I will gladly feed you to sharks stfu

“You sound a little jealous,” Zara grinned. “If you want to come back, we can arrange that. You could leave that good for nothing husband of yours and-”

“Zara, I swear by the angel,” Aunt Izzy said through gritted teeth. “Insult my husband again and see what happens.”

ISABELLE YES! I NEED MORE SIZZY WE DON'T HAVE ENOUGH OF THESE TWO

SHE DID NOT JUST INSULT MAX AND RAFE FUCK YOU BITCH

OH, NOW SHE INSULTED THE TWINS. I WILL DROWN YOU DO NOT TEST ME

“They called me a freak too,” her mother spoke. “Insult our children again and I will show you what freaks can do.”

YES CLARY

Max and David were really close. Like Daddy and Uncle Alec.

Maybe even closer. Like Uncle Alec and Magnus - cause one of them was a warlock! And they always gave each other dopey looks.

HJBASYUGJCESDYUTGVCSDUTVSDT6U7VSDC THIS! (I think they get together because of the snippet but if they don’t-)

The moment Magnus left, Max snatched the credit card and whistled. “Y’all, Christmas came early.”

“We can’t just buy anything, Max,” Rafe rolled his eyes. “Dad will be pissed when he finds out.”

“Maybe we should buy little things we can hide,” Max winked. “Little…but expensive things.”

“Oh, like diamond rings?” Lexi gleamed.

“What would you even do with diamond rings?” Selena demanded.

“Sell them in the black market in exchange for cash,” Lexi replied.

“By the angel, Lex,” Rafe chuckled. “I'm gonna keep both my eyes on you.”

LEXI YES OMG YES YES YES YES

“Your demands are unacceptable,” Rafe said, imitating his father. “How about ice-cream?”

“I accept your counter proposal,” Lexi nodded, imitating Daddy. “Let’s unleash hell in Baskin-Robbins.”

BASKIN ROBBINS BOUTA BE RAIDED BY 4 CHAOTIC CHILDREN LET’S GO

Holy fuck she has children. Who’s the poor father?

“These are my sisters Saraquel and Remiel and Michael,” the boy pointed at the girls, completely ignoring Rafe’s comment. “Our parents named us after the archangels.”

“And they called us angel freaks?” Lexi muttered incredulously.

“I know, Lexi. Fancy names indeed,” Max nodded. “But kinda hard to pronounce to be honest.”

A very genuine what the fuck

“My name is Alexandra James Herondale,” Lexi said, her voice steady. “And I am named after the greatest Consul and dopest archer of all time. He is a better man than any of your dumb archangels.”

YES LEXI YOU GO, GIRL

“Idris is lame,” Max snorted now. “You don’t even have internet.”

Lexi shuddered at that.

The reason I would never want to live in Idris

THE WAY SELENA WAS READY TO BEAT THE GUY UP WHEN HE INSULTED MAGNUS AND HOW MAX GOT ANGRY WHEN HE INSULTED DAVID

SELENA’S 10 BITCH FUCK YOU

“Holy shit!” one of the girls said. “That was kinda cool. Is that a twin thing?”

“It’s a common sense thing,” Lexi rolled her eyes. “Duck!”

People are idiots

But Selena tried not to think about the other girl. It didn’t matter whose daughter Michael was – it only mattered whose daughter Selena was.

And she was the daughter of Clary Fairchild and Jace Herondale.

She was not going to run.

GIRL YES

Y’ALL DON'T GET KILLED

AYY MAGNUS IS HERE THEY’RE ALL GONNA BE OK NOW

“It’s warlock magic,” the boy whispered – but not too quietly. “It’s demonic.”

Some of the ichor from the demons fell right on the boy’s head.

“Oops,” Magnus said. “Warlock magic is also a little clumsy.”

HVBCDSHJCSDYCDYJGCD THE BOY DESERVED IT!!!!!

“Manuel has an important meeting,” Zara rolled her eyes. “I’m stuck babysitting them.”

“It’s not babysitting when you do it!” Daddy said incredulously. “You’re their mother. It’s called parenting.”

GODDAMIT WOMAN DON'T HAVE CHILDREN IF YOU CAN’T TAKE CARE OF THEM

“He called David a bastard,” Lexi said.

“He did what?” her mother demanded.

“And he called Max a freak,” Selena said.

“He did what?” the Consul demanded.

“And he flirted with Selena,” Rafe made a face.

“HE DID WHAT?” Daddy looked murderous.

NAH BECAUSE WE’RE ALL DOWNRIGHT READY TO KILL THIS BITCH

ALSO, SELENA WAS SO RIGHT TO BREAK THE BOY’S NOSE.

“Look at them! Cahooting in demonic languages,” Zara sniffed.

“It’s Spanish,” Aunt Izzy said incredulously. “Your husband speaks it too!”

Zara you dumb shit-

That part where Magnus was checking up on all of them and seeing if they’re ok and the kids looked like they had never seen anything like that-

They deserve better. GODDAMN IT JULIAN BLACKTHORN MANAGED TO BE A BETTER PARENT 12

Her father held Selena’s hand in his. “You better raise your son to respect women, Zara – Because I’m raising my daughters to break noses.”

YES YES YES YES

He knelt down next to her and put a strand of hair behind her ear. “Can I tell you a secret, cupcake?”

Selena nodded. She loved secrets.

“People call me a freak too,” Magnus winked.

“You?” Selena gasped.

“Yes,” he nodded. “If people call you a freak, it means you are doing something different. Something bold. Something small minds will never be able to think of. So, it’s not an insult. Don’t forget that.”

YES THIS

AWWW THE LITTLE GIRL GAVE SELENA HER NECKLACE.

“Some people don’t like women in power.”

“Why not?”

“Because women get shit done.”

Selena giggled at that. “You said a bad word.”

“It’s not bad. Say it with me, Selena,” her mother said gently. “Women get shit done.”

YES WE GET SHIT DONE

“Are you saying I shouldn’t be afraid?” Selena asked. “I should be strong?”

“I'm saying you should be anything you want to be,” her mother kissed her head. “You can be brave like Izzy. You can be fearless like Emma. You can be kind like Cristina. You can be cool like Dru. You can be sensible like Maia. You can be confident like Lily. You can be smart like Tessa. You can be fierce like Diana. You can be geeky like me.”

Her mother held her face closely. “You get to decide what kind of woman you want to be. I want you to remember that - because there is no wrong way to be a woman.”

