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megantrancyfanfics · 2 years

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“I’m not coming home” Gyomei Hajima x reader

I’m feeling a little down today so y’all are gonna feel down with me.

Warning: SPOILERS! I CANNOT STRESS ENOUGH THAT THERES SPOILERS IN HERE! After the second ~~~ line there’s spoilers, so you’re safe to read up to that point unless you are ok with spoilers! Anyway, there’s also: angst, blood, stabbing.

Key: y/n= your name, f/n= friend name, “”=talking, ‘’=thoughts💚

I tried to make this as gender neutral as I know how to, I hope y’all enjoy💚

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It was like any other mission, you and another pillar were sent onto a mission together. Being the new generation of pillars, the two of you were pared up quite often.

“Are you sure you’re ready for this mission, y/n?” Your boyfriend Gyomei asked. You smiled softly before hugging his arm.

“I am, don’t worry f/n and I will slay the demon and I’ll come home straight to you. I can’t wait to see you again.” You say, a soft smile on your face.

“How long of a mission is this one?”

“It should only be a 6 hour mission, if I’m not back by then you should maybe come looking for me.” You said with a laugh. “But don’t worry I can handle this, I’ll come back in no time.”

“Please be careful dear.” He places a small kiss onto your forehead before you let go of his arm. Once he could no longer feel your presence, he couldn’t help but to let fear and sadness fill his entire body. Gyomei recognizes your strength, just like you recognize his, but everyone knows how dangerous this job is. He has no doubt that you won’t come back alive, but there’s always that fear.

That fear continued to grow when that 6 hour mission came and went. It had now been around 8 hours, that “joke” you said played on a constant loop in the poor mans head. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong, so, he did the only thing a good boyfriend would do, he went to see if you needed help. Normally he wouldn’t bud in, but he hated this feeling.

His feeling was right. Things had went south. The demon was quick to take down both yours, and f/n’s birds, so neither of you could call for backup, then he was quick to use his demon art to turn your friend into a puppet.

He was using your friend to try to kill you. Your friend was bigger than you, and stronger, they definitely had more experience than you when it came to fighting, so you quickly knew that this was a losing battle. While trying to stay alive as your friend threw attacks at you left and right, you searched desperately for the demon, in hopes that you could slay them, and your friend will stop, and you’d get to go home to your beloved Gyomei.

“F/n! F/n please snap out of it!” You screamed. your body ached, you had been trying to save yourself for almost 3 hours. At this point you wondered if your friend was even still alive or if it was just their body that the demon was using to attack you.

“Aww, I fear that our fun little game is almost done.” The demons voice rang through your ear. From that you were able to determine where the demon was hiding, the problem was getting over to it.

In a swift motion, you turned your sword to deflect your puppet friends attack, then pushed forward, luckily being able to knock your friend back as you quickly ran over to the demon, finding it, then slashing your sword into its neck. You had prayed that the demons neck would be soft, and easy to cut through, since you knew you didn’t have much time before the puppet would come back for you.

Your prayers were unheard, your sword was quick to enter, then come to a stop. No matter how much force you put into your attack, your sword was not going through.

‘Please, please go through, I’m scared, I don’t want to go out like this there’s so many things I want to do, things I haven’t gotten to experience yet, I want to see gyo again. Please, just go through!’ Your mind screamed right before you felt the most excruciating pain of your friend jabbing their sword into your back: once, twice, three times, maybe even more until the demon ordered them to stop.

Once you fell to the ground, you quickly started your recovery breathing, and tried to watch the events that followed.

The demon removed your sword out of its neck like it was a toothpick before releasing your friend. You still didn’t know if your friend was still alive, once the demon let them go, you heard a breath leave their mouth before they fell to the ground. Your vision started to blur. You had tried to calm your heartbeats, and just focus on staying alive, but you couldn’t. You know at this point, you don’t have much time left. Your heart was beating rapidly, fearful of what will happen when you pass. Gyomei had told you that once you pass you go to a beautiful paradise, but you have blood on your hands, you had killed so many demons, is that what’s really waiting for you on the other side?

Your thoughts were interrupted when you heard what sounded like a wrecking ball bringing down the whole Forrest. A very faint smile made it’s way onto your face. ‘Gyomei..but, how did he know..?’

After a few hits, everything went quiet. Originally you thought that you lost your hearing, and that your body was shutting down while you were still alive, but once you felt big warm hands swallow your hands, as Gyomei’s worried voice rang through your ears, you knew that wasn’t the case.

“Y/n! Y/n you’re going to be ok.” Gyomei tried to say calmly, but it came out sounding more like a beg. This was the first time you could honestly say you were happy that he was blind so he couldn’t see the state that you were in.

“Gyo..-”

“Don’t speak, you’re going to tire yourself out, people are coming just hold out a little more darling.”

Your hand gently squeezed his. “I’m sorry gyo..I’m not coming home..” you were able to choke out between sobs. You were glad that your last few moments was with gyo, but at the same time, you hated it. All of his emotions were written onto his face: fear, anger, sadness, regret, all of it.

“Don’t say that. Just keep breathing I can hear that the blood is slowing up, you just need to stay with me. I can’t lose the love of my life, I can’t lose the only one that has made me feel something other than sadness in my life.”

“I love you. I wish we had more time together..thank you for loving me. Thank you for being mine, in the next life I will find you, and we’ll be together again. Hopefully that time we can live a full life together. Gyo..the blood is slowing because I’m running out of blood.”

“No, no you’re going to be ok. Don’t talk like that. They’re coming just a few more minutes y/n hang in there. Don’t go, don’t leave me.”

With one last choked sob, you were able to say your last sentence. “I love you..I wish I could have went home with you…”

That weak heartbeat that Gyomei heard vanished. The scream he let out was heard for miles. The sound of a heartbroken person is one that will bring a tear to any person.

He couldn’t help but to cradle your body as he sobbed. You were the first person to talk to him, the first person to treat him like an actual person, the first person to try to understand all of his emotions and accepted that he cried a lot. You were the love of his life, and the person he wanted to marry and settle down with. Not only did he lose the love of his life, he also lost all of his hopes and dreams. In a matter of 25 minutes, his life changed for the worse.

“I’m sorry my love..I love you so much..I’m sorry.”

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

*reminder: spoilers beyond this point*

Now, as Gyomei sits up against the broken wall, he wonders if you felt this much pain before you passed. The battle was far from over, he had to get up and fight, but all of his strength was gone. He could barely even sit up.

As his breath slowed, he started to hear soft giggles. He lifted his head to see all the children who passed all those years ago, and you.

“Y/n..”

“Sorry about them, they’ve all been waiting patiently to see you again. I must admit I’m sad that you didn’t get to live a full life, but I’m happy to see you, my love.”

Happy tears rolled down the stone hashira’s cheeks as the little kids started to run back towards you, all yelling “come on come on come on!”

“We’ll, don’t keep us waiting.” You said with a soft giggle before you helped your beloved boyfriend cross into paradise.

“I missed you so much my love.”

End

#himejima gyomei #gyomei x y/n #demon slayer #demon slayer angst #gyomei himejima #oneshot #demon slayer spoilers #stone hashira #demon slayer self insert #kimetsu anime #angst oneshot #gyomei x you #gyomei x reader #kny himejima #kny gyomei

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allmightluver · 4 years

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**bnha spoilers** I'm just sat here with renewed realisation of what All Might is going through. 40 years. /40 years/ he held and refined that power and dedicated his every waking (and sleeping if Vigilantes is anything to go by) moment towards the goal of defeating AfO and creating a society in which people could feel happy and safe. And now as it turns out AfO is still alive, society is broken and he has given a literal piece of his soul to this young boy leaving himself with only phantoms

Yes. I don’t think people quite grasp what all he’s going through.

It’s been shown recently to us that some, if not most, heroes have underlying ambitions in becoming a hero. Whether for money, glory, fame, popularity, doesn’t matter. They’re ultimately in it for themselves. Toshinori’s intentions from the beginning have been the most pure- he wanted to be a symbol that people can look to and know things will be ok. A symbol of hope. This boy was only around 14 years old when he decided this. What kind of 14 year old sees the world that clearly? Sees that people have no hope, that a veil of darkness covers them. The only thing I can think of is- Toshinori did not have a good childhood. Something had to have happened to a boy that young to stop seeing the joy in life so early, and see the world’s flaws. Truthfully, I believe he was an outcast- due to his quirklessness. Most likely an orphan, perhaps abandoned by his parents, as we’ve never seen him have any family. I do truly believe Toshinori has been alone all his life. I don’t doubt more could have happened to him as a child before he met Nana.

Some may argue that Izuku is the same age, and therefore it shouldn’t be that hard to see why Toshinori wanted to be a hero at such a young age. BUT, Izuku had someone to look up to, ever since he was a child of four years old, to inspire him to be a hero his whole life *cough cough* All Might. Izuku also was quirkless, much like Toshinori, and an outcast because of it (hence where I assume Toshinori was much the same). But ultimately, Izuku wanted to save people because he saw his hero do it. It really wasn’t until Izuku was a bit older, has been in UA, has been on rescue missions, has seen what the heroes see, that I think he’s truly realized how dark the world really is. Toshinori didn’t have that. He didn’t have someone to inspire him as a child, someone to look up to, a hero to inspire him to help others. At that time, heroes hadn’t become as popular as they are in present times. Toshinori saw the world for what it was, on his own, at a tender age. I think that day Nana ran into this blonde hair kid, she eyed him up, noticed his scraggly form, looked into those captivating blue eyes, and saw a man who’s lived through the world’s horrors- experienced the worst it has to offer-, and wants to save everyone he can from the same fate, all in a 14 year old boy.

Then after only a few short years with the woman he saw as his mother, she’s killed in front of him because of his own weakness- he wasn’t strong enough yet to protect her. The only other person his life, Gran Torino, literally abused him. He beat him to a pulp, taking his own emotions out on a teenager, and I doubt Toshinori said anything of it. He probably thought he deserved it. He’s still afraid of Gran Torino to this day, remembering the beatings and expecting more for his failures- even if he doesn’t know what they are surely he’s at fault for something, but he’s the only person who’s stood by his side for this long. Even while at a distance, and spouting nothing but criticisms along the way. But Toshinori had to put aside his own emotions to be that hope for everyone. He left everything he knew to go to a new country on his own, to learn how to be a hero, to be that hope for someone.

Vigilantes showed us just how hard he worked. Toshinori literally stayed awake with no sleep for days on end- 3 in the chapter I’m referencing- because people needed help, people needed saving, and no one else stepped up. He fought villains, rescued civilians, repaired damage, cleared rubble, (even accept and eat food that was against his dietary restrictions after his injury) whatever the public needed, all while draining himself further. He worked himself to the point of exhaustion because he had no help, once literally falling asleep while mid-leap across the city because he simply could go no further.

^^These happen in succession of each other^^

No one stepped up to say “Hey, Mr. Number 1, you’ve been working hard lately. Let me help you!” No one tried to take over his position. Even the Number 2 hero, Endeavor, never tried to take some of his burden. His only goal was to try to be better than All Might in terms of power- he was never trying to be the hero that the people relied on All Might for. Everyone relied on him when things looked grim. He was the back up plan. And all of this happened before Toshinori’s injury.

The only thing he ever wanted to do- help people- he can’t do (at least the way he’s always known how to). The ability to save people has been taken from him in the most gruesome way. He was finally able to fight the man that killed Nana, and in a rage that I’m sure echoed with all of the emotions of the previous users, he smashed that man’s head like a grape. But not without consequence. Several organs are gone. The pain is excruciating. He wears that man’s mark on his body for the rest of his life, never truly able to rid himself of the filth.

Then we have Nighteye’s betrayal. The man that helped him as a sidekick, the man that grew to be his only friend. Now some people may ask why Toshinori flipped like he did to Nighteye looking into his future when he was concerned about him making it through his injury. What I believe is Toshinori didn’t want to know when he would die (and really, who does). Now he knows he’s on a time limit, knows the clock is ticking. Time is running out to keep the world at peace, and with him as he is now, how long can this go on?

I think the betrayal, doing something that Toshinori specifically asked him not to do, is what hurt the most. How can he trust Nighteye anymore? He already can only count on one hand the people he can trust, let alone befriend.

He’s wasted away into a skeleton, a shell of the man he used to be. He can’t over exert himself without his only lung bleeding in protest. It’s canon in the side books that he really doesn’t eat much, which isn’t good for his diet without a stomach now (he’s supposed to have several small meals a day). He is quite literally punishing himself by starving. (Granted, he doesn’t feel hunger anymore.) He’s a sick man, beyond medical help at this point. They can only stabilize him and hope for the best. For five years now he’s in constant pain, every day. He loses blood like sweat. Surely his veins are bruised and collapsed with how many times he would have needed to be hospitalized. Whether from losing too much blood, being too dehydrated or starved from “forgetting” to eat, or an organ failing as body continues to fall apart. “...even as my body rots and grows frail...” - Toshinori People are bound to stare at him as he walks down the street. A tall, willowy, skeleton with a grimace on his face and blood stains on his clothes as he coughs up more into his own hands. There would be the ones who outright ignore him when they walk by, the people who offer pitying smiles and sympathetic glances or just outright stare, and then ones who are afraid of his appearance- children screaming at the mere sight of him and running to their parents to hide from the monster. Each one is another knife in Toshinori’s side, an ache in his chest. If only they knew who I really am.

Losing Nighteye took a toll on his hero work as well. Mirai was a huge help in the past, and took care of all Toshinori’s paperwork, while also reminding him to take care of himself. Without him, Toshinori was even more buried beneath his responsibilities. Plus, now he was on a time limit. He even snapped briefly in his first meeting with Tsukauchi, accidentally revealing himself as All Might because he was under too much pressure, and telling the detective he literally couldn’t handle doing everything by himself (who graciously took over the paperwork side of things for him).

He was living a double life now, having to lie to people left and right about who he was while in his small form, about how he became so sickly, why he was here in the first place who the heck is this skinny old guy. Surely he had multiple visits to the doctor while continuing to repair the damage done by AFO (there’s a limit to how much the body can handle at once. And things I’m sure continued to fail as time went on). Then he would be bedridden for as long as the doctors could keep him strapped to a bed, until he couldn’t take the people’s cries for help any longer, and would jump into action. (It’s also revealed he has something of a super hearing- able to hear danger- which may have been a form of danger sense of OFA that was never fully unlocked?. Either way, he surly could sense disasters happening while he could only lay and heal from his latest surgery. Those poor doctors must have had to re-stitch him several times). People blame him for not preparing society for his retirement, that he failed in passing on the torch so to speak, but in reality he did everything possible to keep society from falling for 40 years, doing all within his power just to keep things afloat. He is only one person. One human being, he can’t do everything despite trying to. Society failed All Might.

People blame him for not being a good teacher. He didn’t exactly have the greatest teacher himself to learn from. He’s never had to teach anyone anything, he just punches! He’s learning. And for his own credit, he’s an incredibly wise man, he has years of experience under his belt, and an intelligence score of 6/6, scoring up there with Nezu! He may not always have the right way to bring something up, but he’s doing his best. Yet even he blames himself for Izuku not being able to control his quirk better. Every time the boy hurts himself, it’s just another tally on the chalkboard of Toshinori’s failures. He himself knows the boy deserves better, better than him. Useless. Pathetic.

Then his friend from America, Dave, essentially became a villain trying to preserve Toshinori’s legacy after Toshinori told him about his injury. Dave went behind his back, threatened people, injured people (pretty sure people died), all for Toshinori’s sake. Something he didn’t want to begin with. Having to put your only other friend in jail for trying to help you surely couldn’t have been easy.

Oh, by the way? All For One isn’t dead. All Might will fight him again, publicly, have his weakened form exposed to the world, and have his own emotions toyed with as he finds out about his master’s grandson in the villain’s hands. Would Nana hate him for leaving her son alone like she’d asked, and dooming her grandchild to be raised by the greatest villain? Could he have done anything to save him? But Toshinori isn’t allowed to feel, he has to smile and push his own feelings aside once again, because there’s a villain to be fought, and only he can fight him. Despite coming out on top, he’ll have suffered severe head trauma, broken left arm, destroyed right arm, and several cuts and bruises that are sure to scar. And then, his quirk, the only thing that’s been allowing him to help people, the gift given to him that he carefully held for 40 years and molded into his own until his very consciousness was permanently carved into it, blows out like a match in the wind. And he’s done. Used up. Empty. Broken. Hollow. Alone, again.

He overhears his student, Bakugo, admit that he blames himself for All Might’s retirement. If he hadn’t been captured, All Might wouldn’t have had to save him, and he wouldn’t have had to fight AFO. Of course Toshinori knows that’s not true, his time was about to run out anyway. It would have happened one way or another. But how can he explain to this child that he wasn’t the cause of his hero, the world’s greatest hero, fighting for his sake, bleeding for his sake, being forced into retirement to keep him safe. Every time Bakugo sees the bandages covering Toshinori’s body is another reminder of the pain and sacrifice Toshinori willingly gave to keep him safe. Toshinori wasn’t held when his mentor died. He wasn’t told it was ok to be sad, that grief and mourning was a natural process, that it takes time to heal. He wasn’t told it was ok to cry. Instead his feelings were beaten out of him as he wondered if Gran Torino blamed him for Nana’s death. He already blamed himself How then, does he comfort a child mourning for him? For what he lost.

And then he gets the call to come to the hospital. Mirai, Nighteye, his old sidekick friend, has been gravely injured, much like he himself was only a few years ago, and most likely won’t survive the night. And to his horror, Nighteye is happy to see him, smiles at him, says he doesn’t hate him for what happened, only wants Toshinori to be happy. He can’t accept that, at least let him apologize, reconcile his sins before it’s too late! But it is. Another fractured piece of his heart gone.

Of course, seeing your students beat up and their arms completely destroyed must have hurt. Instead of being able to save these kids, they’re the ones that hurt themselves to save everyone else. And if Bakugo had kept OFA, things could have been very different (especially with what we know now of OFA and people with quirks). Toshinori wasn’t mad at Izuku for transferring it away, he’d never regret choosing Izuku, and I believe he still would have stayed by Izuku and Bakugo’s side should it have stayed in Bakugo, doing whatever he could to help.

As he tells Aizawa, “I’ve decided to live,” -that statement seems so melancholy, besides obvious reasons. It sounds more like another task he has to accomplish. He didn’t die he was supposed to die with the AFO fight, and now the whole life he lived is over. The world has no use for him anymore. If not for Izuku, he’d have nothing left keeping him here. But because his boy made him promise to live, he’ll do so. Though it almost seems like he says those words with regret. “I’ve decided to live.” Not, “I’m going to live!” “Nothing can kill me!” “I won’t go down without a fight!” No. “I’ll live if I have to, only because you asked me to.” The man is obviously and outwardly depressed. He has so many things against him. No doubt has severe PTSD, anxiety, among others. Not to mention his own physical health. Every day hurts. It’s painful to be alive. Why would he torture himself if he doesn’t have to? For you, my boy. You’re the only thing keeping me here. The only light in my dark world.

He tries to help Izuku find out the previous holder’s quirks, to help his boy in any way he can now that he’s worthless, and goes days on end without sleep, running his body into the ground. He even forgets Christmas. Only to find that by giving the boy the same gift he had received, he may have just doomed him to an early death, among psychological torture (danger detection). (Granted, he really doesn’t know how everything works, and he’s afraid to talk to anyone about it). His boy could live only half a life.

It’s only been a few months since he retired, and society has fallen into shambles. People are blaming him. People are dying. He watches helplessly as his colleague fight his fight for him, and end up battered, bruised, crippled, dead. He students, his boy, battle the monster he should have killed. Children are bleeding. This shouldn’t happen. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Is everything he worked for, everything he fought to protect, to build up, to inspire, is all for naught?! Did he live a foolish dream and doom the world? Was all the the friends he lost, tears he shed, the organs he destroyed, the pain he endures on a daily basis from the hole in his side, and the blood he continues to bleed every day, for nothing? The public, the ones he protected for so long, mourn his absence, but surely there are those among them who also blame him. The statue from his last fight in Kamino one that he never asked for was decimated in a mock of his catch phrase- the one that was supposed to give hope.

Now he can feel his own vestige speaking with Izuku in the OFA realm, even with out OFA in his own body anymore. His clock as nearly reached it’s limit, Nighteye’s prediction is due any day now. The only thing he wants is to see his boy smile at him, to give him some shred of hope. Yet the child remains unconscious, and Toshinori can’t even hold his hand from the bandages covering his arms. Will he still be able to fight? Is there any coming back from this now? Did I break him?

With all Toshinori has been through, I’m honestly surprised we haven’t seen him just outright break down. Anyone, anyone, else should have crumbled under the pressure of holding up the world for 40 years alone. And instead of being able to pass it on to someone when he can no longer bear its weight, it simply falls to into the abyss. People don’t credit All Might enough for everything he’s done. Most don’t realize the sacrifices he’s made. His character is so unbelievably profound and deep, it’s more than just the “I am here!” people focus on. He’s a deeply troubled, layered, complex character. And I can’t find fault within him.

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get-shiggy-with-it · 3 years

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collab masterlist

✧ pairing: villain!hawks x afab!reader

✧ word count: 5k

✧ warnings: this is like all smut, angst, ambiguous but happy ending, unhealthy relationships, mentions of transactional sex, reader has a healing quirk but it's really just for poetic purposes, reader has a vagina, no other gendered parts, oral sex (reader receiving), vague metaphorical drug reference, mentions of blood, mentions of wounds, mating press, soft sex (?), sorta, slight potential could be read as dubcon but they're both into it

✧ summary: for years you've stitched hawks back together when the world has torn him to shreds—and he always pays you back, though you can't help but start want more than he can give you.

