#and it makes me want to split my fucking skull open because I don’t know what I’m doing wrong
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wow ok that’s the quickest I’ve ever had my application thrown out. super cool
#I didn’t even get the chance to go in in person first cause the plan was to do that tomorrow#like shit dude what the hell do you want from me#I spent hours reworking my resume and writing a cover letter#and they tossed this app out in. less than a day#for real though I genuinely have no fucking idea why#my work history and credentials are pretty good for these low ass entry level positions??? and my schedule is literally just. Whenever#I’m wondering if it’s an automatic system and it got thrown out this time becuase thr resume reader program or whatever couldn’t read my#resume since it’s not formatted in a standard way#anyway I’m still going to go in tomorrow but. gee that sure is infuriating and discouraging lol#I applied to another hotel as well and I’m hoping maybe that one doesn’t kick my ass like Hyatt has 2000 times now#I will Also go in to that place tomorrow but uhhhhh yeah#it’s been over half a year and I have not had a single job application accepted at any place#and it makes me want to split my fucking skull open because I don’t know what I’m doing wrong#kibumblabs#‘after careful review and consideration’ bitch how did you carefully review an application you literally just fucking got
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NO ESCAPE
description] Fem Reader x Rafe Cameron x Barry
[summary] After a rough breakup Rafe sends Barry out to find you at a party and what they have for you in store is a nightmare full of pleasure
[cw + tw] 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, abusive relationship, physical abuse, strong language, stalking, non con, alcohol use, drug use, gun use, life threatening, degrading talk, angst, fear, embarrassment, SMUT
[authors note] this one is VERY long and has VERY sensitive triggers, please read at your own risk
‼️ADULT CONTENT AHEAD‼️
Enjoy 🖤
________________________________
Text messages:
- Kie: hey are you coming to Sarah’s party tonight? it’s at the water, i can pick you up
- y/n: i dont know.. after everything that happened with Rafe im afraid he’ll show up and i don’t want to see him right now
- Kie: Sarah told me he wasn’t going because she invited pogues lmao
- y/n: i’ll think about it, i’ll call you in an hour or so
- Kie: kk <3
Rafe and i dated for a year before things got bad, we had our ups and downs but never did i expect him to put his hands on me in a violent way
Rafe hit me for the first time a month ago, he said he was sorry and that he just couldn’t handle the way things were going with his family and business
i gave him the benefit of the doubt because he has been under so much stress and sometimes i add to the problem
two days later he hit me again and split my lip open then screamed in my face because i got blood on his shirt
slowly his i love you’s turned into i hate you’s
it’s hard because i love him so much, he was the picture boyfriend, until he wasn’t
i hid the abuse, i didn’t want people to know, just incase he changed
my friends know we ended badly but they just assumed it’s because Rafe is an asshole, everybody knows he is
the first time he threatened to kill me was the day that i left, that was only a week ago
he held me down on the floor of his bedroom with one hand around my throat and the other holding his pistol to my temple “the next time you speak to me like that again i’m going to put a bullet in your fucking skull, DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?” his words spit on me like venom
a part of me misses him and that’s why i don’t want to see him tonight, i’ll cave and end up going home with him, i know i will, because i love him
i lay down in bed and close my eyes, i’ll make a decision in a little while
i fall asleep for a few hours and when i wake up i have another text from Kie
Kie: so Sarah and i decided you ARE coming because we need you!! she told me Rafe will not be there, the boys are coming too nothing bad is going to happen!! get dressed bitch i’ll pick you up at 7
i text JJ, John B, and Pope in a group chat
- me: hey all 3 of you are going to Sarah’s party tonight right?
- John B: yeah i’m here now helping her set up
- Pope: yes i’m picking Cleo up soon
- JJ: yep Kie called me and told me that you’re afraid Captain Douchebag will show up so obviously i will be there… and i would like to drink some alcohol…
- me: thanks boys, see you later <3
i let out a sigh of relief, at least those 3 will be able to handle Rafe if he shows up
i undress myself to take a shower and run my fingers over my yellow healing rib cage where Rafe had kicked me a couple weeks ago
tonight will be fun. tonight will be fun. tonight will be fun. i try to convince myself, i deserve to go out
after i shower i do my hair and makeup then get dressed
i throw on a short pink dress and my birkenstock sandals
7:03pm
text message
- Kie: i’m here
Kie is in my driveway playing music on full blast and dancing like a nut which makes me laugh, i’m always thankful for her trying to lift my spirits
We jam out in the car and get ourselves pumped for the party
When we get there i scan the entire lot for Rafes pickup or dirt bike, neither of which i see
“Relax y/n, he’s not coming” Kie says, she grabs my hand and holds it, we share a smile, hers excited, mine nervous
A giant bonfire glows in the middle of a heard of people
Loud music, beer, liquor, and over 100 people- kooks and pogues combined…
if Rafe isn’t coming, he at least has someone watching
i immediately grab a drink to loosen up so i can enjoy tonight, the first one goes down like water so i pour myself a second
“whoaaa slow down there killa, you’re drinking like me right now!” JJ laughs while nudging my arm “i’ll be right here all night, enjoy yourself, i got you” he says with the sweetest smile
i’m on my 3rd drink and 2nd shot, my cheeks feel rosy and i have the urge to move my hips “Sarah! come dance with me!” i demand while holding out my hand
“sorry babe, my girl needs me” she says to John B getting up from his lap, she grabs hold of my hand and we dance, solo cups in the air
the boys stay close by and enjoy watching us make a fool of our selves while they smoke a joint
my phone vibrates
text message:
- Rafe: don’t drink so much, you’ll get sick
tunnel vision. nausea. panic. swallow it, don’t let anybody know.
“i’ll be right back” i tell Sarah “i need to fill my cup”
“okay” she furrows her eyebrows “you okay?”
i give her a nod and the best smile i could
once i’m out of sight i run to Kie’s car, hopping in and locking the doors, i need to sit down, my heart is pounding out of my chest, i can hear the blood rushing in my ears
*knock knock* i jump out of my skin, i’m met face to face with Barry
“open the door sweetheart” he smiles flashing his gold teeth
this can’t be happening.
i go to grab my phone to call JJ. where is my it?
Barry waves my phone in front of my face taunting me. how the fuck did i drop it?
“open the door y/n, don’t make this difficult” he tugs on the handle “open it, i’m not playing witchu right now” i shake my head “country club wants you to come wit me, y’aint safe here without him” his eyes grow darker, i don’t budge
he gets on the phone, he’s calling Rafe “you either come out on your own or i call him and he pulls you out, your choice” i’m scared. i don’t want to make Rafe mad. but i don’t want to see him. i’m getting a headache.
i make the dumbest decision of my life. i open the door, my hands shaking 100mph.
“that’s it, let’s get you home” he says grabbing my hand hard
my face is burning up. my legs grow weak under me. i’m stone cold sober at this point.
we approach the truck, “Barry please“ i plead “i’m sorry mama, y’know him” he helps me into the passenger seat and buckles me in, “can i have my phone please, i need to tell my friends i went home” i cry “can’t letchu do that, what’s ya password, i’ll text ‘em for you” he says, i shake my head rejecting the offer
he starts the truck and we take off
his phone rings “yeah i got her, she was a good girl, she didn’t fight me” he smirks “we’ll be there soon”
i stay silent, Barry puts his hand on my thigh and i flinch at his touch “what’s wrong sweet thing, scared of a little love?” he laughs
we pull up to Tannyhill, Rafe is standing out front with a whiskey glass in his hand, he raises it and smiles at me
my stomach is in knots
i want to scream for help and run
the other half of me wants to jump into his arms and submit
Barry gets out of the truck and walks around opening my door “c’mon, get out” i jump down and fix my dress and fix a smile in attempt to hide my mixed feelings
“you look nice, who’d you get dressed up for?” Rafe asks “nobody” i reply, he laughs “sexy little thing isn’t she?” he asks Barry, “yessir” he grins
i want to crawl inside my own skin
Rafe grabs me by the arm “let’s get inside” he looks at Barry “you comin? you’re not gonna want to miss this”
he brings me to the couch and sits me down, “what to do with you?” he ponders finishing his drink
“Rafe i want to go home” i whimper
“and you know what i want? a girlfriend that doesn’t dress like a slut and go to parties without me” he seethes “since you wanna act like a slut, take your clothes off, i’ll treat you like a slut” his eyes filled with fury
“i’m not your girlfriend anymore” i whisper
“what was that?” he cocks his head to the side
“nothing” i say
i stand up and slowly pull my dress over my head, my knees becoming weak, leaving me exposed in just my panties in front of him and Barry
“lay down on the couch” he demands, i obey “now touch yourself”
“Rafe please i-“ there’s no use in begging, i bring one hand down to my pussy and run it up and down my panties, the thought of them watching begins to turn me on no matter how hard i try to reject the feeling
“she’s sweet” Barry says licking his lips
“wait til you taste her” Rafe says deviously
their words go straight to my heat, i rub my clit in circles arching my back, trying not to let out a sound
“come here” i say holding my hand out to Rafe, my pussy aching for him
“you’re gonna finish yourself off first” he smirks
Barry adjusts himself clearly growing hard, Rafe watches me like a hawk not missing a beat
i pick up the pace now craving dick inside of me, i throw my head back and whimper coming closer to an orgasm, the band in my belly snaps and my legs start convulsing, i ride out my orgasm and when i’m finished i beg to be fucked “come here- please”
Rafe looks at Barry “try her out” he says patting him on the back
the look of fear on my face. Rafe would never let someone else look at me nevermind fuck me.
“since you wanna act like a slut..” he says shrugging his shoulders, then topping off his whiskey
i become embarrassed, im attracted to Barry but being on display is not something im used to
Barry gets comfortable in the chair and pats his lap, he undoes his belt and slides his pants down to his knees, his hard on is enormous even through his boxers
i try to contain my arousal and walk toward him, looking at Rafe for approval, he nods
i lower myself to my knees and pull Barry’s erection from his boxers, it fills my entire hand
“i ain’t even gotta ask to get my dick sucked, you got this one trained man” he laughs
Rafe walks behind me and manspreads on the couch enjoying every second of this
i seal my mouth on Barry, bobbing my head up and down while working my tongue inside “shhhit” he groans, saliva begins dripping out the sides of my mouth
i go to work on his swollen cock, his moans encouraging me to get the job done “that’s it baby” he takes a sharp breath in
“get up and sit on him, facing me” Rafe commands from behind
i rise from the floor, turn around, push my panties to the floor and kick them off
i slowly seat myself on Barry’s length, i gasp taking all of him inside my cunt
his hands reaching in front of me to grab my breasts, he holds onto them and starts pumping into me from below
i try to hold myself up on the arms of the chair while i’m staring directly into Rafe’s lust filled eyes
“ohhmygod- yes- fuck me-” i moan in between breaths
“how does she feel?” Rafe growls not taking his eyes off of me “like a million bucks country club” Barry replies while slamming his hips into my ass repeatedly
“flip her onto the chair and fuck her brains out” Rafe instructs
Barry pulls me off his lap and flips me around, my chest pushed into the chair and my ass in the air he slams into me showing no mercy
i can’t control the sounds coming from my mouth, moaning, whimpering, and screaming at the way i’m being used
Barry pulls out of me and releases on my ass leaving my pussy dripping “you like that shit huh?” he says rubbing my slit from behind “taste her” Rafe says, Barry sticks his fingers in his mouth savoring the taste of me “just like candy” he tells Rafe
my torso still on the chair and my knees on the floor i lay there weak, trying to control my breathing
Barry gets dressed and pours himself a glass of liquor, sitting in the other chair
“c’mon we’re not done, get up” Rafe says, i try to stand but my legs are weak “i think you broke her” he laughs looking at Barry “sorry man, she’s got great pussy” he says
Rafe walks over to me and wraps his hand around my throat, lifting me to my feet, he sloppily kisses me and without warning plummets two fingers inside of me causing me to scream
“who’s pussy is this?” he asks pushing deeper inside of me, “it’s yours” i choke out, his hand still tight around my wind pipe,
“say it again” he growls
“it’s yours Rafe, i’m all yours” i plead
his hand slips into my hair and he guides me to the couch by my head using me like a rag doll
he throws me down on my stomach then pulls my hips into the air
“look at you, you’re a fuckin mess” he smacks my pussy causing me to cry out “you like that?” he smacks it again, i wince in a mixture of pain and pleasure
Rafe pulls me up by the back of my head “open your mouth” i open and he sticks his fingers inside, i suck his fingers just like i would suck his cock, Rafe loves having his fingers in my mouth “dirty fuckin slut” he says
he removes his fingers and forces them into my tender vagina, he works his hand slowly like he’s dissecting my insides, i move my hips back and forth trying to fuck his hand my pussy screaming to be pounded
“she just can’t get enough huh?” Barry says “i told you she was a good one” Rafe smiles
his slides his warm fingers out of me and spits on my cunt, i feel it drip down to my clit “please-“ i look back at him
Rafe pulls his shorts and boxers down exposing his delicious throbbing cock, he’s leaking precum
i brace myself
he taps the back of my pussy with his dick a few times before sliding it in, i feel myself become full of him “i gonna fuck you like i hate you” he whispers
guttural screams escape my lips as he sinks deeper into my swollen used hole, he feels so good
he pushes my face into the couch “shut the fuck up and take it”
i turn my head to the side to catch my breath and see Barry sipping on his liquor enjoying every moment, i hold eye contact with him while i cry out
Rafe picks up the pace, the sound of our skin smacking engulfs the entire room
it all becomes too much, the overstimulation is extreme, i reach back trying to push him away
“i ain’t done” he growls grabbing both my arms and pinning them behind my back “i’m gonna fuck MY pussy as long as i want”
i’m screaming at this point, i can feel him in my stomach, a new sensation arises in my pussy, stronger then an orgasm “Rafe i- i can’t-“ and then i feel a release and a gush of liquid between my legs
“squirting on me like a dirty whore” he smacks my ass hard, “i fucking love it”
“please- please-“ i sob begging him to stop, my body convulsing, eyes rolling in the back of my head
Rafe slams into once more before cumming inside me, he pulls out and places a gentle kiss on my ass
my body goes limp and i lay flat on the couch, he pulls my hips back up and holds them there, “stay up til you soak all of me in”
i lay there defeated, used, and bruised
Rafe wipes the sweat from his brows and puts his pants back on, he walks over to the table and pours himself another glass of whiskey, clinking cups with Barry
they sit across from my numb body and watch me recover
“you’re such a good girl” Rafe praises “you’re never getting rid of me”
#fanfic#obx fanfiction#outer banks#fem reader#obx smut#smut#rafe obx#rafe outer banks#obx rafe cameron#rafe cameron#rafe fanfiction#barry obx#barry obx smut#barry obx fanfiction#outer banks smut
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To The Edge - 2
This work is mine and I do not give consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted without my permission. I am sharing chapters as I work on this story but it is copyrighted material that I plan to rework and publish when completed.
story tags: scifi romance, hijinks in space, rogues learning to trust, violence, blood, guns, death, explicit language, so much kidnapping,
Works organized and easily found over on the patreon. <3
TO THE EDGE - CHAPTER 2.
“Stardust Solinoh Fairvell Malou,” they heard someone saying in the dark. It wasn’t a call, not searching for them or trying to get their attention. It was on the cusp of being a reprimand—a reminder of who they were and all the weight that should come with it. They called that weight pride, but it tasted like a threat. Their name wasn’t just a name, it was a full “Don’t you dare forget who you are. Don’t you fail. Don’t you fall short. Or else.”
Stardust woke with a choked groan, a spike of pain bursting behind their lids and burrowing deep into their skull. They forced their lids open against the onslaught of light, like it had been a challenge rather than a warning.
“Stardust?” someone asked, voice full of relief. Their name sounded strange in his mouth, different than they’d ever heard it before. “There you are.”
They lifted an arm to shade their eyes, squinting at the man beside their bed. The hum of the ship hit their senses and they remembered everything. Well, almost everything. How had they gotten on another ship? They sat up, vision blurring but arms pushing out to try to shove him away. The cuffs on their wrists rattled but they’d worn them for so long they’d gotten used to it.
He caught their forearms, holding on gently. “No, don’t freak out again. We’re on my ship, we’re off world and headed out of the area. You’re safe.”
Safe? He clearly had no idea what was going on.
“You fainted.”
Stardust wrinkled their nose only to wince at the pain that shot through that delicate bone between their eyes. “No, I didn’t.” They pulled their arms out of his hold to gingerly touch their forehead.
He huffed something close to a laugh. “Um, yes you did.”
“No, I didn’t.” They pushed at their temples, hoping that pressure might shift the pain rolling around inside their skull.
“Okay, you can keep saying you didn’t, but you did. I had to carry you. I think I’d know if you were unconscious or not.”
Stardust dropped their hands and squinted up at the man. Was he law of some sort? Or a bounty hunter? He looked like a bounty hunter… “And you want what? A medal for it?”
His eyes went huge and his mouth pulled into a grin, flashing teeth. It wasn’t the reaction they’d expected. “You are the most ungrateful kidnap victim I’ve ever dealt with.”
“How many kidnap victims have you dealt with?” Stardust asked quickly, trying to buy time for that splitting headache to wear off enough so that they could figure out what to do next. They seemed to be in the galaxy’s smallest medical room on a ship. His ship?
“How many? Really?”
Stardust waited, not letting pain or fear stop their eyebrow from lifting in brutal patience.
“Well, I mean… Are we counting the ones I personally kidnapped or just the ones I retrieved on behalf of rich criminals like your grandmother?”
Stardust felt a jolt cut through their spine, making them sit straighter. “Fuck you!” They kicked their legs off the cot, toes grazing the floor. They were still barefoot. Those pirates had stolen their boots.
The stranger laughed hard. “Fuck me? Like you didn’t know who bankrolled the chrome you were flying? You might be on a lesser-known branch of that particular family tree, Stardust, but blood is blood.”
They glared at him, because really, what could they say to that? Of course, they knew. And it seemed, even this far away from the Prime, everyone else knew too.
So that made this guy a cosmic bounty hunter or lacky of some kind.
He sighed and waved a hand at their wrists. “Let me see those cuffs.”
Stardust frowned hard enough to remember that their lip was scabbed, the pain so deep that it somehow felt like it was in their jaw. What was he going to do? Chain them to the cot? To the wall? If he knew who they were, then he was trying to get paid by returning them. He couldn’t kill them and, at the moment, they couldn’t get away from him. They lowered their arms, hands easing into the space between them.
He pulled a small tool from his pocket and started tinkering with the cuff.
“You can unlock it?” they asked, words coming out in a cracked whisper, forcing them to cough to try to hide the weakness there.
“What? Yes, of course, I can get these off you. You just have to pop this panel and then hold the reset button. It’s really easy as long as you’re not the one in them,” he said, doing just that.
The cuffs popped open and Stardust gasped, relief welling in their chest. It had been days since they’d had their hands free.
He tossed the cuffs onto the table beside the cot, still holding onto their arms, gently running his thumbs against their skin—not touching the deep purple rings but skirting them. “Your wrists are bruised but they look okay. Does that hurt?”
They winced but shook their head. “It’s fine.”
“Hm. Okay.” He let go and took a step back. “Take your clothes off.”
Stardust’s head snapping up to look at him, for a split-second doubting what they’d just heard. He waited. They jumped off the bed and tried to push past him toward the door. When he grabbed their arm, they kicked and screamed. They hadn’t spent a week fending off fucking pirates just to be creeped on by some bounty hunter!
“Woah! No kicking!”
“Let go, you creep!”
He pushed just hard enough to put them on their ass on the cot again and then stepped back, hands up but blocking the way out of the room. “I’m not a fucking creep, I’m just going to make sure you’re not dying, patch you up, and then give you something clean to wear. You can lock yourself in the storage room after that if you want. Spend the next two weeks snuggled up with my stockpile of meal bars until you’re back safe and sound.”
Stardust glared, dragging deep breaths and not liking how winded they were from just that little struggle. They really were in trouble. They had to lean back against the wall to keep from slumping over.
The bounty hunter sighed and tried again, “If you die because of internal bleeding or some stupid infection, they’re going to blame me for it.”
Stardust didn’t have to ask who “they” were. “They” were always the same people. “They” were their family. “So what?”
He laughed darkly, clawing a hand through his hair. “Thanks, Stardust. I appreciate how much you care about my safety.”
Stardust glared at him. He didn’t seem particularly affected by glares though. Instead, he sighed, like he had all the time in the galaxy.
“Take off your shirt. It’s literally crusted with blood and…is that puke?”
They didn’t look down. They were very aware of the state of their clothes. “It’s not mine.”
“Classy.”
Stardust didn’t budge. Was he serious or was he just trying to get a look?
“You’ve got nothing I haven’t seen before.”
They snorted. “Wanna bet?”
“Do I want to bet? Are you serious?” He laughed again. “Oh shit, are you really concussed? I should have scanned your brain before you woke up…”
“Too late now.”
The cosmic bounty hunter groaned. “Just take your fucking clothes off, Stardust. I promise I won’t maul you.”
They didn’t think he would maul them, not really. That wasn’t why they were still hesitating, just like it hadn’t been why they’d fought tooth and nail to keep that nasty piece of clothing on with the pirates. Still, they stalled, holding up one hand, pinky finger out. “Pinky promise?” they smirked even as they asked.
“Pinky— Are you serious?”
They waited.