THIS! WE NEED TO HEAR THIS MORE OFTEN!

“The next time someone points fingers at you because you are a woman, go ahead and break them.”

DO IT

This was her mother.

Clary Fairchild. One of the most powerful shadowhunters.

Selena sometimes forgot that. Sometimes you forget your mom is so much more than your mom.

There is a person underneath that – someone full of dreams and hopes and talents you could never imagine.

SHE’S LITERALLY SO POWERFUL AND AMAZING IF I SEE ONE MORE PERSON HATE ON HER I'M GONNA KILL THEM

THE IDRIS VISION EDYUGYFEUGYUKGFEWUYTGFEWUTFEW7FE

Rafe was going to be their leader. He would be Selena’s Consul. She knew it.

Gigi was going to be just like Aunt Izzy. An amazing inventor. A chaos to be reckoned with.

Lexi was going to be the best fighter in the whole world. She would fly above everyone and everything.

And David and Max…Well, they seemed very happy with each other. Selena supposed that was enough. Like Uncle Alec and Magnus. To find something you can be happy with no matter what. Because sometimes there was no greater purpose than love.

And Selena….She knew exactly what she was going to do.

She was going to lead all of them back to Idris.

Explain why I'm crying reading this. I love them all so much. They mean so much to me already. SELENA ONE DAY YOU’RE GONNA LEAD THEM ALL BACK TO IDRIS I KNOW YOU WILL

This chapter was beautiful. I'm gonna be in a corner crying in case someone needs me. See ya on Friday!! (well technically it’ll be Saturday for me since for me the updates come after midnight)

THIS GAVE ME LIFE. LIFE, YA HEAR ME?

Also my favorite comment (which I might print on something) - GODDAMIT WOMAN DON'T HAVE CHILDREN IF YOU CAN’T TAKE CARE OF THEM

Also this made me laugh out loud so hard >> - GODDAMN IT JULIAN BLACKTHORN MANAGED TO BE A BETTER PARENT 12

#my bad about them tears but I am glad you enjoyed this one!!#lbaf #thank you!

13 notes · View notes

1994sunflower · 4 years

Text

heaven to you. ii (m.c)

pairing: michael clifford x reader

genre: smut, angst, a bit of fluff

word count: 7.4k

involves: bad boy!michael, college!au, jealous!michael, established relationship, language, oral (f receiving), fingering, exhibitionism, dirty talk, daddy kink, choking, size kink, face slapping (consensual), hair pulling, spitting kink, praise, degredation/name calling, innocence kink, virgin kink, mentions of drinking, michael is kind of really cruel in this one

summary: michael trusted you. but it was hard to feel comfortable when the picture-perfect man was trying to move in on his girlfriend. it was even harder to think that y/n would probably be better of with him than with michael. so he did what he had to do, even if it was cruel, even if it could end with his girlfriend thinking he was the monster everyone else saw him as.

part one

It was sufficient to say that Michael had been pissed off for weeks. Even more than he usually was. And he knew exactly what the cause was. Which somehow made it worse, because he couldn’t do anything about it. Not unless he wanted a very angry girlfriend on his hands.

Michael was proud of his distance from most people, he didn’t like the drama or the vulnerability that came with them. Unfortunately, his best friend Ashton, did not share the same sentiment. No, when he took a liking to someone, he was around them often. And, unfortunately, Michael was often along for the ride.

So even though he hated Justin from the moment he saw him, which was only invigorated when his connection with Michael’s girlfriend was revealed, he still had to see and hear an awful lot of him. Even after all his attempts to block him out, including demanding that him and his two friends no longer be allowed over. Too bad he was demanding it from the only person that didn’t seem to be scared of him.

Every time Michael finally decided to go to class, after much begging from you, he saw the guy walking around and touring campus. Every time he went out to eat, he saw the guy on the same street walking out of another store.

Every time Ashton had Chis and Charlie over, he would hear about who Justin was. He had a feeling Ashton did it on purpose, to push his buttons, asking those two about the one person Michael did not want to hear about. Even when he wasn’t in the room, Justin was still there.

He heard all about how intelligent he was - top of his class in high school, valedictorian, student council president - and how rich he was - living in a mansion in the best neighborhood, neighbors with the fucking governor. He even heard about his philanthropy work - how he networked with multiple charities even as a teenager (including founding his own) and was the planner of any and all fundraisers in the area.

And frankly, Michael was sick of hearing how you and Justin were perfect for each other. Sick of thinking how much better off you would be with someone like him. Even if they never explicitly said it, he could tell by the uncomfortable glances thrown his way that they were all thinking it.

It had gotten so bad that the only moment where he didn’t feel angry was when he was with his girlfriend. It felt so solid, real, when he had you in his arms that he nearly felt content. Which is not an emotion he felt often. So as he sat then, with you next to him on the patio of a campus cafe with his arms draped across your shoulders and you sitting half on his lap and half on your chair, he didn’t have an angry scowl on his face. Instead, he had something that could likely pass as a smile and soft eyes that looked down at his small girlfriend lovingly.

He watched you pick at your muffin gingerly, eating only bits of it at a time as you read from a notebook in front of you. But he could tell your mind was somewhere else. You had that faraway look in your eyes that you always had when you were thinking. Or daydreaming. Your black hair was pulled back in a high ponytail with two long strands in the front to adorn your face, the wind blowing them peacefully. He pushed one of those strands behind your ear so he could take a better look at your face.

Even though it’s not something Michael would say in public, you looked beautiful. But you always did, really. Every time he looked at you, he couldn’t help but admire you. Even when he didn’t see you. When he just saw your name light up his phone in a text or call, when he just heard your voice, it was enough to have his heart start beating just a little faster.

He would do anything for you, anything to keep you happy. He was whipped and proudly so. You were, quite easily, the best thing that ever happened to him.

But if hearing about Justin from his acquaintances or seeing him a couple yards away bothered Michael, he hated when he heard his precious girlfriend mention his name. You didn’t mention him often, because you knew how much he didn’t like it (though that didn’t mean you understood it).

“Don’t forget that Justin’s going away get together is in a few days.” You said casually as you placed a bit of muffin into your mouth, looking up at him expectantly. You spoke in that sing-song voice that always seemed to calm him.

It would have in that moment as well, if it weren’t for your words. He looked down at his small girlfriend, taken aback. “When did I agree to that?” His words sounded harsh and Michael wished, not for the first time, that he could be kinder, at least to you.