✧ a/n: hey y'all this months theme was villain/hero swap with a shared opener! please go check out all the other wonderful works in this collab, there are so many talented writers/artists involved!! credit to @/lady-bakuhoe for the amazing intro. also bonus points if you catch the old aesthetic tumblr post references.

Breaking news: We have yet another report to add to the slew of attacks this month, this comes just days after we broadcast rumours of villains running rampant over the city. This spate of attacks has put the entire metropolitan area at a standstill, road closures and damaged property making it difficult for commuters to get to work in the morning. Road maintenance endeavour to do its best to keep the city running, but it seems futile when these attacks continue to increase. The entire city was brought to a standstill by the mysterious villain who has still not been named, but reports show they are nothing like we have ever experienced before.

Where are the heroes now? Who will save us from the terror overwhelming our city?

Every day the crime toll continues to rise and we have no one here to protect us. The Hero Public Safety Commission assured us earlier in the week that the crime rate would go down, that the top Heroes are out there protecting our city, but if so, where are they? Is it really safe to go out anymore, who can we trust? Would you put your life in the hands of a Hero today? When they have proved our streets are no longer safe. We still have no information on what is going on, or who is involved but we must remain observant. We will continue to report the latest news as we receive it, but for now, we must implore you to heed the warnings of the city-wide curfew that is soon to be implemented. If anyone has any information on these occurrences in the city please send them to us or contact the police, you can remain anonymous. The safety of our citizens is what is most important, stay vigilant and don’t go out unless it is absolutely necessary.

One thing we know for sure: we can no longer rely on Heroes to protect us. The streets of our once-great city are no longer safe, we are no longer safe.

***

You can only touch him when he’s dying.

That fact is made even more horrifically apparent as he stumbles through your open window—and how long has it been since you’ve slept with it closed?—dripping with blood and panting from his flight.

The T.V. blares in the background, filling your tiny apartment with incessant ramblings that only grow louder by the day, and you already know what they’re going to say before they say it. Because you see him, before the reporters stumble upon heroes in the wreckage—you see what they do to him before they’re warning the public of dangerous villains loose in the streets.

They spout off about failing heroes but you think they’ve done a pretty damn good butchers job. Red feathers matted together, sticky and brown, fall in tufts from his back. You burn with shameful jealousy at the thought of those who would call themselves heroes having laid hands on what is yours.

He isn’t really yours and you know that, though you often wish you could be a bit more delusional. It might not hurt so much then.

They call him a villain. They call him a threat to society.

But even faced with the truth spilling from him and onto your creaking floors, it is easy to forget what a ruthless predator the man before you becomes when he leaves these four walls.

Especially as he falls forward on heavy feet straight into your arms, outstretched and waiting. There are stains on your shirt but you’ve known the secret for getting blood out of clothing for years now. Cold water for the fabric, warm to wash away the grime on his lovely skin.

“Gonna need you to fix me up again, sweetheart,” Hawks mumbles into your shoulder where his forehead rests.

His breathing is even more ragged now, not just from the flight.

“I know,” you reply and your hands shake when they find the gaping wound at his side—wide and deeper than the ones before. “I know. Can you walk?”

He doesn’t respond but that mop of golden hair shifts a bit as he slings an arm over your shoulder and rests his weight. You don’t need to direct him to your bedroom. This is an old game you’re playing and he knows the steps.

So do you.

Though, you’re never sure if it's dread that fills you and makes your stomach knot and your knees weak. Or if it’s that awful, momentary rush of excitement at the prospect of being able to run your fingers over him, bare and giving you free reign.

As long as he’s bleeding out on your floor.

Then you can feel him.

When he’s dying and needs you.

Needs you to fix him.

But won’t ever let you close enough to finish the job the way you want to.

You comfort yourself in with the knowledge that at least he lets you this close. At least those thin, silver-skin scars are the unmistakable mark of your healing hands. At least you’ll always haunt him like the red feather down that sticks to your pillows or between your floorboards.

So you strip him carefully and try not to let his sculpted chest distract you from the work. Hawks is silent, such a model patient as always. Only grunting when your fingers move to knit together the ragged edges of his flesh.

This will leave a nasty mark, you know it already. But you can’t find it in yourself to mourn the loss of that lovely skin.

It will only make it harder for him to forget you.

You’re knelt beside him, laid out on a towel you keep at the edge of the bed. Blood will soak through to the sheets regardless, but you try your best. He takes a sharp breath, white teeth catching the back of his hand between them to stifle groans.

You wish there was more pleasure to it. That he was biting back moans for you instead of trying not to scream as his flesh pulsed and grew hot while it was rebuilt under your fingertips. So you indulge, pretend your hands are elsewhere, roaming his perfect waistline and pulling whimpers from him.

Your dangerous, villainous, predator Hawks sprawled on his back, wings spread and cumming onto his chest under you.

The sounds above you change, and you know it hurts—must be excruciating as bone is set back into place—but you chose to believe it’s because he’s trying to keep himself from screaming your name as he reaches his release.

Hawks, you’d croon to him—Hawks because you don’t know his real name. Don’t know who he was before he started this underground life of crime on the fringes of a society that called him a monster and then turned him into one.

He isn’t a monster in your bed, though he may cry like one.

Cry as you mold his flesh and try not to look him in the face. Try to pretend they are an overflow of some better emotion. And when those summer wheat field eyes roll back in his head and those horrible pretty noises stop, you push past the growing ache in your limbs until the skin under your palms is smooth and no longer leaking thick, red blood.

And you do your best to resist the itch to feel more of him while he can’t stop you. Even with your fingers numb from overexertion, you can’t help but fall back on your heels and long for the feeling of his cheek in your hand, or his chest on your face.

But your part of the transaction is done.

And your permission doesn’t extend past these limits.

And it pains you to wish harm on him.

But it hurts even more when he does not need you.

So you sit and hate yourself and hope that those heroes with their disgusting philosophies get their shit together just a bit more. So you won’t lose your purpose. So he’ll keep coming through your window, permanently open through rainstorms and snow and spring heat.

Hawks’ breath evens slowly, and you stay still as a watched painting—no shifting eyes or moving limbs.

You crave these times like water or warm food—constant and instinctively.

And this is the only time you’ll ever have them, hands so filled with pinpricks of fried nerves that you can barely feel the soft, relaxed muscle beneath them.

What a tragedy.

What an injustice—

You can only touch him when he’s dying.

***

“Hmm,” he groans, sitting up and wincing as the new flesh protests under his movements.

“You should rest for a bit longer.”

Hawks looks at you, stretched next to him on the mattress—a purposeful few inches of space left between your bodies. It’s both selfish and practical advice.

But he isn’t here for that kind of help.

“You know I can’t just be sittin’ on my ass,” he quips, flashing you that eyes closed, wide smirk that sets your heart hammering in your chest. “Can’t have anyone tracing me back here.”

“Normally I’d agree,” you don’t find it in yourself to give the words any bite, “but you were just actively bleeding out a few minutes ago.”

“Sure, but that was a few minutes ago,” he winks and you can already feel the bed shifting as he moves to settle himself over your hips, one toned thigh on either side to bracket you against the bed. “Now, let me pay you back for all that hard work, yeah sweetheart?”

You wish the way he peered up through those long lashes, gold eyes honed in on you like a piece of meat on a hook, didn’t make your face burn this much.

It doesn’t mean anything to him.

Because this arrangement really is transactional—so you have to get something out of it too. At least, that’s what he tells himself, you think. He doesn’t know that those scant few moments you hold his life between your fingers is more than enough payment.

It’s been this way since the very first time you stumbled across him, half dead in an alley. But then you think it might have just been a ‘heat of the moment’ sort of thing that had just stuck.

You heal him and he makes you writhe on the sheets with his tongue and his hands, until you're fucked into unconscious bliss and he can slip away without your prying eyes watching him go.

But you still aren’t allowed to touch Hawks, even when he reaches into those deep parts of you and molds them to fit only him.

“You don’t—” you start to protest, partly because you want to believe you don’t want it and partly because you want to hear him insist that he does.

“Shh,” Hawks presses a calloused finger to your mouth and it takes every ounce of strength not to suck it past your lips. “I don’t like leaving my debts unpaid.”

That’s the end of your determination for the night. So you try to relax into his touch as slides your bottoms off and tosses them to the floor. Try not to clench up under those fingers that spread your legs. He doesn’t like it when you squirm away, when you flinch from his hands.

You want to think it’s because he hopes you aren’t afraid of him—of what he is—like the rest are, and not because he wants to get it over with as quickly as possible.

You want to.

But he’s so hard to read, and your mind is not often a kind place.

“Mm, god I’m always so hungry after you patch me up baby,” Hawks licks his lips as he stares down at you. “You won’t mind if I eat you right?”

You cringe at how fast your head shakes.

“Mm, course you wouldn’t.”

You can hear the smirk in his voice, and he’s right though you resent it a bit that he’s got you pegged so easily.

But you’re weak, you’re no villain, you’re no hero.

And so you’ll never be able to resist him. But, damn, did you wish you had a name to cry out. Then at the very least, you could keep a part of him with you too. Then you’d have some to moan on the nights he goes uninjured and you have to bring yourself to lonely release, only thinking of him.

Of those wings spread above you like a burning, red sunset, obscuring the rest of the world from view with his blinding light.

“Hawks…” you hiss instead as he shifts your legs over his shoulders and lays his tender chest on the sheets. “Please.”

“Yeah, yeah, what’s it gonna be tonight then?” he asks, breath ghosting over the damp folds between your thighs.

“Thought you said you were gonna use your tongue,” you whine, impatient now for any scrap of attention he’s willing to give.

“If that’s what you want,” he presses a kiss into the crease of your leg and hip, nipping the delicate skin so you whine again. “It’s whatever you want, you know that.”

It isn’t though.

It’s not whatever you want.

You can pick the position, you can ask for his mouth or his fingers, but even then, they won’t go past your neck. Your hands must stay firmly knotted in the comforter and away from him while he works. Cause he is working. This is part of the job to him, it's only in your fantasies that he’s doing it simply for the hell of it.

Hawks nudges your embarrassingly soaked slit with his nose and hums at you, “So is that what you want? Want me to eat your pretty pussy, yeah?”

“Yes—ngh,” you don’t get much in past the confirmation.

He’s a busy man.

He doesn’t have time for your stupid, romantic day dreams.

So he dives right in, and it’s enthusiastic enough that you can convince yourself he simply wants you that badly.

Hawks tongue licks a long strip from your hole to your clit and sucks the little bud past his plush lips. They’re a lovely, soft pink against your skin and they make a mess of you in seconds. He starts up an even rhythm, drawing circles into the nerves that sing and have heat building up in you only seconds after he’s started.

You hate that you love how well he knows your body.

You hate that you only know his when it’s shutting down.

“You taste so good, you know that?” he mumbles, lapping at you and kneading your thighs. “Could live down here just drinking you every fucking day.”

He doesn’t always talk like that but you’re happy he is now. It distracts you from the deep, ingrained urge to yank him by the hair and taste yourself on his lips.

“Makes me wish I’d let those damn heroes get hits in more often,” he’s back to panting and you keen at the sound. “Want my fingers too?”

“Fuck yes,” you don’t even bother hiding the desperation anymore.

He deserves the boost to his ego. You’d shower him with praise if he’d let you, bathe him in warm words and press them into his skin with your tongue.

But he doesn’t let you.

Hawks’ hand on your thigh trails slowly against the sensitive skin until he’s pulling back to run his fingers through your folds to ease the stretch a bit as he pushes two inside. He knows you can take what he gives to you, knows you love the way he fills you up.

Your tingling hands ache to grab his head and force his lips back as he sits for a moment, eyes glued on the space where his fingers disappear into your body. He groans low at the wet sounds your bodies make at their joining. Your legs shake where they rest on him, the one other point of contact he’s allowed. Those deadly soft feathers brush your calves as he curls his fingers up and waits expectantly for the strangled cry he pulls from you.

“There it is,” his voice is so much lower when he speaks now. “Can’t exactly show you the real ones, but how ‘bout you let me make you see some stars, huh?”

He asks so much of you. So much. So often.

In fact, you don’t think you’ve ever actively asked him for a thing he hadn’t already offered in the few years you’d known him. Hawks does it all—the taking and the giving and the demanding.

And you’re simply along for the ride, holding on for dear life lest he drop you, let you plummet like rock to the barren ground.

Still, you are mortal and you crave and you will take what you can get.

“Mhm,” you whimper when his deft fingers increase their pace, not thrusting but grinding mercilessly into that delicious spot inside.

“You wanna cum now, sweet thing?”

Then, true to his villainous nature, Hawks latches his lips back onto your clit, wracking your body with waves of truly sinful pleasure. His tongue draws quick, perfect circles across the bud just how you like. You’ll never know why it feels so much better when it’s him touching you.

How he knows exactly what you want.

Most of it.

Then his other hand is reaching around your hip, thumb taking over to press down where his tongue had been. Panting for the third time, his gorgeous head rests on your thigh and he stares dead on into your eyes. That predator yellow gaze pins you to the pillows better than any hand could and he licks across his lips while you watch, moaning as he tastes you there.

You groan deep and unabashedly at the sight.

“What is it?” he’s teasing you, unable to keep that part of his cruelty hidden even now. “What do you want?”

You shake your head and wish you could turn away, flop against the mattress and writhe but you can’t. You just can’t give up this moment that’s etching itself into your retinas—like you’re staring head on at an eclipse, celestial and short-lived.

“Tell me,” Hawks whispers, nipping at your thigh and working his fingers harder on you. “Whatever you want, you’ll get it.”

And maybe it’s the sudden heat of the room, or the little breeze from his wings spreading defensively to block you from view of his nonexistent audience—the outside world maybe? To keep you, this secret indulgence, hidden from their prying hands. Or quite possibly it’s just your own weakness at the feet of years and years of loving—because you do, you love him, it’s clear by now that’s what this is—this man whose name you don’t know and whose eyes never seem to leave you even when he’s gone.

Maybe you simply crack under the pressure of keeping this awful, looming silence for too long.

You feel your lips split at the seams and it all comes rushing out in a polluted flood—a stagnant river of secrets.

“Let me touch you,” you gasp and close your eyes then just so you won’t have to see that grin slip from his beautiful face. “Please Hawks, let me touch you. I can’t do it anymore, just—I need to kiss you, I need more.”

All this time he hadn’t let up on pulling pleasure from your skin, but he stops now, bringing your release to a screaming halt.

The quiet that follows—devoid of fast breaths and wet slapping—is suffocating.

You wish you regretted the outburst, the waste of years worth of work to keep him coming back.

But you don’t.

Of course you will in a minute, when he slips away and doesn’t return.

But now it just feels as though that boulder of secrecy has been lifted off your chest and you can finally take in lungfuls of sweet, unhindered night air.

It’s only after that dreadful minute has passed and there are still hands on you—buried in you—that you dare to open your eyes again.

Hawks is staring blankly, an expression you’ve never seen before, so stark from the usual quirk of his lips and tilt of his chin. Blank, but calculating. You can see the gears clanking as his thoughts rush a mile a minute, faster than he’d ever dream of soaring over the city skyline.

He blinks once, twice, then again and you can see the redness blooming at the corners as his eyes grow glassy between each flutter of lashes. And then, as though moving through honey, he draws back from you, only to crawl up your body until your noses touch.

You hold your breath, lip caught between your teeth, but his slicked thumb comes up to pull it out of your gnawing reach. He strokes across the puffy skin, never meeting your gaze, until he slowly, slowly leans down.

It’s not really a kiss, more of an accidental brush, so little of your lips touch you could easily have imagined it. When he speaks again, you can feel him forming the words against you.

“I—” he starts and licks his lips and yours and you don’t think it’s an accident, “I can’t.”

It isn’t what you want him to say, but it’s better than a silent loss .

You know truth when you hear it.

“I know.”

And you do, you do know, you’ve always known. He’s darker when he’s not with you. You’ve seen the carnage he leaves behind broadcasted on screens, but it’s never stopped the ache before.

He can’t keep you the way you want, can’t have things that get in the way.

You can only touch him when he’s dying. You can heal him, reform his flesh and bone—pull him back from the brink—but you’ll never feel his chest against yours or his hair slipping through your fingers or have all of him buried inside you. He’ll never love you like you want him to.

It doesn’t stop you from wishing.

And apparently, it doesn’t stop Hawks from kissing you anyway.

“I can’t,” he repeats and it sounds so broken you almost think that wound has reopened and he’s going to start slipping away again.

But the only thing that slips is his tongue past your lips and tangling with your own.

And then the levee breaks.

It’s a sudden torrent of hands and legs knotting together like the torn edges of too many injuries. Hawks covers every available part of you like an addict seeking his fix. It’s breathless and uncoordinated but you’ve never felt more alive, alight, aflame.

He presses his lips to yours again, pulling away and then diving back in. Frantic hands pull you off the mattress until your back is against the headboard and he’s straddling your lap. You take the opportunity to sink your fingers into that goldenrod hair and it’s just as silky as you’d imagined it to be.

Hawks moans into your mouth, kissing you wildly, like the beast he is with teeth clacking and your tongue sucked between his lips.

“I can’t,” he keeps mumbling, between groans and hips grinding and hands grabbing, “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t— “

You wonder then which one of you he’s trying to convince.

But you don’t ask, just let your hands wander to the delicious curve of his ass on your thighs and squeeze, rolling his bulge against you. His fingers push and proud, ghosting across your chest and stopping to pinch your nipple. He drinks down the whimpers you let out, letting his lips wander your jaw and throat, sucking bruises—leaving his own scars on you—as he goes. He pushes you back down to the pillows so his lips can continue their work, latching onto the quickly hardening bud and suckling lightly. His groan sends little shockwaves through you and he looks up with brows furrowed like he’s in pain with how good it all feels.

“I’m sorry,” he says and it’s so soft you barely hear it between licks at your chest.

“No,” you finally find it in you to respond, shaking your head and pulling him back to your lips.

“I’m sorry,” he says again while you nip at his earlobe and down his jaw, tight pants yielding under your hands as they’re tugged away so he’s just as bare as you.

“No,” you shake your head and any response dies on his tongue as you dig your fingers into the feathers at the base of his wings and pull him forward.

Hawks lets out a choked gasp as his length, bare, hard, and leaking glides across your cunt. Any other time, you’d have liked to savor this moment. Get on your knees and worship his pretty cock—and you know it's pretty, just from your short glimpse. He’s long and perfectly thick, just how you dreamed he would be. The cute tuft of blond curls at his base is course in the best way as you trail your fingers through it to take him in your palm.

“Ahh,” he keens, arching above you with his head thrown back as you stroke him for the first time.

It’s been so long, you're not sure how you ever resisted this before. Not with how heavy and warm he is in your fist.

“Hawks,” you moan, sucking at the dip in his collarbone and moving to bite at his nipple. “Hawks, please.”

“I—” you think he might protest but you flick your thumb over the tip and it pours precum to help the slide of your fingers.

He’s already got those powerful arms hooked under your knees, all he has to do is lean forward and sink into that tight, awaiting heat, and he knows it. You can see the resolve cracking.

“Hawks,” you beg again. Because you are begging, that’s what this is.

And he looks at you, drool slipping from the corner of his mouth and brows all bunched up with his head shaking.

“Hawks.”

His hands grip the underside of your thighs and knock your hand from his dick.

“Hawks.”

His forehead comes down to rest against yours, eyes squeezed shut and red at the edges. You feel the sting at the corners as if they were your own.

“Hawks.”

You can only touch him when he’s dying.

Is he dying now?

Are you killing him?

“Hawks.”

His breath hitches, whatever he might have said is long gone when the head of his cock catches against your entrance.

“Hawks—”

He sinks in to the hilt all at once and the last utterance of his name is a yelp. Your walls clamp down hard around the intrusion, so much bigger than his fingers, so hot and long and thick as he pulses inside you.

There are no words after that.

No names, no refusals, just his face pressed up on yours as he pushes your thighs to your chest and rolls his hips, fucking you evenly into the mattress.

Not soft or slow or overly rough.

Though it is all of those things at once as well.

Hawks has always been full of contradictions. It makes sense that this is too.

Both your eyes stay open, lips brushing and sharing breath as he slips a hand back down to your clit and starts those perfect circles up again.

He doesn’t ask you questions now. Just stares in your eyes and sinks his cock into your over and over until you feel fuller, more complete than you ever have in the whole of your life.

There’s no warning leading up to the end. You feel the crest approaching, the coil waiting to snap low in your belly and you don’t dare take your eyes off his face. You need to commit the entirety of this moment to memory. Just in case.

Just in case it never happens again.

Or worse, it happens over and over until it doesn’t.

Until you run out of chances to touch him.

Until he comes to you too far gone.

“Oh fuck,” he mutters and that’s all the warning you get.

All the warning you have the strength to listen to as you tumble over the edge, waves of rolling pleasure burning under your skin. You clench hard around his cock as his hips stutter in their pace, thrusting unevenly as you gush and he spills rope after rope of hot release deep into you.

And you’d been wrong before, because this was full. This was whole, your stilling bodies pressed together at every point with his cock still hard and twitching as your walls milked him of cum that warmed you from the inside out.

This is what you would die for.

***

Later when you stumble into unwilling wakefulness, there are hands tucking a thin sheet over your bare skin.

Hawks has pulled himself from you after resting like you’d told him he should. He’s dressing, though not hurriedly, and you can’t find it in your jelly bones to move or stop him.