“You are the weirdest kidnappee I have ever dealt with…” He rolled his eyes and hooked his pinky with theirs. “Okay, pinky promise.”
“You know the rules of pinky promises, right?” Maybe they did have a concussion…
#To The Edge#scifi romance#ride or die in space#audio script to chapters#own work#own writing#adventures of stardust and cosmic#<3#dominimoonbeam#clover down#romance#adventure
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Omg can you please do more of drunk Levi being the biscuit? It’s so cute
referencing this lil drabble right here. thrilled that you guys liked this so much because i thought it was the dumbest thing ever lmao. but yeah anyways this is months later but I’m trying desperately to actually reduce my inbox size.
he's a fucking moron. a complete, utter ass.
a biscuit. what the actual shit was he thinking?
well, he wasn't thinking, which answers most questions. he was drunk. which, Levi vows, will never happen again, not in this lifetime. how he actually drank enough to beat his incredible tolerance is beyond him.
regardless of the how, you are now in front of him, eating breakfast, tea and biscuits that you're dipping with an awkward smile on your face, and fuck, he's really screwed things up now, hasn't he?
the headache isn't helping either. he thinks his head's about to split open.
"thanks for inviting me," you say, swallowing, "where's farlan?"
"kicked him out," he mumbles gruffly. "he was playing his dumb ukulele to wake me up."
you laugh softly, and it almost makes the headache worth it. "i think that's his way of showing you he cares. did you at least let him have breakfast first?"
levi nods, choosing not to say that he'd actually venmoed farlan cash so that he would leave the house and have breakfast at ihop (farlan’s eyes have never shone brighter)
he’d have inevitably said something that would land levi in a shittier situation than he’s already in
“um,” you begin—from your tone, levi dreads what follows. “so, about last night…”
“sorry for making you drag me back home,” he apologizes immediately. “next time, you can just call farlan or isabel, or even erwin—“
“not hange?” you cut in teasingly.
“never hange.”
that makes you laugh, and levi’s stomach does a little victory lap. he’s being stupid. this is one of his best friends sitting in front of him, not some stranger.
“that’s sweet, although I don’t mind taking you home.” you smile sweetly. “actually, i wanted to ask if you remember anything you said last night.”
yes. “no.”
your brows raise dubiously, and your lips purse in a way that makes him want to kiss that doubtful look off your face. “somehow, I don’t believe that.”
“believe it.”
“c’mon, levi, I know that you weren’t blackout drunk or anything.”
“it was all dark…”
“you’re so dramatic!”
“because I don’t remember?”
“because you’re pretending like you don’t remember!”
“I’m not in love with you!” the words leave him defensively, as he curls back into his chair.
there. the biggest lie of the morning.
slowly, you stand, and walk over to him. nothing on your face betrays that what he said penetrated your thick, beautiful skull.
“well, that sucks.” you take a biscuit from his plate and dip half of it in the tea, taking it out at the perfect time, so that it’s warm and soft but won’t fall on the table.
then you hold it up to his lips and it’s stupid, really. it’s not intentional, more instinct. he opens his mouth for you, letting you give him a bite. something he’d never let any of the rest of his friends do. something he’d only ever trust you to do.
“it’s too bad,” you say, “because all my favorite breakfast foods have honey, so I’m pretty sure I’m a bee. and—and you make me buzz, you know?”
there’s a pause.
“did you just call me your honey?” levi asks disbelievingly.
“you called me a biscuit!”
“when I was drunk, and it was still a better metaphor—jesus, honey doesn’t even make bees buzz.”
“I like you.” you cross your arms with a scowl. “there, at least I can say it sober.”
levi scoffs, trying to ignore the blush spreading across his cheeks. “yeah, in the worst way possible.”
for a beat, the both of you glare at each other.
then you scoff exasperatedly and say, “are you going to kiss me or did you kick farlan out of the house just for being annoying?”
“the latter,” levi declares, before standing, cupping your cheeks, and pressing his lips to yours.
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Dead Beauty AU (Chapter 5)
Yeah I just wanna post it here too.
Oh and Maeve and Malvina are Flower's, @tiredflowercrown
When Harry exits the Hell Hall his feet are too heavy and his mind is swimming in all the wrong directions: Ivy’s fault, naturally. The mix of alcohol and whatever poison she gave him.
He swallows heavily and bangs his hook to the metal gate, just because he fucking can. He hopes that bitch is suffering as much as he is.
And holy hell, is he suffering: the metal clang just about threatens to split his skull open.
He just hopes dear Ivy heard it too.
On completely unrelated note, he really would like to know how she got Claudine fucking Frollo, please and thank you. That girl has problems, alright, and he’s the one saying it.
Y’know, maybe she decided if she’s going to hell, she might as well go with a blast, and Harry can approve of that.
If he had his flask, he’d drink to that sentiment, even.
More importantly, he still wants his haircut.
Alas, he just starts walking towards the Tremaines – hey, it’s closer, and he doesn’t exactly fancy arguing with his older sister about his methods of delivering demands, thank you. Besides, Harriet is just a fucking hypocrite.
He’s pretty sure she slept with Diego the last time she was vaguely in the vicinity of Hell Hall.
Harry smirks at that.
He drags his feet as he sneers into the shadows, twists his wrist around to stretch it – the light twirls on his hook – cranes his neck around to stretch it too.
Curiously, that seems to send a street rat or two running.
This is fine.
It shouldn’t be too long to the Tremaines now, but he could just swear the bloody streets keep stretching under his feet. He kicks on something at the ground, mutters curses under his breath. And if he loses his balance for just a moment after that, well, who cares?
Two children run by him and he sneers at them to mind their way; his vision goes blank for a moment.
Tremaines’ is right there.
He collapses at the nearest chair.
He breaks open the door, swatting his hook at the irritating decoration above it. He doesn’t manage to tear it down. Shame.
It is an eyesore.
He’d say he hopes Anthony went out already, but frankly, he doesn’t care enough.
„Dulcia, darling!“ he calls out, „You promised me the haircut?“
„Oh, I don’t care,“ he lifts his hand to make a dismissive gesture and lets it fall when he discovers how heavy it is, „Just do your worst. I want Harriet to know I’ve been there.“
She appears behind him, placing a hand on his shoulder and sighing: „Whatever is wrong with you, Hook – my dear cousin is right there, and his mood didn’t get any better.“
She tugs at his hair rather harshly, which he registers mostly because he’s looking in the mirror.
„Also, what the hell do you want me to do with this?“
Dulcia laughs: „Why, that almost sounds like a dare–“
Harry discovers his lips are too numb to form an answer; he barely manages a crooked smirk, twisted more by the cracked mirror. His face feels weird.
Dulcia tugs at his hair again, turning his head from side to side to examine her canvas, and his whole body locks in a horrible spasm. He can’t jerk away or even breathe– his chest starts to hurt.
He watches his lips turn blue – watches Dulcia notice his stiffness and his expression – and curses Ivy. She wasn’t stingy with the dose, that’s for sure–
He manages to draw in a breath, his muscles relax a bit.
„What the hell was that?!“ asks Dulcia.
„So you’re faking choking to death for fun?“
„Quiet!“
She is simply too loud, her voice too high – Harry remembers his manners again and says: „Oh, nothing to worry about.“
„Oh no, that’d be the poison Ivy gave me.“
„Oh, you moron,“ Dulcia’s voice turns soft, placating, „You played Russian Roulette with her?“
Harry hums in response.
„Did you win or lose?“
„…Yes.“
This is starting to get majorly annoying, thank you for asking.
Dulcia deals him a gentle slap over the back of his head.
„Fucker,“ she says, and his body spasms again.
Oh, and it seems the ruckus finally dragged Lord Tremaine over. How lovely.
„What’s he doing there?“ Tremaine asks, as if it wasn’t clear – he came for the haircut. Duh. He told him already.
„Dulcia, why is he choking to death in our salon?“
„Choking to death, obviously,“ answers Dulcia, sounding insultingly uninterested.
Harry would argue, but, y’know. He still can’t breathe.
Well… Why not?
It’s not like Ivy would share the antidote or anything.
Choking is fine, but that humiliation would probably kill him.
Harry watches Dulcia shrug her shoulders delicately, and, yeah. He’s reasonably sure that if he dies in there, she plans to use his head as a training dummy for the little ones.
Which is absolutely unacceptable, by the way.
He breathes in again – fucking finally – and immediately spits at Anthony: „None of your fucking business, Tremaine!“
„My salon, my business,“ he answers, voice stone-cold.
„Dulcia, take this moron to the Mims right now,“ says Anthony, „If he dies at our salon, Harriet will never speak with me again.“
„My life, my business,“ mocks Harry back, turning around to look at the marginally more agreeable cousin, „Dulcia, about the ha–“
The movement makes his muscles lock up painfully again, which is starting to get really fucking repetitive.
„That’d be a pity for sure,“ agrees Dulcia in her overly sweet voice.
Harry manages to catch his breath again: „My sister’s too good for you anyway,“ he says. He just smirks when Anthony attempts to kill him with a glare.
Really, it’s almost admirable how much contempt Tremaine packs up into one word. Just a shame Harry isn’t exactly in the shape to break his nose, right now.
„Dulcia, to the Mims, now. Before I can think the better of it. You are also welcome to just dumb him behind the corner though,“ Anthony raises his voice, which makes Harry snarl at him. What is it with the Tremaines and yelling all over today?
„Angelica, Desdemona, Deborah, go help Dulcia with him!“
„I can take care of myself, thank you,“ he says instead, pushing himself off the seat, and almost immediately collapsing forward into his reflection. Well, fuck.
„Well, good fucking luck with that,“ says Harry, letting the Tremaine harpies drag him away.
„Clearly, you can’t,“ drawls Anthony, and Dulcia grabs Harry’s shoulder, drawing her sharp, carefully manicured nails deep into his skin.
„Now go. I do not wish to deal with your sister in a worse mood than she is now.“
As he passes under the door, he finally manages to tear down the horrid glockenspiel, to his satisfaction and indigent cry of one of the girls, which doesn’t seem like his problem.
Like, at all. That thing has been causing him headaches for months.
Now, Maddy being her usual bitchy self?
That does seem like his problem.
„Absolutely not–“ the demon-witch-whatever cries out, pointing at the list of rules scribbled on the wall with something that’s probably human blood, „You know the rules! No first aid! Your overdoses are not my problem! Your relationships problems should stay your relationships problems!“
Harry sways in the place as the younger Tremaine girls back away from darling Maddy, and Dulcia steps forward a single step, once again speaking in that placating voice of hers: „C’mon, Maddy, who said what about first aid? Just give him the antidote.“
„That’s what first aid is–“ grumbles Maddy.
„I don’t need an antidote,“ chimes up Harry, catching his balance on a nearby shelf, which makes Maddy look like she wants to bite his arm off. Sweet. Maybe he’d finally get actual hook like that.
„I want my hair done, Dulcia.“
…Yeah, no. Maybe, just maybe, he’s not so fine, Harry thinks as he painfully struggles for breath.
„See?“ Maddy gestures at him; he slowly slides to the ground, as his muscles refuse to cooperate again.
„He’s fine. Now get him out of my apothecary.“
„Maddy, be a dear. Just give me the antidote against strychnine. He’s got shit ton of gold on him, you can take it as a payment before he comes to himself.“
Harry would really love to protest that. She can’t take his gold just for a stupid antidote!
However, Maddy looks like she’s considering this: „…How do you know it’s strychnine?“ she asks with some suspition.
„Ivy always uses strychnine.“
That is not a concerning statement at all.
And Maddy doesn’t look too convinced.
Dulcia shoots Harry a look that can’t mean anything else than „You’re so gonna owe me for this,“ and then tells Maddy: „If he dies, Harriet will be out of it and then Ginny will be upset too.“
„I… Suppose I can spare some antidote,“ decides Maddy finally. He didn’t know she cared for Harriet’s witch all that much, but then again, Gothel can make herself likable like nobody’s business. And she is high most of the time, she has to get the stuff somewhere. He supposes it makes sense.
After that, the Tremaine girls leave, and Maddy quickly gets tired of staring at him, instead alternating absentmindedly playing with one of her dolls, yelling at one of her cousins in a language that makes the hair at the back of Harry’s neck stand, and preventing some mangy kid from randomly tasting the shit on the shelves.
He doesn’t fight Maddy when she forces a pill into his mouth in a pause in between spasms, and doesn’t swat away Dulcia’s hand when she offers him water with it.
That should count towards his debt to her, by the way.
The kid keeps singing in the same language.
Harry tries to ignore that and just focus on his breathing and, more importantly, about ways to get back at Ivy. Might that bitch be slowly dissolved in acid while listening to this crazy little Mim kid singing the demons to sleep or whatever.
Said mangy little Mim kid comes over and pokes at his ribs.
„Is he dead yet, Maddy?“
„Don’t know, don’t care. You know how to check.“
Harry does not wish to know how the Mims check if their customers are still breathing or not.
„I’m still alive, kid,“ he tells her, „Shut it.“
„Shame,“ the kid sighs, „Maeve said I get to dissect the next moron that overdoses.“
„Maeve also said you’re not supposed to talk like that in front of the customers, Malvina.“
Harry snaps his teeth at Malvina as she tries to poke at his ribs again.
„If that’s all, ladies,“ he grits in between his teeth as he pushes himself up, „I’ll be on my way.“
Malvina steps away from his as he struggles to regain his balance – he almost falls down as the doors to the Apothecary fly open and CJ greets the shop with a bright smile: „Hiii!“ she says and turns to him, „Freddie said you’d be there, Ettie’s getting snappy again– ooh, can we get some of that candy?“ She points to a shelf of brightly coloured expired candy.
„You lot are not allowed weed,“ notes Maddy dryly.
„Why not?“ asks the little Mim kid; Harry seethes at the sentence.
„Pleeease?“ whines CJ, making big eyes at Maddy and slipping her one of her gold bracelets over the counter. Harry barks out a laugh.
„This never happened,“ says Maddy as tears open one package, stabs her nail through some gummy bears, and gives the mutilated candy to CJ, „And if it gets into your head wrong, don’t fucking come back here.“
„Don’t worry, Maddy,“ answers Harry, grabbing his younger sister’s arm before she gets any more bright ideas, „I’ve had enough of this place for quite some time.“
He leads CJ outside.
„How stabby is Harriet?“ he asks.
CJ swallows one of her gummy bears as she thinks of an answer, carefully storing the other pieces in a napkin in her pocket: „Hmm… Not as much as when I bleached her hair. Kinda about when Frollo wouldn’t stop ringing the bells cos of some celebration or whatever.“
Harriet spent most of that time too drunk to form a coherent sentence, and honestly, Harry doesn’t blame her.
„No, wait! Like when the Hearts twins got the jewelry she wanted at the market the other time!“
„Well, then,“ Harry smiles at his younger sister,„How do you feel about a new haircut, then?“
„Yes!“ she jumps in her place, „Yes! Harriet’s gonna be so pissed!“
Anthony, too, and it’s not like anything interesting is happening at the port now: He seriously doubts Ivy managed to forward their demands to her youngest cousin yet.
#disney descendants#dead beauty au#harry hook#cj hook#anthony tremaine#hook siblings#ivy de vil#dulcia tremaine#tw substance abuse#poisoning#no good coping mechanism in sight okay#take Uma off the Isle and it spirals from there
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When the past knocks on her door, Silena has to come clean
Part 4 of Sirens Scream Names Forgotten by Tomorrow, Laid to Rest in Infinity
(Chapter 2 under cut)
Chapter 2: Sunrises in Shades of Violent Despair
Summary: Jason stumbles in
“I really don’t know what ‘I love you’ means. I think it means ‘don’t leave me here alone.’”
- Adventures in the Dream Trade (Neil Gaiman)
There is someone passed out on her couch. Someone who looks like they’ve run into the wrong end of a pile driver, fractured bones, split skin and bruises mottling every visible inch of them.
And there is her, kneeling beside him and staring at a pool of drying blood with a thousand yard stare, a cloth circling mechanically and smearing more blood than it’s wiping away.
He’s terrified to speak anymore, not when his earlier words sent her down so hard he’d thought she’d go through the floor. Whatever the meaning of this is, it’s an awful one. His eyes flick to the couch again. Vinyl covers, ugly as sin, but she’d always refused to hear anything against them.
(Easy to clean. Hides blood.)
(Fuck.)
How long has she been taking people in like this? How has he not noticed? Where the fuck has she been hiding all the medical supplies he sees scattered around? What the fuck is going on?
(You ignored all the signs that something was wrong.)
(There has to be an explanation.)
(She’s lying.)
(About what? What the fuck do you think?)
(You’re asking my opinion?)
(I’ve got nothing else.)
(Kill her.)
Jason’s lips curl angrily. The one fucking time he wants the parasite in his head to voice an opinion and all it gives him is the worst fucking option.
(She lied.)
His hand crunches the bloody rag into a fist.
(She lied.)
He looks at her, maybe his last look at her, taking in the familiar-
Sitting back on his heels, he blinks at the right side of her face. At the texturing he’s somehow never noticed before. He’s looked at her face how many thousands of times, studied it and memorized it, he thought he’d have been able to pick it out of a crowd. But now? Now, he’s wondering if he’s ever seen her before at all. It’s right there, plain as day because he knows what covered scars look like. There are plenty on his own face he covers when he’s out in civilization. Little nicks from where the crow bar took skin around the most obvious one that caved his skull in, the one he hates with every fiber of his being carved at the hinge of his jaw that no amount of stubble will even try to touch. Like that patch of skin is cursed, defiled, forever unsalvageable.
(Stop thinking about it.)
(It’s just as cursed as the rest of you.)
She’s tried very hard to make it look natural and gotten impressively close. But not close enough that he shouldn’t have fucking noticed.
(Did the crowbar take an eye too?)
Reaching towards her shoulder, he expects her to jump at the movement, look at him, react in any way at all. She’s strung tight enough to snap with a feather touch and so hyper aware he thinks a speck of dust could set her off if it moved wrong. If she looks at him, maybe he’ll get a better angle to see exactly how blind he’d been.
But she doesn’t notice until he touches her and a sickening pit of suspicion opens in his stomach when she flinches away.
“I’m going outside,” he tells her, sounding far away in his own ears. He can’t be next to her without losing either his guts or his mind, both of which will result in him doing something irrevocably stupid and he’s fucked up enough recently.
(Letting her in at all was the fuck up.)
(I didn’t know.)
(Because she’s been lying to you.)
(I’ve been lying to her.)
(Not since you showed her.)
(But I never told her the truth.)
(She never asked.)
Walking away from her might be irrational, but he can’t bring himself to empty a chamber into her.
(Shoot her. Don’t give her a chance to run.)
(She won’t run.)
(You don’t know her at all.)
(Weak. She walked into your hands, end her.)
But she’d smiled at him in sunlight and danced with him even past moon-rise, like the light would never fade.
(She danced with a dead man.)
She’d laid out his helmet like a welcome mat, helped hold his weary body upright, brushed gentle hands over bruises and run loving fingers through his hair. Cooked dinner with him, sprawled in his lap and made inane commentary to stupid shows, spoken so passionately about stitching techniques he didn’t even begin to understand, listened to him ramble on about engines and complain about fiddly electronics. Normal. Every time he swept through her door, he was normal again.
He can’t hurt her. Because even when she knew she had a lion in her lap, she loved him all the same.
—
“Do I get any explanation?” He’s not even looking at her when he asks, face obscured and focused on the distant sight of the tower denoting Wayne Enterprises, barely visible from her shitty fire escape placement.
“How long of one do you want?” she replies, hugging herself as she watches him from the open window.
“I want the truth.”
“That’s the most dangerous part.”
“It usually is.” Silence falls, his back to her, her eyes burning into the back of his skull. She can’t taste anything but ash and gasoline, the tarry pit of vinegar tinged betrayal, the metallic and rottingly cloying resignation.
“I…” she can’t start. How can she start? The Greek gods are real and it all gets worse from there? It’s the truth but…
“Anna-” There.
“Silena.” Something shatters there, in the silence. She thinks it’s a heart, but if it’s hers or his she has no idea. Maybe both . “My… my name is Silena. Anna is what my father called me when I was little. Easy for me to answer to.” And that one truth is the final crack that brings down the floodgates, that brings everything she’s ever swallowed into the light, look at me, look at this awful thing- “My apartment is a… pit stop, I guess you could call it. A waystation is what it’s actually called. It’s… it’s for other people like me who need help. Other demigods.” Keep going. “The Greek gods are real. They have children with humans. And…” keep going, keep going- “and we’re not expected to live long. Between monsters, gods and others like us, it’s rare for us to see twenty.”
“Why did you lie?” And there’s the kicker, please look at me. If she sees his face, she’ll know what to say, how to say it. His taste hasn’t changed, she’s running practically blind and hoping this doesn’t blow up in her face, you knew the risks when he came to you that night and you’ve let him in every night since.
“There are no meta-humans allowed in Gotham,” she whispers. “So I hide in plain sight. Most don’t stay. They don’t come here unless there’s no choice.”
“Why did you come here?” She closes her eyes. Even if he was facing her now, she’ll keep running blind. This is the most honest you’ve been in years, isn’t it?
“To hide,” she repeats, “in plain sight.”
A hand touches her chin, making her eyes fly open. He’s so quiet she hadn’t even heard him come close. He stands just to the other side of the crooked, ill hung window frame in her crappy, run down apartment that’s seen too much despair, reaching over the sill and cupping her chin like she’s glass.