But luckily, you knew him well enough not to be offended by his tone.

“Mikey, you know he’s my friend. I haven’t seen him in years so I want to go to say goodbye, and I want you by my side.” Your eyes were so bright and pleading and as he set his colder ones to yours, he knew he couldn’t refuse.

You smiled brightly, kissing his cheek in a thank you. Michael didn’t miss the glances the couple were sent by passing by students, likely in surprise that the Michael was so calm and allowed someone so close. But you were the only person that really mattered to him at that moment.

Michael watched you close your chemistry notebook and slip it into your backpack. “Don’t forget, you have class in 15 minutes, you should head over there now so you’re not late.”

Just like you helped him study for his classes, you reminded him every time his class was about to start. You knew his schedule better than he knew it. There was no doubt in his mind that he wouldn’t go to any class if it weren’t for your constant reminders and begs. Even with those, he still likely would’ve skipped if not for the fact that he didn’t want to disappoint you. There was a lot about him that could disappoint you, he didn’t want to add to the list.

Michael nodded obediently at his girlfriend. Partly to appease her but also partly because he was actually planning to go, even if he was just going to be wasting 55 minutes of his time since he lacked any materials for class - including a backpack.

You smiled lovingly as you slipped your own backpack onto your back, your own chemistry class was about to start.

“Love you.” With one final kiss to his lips, a kiss that Michael very much wished was longer and deeper, you stood up and began walking to your class like the good student you were. You were the embodiment of goodness.

Michael waited until he couldn’t see you anymore before he stood up himself and began walking in the opposite direction. Though he went to such a large university, he never really had an issue with crowds or foot traffic. No, people made way for him without him having to get to that point. Maybe it was his reputation that did it, his ripped attire or maybe it was his sleeves neck full of tattoos that were in full display under his black t-shirt.

As he walked, he noticed the usual whispers that traveled everywhere he did. Many coming from girls that smiled at him flirtatiously as he walked past. Though he didn’t so much as glance at them as he passed by them, uninterested. Even if he did, he would look with angry eyes that made them flinch and couldn’t help but worthlessly compare them to his Y/N, knowing no one could really pair up.

Instead, his mind traveled to the blond boy that was getting to close to his own good. The boy that had once captured the heart of the love of his life and though he knew he should probably let it go, just the reminder of how Justin gazes at her, how he was everything you could want, had Michael clenching and unclenching his fists.

You had tried to stop his violent habits. But in moments like these, the only thing that Michael needed was to punch something and to punch something hard. He needed to get out the anger that was bubbling up in his body more and more by the minute.

So as a brunette boy on a skateboard hit into him roughly before falling to the ground, Michael watched him crawl to pick up his skateboard and apologize in a shaky voice before he set out, walking fast to behind the university gymnasium building.

He wasn't really lying to you when he told her he was going to class, Michael reasoned to himself as he followed the boy behind the building. He was just going to be a little late due to a detour.

“Hey!” He called out in a gruff voice

All it took was the kid to turn around for him to throw a heavy punch, with the hand whose fingers read out ‘Y O U’, smirking wickedly when he heard a satisfying crunch.

“What happened?” That was the first thing out of your mouth when you saw Michael again.

He didn’t flinch when you picked up his hand, though you certainly would’ve expected him to. His knuckles were bloody, bits and pieces were missing skin and you could see hints of gravel.

But instead, he just regarded you stoically, cooly. “I told you I’m fine.”

You squeezed his hand sharply to which he finally let out a small hiss of pain. You shook your head, “Fine, huh?”

He leaned closer to you, smirking. “Now, you’re just trying to turn me on.”

However, you didn’t let yourself get swept away by his sweet voice. Instead, you moved out of his room to the bathroom. He was constantly getting into fights to the point where he had plenty of gauze lying around. When you came back, he just held out his hand again in defeat.

You graciously began to cover his injury up. “You’re unbelievable” You chastised. “I tell you to go to class and what do you do? Beat someone up. You were fine when I left you!”

Michael was in a strangely good mood, maybe it was because he had let out all of his frustration or maybe it was something in the way you were doting and attending to him, but he did something he rarely did. He said a joke. “In my defense, I went to class.”

When you, not only didn’t laugh, but made a move to leave, he actually even laughed and collected you in his arms. His laugh was so lovely that you smiled, even if you didn’t want to.

“Come on, baby. I’m sorry.” His wrapped hand came up and he used to thumb to pull your bottom lip down, “Let me make it up to you.” His eyes got slightly darker as his eyes trailed down to your lips.

You’re eyes trailed down to his tattoos that made him look like a piece of art, tempted. But you refused to give him a reward. It was actions like what he did that day that made him so feared and the object of so many horrifying rumors. He had been more restrained with his violence since you started dating. He fought less and less and it was only to keep you happy. But he didn’t stop completely, and you understood that, though that didn’t mean you liked it.

You didn’t even let your mind wander to the poor kid he did this to. You think your heart would hurt to think of it, it would hurt even more to think the guy you were so in love with, the one right in front of you was the one that inflicted that pain.

“Great then, make it up to me by going to my house and picking up my textbooks, I’ll work here and help you study today.”

That was not the answer Michael was expecting or wanting. He looked confused as he stared into your eyes, looking for a hint of humor to indicate that was a joke. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Nope, hurry back.”

Michael wished he could say he couldn’t believe he was doing this. He hated leaving his house when it was unnecessary. He hated even more to go to your house where it was surrounded by people who didn’t fear going outside and listening to loud music on their yard, unlike his neighbors who had gotten to know Michael’s preference of silence a long time ago.

But it was for you so he could definitely believe he was walking by the annoyingly crowded yards to the modest apartment at the end of the lane.

As he climbed up to your floor, he already had the spare key you gave him in his hand, separated from the rest of the keys in his keychain. It was easy to distinguish as you painted it your favorite color - baby pink. He just looked up when he was about to get to her door when he saw something he definitely did not want to see.

Justin. Fluffy haired, blond Justin standing in front of his girlfriend’s apartment door. He was wearing boat shoes and a salmon polo shirt. At that moment, Michael hated him. He wanted to punch his face in.

Justin was fidgeting, moving his feet left to right in a pacing manner. Small murmurs left his mouth as if he was practicing something.