You’re both silent, even when he looks down to find your eyes alert and raking over him—costume donned and wings prepared for flight.

His face is drawn in a way that might have been resentment. Maybe towards you for breaking his resolve, maybe at himself for indulging in what he cannot have.

I can’t.

You hear the words as clear as though he’d just said them.

I can’t.

Can’t have you. Can’t forget his purpose. Can’t have gentle things.

Hawks is a villain, first and foremost, above all else and that includes you.

So you don’t move to stop him as he walks softly through your door. You just watch as he makes his way to the open window and perches on the ledge. He does look back, only briefly, to see you draped across the sheets, head resting on your arm and staring at him as he leaves you.

The ghost of that cheeky grin crawls its way onto his face before he tips backwards off the landing and into the night sky. He winks once before the indigo of the night swallows him like the maw of a leviathan. The city has teeth and it will chew him up and spit him back out into your arms soon enough.

So you’re content to wait.

You know this isn’t the last time. That he’ll come back to you as he’s always done. And offer you more and more of himself each time.

Because you can only touch him when he’s dying.

And this world is nothing if not determined to kill him.

So you can keep your purpose.

And by extension, you can keep him.

#hawks x reader #hawks x y/n #keigo takami x reader #villain!au #bnha fanfiction #tw blood #tw dubcon #hawks angst #hawks smut #bnha smut #mha smut #bee.writes

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neutron-stars-collision · 3 years

Text

Closer

Neil x F!Reader

Summary: Plot what plot.

Warnings: 18+ (and I really mean it this time), they're both trying to dominate and I've no clue what's going on.

Author's Notes: Suppose this is what happens when an image won't leave you alone and you crave a self-indulgent one-shot... I don't even know, but this took remains of my sanity. Challenged myself with more graphic and this is what we ended up with.

Thank you Shet for reassurance through writing this and not having enough of my whining.

Feedback is greatly appreciated and I hope you'll enjoy!

It is always the same. That brilliant idea to go for lunch and do a round of sightseeing in the afternoon because surely it wouldn’t be too bad. Right?

Well, whoever thought of that was owed an excruciating death in the fires of Hell. Or Orcus, as would be more appropriate for the current location. Who knew the Italian coast transforms into the Death Valley over summer? Sighing with exasperation, you waited not so patiently as Neil slipped the key card into the door and opened the room with a typical flourish. Feeling the constant trickle of sweat down your back, you pushed him inside unceremoniously and let the door close with a thud. As the cold air enveloped your body with the sweetest of embraces, you could not hold back a pleased groan.

“Fuck” the curse not enough to express the internal pain “Jesus fucking Christ, I hate this heat,” accentuating the meaning you aggressively lowered the aircon temperature to 18C “Did I mention that temps above 25 Celsius should be made illegal?” remembering about Neil’s presence, you glared at him.

It was his shit idea in the first place. And you were never letting that one go. He was staring at you with amusement glimmering in the blue eyes. Another reason to punch him in the teeth. Or something.

“More or less twenty times within the last hour, why?” answering your question, he opened the minibar and took out a bottle of water.

Nonchalantly perching on the desk, he took a longer sip, still watching you with curiosity. No remorse whatsoever over the tortures he put you through. Annoying.

But not more so than the sweat still running down your skin, making the fabric stick to your body in places you never deemed possible. When leaving the hotel three hours ago, the linen shirt sounded like a good idea. Now, with half of it drenched, you were sure nudity was the only viable option to go outside. Groaning with frustration, you tugged at the garment, grimacing at the feel of the damp fabric.

“God, everything just feels… wet” uttering the word with loathing, you added, “Like soaking wet,”

That got Neil’s attention. He glanced up with the lips slightly parted, one eyebrow raised.

“Everything?” a quick scan of your body, swallowing hard as though the suggestion triggered thirst that no water could quench.

Uh-huh. The irritation too high to give in just yet. Instead, you allowed yourself to sweep your gaze over his form leisurely. The only sign that he too was bothered by the heat was the glistening forehead and flushed cheeks. The usually fluffy mane tamed, strands sticking to the temples. Still devilishly handsome. With the long legs crossed and the blue polo shirt perfectly bringing out the colour of his eyes, he looked godly. Unfair. Prompted by that thought, you closed the distance and snatched the chilled water bottle out of his hand:

“It’s not like you’d get it, though. Even soaked in sweat you look like a bloody… male Aphrodite” throwing in the slight, you quickly downed the rest of the water.

Another look at your boyfriend was enough to assure you the metaphor worked. Neil was gaping at you, utterly puzzled, and then slowly looked down as if to check himself out. You snickered when he lifted the edge of the shirt and touched his abdomen with a dream-like expression. Fondly: idiot.

“Is that an insult or a compliment? Because I admit I lost you there” shaking off the stupor, he met your watchful gaze with a frown.

It was difficult to stay mad for much longer. And so…

“Whichever one you want,” shrugging, you unzipped the skirt, letting it fall to the ground, “I need a shower. ASAP”

Without waiting for Neil to respond, you started taking off the shirt. With a disgusted sound, you threw it next to the skirt and positioned yourself underneath the AC. Still too many clothes. The noise of plastic bottle hitting the bin and then:

“Whoa…” the playful tone making you look up straight into the mischievous sparks in Neil’s eyes, “That’s giving me all sorts of ideas” he eyed you slowly, gaze taking in your body clad only in underwear.

Not that it was anything new. And usually, you would play along with pleasure, curious about where it might lead you this time. Now, however, that fire of annoyance burning bright still needed tending. And shower sounded much better than whatever Neil might offer.

With a huff, you reached to unclasp the bra and let it join the carnage in the hallway. One look at his hungry expression was enough to prompt an idea. You gave him a quick peck on the cheek and, without leaving time to react, pressed the bathroom handle:

“I won’t lock the door” an off-hand remark rather than an invitation.

But you knew it would work. It always did.

Once inside, thanks to the striptease you indulged in, all that was left was to take off the panties and step into the shower. You turned on the rain head and sighed with happiness when the chilly water cooled off your body. That is what bliss felt like. You closed your eyes, contented enough to stand under the running water. Grounding yourself in the feeling of your palm pressed firmly to the tiled wall. A smug smirk spreading on your lips when, finally, you heard the bathroom door open and close. So predictable.

You kept your back turned to the entrance to the shower, eyes closed if only to keep up the act of mild irritation. Not so mild, in fact, but enough not to give Neil satisfaction by throwing yourself in his arms. He would have to work a little to get something out of it.

At first, a tentative touch running up your spine in the familiar expression of his presence. Enough to trigger the light flicker of passion. With the cold water, it was easy to pretend the goosebumps were not his accomplishment. Encouraged by your stillness, Neil took a step, wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you close. A traitorous gasp swallowed with effort. You heard him chuckle lowly while slowly caressing your body. A puff of warmer air against the side of your neck:

“Ever since I saw you in that sundress, I wanted to do this,” Neil whispered the confession with confidence.

Lips grazing over the shell of your ear, alighting the nerve endings with precision. You knew which dress he meant. The clothing choice from a day earlier, haunting with an accompanying pride. Good to know.

“What exactly?” feigning nonchalance, you kept your hands pressed against the wall and the glass window.

For now, it was easy to ignore the need slowly pooling in your lower stomach. You wanted to keep on playing the game a little longer. To see how far he was willing to go.

Neil tightened the grip, winding both of his arms around your waist. No space left between you.

“Pull you flush against me,” the explanation complemented with a brave sweep of hand over your stomach “Feel your skin and curves under my fingertips” instinctively, you pressed your thighs together, the desire building up steady “Feel the way you shiver whenever I touch you like this” his fingers teasingly running up and down your navel.

The assumption was enough to give back that spark of annoyance. A fight to keep up the role a little longer. Struggling with the overwhelming breathlessness, you whispered back the question:

“Aren’t you giving yourself too much credit?” you reached behind you to run a ghostly touch over his hipbone.

Feeling the skin and the relishing in the shallow gasp. In retaliation, Neil let his hands venture higher, cupping your breasts and circling the nipples. Fuck. At that move, there was no way of stopping the shudder running through your body.

“Am I?” you heard the amusement in his voice, palms executing death perfectly.

Nothing left to do but sigh and press up against him in search of fulfilment. But the teasing was far from finished. You felt his lips experimentally glide over the nape of your neck, collecting the water droplets and leaving a trail of fire in their wake. Searching for support, you firmly placed your hand on his hip, gasping at the feel of him pressing into your backside. The hardness never failing to cause a rush of excitement flowing through your body. As though sensing your growing arousal, Neil continued the teasing in a low, soft tone:

“I wanted to kiss down your neck, graze my teeth over your perfect skin” making his words come true, he trailed kisses down the nape of your neck.

A sigh each time he lightly bit your shoulder, a groan with every single butterfly touch along your shoulder blades. Carefully tiptoeing the line between animalistic passion and tender caress that seemed to define your relationship. Only this time, with anger still fresh on your mind, you began getting impatient, suddenly eager for him to speed it up. To give you something more substantial.

Using the strike of courage, you reached your hand further back, curious fingers dancing over him in the mildest of provocations. To give him a sign that patience was running thin. It worked for Neil let out a strangled groan and stopped the careful study of your neck with a painful hickey over the pulse point. That was bound to leave a deep red mark. He did not give you time to react, pulling you somehow even closer and delving the hand between your legs with ease:

“To slip my fingers between your thighs and feel how wet you are because of me,” the sentence murmured with an unmistakable tint of want hazing his mind.

He wasted no time, instantly parting your folds, collecting the arousal, and spreading it to ease whatever was bound to come next. The feeling was familiar yet still clouding your brain with need. Because now even the cold water was not helping the rising temperature. Nothing left to lose. Time to give in and take what he would offer. As he repeated the torturous move, barely touching your clit or putting pressure on the throbbing parts, you decided to take matters into your hands.

“And?” using the question as a distraction to encircle his wrist.

And raise the offensive hand to your lips. Licking his fingers clean before the water could. A sharp gasp told you it worked. Using the momentum, you turned around in his embrace and met the shocked, darkened gaze with a smirk of your own. Neil glanced at your lips as though tempted to collect the remains of your taste from them and locked his eyes with yours:

“Get down on my knees and have a taste of my favourite drug,” a murderous glint within the blue depths.

Knowing well enough how much you enjoyed that. How often you would ask for it.

Your thighs clenched on their own accord, anticipation heightening the senses. To find a brief relief, you rose on your toes and crashed your mouth into his, knowing Neil would meet you halfway. The tumultuous kiss filled with chaos, hunger, and need, betraying the love underscoring every other adjective befitting your connection. The tongues easily slipping in, curling around each other, seeking the ultimate pleasure.

“What’s stopping you?” after a long snog, you broke the contact and panted out, resting your forehead against his.

Allowing yourself a second of gentleness. Admiring the affectionate look in Neil’s eyes, you slowly caressed his body. Returning the previous torments with your dose of playfulness. Letting him remember that you were not the only one that was so ready. That the attraction was mutual, and you knew that very well. Explorative touches down his length, enjoying the way he swallowed hard and closed his eyes, trying to find the lost thread. After a beat, he met your gaze once again. The darkness startling.

“Nothing” using a second of hesitation, Neil took your courageous hand in his and searched your face, “Only… say please” the satisfied smirk added the wicked gleam to his face.

You considered scoffing and pushing him out to keep the pride intact. But… with the core practically dripping with the need for a release, that had to be forgotten. Clenching your jaw to stop the shame from springing up, you uttered the word with apprehension:

“… Please,” making sure to show him the extent of annoyance.

A retaliation already forming in your mind. Revenge would be sweet.

“Good girl” thought processes cut short with the two words.

Oh fuck. Simple, yet more effective than anything else. A jolt of want passing through your body as Neil tipped your chin, arrogantly pleased with himself. He could read you like a book, knowing well what praise would do. This time there was no holding back. No shame or reluctance.

“You fucking-” spitting out the words with annoyance, your rant got stopped with a finger pressed firmly against your lips.

“Shush,” the stern tone, shutting you up with yet another wave of arousal.

The steel look in Neil’s eyes only increasing the sensation. It was bound to get interesting. As if drawn by your dark stare, he closed the gap and captured your lips in a heated kiss. The water, running down, slipping in the gap between you, failing to satisfy the craving. Prodded by the sudden flash of need, you let your teeth catch Neil’s lower lip and tugged at it forcefully. A clear signal to stop stalling. Ending the contact with a chaste kiss on the corner of your mouth, he met your wild gaze with a calculating assessment. You knew the game well, frozen by the multitude of feelings. Not that it would’ve made him speed up. He enjoyed the control too much to give in.

A final searching look, your hand helplessly clinging to the gaps between the tiles.

“The louder, the better, you know that” brushing his nose over your ear, he whispered the command huskily.

Another reason to hold on tight. A flare-up of anger within your chest, mixing with the increasing frustration.

“I hate you,” you got as far as seething out the sentence before the voice died in your throat.

Neil grinned and lightly pushed you at the wall to give himself the needed space. Without wasting a moment, he started leaving kisses down your body. Gentle pecks on the shoulders, softening the previous damage. Tongue swirling around your nipples, causing a whimper to escape through your parted lips. Your free hand instinctively latched onto his head, finding an anchor in the wet blonde strands. Slowly, Neil inched his way down, kneeling at your feet, hands running up your thighs, creating sparks in their wake.

“Let’s see how long that holds true” he looked up, nothing but a smug smile and dark, hungry eyes.

Fucked. Terrifyingly so.

There was no time to react as he left a trail of kisses up your thighs, getting closer yet taking his time. And then, something you would never get tired of. The first, experimental kitten lick along your slit, parting the folds and spreading the arousal. As if that was needed. Lapping up everything you were offering and making you tighten the grip over his hair. Shocks passing through your body upon every single touch of his tongue. As you yanked on his mane with force, letting out a string of curses, Neil raised his head. Your eyes were drawn to the glistening lips which he licked clean with an unhidden expression of delight.

“God, how I love this taste,” the compliment aimed with lethal precision, satisfaction lighting up his eyes.

Only to pick up the action the very next second. Temperature constantly rising, no mercy given. It only got worse when Neil added his skilful hand to the mix. Stroking the clit, eliciting moans and gasps. Your eyes screw shut, focusing on the way it felt when his finger entered you and started curling inside in search of that sweet spot.

“Jesus fuck” the profanity escaping when he added the second digit, all the while letting his tongue circle the sensitive bud.

Chuckle vibrating through your core, the unoccupied hand contradicting the moment with tender strokes along your hip. As if to soothe and support.

The haze, getting heavier, overcasting everything with the tint of need. For a release. For that high, the explosion of pleasure you were slowly edging. The scales tipped with two fingers curling inside you, hitting the most sacred of places, and Neil’s lips sucking on the clit without moderation. Taking everything with eagerness and delectation.

With the heat almost unbearable and the edges of your vision darkening, you could only pull at his hair with force and rasp out:

“Neil, I can’t-” the intent lost in the outburst of pleasure.

Every nerve, existing to receive what Neil was offering. Every cell, burning with ecstasy. You could feel the incoming wave, ready to succumb to it without a fight. Until he raised his head once more, feeling your muscles clench around his fingers, everything synced up perfectly.

“Come… on. For me,” the emphasis not escaping your overflooded mind, gaze meeting his helplessly, “Don’t be shy” a whisper, darkness tinting the vowels.

The feeling of defeat, adding a dose of shame into the whirlwind, fuelling the ideas of vengeance.

But there was no time to concentrate when Neil finished the act with the third finger easing in. Tipping you off the edge with a piercing cry and a desperate tug on his hair. The strength of the pull making him groan loudly, tongue collecting the arousal with frantic moves. Pleasure flooding your vision. Nothing but the water, Neil, and his body, solid beneath your shaking hands.

Your knees buckled, the force of the aftershocks ripping through your system. Feeling the high course through the veins, you shut your eyes and let out quiet whimpers, unable to process the reality. Sex with Neil was always memorable, but it has never been this intense. Especially only for an entrée.

Feeling your body relax, Neil retracted the hand and placed a final kiss on your clit with saintly reverence. You opened your eyes in time to see him look up, the dark blue irises rimmed with long dark eyelashes. Adoration. Want. Weak from the strength of that release, your legs wobbled as you tried to change position. Foot slipped on the slick tiles, and you already anticipated the fall when an arm wound around your waist, pulling you upright. Startled, you barely comprehended when he got up and saved you, making use of the smooth moves and long limbs.

“Got you,” a whisper against your temple as Neil hugged you close, cradling your body with care, “Always” his gaze met yours, tenderness overshadowing every other feeling.

On reflex, you mirrored his soft smile in an expression of gratitude. For much more than saving your ass from the bruises. Despite the maelstrom of emotions, you gave in to the gentle moment and returned the embrace, pressing your cheek against his chest. Listening to the fast, familiar heartbeat, you whispered:

“You nearly killed me just now,” the breathless tint only giving evidence to the statement.

It’s not like he wouldn’t know. With screams like those, he had to. Neil chuckled, one of his hands venturing up to cradle your head, the other tracing shapes onto your back. Water flowing down with the steady stream, enveloping your embraced bodies in comfortable warmth.

“That wasn’t the intention,” he murmured, nuzzling the top of your head.

You could hear the pleased tone there, indicating what you suspected. Following the playful thread, you leaned back enough to meet his gaze and asked:

“What was it then?” a hand running through his hair, watching the strands darken when wet.

At the roots, his natural light brown colour was beginning to show, adding a surprising edge to his startling physique. For you, that meant another evening soon spent sat on the edge of the toilet seat, laughing at his attempts at dying the hair on his own. Those were fun moments.

Catching your absent gaze, Neil tipped your chin to bring you back to the present and then grinned:

“To show you how much I adore you,” the simple answer laid with a soft kiss on your lips, signing off the sentiment.

You opened your mouth to let his tongue in instantly, breathing in the air he was willing to share and relishing in the familiarity of the moves. Lips slowly gliding over each other, tongues caressing and teasing. This one was filled with tenderness, an expression of love and devotion rather than hunger. A breather.

Not for long. Using the kiss as a distraction, you switched the positions, making sure Neil would have his back pressed against the wall. For convenience’s sake. Breaking the contact, you whispered the single-worded response:

“Mutually,” unable to wipe the devilish smirk from your face, you waited for a beat to let him catch up.

Those widening eyes were a perfect cue to grin with satisfaction at the perfectly executed setup for the payback. Neil stared back at you with confusion deepening on his face, slowly taking in the reality. Finally, a single word, a prelude to the mountain of questions:

“What-” his brow furrowed, giving you the needed moment to step in.

“Vengeance,” you winked, and wasting no time, lowered onto your knees, “Let me just… now that’s a wonderful view” shifting into the most comfortable position, you gave him a long admiring look from the new vantage point.

It really was. Never failing to make you that tiny bit more eager and hungrier since the first time. Especially when knowing what he is capable of.

The flood of specific memories flushing up your cheeks and giving needed courage to begin. You glanced up, searching for consent, and met Neil’s hazed stare. He seemed transfixed as if already well under your spell, one of his hands mirroring your desperate move from minutes prior, clinging to the tiles in search of support. You raised an eyebrow in the silent question. Yes?

Please. The fervent nod accompanied by the way he swallowed hard was all you waited for.

Never breaking eye contact, you licked your lips thoroughly, all the while using your hands to stroke him lightly. Enough to elicit a gasp. Emboldened by the reaction, you opened your mouth, letting out a warm puff of air to tease him. Neil groaned, the free hand reaching out to cup your cheek with tenderness you did not anticipate. As if distracting himself, he brushed away the damp strands of hair sticking to your face and brushed the pad of his thumb along your lower lip. Gratitude. A signal to start.

A few kitten licks along the length, letting him get used to the sensation. Sharp exhales, muscles tensing. Upping the game, you started focusing on specific areas, using the sound cues and the way his hand tightened the hold over the nape of your neck. Now and then, you would look up to see the darkened pupils and lips parted in the purest expression of pleasure. The furrowed brow and the clouded gaze, telling you when the right time was to bring his tip into your mouth. Gently swirling your tongue around the head, savouring the taste with quiet hums. Stroking the shaft with one hand, you used the other to rake your fingernails over his abdomen. Returning the markings he inflicted earlier.

The string of curses leaving his lips amongst the moans and groans was a good indication that it worked. Noticing the hint of impatience in how he quivered, hips thrusting on an impulse, you slowly inched your mouth down his length, enveloping him as far as you could without it becoming uncomfortable. The answering loud moan told you it was exactly what he needed. Meeting his dark stare, you nodded, permitting him to start moving his hips. The adoration meeting desire in his eyes as Neil sped up. Adjusting to the pace he needed, you started sucking on him. Cheeks hollowed, tiniest of moans drawn out to let him know you enjoyed the act, tongue collecting everything he was giving, anticipating the end with a familiar heat pooling between your thighs once again. Because seeing him like this, was more exciting than you deemed possible.

Then his thrusts got sloppier, knuckles of the hand clinging to the gaps in the tiles whitening; groans replacing any other sound. Soon. Suddenly he seemed to sober up a notch, blinking twice as though forcing the brain to work and then rasping out:

“God, I’m going to-” the meaning interrupted by a whimper when you took the opportunity to increase the pressure by a notch.

You could see the ridiculous dilemma flash in the blue eyes as if he worried about something like that. As if he has not just devoured you like the god’s nectar. Certainly, an idiot. Continuing the bold strokes with your hand, you made sure to meet his gaze before echoing the encouragement:

“For me,” a hint of recognition reflected at you, adding the mischievous tint to your smile, “Please,” grinning widely, you quickly put your mouth back to the task.