“That’s not everything,” he murmurs, his eyes digging into her soul like it’s an open book to him. Maybe it is. Only the gods know what exactly this man is capable of and Silena certainly isn’t one.
“It’ll take a long time to tell you the story of my life.” She doesn’t dare touch him, look at me, look at this wretched little thing before you and see the truth that everyone else ignored, everyone else denied.
“You would tell me?”
“You’re the only person I know who’d listen.” They stare at one another, deadlocked in an eternal second before he huffs a broken laugh.
“That’s not a high bar.”
“It is for me.” And it really is. Someone who would listen . Even if he hates her by the end of it, Jason will listen. “It is for me.”
#silena beauregard#jason todd#clarisse la rue#batman#percy jackson and the olympians#my writing#ao3 link
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And hoot again :D
Yeah, you’re very right (both with so quickly depending on it being overwhelming and with it showing how much I needed it)
The trip to therapy went quite well! The bus wasn‘t overly full on both ways, so I could sit down which was really good. I‘m still nervous for the first time that I’ll sit down on the floor if all seats are taken (it would be safer and better for me, but before I was always too scared to do that. Now that I have a cane that makes it sort of visible that I have trouble walking/standing, I want to try to do it).
I have suspected that I have hypermobile joints for a while (the problem is that I’m not in enough pain to really struggle so much that it would really be worth seeing a doctor for, but I’ll mention it when I got my next appointment). Part of the problem is my bad memory, because due to that I honestly can‘t even remember if I’m in pain (I know stuff constantly and quickly starts hurting but that’s probably normal in most cases and I also have a really high pain tolerance).
My body can do things it‘s apparently not supposed to do though
But I feel it with the cane, cause my wrist always sort of wobbles cause it’s really not stable. So I tried applying tape today, but only went to the very near grocery store that takes like a minute to walk to. So I don’t really know how much it has helped yet regarding walking with the cane. I do feel more comfortable though, and I think it‘s also helping me with writing and drawing
(On the video I watched the guy explained what the hypermobile thing in that hand he was showing it on is exactly, what it would look like if it wasn‘t hypermobile and what the tape is gonna do. And my thumb has the exact position that is a result of the joint being hypermobile (so like my suspicion doesn’t seem to be too wrong)
Since noon I had a really really bad headache that felt like my skull was split open and my brain crushed. So really not nice. I took 1,5 ibuprofen and later one paracetamol but nothing helped.
Then I tested myself cause I remembered that the only time I had such a bad headache was when I had COVID and boom! Positive
So yeah. I‘ll stay in bed tomorrow (and my head hurts so fucking much. I hate it)
I‘ll send you pics when the order gets here if you want! :D
But two pairs of Doc Martens sounds very nice!
A really sweet and funny story:
A friend of mine asked me to explain Ghost (as in, explain everything).
Three days ago I sent a video of like a few clips of Jutty, one of which being this clip in which he is like “unfollowing is bullying“ and “wHaT iF i WaS cOsMo 🧐🤨“
And since then, we‘ve constantly been sending “wHaT iF i WaS cOsMo 🧐🤨” back and forth (then we started to send the clip as a only one time viewable video so it wouldn’t be visible beforehand).
Today, I cut off the beginning of an edit and put that clip behind that to hide it and sent it to them. They have also hidden it in a poll on WhatsApp already
It turned into a game and we can‘t stop laughing about it because it‘s so fucking silly xD (it‘s practically like Rick-rolling)
wHaT iF i WaS cOsMo 🧐🤨
(You just got wHaT iF i WaS cOsMo 🧐🤨-ed. You‘re welcome xD)
~ @owlishanon
I'm glad it's still going well! It's good that it gives you so much peace of mind and that you feel confident doing what you need to do now without worrying that something awful is going to happen.
But I'm so sorry that you have COVID! It's rotten. I hope you get lots of rest and your headache doesn't last too long. Sleep and drink lots of water!
You can definitely send me pictures of the stuff you get when it comes in! I always love to see people's hauls!
I am very excited about my docs. I paid $140 for both pairs, which is like half of one what one of them costs brand new. I feel VERY lucky about it. One pair is rusty orange suede, they're short boots. Great for every day. The other are standard black knee highs which have been my dream boots since, like, forever (I've owed many, many pairs of knee high lace-up boots, but none of them were Docs).
The wHaT iF i WaS cOsMo 🧐🤨 thing has me giggling. Thank you for that. What a great joke to have with your friends, seriously. Fucking Jutty. He kills me in the best ways.
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Asked by a friend to post this separately so they could reblog it, so here- the short angst snippet from the novel I'm (hopefully) writing!
“He’s tough, you know. He’ll be alright.”
I looked up at my brother. Robyn was such a fucking liar. He didn’t even look like he’d been crying. “Don’t act as if you care.”
Robyn dropped his eyes, lowering himself to the floor next to where I was sitting. He pretended not to notice when I leaned away. “I’m sorry, Raia. I thought he was already out. You know I wouldn’t leave him behind.”
I pulled my knees tighter to my chest. Tried not to let my voice crack when I told him “Bullshit”.
The piece of shit had the audacity to look hurt. “Raia-”
“Shut the fuck up.” I stood. “Don’t- don’t act as though you wouldn’t leave any of us behind the second you got the chance.”
Robyn pulled himself up after me. Reached out to touch my shoulder. Pulled his hand back at the look I gave him, hands hovering awkwardly between us. I almost wanted to feel bad for him.
“Raia, I wouldn’t, I swear-”
“SHUT UP!” I cut him off again, louder this time. I could feel the energy rising in my chest, in the pounding of my heart, in the rushing of blood in my ears. “You left him behind. You left our brother behind to die in that fucking swarm and you expect me to sit here and comfort you?”
I saw the flash in his eyes that time. He dropped his hands to his sides, clenching them into fists. But it faded in a split second, as he got himself under control. Always under control. I felt the crackle of my own anger in the air as he spoke.
“This doesn’t help anyone. Do you think that I- that I wanted to leave Ray, do you think I want him gone? This fighting, this stupid fucking argument won’t do anything, so can you please-”
I stepped in and shoved him in the chest. He was smaller than me, even if he was older, and the force knocked him back a step. I kind of wanted to send him flying across the room to crack his skull on the wall.
“This- this stupid fucking argument? You left our brother behind, you left one of us behind for the second time in your worthless fucking life-”
The charge in the air nearly doubled as Robyn stood up taller, face twisting in an emotion I didn’t have time to process before it was gone again. “Don’t- you know damn well that’s too far, and I’ll take it because you’re scared right now-”
“I’M NOT SCARED!” I reached out to shove him again, but he caught my hand, deflecting it. “I wouldn’t have anything to be scared of if you weren’t so fast to turn and run from anything without eyes.”
Robyn just narrowed his eyes at me. The air was so charged the light was starting to flicker- not that either of us were paying attention to it. A distant, detached part of my brain wondered when the others would come to see what was happening. The rest of my brain was honed in on my brother and what I could say to make him regret letting Ray get hurt.
I drew myself up to my full height, glaring down to meet my brother’s cold eyes. “No. You know what? You should never have come out of that fucking cave, Robyn, because River would have protected us and you have never done anything for this family except hurt people.”
The guilt rose the second I saw the look in his eyes, but I pushed it down when the hairs on the back of my neck started to stand up. Robyn’s face twisted, and even as I could see him shaking the carpet under his feet started to smoke. Too far. I was too far in to back down now.
“I- I have never done anything for you?”
The door banged open. Fuck. “What is going on in here-”
Robyn’s voice rose over… whoever had made the mistake of walking in just now. I don’t think he even noticed them.
“Do you think I don’t know I should be dead? God, I fucking wish River had made it out instead of me, because I have- I have done everything for you for your entire fucking life, and I am so fucking tired. How many times have I taken the beatings for you when you got caught stealing shit from the guard, how many times did I give you my food when there wasn’t enough- because all you ever did was fucking complain!”
The lights were definitely flickering now. Whoever had opened the door was running down the hall yelling for Boss. Robyn didn’t seem to care. I had hurt him. That’s what I had wanted. Right?
“I whored myself out at sixteen so you didn’t have to work double shifts because you couldn’t fucking handle it! How many stupid little things have I done that you never even knew about, because I couldn’t save River so I was going to save you at whatever fucking cost. But maybe I should have just fucking abandoned you and Ray in the street, so I wouldn’t hurt you. Is that what you wish had happened?”
The first tear rolled down his face as the door opened again.
“BOTH OF YOU, ENOUGH.”
Even Boss seemed startled at the look on Robyn’s face. Enough so that when he pushed past the small crowd at the door, nobody stopped him. I watched my brother walk down the hallway, and wondered why my face was wet.
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on the first day of halloween my true boo gave to me...a sakura with a sword
Alright, only two people expressed interest in seeing this, so apologies to the rest of you. I'm thinking just tumblr drabbles, but some might get long. So, here's a little bit of Sakura's POV for a bit between chapter one and the as of yet unposted chapter two of i get knocked down (BUT I GET UP AGAIN). Enjoy.
Sakura itches her nose and tries to fight off the second hand embarrassment she’s getting from this whole…thing. Haku, next to her, is just staring in horror. Which is absolutely a reasonable response, and luckily on his henge’d face can easily be mistaken for terror.
Which is good, because they’re supposed to be civilians and ergo be terrified of all of this.
But really it’s just…really, really bad.
“Did they just —“ Haku’s mouth snaps shut as Sakura shoots him a look — her brown eyes might look softer than her normal green glare, but he’s always been a smart kid.
Not that he’s wrong. And really, she’d prefer he be horrified and disbelieving than think anything that’s happening is a good idea but —
Sakura squints slightly and then tilts her head, hand itching for her bingo book. That's not a symbol she knows. Which is just wrong. How can there be a village she doesn’t know? They’re wearing their forehead protectors proud, which is nice she supposes but…
“There are too many,” one of them is saying, not even bothering to keep their voice down, “we should just kill some here. Keep the healthiest.”
Sakura sighs and tilts her head back. Next to her Haku’s shoulder’s relax. Her lips curl slightly and she shakes her arms out.
Every few months she likes to have them henge up and join a caravan as civilians just to work on some of those subtle skills that being a missing-nin don’t emphasize, but it’s not like this is the first time she’s ended up doing something to defend the group — but normally that's because whoever’s attacking realize that there’s someone with chakra just chilling there.
These guys haven’t noticed, didn’t even notice when Sakura made a clone to join the children.
Haven’t even noticed that mist is slowly rising and curling around their ankles and higher, despite the bright sun beating down.
Which is just, hell, just insulting.
“Okay, I’m sorry," she says, stepping forward from the crowd where she’s been cowering with the others, “what fucking village are you from?” She considers and glances to the children, “whoops, sorry, cover your ears, that’s a bad word.”
“We’re Sound! And we’re going to —“ Sakura whistles sharply to cut them off and signal Haku.
“Sounds made up,” she says, “but I changed my mind, I don’t actually care. Okay, bye.”
The ice mirrors rise from the mist slowly, and she wants to applaud at both how smooth they move and how down right creepy it looks. Haku’s learning so much, she’s so proud.
Her hands go over her shoulders, even as the fake-ninja arm themselves and look around, one splitting into two which is just bizarre, to pull out Kabutowari even though he just looks like a backpack at the moment.
She still hasn’t bothered to drop the henge, probably won’t, since what she’s pulled out looks like a leg of lamb attached to a mirror with ribbon holding the two together which is, quite frankly, amusing enough to make her enjoy what’s probably going to be a brutally boring fight. She snickers to herself, deflects a blow with the mirror and then cracks a skull open with the lamb before flash stepping to the next one.
“Okay,” she says once they’ve raided what the civilians have left behind — she figures they escaped with their lives which obviously wasn’t going to be the case otherwise, so taking some of their shit as payment is reasonable, and they weren’t even there to argue so they must not’ve cared about it too much, “but ‘Sound’ is definitely fake, right?”
Haku shrugs and continues to examine the roll of silk he’s going to spend the next week bitching about carrying until they get to one of the few tailors they like.
“Oi, brat, don’t ignore me. Sound, fake or real? I kinda want to find out what’s up with that. Side trip?” Haku rolls his eyes and ignores her, so she reaches over to flick the side of his head — being very careful not to catch him with the sharp edge of her fingernail. “Show some respect, brat, we’re gonna go hunt down some fake ninja, it’ll be fun.”
“Yes, Sensei,” he says, dryly, giving her a look over the silk that makes her laugh — he’s come so far from the shy boy terrified of his own bloodline limit, she’s so proud.
#sakura haruno#haruno sakura#haku#seven swordsmen of the mist#my fic#the twelve days of halloween#i wasn't up to fictober this year#for new job reasons#but i think i can do this#this'll be fun
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possession
venom!peter x silk!reader
ੈ✩ synopsis: peter parker is not himself when he falls into your universe. it must be a curse that he finds himself tethered to you. the darkness inside him has never wanted anything more.
ੈ✩ genres: strangers to lovers, hurt/comfort, angst, slow burn
ੈ✩ cw: smut (18+ only minors dni), unprotected sex, slightly dubcon, biting, masturbation, violence, gore, self-harm, angst, codependent relationships, slightly ooc peter
ੈ✩ wc: 10k+
ੈ✩ a/n: this is post-nwh. i’ve been working on this for months and i finally feel comfortable posting it even though i still have a love/hate relationship with this story. hopefully i’ll muster up enough energy to make a part two because i certainly have more in store for them. (i miss peter so bad)
ੈ✩ playlist | ੈ✩ masterlist
Peter wakes up with a sharp, throbbing pain in the back of his skull. Maybe if he was lucky, he had completely knocked the wind out of his frontal lobe. Maybe he’d woken in the middle of a coma-induced dream state. As he blinks his eyes open, through the haze of the world around him, his environment pulls itself together. What he sees isn’t familiar.
This isn’t his room.
Maybe this isn’t his body, either. He hopes it isn’t, but he feels the sting of a side wound like an electric shock when he stretches his upper body slightly.
He scans the walls in search of clues. He knows he’s not in danger – at least, he doesn’t think so – considering that he’s in a girl’s room and not a cavernous dungeon. His vision is dreamlike, blurry, still. When he squints at his surroundings, he can see posters on the walls and books stacked in every corner. He shivers when he realizes he’s looking around the room without his mask. Where the fuck is it?
When Peter looks down at his body, he notices how it stings and frowns at the few rips of lycra on his suit that showcase bloody wounds underneath. The bruise on his cheekbone throbs along with the tension headache that plagues his temples. He can taste copper in his mouth from his split lip.
“You’re awake.”
The voice startles him. Everything is still sensitive, his joints and wounds and the act of occupying his body. The sound of someone else’s voice in the room triggers enough adrenaline in him to shoot out a web in the direction of the bodily presence that enters.
You frown, cringing at his attack, but you don’t look as startled as he would expect. He widens his eyes when he sees that you’ve dodged his webs completely. Sitting up, he winces from the sharp pain on his side.
“Sorry,” he mumbles. “Reflex.”
“Yeah, I can tell.”
He doesn’t know what to do other than stare. Quite frankly, he didn’t expect to have to entertain a stranger tonight, nor did he think that his identity would be compromised in the presence of one. He’d barely remembered what had happened before he’d gotten knocked out. All he could recall was pain and the taste of blood in his mouth. Glancing at the slenderness of your fingers, he realizes that he doesn’t even remember your hands pulling him toward safety.
“You took my mask.”
“Wanted to make sure your face wasn’t broken. I didn’t take any pictures or call the cops if that’s what you think.”
“Why wouldn’t you?” he asks cautiously.
“I'm not particularly fond of them. Unless you want me to test how much ransom a loose Spider-man is worth.”
He blinks at the name, considering how ironic it is that you are the first person to see him in his most vulnerable state since his world changed for the worse. You, this unassuming stranger, who happened to have enough kindness to lug his body into your home.
He’s on edge. Of course, he is; he feels as if he’s been kidnapped, but the acuteness of his senses feels differently than they do when his body knows a threat is in front of him. Instead, it feels like the kaleidoscope of neurons inside him collects together in clear recognition. Like he knows you in his soul alone.
“How did you– how did you even get me up here? I was in an alley, and then–”
“And then I carried you back to my apartment.”
He narrows his eyes.
“Don’t see how that’s possible,” he mutters.
You surprise him by shooting a web from your fingertips to grab a water bottle from your desk and having it recoil into your hand without much effort.
Oh.
He asks you your name, and you tell him. When you ask him the same, he shifts uncomfortably and doesn’t answer you. You don’t take it personally.
Christ, he needs to leave now. But he’s transfixed by your big eyes and your curious stare, and he begins to wonder about you in the same way, as if you are the wounded butterfly he’d picked up on the street instead of the other way around.
You’re fucking weird, Peter’s decided, because, after this, you don’t ask him any more questions. Not anything that deviates from your concern about his wounded state.
You’re rather casual, which surprises him. You make him a cup of tea, lend him some of your oversized clothes (they fit him perfectly), and force him to stay on your bed so you can attempt to tend to his wounds. (He doesn’t let you.)
Naturally, he watches you wash your dishes and he plays the interrogation game, and you let him. You tell him that you’re in Brooklyn. You negate the idea of him swinging back to his house despite how much he insists. When he asks why, you’re hesitant.
“You’re probably safer here,” you sigh, almost impatiently.
He doesn’t argue when he feels the ache in his bones again.
“How is it that you’re like me?”
“I was also bitten by a radioactive spider.”
“Shit. There was another one?”
You don’t answer. God, your nonchalance freaks him the fuck out.
Why aren’t you fazed? What the fuck is wrong with you?
Maybe Peter will fake you out and flee, and he’ll forget all about you. He’ll never come near you again. But then there’s the warmth of your voice, and he stubbornly refuses to give in.
“I’m too fucking tired for all this interrogation, okay?” you exasperate. “You can take the bed. Or the couch. I don’t care. Just pick one.”
Why the hell are you letting a stranger crash at your place?
He doesn’t register it coming out of his mouth. You scoff.
“I’ve been through worse. And you’re barely a threat.”
Peter should feel offended, he thinks, but mostly he’s fascinated by you. He doesn’t blame you for your crabbiness once he sees the clock on your wall read 2:45 am. There’s a nebulous pause between the two of you now, so you make the first move by turning away from him and rummaging through your drawers. You throw an oversized t-shirt and sweats toward him that he catches immediately.
Without a word, you leave the room, which leaves him confused. He thinks that maybe you’re coming back eventually, washing up in the bathroom, but after twenty minutes of examining the knick-knacks and pictures on your wall, your absence is louder than ever. He frowns when he steps out and sees your sleeping figure on the living room couch. Shit. You were serious about him taking the bed.
He peers at you again, eyes adjusting to the room's pitch-black darkness until the window's blue moonlight allows him to see your face. You look peaceful, at bliss, almost.
Peter should just fucking leave. He contemplates this for over an hour as he lays in your bed, frowning at the ceiling because he’s not letting himself succumb to your weirdly kind offer of staying in your bed as a complete stranger.
Yeah, there had to be something wrong with you. You’d probably taken him in to use for human meat to sell on the black market or something. The whole girl-next-door thing was definitely a facade. It was.
Fuck you and your pretty eyes and pretty hair and how he could smell it everywhere in the room regardless of whether or not you were in it. Fuck you and your soft sheets and obnoxious amount of pillows.
Of course, once Peter is done ruminating, the sleep he has in your bed is the best he’s had in fucking weeks.
__
Your bed smells just like you. Like your sheets are fresh out of the laundry with a hint of something citrusy. Peter can barely open his eyes, but the sunlight from your window annoyingly beams onto his bruised face. The warmth licks his face.
He can hear the barely-there pattering of your light footsteps in the hallway. The hissing of a kettle. He emerges from your bedroom cautiously like a wild animal released from captivity. Your back is turned to him as you hum something nonspecific, some song he thinks he might’ve liked when he was in high school, but he doesn’t remember the name of it.
“Good morning, Peter,” you murmur, looking up and turning around when you notice his presence.
He furrows his brows. There’s a gleam in Peter’s eye that you can tell is untrusting. Like he’s expecting you to attack him.
“I never told you my name.”
Your gaze softens with sympathy. For some reason, you utter a soft apology.
“You already knew about me, but I didn’t know about you,” he accuses, arms crossed. “Why?”
You sigh. “Have you heard of the multiverse, Peter?”
No. No fucking way.
In a panic, he makes his way toward the front door of your apartment, but you beat him to it with two hands on his chest to block him.
“Peter! Peter, stop–”
“What the fuck is going on? Where am I?”
He doesn’t realize that he feels short of breath, chest heaving as he clutches you by the shoulders. He also doesn’t realize the extent of his super-strength, though you don’t complain or flinch from the contact.
“I’ll explain if you just calm down,” you reply, your voice still calm. Even in crisis, you’re still so fucking soft, so placid, and Peter isn’t sure if the fact is comforting or terrifying.
Something catches in his throat when you place your warm palms on his cheeks, an embrace too loving and nurturing for a stranger like him to deserve. The entire gesture rewires his brain instantly. Despite his ragged breathing, he stills and nods slowly.
“You’re on a different version of Earth. Okay? In this version, I’m the one who got bitten by a radioactive spider. I’m Silk.”
“I’m not supposed to be here.”
It comes out more like a question than a statement. You shake your head.