‘Like…I like…no, that’s not right…I…’

But Michael had heard enough so he made his footsteps very loud and noticeable as he closed any distance between them.

Almost as soon as he reached them, Michael had all but thrown him against the wall behind him. His fist was buried in the collar of Justin’s shirt, twisting. Any and all anger he had released that day came back at double the force.

“What the fuck did you just say?” Michael sneered in his face and he took only slight satisfaction at seeing Justin’s eyes widen in fear and his mouth floundering pathetically trying to figure out what to say.

“I-I just came to give Y/N my organic chemistry notes.” He held up a green notebook as proof, “I already took the c-class so I wanted to h-help.”

Somehow, the thought that he could help Y/N in something Michael couldn’t, academics, made it worse. He was furious, furious that Justin was so perfect while Michael was so damaged, so fucked up.

Michael pulled and pushed him by his shirt, causing Justin to hit the back of his head against the wall, “No, I heard you. ‘I like’” Michael mimicked, before pushing him even harder again, “You like what?” His voice escalated and when Justin didn’t respond, he was all but yelling when repeated, “You like what?”

“Y/N” Justin yelled back, but more out of fear than anything, “I like Y/N.”

He didn’t know whether or not to be impressed that blondie finally grew a pair to tell him the truth, despite knowing what Michael was like. All he knew was that he had also grown confident enough to be willing to tell you about his feelings. Michael wanted to beat the shit out of him, even worse than he beat that skateboarder a few hours ago, worse than he’d ever beat anyone in his life.

But he couldn’t, so he didn’t. He knew you wouldn’t be as easy to forgive him for that like you did in the past. If he was a less selfish man, he would probably give Justin a fair chance. You deserved better than Michael and everyone knew it. Even Michael.

But he was never known for being selfless.

He leaned in closer to hiss out his words, so only he would hear. “You will never be with Y/N. Do you wanna know how I know? Because I ruined her, I ruined her for you and I ruined her for all other men.”

“When I met her, she was a blushing little virgin. Do you want to know what she does now?” Justin looked away at that point but Michael grabbed the back of his neck to force him to look him in the eyes for his next words. He wanted to see the impact they had on him.

“Now, she begs me to fuck her with my cock while she calls me daddy.”

Justin curled his lips and his expression was that of pain that Michael loved to see. “I took her virginity. And it felt so fucking good. She was so tight that I could barely fit inside of her. She was a blushing mess under me, it was the hottest thing I’d ever seen.”

“I’m the only one who’s ever touched her. She gave me the thing you’ve always dreamed about. Me. The monster with tattoos, anger issues and a bad past. I took away that innocence you liked her so much for. She fucking creams when I call her my bitch and my whore, when I tell her I’m going to knock her up.”

“I know exactly what she likes. She’s so submissive for me.” He couldn’t stop. Michael couldn’t hurt Justin physically so he wanted to hurt him every other way he could. “I’ve fucked every part of her that you fantasize and jack off to. And when she talks to you, know that I fucked that mouth just moments before.”

He spat his final words. “So I want you to know that she would be nothing but unsatisfied with you, she would always be thinking of me, wanting me, needing me to get her off, to make her happy. She’s mine.”

When Michael finally let him go, Justin’s eyes were glistening but he didn’t move from against the wall. Even with the freedom to leave, to run out of there like Michael expected him to, it looked like he was in shock. He was barely blinking and he couldn’t seem to get his mouth to fully close.

Even after Michael went into your house and picked up all your textbook and notebooks, Justin was still out there, staring out into space.

Michael didn’t stay and watch as he silently abandoned Justin to the cruel words echoing in his mind.

Michael had been acting weird for two days. Every time he saw you he would ask if you’d heard anything interesting. Considering he never really asked about anything deeper than how your day was, preferring to live in the moment, it was concerning. It’d gotten to a point where you were worried he did something illegal, or worse, if that were possible.

But each day, it was the same answer. No, you hadn’t heard anything new and he seemed to drop it just like that.

“Alright, what did you do?” You asked one day as you laid with your head on his lap on the couch. Ashton was a few seats away from you two, staring at the tv. You glanced up at your boyfriend quickly before knowing he wasn’t going to answer so you looked at Ashton. “What did he do?”

“I thought you already knew he beat up that freshmen.” Ashton swatted at your foot.

You kicked him in retaliation, “That’s it? That’s all he’s done?” You weren’t convinced.

Michael ran his long fingers through your hair, soothingly. “What other kind of trouble did you want me to do?”

An embarrassed blush dusted over your cheeks, “N-Nothing, I just thought…”

At the sight of your red cheeks, Michael tugged you up to sit on his lap, “Thought what, baby girl?”

Ashton stood almost immediately, “You guys are disgusting, I’m going to the Union.”

Michael didn’t look back as the front door opened and closed. Instead, he stood with you still in his lap, making you squeal and wrap your laps around the middle of his torso. You wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders. With his hands holding you up by your ass, he guided the both of you to his bedroom, only putting you down once you were directly in front of his bedroom.

Now you stood directly in front of him, your eyes just reaching the level of his upper torso so you had to look up to see his face. His figure was eclipsing your entire body. Something about seeing you below him, so much smaller than his figure and so easy to manhandle, definitely did something to him. He wanted to destroy you. It didn’t help that your blushing face made you look like a school girl about to get fucked for the first time.

“God, you’re so innocent” His rough groaned out, making you wet almost immediately. “Sit down for me, little one.”

But you shook your head, your arm raising just slightly, enough for your hand to rub over the bulge in his basketball shorts, feeling the outline of his length. You looked back up to him seductively, “Let me suck you off.” You bit your lip in a plea.

To your surprise, he shook his head, looking down at you, and pushed you to a seated position. He wasn’t one to say no to a blowjob so this really took you off guard. You were almost laying down, holding yourself up just by your elbows when he leaned closer to you. Two fingers, each one with the letters ‘F’ and ‘U’ tattooed respectively on them with further ink details trailing to his arm, prodded your lips. You opened your mouth to take them in.

He moved them in and out and your head bobbed accordingly with his pace. His light eyes watched your every move hotly and you couldn’t help but moan against his fingers.

Without double thinking it, you took a hold of his wrist with both of your small hands, stopping his movements. Your big eyes were kept on his before taking his entire digits in your mouth, effectively deep-throating his fingers.

“Fuck.” He whispered before standing up to his full height again. You smiled at the fact that you pleased him.