Intensifying every move to make sure he would be satisfied. It did not take long. Neil moaned out your name breathlessly before he tensed and came with a shudder ripping through his body. The hand cupping your cheek fell onto your shoulder, fingers digging into the flesh with the force of the release. Swallowing every drop of what he gave you with delight, you made sure to show him the extent of satisfaction in your gaze.

Once Neil was done, he leaned heavily on the tiled wall, quick breaths escaping through the parted mouth. Eyes still clouded yet watching you constantly with evident fascination. Licking your lips clean, you accepted the hand he reached out to pull you up. Resting your palm over his racing heart, you leaned in close to whisper:

“Every inch a gentleman, I see” an appreciative glance down, as if he could miss the innuendo.

His eyes flashed, the familiar darkness creeping at the edge of the blissful fatigue. To your advantage, there was still a moment left of this more subdued Neil. Afterwards? Who knows. The spark of excitement lit up in your chest as you closed the gap and took him by surprise with a heated kiss. Pushing him further up against the wall and taking the lead with your tongue instantly prodding him to open. The grip on your laced hands, tightening as Neil started reciprocating the kiss with an equal eagerness. As if you both have been starving for each other. There was never quite enough oxygen to fulfil needs, and so, after few long minutes interrupted with stolen breaths and fleeting pecks, you broke apart, staring at one another with awe. Neil’s eyes wandered over your face with almost dream-like enchantment written all over.

“Wow,” he breathed out the word with a small smile creeping on the edge of his lips.

It was difficult not to grin back, overwhelmed with love for the man. With your heart close to melting from the tenderness and softness, you chose to strike:

“Is that all the praise I’m going to receive?” quirked eyebrow and feigned dismay.

If only to push him where you needed him to be. Because as much as this gentle and affectionate side of your relationship was everything you could have asked for, currently, you needed more. More than this. Using the palm pressed firmly against his chest, you trailed your fingers south, watching with satisfaction at the tiniest of twitches, betraying the hidden desire, confirming the assumptions. As if slowly waking up from the daze, Neil caught your curious fingers in his and raised your hand to lay a kiss on your knuckles. The playful glimmer already there.

“I’m afraid you stole my breath away. Again” a shrug with an apologetic tint to the tone.

As a contradiction to the meekness acted out, he let go of your hand and wound his arm around your waist, pulling you closer. Pressing your bodies against each other, every curve and edge fitting like two pieces of a puzzle. Like two halves of a whole. You glanced up at him, trying to judge the current mood, finding nothing but beauty. The wet hair, sticking to the forehead, water dripping down the slope of his nose and onto the bruised lower lip. Up this close, he looked as if he belonged in Michelangelo’s workshop, fine features chiselled with precision. Ocean blue eyes framed with long and dark eyelashes drawing you in, the longer you kept on staring. Mouth curled up in a soft smile as if even the sight of your lovesick gaze was something he wanted to commit to memory.

With a sight like that, there was only one thing you could do. Feeling the need pulse in your veins, you reached out to turn off the water. It was time to act. Neil looked at you questioningly as if willing to follow the tempo you were about to set. Biting down on your lip, you met his gaze with poise.

“Good. Because that was rather… enjoyable” lowering down your voice, you noticed how his eyes widened; using the tricks learned from Neil himself, your hand ventured down once again “I love how you taste. The way you shiver as I make you come apart” as your fingers danced along his length, he gasped, a shudder running through his body “Sculpted by the gods yet falling into pieces at my command” whispering out the punchline, you gently stroked him to elicit a groan.

A satisfying response. Feeling courage surge through your chest, you smirked, observing as he seemed to absorb your words slowly. He swallowed hard, Adam’s apple bobbing with effort. The pupils widened, darkening the irises and bringing out the predatory flicker. Mission accomplished. Once again, his hand darted out, stopping your teasing with fingers encircling the wrist tightly.

“You’re asking for trouble,” the husky voice sending shivers down your spine.

You met his gaze, noticing the evident change. It was bound to get interesting. Once you tasted the power, it was hard to give it back. Stepping out of the embrace, you noticed:

“Am I? I thought we’re done here” without waiting for him, you made a move to exit the shower.

Knowing he would follow. You made it as far as grabbing the towel hanging on the hook and wrapping it over your body before his strong arms encircled around you from behind. Pulling you against his chest, just as it all began. Then, a whisper with lips brushing over your ear:

“We’re far from done” oh.

Good. You barely had time to react when Neil lifted you, bridal style, and opened the bathroom door with a kick. Bewildered, you looked at him with curiosity, relishing in the way he cradled you. Possessiveness and care making your head spin with the implications. However, you barely had the time to think of the right question when he stopped abruptly by the long desk lining one side of the room and set you down on the counter. Oh. Consciously adjusting the towel covering your body, you risked a glance at Neil. The blue eyes clouded with need; pupils dilated. The taxing gaze, sweeping over your figure like a predator measuring up the prey. Stunned into silence by the sudden tension, you mirrored his look and allowed yourself a self-indulgent stare, appreciating what the universe gave you in the form of your boyfriend. And his godly body, as you have more than once noticed. Finally, Neil took a step closer. You watched in fascination as his fingers danced along your collarbones and over the skin on your shoulders, taking additional time to brush the fingertips over the forming bruises on your neck. The distant look, telling you it was an open admiration of his work. A shiver ran up your spine, the anticipation of whatever might happen almost stifling.

“All that talk made me a little hungry” the remark made you look up, straight into the marvellous blue eyes.

Confirming the words, Neil slowly licked his lips, hand toying with the end of your towel tucked in to keep it fixed. With heart racing in your chest, you made sure to throw a suggestive glance at his body before asking:

“Only a little?” the dose of provocative tone to make sure he would be within your control.

Because the level of arousal on his side was startling. Impressive, too.Your mouth watered at the sight, thighs clenching tighter together to somehow ease the ache pulsing between your legs. At once, you wanted him to ditch the games and take you this moment, and to wait, to extend the fascinating duel of passion.

Neil gave you no time to consider which one was more tempting, for he used your moment of reverie to tug at the towel to unravel it in one move.

“A lot” the answer perfecting the move with precision.

Fuck. Next thing you knew, you were sat on the towel, naked once more with no way of hiding from him and his look of starvation. Neil closed the remaining gap, blocking your escape and caging you between his arms, palms resting on either side. One last long look as if judging the best course of action before he parted your knees by inserting a leg between your thighs. A hand delving in the newly opened space, drawing out a sigh from your lips as you stared in complete fascination, frozen with the thrill of curiosity and need running through your veins. The pulsating core dripping with desire for him, shame missing from the equation when Neil finally gave in to the pull and slipped a finger between your folds. You knew how bad it was from the single look at his face. The determination slipping for a split second to give way to surprise, a short gasp soon replaced with the smirk worthy of the Lucifer himself. The daring finger parting your inner lips in a teasing move before he raised the hand to his lips, never taking the gaze of you:

“You’re still soaking wet for me,” a remark thrown with something close to mockery.

A flash of anger burning in your chest; mouth opening to prepare a retort. Only to freeze once more when Neil grinned, the hand glistening with the signs of your disgrace licked clean, mirroring your brave actions from not that long ago. Double fuck. A groan, interrupting the train of thought, that spark of irritation helping you to gain back the momentum. A look down his body offering the needed cue:

“Says you” raising one eyebrow, you reached out to repeat the lazy strokes from before.

The deepening darkness in his eyes luring you in, tempting you to push him further than ever before. If only to find out what he is like without any restraints. Without care or apprehension. Only the animalistic lust and craving left. Noticing the familiar hungry glow, you increased the intensity of your moves, smile widening when he let out a frustrated growl and slapped your hands away. In a flash, Neil wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling your bodies flush against each other.

“Careful, or I might-” his voice lowered to a whisper, the husky tone reverberating through your chest.

It was the unspoken threat and the way it felt when he pressed against your navel that made you take up the initiative. Leaning back enough to catch his eye, you interrupted the sentence:

“What?” a challenging smirk to irk him further; your legs wrapped around his waist “Destroy me. Fuck me senseless” completing the request by rubbing over him openly, showing the extent of need “Wrap that hand around my neck and take what’s yours” the addition breathed out with the scarlet tint on your cheeks.

Neil let out a whine as you pressed up against him, lacing your hands on the nape of his neck to get better leverage. He hesitated for a split second, hips already responding to your teasing with fleeting twitches. Somehow you knew what was missing. Leaning back, you tilted his chin to lock the gazes. Depths of lust enveloping your mirroring looks.

“Please,” the word dropped in between your lips, separated by a breath of space.

The trigger.

You could barely perceive his actions. The bottom lip caught between his teeth, a forceful thrust eliciting a sharp cry from your throat. Gentleness was left behind as he filled you up in one single move, stretching out your walls and making you gasp. Searching for something to hold on to, you grasped the edges of the desk, helpless gaze locked on his dark eyes without a break. Neil slightly shifted, one hand travelling up your chest to wrap loosely around your neck. Exactly as you asked. The other palm, pulling you closer around the waist, finding the needed grip. A shudder coursing through your body, the core clenching around him in the most basic of reflexes. An irked sigh escaping through your lips was all he needed to begin.

No kissing or hesitation, just the rough rhythm, delving deep into your centre with each thrust, hitting the perfect spot without tenderness. Each move complemented by your moan, pleasure flooding in, making you forget about everything that was not Neil. His gaze was fixed on you, watching with visible fascination how his tip disappeared between your folds with every thrust. The chokehold, tightening a little, increasing the frenzy, and hazing your mind with need. Only once you got used to the set tempo could you shift the position, placing your hands on his biceps. Digging in the nails to show how well that was working. Increasing the intensity of his moves, Neil groaned, his hand tightened over your neck. A clear signal to let you know who is in control. Obedience. Only, you were not that keen on compliance.

With sweat trailing down your body and your arousal wetting the conveniently placed towel, you decided to reach out for more. An assessing look, taking in Neil’s widened pupils and the startling resolve painted on his face. The clenched jaw, highlighting the sharp angles. Split lip from how he bit into it, drawing out blood. Unable to take your gaze off from his mouth, you used the second of hesitation to get closer and crash your lips into his in a hard kiss. Neil gasped, surprised by the shift, opening his mouth underneath your prodding tongue in an instant. Syncing up the way your lips glided over each other with his thrusts, you used the opportunity to gain back the lead. Meeting him halfway, relishing in the groans he let out against your mouth. And then, grabbing a fistful of his blonde locks, still damp from the shower, and leaning in to whisper into his ear:

“Harder,” the word dropped with certainty.

A further act of temptation. To see what Neil would be capable of if you drove him to the edge.

You did not have to wait long to find out. Tightening the chokehold, he sped up the movements, delving into you with a force that was ripping cries from your lips. The lascivious sounds filled the room, moans, and gasps interrupting the tempo. Soon it was nothing but the eruption of pleasure every time he hit the spot, making you rake your fingernails over his shoulder blades, deepening the marks and bruises. Using the grip you had over his shoulders, you changed the angle, bringing your pelvises together with every thrust. That seemed to be what Neil needed. He groaned, hand shifting from its position on your neck to grasp your chin and force you to lock the gazes. The feral look in his eyes, making you clench your muscles around him, giving in to the waves of feelings coursing through your body. It was that perfect balance between tempting darkness and astonishing want that you found reflected that was the final push you both needed.

Neil’s tempo waned, shuddered breaths coming out through the parted lips, watching you closely as if the ecstasy written all over your face was a drug he could not get enough of. A string of curses replacing the silence with their harsh simplicity. The grip over your waist tightening, fingers digging into your skin, bruises confirming the facts. His. Just as he tensed, moaning your name with the desperate tint to the tone, you captured his lips in a kiss. Hoping to take the edge off, to give him what he needs. Neil responded by biting hard into your lower lip, pleasure exploding before your closed eyes as he came, a shudder running through his body. Cradling you closer, breaking through the roughness and betraying the underlying feelings. Love, want, need.

It was the sensation of having him come inside you and the harsh kiss that did it. You whimpered, his name and love confessions on the tip of your tongue, spilling out in the silence. Hiding face in his neck, you stiffened, the force of the orgasm ripping through the fracture of reality. Nothing but the overwhelming euphoria, darkness underneath your eyelids dotted with stars. Neil’s skin underneath the shaking hands. His warmth enveloping you in the gilded cage of safety. Completeness. As you came to, riding out the high with your face pressed against the crook of his neck, you heard his soothing voice whispering sweet nothings, nuzzling your head. The tender ‘I got you’ and ‘I love you’ filling the quiet moment with reminders about your perfect reality. With a sigh, you slowly unravelled from the embrace; arms still wound around his body to prolong the touch. As your gazes met, the previous darkness was nowhere to be found, replaced with a soft smile and affection pouring out of his blue eyes. Cupping your cheek, Neil whispered the question:

“Alright?” he searched your face as though worried something could be amiss.

Fighting with the breathlessness, you chose to give him a grin first before responding:

“Yeah,” trailing your fingers down his chest, relishing in the peaceful moment, “Christ… You should fuck me like this more often,” the straightforwardness getting out without a hitch.

After what just happened, it was no big surprise. Neil did not seem shocked either his eyes glimmered playfully, as he traced the outline of your lips with the tip of his finger:

“Your wish is my command, darling,” the low murmur complimented with hand tilting your chin upwards to capture your lips in a kiss.

A slow and gentle one, softening the bruises and cuts, eliciting a contented sigh from your throat. Afterwards, you rested your forehead against his for a split second, soaking in the feelings. After a beat, you finally leaned back, acknowledging the mess on the hotel room floor covered with your clothes. The bathroom door was left ajar with the ventilation running. The towel you sat on, ruined. Wet hair trailing droplets down your naked body, mixing with the layer of sweat. A frown invited itself onto your face.

“I need another shower though… and a nap” yawning, you pushed Neil back to jump off the desk.

Only once you could properly stand, the fatigue caught up, making you sway on your feet. Without a word, Neil reached out a hand to steady you, pulling you into his side for an additional hug. Nothing to complain about even if you wanted.

“I should get you hot and bothered more often” it was the casual remark that made you look up.

Straight into the suspiciously satisfied face of your boyfriend. Surely not… right?

“… was that the plan all along?” schooling your features, you chose to ask the simplest of questions.

Neil shrugged, the trademark smirk gracing his features.

Bastard. Stepping away from him, you snatched the towel and hastily wrapped it around your body. If only as a retaliation. Because dragging you out to wander in the bloody scorching sun was a low blow. …even if it just gave you one of the best sex experiences in your life. Maybe. Perhaps.

“I hate you,” you hissed before storming over the pile of clothes to the bathroom.

“Uh-huh,” you refused to give him the pleasure of turning around at the sound.

Bastard. Squared.

#tenet #neil tenet #neil x reader #neil tenet x reader #neil tenet fanfic #neil tenet imagine #tenet fanfic #robert pattinson

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douxie-casperan · 3 years

Text

Rise of the Titans and the assassination Hisirdoux Casperan’s character development

I’ve been ranting so much since Wednesday morning that I finally condensed by thoughts of WHY this one subject keeps setting me off namely the utterly diabolical way they handled Douxie and Archie’s relationship in Rise of the Titans and how it wasn’t just enough to hit him with the nerf bat.

Please note I’m at the point where I literally cannot tell the difference between Aaron headcanons, Teny headcanons and my own they are all mixed together in the blender that does funky things. I also apologise for typo/weird wording it’s half 1 in the morning and I’d rather sleep than edit.

If asked to sum up Hisirdoux Casperan there are certainly several things that come to mind:

Sees the value in people as a whole and will find do anything if there is a chance of help someone out

Prefers tactics that disable/banish rather than kill an enemy yet willing and able to pull the trigger if circumstances become forced

While not academically inclined he is very capable of thinking on his feet and outside the box calling back to his time on the streets where a split-second decision making is the difference between being caught and not

Terrible at planning he’ll be in there figuring it out as he goes along which is what makes the previous point so vital to literally how he goes through life

A natural charmer that would let him talk his way out of trouble 9/10 providing a perfect cover for his distrustful nature and reluctance to be touched by random people

Very down to earth, humble and never one to brag unless outright sassing someone

Will bang out some hot tunes at the drop of a hat, his love of music has never wavered once since he caught the bug despite instrument hopping ironically becoming a jack of all trades much like his magic style

The earliest memories he can recall are him as a young boy lost in the woods where he was for an unknown amount of time before his soon to be familiar finds him amongst the roots covered in dirt and drying tears, there is nothing before that. Unbeknownst to him is the colour of his magic matches the blue of a lost mother’s eyes and the song that haunts his nightmares as much as fire could well be hers though there is no way to be sure. From that moment on Archibald, shortened to Archie, would become his entire world and their friendship only becoming closer during the years they prowled Camelot together trying to keep themselves in one piece until the fateful day Douxie tricks the wrong person leading him straight into the path of the famous wizard Merlin Ambrosius.

It's no real secret that Merlin is a very closed off person who keeps his emotions as well guarded as his secrets, prefers the style of negative reinforcement over positive encouragement and is a very strict perfectionist in his. At this point in his life he can be very easily described as a disaster that is genuinely doing his best with every little mistake held of his head and his future self when brought back to that time period is belittled by Lancelot (Errand boy) and Arthur (Boy) too meaning it’s hardly a wonder his confidence was very fragile revelling in the times where he could do things without being told off for it. With Morgana largely ignoring him too (Though personally I like to think as he got older she’d occasionally take an interest until the blistering arguments with their master started to talk over daily life) a certain disguised dragon would have remained a lifeline and give that physical affection he craved much like being told he’d done well never seemed able to earn.

With Killahead he’d lose that home and family he made leaving just the two of them behind struggling to figure out their place in the world that had abandoned them.

There wouldn’t have been the words for it back then but the way he had been treated prior was outright abusive instilling very bad habits into Douxie yet by irony he was always willing to give people the benefit of the doubt and help those in trouble without thinking earning a reputation as the Shepard of Fire. He refused to become like him seeking to be better, perhaps not as a wizard (Even though he was learning new charms and spells along the way) but certainly as a person. Despite everything he suffers through or witnesses in the intervening years, the loss of friends and kindling of far newer ones he never loses his good heart

That said is it any wonder that after rightfully sassing Merlin for resurfacing, ignoring his existence despite being in the same town and only visiting him to run a finding errand that all the confidence he’d managed to build completely from scratch after Camelot wavered causing him to fall back solely into trying impressing his old Master who was acting like his humble apprentice must have coasted the past few centuries who himself fell back into old habits of belittling? It’s only when Merlin started to truly listen and acknowledge that this was not the same Moppet he once knew after Excalibur was fixed that their relationship finally started to become more like equals. After the defeat of Janus the changeling that broke into the castle he touched Douxie’s shoulder with a genuine smile and for a second he simply didn’t know what to do because the old man never did this before his brain kicked into gear and realised he’d finally earned that one thing he’d been so desperate for his entire life: That in Merlin’s eyes he could be more than a failure who only caused problems for the closest thing to a father figure he’d ever had, never solved them.

A staff will be earned, history would be set back on trap by banishing Morgana tag teaming with Archie because they know one another inside and out, as promised he’d get the kids back to the present but soon after things would go badly wrong. They’d lose Jim and because of his very nature he’d make a gamble to try and get him back because that life is worth trying for just for in a moment of surprising selflessness Merlin would be sacrificed to save him. The only constant in his life apart from Archie would apologise, openly express pride and how the greatest thing he’d ever done was saving this orphan, call him son for the first and final time before turning into ash in his arms. There would be no time to grieve for things will barrel into the crescendo of Douxie sacrificing his own life to buy everyone time to escape because if they did that everything he’d ever done would be worth it with one last whispered goodbye.

(Zoe sees him fall, so does Archie – His heart would break if he was conscious just like theirs does when his body crumples into the ground)

On the very fringes of the Light Realm he is gifted one more conversation with Merlin in a truly heart-breaking sequence (THANKS TENY) where they can just talk without any fear of consequence or politics and just be completely honest. Douxie is allowed to stand equal to Merlin, to have the hug he’d needed since he was a child and be allowed to simply let go of every pretense and cry his heart out because this can never happen again. He’s allowed to say goodbye to both his master and Morgana who had both shaped so very much of his life but like the painting he’d always remained firmly in the long shadows of until that moment.

When Hisirdoux Casperan finally leaves Wizards if we just accidently deliberately put the shawarma back in along with checking in with Zoe before departure, it is with having learned to live during his wandering years but this is the point of true freedom because he can finally escape into his own light with Archie by his side to keep Nari out of the hands of those that would see the world harmed. It won’t be easy but it feels possible somehow even with the knowledge everything is simply running on borrowed time.

Then Rise of the Titans happens.

At first everything is genuinely fine! No more running, they engineer a solution shut the Order’s magic down to make them a lot less dangerous and potentially at least incapacitate them until they can come up with a longer-term solution but all the best laid plans and all that. Douxie’s quick thinking stops the train from crushing any of the people below and it’s a very him style move to switch places with Nari to stall for time because for some reason the plot disabled Claire from portaling her or any of the threatened people/heroes to safety. He openly sasses the Order despite knowing the consequences will be bad for him because once again he’s managed to trick them, buy time that at the other end isn’t even slightly utilised until he’s forced back into his own body in excruciating pain. Archie immediately mobs him with comfort just as he has done every single time the wizard is distressed or collapsed with exhaustion without thinking because that is what their bond is like, incredibly close and far more than the Soul Bond mark that connects them together. They’re very alike in that regard, you have to earn the right to touch while equally knowing exactly what form the other needs the most in that precise moment in a way very few others could.