“No. I don’t know how you got here, but I promise you’ll be able to make it back. There’s a lot of us–”
“I know about the multiverse. I’ve– I’ve met other versions. Of myself.”
“You have?” you raise an eyebrow.
He hesitates. His brown eyes search yours, scanning your face until his gaze falls through you to fixate on your collarbone instead of your eyes. He blinks with a glassy scrutiny that bleeds with anxiety.
“I fucked things up on my Earth, and now no one knows who I am. No one knows who Peter Parker is, I mean. But why do you know who I am? How did you find me?”
“You know there are other Peters. I’ve met other Peters. After the multiverse nearly collapsed, the Spider Society was created. As a preventative measure, so that shit doesn’t happen again. All of us have the same story, and fucking it up fucks everyone else up, to put it simply. That can be something we can unpack for later. And I– I felt your presence. And I wanted to keep you safe, so I took you in..”
“There was something out there last night when I fell through. I don’t even remember how I got here. It was like waking up inside of a dream.”
The bewildered look in Peter’s eyes has you nearly as panicked as he is because you recognize it all too well. You’d seen it in the mirror yourself when you had first got bitten by that damn spider, however, at that time, you were fifteen and alone.
“What thing?”
“Something… dark. Amorphous. I don’t know.”
You frown. Your hands are still on him. His face feels like it’s on fire.
The thing inside his body screams at a frequency he can’t understand. It’s so loud that he can’t even hear himself think.
Kill her. Kill her. Kill her.
Shut the fuck up.
Peter jumps and takes a step back. When you try to move in tandem with him, he doesn’t let you. The voice in his head has a rasp unfamiliar to him, and it wants to overtake him. Fuck, is he hallucinating? Is he being fucking possessed?
Get out. Get out. Get the fuck out.
I don’t have anywhere else to go, Peter.
GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY BODY.
Look at her. Fucking delicious. We have to devour her. Now. NOW. NOW.
He won’t remember it later, but he runs through your bedroom door to the window, fumbling on the hinges until he nearly falls off your fire escape. When you relay this to him later, he’s bewildered, shaking. Too afraid to touch you. Too afraid to be in your apartment at all. Unsure of his memory, considering his lack of ability to recall any of this.
And yet, the warmth of your touch drinks him in, and he thinks that if he’s going to be trapped in a different universe than his own, he’s comfortable being in yours, under your roof. After he blacks out, your face is the only thing he can remember when he dreams.
__
The nightmares wake him up this time. He remembers the horrors of the night before you had found his mangled body in the alleyway. He remembers the pain, the glitch in the atmosphere that had seemed to have his body bursting through the seams, and the black entity that consumed his skin and stuck to it like glue. He remembers what it felt like to be transformed. He just doesn’t remember by what.
When Peter’s lids flutter open, he sees that his environment is sterile and sanitized. You make eye contact with him, and his honey-brown eyes darken, almost spiteful. The longer you look at his face, the more you notice he looks like a child.
He attempts to get up from the bed, but he’s restrained to it. He groans quietly, sucking his teeth.
“You’ll be out soon.”
He doesn’t say anything, though the grimace on his face says a thousand words. Instead, he scoffs.
Kill her. Kill her. Kill her.
The voice in his head is faint and raspy, though, unlike the other times, it’s barely there – much more muted than before. It comes as a passing thought, so nonchalant and quiet that Peter almost convinces himself that it’s something he hears echoed from the hallway nearby.
Your expression doesn’t falter. You merely watch him with curious eyes. It makes his skin hot.
“What happened?” he finally asks.
“You don’t remember?”
Peter doesn’t shake his head, nor does he look confused. He stays neutral as if he’s testing you. His jaw clenches.
“You fucking scared me, you know,” you mutter. There’s an exhaustion to your voice. How long has he fucking been here?
“Tell me.”
“It’s like you weren’t in your body,” you breathe. “Your eyes were all dark and you were trying to run away from me. You passed out after trying to jump off the fire escape. I thought you were trying to kill yourself, Peter.”
He notices that the edge in your voice is languishing, full of a distinct type of worry that he hasn’t felt from anyone else in ages. No one’s known him in over a year. But here you are, from a different universe, sitting across from him in this room with a face that almost looks like it’s about to be ruined with tears.
“I wouldn’t do that.”
“I know.”
“Why am I here?”
“I don’t know what happened. The tests they ran on you – it’s nothing we’ve seen before. Or yet.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“We use a device to send our Spider-people home based on your DNA. Or the spider you were bitten by since that’s what tethers you to your Earth. We thought you might go home and transport back to your universe, but you didn’t. The system fucking went berserk after scanning you.”
Peter’s first instinct is to say I’m sorry, but he knows that would be stupid, and the parasitic thing in his body shuts him down. He clamps his eyes shut to find darkness under all the harsh fluorescent lighting, but the hint of something sinister shakes his body in a way he can’t explain. He briefly remembers the moments before he allegedly tried to jump off the fire escape of your bedroom. Your soft eyes. Your hands on his face.
Your hand touches his now, and it makes his whole body jerk.
(Your warmth reminds him of someone else’s, and for that, the thing in him wants to fucking kill you.)
__
Miguel doesn’t know what the fuck is wrong with Peter, either. He has other shit on his plate, like chasing misfits through the multiverse.
Peter gets tired of the tests. It’s not like they’re doing anything because every so often, the thing inside him is lecherous and makes him feel disgusting for reasons beyond him. You are the only thing that keeps him calm. It’s like a manifestation of some curse cast upon him, a plague of a punishment.
In between the tests, he stays at yours. You don’t talk to him much because of your hours at the office, and when you’re home, you mostly eat dinner in silence. Sometimes Peter cooks and has dinner warm for you before you get home because he’s impatient and knows how to make a few basic meals from living alone in that dingy apartment.
It’s mundane. Comforting. In some stupid, twisted way, Peter wants to keep it. Keep you. Even if he won’t admit it.
He doesn’t have to be Spider-Man on your Earth, and no one knows his identity. He almost feels like a housewife from how he dotes on you in small ways without you asking, this domesticity he’s adapted just because he can. His injuries have healed, and he works on yours instead.
You reject his help because you’re used to it. Still, he hovers by the bathroom door when you bind your wounds.
He watches you with bated breaths, bottom lip sucked in his teeth. You have no qualms about the pair of eyes on you – at least, you don’t show it.
“That shit’s gonna get infected.”
You roll your eyes without looking at him. Your nimble fingers work on patching up the cut under your breast instead.
“I know what I’m doing,” you huff.
“You didn’t even put Neosporin on it.”
“Huh?”
“You don’t have Neosporin in this universe?” he asks, an incredulous expression on his face.
You shrug.
“Again, I know what I’m doing.”
“Maybe I should be out there with you on patrol.”
Your head whips around then, studying Peter’s face. He stares back at you with a seriousness that doesn’t break. You narrow your eyes.
“We’re working on getting you home, Peter. I’m not dragging you into my shit.”
“You dragged me into your shit the moment you took me in.”
You grimace, saying nothing. Your lack of response annoys him, but more than anything, it chips away at his ego.
Maybe you regret rescuing him. The thought brings dread to his chest, guilt riding up in the caverns of the space he holds for you, which has grown bigger and bigger as the weeks go on. He thinks that if the two of you had met in different circumstances, normal ones, perhaps the two of you would be friends.
He’d been alone for far too long. The scrubbing of his identity already turned him into a shell. The old Peter would’ve been much more proactive about this situation. He certainly would’ve been less fucking moody. But he knows there’s no one to accuse him of not being his usual self because nobody knows him anymore, except you.
__
Peter is so fucking bored of staying in your apartment. He needs something to keep him going, whether it’s crime or college. Cooped up in your home, he feels like nothing at all.
Sometimes, that feeling subsides when you’re home with him all domestic. He agrees to your movie nights despite protesting your incessant preference for horror. He likes how you curl your lip in a smirk when you tease him for being so damn jumpy.
While your relationship is mildly symbiotic, the thought of you permeates him more and more, usually at night. He has dreams of you that he’d be ashamed to relay when he’s awake. The thing inside him lurches, wants with so much zeal that he has to take measures to calm it down.
One night, when you return from patrol, your Silk suit ripped at your bicep, hip, and the space that’s supposed to cover your ribcage. He lets you patch yourself up like you always do without words other than an annoyed gruff.
Peter can’t get the sight of your bloody wound out of his head, the exposed skin under your breast. Even the tightness of your suit allures him more than it should, which is fucking ridiculous. It’s nearing five weeks since he dropped into your universe. He should be used to you by now.
“You good?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.
“Uh-huh.”
You know that’s not true. Peter looks like he’s seen a ghost. You don’t pry. You stopped doing that weeks ago.
The second he leaves your room, he runs the shower on cold.
You want it.
“Shut up,” he growls under his breath.
Peter has never wished for a lobotomy, and certainly not as much as he is now.
You want her. Take her.
Shivering does nothing for him. He turns the water up to hot, nearly scalding, just as he’s convinced himself to like it. The thing inside him is consuming him, getting closer and closer to his point of breaking, and he knows it. Every moment he can’t be around you for more than a minute, he knows it.
The only thing that satiates the feeling is to take action himself. To truly quiet that dark, venomous desire, he has to touch himself for release, and he’s ashamed that you’re the thought at the apex of it every single time. Each time he reaches his peak, he can almost make out the figure expanding over his own, a viscous black substance that seems to breathe over his veins. Once he comes to bed with you, it’s gone.
__
The stupid urges make him feel animalistic. It’s never been like this.
Images of you with your suit ripped at the seams and flashes of your bare skin reel in his brain constantly. It’s embarrassing. He’s not fucking sixteen.
You bother less with pleasantries now that it’s been nearly two months since he fell into your universe. After the initial shock of his situation, of course, he’d had a billion questions, to which you attempted to answer to the best of your ability. Proactive as ever, he’d opted to go to the Spider Society himself on several occasions without you, attempting to understand what could be keeping him tethered to your universe, and to no avail.
After those trials and tribulations, he’d become withdrawn.
“Wanna watch a movie?” you try one night. He shrugs. It’s an answer to most of your questions now. It’s starting to get fucking annoying.
“You mentioned you like Star Wars, right?”
“Sure,” Peter mumbles.
“I’ve never seen the prequels.”
It’s the only thing that brings light to his eyes in maybe a week, you notice. The only other times you see that lightness is when you catch Peter in secret moments cozying up to your cat, Ferris.
(Weird name for a cat, he’d remarked. You tell him you’d watched Ferris Bueller’s Day Off the day you found him in the alleyway.)
Now Peter is settled on your couch with a soft black t-shirt clinging loosely to his frame. Maybe he doesn’t mean to be on the complete opposite side of the sofa, but the distance feels more apparent to you than it should. Ferris purrs in Peter’s lap. Traitor.
You pretend you aren’t fixated by the slight freckles that decorate his nose. Or his collarbone. Or the way that he smells just like you because he hasn’t bothered to ask you to buy him soap for himself.
You get bits and pieces of Peter’s personality over time. You learn that his favorite Thai dish is larb, just like you. He’s incredibly smart, which isn’t unlike you, but you certainly give less shits about the scientific aspect of the multiverse than he does. He has a guilty pleasure for sugary cereal. He loves the Velvet Underground. He has a freckle under his abs on the left side of his body. He’s annoyingly persistent in helping you patch yourself up.
When you hear the sound of your name in his voice, you wince.
“You zoning out already?”
“Huh?”
He gives you a look and you can’t help but giggle.
“You didn’t even hear anything I just said.”
“I was having flashbacks,” you shrug, blinking back at Natalie Portman on the television screen instead of Peter’s eyes. “To my Padme Halloween costume.”
“That’s stolen valor!”
“I was twelve, dipshit. It was on sale at Specter Halloween and there was nothing left.”
“Spirit Halloween?”
You furrow your brows.
“Oh my god. Nevermind.”
For some reason, this reaction makes you pull the fleece blanket from his body. You mumble a rushed apology to your cat, who scrambles off of Peter’s lap in an instant. Peter is quick to pull the blanket back immediately until the two of you end up in a tug of war. You see a flash of grinning teeth.
“Peter!” you squeal when he yanks the blanket so hard that you nearly fall off the couch.
“Why do you have so much energy– dude!” You’re almost in his lap but he’s faster than you. You are so close to using your webs on him.
A flush of heat spreads over your cheeks when he has you pinned to the couch, arms above your head with the blanket now forgotten on the floor. His knees are on each side of you, so squirming does nothing for your cause.
“Relax,” he gruffs.
You can’t tell if his eyes shift in darkness or if it’s just a trick of the television light. The warmth emanating from his cheeks matches yours. The way his legs are spread above yours is vulnerable, and so is the way you’re looking at him, and – fuck, can you stop looking at him like that?
You feel the grip on your wrists loosen as he shuffles to his feet, nearly tripping over the discarded blanket.
“We need more popcorn,” he mumbles.
Fixing the mess of your hair, you peer at him through the dimness.
“That was the last bag.”
“I can get some more then.”
He pulls on the hoodie that’s draped over the armchair – your oversized hoodie, in fact – and it’s clearly too tight on him.
“What? It’s late. Are you – are you hungry or something? I can make you food.”
“With what?” he snaps. “We haven’t been able to go grocery shopping yet this week.”
“Well, it’s too fucking late for that now.”
Silence permeates the space between the two of you. The seconds that pass feel so long. There is no void in Peter’s head, only the sound of a disgusting, gnawing desire. Grotesque wanting. He wishes you would just leave so he can scrub himself raw in the shower like he usually does.
She smells so good.
“I’ll get some stuff from the bodega. I need– I need air, anyway,” Peter stammers. “Should swing around and stuff. I’m holed up in here every goddamn day.”
The comment stings. It’s not your fault that he’s stuck here like a stray cat. He knows that, so he feels guilty when his words come out with more bite than he intends. He can’t stand to see the way your bottom lip trembles slightly as you look away from him, mumbling something of a useless apology even when you both know you have nothing to apologize for.
You flinch when the door slams behind him.
__
You don’t see Peter the next morning even though your keys hang right next to the doorway. The window by your bed is left slightly ajar, so you assume that it’s meant for him.
It’s fine. He had already expressed his cabin fever to you, so it makes sense that he’d be out exploring the city. (This is what you tell yourself throughout the day, even though you can’t stop feeling an ache in your gut.)
Your day is mundane, but they always are, you suppose. Maybe they haven’t felt as such since you had company every day. Peter’s absence is so much more apparent than it should be. You haven’t been without him in a bit. Even at your stupid day job, he occupies your mind, and the mere knowledge of his absence sears a hole in your heart. It feels pathetic. Maybe he’s home. Maybe he’d come back after you’d left for work.
When you get home in the evening, he’s nowhere to be found. You pretend that it’s nothing to you. You still make dinner for two.
__
Once you’re settled for bed, Peter is on the other side of town at a random bar. It’s a miracle he gets in without an official ID and all, not to mention his boyish face. A raven-haired girl who skips the line takes a liking to him, plus she seems to know the bouncer. She’s attached to Peter like a moth for the rest of the night.
She’s daring and touchy, with a sense of humor that’s too over-familiar to appear charming. Peter doesn’t have to do much except nod and smirk to seduce her, downing shot after shot just so he can feel a buzz instead of irritation whenever the girl has her hands on him. On the dance floor, the shape of her body slightly resembles yours, maybe. She reeks of over-saturated vanilla, like the inside of a Victoria’s Secret.
When he fucks her in her lavish penthouse, he can only think of you. He thinks her apartment is boring, lacks character, and looks soulless. It’s nothing like yours. It doesn’t even begin to contain the same warmth. Peter feels similarly about the girl, but he’d had enough shots in the bar to ignore that emptiness. For now, he feels full with his cock inside her, hearing her whiny pleas and soft moans as her face gets buried into the mattress. He only cums when he thinks of your face.
It’s not enough.
Shut the fuck up, Peter screams in his head. Shut up.
Though, we’re hungry, aren’t we?
No.
Peter groans, digging his teeth into the girl’s neck as his fingertips press into the curve of her waist. He shuts his eyes, breathing rapidly as his body relaxes on top of hers. None of her sweet nothings registers in his brain. He holds off the violence in his head until she’s fast asleep, to his relief, because then he can return to you.
___
You’re wide awake when Peter fumbles with your bedroom window at three in the morning. He nearly trips next to your bed, but he braces himself, landing his hands on the softness of your rug.
You hear him sigh. Maybe you’ve become too attuned to him. Every movement he makes is a small earthquake to you, so present and real as he unravels even when he’s just taking a few steps toward you. Maybe you’re imagining his breath behind your neck. Maybe you’re dreaming and you wish for it.
He assumes you’re asleep when he crawls into bed with you. This is only the second time. The first time, he’d had a nightmare on the couch and you had offered your warmth. At the moment, he’s inexplicably warm as he wraps his arms around your waist.
“Where were you?” you whisper.
“Out.”
“You smell like a high school girl’s locker room.”
He snorts, tightening the grip he has over your middle. You feel his breath tickling the nape of your neck.
“Okay.”
“You gonna answer me?”
“Why does it matter? ‘m a big boy.”
“It matters when I’m responsible for you and I don’t know where you are.”
“I was always going to come back.”
You don’t say anything to that. You think this is too intimate, but you can’t help but admit to yourself that it’s what you need. The touch of someone else. The feeling of warmth enveloping your body.
You haven’t felt him this close to you before, at least when you’re this hypervigilant. Stretching your back slightly, you decide to turn to face him. Your body curls naturally into Peter’s without a second thought.
You notice the way he bites the inside of his bottom lip subtly. It’s dumb, how rapidly his heart beats now that you’re looking right at him. You pretend you don’t feel it from being so close to him, but it makes your heart elate.
Peter closes his eyes so he doesn’t have to see your face. It’s not like the action helps him calm his heart down, because fuck, you’re so warm and soft and pliant in his arms. He’s gotten good at quieting the voice in his head lately but he’s still afraid of it consuming him.
“Goodnight, Peter,” you murmur.
He pretends he’s asleep. It takes everything in him to keep up the facade until he knows for sure you’ve passed out inches away from him.
___
When Peter wakes before you, something primal pushes his senses into overdrive. You smell so fucking sweet. It’s like the universe wants him to eat you.
She’s right there on a platter for you. Just for you.
He’s good at restraining it. Sucking in his teeth, his eyes scan the curves of your waist to the soft edges of your lips.
Despite his restraint, he can’t be in the room with you right now. Certainly not in the same bed basking in your warmth. For fuck’s sake, what were you thinking, allowing him into your bed in the first place?
He already knows the answer – kindness is what fuels you—your altruism. When the mind gets the best of him, Peter curses at your character when he’s alone. Sometimes he’s on a random rooftop bombarded by thoughts of you. Sometimes he’s in your shower.
If anything, you were perfect, so perfect that Peter couldn’t stand it. So warm and pretty and pleasant that even the way he touches his cock doesn’t dirty the image he has of you in his head. You’re too pure, even when you use your nasty tongue against him, even when you fight him.
The slightest showcase of your bare skin doesn’t help the cause. Peter retreats to the couch again even though you tell him that you don’t mind the space he takes up in your bed. He can’t tell you he’s doing it for your safety.
Even so, he’s so attuned to you that he hears your midnightmare whines in the night as if you were right next to him. And when he guards your bed like a dog while you’re asleep, he tries not to focus on the shape of your collarbone. Of course not. He convinced himself that he was lonely, fucking pathetic. He tells himself that the mere sight of your exposed neck and the pout of your lips does nothing to him at all.
__
Peter comes with you to headquarters. The other spiders are sympathetic to him, often over-friendly. He sticks to you like a lost puppy.
“Did Miguel figure out anything yet?”
“Huh?”
“About getting me home.”
You raise your eyebrows in surprise, though your expression neutralizes once you look away. It was stupid to hold any value towards Peter. This is what you tell yourself, at least, so you must remind yourself that his questions aren’t out of left field.
You refused to face the reality that you’d grown attached to him, that his presence had felt normal to you after he’d stayed with you for more than two months.
“Still working on it,” you reply, giving him a sheepish smile.
You feel guilty despite telling the truth. No tests could decipher why Peter was immune to being sent off back to his universe. No updates to the technology had worked, either.
(You don’t really know what he’s still doing here, especially considering how quiet it is at headquarters today. You’re only really there to assist Margo in perfecting the gizmo that helps Miguel verse-jump.)
“I got you lunch, though. And feel free to leave whenever you want, I might stay late.”
You drop a paper bag in front of him. The contents reveal a Cuban sandwich, bread smooshed flat with extra pickles. His favorite. You’d remembered his long rant about missing Delmar’s.
The gesture is sweet. You’re sweet, even though you’re a hard shell to break.
The voice in his head is louder than usual today. Once you’re in a separate room, he feels immediately desperate for your presence, and he can’t tell if this is one of his usual emotions. The moment he fell into your world, besides feeling possessed, the emotions he experiences within his body are unlike him. Stronger, desperate, on the brink of detonation.
“I’m sorry you’re stuck here,” you stammer after clearing your throat.
“I’m lucky,” Peter shrugs. His eyes don’t waver from yours. “That you’re the one taking care of me, I mean. You’re kind for letting me stay.”
For keeping me. Do you want to keep me as much as I want to keep you?
The smile you give him is saccharine as you flush. He wonders if it’s fake, secretly full of vitriol. Perhaps he’ll find out when the both of you are home.