He pushed you down to fully be laying down as he got down on his knees in front of you. You were wearing shorts this time so he undid the buttons and pulled them off of you, along with your black underwear. He threw them behind him distractedly.

You couldn’t really prepare yourself when he put in the still glistening fingers that were in your mouth into your entrance. You pushed yourself up as you arched your back in pleasure.

When his mouth found its way onto you to lick your sensitive nub while his fingers thrusted in and out of you, your face scrunched up in pleasure and your hands searched anything to try to hold onto. One of your hands clutched the blanket under you while the other found its way into his dark hair, pulling with the intensity of the pleasure.

But as you pulled and as the pain it caused him increased, so did his actions. He pulled away just enough to watch your face as he thrust his fingers in and out of you faster. His fingers curled just slightly inside you which had you gasping and then moaning louder in pleasure. His free hand came up to slap your pussy sharply. You gasped and jumped to close your legs in surprise but he held you in place by your inner thighs.

He spit down onto your cunt before starting to eat you out again. His tongue flatly licking your every crevice ravenously before sucking on your clit, making your eyes roll back in pleasure. Your head was thrown back onto the mattress as you closed your eyes.

“Please, please.” You felt your release approaching and as you sat up slightly, your back arching in pleasure, to look at him. You pushed his face deeper to you, which he graciously accepted. His nose sometimes rubbed against your clit which sent a shock of pleasure through your body.

All it took was for his fingers to separate inside of you for you to come directly onto his fingers and face. You didn’t even get to feel embarrassed before he stood, chin shiny with your wetness and cum, and placed those very fingers into your mouth and you had to taste yourself on them. It was so dirty but you couldn’t help but blush harder.

But he wasn’t done with you. At the sight of your blushing and trembling figure, he took off his shirt and shorts easily, letting them pool at his feet before he took a hold of your hips. “Bend over for me.”

He grabbed you by both your hips and forced you on all fours, pulling you back so you were right in front of him. He was strangely quiet when he spread your legs just enough and placed one of his legs onto the bed, the other staying on the floor. Like he was savoring the moment.

You felt him line up to your entrance from behind you and you cried out in pleasure when he finally entered you, his position somehow putting himself at just the right angle. You whimpered out, “So big.”

He moaned at your tightness and held onto your hips roughly as he began thrusting at a bruising pace. One of his hands gathered both of your wrists and pinned them behind you, causing your face to fall down to the mattress. Your moans and screams were muffled by the blanket below you.

The pleasure was almost overpowering, making you writhe forward, almost away from him at, your hands reaching out to the mattress in front of you. But he kept bringing you you back by pulling on your hips and wrists. You pushed your hips back in rhythm with his thrusts, or as much as you could in the steel grip he had you in.

Michael moaned loudly, “Good girl.” He praised as he let your arms go and slapped your ass hard, making you moan louder. “Fuck yourself on my cock.”

And suddenly he stopped his thrusts. You picked up your head to look behind to him, whining at the loss of friction and desperately thrusting back on him, moving yourself up and down on his hard length. Your hair was sticking to your face uncomfortably but you didn’t care. His hand found its way to your neck, choking you from behind deliciously. Every sensation suddenly felt heightened. The tattoos circling his hands and fingers looked beautiful adorning your neck.

He leaned himself down, pressing his front directly to your back, covering much of your body with just his upper half. He whispered into your ear, “Look at you getting yourself off like a bitch in heat.”

“Please.” You whined in response, needing for his rough thrusts to start back up again.

“Beg for it.” He stayed completely still.

“Please fuck me, fuck me.” You moaned loudly, “I need you to fuck me, fuck this pussy daddy.” Your words were filthy enough to make you blush but you were almost delirious with desire at that point that you didn’t care.

Michael chuckled at you tauntingly, “Look at you blushing like a shy little girl even when you’re begging for me to ruin you."

He had just begun thrusting again, thrusting at an almost violent pace when a phone rang.

“No!” You cried out in desperation at the interruption. You could barely breathe with how wanton you were.

You felt Michael pause for a moment before your phone fell in front of you. You picked your head up just to read the name on the screen: ‘Justin’. You went to toss it aside but Michael’s voice stopped you.

“Answer it.”

“W-What?” You couldn’t believe what he was suggesting.

But he had an enticing smile as he persuaded you, “Come on, you don’t have to say anything, just let him listen. Doesn’t that make you wet to think of someone listening to how good I make you feel?”

You couldn’t believe you were even considering it. “If he asks about it, you didn’t even realize you answered.”

You wanted to say no. It would be gross and disrespectful, but you couldn’t deny the large part of you that was turned on with what Michael was saying. So your fingers swiped the answer button before you could change your mind.

As soon as you answered, it was like something snapped in Michael because his hips pounded into yours with a new vigor. The sound of skin slapping against skin loud and obvious. You were planning on just burying your face in the mattress as you had been doing to mask your moans but Michael grabbed a hold of your hair in a makeshift pony tail and pulled, forcing your upper body in the air.

Instead, your loud stuttered moans filled the air as Michael’s showed you no mercy. It was even hotter knowing someone was listening. With your face pulled back, you tried to keep your eyes open and level with Michael’s, which were staring directly at you, examining your face.

Michael’s gravel voice sounded through the room, “Keep looking at me like the submissive slut you are. Let it out.” His tone had become almost soothing, “Look what I made you become.”

“Harder. Fuck me harder.” You screamed out, unashamed but barely managed to get the words out out.

His hips shifted, allowing him to get even deeper than before, fulfilling your wish. He was nearly growling when he spoke, “That’s right, fucking take it, bitch.”

Then he grunted, “Who’s cunt is this?” He spanked your ass once again to put emphasis on his question.

You whined and moaned at the same time, “Y-yours, it’s yours, your pussy daddy” He pulled harder at your hair which caused a particularly loud moan to come out of you, “Only yours, Mikey.”

Michael pulled your hair enough to have your face directly below his and kissed you hotly. He sucked and pulled at you bottom lip. His tongue finding its way into your mouth, kissing you gently, a contrast to how roughly he was currently fucking you. When he pulled back, you opened your mouth before he even said anything. He spat into your mouth, some of his spit landed on your chin.

“You’re such a fucking slut, look at you covered in my spit.” You gave a naughty laugh, biting your lip, to which he responded by slapping your cheek, the sting making you let out an elongated moan and clench around him.