Bar the moment of figuring out that an illusion is in place to hide where the Order is opening the Genesis Seals and the brief insistence on reconnecting with Nari somehow Douxie manages to forget everything that makes him who he is after this point choosing to stand in the background being very no thoughts head empty or can only use the most basic spells of his youthful days not the seasoned master wizard he should be. Nomura is treated like an innocent slip rather than an outright death he did absolutely nothing to prevent (Not to mention the stupid daytime thing) nor seems to care particularly about afterwards yet with Nari’s he’s allowed to openly grieve in a gorgeously animated visual showing how he’d failed to keep her safe despite everything. He did nothing to help here either mind despite allowing himself to be tortured in the same piece of media to keep her safe, just watched another loss happen right in front of his eyes in his conga long line of them.

Then there’s Archie, oh god then there was Archie.

The dragon who even here he’d been shown to have an incredibly close bond with him decides you know what sod that tell him goodbye I’m going to make a joke about having a kingdom now dad and me are trapped in here forever. Douxie on his part looked sad for all of three seconds saying that he hoped he’s happy like it's a pet that wandered out into the world one day and never came back instead of a lifelong companion that has been there for as long as he can remember. He was now completely alone in the world since Zoe was also written out entirely and because every bit of his background had been forgotten about it somehow meant nothing. This wasn’t “I know you miss him, I know you need to grieve but you are running out of time” moment like things had been with Charlie, this was “cool shapeshifting dragon cat is now stuck in a plot hole that’s a shame” with zero pay off or any of the genuine reaction that should have been there or hell even trying to Ohana him back that very second because it never should have happened in the first place. Then even this wasn’t enough somehow, they managed to de-power Douxie even further into uselessness bar the (Admittedly nifty!) sticky feet stunt, the one who fought Skrael and Bellroc to a stalemate was shunted aside with barely a thought and his head would somehow get even emptier.

The one person who knew the danger of time magic the most stood by and said nothing.

The one person who would suffer the most by a reset because the lynchpin to his issues would be asleep if you got it wrong and should have drilled it into Jim’s head the best time to aim for stood by and said nothing.

The one person who had just suffered the loss of his familiar, best friend and only family along with the almost sister like Nari stood by and said nothing.

Then to add further insult to injury the caption when Douxie and Archie is shown says Some go their entire lives living an existence of quiet desperation because every drop of his character growth, his ability to finally start addressing his trauma instilled back in the 12th century, the staff he longed for was instead openly mocked by going “Aww he got his cat friend back how nice!” Everything he’d rightfully earned and had now would be unable to progress until certain criteria are met because it hinges entirely on the Trollhunter going to Merlin’s tomb and there’s only so much your support network of two (One if she’s written out) can do, the root of the majority of his issues all stem from one man.

And this folks is why I’ve been going on multiple rants about Douxie in particular, everyone was hit with the out of character bat to some degree in this film but when they came for him they didn’t just stop after they took his legs out because they wanted him to suffer from something he’s never had any control over to begin with all over again. Abuse survivors deserve better, these characters deserve better and we as viewers deserve far far better writing than we were forced to endure.

#Ooc - Behind the curtains #Rise of the Titans #Rise of the Titans spoilers #RotT Spoilers #RoT spoilers #Wizards #Tales of Arcadia #ToAWizards #Hisirdoux Casperan #Douxie Casperan

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shurisneakers · 3 years

Text

shut in [12]

Summary: When your high profile mission goes terribly wrong, you’re forced to hide in a safehouse with a man you’ve never met before. With seemingly nowhere else to go, you’re forced to work together to figure out who is trying to have you assassinated before it’s too late. (Sam Wilson x Reader, Hitman AU)

Warnings: anxiety, ptsd, abuse, death

Word count: 2.7k

A/N: two more chapters to go after this + an epilogue i haven’t written yet fdkjghdfkhg. things pick up next chapter don’t worry. i’d love to know your favourite parts so far if you have any!!

i also appreciate feedback so if you would like to, please consider dropping me an ask or comment ly guys!

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing <333

Previous Part || Shut In Masterlist

Your first home, from what you could remember, was the overcrowded hall you shared with kids in and around your age.

There was too much noise. Always too much noise.

Even when the children were in their classes, there was always someone whose cries you could hear in the distance when they realised they had nowhere else to go, peals of laughter during lunch breaks, excited whispers when someone came to visit, nervous excuses when belongings went missing.

The orphanage you were brought up in was no place for a child. It was underfunded and an utterly miserable sight. But you made your first friends there. A fiery redhead and a boy who resembled a puppy with his shiny blonde hair and blue eyes. Their names escaped you now.

Within structured schedules and learning to stow away candy left behind by volunteers so that they weren’t taken away by others, you found relief. You didn’t have a family. Caregivers came and went more than the seasons changed. But maybe what the girl and boy gave you came close. As close as six year olds could get, anyway.

They were picked before you. The red head left first, and a few months later was the last you saw of the boy. You often wondered where they were, how they were doing. You never truly got answers, but it wasn’t like you went searching.

You waited another year. They didn’t return. By then a man with a leather jacket who suspiciously wore sunglasses indoors had filled out the paperwork for you and two other kids. You had never interacted with them before until then. A few years down the line you were the only one of the three that remained anyway.

Your second house was in a dark hall. You weren’t allowed to roam around on your own; no one cared if you were 8 or 18. If you needed to be out of the way, you’d be out.

The man who pulled you out of the orphanage you never saw again. A secret adoption, you found out years later, so that no one would know of your existence. All the paperwork he filled out would have mysteriously been destroyed. To the world, you never existed and outside the organisation you were simply another kid who slipped through the cracks.

He disappeared after you were introduced to another who looked to be in his late twenties. He nicknamed you Buttercup, introducing you as the newest member of his cartel. He told you you were delicate, that he’d give you purpose you didn’t think you could have.

The room was inconceivably small. It barely squeezed in a bed and a small closet with a few changes of clothes. It was dark and congested but it enamoured you. Something to yourself. You didn’t have to fight over it with others who had just as little as you.

The man let you hang around with him. He’d show you the artillery, the large fighting rings with men in them beating each other half to death, the rooms he’d hold meetings with where the lighting was a little darker than the rest. He said it made him look menacing and they needed that where he was working. You giggled.

You found a home with the man who was razor sharp and acidic but insisted it was out of love. You wanted to impress him so badly; begged him to let you in the ring, to wield a gun. He’d only shake his head no, saying that he was waiting for the right time.

For two years you were invited to see what would happen if someone disappointed him. Your first encounter with death was a man who had dared to run away. A bullet in his head later you realised that was the best way to kill someone. His favourite way. And you just wanted to be his favourite.

He didn’t take it easier just because you were ten. He only stopped them from fully killing you.

“All these broken bones will heal,” he had said, “but you will always remember the pain. The minute you forget, it will happen again.”

So you didn’t forget. You observed and tried, and kicked yourself twice for every one mistake you made. Every time you’d look towards him for approval, he’d shake his head and point out everything wrong. You hated it. You hated it so fucking much.

The rage you kept building had only one outlet, the one he provided. So it became instinct. It was all you knew.

You found a home with a man you wanted to impress so bad, you never stopped to ask for what. To him, it was repayment for giving you purpose.

When you were fourteen you realised that no, the feeling in your stomach wasn’t from the previous week’s sparring session. It was butterflies. And for the grumpy new kid nonetheless.

He was your age, but missing an arm and couldn’t remember how or why. You didn’t ask him many questions. He was silent, and a little grouchy, which you didn’t like. But you did like when he offered his hand to you after a fight and you did like the nice smile he occasionally had.

You found a new home with his silent company and non-judgemental looks. He always seemed a little sad, like he was searching for something else. He was an excellent marksman and wasn't bad at hand to hand either.

He’d hang around your new room, one that was bigger than your initial place. You’d talk about new techniques you picked up. He talked about how he wished he remembered where he came from.

He was a friend. You needed one.

You remembered the night you were roughly shaken awake to the same boy saying he was going to be taken in the morning to the other centre. A permanent shift for reasons he didn’t know.

You didn’t get a chance to ask how or why, but in the flurry of him explaining that he had to go before someone noticed he left his room, he pressed a kiss to your lips in a rushed goodbye and ran back to the darkness. You were dazed for the rest of the night. You didn’t see him in the morning.

When you asked Ransone why he was gone, he mutely said that he was a distraction. You couldn’t afford one. He didn’t explain any further, no matter how much you begged.

Similar friends found themselves entering and exiting your life just as this boy did. You stopped keeping track. It hurt too much to wake up one morning to learn they weren’t there. You wondered why the influx of kids never stopped if you weren’t supposed to be friends with them.

You realised years later that they were sent there to be ripped away from you as soon as possible. To toughen you up.

He wouldn’t get rid of something immediately, not if it could be used to hurt you.

Your first mission was when you were fifteen. It was a small time thing; go threaten a man in his house so that he thought twice before crossing Ransone again. You did exactly as you were told, except while you were leaving you heard the cocking of a gun. You spun around and shot him in the shoulder, temporarily disabling him as you left. He cowered on the ground.

You couldn't find anyone as you stumbled back to the centre. There wasn’t a friend who you could vent to. All you had was Ransone. He congratulated you on your first shot, ignoring the trembling of your body and the redness that rimmed your eyes.

You realised that his approval didn’t mean so much to you anymore. If your only purpose was to harm, it wasn’t what you wanted. Not like you had a choice.

Then there was Scott, only brought in for minor things like breaking and entering. He was a funny one and you found yourself spending more and more time with him whenever he did show up. You pulled away when you realised that he was going to end up gone like the rest of the people when Ransone realised that you were paying more attention to him than you should.

He was a sneaky one though; climbed in during nights only to disappear by dawn before anyone saw. He was infectiously light, different from the darkness you were used to seeing. You sought out his brightness, his warmth and he happily gave it to you in unlit corridors and midnight trips that had your adrenaline spiking.

Scott lasted longer than anyone else. They didn’t consider him important enough to pay attention to and he never gave them any chance of doing it. He was, what you wanted to believe, your first love. Or what it felt like anyway, love was scarce and so you clung onto whatever he offered.

There was a home in Scott that you wanted to keep alive. You found solace in his flustered repetitions and occasional cheesy magic trick. He made you laugh, and it lit up his face when you leaned over and kissed him gently.

When you got the news that he was killed in a heist gone wrong, you didn’t feel anything for days. The man who broke the news to you looked at you with undertones of pity.

Everyone knew it wasn’t an accident.

You didn’t bring it up with Ransone and simply ignored it when he called it a good riddance even though he would be missed. If you listened to everything he said, you were afraid that you would just kill him.

It was excruciating. You didn’t have anyone to talk to. Only Ransone, as he kept reminding you.

“I’m the only one who cares about you, Buttercup,” he cooed and you clenched your eyes shut. “We’re family.”

No more relationships happened after that. Occasional coworkers-with-benefits but nothing that crossed that. You hadn’t had a friend in years, and Ransone was more than pleased to keep it that way. He was the only constant you’d had your entire life, willingly or not.

People were placed in your way to only inform Ransone of what new updates were in your life. Once they sent whatever information he needed his way, they’d automatically be removed. Everyone had a hidden agenda. Everyone had a specific reason to want to talk to you.

You just let them. What was the point of trying to hide it? You weren’t going to escape any time soon.

“Your only home,” Ransone reminded you, “is here with me.”

You rebelled, many times. Some looked like they would last. In the end you’d return to his dingy office for your next mission because as much as you despised him for the things he had done to you, the guilt over the things he had done for you overshone. Having him as your enemy would be worse than having his convoluted sense of love shoved down your throat until you were forced to accept him.

And that’s what it had been like until now.

You try and take in as much as you can of the house you’re standing in right now. What you used to find restrictive and a crude form of punishment, you found calming. The mundane nature of everyday life was charming.

It wasn’t a vacation, you reminded yourself. But the same feeling of emptiness returned every time you thought of your next move.

You didn’t want to leave. You didn’t want to go back to what you once thought was a home.

You’d eat a thousand dry peanut butter sandwiches over and over again for the rest of your life before even considering going back. You didn’t care for the lack of twenty-first century technology.

You were feeling things you had shoved away years ago because it wasn’t a life meant for you. Now that you were forced to live it and see what it could be like not living in a fight-or-flight mode every second, you can’t see how you ever survived this long.

But still, you had told Ransone that you were returning, and it was a promise he would expect you to uphold.

You tried to remember as much as you can of your time here. The way the sunlight feels against your skin in the morning, the sugariness of the jelly that was basically finished, the worn out tactical clothing from the wardrobe, the leather of the couch clinging to your skin as you rewatch the same three movies time and time again.

You tried to remember the first time you were introduced to the target board, and the range you and Sam had crafted together. The path to the specific tree and back on your runs and the grass that had wilted along it from contant treading.

You sat on the porch stairs for hours, leaning against the pillar for support. The first house you lived in was too loud, the second was too quiet. But this; this was just right.

Sam joined you eventually in the silence. You were grateful for the company.

“Have you decided on a day?”

You nod, looking straight ahead into the darkness. “Tomorrow.”

“You sure? Our timing has to be right.”

“Yeah.” Your voice is coarse. “I’ll have to tell him.”

He nodded, leaning his elbows on his knees. He was too tall for the stairs, looking like he was crouching instead of sitting.

His voice dropped to a whisper like it’s a secret only meant for you. “In case Ransone sees me and decides to…”

He gestured lewdly, sighing when you peer at him in confusion, “...kill me, you need to continue-”

“Stop talking,” you interrupted him quietly. You don’t even want to think about that possibility.

“It can happen. I hope it doesn’t, because it’s a waste of a perfectly good face,” he continues but you just shake your head, trying to drown him out. “Then promise me you’ll do your best to get out. This life isn’t for us, Y/N.”

“I’m not going to let you die,” you muttered. “Not this time.”

“I’m not saying I will, honey,” he continues in a hushed tone, not disturbing the silence built around you, “But it’d make me happy knowin’ that at least one of us gets a shot to live another life. And I know you make good on your promises.”

You were so tired. Of everything. Knowing that you’d be dragged back into it only made the pain sharpen.

“Scout’s honour,” you vowed. He let out a smile at the memory of the last time he used it, lifting his arm to put over your shoulder as you scoot in closer to him.

You sit like that for who knows how long. The night fell hours ago but you don’t want to let go.

“It’s gettin’ pretty late,” he commented.

“I don’t want to go.”

“You’re gonna need some energy for tomorrow.” He’s right, but you don’t want to admit it.

“It’s your turn at the bed tonight,” you evade it.

“You can have it,” he debated softly. If it was your last day there, then he’d do anything to make it the best one.

You’re stuck by an idea but you weren’t sure how he’d react. It wouldn’t be a big deal on the surface but you hadn’t ever done it before.

“Would you maybe-” you trail off.

“We can share,” he finished your thought, pulling you a little closer. You needed comfort. He knew that.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

He only pressed a kiss to your temple, letting you sit out for as long as you needed.

Calm.

The woods provided excellent coverage while also giving him a clear sight of the house. The two of you sat on the porch together, speaking quietly to each other, out of earshot.

It didn’t matter what you were saying now. He had already heard what he needed to hear.

“Get ready,” the agent said hushedly into the intercom, “they’re leaving tomorrow.”

Next part

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marvelwritings · 3 years

Text

A piece of me has disappeared

Summary: By day three, the first doubts set in. He’s convinced Tony is still out looking for him, but putting in the effort doesn’t always guarantee results. These people that abducted him are clever, and they know about his spider abilities.

or: Peter get's abducted and Tony goes to rescue his son

Everyone’s sleeping, their breaths loud in the evening quiet. Morgan is in her bed and there’s no doubt that tomorrow at seven am she’ll be up and at ‘em to wake Peter up. Tony and Pepper are across the room of his, their frantic work attitudes finally put to the sleep they so desperately need. Peter is blinking up at his roof in his bedroom, feeling fine, good even, peaceful and sated and most importantly, safe.

Everyone’s sleeping, their breaths loud in the evening quiet and …. The repeats stops working once Peter’s stomach gnaws again, the hunger he’s so gravely experiencing has switched to a whole new level. No longer the petty grumbles of an empty stomach, instead it’s replaced by the need to eat anything, despite Peter’s rationality telling him he can’t. He’s been locked up for at least seven days, but he’s still to sceptic to eat anything his captors offer him. He’s very close to breaking.

He tries to hold on by imagining that he’s at home, but he’s so tired, yet so fitful he won’t close his eyes for more then 10 seconds, and the constant torture is so jarring it hurts worse to imagine home, then be woken up in reality, than to just to be present. Peter wonders if Tony is every going to find him.

The first day, he had no question about it. Tony is scarily determined and protective to anyone who dares come after the people he considers family, Peter got a first row demonstration when some journalist tried to bad mouth Spiderman and he got clocked in the jaw, so Peter knows it’s just a matter of time.

By day three, the first doubts set in. He’s convinced Tony is still out looking for him, but putting in the effort doesn’t always guarantee results. These people that abducted him are clever, and they know about his spider abilities. So much so that they keep him sedated at all times, just enough sedative to keep him conscious, but not too little that he can tap in his superstrength. Peter will never be able to escape on his own.

Maybe if the avengers got called in they were close, but Peter’s not sure Tony would call in people he hasn’t spoken to in a few months, purely to find him. He can hold out hope though.

The third day is also the day his captures, he hasn’t seen any faces so far and the sedative contorts their voices too much to match them to somebody he knows, start with the emotional manipulation. So far, they had stuck to electrocution by tazers and punches applied to any sensitive area of his body, but Peter must not have been broken fast enough for them.

‘You know, you remind me of the stereotypical bad guys in movies, like in kids movies? Do you like kid movies? My favorite is Frozen’, Peter had once babbled in between punches through bitten teeth, trying to keep up his high spirits.

They didn’t like that one bit.

They claim all sort of ridiculous things, like that the Starks paid money for them to have kidnapped him, that Tony never started searching for him, that he might as well give up because no one was coming to fetch him. Peter laughs in their face, witty even in the face of extreme danger. It was still funny to him then. Now, on the evening of the seventh day, he stares unblinking at a wall, only moving when the physical pain becomes too much and he needs an outlet to scream.

‘Please’, he pleads sobbing. If he wasn’t so starved as he was, so mentally vulnerable, he would have been embarrassed. As it stands, Peter’s just so incapable of resisting, he simply gives in.

‘Please stop,’ Peter whimpers. If he had anything to give he’d bargain, but money is tight for May and him, and he has no knowledge of anything avengers related that could be of interest to these people. Mister Stark told him it was for his own safety, so it wouldn’t be used as leverage against him, but in Peter’s warped mind it further adds proof Tony never trusted him.

‘Ahn’, a captor coos, ‘he’s begging already, how cute.’ The voice is distinctly that of a woman’s, but it hold nothing of the warm timbre both aunt May and Pepper possess. He misses them.

The woman slides a hand up in Peter’s hair, and for one confusing moment Peter thinks she’s going to start stroking it, like Tony does, but then she balls her hands into fists and pulls his head aside. The next tazer gets placed in his neck.

‘This wouldn’t be happening if your so beloved mentor would just give up the plans for the new shield initiative, but alas, as long as he doesn’t you’ll be stuck here. The tazzer buzzes to life and Peter seizes up. It’s the so many’th time today, that Peter gives up on holding back, his scream ricochets in the room.

‘Then again, maybe we went after the wrong kid. Maybe we should have taken Tony Starks real kid? The one he actually cares about?’

Tears stumbles down his cheeks and he wishes he could fall back into unconsciousness, but of course life is not that kind. No, he begs inside his head, to warm out to speak. Not Morgan, never Morgan. He’d die before he’d let anything happen to her.

‘What do you think soldier,’ she addresses the second captor in the room, ‘perhaps a phone call would speed Stark along? A sign of life and how close to it being snuffed out the child is? What do you want Peter?’ She asks sickly sweet, as if it’s a regular question and not a taunt.

Still, Peter can’t help but reach out. He longs for one phone call so wholeheartedly. Maybe, maybe he can convince Mister Stark to get him out of this mess. He could promise to do every task Mister Stark ask of him, he could even offer to work for Stark industries until he could pay back the money he’d pay Peter’s kidnappers, anything to get out of here. Peter will do anything.

‘I think he’s agreeing.’ The woman grins, pulling out a burner phone out of her back pocket. She types for several excruciating moments, in which Peter begs to every god listening that Mister Stark will pick up. That he’ll hear Peter out.

‘Hello,’ the woman greets the phone, her smirk so evil Peter’s spider senses warm him to run, fighting through the drugs. ‘I think I have something that belongs to you Stark.’

She lowers the phone to a few inches from Peter’s ear, because Peter is too tied up to hold it on his own. ‘Speak loudly kid.’

The use of the nickname causes shudders to run down Peter’s back. Why can’t he go home?

‘Mister Stark, please help me, I don’t know where I am, but- I want to go home, please mister Stark I-. I’ll do anything you want, just please.’ Peter’s whines gain pitch, until he is nothing but a sobbing mess, barely worth the name Peter Parker, let alone Spiderman.

The phone clicks shut.

‘Whoops, looks like he hung up’, The woman snickers, patting Peter’s cheek with fake compassion. Peter bellows, heaving so severely the nonexistent food he ate threatens to come back up.

He’d never find out the phone was never connected in the first place.