He decides to give you space for the rest of the afternoon. After boring himself with floating in and out of random stores in Manhattan, he returns to your apartment in the evening, jiggling your bedroom window open even though you had given him a spare key.
None of the lights are on except a glow emitting from behind the bathroom door, left open slightly.
Your eyes shoot open when you hear the creak of the door. In the dimness of your bathroom, the only thing that helps you see Peter’s face is the dozens of tealight candles you have around the bathtub.
He gulps, mumbling an apology as he looks away.
“You’re home earlier than I thought you’d be,” he murmurs.
“I was having massive brain fog all day so I came home early,” you tell him. He nods in understanding without saying anything. He doesn’t know why he’s lingering.
“You clearly haven’t figured out the concept of a front door.”
He blinks at the wet sheen of your collarbone, how the candles flicker an orange light across your face, and then he looks away again.
“Sorry. Force of habit.”
“Well, you should try it. You have a key,” you snort.
Peter’s heartbeat races. God, you smell so fucking good. Like citrus and sandalwood and sunlight. There’s no way he’s going to be able to sleep next to you tonight.
TAKE HER RIGHT NOW. FUCKING DO IT.
“Uh, I’ll leave you be,” he rasps, accidentally slamming the bathroom door closed.
He knows you’ll be annoyed about it later, but he unlatches your bedroom window again to get outside and feel the fresh air. He doesn’t know what to do with his energy, with the gnawing in his body, so he tries to get his breathing even on the roof of your building.
“Fuck off, fuck off, fuck off,” Peter mumbles in succession, straining his body.
On the concrete of the rooftop, he lies down and stares at the evening sky, trying to think of literally anything else, but he can’t. He knows that your existence isn’t a curse, that whatever it is that’s plaguing him is deep within his body, but he doesn’t know how to exorcize it.
In a frenzy, he rips his suit from his body because the thing inside him is begging for stimulation. Thoughts of you flood his brain. Every angle of you, every memory, every scent. You would be surprised to know how much he’s memorized about you considering how rarely he likes to make eye contact.
And God, your eyes. How would you feel if you were watching him right now? Would you be disgusted? Would you be as disgusted as Peter is with himself?
It takes a minute or two of palming his dick before he finishes just from thinking about you. He groans lowly, animalistic, and there still isn’t any relief despite the mess he’s made on his suit.
YOU’D FEEL BETTER IF IT WAS HER.
Fuck you.
Why is he so goddamn flustered? He’s literally slept next to you. And it isn’t like he saw anything when you were in the bathtub. Just your bare face, your wet shoulders–
Fuck, he’s hard again. Peter doesn’t think he’s been this hard in his entire life.
It doesn’t take long for him to cum again even with all the overstimulation. You’re probably wondering where he is, too. He hopes to God you aren’t in your room so he can sneak back in quietly and get changed, maybe throw in a load of laundry so he doesn’t give himself away.
This is so stupid. So, so stupid.
Luck is on Peter’s side when he crawls back into your apartment. He hears you humming from the kitchen and the smell of onions and garlic wafts under his nose. He strips quietly and changes into new clothes.
“Pete?”
Sighing, he follows the sound of your voice. The smile you give him is nearly blinding.
“Where were you?”
“Uhh, checking the mail.”
“For half an hour?” you raise a brow.
He shrugs. An excuse makes its way into his mind.
“And I went out to look for cat food. We ran out. I couldn’t find the, uh, brand Ferris likes, though. Sorry.”
“Wow,” you give him a hint of a smirk. The cat in question jumps onto your shoulder as you bend down to get a pot from one of the lower cupboards. “You hear that, Ferris? Seems like Petey cares if you live or die.”
You coo at the small tabby, who meows in response. Peter rolls his eyes, feigning annoyance.
“And you still haven’t figured out how to use the front door. Do you need a live tutorial from me or what?”
Peter bites the inside of his cheek as he sits down at the island, watching as you pour crushed tomatoes into the pot. The sight makes him awfully nostalgic. You’re the first person who’s cooked for him in years.
“Let me be,” he huffs, the hint of a chuckle in his voice. “And you’re gonna get cat hair in the pasta sauce.”
“No. Ferris is so well-groomed.”
“Not when he sheds all over my clothes.”
“You should be thankful he likes to roll around in your dirty laundry pile. That means he likes you, you know.”
Silence stews in the room, save for the sounds of boiling water. Peter takes the liberty to unlock your phone and put one of your playlists on the speaker.
He clears his throat. “You need any help?”
“Nah, it’s just pasta,” you shrug. “It’s the last we have, though. Wanna go on a grocery run tomorrow?”
“Of course. The fridge is pitiful.”
“I don’t need your attitude when I feed you every day, Parker.”
You smile in jest at him and of course, he avoids eye contact like he usually does. Over the weeks, you’ve been accustomed to him acting like another stray kitten, but sometimes, you wonder if there’s something about your presence or personality that makes him keep you at arm’s length. Not that you should care what a stray thinks about you.
Peter wishes he could act normal around you instead of constantly being on edge. Again, it’s not your fault. If there was a way he could make it up to you, to let you know how much he’s grateful for you, he would. Every time he thinks about it, his body takes over and shame is all that’s left.
The bowl of pasta you put in front of him smells heavenly and looks like a page in the cooking section of the New York Times.
“Help yourself to seconds, big boy.”
His eyes flash to your face, but you’re busying yourself with putting wet cat food onto a small plate for Ferris.
You both end up eating on the island together. You don’t take a seat next to him, choosing to stand up across from him. Instead of conversing, the music continues to play quietly from the speaker, and you scroll mindlessly through the emails on your phone.
“I can feel you staring at me, you know.”
“I wasn’t,” Peter replies, defensive.
“You were,” you snort. “Which is funny because usually you refuse to make eye contact with me.”
“That’s not true.” (He’s lying through his teeth.)
“It’s okay. I’m not offended.” (Okay, maybe now you’re the one lying through your teeth.)
Peter scoffs, looking away, of course.
“Thanks for dinner,” he mumbles.
He looks down, collecting his bowl and utensils. He decides to busy himself with the dishes, taking yours wordlessly without looking at your face.
“You don’t have to do that,” you say softly. He shrugs.
When you say his name, you’re right next to him and he feels like he might choke on nothing. Sure, he senses your presence in proximity to his own, but there’s nothing to stop you from getting close to him.
“You’re always on edge around me.”
He doesn’t reply, even though he knows the sound of running water from the kitchen sink isn’t enough to drown out the tension between you two.
“Peter,” you try. Ugh, now you feel whiny.
“Hm?” He feigns ignorance as he glances at you, turning off the faucet.
“I– I just want you to be comfortable around me.”
“I am,” he lies.
You don’t know what to say to break through the invisible wall he’s put between you two. He doesn’t know how to tell you that the distance is to keep you safe.
Your shoulders sag in defeat as you turn away from him and it conjures a new ache in his chest. Peter is often too caught up in his agony to notice how it might affect you. He can notice the frustration that radiates off of you – he’s not stupid. But the clear disappointment in your body language is so much more apparent than it ever was before.
“I think I might go to bed early,” you tell him, your voice just above a whisper. “Thanks for cleaning up.”
“Of course.”
The door to your bedroom shuts quietly.
Despite his constant uneasiness around you, Peter feels petulant now that you’ve left his side. Especially with the guilt of making you feel alienated in your own home. The trouble of explaining any of this to you feels like a burden more than anything, and you were already dealing with the burden of him staying in your apartment like he was haunting the place.
Ferris slinks between Peter’s legs, purring. He climbs up his legs the same way he does to you and Peter welcomes him into his arms.
“You shouldn’t be nice to me, either,” Peter whispers, stroking the cat’s fur slowly.
After Peter finishes cleaning up the kitchen, he settles on the couch for mindless television while Ferris settles on his lap. It doesn’t take him long to feel his eyes heavy-lidded, and although it should be easy to fall asleep on the couch, his body itches for your touch. Trying to sleep on your couch makes his limbs feel like they need to stretch every other second. So he surrenders and falls into your bed like he usually does. Like how you expect him to.
__
He dreams of you. He often does.
Usually, he never remembers once he wakes up, which is probably the safest option. At the moment, the dreams are too visceral to be considered dreams to his subconscious.
At the moment, he thinks the silkiness of your skin has to be real under his fingertips. It has to be. It would only make sense because your scent is so fucking strong, so alluring. It permeates the entire room, along with the subtle smell of sex and desperation.
Peter can see your pink mouth parting. The way your back arches. The way his name sounds when it comes from your throat, babbling its way out of your mouth, so sweetly. So fucking innocently.
It’s all rudely interrupted by the darkness that he’s attempted to keep away for so long. A black cloud that envelops the both of you, until the cloud is tangible, until it feels like a substance that could drown you.
Where his senses only uttered your name and acknowledged your sweetness is now replaced by an insatiable hunger. One that is partially his, partially from an entity that could break you in half without a second thought.
Now, the entity clouds him. Consumes his entire body until he’s nothing but a vast monster with sharp teeth with you underneath him.
The look on your face is full of horror. Your naked body shudders. Peter wants nothing more than to comfort you, but he knows he can’t, not when something black and viscous has obscured his entire body.
He is not in his body when his teeth graze the skin of your shoulder, biting hard enough for blood to trickle out of your skin. Your scream is the only thing that he can hear, maybe other than his own, once he sees your mouth spit out blood.
And then, darkness.
___
“No, nonononono, no, fuck, please–”
It all happens so fast. He doesn’t know what he does to you that makes you drop dead so quickly, and for fuck’s sake, his arms are still not his arms.
“Peter!”
A shake in his universe breaks him apart. When he opens his eyes, he sees yours, wide and shocked and bright despite the darkness of the night.
You’re in your bed and so is he. And you’re holding him, unscathed. There is no black gore adorning his arms.
“Peter, it’s okay,” you shush him softly.
One hand strokes his hair while the other is splayed with fingers stretched across his warm cheek. You’re more than concerned by how shaken he looks. Like he’s in shock. You’ve never seen him like this.
“You’re okay,” he says. It’s a whisper. It sounds like a prayer.
“I am,” you nod. “I’m fine. I want to make sure that you’re fine, too, okay?”
His lashes flutter when you stroke his cheek. His breathing is heavy like a newly discovered beast, but you know that you don’t have to tame him from the way he keens to your touch.
“I–I thought–”
“Shh, you don’t have to talk about it. It wasn’t real, okay? You just had a nightmare,” you coo.
You can feel the way he swallows sharply and the way he struggles to breathe through his nose. He winces when he realizes that you’re wiping away a tear from his cheek.
“I was– I was terrible–” he stammers, gasping for breath. “And you–”
“Peter, it’s okay. It was just a dream. It’s okay.”
“You aren’t safe with me.”
His eyes are wild. He’s so earnest when he speaks that maybe, just maybe he could be telling the truth.
You ignore it even though the way he says it breaks your heart.
“I am safe with you. And you’re safe with me, right here,” you try. The sound of his voice has tears brimming the corners of your eyes, too, but you don’t notice. You just want to get through to him. You swallow your anxiety. “We’re safe together, I promise. I would never let anything bad happen to you.”
He scans your face frantically until his eyes zero in on your lips. His senses are flooded with you, like he’s an animal ready to pounce on his prey, but he tries to hold back. His breathing turns shallow and he can’t help but stare at your bottom lip quivering, feeling the warmth of your palms against his cheeks.
TAKE HER. TAKE HER. TAKE HER.
He’s not sure what the motive is for him pressing his lips to yours, whether it’s the demon inside him or the desire festering in his body. Peter knows that they’re one and the same.
To his surprise, you surrender your mouth to him immediately. His tongue slots into between your lips without effort as his hands clasp your body with his innate strength, ranging from your hips to the undersides of your breasts.
You didn’t expect him to kiss you, but now that he has, you don’t think that you want him to ever stop.
Your hands graduate from his cheeks to the back of his head, pulling at his brown tresses as his hands roam your body with more fervor than anyone else has given you.
You’ve been intimate with other people before, but they were always so careful, so timid with you. Maybe sometimes they were rough, but your mind was too checked out to notice. But now, the mere touch of someone else’s fingertips on your hard nipples has you squirming in your bed, making your breath hitch. Already, you feel the warmth in your core.
Peter discards your shirt (nearly rips it off) with ease as you whimper, enabling him, neither of you saying a word at all. You grab at Peter’s shirt to tug off, which he does, but when you pull at the waistband of his sweatpants, he takes your hand and slams it above your head with fingers interlocked.
Look how fun this is, Peter. Don’t you want to ruin her? Fuck her pretty little face?
Peter groans at the thought of you gagged with his cum, but he can barely fathom even taking out his cock yet. Well, he can, and although he’s thought about you like that, he doesn’t want to move too quickly. In contrast, his body seems to be moving faster than his brain.
He never thought you would want it as much as he does.
You whine when you feel Peter’s fingers creep under the waistband of your shorts and underneath your panties, immediately feeling your wetness. It pools into the fabric as he rubs your slit incessantly, making you mewl eagerly as Peter’s teeth suck on the skin of your jaw.
“F-fuck–,” you whimper, limp in his arms, preening to the feeling of his tongue on your clavicle.
You’re so fucking wet, he could devour you in one bite if he wanted to. He could make it painless for you, but that wouldn’t be fair, would it? You wouldn’t feel any of it, none of the agonizing pleasure that should build up between your thighs from his touch alone, and he wants to see it all over your face so fucking badly.
Do not tease us. We have an appetite to fulfill, don’t we?
I’m fucking getting there, hold on.
Sure, the monster in him wants to devour you, kill you, swallow you whole in a snap. But Peter wants to enjoy it. Wants to enjoy you. So he attempts to quiet the deep voice inside of him.
He still has your wrists bound in one large hand while his other grips your thighs hard, discarding your bottoms in the process. When he opens his eyes, he sees you splayed naked for him with a wanton expression on your face, nearly drooling.
He also sees that somehow, he’d taken off his sweatpants and boxers, hard cock swelled up and aching as it grazes your folds slowly.
Peter thinks he’d like to finger you, go down on you, and see how his touch makes electricity spark within your abdomen while your face contorts. He wants to see all your features twist into a sweet expression of pure pleasure, but he’s too fucking impatient. Maybe that’s the thing inside him speaking, so hungry and urgent that he can’t tell if he’s suppressing a being or his desires at this point.
He doesn’t know what currently guides his instincts. They’re all blinded, flooded by thoughts of you. As if there’s nothing else on Earth he could want, ever.
That could be true. It probably is. But that’s something he can unpack later.
For now, he can only be influenced by the sound of your voice begging his name. He swallows down the sound of it with his tongue in your mouth, drinking in your whimpers as he bites on your bottom lip.
“Please,” you beg, lifting your hips to meet his length desperately as you squirm underneath him. “Need it— need—”
“Need me, huh?” Peter rasps. He touches his forehead to yours, hands still clutching at your wrists above your head.
“Yes.”
“So fucking clingy,” he mumbles against your mouth. You arch your back at the mere feeling of his cock prodding against your wet folds and it drives him fucking insane.
For once, the voice inside his head is only yours. He feels grateful for it.
“Were you planning this the whole time, huh? Wanted me in your bed from the beginning, didn’t you? Admit it.” He’s all teeth when he taunts you. He wonders if you’d let him spit in your mouth if you weren’t so busy pouting.
“Y-yes.”
“So fucking cute,” he sneers. “Pathetic, too.”
You don’t recognize the wrath in his voice — it’s unlike him. Even when he’s been pissed off with you. But you don’t have it in you to question it, because the darkness in it sounds like silk and crushed velvet, and the feeling of his hot breath against your neck makes you want him even more.
In the darkness, Peter’s eyes look otherworldly. Dark and bottomless, the devil incarnate.
You moan his name once more and whiplash meets the senses.
With a shaking exhale, you take the stretch of him, all of him, wincing the slightest bit as he bottoms out. It stings until he slides out just to thrust himself back in again, the resolve blatant on your face as your mouth falls in surrender.
Usually, you’d be embarrassed. It takes a bit for you to let someone in like this so intimately, and even when you’ve done it with other men, you were at least a little intoxicated.
Right now, you’re merely blissed from drowsiness, borderline euphoric from Peter’s proximity. You wouldn’t be able to admit it out loud — you knew the sweet sounds falling from your mouth were enough. Even when Peter had first settled into your bed tonight while you were asleep, you subconsciously curled into him like a moth to a flame.
Peter cups your breast in his hand harshly to latch his mouth onto your nipple, sucking and biting just to hear you whine. He’s rougher than any lover you’ve had before, so you aren’t exactly sure if he’s being sadistic with the amount of teeth he’s using. The feeling of his canines against your flesh is like nothing you’ve felt before. You’d never thought it would be a feeling you would get so fucking addicted to.
He fucks into you harder now, pulling up your legs so that his large, calloused palms are bruising the skin of your thighs. One leg ends up hitched over his shoulder so that he can thrust into you from a deeper angle, one that makes your eyes roll back into your head.
“So fucking good for me– so fucking good–”
Your hips shake when Peter inevitably reaches your sweet spot while his hand that isn’t propping you up is focused on stimulating your clit. You’re fucking brainless, listening to his filthy praises.
“Peter! Aah– oh my god–”
He’s obsessed with the way you’re rendered speechless, how you’re lifting your hips just to meet his, how you’re so obedient when you whimper his name. He’s obsessed with you. He thinks this might be another dream.
Sloppily, he nibbles at your earlobe and laves his tongue from your jaw down to your throat as he fucks into you with ease. His pleasure is a rubber band about to fucking snap. Your hushed breaths and whines nearly tip him over the edge, especially when he can feel you sucking in him so tightly.
“Cum for me, fucking cum for me,” Peter growls. “I know you can do it, baby. Can feel you’re close.”
He’s more intense with his thrusts now that he’s trying to coax your release, and truthfully, he can feel himself following you right after.
“I’m– I’m gonna–”
Your voice falls into a staccato of moans that dissipate into Peter’s wet mouth. Your nails dig into his back as he nearly melts into your body.
His frantic thrusts begin to slow, his hips sloppy against yours as he groans against your neck. His mind is in such a frenzy that he thinks he might just devour you. It starts with his fingers wrapped around your throat. He revels in the sound of your voice choking on your moans.
Peter nearly smothers you with his hand over your mouth, while he bites incessantly at your neck and shoulder. The sweetness of your voice, desperate and wanton for him, is quickly replaced by something darker in his mind. A voice dormant inside him that awakens with the threat of contamination. He’s in his nightmare again, but with the aid of your body to remind him of bliss. Of power.
“Fuck, I’m sorry, fuckfuckfuck–”
His body is so fucking heavy on top of yours, suffocating you with his desire. His teeth bite down hard enough on the juncture of your neck to draw blood, and he ignores your cry. The frenzy of war and lust and intoxication in his head is too fucking much. It’s his own personal eclipse.
His warmth spills into you. He feels his cum in between your bodies, overflowing out of your soaked cunt and onto the bedsheets.
It takes a moment for Peter to notice that you’re crying. He knows it should hurt him. He knows he can’t stand the sight of tears flowing down your delicate cheeks because of him. But he doesn’t feel anything at all.
In a way, both of you are changed.
You had leaped off of a precipice the moment you let him into your bed.
Peter furrows his brows at your tear-streaked face, body stilling with shallow breaths. He cups your face in his warm hands and kisses you sweetly like a lover would and not a monster.
For some hellish reason, you kiss him back.
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PIECES, origin story for my character Voodoo, from No More Kings.
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tw gore
Your chest was still warm when I reached inside. The skin split easily, sternum shifting and ribs unbuckling all their joints. I opened you like pulling a zipper. My fingers wormed past your lung and curled around your heart. The heart was warm.
There’s a bag in the corner of the room. Writhing like snakes in a womb, ready to burst. My vengeance.
I tried to put the pieces of you back together. I tried to start your heart. There’s a warmth in my hands from it, burning, a phantom pulse.
Hey brother dear, I can see you in the mirror -- our noses are the same. I can’t smile, but if I did, I’m sure our eyes would’ve crinkled the same way. The ghost of you clings in strands around my face. It’s white like bones and I hate it almost as much as you.
You were always deciding things. All on your own. And you knew. You must have known all along. The cat-- I can’t even remember the cat-- but I know you helped me bury the cat. Grandma said I found it on the road. She said you said I said I did and I know that’s a lie because the fastest car on that fucking road goes like 15 miles an hour with all the old folks around and any cat would have to run at the tire to get hit and besides-- I dug it up. The cat was only beads of bones, severed clean.
Clean like the time I traced the bruise on my arm and it just fell off. I’d screamed and screamed and tried to put back on before all the blood came out. But the cut was sealed and the blood stayed inside, though the fingertips blued before I could get it back on. And the skin was bruised black for weeks, and the scar was there for years and years, and you never asked because you already knew, and all those sideways smiles make so much more sense now.
I didn’t ask for any of this. Alice needs you. I’m not the brother she needs to rock her to sleep. Her cheeks have sunken, and you even missed her birthday, you bastard; she didn’t blow out the candles. Grandma needs you, you’re the only one who knew how to fix the tv right, no matter how hard I try, they needed you.
Just you.
I felt the warmth of your heart. I felt the holes in your skin mend, felt your stomach, seared but whole; I heard the crack as your skull fused back together, pushing against the concrete where you fell. And I could see it-- the city lights of your mind, connecting-- you were still in there.