“Yeah, you like that?” He moaned out as you clenched around him. “That’s good, princess.”

“Yes, yes, yes.” You closed your eyes in pleasure.

The sound of a call disconnecting sounded and a sickening realization dawned at you. You assumed Justin had hung up the moment he heard the sound of slapping skin or your moans. But he had just heard all of that.

Michael didn’t give you much time to dwell on it though because he hit a particular spot that had you seeing stars. “Cum for me, think you can do that, little one?”

As he said that, his hand reached down to your pussy, masterfully stimulating your clit, which, along with his thrusts, made you gasp out. You came around him almost instantly as he continued thrusting. But he didn’t stop hitting that spot, but instead rode out your orgasm by thrusting even deeper. He didn’t even stop when his thrusts slowed down and become sloppier. So by the time he was coming in you, you were practically sobbing at the overstimulation as you came for the third time that night.

“Beautiful.” He let out a satisfied moan as he pulled out, letting you drop fully down to the mattress, as you didn’t have enough strength to hold yourself up.

Michael patiently moved you to a more comfortable position, giving you the best spot on the bed as he dressed again.

You looked over at him sleepily, body glistening. “I honestly don’t know what’s gotten into you lately.”

He gave you a secretive smirk before nodding silently before leaning down to give you a languid, gentle kiss as he was holding your face in both hands. It was a loving kiss and it was moments like those that reminded you why you loved him so much.

Justin’s going away party was tomorrow and Michael couldn’t believe his luck. The rich kid would leave soon enough and everything would be back to normal. He wouldn’t be constantly on edge and he wouldn’t have to leave the house every time Ashton had Chris and Charlie over.

And, as it turned out, Justin was too big of a pussy to tell you what he did after all. He was on top of the world. He hadn’t even gotten into a fight in days because of it. To top it all off, his girlfriend texted him that afternoon.

my girl

Come over, now.

He was on his way to your apartment, forgoing any classes he had at the middle of the day. Not that he would know if he even had any. Even if he did, he would drop everything and anything for you.

He didn’t expect, however, to hear your angry voice as soon as he walked through the door.

“How could you?” You yelled. He was usually the only one that yelled, the only one that got angry. That was when Michael knew he did something wrong, bad enough to get his sweet, soft-spoken, girlfriend to yell with an angry expression on her kind face.

And he had a feeling he knew exactly what he did.

You knew it too because you continued, keeping a big distance between the two in your spacious and clean living room. “How could you say those things to Justin? Do you have any idea how personal those things are? How embarrassing it is to know you said something so private and intimate about me to him?” You were yelling and by the end of it, Michael could swear he saw some tears.

He stepped forward just to have you put your hand up, palm facing him to stop his movement. “And to top it off, what we did to him over the phone?” You were definitely crying now, “Michael, that was just cruel. I never would have agreed to it if I knew what you had done.”

Your hand went up to cover your mouth, as if to stop the cries from pouring out.

Michael, on the other hand, felt like he had just gotten kicked in the gut. The sight of your tears and knowing he had single handedly caused them hurt him more than he could imagine. He wanted to blame Justin, blame his stupid big mouth, but he couldn’t.

“Just, w-why would y-you do some…thing like that?” You were looking at him like he never wanted you to look at him. You looked at him like he was a bad person, like you were finally seeing him the way everyone else always had.

He wanted to wrap his arms around you and apologize, not letting you go until you forgave him. To stop you from looking at him like that. But he let you get out your thoughts. You deserved at least that much.

“When Justin told me, I wanted to disappear. You made me f-feel so small. Like I was just some sex trophy you can show off like a poss-ss-ession.” You shook your head, your tears streaming freely down your cheeks, “Why would you take something so intimate and make it so awful?”

Michael couldn’t even respond. Why would he do that? Was he that big of an insecure asshole that he couldn’t think of how his actions would affect the one person that mattered?

“I’m sorry.” His voice was soft and he took a few tentative steps closer. “He was going to tell you he liked you and I thought you’d choose-”

“-I told you he’s just a friend!” You exploded. Your eyes were still filled with tears but there was a definite anger in your expression. “Why can’t you just trust me and feel confident that I’d choose you even if he did confess.”

He wasn’t good with non-violent confrontations. With you, he wasn’t good with confrontation, period. You never fought much, and never to this extent, so his instincts were off.

“Why would I?” He yelled back but with a lower level of anger and a higher level of desperation than usual. “Why would I think in a million years you’d pick me? When he’s fucking perfect for you: you have a history, he has the brains, the looks, the money. He has the life I could never give you!”

He was talking fast and breathing faster because he felt like he was about to lose the love of his life and he couldn’t let that happen. You couldn’t break up with him. He loved you too much and he wasn’t planning on letting you go, ever.

You opened your mouth but he continued talking, his hands swiped at each of his arms, “Look at me, am I someone you want to take home to your mom? You want to show her how you’re dating a big, inked up, fuck up who has been to juvie more times than he can count and barely made it into college?” He shook his head, “But I bet your mom loves Justin, doesn’t she?”

You didn’t answer so Michael repeated himself, he needed you to understand him. “Doesn’t she?”

“She likes him but-”

Michael cut you off, “Exactly. You deserve someone that actually has the emotional range to be there for you, someone you have more things in common with.” He looked away before sighing, “Look I fucked up, I’m sorry, but…please, don’t leave me.”

You couldn’t believe it when you heard his voice crack at the end.

It was one of those rare moments he let his guard down, where he was vulnerable to you.

Maybe that was what made you change your tone because the next time you spoke, your voice was much softer and your expression held a hint of pity.

“Mikey…” This time, it was you who moved closer to him and while it wasn’t a lot, it meant the world to Michael who felt like the cracks in his world were slowly starting to pull themselves back together. “Don’t you think I feel the same way sometimes?”

The confusion Michael felt was obvious on his face.

“I see the way all the girls on campus look at you, more experienced girls that can probably please you a lot better than I can. Girls you’re probably more used to since you’re a lot more experienced than I am.”

Michael’s jaw dropped “What?”

How could you possibly think he would want any other girl or that any other girl could possibly measure up to you in bed? He wanted to tell you that he loved how inexperienced you were in the beginning, that it was a turn on. How he loved to be the one to teach you everything you knew while knowing he was the only one who’s ever touched you. Sure you were different, but that’s why he liked you so much.