---

By the grace of Peter doesn’t know what, he drops unconscious after the failed phone call to Mister Stark. The sleep is fitful at best, but at least it helps restock his powers. When Peter comes too, there are loud sounds just outside of the room he’s captivated in. He thinks there’s screaming and pleading, but he’s so exhausted he can’t bring himself to care. His hands drop uselessly by his side, his head turned away from the door as he squeezes his eyes shuts.

Why can’t this be over yet?

The door busts of his hinges, the door falls inwards. Immediately, the yellow and red armor, belonging to the iron man suit, rushes in, with the faceplate down. Now that the door is open, or gone more like, It’s clear that all the sounds Peter had been hearing where the scream of his captures. There are many of them, but they’re being taken down one by one.

Peeking aside the Iron man armor, Peter sees a flash of red and blue, and captain America’s shield knocking someone out cold.

‘Kid, kid’, Mister Stark draws his attention in a panic. The faceplate is still down, which means that Mister Stark is either not here, like he wasn’t when the vulture first dropped him into a lake, or he’s assessed the situation and deemed it too dangerous to lower his defenses.

‘You’re okay underoos, we’re getting you out of here.’ With very little effort, Mister Stark snaps restraints on Peter’s wrist and ancles, all the while murmuring under his breath. He’s trying to reassure Peter, but it’s not having any type of effect.

Instead, the comfort causes Peter to burst into tears once more, his body begging for food and pain medication that will make everything stop hurting. He doesn’t care that Mister Stark is doing this out of rightfulness, or maybe out of debt out of some kind that he’s trying to even out, Peter just wants to go home.

Once the restraints are all loose, and Peter is free of them, Mister Stark waits for a tense second, maybe expecting Peter to hob off the table and join the fight or something. That doesn’t happen. Peter lays motionless on the table, looking intensely at the glowing eyes of the iron man suit, maybe trying to convey a message that Mister Stark can’t decipher.

‘Come on Pete, we have to get out of here before they bring backup. I can only hold them off for so long.’

‘Back up?’ Peter ask nonsensical, his spider senses blaring danger at him.

‘Yeah, they’re big fans of the avengers, they’ll all be swarming in here for autographs soon, but we’re kinda busy so we really have to go now.’ Mister Stark turns frantic, his hands carefully, oh so cautiously, gripping at his shoulders.

Peter allows his muscles to turn limp, pliant under strange hands. They belong to his mentor, to one of the only touches he has ever felt that don’t originate from people who are trying to hurt him, but he’s so very terrified, it doesn’t register. Peter holds still, submissive to whatever is about to happen because the pain always seems to end faster when he doesn’t struggle.

‘Peter’, Mister Stark anguished voice insists, his faceplates lifts up, and the dull eyes of who Peter has come to think of as a father gaze upon him with despair. Mister Starks hair is greasy, his mouth is pulled down in a grimace, and his eyes are, for a lack of better word grief stricken. He’s so much older then he was before Peter was taken. ‘Please buddy, we have to go.’

Mister Stark’s calloused finger strokes Peter cheek with the utmost care, barely even pressing firm enough for Peter to feel it. He does though, and traps the touch between his check and his shoulder. The dam breaks, and the barrier of terror that clouded Peter’s judgment lifts with it. He gasps, coming up for a breath of fresh air, and the moment between mentor and son brings at least a sliver of clarity, before he sinks back under the enormity of his panic.

‘I can’t walk’, Peter rasps, his throat torn from all the screams. He refuses to let that stop him, he’s so close to safety, he needs to push on further just a tad longer. ‘Please Mister Stark, I can’t walk.’

‘It’s okay Pete’, Tony soothes, pressing an unyielding kiss to his forehead, and if at all possible, Peter see the rage harden his face even more. ‘I’m going to get you out of here, but it’s gonna hurt, I’m sorry.’

Before Peter can begin to process that statement, Mister Stark puts the weight on his knees, the iron man suit helping to lift Peter as if it’s no trouble at all. Tony is no liar, Peter finds, as his body begs to be placed back on the uncomfortable bed. Even places that had been relatively unharmed ache, and Peter feels like a broken doll.

‘It’s okay Kiddo we’re almost there, just a minute longer.’ Peter clings to Mister Stark, using every ounce of strength to hang on, despite the fact that Tony has a tight grip on him as well. Iron man isn’t fighting alone, as the avengers are here to back him, them, up. In any other situation, Peter would be gushing. Not only is he seeing his heroes in action, but they’re in action for him, to help him, but now, Peter only turns his head to burrow it into Mister Starks chest plate.

‘Please, please’, Peter whispers the entire way to the jet, not even realizing he’s begging for something.

‘I got you Pete’, Tony assures, one hand briefly leaving Peter’s back to shoot at a capture that’s standing in the way of the jet. Other than that, he doesn’t interfere with the fight one time, but he must itch too. Peter hears him bark orders at captain America, telling him to take some of them alive.

‘Please don’t leave me here, I’ll be good, I’ll be good.’

The Jet is nice and warm, something Peter relishes in, but when Tony tries to lower Peter on a medbed, that’s objectively much more comfortable then the bed he was on before, Peter screams. No words are spoken, but the scream startles Mister Stark just the same.

‘Stark, the base is cleared, get him strapped in, Banner is coming’, Natasha ushers, ignoring Peter’s cries and running to the cockpit. Stark has him, she argues, and it does the kid no good to have more prying eyes on him.

‘What is it, are you in pain?’ Tony asks franticly, without responding to Nat, hands hovering over Peter’s body to check for injuries, the light dims when he spots just how badly he was treated in captivity.

Peter screams again when Mister Stark pulls away too far for his liking, latching onto the suit so rigorous it creaks in protests.

‘Please, I’ll be good, don’t leave me, please. I- I know… I’m sorry, Morgan- I’, Peter can’t talk with how much he’s weeping, there are so many things to say and all of them are fighting one another to be said first. Eventually, after everyone has already touched base, the jet leaves and Doctor Banner urgers Tony to place him on the bed, Peter settles for; ‘Don’t leave me here.’

‘Peter’, Tony spits, so harsh that Peter snaps to attention, letting go of the armor and limply following where mister Stark wants him. He gently grips Peter’s chin, mindful of the bruises, and with glistening eyes, he conveys; ‘I’m never leaving you here, do you understand. I don’t care what else you have in your head, but right now, all I need you to know is that I’m not leaving you. Ever.’

He waits for the conforming nod, which Peter only gives when Mister Stark clasps his hand into his. ‘Beside, May would kill me if I came back without her nephew, and I don’t want to be the one to receive her wrath.’ Tony laughs faintly.

He wants to cry at that, good or bad he’s not sure, but instead he allows himself to be lowered, giving in only because Tony is crouching down with him, shielding Peter’s body with his own. It’s unsensical, there in the jet and there’s no danger, but if Peter feels protected Tony will do it, no questions asked.

As soon as he’s in a horizontal positions, Doctor Banner injects him with pain medication, and within seconds, Peter has floated away, dreaming of the lake house with Morgan, Pepper and tony and May at the end of the hallway.

---

Peter knows he’s in the medbay before his body has even fully awoken. He’s been here before, perhaps one to many times for it too be so familiar, and he can recognize the atmosphere from anywhere. The smell of disinfectant lingers around the room heavily, but so does the smell of motor oil, coming from Mister Stark’s lab the floor below the medbay. Usually he’s not alone when he wakes up either, accompanied by Mister Stark or May, maybe even both, and so despite the room having a different connotation, it holds security for Peter.

When all his senses click into place, with an almost audible snap after being out of commission for a week, the burning anguish joins it. It’s almost worse than during the torture itself, because it’s hitting him all at once now, and after stewing for a day his body is one big bruise, but it’s also better, because no more hurt can be added.

Blinking his eyes open, Peter glances around the room and notices that he’s by himself. He hasn’t made up his mind yet whether that’s a good or bad thing. Despite being alone, Peter very nearly cries out for the pain medication he’s sure Tony has at hand. His metabolism runs through painkillers faster than a normal body, but Mister Stark has experience in that department thanks to captain America, which is why Peter never wakes up in the medbay feeling sore.

He’s hoping to snatch some of the good stuff before he can sink away in sleep again, until a dark thought pops up in his head. What if Mister Stark purposefully didn’t give him enough medication so he wouldn’t stay asleep? What if Peter is expected to pay of his debt starting this very moment? It would make sense. Mister Stark is a man that likes to get a move on things, and this is probably no exception.

He bites back a loud whine. He’s so tired and sore, and if he could be anywhere in the world right now he’d choose the lakehouse and rest on the back porch, while looking over Morgan and ensuring she’s safe.

Still, it’s heaps better then what was waiting for him before, so Peter sucks in a deep breath and lifts himself up. He’s dresses in a hospital gown with socks on his feet, the only reprieve of the cold of the tiles that he has. His body fights in protest against the jolting movements, and Peter sinks back into bed three times before finally managing to stay upright. He swallows back bile, and blinks away the disorientation woozing its way through his head.

‘Friday’? He whispers, voice cracking on every syllable.

‘Yes, mister Parker, the AI replies easily, as chipper as a computer can possibly be. ‘It’s good to have you back,’ she adds, when Peter takes too long to reply. It’s not out of rudeness, but the words take a while to be processed in Peter’s hazy mind.

‘Can you tell me what Mister Stark wants me to do?’ Peter finally asks after coughing to clear his throat. Pride flows through his bloodstream when he manages to sound fine.

‘Mister Stark has not given me any directions, but by the distress and elevated heartbeat he experienced whilst at your bedside last, I hypothesize that he would like you to rest Peter.’

Confusion laces Peter’s next move. Rest? But if that was the case why wasn’t the man here, ensuring that he does like all the other times he’s been in this position? Deciding not to ask the AI anymore questions, while simultaneously ignoring her advice, Peter focuses on setting one foot in front of the other. If he can’t get a direct answer out of Friday, he’ll just get started on cleaning up in the lab.

The last few times Tony and Peter worked in there, Mister Stark had jokingly grumbled that the lace was getting to disorganized even for his taste, which definitely means something. Peter limps his way to the door, already breathing more heavily and deciding to take a rest against the still closed door. His foot throbs, so Peter switches to put the most weight on the side of his foot, instead of on the balm.

The small trek has left him bone tried, and the lab still seems so far away. Peter tries to calculate how far the lab still is, and agrees with himself to divide the length into smaller stretches. His next stop is at the elevator, so Peter shuffled along the floor, ignoring the black spots that dance before his eyes and threaten to have him collapse.

The extortion reminds him of the time that Toomes dropped a building on him, which is just plain ridiculous, this shouldn’t be half as tough. Peter scolds himself to man up when about halfway to the elevator he bumps into a cart and whimpers.

After finally finding support on the elevator beams, Peter allows himself a twenty second break to cry. At this point, the exact reason for crying is unbeknownst to him. All that he does know is that he feels like a mess, like someone took all the spiderman away from him and left him as a pile of uselessness. He shouldn’t have the right to complain however. Mister Stark rescued him from a fate much worse, the least he could do is help him out.

‘Friday’, Peter pauses to gulp in more air, and to force his tears back. ‘Open the elevator.’

‘Mister Parker I would advise-‘

‘Please’, he begs, voice barely louder then a whisper. The AI complies without further disagreement. The elevator begins to move the floor bellow it, soundlessly passing Peter along. The theme song, a little joke that Tony had installed after they made a song about spiderman, which plays during every elevator ride when Peter is present, stays off. The doors open, and Peter stumbles out, cheering up a dash when the mess doesn’t look as bad as he had imagined it. The clean up should be doable within two hours, even in Peter’s injured state. Most of the mess comes from scattered papers and documents that Tony tosses aside and never bothered to do anything with, and of mechanical parts that are ready to be thrown out.

All in all, not a lot of weight that Peter has to pick up. He has barely started on five pages when the elevator behind him opens again. Peter hadn’t noticed it going to a different floor in the first place.

Lister Stark burst out of the room like the devil himself is after him. He pauses for one second to observe what Peter’s doing -he’s in the middle of bending down at a very lateral pace- and then he’s off again, cursing under his breath.

‘Jesus Christ Peter what are you doing?’

He pulls out a rolling chair from behind his work bench and rushes it to Peter side. ‘Come on, sit.’ He says already clenching a hand around Peter’s bicep to guide him down. In his confusion, Peter follows his instruction.

‘Mister Stark?’ He questions, eyes tracking his mentors movement as if he’s afraid he’s done something wrong and punishment will follow.

There is none, all that Tony does, is fall down on his knees in front of Peter, so they’re making direct eye contact. Peter gulps at the sight. He’s sure those jeans cost more than half of what May ears a month, and if Peter is expected to repay those too, he’ll never be able to pay of his debt.

‘Kiddo, what are you doing?’ Mister Stark asks incredulous, his hand never leaving Peter’s arm. His eyes sweep over Peter’s form, noticing the ailments that he aggravated by walking all the way down here. ‘Why aren’t you in bed?’

‘I thought you wanted me to get started already.’ Peter admits shyly. He can’t understand why he’s being treated with such kindness all of a sudden.

‘Started on what Pete? I don’t understand.’ Mister Stark shuffles closer, one hand coming up to cup Peter’s chin, sweeping gentle circles that are meant to calm himself down as much as Peter.

‘Paying of my debt.’ Peter replies confused, wrapping his arms around his stomach area and bending downwards in an order to self sooth. He needs to get up soon, are Peter’ not sure he will be able to. Now that he’s granting his body some rest, the pain he forced to the back of his mind is rushing back in.

‘What debt kid, you need rest and you need it right now. Stay here, I’m going to go get you a gurney so you don’t require any more walking.’

Right as Mister Stark gets of his knees, Peter’s hand shoots out, gripping the older man’s wrist. The action was pure habitual, but now that he’s initiated contact he doesn’t know what to do.

‘When will I have to start working then? I’d rather get started as soon as possible, to thank you for everything Mister Stark.’ Peter’s voice pitches even lower, letting his head hang down in shame. He really doesn’t want to offer his suit back, Spiderman is what gives him purpose, but the sooner he no longer has a debt, the sooner he can start working to provide May with an extra income as well. He has no choice.

‘I can give you the suit back if you’ll accept it.’

Tony regards him with perturbation for several long lasting moment. Then, he gasps, finally clicking in his head what Peter is going on about.

‘Oh kiddo, that’s the concussion speaking. Listen to me,’ he sinks back down in front Peter, taking his hand in his. ‘You have done so much for me. If anything it’s me that should be in debt to you.’ Peter pens his mouth to argue, but Tony hushes him softly.

‘You’re not thinking straight buddy, that why spider baby’s need their rest. But truly Peter, you don’t owe me anything. Well except maybe you owe it to be safe, I think I’ve earned that much.’

‘Really?’ Peter asks optimistically, his whole body filling up with a feeling he can’t name, but it chokes him up until he’s bursting with the urge to give a hug to his mentor.

‘Yeah Peter of course. All I want is my kids to be safe.’

Kids. Tony sees Peter as his kid, as equal to Morgan. A person to love unconditionally without needing any favors, without having any debt. Of course Mister Stark won’t ask that of him, despite his front, the man has a heart that’s made of gold. Mister Stark, his mentor, and his father figure.

‘Dad,’ Peter sobs, almost falling out of the chair in his rush to get to Tony. The man immediately returns the hug, holding Peter up in a way that he hopes will be the least painful for him.

‘You’re okay Peter you’re okay.’

‘I’m so sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking’, Peter confesses, deeply ashamed of how low he thought of his dad.

‘It’s okay Kiddo, like I said it’s the concussion. Of course you were scared, I can’t blame you. I promise that I tried so hard to find you bud. I’m sorry it took me so long.’

Peter says nothing, he’s had enough encounters with Tony now to sense that the man wouldn’t believe him if Peter told him it’s okay. Instead he just nuzzles closer, accepting all the love and affection radiating from Tony, and giving back what he hopes is just as much.

‘Can we go back to the lakehouse?’ Peter asks softly, burring his head in Tony’s neck. It might be a weird question coming from him. He liked the beach house enough, but he has never actively asked to go there when they could stay at the tower as well. But now, Peter won’t feel safe unless his down there, in the cabin hidden behind threes, where the environment is quiet that he can hear everyone’s heartbeat, and can confirm that everyone is safe.

‘Sure kid.’ Tony responds, a tad bewildered, but happy to provide anyway. ‘We’ll leave as soon as you get check out okay. I want to make sure you didn’t rip anything.’

‘Okay’, Peter mumbles, a bone deep tiredness washing over him, and letting him sink down into Tony. ‘Thanks dad.’

If Peter were more awake, he would have noticed the silent tears of happiness streaming down Mister Starks cheek at the name. As it stands, Peter just hums contently when a kiss is pressed at the top of his head, and Tony strikes a hand through his hair.

‘Anything for my son.’

#peter parker #peter parker imagine #hurt peter parker #hurt/comfort #tony stark imagine #tony stark #protective tony stark #fluff #angst #Peter gets kidnapped #and tortured #but not in detail #Tony is affectionate #Peter's apprehensive #marvel imagine #spiderman imagine #spider son #irondad #irondad imagine

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megan-is-mia · 3 years

Text

(Yandere! Kalim Al-Asim x Selkie! S/o)

(Y/n) hated it here in Scarabia, she really did. She was a creature of the wide open sea and as far as the eye could see there was only sand. The selkie longed for the familiar embrace of the cold ocean water on her skin and the inviting darkness of the underwater caves she called home. Yet she would never again be able to see them as long as she remained a prisoner of a certain Al-Asim heir. He’d become infatuated with her after she saved him from drowning during a trip he’d taken with his family across Outcast’s Trench two years prior.

At the time she had thought nothing of her act of kindness to the young man. Saving wayward travelers over the trench was something she’d been doing since she was a wee lass. Yet her selfless actions had struck a chord in Kalim’s heart, or maybe he was just fascinated by what she was. After all, selkies like (Y/n) did not swim south to the mainland often to the point they were considered to be a myth like two-headed dogs and the boogieman. The young man had had a thousand questions as he stroked her sealskin. The selkie had tried her best to answer his questions best she could hoping once she had he’d finally leave her be. But he hadn’t, for it seemed for every question she answered he had another two ready to follow. He seemed particularly interested in how the only way to keep a selkie was by stealing their skin and hiding it away. (Y/n) grew wary at this and started creeping towards the water holding onto her sealskin as she moved. She was forced to rip the pelt away from Kalim’s grip in order to flee even as he called desperately after her.

Two years passed without much trouble, then the boy had returned and trapped her in a net before stealing her sealskin from her. He took her home then, his home that is in the Land of Hot Sands and then onto Night Raven College where he spent his school year studying with (Y/n) by his side. Everyday while he was away at classes she searched for her stolen skin for only by reuniting herself with her property could she leave this place and return home without being in constant, excruciating pain at being away from Kalim. Today when he was supposed to be away at classes he was instead hanging around the dorm with the biggest grin on his face. “You’ll never guess what day it is, Pearly!” Kalim said excitedly cuddling up next to (Y/n) and pressing kisses all over her face. Reluctantly she allowed him shower her in affection as that was much easier than the alternative of being guilt-tripped by his tears and sniffles. “It’s my birthday today! In a little bit we’re gonna have a big old party and it's gonna be so much fun” he added, squeezing her tightly.

(Y/n) let out a noncommittal grunt and allowed herself to be dragged along to the main banquet room where a feast was already laid out with a roaring fire at the center. By the fire was an object she remembered quite well even after months of not seeing it: her pelt! The selkie tried to make a break for it away from her captor but some nearby students stepped in to hold her down as Kalim made his way to the skin and held it up. “I wonder what would happen if I burnt this…” he mused, staring right at his darling as he did so. The young woman began to panic at this statement, throwing herself at the floor and scream-pleading for Kalim to stop, to not do what he said he would. Her words fell on deaf ears as the young man tossed the skin into the fire making (Y/n) let out a bloodcurdling scream as she felt a part of herself die with the skin’s destruction. After she’d gone quiet, she went limp making it no longer necessary to hold her back as she crumpled into a pile on the floor, weeping softly as she curled into a ball. “Awww Pearly, there’s no need to cry. That old ratty skin didn’t suit you anyways” Kalim crooned as he made his way back over to the selkie and stroked her back. “Besides I got you something new to replace it. It might be my birthday but I wanna give you a gift too” he added before snapping his fingers to signal for a parcel to be brought to him. He carefully opened it before draping its contents over (Y/n)’s shoulders. When she opened her eyes to see what it was her stomach twisted: polar bear fur, of course. “You look so pretty now, Pearly!” Kalim said with a smile forcing the girl to uncurl her body so he could properly fasten the snaps that closed the front of the coat and pull his darling selkie into his lap. “I knew the fur would look perfect on you, well everything looks good on you but that's besides the point…” he said after a moment before shaking his head. “Anyways it doesn’t really matter cause you’re still pretty even without anything on at all, and i’ll prove it right now” he finished before slipping his hands under her clothes… THE END

#Yandere Twisted Wonderland #Twisted Wonderland #TWST #Yandere TWST #Kalim Al Asim #Yandere Kalim Al Asim

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lord-westley · 3 years

Note

Hi hun, I don't know if your requests are open right now, but I could really use some sort of comfort Imagine right now and I was hoping I could come and ask you. It doesn't even have to be a full set of Headcanons, just a short blurb about some Characters will do if that's fine with you.

I've been really struggling with my chronic illnesses lately, and I keep imagining the Fellowship taking care of me, so I thought I'd ask for an Imagine about that. I have a really weird condition where my right leg is physically longer than my left, which causes really intense pain in my hip and leg and also difficulty walking, so I've been really struggling with that lately. There's also the chronic fatigue from my sleep apnea, I'm absolutely covered in bruises that I don't remember getting, the classic anxiety and depression and executive dysfunction.. it's just been a difficult week tbh.