And I --
I had been practicing. A cut’s like pulling a zipper. You just pull it back again. All the cells rearrange back in place. It’s tricky though. The cells are so small, they don’t always go back right. Plants are easiest. To grow sprouts, you breathe deep and will the swelling in your chest to expand. I grew all Grandma’s tomatoes that way. Blooming flowers is like relaxing your shoulders, and growing leaves is getting goosebumps.
People are different. People have so many more pieces, moving, breathing, flowing. You have to juggle it all. I was lucky it’d only been my arm. I fitted it back on in panic; I made all the cells stretch and open, trying to fit it in, then clamped them down again. My left arm is a little shorter from it. The bone collapsed too far, like styrofoam crumpling. It was the first time I knew. Back before I knew about you, too.
I guessed you took Grandma’s bad hip. After weeks hobbling uncertainly, she suddenly was gardening again; you never walked the same. Twice a day, a hand to her back; as I got older, practiced more, looked deeper, my eyes could see the vertebrae realign. I guessed, then knew. Putting Alice’s hair in pigtails, braiding the ends, I could see the scrapes on her knees blush away. You were always taking care of us. Saving us from something I couldn’t see. Or didn’t want to.
I guessed from the gentle way you laid a hand on my head. The way you told me you loved me, smiling with bruises and small cuts that never seemed to go away. I stopped letting you touch me, I stopped touching everyone. Then no one had cuts or black bruises, no one but me. I had guessed until I knew.
There’s a bag in the corner of the room. I practice with it whenever I have the time. The room is cold and quiet and two stories underground where no one can hear the snakes’ muffled rasps. I think it’s suppose to be screaming, but I took out the tongue, so I wouldn’t know. I feed it rats I catch down here.
I have been practicing. Making a wound is like pulling a stitch: yank it hard, turn the needle of your finger tips into a knife, pluck. Pull it all apart, let the blood run down. I tear it again and again until the bag stops moving, but I’m not satisfied. I pick up the meat and put it back again, arms to shoulders and bones to make the neck while I fix back together the face that stares at me without eyes. I’d plucked those out long ago.
I’ve been practicing. And I’ve realized. I’m not like you; I was made for this.
I can only put things together to tear them down.
I wanted to be able to stitch you back together. I held your heart and felt it beat beat beat and almost felt you breathe.
And it collapsed.
Tissue paper heart, I crushed you with my fingertips.
To tell the truth, I hated you. I thought you let them die. I thought Mom would have been hard to save, but you could have at least saved Dad. I wanted to know, then, if you knew, then. If you knew about yourself or did you know too late.
But now I know: there was no chance, none at all.
You only had one life to give.
Sometimes I feel my heart crushing along with yours. Sometimes I can’t feel anything but a hole there. Sometimes I feel the blade in me. Stomach. I see the surprised look on that guy’s face when he stabbed me. Like I’d run into him. Maybe I’d picked that fight of my own accord, but he was the idiot that didn’t know how to work a switchblade. I could have handled it. The guy ran away, scared of himself only. And I could have handled it. The stomach acids were eating me and I was panicking a bit because I’d never opened my stomach before, just one lung and a kidney once. But I could’ve figured it out in time. But you didn’t give me time.
You came around the corner, out of nowhere, like Jesus descended, and laid your saintly hand on me. Told me you loved me.
Then you pulled out the knife from me and then you were dying, the way I have been dying but without the knife to stop the blood... and you died.
Then you died again, in my hand, raisin-hearted.
The autopsy report said your official cause of death was cardiac arrest. And there was no knife hole to find: I’d fixed up right as I tried to save you. So no one knew the kid and no one could understand what happened-- you left our family alone, alone with me, the knife. I can’t hold Alice and I can’t carry Grandma to the bath.
All I could do was find that guy and put so many holes in him that he became nothing at all.
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You Are Not The One They Say You Are || Willow || Trial 3.6 || Re: Chris, Jun, Capernica ATTN: Chris, Capernica
(CW for abuse through the whole post)
“The notes… It was around chapter two, I found a note placed atop my footlocker. It said that Capernica thought if anyone should die, it should be me. Because my family is wealthy, and so my life is worthless. Speaking of her, did you not mention people went into their own lockers to grab things they did not want others to see?”
Exhaustion hit her voice, dropping it a bit. She had once tried to be cutesy and sweet, but had long lost the energy for that. This was who Willow Forget was, exhausted and paranoid. She was aggressive but too tired for any of that now. She wanted to lay down. She wanted her old hidey holes where she could black out when her body refused to move anymore.
“It’s okay to want to live, Jun. I mean it. Even if everyone tells you your life is worthless. You’re the only one who gets to make that call. My life… It’s worthless too. My body is on the verge of breakdown, I can’t go outside, I’m a wreck. I couldn’t walk, I was unable to keep food down and had to have a feeding tube put in for a time. But I refuse to die. Not because I even have a good reason to die, but because it’s human nature.” And one other thing, something she would not share yet.
And then Capernica happened. She hit like a wave. Willow felt like she had opened the door to the oven, the hot air washing over her and leaving her feeling dried out and burn. Tears gathered in her one good eye, and she fought the urge to resort to old anger. She knew this. It was obvious. She knew who she was. She had been warned. Why did it hurt so much? Why did you get soft, Willow? Idiot, fool, worthless.
“I see… I was born into the Forget family, I didn’t ask to be. I asked not to be. People have always wanted me dead for it. I’ve been beaten, poisoned, starved, had my bed covered in itching powder. I get it. I don’t want to be this way either. God, if I could have gotten my father to disinheirate me, I would have. I have tried.
“But you want to know what’s so funny? People like me may have murdered your mother, but people like you murdered mine.” Cold and bitter, the tone was like acid. Capernica was just like them, Cantabelle rather than Silvia.
“My mother was picked up off the streets by my father’s first wife. She was her personal protégé, and worked so fucking hard. She was amazing, and then, she was weak once, and I was born. She had never loved my father. He never loved her either, but by the time they found out about me, it was too late. She married him to protect me. She was always… Always so good to me. She protected me the best I could.”
Tears dripped down from under her mask. “She tried to save me. She tried to split from my father and move away, but my sister made it clear she’d still die for her so called sins. She just wouldn’t have my father’s protection anymore. She asked to have it so I got nothing in the will to keep me safe, but that man refused to believe his children were so cruel. She sent me away to boarding school in hopes I would be safe. Maybe I could find health. But that fuckers, those bastards, they got paid off not to report anything. They knew I was abused, but figured the best thing to do was lock me in a room with video games so I wouldn’t frighten the other children.”
Shaking now, Willow dug her fingers into her arms and snarled. “After my brother fractured my skull, my mother knew we had to get away. She tried to run, tried to take me away somewhere safe. Father never let her have any money of her own, so she was giving up everything. She took one of my father’s cars and tried to run. My sister knew, she cut the breaks, hoping to kill us both. I lived, only thanks to luck.
“Do you think I want to be this way? Anger, feral, unable to live in proper society? Do you think I haven’t tried to change? Do you think I wanted to spend my life hunted?! If you listened to that diary entry, you would know I was more than willing to give up my inheritance if it meant I wouldn’t be hunted. It doesn’t work. Nothing does! Fuck!”
Willow nearly screamed. She began to gently rock herself, tucking her arms in to prevent her from doing for her knife. The girl really had been trying to change. She hadn’t wanted to accuse Capernica. She really didn’t. She had kept her mouth shut.
(cw suicide)
“I wanted to die so many times in that stupid bunker, but I couldn’t do it. I’m all that’s left of my mother. If I die, everything she did to keep me safe would be for nothing. And I can never, never, never betray her.”
(end cw)
Fighting back tears, she reached up and ever so gently removed her mask. She forced herself to be bold, a half smile on her lip, though her trembling body made it clear it was a façade.
“Even if I have to live like this. So, I won’t take the fall for you. No matter how much you hate me and want me dead. You’re not the first.”
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good girl (m.)
You’re such a good wife to Naoya that he rewards you for your obedience.
request. naoya coming home to his beloved little housewife and feels like giving her a treat for being such a good girl.,,.,, read: man’s gonna re-arrange your guts and have some soft moments with you after (not that he would ever admit that shsghshsj)
cw. explicit smut, riding, dirty talk WITH praising bcos why not, dom! husband naoya, sexism, overstimulation, creampie, lots of kissing, titty sucking, you might end up liking naoya and that’s a warning
note. LISTEN. this is purely self indulgent even if this is a request. my bestie requested this to me anyway so ik she won’t mind i pictured myself as the reader :) so if you don’t like how the reader and naoya was portrayed, that’s a you problem :) EDITED BECAUSE IT’S NAOYA YAY, also got inspired by @caizen ‘s ask about naoya wanting his wife to not bow too deep because he wants to see her face :)
[part of the trophy wife collection]
Being Naoya Zen’in’s trophy wife required a lot of things. You had to be immaculate, précised, refined and full of dignity in everything you did. He already did the work all by himself just to keep the house running, his hard work the only reason you were able to live such a comfortable, luxurious life. On top of that, you had an extremely powerful man trusting you to welcome him every night, and who were you to not fulfill your duty as his wife well?
The moment the black limousine parked on the driveway, the guards lined on duty opening the doors of him and the rest of the house staff greeting him, you were already in front of everyone.
Keep your head down, but don’t look too hard at your feet. Naoya-sama wants to see your face – his lovely wife’s face – upon his arrival.
He would never say it out loud, but five years and counting of marriage with him meant you knew him better than anyone. Through his confident and arrogant self, Naoya worried about a lot of things, you included. There were times he’d wake up in the middle of a nightmare in which he lost you, his arms scrambling to find your body to press it against his for reassurance. You were there, you would always be there, but the confirmation never hurt.
You bowed down to him, skin cleared, cheeks flushed, and lips glossy – all telltales of a happy, nurtured wife who was well taken care of – present before him. And you were beautiful too; the most gorgeous woman he’d ever laid his eyes on.
“Welcome home, Naoya-sama.”
Naoya’s shoulders immediately relaxed at the sight of you dressed in your yukata, hair done perfectly and hands clasped politely in your lap. He tried not to let it show too much though, even though his staff had watched him grow up, he needed to keep his pride as the clan leader. Not even his precious wife could make him tear down his walls in public, though you did not need to worry about his brash attitude, following him inside three steps behind as he’d instructed.
He loosened his tie and dismissed the other servants, locking the door of your shared room. “Is my tea prepared?”
“Yes, Naoya-sama, mixed with jasmine just as you like.”
Naoya’s hands stilled on his tie. His gaze fluttered over yours, eyes still ducked down to the floor with a small smile playing on your lips, one that said welcome home in more ways than one.
The sight of you – so compliant and meek as ever – stirred something deep within his heart. His whole life, he believed women were useless, creatures that were below him. Until now, he held firm in that, but fuck, you were always so open and willing to do everything he asked that he could feel himself hardening in his pants. Women may be useless, but once they followed his orders and praised him so heavenly the way you did?
He fucking loved it.
Naoya’s tie went flying the other room, his cock swelling in his pants as he tugged you by your wrist. You landed on the mattress behind you, watching with a heaving chest as your husband crawled above you. His gaze felt predatory, dark eyes hooded with lust while he planted his knees beside your waist, his fingers looped with yours.
You smiled sweetly up at him, so temptingly sweet his resolve broke for a split second. He captured your lips to taste you on him, the sounds of your husband’s satisfied hum making your chest puff out with pride.
Everyone may look down on you for marrying such a ‘horrible’ man like him, calling you stupid and immoral, even going as far as claiming you were nothing but a dumb cock-hungry slut, but Naoya – even you – knew better. You were not foolish; in fact, no one could handle Naoya’s attitude better than you did, and you were smart enough to keep buying that strawberry flavored lip balm he loved so much, causing your husband to squeeze your palms.
“Good girl,” he mumbled absentmindedly, the praises shooting heat flush to your core. “You’re so good for me, you know that?” he peppered kisses all over your skin, a gesture so rare that you were panting underneath him, resisting the urge to rub your legs together.
Naoya was extremely skillful in bed, his virility as a man not to be looked down on for his ability to render you immobile to walk, throat sore and voiceless for a few days truly impressive. But he was different today; his usual tight grip the same but laced with a want that went beyond than lust. You could never say it out loud, especially not around him, but it was clear – Naoya treated you with affection and care.
“I’m very lucky to have found such a submissive woman like you, but that’s not true is it? Women like you aren’t found, you’re trained,” he harshly tugged the first layers of your yukata to the side, exposing the sensitive flesh of your collarbone that was free for him to mark. “Have I trained you well, my wife?”
“Yes, Naoya-sama, trained me so good,” you rasped out, bringing your legs forward, only for it to bump against the sides of his waist.
Naoya sucked on your skin until he was sure he’d completely marked his territory, the grazing sensation of his teeth so erotic and passionate along with his clothed cock rubbing into your folds. His hand trailed down your waist, yanking the ties of your clothes apart. You gasped as he teasingly rubbed your clit, even going as far as to roll it between his strong fingers. “For you, ah, I’d do anything for you, Naoya-sama.”
“It’s my love when we’re in the sheets,” he corrected you, “When a woman knows her place and obeys me so well, a good girl like you deserves to be rewarded,” hearing your small whines at his words, Naoya chuckled at your skin. “Do you want that? Want me to make you feel good?”
“Yes, p-please, I need you,” you moaned wantonly, gathering the courage to lift your hips up and grind it against his erection. He surprised you by not pushing you away, so you kept going, slathering your wetness all over the front of his pants. “Fuck me, my love, please.”
“Since you asked so nicely,” Naoya smirked, standing up to rid himself of his pants and belt. You whined at the loss of contact and sat up on your elbows, legs spread wide open as you feasted on the delectable way he discarded his clothing one by one. His fat cock, red and flushed with pre-cum, slapped against his toned upper body.
You would’ve groaned at his bare beauty, but he’d already crawled on top of you once more, completely ridding you of the multiple layers of modest clothing you wore, revealing a redolent set of white lace.
Naoya narrowed his eyes at the nearly transparent thong, his hands cupping your seeping cunt with a low hum. “Is this for me? Did my pretty baby get dressed up for me?” you nodded eagerly, pathetically reaching upwards to wrap your arms around him. You were growing needy, soft yet desperate as your stuttered gasps hovered on his ear. “Were you thinking of me the whole time I was away for work?”
“I always think of you, my love,” you breathed out, “Your smile, your voice, your lips, your hands,” legs twitching, you dared run your knee to brush his forearm, the teasing and confident movement earning you a seductive, warning glare from your dominant husband. But oh – you were just starting to have your fun. “Your cock inside me.”
“Naughty little girl,” he snickered, grabbing your hand and shoving it deep inside your panties. That evoked a high-pitched moan from you as your nails grazed against your shaved pussy, Naoya’s smirk present the harder he pressed your palm on yourself. “Did you touch yourself? Pleasure yourself like this?” He was testing you, reminding you of his power and authority, trying to see if you would break his rules that he’d been so firm into fucking deep into your skull.
Naughty as you might be sometimes, you never forgot your place. You were daring, but never in your wildest dreams would you dare go against him. Not because you were plain weak and submissive, but simply because the thought of pleasing him more and feeding his ego was far more satisfying.
You shook your head, pitiable tears already shining through. “N-no, I would never. Only you can make me feel good, just you, mmh.”
Naoya groaned deep in his throat, satisfied at your answer. “You’re always so sweet for me,” he says, leaning over to knee your legs open wider. He situated himself between your body, slow and sensual in removing your bra and panties, the lacy material disappearing somewhere on the black marbled floors. You laid there, vulnerable and wanting, clutching at his biceps as he grinded his cock on your puffy folds. “Have I ever told you’re the perfect little wife? So fucking needy for me always, fuck. This pussy was made for me.”
“This pussy is yours,” you acquiesced, breathing hard when Naoya pulled away to peer at your body. He liked his wife to be healthy, strong and ready to carry his child whenever he wanted, and his hands squeezed your hips appreciatively.
“I exist purely to serve you, my love,” you vowed, “I have no other purpose than to make you feel good and love you. You’re my everything, the world and more.”
He’d looked at you with lust before, the desire pooling in his eyes always making you feel wanted, but this was different. Naoya would never let those cursed three words fall from his mouth, but it shone clearly in his eyes anyway. He gazed at your curves and dips so lovingly that your arousal peaked, slick coating his cock from where he was slowly teasing your cunt with his tip.
Unable to hold back any longer, Naoya flipped you over. Your breath knocked out from your chest at the sudden movement, his hands tugging at your wrist to pull you close to him. He leant back on the bed, kissing you feverishly all the while keeping you shaking on his thigh. Due to your wetness gushing, you slid down his muscular thigh, and you moaned at the contact. “As I should be,” Naoya nibbled at your lips, his harsh words contrasting the tenderness of his hold on you. “You’re nothing to me if you can’t even do something as simple as that.”
You nodded with no hesitation, fully accepting that you were purely his now – and you would honestly not have it otherwise.
Naoya helped you lift your hips up, shushing you with a slap on your ass when you stared at him nervously.
Every time Naoya fucked you, he was direct and simple. He preferred to have you on all fours where he could focus on his own pleasure, or sometimes he would rather cum upon seeing your fucked-out face, the image of your tongue lolled out while he fucked you on oblivion enough to make him nut right away.
But now he was guiding your arms around his neck, kissing the sides of your lips as if to answer your silent questions. “Sit on my cock, baby, I’ll reward you for your obedience tonight,” he said, his cock twitching as he directed your entrance right above his cock. Naoya slid you down, allowing you to feel inch by inch, thick vein upon one another – sliding inside you and stretching you out so good. You closed your eyes and pressed your forehead on his, teeth locked on your bottom lip as he bottomed out.
Fuck, you’d never felt so full.
However, Naoya wasn’t pleased. He clenched his jaw and tapped your bottom lip, scolding you with his mean glare. “Don’t hold back when you scream my name, you understand? Cherish this moment – I won’t always care about your pleasure. You should thank me for this.”
“I-I will!”
Torturous. That was how you would describe it. You had never been this close to him before; not in this position and angle. Each lift of your hips caused your hardened nipples to brush over his muscular chest, his attention sorely focused on the way you bounced on his cock.
Something about holding him this close felt so intimate, breaths tangled and moans shared, along with the pleasure delivered into your bodies with the way you were rolling your hips along his length.
“Still so fucking tight for me,” he said through gritted teeth, “I love this pussy so much, fuck, you’re mine. Just mine, all mine,” Naoya eventually lost it, hooking his arms under your armpits and feet flat on the bed. You kept screaming his name like a prayer, the worship falling from your lips like a broken record driving him to fuck into you faster. He’d had enough of your pace; he’d been good enough that now it was his turn to fuck you, and you were glad he did because his fast, brutal pace was so mind-numbing.
Naoya hitched you up higher until your chin rested above his hair, your breasts right at his mouth. He sucked and bit at the soft flesh angrily, grip so tight on your hips you were hissing from the pain. At the same time, it felt so fucking good unlike everything you’ve ever felt.
“My perfect fucking wife—a quiet, compliant wife is worth more than gold, baby. You’re my fucking treasure.”
Naoya thrusted hard and deep until the bed was creaking, mattress dipped from both your weight. The room felt so foggy with your lovemaking and you tightened around him, crying as he kept hitting that sensitive spot that had you seeing stars. “I’m c-coming!” you whined helplessly, hugging your husband deep to your chest while your fingers tugging at his hair. “Naoya, please!”
“Then come for me,” he nibbled at your ear, delivering another hard slap at your ass. “I’m allowing you to. Come. Make a mess around me.”
“Oh my gosh, ugh, fuck,” you came around him hard, your orgasm making you shake. He still wasn’t done, but his breathless murmurs of close, I’m so close had you holding him tighter, whispering dirty words in his ear to assist your husband into reaching his high. The oversensitivity of him plowing into you even after you came was too much, but you took it all like the good wife you were. Biting the protests down at your tongue, you rode him to meet his hips thrust by thrust, his balls snapping at your ass. “Mmmh, I love you, I love you. I-I love you.”
“As you should, baby. You’re supposed to love me,” Naoya devoured your mindless babbling by sliding his tongue inside your mouth, his hips stilling inside for a moment. Fingers clutching desperately to him, you shut your eyes tight, cunt dripping as Naoya spilled his seed deep inside you.
You kissed him one last time in refusal to let go, but Naoya wasn’t having any of it. He was very iffy every after sex that you had no choice but to pull away from him, wincing as he pulled out.
He stumbled into the bathroom afterwards while you laid there on the soiled sheets, weakly fisting the pillow beneath you. You were so fucked out, tired after a long day of managing everything he wanted you to take care of. To be fucked good by your husband…there was truly no better way of life.
Just as you were drifting off, you felt something damp sliding over your inner thighs. You blinked sleepily at a silent Naoya, sending him a small smile as he wiped both your cum away. He left the towel inside the bathroom before he came back, sliding his white shirt over your frame and tugging a fresh pair of his boxers to your legs. Aftercare with Naoya…while it wasn’t impossible, it also wasn’t a daily occurrence. Your heart kept fluttering inside your chest, that feeling blooming harder when he slid under the sheets beside you, his strong arms pulling you taut in his chest.
His skin remained mark free. You knew Naoya hated being marked; reminding you all the time he wanted to be flawless. You respected that and pressed a deep kiss on the spot above his heart instead, madly and hopelessly in love as you traced circles on his bare chest.