But you continued, reaching up to cup his cheek. He couldn’t help but lean his face into your touch. “But I know you love me so I don’t even flinch when you go out to parties by yourself or a girl flirts with you in front of me, because I trust you. You have to do the same for me instead of psychologically torturing people.”

He couldn’t think of a time a girl flirted with him in front of his girlfriend, or it was more likely he was just not paying attention. When he was with you, he often stopped thinking of much else.

Only one thing was on his mind as he lifted your hand and kissed your palm. “Do you forgive me?”

He wasn’t one to apologize, ever. But he was willing to go on his hands and knees for the woman in front of him. He was willing to beg for you. Fuck everyone else.

His heart constricted just a tiny bit when you didn’t answer right away. But then, you nodded gently.

For the millionth time since they started dating, he couldn’t believe how lucky he was.

When he wrapped his arms around you, holding your small frame tightly against his own, he definitely felt a difference. You didn’t melt into him like you usually did, but you didn’t push him away.

“I know I’m mean and aggressive and that I should probably treat you better, take you out more. But I love you, you’re all I have.” It was true. He didn’t have much but he had Y/N, the sweet girl that found a way to look past his rough exterior. That was all he needed.

When Justin’s party finally arrived, Michael wished he could say your words made him change his mind about the guy. But, as he thought of the everything the tall boy personified: uncertainty his visit caused his relationship, the very real threat of taking his girlfriend away, he didn’t think anything could change his mind about the blond boy.

So he couldn’t help the twisted satisfaction he got when he saw Justin’s face light up when you entered Chris’ dorm room, where the party was held, wearing a pretty pink dress, only to watch it fall when Michael walked in right behind you. He watched it grow even darker at your interlocked hands (because though you forgave him, you were still not happy enough to let him wrap his arms around your shoulders or waist like he would’ve wanted).

The two of you didn’t speak but Michael kept by your side anyway, silently drinking the beer that was handed to him when they came in. One had been offered to you but he stepped closer threateningly to the guy holding it out. The drink was promptly removed. He saw you give the guy a heart-warming smile as a token of your apology for his actions.

You were never interested in drinking or drugs and he was not going to allow your exposure to them because of him be your downfall, he couldn’t deal with knowing he was the bad influence he never wanted to be for you. You were the best thing that had ever happened to him, the best thing in his life, and he didn’t want to ruin that like he ruined everything else in his life.

Many guys tried to approach him, speaking to him as if they were friends and that was all they needed to start up a friendship. He barely talked, his words coming out short and snippy. They were taking time out of his night to spend with his girl. Usually, they took the hint and left, but others, like Charlie, stayed for longer. When Michael’s cold glaring eyes finally moved to meet his, Charlie’s face got visibly whiter before he quickly excused himself. Michael had told you that he should be nicer, but that only really applied to her.

When you left his side to say goodbye formally to Justin at the end of the party, he smiled, a mix of cruelly and victoriously.

Justin had lost. Michael had won.

So when he finally left through the door and out of their lives, he wrapped his arms around your body from behind you. Feeling much relieved to be able to still do so, to still have you. Even more so when you leaned against him.

Leaning down, he pushed strands of your loose hair away from your ear with his nose before whispering, “Let’s go home.”

end of story 1

—

again, i’m planning on making a second part to this series but it will focus on a completely different obstacle! it’ll be a brand new plot just with the same characters and dynamics as this one. like another big moment in their relationship.

@imagines-to-die-for

#5sos #michael clifford smut #5sos smut #michael clifford x reader #michael clifford #bad boy smut #jealous smut #bad boy michael #luke hemmings smut #luke hemmings #calum hood #ashton irwin #calum hood smut #ashton irwin smut #5sos imagines #michael imagine #college!au

464 notes · View notes

thran-duils · 3 years

Text

You’re Now Mine (P.16, FINAL)

Title: You’re Now Mine (Part 16) Summary: Fulfilling a request for @lets-personofinterestontumbir! – “Could you do a drabble for the Persephone AU I don’t know If you’ve seen once upon a time but the episode 1x07 reminded me a lot of this story when the evil queen ripped out the huntsmen’s heart if you could do something like that it would be awesome. Thank you.” Words: 1,553 Warnings: DARK AF, Emotional/Mental abuse, smut Author’s Notes: I think the hardest thing for me continuing this fic was it ending up the way I thought it should even if I thought it might make people mad. lmao but cheers.

Chap 15 || Masterpost (mobile) || Fanfic masterpost

Lucifer held up a finger, leaned his sword against the wall, and said, “Give me a minute.” Before disappearing.

Sam and Dean stared at the spot before exchanging a look, throwing out their hands in annoyance.

Crowley and Rowena had joined them upon their request, both reluctant but knowing the gravity of the situation. They had been discussing their plan before Lucifer up and disappeared when discussing weapons.

“What the hell?” Dean asked no one in particular.

Suddenly Lucifer reappeared, looking proud of himself. Chuck was the first to notice what he had gone to fetch. More so because he was able to sense it.

“Where did you get that?” Chuck asked as soon as he saw the bag in Lucifer’s hands.

“An old friend,” Lucifer returned. He paused and then considered before correcting, “Well, I would not say ‘friend’. She was not fond of me at all. But I struck a deal, yada yada.”

Chuck was in front of him then, not hearing what he was explaining now. All of his attention was on the bag. He made to reach for it and Lucifer jerked back instinctively, causing Chuck to pause, his gaze moving up to meet Lucifer’s.

Chuckling uncomfortably, Lucifer explained, “We’ve been through this before. Twice actually. It’s a one and done kind of deal; the power is truly short lived. We don’t want to be jumping the gun here. Now, I was thinking—”

“You should use it,” Chuck interjected, catching Lucifer off guard.

Lucifer’s eyes widened at the suggestion. “Uh.. well… I mean, that is what I was going to say, but—”

“No, it should be you. She wouldn’t expect that. Plus, powering you up especially with your sword is the smart thing to do.”

“Hmm,” was all Lucifer said in response.

Chuck’s hand landed on Lucifer’s shoulder and he told him sincerely, “I trust you with it. We can do this.”

<> <> <>

“Cas?”

The voice was very far away. Castiel was groggy, and he hurt something fierce all over his vessel. He stumbled in the dark trying to find his grounding.

“Cas?”

The voice sounded again, sounding much more familiar than it had before. It was like a cloud was lifting. He followed the voice.

His eyes fluttered open and his vision cleared, showing Dean was leaning down beside him, concerned etched in his features.