I'd appreciate any kind words right now. Thanks for being so kind and supportive to me, it means more than you could ever know. I hope it's alright that I ask this of you. Godspeed, hun 💕

Comfort HC’s

Platonic!Fellowship x Reader

Post LOTR; Comfort

Warnings: Mentions chronic pain, anxiety, depression, PTSD

A/N: Hello Ro! I’m sorry this took a while, I hope the pain eases soon and that these headcanons help. If you ever need to talk, my DM's are open anytime!

You’ve known the Fellowship ever since you were a little girl. You met them when your parents sent you off to Imladris to seek the aid of Lord Elrond, one of the greatest healers in Middle-Earth. For you had an unusual physical condition, where your right leg grew longer than your left. It made walking difficult and a burning pain to spiderweb from your hip down.

Lord Elrond tried everything he could in his power to help you, and yet there was little he could do except ease the pain. No amount of magic can prevent physical growth.

The tears that welled up in your eyes that day pained him more than any wound can. A child, barely twelve years old, experiencing such excruciating pain right in front of him, and yet he can’t do anything about it. And from that moment on, he promised to you that he’d do anything he can to help you, and care for you.

So with the permission of your worried parents, Lord Elrond gave you an offer to stay in Imladris for as long as you wish. To heal and receive the care you need. Which you kindly accepted.

For years up to adulthood, you lived in Imladris; drinking Athleas tea every morning and night for the pain and sleep apnea. While it wasn’t a cure, it helped make life much more bearable. Allowing you to enjoy certain activities and walk around with only half the pain.

During those years you became great friends with the Fellowship. For they travelled often to Imladris to visit and rest between trips. They became your family, always joking and telling stories of their travels; teaching you new tricks and how to defend yourself. And in return you’d tell them stories of the elves around you. How the Ellon in the smithy loves to tease the Elleth in the bakery. Or how the children would braid flower crowns for you.

The boys know of your difficulties with your leg and illnesses. They’re constantly worried for you; asking how you are, helping when the pain begins to spike and holding you when you begin to cry. Everytime it starts getting bad again, they tell you it's okay to feel weak and to cry. That you don’t have to be strong all the time.

Aragorn

Aragorn is surprisingly soft despite his tough exterior

He believes that crying and venting about your frustrations is the most healthy way to deal

So on days you are having a rough time he’ll sit down with you in his lap, holding you tightly into his chest. One arm around your body and one hand in your hair

Aragorn will let you cry and yell into him, all while pressing small kisses into your hair

He’s not a very wordy person, so it’s not often he will whisper sweet things, but when he does. It’s always so soft and helps relax you

“Deep breaths Hun, It’ll be okay”

Legolas

A soft baby- an absolute angel when it comes to comforting you

Legolas is very big on grounding yourself and staying focused on your surroundings

So when he notices you’re beginning to have a rough time, nearing a panic attack, He preps a cup of Athleas tea and brings you to a private area

He’ll have you sit between his legs, and his arms gently wrapped around you torso

Legolas will have you ground yourself by telling him 3 things you smell, feel, hear and see

“Close your eyes, little one and listen… Listen to the birds sing”

As you begin to relax, he whispers praises, proud of how strong you are

“You’re doing so well, I’m proud of you”

Boromir

I love this man oml

If you’re bedridden due to the pain he’d 100% do whatever you ask of him

Need more pillows? Steals them from every. Single. Bedroom.

“Boro- holy crap how many did you take!?”

“Uh.. all?”

There is now a national shortage of pillows

Need more warmth? Will make a nest of blankets and wrap you up in his cloak

Comfort?? CUDDLES FOR DAYS

Boromir is there for you every step of the way

If you start crying, He might cry with you- absolutely hates seeing you in such pain

“I’m sorry- Im so sorry Darling. I wish there was more I could do for you”

Gimli

In true Gimli fashion, when he notices your anxiety he 100% wants to fight whoever triggered it

He gets a bit aggressive in the beginning, insisting to fist fight your problems away

but when you tell him that it’s something that can't be fought off, that its a constant thing, he calms down and just

“Oh”

“Oh oh wait Im so sorry”

Cue soft Gimli

Will rub your back affectionately while speaking softly

Asking if there is anything he could do to help

Another babe who will do anything you ask of him

If the panic attack happens in public, Gimli will bring you somewhere more private

He’ll shield you with his body from the eyes of the public and glare at anyone who dares stare

Not very good with soft comfort but if you ever need to feel safe and protected go to him

“Dont worry Lassie” (head pats) “I’ll protect you, You’re safe now”

Frodo

Sweet darling baby angel bean

He completely understands your anxieties and pain

Frodo did carry the one ring across middle earth after all

He absolutely has PTSD from it, so there have been many times the two of you would stay up late together when you can’t sleep, drinking tea

You find comfort in the fact that he’s quite similar to you, and vice versa

Most often, you guys will talk about what's going on and comfort each other

On the nights the two of you don’t wish to talk, Frodo will read stories to you

His voice is so soft and comforting, It never fails to lull you to sleep

“None of them noticed a large, tawny owl flutter past the window” He reads aloud, peaking up at you and notices the way your lips part, a soft snore emitting. He hums, “Goodnight Y/N, sleep well”

Sam

This hobbit is such a softie

He understands that with mental disorders, you may forget to eat or care for yourself

So he always watches you, making sure you’re eating and you aren’t

Oh boy

Will cook your favorite meals and make you sit with him to eat breakfast, lunch and dinner

“Ah, I hope you enjoy the meal. I made your favorite!”

“Thank you, Sam..”

Ensuring you drink your water

Or if you don’t like plain water, make some tea. Anything really to make sure you get your fluids

As a gardener, Sam is busy quite often, tending to, well, gardens

He’ll set up a picnic nearby for you with finger sandwiches, drinks, and fruit that way you had company and can relax fully in the peacefulness of nature

Definitely will give you a bouquet of flowers at the end of the day

“I picked these for you Y/N!”

Merry and Pippin

Okay so these two are together cause well. They’re always together

Except that one scene

Absolute kings of distraction when you’re feeling depressed

You might want to just sleep it off- but we all know that never really helps

They’ll make so many jokes and sing and dance around just to make you laugh

Which often leads to them singing even louder and cruder, annoying every elf in the area

“Lucky Annie was a lady who’d been pleased by many men- They all would sail away but then they’d come right back again”

Yes they sing sea shanties

Oops

On days that you don’t have the energy to deal with such shenanigans, they’ll tone it down

The three of you will often be found in the field during these days, Tossing a ball back n forth

Or giggling amongst yourself, gossiping about the rest of the fellowship

“I don’t know Merry, Gandalf is kinda hot in an old man way”

“Pippin what the hell”

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sugako · 3 years

Text

sweetness

osamu xf!baker!reader sum: your unrequited crush on the man you sell to is weighing heavily on you until one little party later it isn’t an issue cw: 18+ minors dni, a lil fluff, a lil angst (reader is sad bc they don't think samu feels the same), mentions of drinking/alcohol/party (no one is drunk during), kinda confessions, first time with each other, nipple play, oral (receiving) wc: 3.5k a/n: hi !! uhh i have had this is drafts for months bc i struggled to post it and idk why,, it's def a little longer than usual and little more plot-heavy(ish) but i hope you all enjoy pussy king samu <3

It felt as though you were admiring him from a distance even when he was standing right beside you.

The afternoon that the owner of Onigiri Miya had called up your small bakery to partner with his business you had been overjoyed. Honestly, you were still happy, it was just tinged by something deeper or different now. You were certainly still happy to sell your goods through the business, but your feelings had really gotten the better of you.

The day, actually the moment you met Osamu you told yourself to get over the petty crush you had developed within minutes of meeting him. His big, tall frame made you feel as though he could wrap his arms around you and everything would be okay. His pretty, steely eyes and soft features relaxed you, made you feel at home.

A week later you were groaning into your pillow when he texted a simple, polite compliment about your baked goods. Desperately, you hoped that the fuzzy feeling would melt away any day now.

Every single time you had to see him again and again to drop off your bi-weekly delivery, the feelings didn’t fade. If anything they grew stronger. The quick, comfortable banter you shared made your chest fill with molten gold that always seemed to harden into a tough little peach pit, strangling the words from your throat whenever you got back into your car.

A month later you were crying to yourself at 2 AM about how you couldn’t get over him even though you hadn’t even been close to a relationship. It was impossible. How were you supposed to get closure from someone you were merely business partners with.

You cursed the way your heart sped up when you got a new text from him. Over and over again you had to remind yourself that it was purely business.

Onigiri Miya (Osamu): Hi, do you want to swing by tomorrow? Lunch is on me

Fingers swiped over the keyboard, groaning as you asked what you should bring for the restock, not realizing it had been two weeks already.

Onigiri Miya (Osamu): Everything is selling fast, but I won’t need anything for a bit, just wanted to chat not about business

Without hesitation you agreed. Even if you were sure he didn’t feel the same, it wouldn’t hurt to keep up a personal relationship with a business. The fact that he had texted you deep into the night without prompt didn’t make it into your busy mind.

Those two little texts were how you found yourself taking a deep breath outside the Onigiri Miya a little after the lunch rush. You stepped into the nearly empty building, immediately greeted by Osamu’s soft, low voice.

“I have to run to the back, but I put a plate for you out.” He calls, disappearing just as the door closes behind you.

It’s painful to admit how your heart swells at the gesture. Your favorite onigiri of his is neatly plated in front of a corner seat at the bar. The two other people on the opposite side of the store are quietly chatting, paying no mind while you settle into your seat. Before you can take a bite he’s bustling back in.

“Sorry ‘bout that, got a call.” He says, leaning over the counter in front of you. The way his broad chest is squished by his shoulders.

“No worries.” You say just before biting into the food. He snatches one of the rice balls from your plate, but your mouth is too full and you’re too grateful to protest. “So,” you begin after you swallow, “what did you want to talk about?”

You can’t tell whether the air is thick with awkward tension or if it’s just you.

“I mean, obviously not business.” As you speak, a strangled, little chuckled forces its way out of the back of your throat, but you take another bite of food before it gets out of hand.

He’s silent for a moment, slowly chewing his food. Maybe savoring it or maybe thinking, you can’t quite tell which.

“Can you take nights off from the bakery? I remember you saying ya do a lot of baking and prepping at night.” His expression is impossible to read and you want to tell him that this is, at least for you, business talk, but you hold back and simply answer the question.

“Well, yeah, if I needed to. Uh, why?” You catch how his shoulders tense and lower, his eyes shifting across the windows in the front. Unfortunately, his own anxiety does very little to quell any of your own.

“My brother is having a party and I’m… obligated to go, but I won’t know many people there, they’ll all be his teammates, so I was wondering if you would like to go with me? If you don’t have a… I mean, if you don’t have any plans.” His expression remains still, but there’s a small flush in his cheeks that you catch on immediately. Something in your heart softens with hope.

“You’re twin volleyball brother?” You ask, biting back a smile. “Also, you’ll have to tell me what time the party is and then I’ll let you know if I have plans, but I’m probably free.”

The flush deepens as he recognizes his mistake and slowly blinks, shaking his head. “Yes, ‘Tsumu, the volleyball brother. And the party is next Friday. Around nine.”

Within the limited time you’d spent with him he’d told you about his brother and his old friends. Confidence growing, but not quite steady, you uneasily treaded into your next words.

“Yeah, I’m not working next Friday actually, so that sounds good. Should I text you for the address or…?”

“Meet me here, I can take you. Best to take the train, but it’ll be easier if we go together.”

Deep in the center of the city, standing close enough to smell the soft fragrance of cologne, you still weren’t sure how easily you had ended up here at the house party filled with strangers hosted by your customer’s pro athlete brother. It was a little much to think about if you took too much pause. Before you could slip into your own brain too much your cheek smushed into the thick muscle of Osamu’s solid back that had suddenly stopped moving, and as you sputtered out an apology the door swung open without him even knocking.

“Hey! Did you really not a-” The blonde mirror image of the man standing directly in front of you eats whatever words are about to spill out of his mouth when he notices you peeking out from beside Osamu. Realizing how ridiculously childish you must look tucked away behind him, you clear your throat and step out so you’re by his side instead.

“Hi, I’m y/n.” You say politely, extending a hand for him to shake. Atsumu’s eyes flit between you and his brother, not bothering to hide a smirk.

“Oh, I know.” He finally says when he takes your hand. Out of sheer embarrassment or maybe anxiety, you feel pricks of heat chase out to your fingertips. The sensation is only compounded by Osamu’s feather-light touch that grazes the small of your back as he tries to lead you past his brother.

“Really,” you start, with a sly little smile, “he’s told me about you’re very impressive-”

“Okay.” Osamu says a little too sharply. He’s glad you’re at ease, but less glad that you’ve immediately taken to lightly teasing him with his brother. “Let’s head in.” The warm breath of his whisper jolts through you and you find yourself nodding, letting his touch lead you.

Just as the door is closing behind you and the excruciating reverb of the music seeps into your ears, you barely catch what Atsumu mumbles before he slips into the crowd of people. “Maybe you’ll finally show her how much ya like her.”

Osamu doesn’t respond, and for a second you think maybe he didn’t hear him, but the way his fingers dig into your back tells you otherwise. You simply pretend that you heard nothing, pointing to the drink dispensers lined up on the kitchen counter across the room. After a quick drink of the sweet, burning mystery drink and after Atsumu started to keep his distance - too busy hounding his one teammate with the dark curls whose name you couldn’t quite remember - things went smoothly.

Time passed quickly, helped on by the dozens of new people you were introduced to. The small talk and repetitive questions had you mentally winded, but Osamu’s constant touch whether on your elbow or back or shoulder grounded you. Instead of feeling your heart race as it usually did when he was near, you only felt calm.

It all came crashing down sometime deep into the night when most of the guests had headed home and those left over passed out, scattered everywhere about the house. Well, everywhere aside from the neat guest bedroom tucked away toward the back that Osamu had pulled you back to when the last man (who had drunkenly tried teaching you how to say ‘volleyball’ in Portuguese) had finally passed out.

The single drink you had gulped down hours ago was long gone from your system, but even without it you still found it easy to speak with him, even as his arms inconspicuously wrapped around your torso and brought you down to lie beside him on the bed. Staring up at the ceiling for a moment while the two of you remained in short silence, a thought came to your head, another thing you want to tell him or ask him. You’re not sure which because in the next moment, when you whip your head to face him, he does the same.

If you had been any closer your faces would’ve smashed together. Any farther away and you wouldn’t be brushing lips. Just as soon as the touch begins, it ends with you scrambling away, stopped from falling off the bed by his strong arm wrapping around and pulling you back to his chest. The silence thickens with every second that neither of you speak, but he thankfully breaks it within the minute.

The words fumble around the front of your mouth like your mouth is numb. “I’m so sorry that-!”

“Well, that wasn’t really a proper kiss.” He says plainly, a smile barely etching its way onto the corner of his lips.

“N-no, it was not.” You whisper. It doesn’t quite feel real when he kisses you for real, and for a second you’re worried you’ve deluded yourself. You sigh into his firm touch, finally releasing the tension in your chest and letting your own lightly trembling hands trace up the space between your chests to settle against his. His body is softer than you had thought it would feel, somehow so much more comforting and homey than you could have imagined.

After an endless moment, his mouth strains against yours as he forces himself to pull away with a little huff. Your eyes find his, bright and hopeful, and still a little bit surprised. Between all your personal longing and resignation that he didn’t feel the same, you hadn’t noticed the way he smiled more when you were nearby, the little blush that dusted his cheeks when you complimented his cooking that first time, and so much more.

“Wanted to do that for a long time.” He sighs, leaning his forehead against yours and letting his heavy eyes close. Hiding your grin in his chest, you nod, wrapping your arms around him and snuggling in closer. When your knee glides against his thigh in an attempt to get more comfortable and flush to him, he clears his throat. “We should get changed if we’re going to sleep here. I have extra clothes in the dresser.”

“Okay.” You nod slightly, not wanting to move just yet. He seems to be with you because, despite his own words, he remains exactly in place with his grip just as tight as ever around your waist. “...Samu?” You finally ask, pulling back far enough to look up at him.

“I wanna kiss you again.”

“Okay,” you repeat, “then kiss me again.” The crooked, giddy smile you’re giving him seems to tense him up even more.

He inhales deeply through his nose, eyes darkening as they flicker across the planes of your face. “I wanna, but I don’t want to push this unless you feel the same.”

If your tired heart could vibrate any harder it would probably be bursting out of your chest.

“Well, I feel that we should kiss again,” you press a peck to his cheek hoping it’ll steady your next vulnerable words, “because I’ve thought about you a lot, and I really like this.” You emphasize your words by glancing down at the negative space between your bodies and running your hand up the built expanse of his shoulders.

Humming, he cradles the back of your head, gracefully moving to straddle you and ghost his lips over yours. “In that case, tell me when to stop.” The hot breathy fan of air from his whisper barely hits your cheeks before he’s pressing a deep kiss against your lips.

You slot together like perfect puzzle pieces, limbs finding the just the right spots to fit into. Mouths move desperately, passionately and without thinking your fingers start dancing under the hem of his shirt, brushing against the hot skin beneath. With a tempered groan, he uncouples his lips from yours, kissing along your jaw and quickly moving to trace down your neck. The kitten nips and licks against your collarbone send electricity through your bones, forcing you to flex into him, hips awkwardly jutting forward for something more.

“You… you, ah, are so perfect.” You pant, eyes blinking wide open when the calloused tips of his fingers roughly trail under your shirt, up your sides, stopping just short of your chest to flip your shirt up.

Groaning so quietly you barely hear him, he buries himself between your breasts and sighs against your skin. “Yer even more beautiful up close and without all this,” he pauses for the briefest moment to undo your bra and lift it over your head with the shirt, “extra stuff on.”

Scoffing out a short giggle, you relax back, watching how his eyes drink you in as though they’ve been starved. “By extra stuff you mea-!” The quip is promptly cut off by the feeling of his mouth latching around one breast, the other being tended to by his opposite hand. Not a moment later he pulls away, smiling as you let out a pitchy whine.

“Yer pretty mouthy when yer comfortable, huh?” He mumbles, lips ghosting over your nipple while the one in his hand continues to be teased.

“N-no,” you rush to disagree. Judging by the eye roll he gives you, he doesn’t seem to believe you, but he doesn’t say anything more, simply bringing his attention back to your chest.

The way his suckles tiny, bright purple marks into your skin sends heat pooling into your stomach, hips noticeably grinding up against him now. As the seconds drag on, he doesn’t seem interested in anything other than your tits, enamored with the way they feel in his hand and mouth. It’s almost too much, and you feel your stomach tightening with every moment the teasing continues.

“Samu,” you whine softly, “samu, please, can’t s’too much, really need…” The words are jumbled and garbled. You can’t quite sort your brain to come up with anything coherent, distracted by the wet pooling in your underwear and the weight of his body crowding over yours.

“Sensitive tits?” He coos with a sharp glint in his eyes, gears obviously moving in his head for the future. “That’s okay,” he continues while pressing a soft kiss to each of your breasts, “What do you really need?”

“Need you to touch me.”

For a second, his mouth opens but he doesn’t speak. You fear he’s going to tease you, make you explain in lewd detail how bad you need him and where you want him to touch you, but he doesn’t. He simply nods, truthfully too caught up in the intoxicating feeling of your body and too impatient to feel you for the first time to drag this out.

“Good girl, I’m gonna take these off.” He starts, hooking his fingers under the waistband of your pants and underwear to take them off together. Without hesitation, his eyes travel between your legs. “Such a pretty, little cunt.” He hums already squeezing in between your thighs. Obviously distracted, he peppers little kissed up the sensitive skin on the inside of your thighs, still caught up staring at your soaking mess.

“Samu, please…” You whine. While you know he isn’t purposefully teasing, well you don’t know but you don’t think at least, it’s just as frustrating. Your knees lock around his thick shoulders, pulling him closer to your heat.

“Okay, okay, pretty girl.” He grumbles, lapping right at the crook of your thigh and hip. There’s a split second of tense silence wherein he carefully spread your lips admiring the glisten of your slick under the dim light of the lamp. Your entire body is tense with anticipation, legs shaking as they struggled to spread around his wide frame.

And just like that quiet moment is over - he laps you up so desperately and greedily you’re twitching under his grasp, clawing at the wrinkled bed sheets below you for anything to ground you. He doesn’t stop when he shifts your legs over his shoulders and wraps his hands around the bottom of your tummy to keep your jostling hips in place.

When you finally look back down to grab his hand, keeping a vice grip around his fingers, you also glance down for the first time. His dark, hazy eyes meet yours and you completely relax at last.

The feeling doesn’t last long, not when he pushes his tongue into your tight, unprepared hole, slurping all he can get and pushing in as far as he can go. Osamu’s eyes roll to the back of his head at the sensation, your cum dribbling down his chin and coating up to his nose that keeps brushing against your throbbing clit.

With a solid, squelching pop he tears away from you. “Taste so good,” he heaves, lips coming back even as he’s speaking, ghosting over you. He buries himself in your cunt again, this time focusing solely on your clit, cycling through different motions until he finds the one that makes your hips strain under his sturdy hold.

“Feel so good!” You sigh. “Please, please wanna cum.”

Smirking against you, he takes the hand you’re not clinging to back under your thigh and props it against your ass, slowly teasing a finger in. Absolutely gushing now, it slips in easily. You can feel his smile grow again for a moment before he refocuses on your clit, motions speeding up and increasing the pressure with which he worked. It’s impossible to not shudder under him now, especially with one arm only holding you down.