You could stay like this forever, in the warmth and safety of your husband’s arms, but you still had wifely duties to fulfill. Naoya had already done his, prompting you to lean up to trace kisses at his sharp jaw, sweet and docile as ever as you asked, “Naoya…how was work today?”
“Same as usual.”
That meant he didn’t want to talk about it, so you didn’t pry further.
“You need to rest and regain your strength so you can work hard again tomorrow,” you mumbled sleepily, “I’ve already planned your meals for the next week. We’re going plant-based for a while, you need it.”
Naoya remained silent. You would’ve assumed he’d fallen asleep if it wasn’t for his hand caressing your back in a manner so gentle that seemed so alien with him, the strangeness of it all intensified when you looked up at his face, only to see that he had already been studying your features a long time before. There was an unsettled frown on his face, one that you tried to smoothen away with the pads of your fingertips. “What’s wrong, my love?”
“Nothing’s wrong. I’ve already forgotten about all my worries. They don’t matter anymore,” he whispered, his voice way too soft. It fit the atmosphere, however, whatnot with the newfound intimacy that you basked in. Suddenly, Naoya cupped your cheek, utterly serious as he croaked out, “Baby.”
“Hmm.”
“Do you love me?”
You didn’t have to think twice about it. The answer would be – “Always and forever.”
However, Naoya wasn’t satisfied. He needed more, wanted to understand more, craved to find a logical reason behind your devotion to him.
“Why?” he demanded, “What is it about me you love so much?”
“Everything,” you confessed, the love so clear in your eyes that even for a small moment, Naoya felt like he understood now. “You’re perfect to me, Naoya. I’m glad you’re the one I’m spending my life with. I wouldn’t have had it any other way.”
“But why?”
“Because,” you giggled, “You’re handsome, you’re caring even if you don’t show it that much, you’re smart, ambitious, hardworking and the best husband I could ask for,” Naoya opened his lips, probably to ask a stupid why again, until you cut him off, silencing your odd husband with a kiss. Thankfully, Naoya gave in, relaxing at your touches. “Loving you is second nature to me. It’s not living if it’s not loving you.”
Although he didn’t – and would never say I love you – he had his own way of expressing it. He let you know that he shared the same stance at you, staring deep into your eyes while he cupped your cheek, surprisingly somber as he proudly said, “I made the right decision of marrying you.”
“I’m glad you don’t regret it.”
“I could never regret it,” he whispered back, but you had already fallen asleep. That night, you dreamt no more. There was no need to when everything you’ve ever wanted was already right there at your reach, and Naoya joined you long after, the faint linger of a loving kiss a husband only ever gave to his wife the last thing you felt before you faded off into dreamland.
#naoya zenin x reader#naoya zenin x reader smut#naoya zenin smut#naoya x reader#naoya x reader smut#jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen smut#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen x reader smut#naoya zenin x reader romance#naoya zenin x reader fluff#naoya zenin romance#naoya zenin fluff#jujutsu kaisen imagines#jujutsu kaisen x reader imagines#jujutsu kaisen romance#naoya best husband 💕#naoya x reader fluff#naoya x reader romance#naoya trophy wife tingz#did i cry writing this the answer is no but i most definitely fell in love#i love him so much...#suki: faves#YEP im self absorbed so what#suki: 2.4k milestone event
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Omg for the eremin x reader au, so Eren and Armin got together way before the reader joined the equation, so she’s hella insecure and shy around them even though they love her you know? Which leads to her distancing herself from them because they don’t need her anyway, right? Just imagine the soft and hot heated make up session they had once the boys find out that their princess feels like she’s not that important to them.
please. gonna make it a part two this
Cw: eren is mean at the beginning but he makes up for it <3 smut, the usual.
you becoming armins girlfriend but it leaving an empty feeling in your chest because you like eren too, knows how he looks at you and wishes he would just act on it. he’s there when armin fucks you, when armin makes you cream all over his cock, and sometimes he’ll join in, but he rarely touches you, the closest he’s gotten is holding you against his chest and spreading your legs for armin to fuck into you. you’d been turned on but also jealous of the way eren had leaned over the lock armin in a kiss, their tongues tangling, wishing you could kiss him.
It comes to a breaking point when eren displays his possessiveness again, hating how much armin is falling in love with you and how much he wants you too. He uses your desire to please him against you, makes you sit on a chair and watch as he fucks armin. They look so hot together, but it makes you feel a little squirmy on the inside, not being able to participate. And its made even worse when eren turns armins jaw so he’s looking at you, tells him “look at your little girlfriend watching you get your ass pounded, baby. tell her how good your daddies cock feels”
Armin, lost in the pleasure, of course doesn’t know any better. Looks at you with big blue puppy eyes as eren fucks his tight little hole and moans, “d-daddies cock feels so good inside me”
“Bet she wishes she could feel it” eren grunts. “Your girlfriends a little slut who wants your boyfriends cock, sweetheart, just look at her drooling over it. You wanna be armin, baby?”
You squeeze your thighs shut and dont answer. But eren knows, “Yeah, you do. Wanna feel what he feels every night when i slide my fat cock into his little boypussy. Desperate slut, wanna remind me what a real cunt feels like? hm?”
Armin whimpers under him, curling his legs around eren and dragging him down for a kiss. Eren keeps eye contact with you when he pushes his tongue into armins mouth, fucks him through his orgasm and coos in his ear, “that’s it baby, come for daddy, be my good little girlfriend and show me yours is the only wet hole i need”
Armin doesn’t know what eren has done, doesn’t know he’s pushed you away with just that line. Thinks this was all just kinkplay, and he’s so sweet. Making grabby hands for you and offering to get you off, tugging you towards his face, but you pull away.
When you leave that night, flicking a glance at the bed where eren cradles armin to his chest, watching you go with his jaw clenched, you send a message to armins phone, before blocking them both on all forms of media.
‘I can’t do this anymore. I’m sorry’
You don’t know about the explosive fight that occurs between armin and eren the next day. Armin has never been more angry, and it makes eren backpedal, try to hold him but armin just slaps his hands away. Tells eren he loves you and he knows eren likes you too so why is he so mean?
Eren can do nothing but clench his teeth together and stare at the ground as he admits he doesn’t want to lose armin, and doesn’t want to need anyone else but him. Armin reminds him he’s okay with armin needing you, so armins okay with eren needing you too. He wants eren to want you, has timdily encouraged eren touching you or having sex with you a couple of times, but never psuhed it, though he notices erens lingering stares on you.
Eren feels horrible, for pushing you away, for making you leave armin, for making you leave him. He just wanted armin to be happy, he didnt expect to want to make you happy too, or to want to open his arms to you. He knows he has to make it right, not just for armin but for him too.
-----
When you come out of your workplace, you don’t expect to see eren there, nor do you really want to. He’s leaning casually against the back of his car, smoking a cigarette, but he puts it out when he sees you, crushing it under one of his combat boots. He looks sheepish.
“Hey-”
You don’t give him the time of day though, breezing by him. You don’t have a car so you planned on walking to the bus station. Usually armin came to pick you up, but considering you’d basically ended things with him, you hadn't expected any rides anymore.
“Hey” Eren says again, and this time he’s right behind you, hand grabbing your arm to stop you. He turns you to him. “We need to talk”
You wish he wasn’t so pretty. You let yourself look at him, his stubble, his jade green eyes, the boyish way his hair falls into his eyes. But you shake your head. “No, we dont. You made that clear”
You pull away from him and start walking again. “Armin misses you” He calls out, but you don’t stop.
“I miss you.”
Okay, you stop at that. Don’t turn around though. You hear his footsteps approach, feel his warmth at your back as he stops, too close. “I miss you” He says again. “Come with me?”
You turn to look at him again, “Why should i? You miss me? You don’t even like me, jaeger. If you hated me being with your boyfriend so much why did you even ask me too?”
He bites his lip, shifts on his feet and you can tell his uncomfortable. You’d gathered awhile ago that he wasn’t good with emotions. Tough shit. If he wanted you to get in his car, he’d need to explain some things.
He puffs out his cheeks and palms the back of his neck, and to your surprise, there is a rosy blush that starts to bloom on his cheeks. You don’t think you’ve ever seen eren blush. “I don’t like sharing what’s mine. And armin is mine” He says that with finality.
You nod your head, starting to turn again. “Right-”
He catches you again. “But so are you” His gaze traps you.”I let you be armins because i thought i wouldn’t care, he still belongs to me, and i belong to him and you...weren’t supposed to belong to anyone. I didn’t want you too”
You naw at your bottom lip, dipping your head, wondering where he’s going with this.
“But you do” He breathes out, making you look up again. His eyes are sharp, serious. “You belong to armin, you’re his girlfriend and he’s not letting you go, if i hadn’t come today he’d be here on his hands and knees begging for you to come back. and...what’s his is mine so..”
“So..?” You prod, breathless.
“So you’re mine” He concludes. “Ours. I really wanna fuck you”
The last part is said so casually you jerk, but eren keeps you steady. Pulls you in. Leans down and tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear. “Let me bring you back with me” his lips brush against yours. “So i can finally fuck my girlfriend”
You do in fact let him bring you back.
---
It’s surreal being between armin and eren, having them both touch you. You’re used to armins touch, but erens is new. You’re all shaky and acting like a skittish virgin when eren leans back against the headboard, lazily stroking his cock as armin fingers you open for him.
His soft lips at your ear, “You take my cock so nice, baby. But daddy’s big. He’s gonna stretch you so good”
“Keep talking about my big dick and im gonna nut before i even get to fuck her” Eren grunts, eyes glued to wear armins slender fingers are sliding in and out of your slick cunt.
Armin just giggles “But s’true, daddy. You’re gonna split her wide open. She’s tight too” He croons, making you whimper when he curls his fingers just right. “Had her pretty pussy all to myself for so long and she still squeezes my cock, You’ll like it”
Eren eyes are all heat, eating you up. “Oh, i know i will. Daddy’s been wanting to fuck that cunt for ages”
“S’that so?” Armin sounds a little condescending, having not been apart of their fight, you can’t tell he’s being kinda petty when he says. “Gonna have to show my girlfriend how much you appreciate her then, if you want her to be your girl you’ll have to make her cum lots, kay? Otherwise im keeping her for myself and you can sit there and watch like you always do while i show her how a good boyfriend fucks their girlfriends pussy”
He dips his lips to kiss your jaw, keeping eye contact with eren when he does. “If daddy doesn’t make you cum stupid, i���ll dump him”
Your cunt squeezes around his fingers at the same time eren growls and reaches out, practically plucking you from armins arms and placing you above him.
You brace your hands on his board chest as the tip of his thick cock teases your hole, “w-wait”
“Mm, fuck that” He moans, and pops the head in, eyes fluttering shut and rolling into the back of his skull when your the heat of your fluttering cunt envelops him, silky and smooth and wet, he guides you down the thick length of him. His head thunks against the headboard. “Jesus, fuck”
“E-eren” you whine, poor pussy squeezing around him helplessly as its stretched wide and filled to the brim with him.
He bounces you once, making you choke on a whimper. “That’s not what we call me”
Your eyes fill with overwhelmed tears, but you feel armins lips touch your spine as he kisses your back, encouraging you. “Go on, baby”
You wrap your arms around erens neck. “D-daddy” you say, hesitantly, barely breathing the word.
But eren groans so loud, and eats your lips up in a kiss, rocking you back and forth on his cock, grinding you on it. “Yeah, baby” he pants into your open mouth. “Daddy’s got you. Gonna fuck my sweet little girlfriend tight pussy like she deserves”
“About fucking time you did” you think you hear armin mutter, but you’re already to fucked out to care.
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➳ the shower
➳ "keep teasing, I'll bend you over right here!"
➳ "it'd be better if they watched"
Pairing: Jungkook x Reader
Gender of the Reader: male
Word Count: ~1k
Rating: 18+
Genre: Smut/PwP
Warnings: Dirty Language + Dirty Talk; Petnames; verbal Degradation; Mentions of Daddy! Kink; Dom-Sub-Dynamic (Top! & Dom! Reader x Bottom! & Sub! Jungkook) ; anal Fingering; Mentions of Exhibitionism-Kink; Teasing; Anal Sex; Mentions of unprotected Sex; In conclusion: Jungkook is a vocal brat
A/N: I know, I know... Pride Month is almost a month over but I had a writersblock lately and this shit kept me away from writing... so I'll try now to post some more bts x male reader stories! ♡ I hope you like my newest work ;)
Status: Un-edited
[Links]:
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「© tipsydipsydo」
This following story is my intellectual property and belongs only to my blog tipsydipsydo.tumblr.com!
I’ll not accept any kind of reposting, stealing or using/editing my work!
That includes reposting my content on other social media platforms too, even when you link me as the original author.
Thank you.
You should have known that Jungkook only offered you the option of showering together to simply tease the shit out of you. He said, it would save sooo much more warm water for his other roomates up and that Seokjin would yell at him when they run out of warm water again.
You were indeed way too naïve and trustful. The thought alone that Jungkook could get possibly in trouble because of him, his boyfriend, who neither live here nor pay for anything decided already for him. You're simply a guest who sleep over from time to time and your mom made sure that you'll grow into a man with good manners. So after Jungkook explained the urgency why you should shower together, you don't have any kind of reason why you shouldn't.
Well, you definitely should know Jungkook already well enough to realize, that your boyfriend like to use some white lies here and there to get what he wants. It's still hard to believe for you how the previous Jungkook, who was so terribly shy and nervous as you started dating each other, turned out to be so mishief and sassy. As someone, who could barely exchange some small talk without any stuttering at first, he has now a more than bold tongue and loves to be a brat that tests the limits of your acceptance. Little did you know that he is a masochist who needs to get put back into 'his place', eventhough he won't admit it openly. At least until now.
A cheeky pinch into your left buttcheek got you out of your thoughts and a boyishly giggle comes from behind you. You agreed to wash each others back and of course Jungkook couldn't let the perfect opportunity of grabbing your ass pass by.
"I like your ass, Daddy~ I love to see the how your muscles twitch when I am pinching you and how you gasp in surprise and disbelief, hehe.", chuckles Jungkook and you can literally hear the bright bunny smile out of his voice. It's pretty common for him, he has on his face whenever he teases or annoys you on purpose.
While his endearing smile makes your heart melt and let Jungkook getting away with his teasing way too often, the title he just called you does something to you and Jungkook knows that. Of course he do.
Your nose flare as you take a deep breath and the annoyed eye-roll had given way for a hungry and almost predatory-like expression. Slowly you turn around to Jungkook, who's eyes grows big the moment he sees your facial expression. A harsh gulp follows as you close the space between you two and cages him with your arms, sandwiching him between your own body and the cold tiles. The steady bobs of his adams-apple make it look so incredibly seductive. Some deep purple hickeys all over his neck would suit Jungkook very well.
"Hm, Babyboy? What was that? Would you mind to explain your bratty behavior to me? Keep teasing, I'll bend you over right here. Seems like you wouldn't mind to play around with Daddy for a little bit. Well, if we're already standing here in the shower together, then we need to make the waste of water to be worth it, right?", you wisper in a raspy voice into his slightly blushing ear.
A dark, satiesfied chuckle flees over your lips as you see how his bold and bratty personality starts slowly to crumble down and how your own teasing and promising words put him into his submissive mindset. Jungkook may be a tease but with the right words and gaze you can turn him easily back into a good, well behaving sub.
"What about a quick shower fuck? Isn't that what you wanted, Kookie?"
Your boyfriend exhales shakingly, didn't even recognized that he hold his breath the last few seconds. He nibbles at his lower lip with his cute bunny theeth before he gives you his confirmation.
"Y-Yes please, Daddy. Fuck me, I need you to drill your big dick inside of me, please split my asshole open with your girthy cock-", he whines weakly. Yes, that's what you like to hear. Suddenly he is such a good boy again, it's truly fascinating.
"Turn around, Baby. Spread your legs and pull your cute, little ass cheeks apart for me."
It only takes you a short moment to reach through the small slit of the opened glass door to grab into the drawer of the nearby standing bathroom drawer and pull a bottle of lube out.
It isn't the first time you have some fun in the shower.
The sight Jungkook is giving you let a deep grunt of appreciation escape your throat and leave your hard cock salivating in precum. God, he looks way too hot in this position. Literally awaiting for your cock to get fucked mercilessly.
To be honest... Jungkook is such a slut for assplay. The way already two of your fingers slip into his soft, stretched hole without any resistance. Just a few minutes later your third finger joins in without any problems. He must playing with himself a lot when you aren't around...
Just tiny whimpers and little pants left his mouth while you fingered him but now... now, where you lined your red and angry leaking cock up to his, in exitement clenching hole and slowly filling him up... whiny and highpitched moans filling the humid air in the bathroom.
Jungkook's right cheek is pressed against the tiles, eyes rolling back into his skull whenever you pulled out almost completely just to drill your cock balls deep back into him. To hear how the skin of your hips meets his bubble butt and create such obscene slapping noises clouds Jungkook's mind. He tries desperately to lift his trembling hand to his mouth to muffle his greedy moans, he would be mortified if his roommates call him out about being way too vocal once again.
Unfortunately his intention doesn't fit the plans you have for him. He teased you on purpose, very well aware that all of his roommates are at home today. He is the one who loves the thrill of getting caught doing something nasty. He is the one who jerked you off at the movie theater. So you don't have the need to cover up what you're doing.
You let Jungkook's hips go for a minute, just to grab both of his wrists and move his arms behind his back, holding them in place with one hand while the other one moves back to it's previous place at his hip.
"It'd be better if they watched. Just imagine how the bathroom door would open and they would stand there, watching us. Then they'd see how well I am fucking and wrecking this little ass of yours. What a good little fucktoy you are, taking my fat cock so well in your tiny asshole. Just think about how our nasty, shameless act turn them on to that point where they couldn't control themself anymore and start to jerk off to us. You would like that, yeah? I know what a dirty little boy you are. So let them hear what a greedy, filthy fuckdoll you are. Come, don't be shy. Be louder. Even more louder, Baby..."
#kpop bts#kpop fanfics#bangtanarmynet#bts smut#jeon jungkook#thehouseofbangtan#bts x reader#bts jungkook#purplearmynet#jungkook smut#btswritersguild#sub!bts#sub jungkook x dom reader#bts x male reader#bts shower sex#bts scenarios#kpop smut#bts imagines#bratty jungkook#bts x reader smut#jungkook x male reader#title: such a tease#author: tipsydipsydo
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beautiful when the damage is done
part one | part two
characters: todoroki touya | dabi, todoroki natsuo
genre: smut laced with angst and a pinch of fluff
notes: part two of getting naughty with natsuo!! please please heed the warnings!! | title cred: sick thoughts by lewis blissett
warnings: 18+ minors dni, dubcon/noncon, sadism, punishment via overstimulation, pseudo-incest (stepcest), vaguely implied incest, emotional manipulation, a hint of degradation, toxic relationships, poly relationship, dom/sub dynamics, a LOT of crying (dacryphilia), slight size kink/size difference, rough sex
words: 4.6k
synopsis:
And you’re both reminded of how privileged you are, being the only two who ever get to witness this side of him, the only two who are fortunate enough to see the person he might’ve been if you stripped away years upon years of trauma and abuse, the person he truly is at the core of his soul, the person he was born as before he was forced to layer himself with thick, protective walls of aggression coated in indifference—and the person who he becomes as he sheds that armor, in the middle of the night when it’s just the three of you, the whole world having fallen away outside the bedroom door.
It’s musty, air thick with the haze of sweat and sex, saturated the smell of tears and cum, so potent you swear you can almost see it in the atmosphere of Touya’s room. Uncontrollable quivers course through your entire body, never-ending chills erupting across bare, damp skin that shines every time it catches in the dim beams coming from Touya’s desk lamp.
Your scalp is still sore from where Touya yanked you off of Natsuo—back in the living room, how many hours ago? It feels as though it’s been forever since then, memory murky and swimming as you try to think—one strong hand wrapped in your hair jerking you up with such force you nearly stumbled. The pain is dull, a throbbing ache that radiates fading waves of hurt along your skull.
It’s constant, though, brewing a headache that is equal parts agony and dehydration, and you wish to rub at the spot, to place your palm over it in a futile attempt to soothe the discomfort at least a little, but you can’t.
Because it feels as if your blood has been replaced with sand, dense and heavy as it clogs your veins, weighing your arms down and keeping them firmly locked around Natsuo’s neck, steadying you in his lap.
But the ache in your scalp is nothing compared to the burn between your legs.
You can feel it, your third orgasm, churning in the depths of your stomach as it builds, a blistering warmth furling into a tight, concentrated ball of fire. It’s almost sickening, now, the heat roiling inside of you as heavy as lead, wracking destruction on your body as tender muscles, already quaking from exhaustion, begin to tense once more, to coil and wind up the way a lithe tiger does right before it strikes.
“Nat-Natsuo, I can’t,” the words wobble as they spill from between clattering teeth, you head shaking sluggishly as fresh tears sting your eyes.
“Yes, you can,” he murmurs softly to you, gentler than he’s ever been before but refusing to slow his movements as he bounces you on his cock, concerned stone eyes searching your face while his fingers flex on your hips, readjusting their grip on the slippery skin.
“You better,” Touya spits from his place on his bed, peering down at the two of you with something akin to disgust, to derision, saturating his features. And it stings, blazing sapphire searing his glare into your skin much like how he had carved his name into you, years ago.