“What… what’s happening?” Castiel grated, adjusting and wincing at the movement.

Dean looked relieved. “It is you. What happened?”

Castiel swallowed sharply, looking inward. It was just him; he was alone again. “Lucifer is gone. I don’t know… Amara yanked him out of my vessel. I don’t know where he went.” He looked up at Dean expectantly. “Amara?”

“She’s locked up. Those sonofabitches did it,” Dean said, exhaling deeply. Castiel breathed easier hearing this. Dean helped Castiel stand up, clapping him on the shoulder. “I’m glad you’re back.”

Suddenly Chuck was in front of Castiel, laying a hand on his chest. Castiel’s vessel was spotless and he stood taller. “Feel better?” Chuck asked, half smirking.

Castiel nodded, “Yes. Thanks.” He fell silent, looking around the room at Sam, Dean, Rowena, Chuck, and Crowley. Realization dawned on him then. “Where is Y/N?”

“We don’t know,” Sam said, shooting an accusing look at Chuck which Castiel followed suit with.

Chuck breathed heavily, “She’s safe.”

“But where?” Castiel demanded, stepping closer to him.

Chuck held up a hand to stop him from coming any closer. “Lucifer was right earlier when he told you it was no longer part of your concern,” he said to Sam and Dean.

Castiel was not having it, cussing, “The hell is that supposed to mean, Chuck?”

“It was part of the bargain to get Lucifer to help us.”

“’It’? You mean Y/N?” Dean snapped.

Chuck said nothing.

“So, so what? You just gave Y/N away to him?” Sam asked incredulously.

Chuck exhaled deeply, meeting Sam’s eyes. “Yeah.” He looked at Castiel who looked murderous. “Don’t look at me like that, Castiel. Humans are ephemeral.”

“I don’t care,” Castiel practically growled.

Throwing his hands out, Chuck told him, “Things are lost in war, Castiel. You all know that better than a lot. It was a small price to pay in the grand scheme of things.”

Castiel’s shoulders visibly slumped, his features falling. “Not to me,” he said weakly.

Groaning, Chuck threw his head back. “You guys! This is supposed to be a time of celebration! We won! Look, Castiel, here.” He waved his arm in Castiel’s direction, causing Castiel to flinch, fearing the worst.

Instead, Castiel inhaled sharply, his eyes going wide. The others stared in astonishment, worried for him and what was going on. He did not seem to be in pain… rather fulfilled. Castiel rolled his shoulders a few times, stretching out. A sigh of contentment escaped his lips, his eyes closing. He was focusing hard, breathing deeply.

“Bet that feels good,” Chuck commented.

Castel’s eyes opened and he stared at Chuck determined, his mouth set in a thin line. “I am going to find her,” he said defiantly.

“Well,” Chuck said amused. “You’ve got the means to do so now more freely. And quicker if you manage to.”

To Sam and Dean, Castiel said, “I’ll come back.”

Before they could ask what the hell he was talking about, he disappeared, the air shifting at his disappearance.

Chuck was smiling fondly at the spot Castiel had just been in. “Hmm,” he murmured. “That should be entertaining. For a little while at least. He is not going to find her, of that I am sure. But he sure is unfaltering in his devotion. That should make me jealous.”

He turned, beginning to walk up the stairs, leaving the rest of the group. He paused, turning to look at them over his shoulder. His eyes landed on Sam and Dean and he looked apologetic. “You know, I really am sorry you had to lose a friend. But perhaps I can make it up to the pair of you.” Turning his gaze upward, he said, “You’ll find it back at home. Or should I say… her.”

And then he left them there, standing perplexed and lost.

<> <> <>

The water coming out of the rain faucets was running down your skin in the natural stone shower in your bedroom. You remember the shower had intimidated you at first, being an open one where anyone could walk in and see you. But that had been a silly thought; Lucifer was the only one who would see you. You had not seen anyone else besides God over the years sparingly – and that other angel the other day. He had been the first. The way he had watched you was odd and you were anxious to have Lucifer back.

Chuck had left you hours ago and with each passing hour, you had grown more restless.

The shower was doing some to help relieve stress, the warmth soothing you.

Hands were on you suddenly and you startled, your eyes popping open. Jumping away, you gasped. Upon seeing his face, you relaxed instantly. You rushed to his embrace and he leaned forward to meet you in a kiss. He was nude, planning to join you in the shower certainly.

“Where were you?” you asked, running your hands through his quickly wetting blonde hair.

“Dealing with a problem,” he answered. Your brow creased and he assured you with another kiss, “It’s been solved. No need to worry, princess.”

“Your father stopped by,” you told him. Lucifer acknowledged this with a hum. “He told you?”

“Yes,” he nodded, pulling you closer. “He seems to want to be keeping an eye from time to time. It is not unusual, no?”

“He brought someone here though.”

Lucifer cocked his head at this, and fear sparked in you realizing he did not know that part.

Clearing his throat, Lucifer told you, “I am sure he just did not have time to stop and leave them somewhere. You don’t need to worry about it. Trust me.” He brought your hand up to his lips and gave you a kiss on your fingertips. “You trust me, don’t you?”

Nodding, you told him, “Of course I do.”

Lucifer’s lips parted into a smile, satisfied with your answer. “I suppose I was right when I said I would have you.” His eyes were searching you, as if looking past you, inside of you. His fingertips traced your skin, his lips parting in pleasure. It set a fire deep within you feeling his yearning for you, the object of his affection. His voice was barely above a whisper when he spoke again, “One way or another.”

Confused, you gave a little laugh. “Whatever do you mean?”

He seemed to push the thought away, his eyes focused again on yours. “Nothing, princess. Nothing at all.”

He pulled you to him again, a hand holding your head in place as he dived in for a deep, dominant kiss. Falling into his embrace, you followed his movements, devouring the taste of the other. When you came up for air, his forehead rested on yours, a hum of approval rumbling low in his chest. His hand rested on your chest and you felt warmth emanating from it, deep within your core; a comfort you could trust forever.

~~~

CASTIEL FOREVER TAGS: @willowing-love @perseusandmedusa @greenappleeyes @afanofmanystuffs @earthtokace @shikaros-blog @marisayouass @splendidcas @stixnstripesworld

For this fic: @itsmeempar

#lucifer x reader #casifer x reader #spn fanfic #supernatural fic #my shit

53 notes · View notes