“C’mon, pretty girl, cum.” He murmurs, easily hooking a second finger into you, pumping and curling them in time with his tongue. As he feels you flutter and cream he can’t help but rut into the mattress, cock swelling from the taste of you. The pressure inside is too much and your want to let go is pushing you closer and closer, although it’s his mouth and fingers that really push you forward.

“C-cu-!” The words get trapped in your throat, overtaken by a hushed moan you struggle to bite back, trying - but very much failing - to be mindful of all the half-sleeping people strewn through the house. He slowly brings you down, fingers winding down and tongue lapping up your swollen clit while you convulse at his touch in time with the fluttering of your cunt.

At last, you have to drag him off, needily tugging up on his hands until he lets go. You try to pull him in to kiss, but he hesitates, his strength far outweighing your weak, blissful one and he hovers above you. There’s no reason to ask because almost immediately his fingers that were inside of you, absolutely drenched, come up to his mouth so he can make a show of sucking them dry for you.

“Taste even better than the stuff you make.” He sighs, letting you drag him down to your face. You can smell and taste yourself so strongly on his damp lips, it clouds your already hazy senses.

“Hmm,” you manage out, when he rests his entire body weight against yours, lips pressed into the side of your head. It’s only when you go to shift that you feel him pressing so incredibly hard and flush to you exposed skin through his soft pants, that you perk up. “Samu,” you begin brushing your fingers through his soft, dark hair, “can I...wanna help you.”

“Mhmm,” he nestles against your neck, kissing over the spots he left behind earlier, “in a minute, pretty girl, we have a lot of time ahead of us.”

#osamu x reader #miya osamu x reader #osamu miya x reader #osamu smut #miya osamu smut #osamu miya smut #hq smut

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mianavs · 4 years

Text

the re-education

Falling in Stockholm part 5 (finale)

a/n: thank you for all of the likes and reblogs! a sequel will be written in the future with another major character that i hinted at in the beginning~ hope you guys enjoy this final part :)

tw: non-con, somnophilia, smut, torture, mind break

wc: 2.3k

Falling in Stockholm

You were at an onsen.

The hot water surrounding your naked form relaxed your fatigued muscles and enveloped you in pleasure. The longer you soaked in the steaming outdoor bath, the warmer your cheeks became and the dizzier you felt. Leaning back against the rock wall, you closed your eyes as a jet of water rose up and surged between your upper thighs drawing a low moan from you. Released of all your tension, your mind fogged up and eyelids grew heavy as your body began to nod off.

Hard grips on your thighs and a painful intrusion in your cunt woke you up to your horrific reality. Your limbs were still restrained by leather straps and tied to the four corners of the bed. The blindfold was still secured over your eyes and served to distort your sense of reality. Cool air still tickled your naked body that remained splayed open as the initial dull pain between your legs dissipated. Your captor’s ministrations on your sex while you slept made it easier for him to slip in and out of your slickened cunt.

Dabi’s disembodied grunts stopped when you started to struggle against his hold on your thighs.

“I knew this was the best way to wake you up.” He laughed still rutting into you like an animal in heat.

“Sick bastard!”

At your insult, Dabi slammed his length painfully into your abused hole. Each thrust hit your cervix without fail until you were whimpering in pain from the roughness with which he fucked you.

“H-hurts. It hurts! Agh-”

Dabi’s deformed hand gripped your throat depleting your lungs of air. Soon, your body began to spasm and choked gasps escaped your mouth as you desperately writhed underneath his iron grip.

“You feel so good, Y/N,” Dabi chuckled but continued pounding into your messy cunt. “You tighten up when you can’t breathe.”

Dabi’s cruel laugh faded away as the lack of oxygen messed with your head. Specks of white dotted your darkened vision while your body tensed painfully as the remnants of your will to fight were squeezed out you. It was all too much and you eventually stopped resisting. Barely holding on to your consciousness, one final groan and hot spurts of semen into your womb preceded the release of your throat. Wheezing and coughing for air, you never appreciated the feeling of Dabi’s cum oozing out of your cunt more than you did in that moment.

The weight on top of you shifted and the bed creaked as Dabi got off and walked away. The hum of the bathroom light followed by the sound of running water served to calm you down while your breathing evened out. The longer the blindfold stayed on, the easier it was for your mind to wander until you eventually succumbed to sleep.

You were drowning.

Cold water splashed your face and you woke up gasping and coughing on a soaked bed. The clanking noise of metal bouncing on concrete made you jump in surprise. Your ears then started to ring and your drumming heart rose to your throat clogging your windpipe until you couldn’t breathe. The panic attack wreaked havoc on your mind and body and you tugged at your restraints and screamed like a wild animal. The sound of Dabi’s footsteps stopped your hoarse screams and overwhelming terror stiffened every muscle until you lay absolutely rigid.

“Shhh…it’s time for your re-education,” Dabi’s hand hovered over your cheek but you recoiled from his touch. A sound of displeasure left his lips before his hand connected with your face and a harsh crack echoed in your ears.

“Who are you?”

Dabi’s question was met with your silence. You didn’t know what answer he wanted and believed remaining silent was your best bet. There was a deafening silence before a disembodied sigh came from Dabi that was then followed by the crack of a whip.

“AGH!-”

“Who are you?” The question was the same but you made sure to answer this time.

“Y/N!” You cried out not knowing what else to say but hoped it would stop the torture.

Dabi brought the whip down on your right leg this time and tears burned your eyes. The excruciating pain from the whip was similar to the one his quirk inflicted and that, along with your already weakened state, crumbled away at your cracked sanity.

“H/N!”

“L/N!”

“FUCK!”

“HELP-“

No matter what you said, the crack of the whip remained constant. To your horror, Dabi started hitting the same spots ripping open old wounds or making fresh ones on the expanse of your skin. In your delirious state, you weren’t sure if the warm dampness on your skin was leftover water, sweat, or blood.

“…d-don’t…know,” you mumbled, trembling violently. “W-who…am I?”

The sound of the whip made you flinch instinctively, only this time it hit the ground instead. You waited for Dabi to make a sound, a movement, but he remained still while you waited for the pain to come.

“Mine,” that rough voice replied. “You’re mine.”

Suddenly, hands clasped your cheeks and you gasped in response. His warm breath drew closer to your face and you braced yourself for another rough kiss only to feel it travel to your ear.

“Years ago, I was a lost child until the Mayor saved me—just like you. He trained me separately but told me everything about you. Your quirk, your personality, your strengths, your weaknesses, but most importantly he told me about our future. He wanted us to work together—to be together—and take down hero society.”

“M-mayor?” Cohesive thoughts were beyond the capabilities of your fractured mind. That one word was the only thing you could get out.

“Mhmm,” Dabi purred into your ear. “He trained me just like he trained you. We were going to meet soon but those heroes had to go and ruin everything. They killed the Mayor and took you away from me.”

Memories of the Mayor’s death flooded your mind. The stand-off between him and a faceless hero. You, jumping in between them to shield the Mayor like he’d train you to do. Exhausting your quirk and being thrown out of the way. And finally, the life leaving the Mayor’s eyes as you crawled to his body with tears streaming down your face.

You couldn’t reject your memories any longer. The Mayor had been like a father to you and his death had hurt you as much as your parent’s death did. The heroes had to pry you away from his corpse and even then, you fought against them tooth and nail. The only way they managed to control you was with tranquilizers and quirk inhibitors. For a couple of months, your new reality consisted of hospital visits, interrogations, and drugs until the HPSC molded you into an obedient child that they could ship off to an orphanage.

“I t-tried but…heroes…too strong.”

“I know, I know.” Dabi reassured you by pressing his lips to your temple; this time you didn’t pull away. “Do you understand now? I’m making things right again. I’m trying to help you, Y/N. The heroes messed with your head but I’m gonna make it better—just like the Mayor.”

“H-hurt?” You whimpered after Dabi’s warmth disappeared.

“The faster you let go of your hero identity, the less it’ll hurt.”

Your re-education continued with Dabi posing questions and you answering them honestly. Dabi could tell when you were lying and would punish you accordingly.

“You know better than to lie to me, Y/N.”

The punishments Dabi inflicted were less harsh after your conversation. It was like Dabi knew you were trying to fix your tainted mindset and rewarded you by not hurting you so much. In turn, you stopped seeing Dabi as a villain and saw him more like a mentor. He was going through these great lengths to help you and you accepted each burn, slap, punch, cut, and bruise with gratitude.

Each session ended with a kiss to your forehead and sweet words of praise that made your heart soar with pride. Dabi always cleaned you up after each session. He released you from your restraints, cleaned and disinfected your wounds, gave you a bath every now and then, and made sure to feed you and give you water before lying you on the bed. You usually fell asleep before he tied you back up but even when you didn’t, you never fought him on it. After all, everything Dabi did was for your own good.

Then, just when your mind was almost completely fixed, you woke up to a deafening silence that seemed to last forever. You realized Dabi wasn’t in the room nor in the premises and you grew anxious. The longer he was gone, the darker your thoughts became regarding what had happened to him. A particularly terrifying thought that came to mind incited a full-blown panic attack that left you sweaty shaky mess.

What if the heroes got him?

What if they find me and ruin me again?

What if they killed him?

No No No No!

You needed Dabi. He couldn’t just leave you like that. He promised to make things better. He promised to fix you. You couldn’t live without him; you were his. You lay on the bed with tears soaking your blindfold until poisonous thoughts flooded your mind and contorted your fear into rage.

It’s the heroes’ fault.

Those bastards will pay if they hurt him.

I’ll kill them all

Your mind and body eventually tired themselves out and you fell into a deep sleep. With your mind altered to what it had once been, you dreamt of the Mayor. He looked the same as he’d been when he’d died while you were your current age. He wore a proud smile on his normally hard-set face as he looked at you. Suddenly, his eyes shifted and you felt a presence next to you. Turning, you saw Dabi standing next to you. He looked down at you with a smirk before possessively wrapping his arm around you and bringing you to his chest. You closed your eyes and melted into him, inhaling his signature scent of musk and smoke. Looking back to the Mayor, his smile had grown seeing you and Dabi together and approached the two of you. Basking in the warm feeling of being in Dabi’s arms and having the Mayor’s approval, you closed your eyes and hoped the dream would never end.

The rattling of the door woke you up in an instant. Your entire body tensed as you waited for the door to open and the sound of footsteps to inform you who it was. You’d burned the sound of Dabi’s footsteps into your memory ever since he’d taken away your sight.

When the door swung open and the familiar lazy shuffle of Dabi’s feet reached your ears, you broke out in tears of relief. Your cries seemed to shock the man who stopped moving for a while before rushing to your side.

“W-where w-were…you?! I-I was…w-worried!” Your body shook as sobs tore through you.

Dabi remained silent but you heard him take a step forward and before you knew it, his hands hovered over your ankles and undid your restraints before working on the ones around your wrists. When your hands were finally free, you ripped off the soaked material over your eyes only to be blinded by the harsh florescent lights of the room. As soon as your eyes adjusted, you were able to make out Dabi’s face.

After not being able to see him in what seemed like forever, you were overcome with emotion as your eyes hungrily took in his face. He looked tired and worn out but, other than that, perfectly imperfect. The disfigured face that once made you sick, now made your heart race.

With tears of joy, you threw your weak arms around his neck and clung to him, burying your face in his neck.

“Please! D-don’t…leave a-again”

His arms wrapped around your waist and held you up. “I’m sorry.”

Your heart hammered in your chest as heat pooled into your core the longer Dabi’s hands were splayed on your bare skin. It felt like an eternity since he’d held you so intimately and you craved more. Taking matters into your own hands, you trailed your mouth up his marred neck to his face leaving a path of kisses in your wake.

“I…missed you,” you admitted to his astonishment before you crashed your lips onto his deformed ones.

You took the initiative, tasting his mouth and relishing in the warmth of his wet tongue. Your fingers dug into his messy hair and used it as leverage to pull him closer, deepening your kiss. The trance Dabi was in broke when you began tugging on his hair and he took over the kiss, leaving you breathless and aroused.

Soon, a familiar ache in your sex had you grinding against Dabi’s jeaned thigh for some much-needed friction. Noticing your intentions, Dabi smirked against your mouth before resting his knee on the bed and allowing you to straddle his thigh. As you continued to desperately rub your clit on the rough material, he kissed and sucked on a sensitive spot on your neck that drew soft whimpers from your bruised lips. Your slick dribbled out of your cunt and covered Dabi’s leg but you didn’t let that stop you from chasing your orgasm.

A strangled cry and your creamy cum coating Dabi’s jeans signaled your release. Exhausted from your exertions, you collapsed against Dabi completely spent. He held you up as he maneuvered himself to sit on the bed before setting you down on his lap and wrapping his arms around you. Snuggling against his chest, you could hear his rapid heartbeat that matched your own and it was all you needed to admit out loud the realization you’d come to.

“I…love you, Dabi.” You murmured, desperately clutching his shirt as if that would stop him from ever leaving you again. “Please…stay with me.”

“Always.” Dabi replied tightening his hold on you as if that would keep you by his side forever.

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xhanisai · 3 years

Text

Confront the boundary line of good and evil in my heart

AO3 / FFN

Summary:

It wasn't her fault! No way whatsoever! But still... Still... 'It really does hurt so bad...so much, I can't take it!'

~(x)~ . . . Tick. Tock. "I'm so sorry Chat Noir! I didn't mean to- I just- I just completely broke down and she was right there and I needed someone-" "It's okay, Bug. I understand, don't apologise," Tick. Tock. "It's not okay at all! You've wanted to know for so long, so patiently and I have always said no- and then look at me now! A hypocrite! This is probably a huge sucker-punch for you and I hate that I've always kept on hurting you back then but now, this takes the cake-" "N-No, I'm fine, honest...really. What matters is your happiness and wellbeing-" "But what about you!?" "..." Tick- "...Kid, talk to me, please. The way you're staring out into space is scaring me." The subdued, raspy voice belonging to the ancient being of destruction went unheard. The boy in question continued to observe the empty space in front, sitting on top of his bed with his knees tucked under his chin and his arms folded in front, hiding the lower half of his face. If one were to enter the room, they would instantly freeze from the glower of the boy's fiery emerald greens that were begging to pool with unshed tears and the aura of his stone-cold demeanour. From the waft of his internal turmoil, even a blind person would be able to pick up that he was currently the host of bad luck. "...Adrien...I want to help, I want to understand, so talk to me!" Once again, Plagg was left ignored, leaving him no choice but to float back down to his pillow and direct his pleading kitten eyes at the blonde, his tiny heart shattered from the state of his chosen. Alas, even he was helpless, his feline ears and whiskers drooping with sorrow. 'But you won't understand. You never did and you never will. No one will ever understand.' Adrien didn't even flinch, didn't even bat an eye. He was a statue of apathy and aloofness; though deep down inside, he was a maelstrom of agonising pain. Oh, so much pain. It was excruciating. He wanted to suit up and claw through the rooves of Paris whilst screaming in anguish. He wanted to find every billboard that had his face on it and tear through it all like paper. He wanted to shred and pulverise his useless, traitorous heart along with its despicable feelings and emotions. But most importantly, he wanted to rip the magical ring off his finger and throw it into La Seine with all his might and then cry for the rest of eternity. And he hates that he feels that way. Absolutely, ridiculously, hates that he feels betrayed. Self-loathing and disgust have taken over his body like a puppet and rendered him completely useless, like a toy forgotten at the bottom of the box, never to see the light of day ever again. The feeling of uselessness and pure shame replaced the blood running through his veins and numbed him to the point where he was equivalent to a powerless machine. He felt his throbbing heart fall deeper and deeper into the pit of his stomach. It wasn't her fault! No way whatsoever! But still... Still... 'It really does hurt so bad...so much, I can't take it!' The younger, softer, naive part of himself which was usually tucked away within the dark, hidden crevices of his heart, screamed as if the rest of humanity's lives depended on it. It was taking Adrien everything to keep him out. 'Is it too much to ask for only one constant in my life? Is it too much to ask for one thing to remain the same? Is it too much for anyone to stop keeping me at arm's length!?' . It is. . It is. . Deep down inside, below the platinum chains and iron bars of solid, concrete denial, he always knew that Ladybug never considered him as close as he did with her. And why should she? Just because he performed an act of common, proper human decency and helped an old man get his walking stick back? Just because he was gifted with the power to destroy anything he touches in order to save the day? Just because he knew how to fight possessed villains alongside her? Just because he's in love with her? . "I'm literally the worst." Adrien finally spoke out loud ever since he returned from...that patrol many hours ago. Despite his words, his soul couldn't help but weep and pray that it was all one huge, cruel nightmare. A twisted, sick joke that whatever deities out there have concocted up just for him. Anything! Yet, this was his reality. "I disagree." The boy snapped his gaze towards the kwami, his brows furrowing for elaboration on the little God's part. "I may not be human but I do have feelings and I can empathise. I've existed from the beginning of time and I've witnessed many, many things in my lifetime." Plagg then floated towards him, settling on Adrien's arm so that he was face to face. "You're not in the wrong here, kid. It's okay to feel like this-" "No, it's not!" Adrien's sudden outburst had the kwami shoot away in surprise, the boy instantly turning baffled at his own harsh reaction and then visibly paling even further. He caught sight of his own reflection on a nearby mirror, cringing at the monstrous mess that looked back. With a frustrated sigh, he leapt off the bed, solemnly treading towards his windows, fingers digging into his upper arms as if he was hugging himself. . The luminous moon that shone through the night sky, what was once a beacon of freedom in the past, never looked so unappealing to the distraught hero. His usually glittering eyes were vacant, devoid of any joy and hope whilst his lips were etched in a permanent frown. How many fake smiles and empty words of wisdom did he force out in front of his Lady earlier on? He's lost count. And how many more times will he have to keep doing that, knowing that there will always be another person out that there that Ladybug trusts more than she'll ever trust him? . "I stand by with what I said," Plagg quipped once more, his host quietly surprised with how the little God managed to get so close without him realising. "The two of you have been thrust into a messy situation with very little guidance and a whole bunch of rules which only complicated it further." He then directed his eyes from the moon to the boy. "Yes, I agree that Ladybug's decision in confiding with someone about her identity was a good idea, but as a result of that, it's brought you so much pain. You are not the worst and it's okay to cry it out. It's okay to tell her how you really feel." He placed one of his tiny hands on Adrien's cheek, ears and whiskers still weighed with melancholy as the boy allowed his eyes to prick with tears. One drop. Two drops. Three drops. Four. "It shouldn't hurt- I...I shouldn't be so selfish! Even if she never told me, I was able to tell that she wasn't able to handle her civilian life any longer, especially after becoming the Guardian- I'm supposed to protect her and be by her side! Not throw a tantrum like a three-year-old just because I'm not the one she decided to tell about her secret identity! And then adding my own stupid feelings and insecurities to her plate? I'll be a burden!" The dam was broken and the overwhelming feelings within Adrien cascaded like a tsunami. "You have plenty on your plate as well-" "But I'm used to it, she isn't. I was born and raised to deal with these kinds of things anyway so it's a no brainer for me to shut up and accept it all with a smile-" He paused abruptly, a wet gasp escaping his throat as he leaned against the glass for support when even more realisation sunk in. 'I have been dealing with so many responsibilities ever since I was born...and that puts us on the same boat...so why couldn't she have confided with me then?' Adrien dropped to his knees, fingernails scraping against his scalp as he tried to fight back against those negative thoughts and questions. 'Why am I never good enough? Not for Maman, not for Père and now...not for Ladybug...?' 'Why am I even here then?'

"Adrien...you don't need to put a mask on when you're with me. Cry it all out. I'm not gonna sit by and watch you destroy yourself from inside out because of your inability to address your true feelings. I'm right here, I'll even destroy all the wretched butterflies that dare to come by- so please, let it all out," "I can't! If I do, I'll never be able to go back and nothing will be the same again-" "And if you don't, then things will change for the worse and trust me, kid, that is the last thing you need." Finally, Plagg's words unravelled the obstacles that slowed down the flood and Adrien couldn't help but give in. His body shook and a whole new fresh wave of tears pooled down his eyes, teeth biting down on his lip to prevent the sobs from bursting out. . "...It hurts Plagg...it hurts so much! I love her...and I trust her so much but it hurts! I know she trusts me on a level and I know that multiple times she's mentioned that I'm irreplaceable but dammit! Why does it all feel like a lie!? She did the right thing in telling her civilian best friend, she finally has someone to look after herself- but why does it feel so wrong? Why is my heart in so much pain? Why can't I stop crying? If Ladybug won't lean on me, then what am I here for? And if I can't lean on Ladybug...who...who do I have?" . "...I may not be much and I may talk about nothing but cheese...but you'll always have me, kid," "I want to believe you, I want to so badly, Plagg...but I can't. I feel so alone...I've always been alone... ...And I'll always be alone..." . . . A couple of hours ago, just shy under midnight on a lone, hidden rooftop, if a curious civilian looked up, they would have seen Ladybug and Chat Noir locked in an embrace. However, what they would have noticed first was the absolutely broken, heartwrenching expression Noir wore... ...As if his entire world has fallen apart... . . . ~(x)~ A/N: Just wondering if I should make a sequel and give these two poor cats a happy ending~

#my writing #my fanfic #miraculous ladybug #miraculous fanfic #ml fanfic #ml spoilers #takes place after gang of secrets #basically a possibility of what could happen when chat finds out that ladybug told her identity to someone else #super angsty #adrien agreste #chat noir #plagg #ladybug

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