A wet sob hitches in time with Natsuo’s rough thrusts, has you choking on it, concentrated with thick saliva that sticks in your throat and forces your breaths to escape in wheezes, hands clasping tighter behind Natsuo’s neck.
Yet, despite the pain, there are still sparks of pleasure that accompany each catch of your puffy clit on Natsuo’s slick skin, flickers of lust interspersed with those excruciating spikes that shoot through your abdomen.
It hits suddenly, that third orgasm—you’re halfway through your punishment now, Touya reminds you—has your tightly shut eyelids springing open with a gasp, entire body freezing up in Natsuo’s strong grasp, a grunt falling from his chapped lips as he drives his hips to piston into your rigid body.
He follows only a few moments later with a deep groan that rumbles in his chest, body vibrating with the force of it as his thick cock throbs, filling your little cunt with spurt after spurt of cum that feels almost cool in comparison to your scalding insides.
Touya allows half hour breaks between each orgasm—a short refraction period for you and Natsuo to regain infinitesimal amounts of strength—and not a second more, he had spit after the second orgasm, cutting off your plea for just a few more moments of rest, because this is plenty of time, more than you need, really and you should be grateful he’s so generous.
By the time you’re due for your fourth orgasm, you can barely move, and Natsuo doesn’t have the arm strength to hold you up anymore, to force your hips to keep gyrating or to bounce you on his cock, his entire upper half spent.
“Lay her on the floor, then,” Touya instructs coldly, voice firm and void of any compassion, though it’s hard to miss the sadistic glint in his eyes, hard to ignore the way the corners of his lips quirk up in an ill-concealed smile.
The look Natsuo gives him is almost heartbreaking, a puppy looking up at its owner with its tail tucked between its legs, eyebrows knitted together so tightly they crease his forehead, a deep frown—no, pout—etched into his face as he gazes at his big brother, glazed stone eyes pleading.
“Nii-san, can’t we use—”
“No,” Touya cuts him off harshly, sapphire eyes flashing, and Natsuo flinches. “You’re fucking her on the Goddamn floor for all five—it’s part of your punishment,”
Natuso doesn’t argue, but his lips twitch, and his eyes blur, and his nose sniffles, and he gives his brother a curt little nod of understanding, head bowed in submission.
The hardwood is cold against your heated skin, and you exhale a hiss through gritted teeth as Natsuo positions you as gently as he can, one large palm cradling your head, the other positioned on your back, slight tremors running through his exhausted muscles as he reclines you.
A wrecked little whine pries its way past your lips as Natsuo pushes in again, face scrunching up as sharp, needle-like pinpricks shoot through your gut, your raw, sensitive cunt stinging as Natsuo’s cock reopens previous sutures, skin split further, wounds dug deeper.
The sound your skin makes as it scrapes against the hardwood from Natsuo’s clumsy bucks has all three of you cringing, a piercing squeal that only adds to the symphony of your sobs and Natsuo’s grunts, flesh inflamed and chaffed from being repeated rubbed against the surface.
It’s getting harder and harder for you to cum, even with the generous breaks Touya allows, sparks of pleasure faded to mere cinders now, each shallow drag of Natsuo’s cock causing both of your bodies to recoil, and it’s too much, too much.
“Please, nii-chan,” you beg in a tiny whimper, teary eyes flying to Touya’s face, partially shrouded in shadows as glowing sapphire gazes down at you in scrutiny. “S’enough now,”
“We’ve learned our lesson, p-promise,” Natsuo adds, nodding frenetically.
“P-Pinky promise, nii-chan, please, stop,”
Touya scoffs. “You wanted to cum, didn’t you?” he pauses, cobalt eyes darting between your faces, an eyebrow raising in question. “Well, now I’m allowing you to. Now you have my permission; the permission you knew you needed so bad, but refused to request,”
And it’s then that it dawns on each of you that he had heard the both of you, had heard the entire fucking conversation, while he was doing his work in the kitchen.
How could either of you thought that he wouldn’t? How could either of you been so fucking stupid? Nii-san knows everything—nii-san always knows everything.
“Please, please, we’re sorry, nii-san, we’re sorry,”
“We won’t ever do it again!”
The laugh that claws its way up Touya’s throat is soaked with ridicule, and he shakes his head, a gleeful little grin present on his lips, as if he can’t believe what he’s hearing, as if it’s so ludicrous it’s funny.
“Wait, wait, wait—let me get this straight…you two wanted it so bad, and now you have the balls to complain when nii-chan complies?”
His voice is painfully apathetic, almost nonchalant in a way, as if it makes no difference to him even though it so clearly does, or you and Natsuo wouldn’t be shivering messes of tangled limbs on the floor.
Excuses begin tumbling from two pairs of lips, words stuttered and choked on and sandwiched between pleads and apologies, jumbling together in a mess of garbled, wet, desperate sounds.
“Enough,” Touya growls, and both voices cut off in an instant. “I don’t want to fucking hear it anymore! Keep acting like ungrateful little brats and I’ll make this punishment longer, I swear to God,”
But you can’t halt the words bubbling up past your lips, regardless of Touya’s threat, regardless of the fact that you know he’s deadly serious. They’re compulsive, automatic, almost instinctual in nature as you seek out comfort, hunt for solace and fragments of relief in the hulking man blanketing you.
“I-I don’t wanna anymore, Natsuo,” you’re weeping into his chest, hot tears leaking from the corners of tightly shut eyes, streaming down the sides of your head and into your hair. “I don’t wanna,”
“I know, baby, I know,” Natsuo murmurs, though his bottom lip is beginning to tremble.
“Make him stop, Natsuo, make nii-chan stop,”
“I can’t,” his voice breaks on the word, facial features saturated in concern, in fear, wincing as if it physically pains him to deny you. “You know I would if I could,” he nearly whimpers, and his eyes search yours almost frantically, as if he’s begging you to understand. “But I can’t,”
But your head is shaking as you wail louder, fingers weakly curling against his skin, nails pressing into the flesh of his shoulders and clinging to him.
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Natsuo’s saying, the words cracking in his throat, voice hoarse. He pauses, clearing it twice, eyes closing briefly as he sighs out a slow, deep, stammering breath, gathering his strength. “One more after this, princess,” he begins as his hips start to speed up their rutting, procuring a yelp from you. “That’s it, jus’ one more after this one. C’mon, we can do it,”
“No, no, no,” you chant as pretty, gleaming tears roll down your face. And you can see it, the potent guilt swirling in his gunmetal eyes, from the way his pupils expand as they focus on the salt water sullying your cheeks, from the way his cock twitches despite it all. “I don’wanna, I don’wanna, stop, Natsuo, stop,”
His motions pause immediately, the moment the word falls from your lips, but he starts up just as quickly as Touya dictates from his spot on the mattress above.
“Stop, and I’ll add another two,” he promises, ruthless and unforgiving. Chills skitter along your glistening skin, erupting across your damp body at his tone. Both of you know he isn’t bluffing, that he’ll add as many orgasms as he wants to, and that he’ll continue to pull them from your fatigued and worn-out bodies one way or another, even if he has to do it completely by himself.
“Focus on me,” Natsuo instructs gently, though there’s a sense of urgency in his voice, a frenzied need to calm you down before Touya loses his patience completely. “I’ll take care of it, okay? Just focus on me, look at me,”
So you do, blinking the bleariness from your gaze as you direct all of your attention to him. And although there’s that ever-present guilt still swimming in his irises, in his unshed tears, there’s also love in his stare, so much love it’s nearly overflowing, overpowering the remorse and instilling a deep sense of comfort in your stammering chest.
Because at least you’re not alone in this; at least you have each other—each other to find comfort in, to cry and whine and beg with, to protect.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he’s whispering over your wails like a broken mantra, those tears that have been glazing his eyes, that have been collecting behind his lashline, finally beginning to fall.
His hips speed up, as fast as he possibly can as he gathers every last ounce of power and manages to wring another one out of you, another one out of himself, sore cunt clenching painfully around him, your fourth orgasm feeling as if it’s been punched out of you, despite the fact that Natsuo’s thrusts have been shallow.
And by the time your fifth orgasm rolls around, you’re nothing more than Jell-o in the shape of a human, though Natsuo’s not much better, barely able to move other than the uneven rutting of his hips, a crushing deadweight on top of you as his weary hips give pitiful little thrusts, pubic bone dragging across your hypersensitive clit, every tug against it ripping another ragged cry from your throat.
But you’re having trouble, both of you struggling to do anything other than feebly hump against each other, unable to secure enough strength to pump—to milk—that final orgasm out of yourselves, sniveling little protests punctuated by wrecked sobs leaking from your mouths.
Touya’s pissed—beyond pissed—sharp jaw clenching while seething insults burn his tongue and slice your skin, berating the both of you for being so fucking weak, so fucking pathetic, because he’s forced more orgasms out of the both of you before, so why is this so fucking difficult?
Touya’s too stubborn, and he refuses to end the punishment early irrespective of the fact that you’re both entirely drained, reminding you in a callous voice that you each must cum five times before it’s over while he aggressively roots through one of his desk drawers, snickering to himself when he finds what he’s looking for, hooking his index finger in it and pulling it out.
And the look on his face when he turns back to face you and Natsuo is positively petrifying, idly swinging the cockring around on his finger as his head tilts slightly, observing the both of you with that sharp smile you’ve come to know so well on his lips, eyes glittering with pure delight, features lit up with his own personal brand of sadistic excitement.
Natsuo starts to say something, voice forming around a word that sounds suspiciously similar to no, but he catches himself before it fully leaves his mouth, pressing quivering lips together tightly as he stares up at his brother with wet eyes.
Touya chuckles, raising an eyebrow with that trademark lopsided smirk, as if he’s challenging Natsuo to dispute him, to resist.
He doesn’t, of course, because he never would, but he does finally allow full shuddery sobs to escape his chest, Touya’s condescending shh’s and hush, now’s doing nothing to calm them as he slides the cockring on.
Natsuo nearly howls when Touya turns the tiny, pretty pink device on, his entire body jerking with that initial vibration.
“The faster you cum, the faster I’ll take it off,” Touya says calmly over the stifled little shrieks Natsuo’s continulously trying to swallow back down, nodding his understanding as he repositions himself between your thighs, holding his vibrating cock in one massive palm as he guides himself back into you.
And you want to tell him no!, don’t!, stop!, you want to shove him off, to kick and scream and beg and cry, but your heavy head sluggishly lolling from side to side seems to be all you can manage, words snagging in your throat, nothing more than incoherent babbling leaving your lips.
Because you can barely speak, barely think, barely breathe, vision fading in and out of focus as Natsuo rocks stuttering hips against yours, warm salt water rolling down the bridge of his nose, dripping onto your cheeks and mixing with yours. You’re both more each other, more one than two separate entities now, spit and cum and tears so interspersed you can’t tell which belongs to who anymore, limbs and fluids, thoughts and sounds, endlessly flowing into one another.
“Tell her to behave, Natsuo,” Touya barks, though there’s twisted amusement dancing in his eyes as he observes. “Tell her to finish the fucking punishment,”
And Natsuo, ever the perfectly trained pet, does as he says immediately.
“We can—We can do it,” Natsuo keens from above you, full body shudders wracking his hulking form, alabaster hair clinging to his forehead in uneven clumps, drenched in sweat as he forces words through his own bawling, hips grinding into yours. “We can do it, let’s be good for nii-san, yeah? L-Let’s make nii-san proud—c’mon, you wanna make him proud, don’t you?”
You do—of course you do. You never want anything else. But…But you’re not entirely sure you can, hiccupped sobs peppering your slurred words. Unconsciousness tugs at the edges of your hazy mind, whispers enticing promises of repose and relaxation as weighted eyelids begin to sag.
“Okay, okay, okay,” Natsuo cuts you off gently, shaky knuckles brushing against your cheek in a poor imitation of a caress. “I’ll do it, baby, I’ll do it,”
You don’t even remember cumming a fifth time, only a feeling of hot coals smoldering in the pit of your stomach, but you must have, because then Touya’s hooking his arms under Natsuo’s and dragging him off of you, propping him up against the side of the bed and kneeling as lithe fingers remove the toy from his cock.
And the sense of relief that seeps into your body and floods your veins is so intense it almost feels like a rush of adrenaline instead. You did it. You both did it. Finally, it is over.
Or so you and Natsuo thought.
—
Spikes of fear piece through his heart as Natsuo blearily watches Touya gather your limp body in his arms, hauling you up with a soft grunt.
And it’s astounding, the way you still curl into him, still seek that familiarity, that solace, in his chest, mumbled out honorific padded by hitched half-sobs as you cling to him. It’s astounding, because even after all he’s done to you, after everything he just put the two of you through, you will crawl back to him each and every time, over shards of glass on your hands and knees with his name on your lips—his name in devotion, in submission, in love—without a single question asked.
And Natsuo realizes that he would, too.
The thought inspires a bittersweet taste to settle on his tongue, like sticky toffee and black coffee, alien feelings swirling in his chest, clashes of consoling blooms of warmth and spiky shards of ice.
But Natsuo doesn’t have time to meditate on his newfound emotions, your faint pleas recapturing his attention.
“I’m sorry, baby,” Touya murmurs, large hands repositioning you.
And he really does sound sorry, even though Natsuo knows he isn’t.
“Wh-What are you…”
“It isn’t over yet,” Touya says simply, though the smile stretched taut across his face is severe, terrifying, azure eyes sparkling in merciless amusement at the horror that shows on Natsuo’s face when he realizes, eyes widening as they fill with thick tears again, bottom lip jutting out into an involuntary pout as panic surges through his veins.
His heart palpitates violently against his ribcage, tongue turned to cotton as worry signs itself in the creases of his forehead.
“Nii-san,” Natsuo begins cautiously, trying in vain to keep his voice steady. “I don’t think—I-I mean, is that really necessary?”
“Of course it is,” his big brother responds without looking at him, preoccupied with folding your lifeless limbs up, knees bent and pressed to your chest.
“Why?” the word slips out without Natsuo’s permission, grey eyes widening in shock as he swallows thickly, shaking his head a little as if to say I didn’t mean to!, though Touya doesn’t seem to mind.
“Because the overstimulation was her punishment,” Touya glances over at him, the amusement dancing in his eyes turned vicious as his smile stretches wider—so wide Natsuo’s surprised it doesn’t split his face clean in two—cruel and brutal. “This is yours,”
Natsuo isn’t quite sure he understands, brain doused in a thick fog and having difficulty grasping the concept, the knowledge of what his nii-san truly means turning to dense, ashy smoke any time he tries to grasp it, metaphorically slipping through his fingers.
But then you’re speaking again, and Natsuo’s head whips towards you, chest tightening at how completely wrecked you sound.
“No, please, no more,” the words gurgle in your throat, escaping as nothing more but jumbled, spit-soaked whines that have Touya chuckling as he shoves his cock into your aching little hole.
“You’re in no position to be making demands, princess,” he speaks through a patronizing pout, a mockery of your own expression, voice syrupy and supercilious. “If you weren’t such a needy little whore always desperate for a hard cock to grind on, this wouldn’t be happening,”
The words are spit in the same demeaning tone Touya had been using earlier, the same demeaning tone he always uses, and Natsuo’s powerless to stop the words flowing from his mouth.
“It’s not your fault, sweetheart,” he reassures you, though his voice cracks under the emotion, words wavering as his chin trembles.
“You’re right,” Touya muses, slight breathlessness the only indication that he’s railing the absolute life out of you. “It’s yours,”
And suddenly, Natsuo understands what nii-san had meant when he said this was his punishment.
Because he’s right.
It’s got to be the harshest punishment Touya’s ever bestowed on him.
Because it’s hard to watch the way your lax, abused body is forced to just take it, Touya’s thrusts so rough they jostle you up the mattress; even harder to hear as you bawl and beg and scream, and Natsuo’s nose twitches as the threat of new tears climbs up his throat, lodging in the column as he fights against them.
He feels sick, like some sort of depraved pervert, for the weak twitches his cock gives, for the faint embers that flicker in the pit of his stomach, igniting a dull blaze as he watches, almost entranced by the grotesque situation unfolding in front of him. He feels sicker, knowing that both of those would be stronger, much stronger, had Touya not forced him to fuck his entire soul into you.
And Touya—Well, Touya’s been hard from it all—high from it all—the whole time, and Natsuo can almost see the sheer power flowing through his veins, an aura that envelopes him, that radiates off of him in intoxicating waves, that licks at his skin like flames of blue fire. Natsuo bets—no, knows— it’s better than any drug Touya’s ever taken.
Protests marinate on his tongue, bitter and acidic, pleads of stop and enough scraping against the walls of his throat as he forcefully swallows them back down, emitting pathetic little whimpers in their place.
Because he knows if he starts, Touya will only make it worse for you, so he suffers in silence, readily agreeing with Touya every time he reminds Natsuo that this is all his fault and neither of you would be in pain if Natsuo could’ve just kept it in his fucking pants for a few minutes longer.
It hurts, because it’s true, nii-san’s words sending thick, piercing stakes spearing through Natsuo’s heart, through Natsuo’s very soul, straight to the core of his body. Acrid bile climbs up his throat as Touya’s moans mingle with your sobs, so exhausted that they’re barely more than little wheezes at this point. It’s abundantly clear that Touya doesn’t feel a shred of remorse, and that makes Natsuo feel even worse—if only he had said no, if only he had waited and asked, if only he had been stronger, you wouldn’t be suffering.
The tears collecting in the column of his throat sprout talons and claw their way up, past his steadily weaking resolve, prying their way through his lips in the form of jagged sobs.
It’s magnificent, really, the way Touya can render Natsuo a snotty, shivering mess with only a few choice words. And Natsuo—Natsuo only ever cries in front of his big brother, only ever cries for his big brother, full-on weeping that slashes through his sputtering chest, coughing around and choking on his own sobs of nii-san, I’m sorry!
But it ends eventually, finally, Touya tearing one last orgasm from you, gentle words contradicting his cruel, ruthless actions, murmurs of come on baby, just one more, one more for nii-chan. You can do this for nii-chan, can’t you? You can be a good little girl for me and cum one more time, right? lingering on his lips
And somehow, you find the strength to obey, to be his good baby, because you always do, entire body convulsing with a raspy shriek of the honorific, Touya praising you only moments later as his hips still and his cock pumps you full.
—
It’s cute, really, how fucked out the two of you are. Touya thinks you’re both so beautiful when you’re like this, with glassy eyes and tearstained cheeks, lashes clumped together with residual water and swollen faces stained with streaks of salt, all dazed and fucked and stupid for him, from him.
Natsuo’s doing better than you are, of course—Natsuo wasn’t subjected to being fucked again. But Natsuo still needs to rest, Touya softly tutting his tongue with a disapproving shake of his head as Natsuo attempts to aid him with your aftercare, movements clumsy as he stumbles to his feet, inept and awkward as he blunders towards you.
“No,” Touya’s large hands wrap around his younger brother’s shoulders, halting him, steadying him, forcing Natsuo to look at him. “You rest,” he instructs sternly, guiding Natsuo back to his previous spot and delicately depositing him onto the desk chair. “I’ll get to you in a minute, okay, Natsuo-kun?”
Natsuo hums out an affirmation, eyes closing briefly as Touya’s fingertips affectionately trace the curve of his cheek, palm patting it once.
It’s in moments such as these, nights after hours and hours of extreme punishment, that Touya automatically, perhaps unknowingly, slips into Big Brother mode, and you’re reminded of the age gap between them.
Because even though Natsuo’s bigger than Touya, taller than Touya, beefier than Touya, he looks so tiny under his older brother’s protective gaze.
You both must reek terribly, covered in drool and sweat and cum, must look like hot messes, strands of tangled hair saturated with salt and sticking to your cheeks, but your Touya-nii is still right there regardless, whispering the sweetest affirmations and the tenderest praises to the both of you as he wipes each of you down with a damp cloth infused with lavender, telling the both of you how good you did, how proud you made nii-san, how pretty both of you are.
Nimble fingers spend a decent amount of time rubbing soothing circles of moisturizing cream into each of you, your most sensitive skin rubbed raw, aching and puffy from such intense maltreatment, before Touya-nii dresses each of you in his softest, comfiest clothes, steady stream of pure, unadulterated love never stopping as it pours from his lips.
And you’re both reminded of how privileged you are, being the only two who ever get to witness this side of him, the only two who are fortunate enough to see the person he might’ve been if you stripped away years upon years of trauma and abuse, the person he truly is at the core of his soul, the person he was born as before he was forced to layer himself with thick, protective walls of aggression coated in indifference—and the person who he becomes as he sheds that armor, in the middle of the night when it’s just the three of you, the whole world having fallen away outside the bedroom door.
You’re all each other need, after all; because he loves you both more than he could ever put into words—and you each love him back just the same—and that will always be more than enough.
Touya reaches across your body, arm a pleasant, heavy weight as it rests on you, and runs slender fingers through Natsuo’s sweaty hair as you snuggle into your nii-chan’s chest, and Natsuo nearly mewls, nuzzling into his nii-san’s touch as Touya instructs the both of you to sleep, now, a film playing softly in the background as the three of you drift into unconsciousness together.
#todoroki touya x reader#dabi x reader#dabi smut#natsuo smut#todoroki natsuo x reader#AAAAAAAH jesus finally#this is A Lot lol#tw:incest#tw noncon
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