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ghost-proofbaby · 2 months

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IT WILL COME BACK (E.M.)

"honey, don't feed me - i will come back."

summary: when eddie came back from the upside down, he was different. and you finally come to realize just how different the man you saved truly is one night, when push comes to shove.

pairings: kas!eddie munson x reader

warnings: mentions of BLOOD (in sexual manner), mentions of BITING (in sexual manner), allusions to possible coercion (consent is still explicitly stated - trust me), mentions of death and trauma, mentions of eddie's canon death, taking a lot of creative liberty with expansive vampire lore across all media, mentions of murderous dreams? (eddie dreamt about killing reader idk), oral (f receiving), smut. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT - 18+ ONLY.

wc: 7.7k+

a/n: i told y'all i'd write a serious biting/blood kink fic one day - today is the day. very lazily edited so beware.

When Eddie came back from the Upside Down, he was different.

There were subtle changes at first. Small, minute details that were easy to ignore. Everyone could turn a blind eye to them — everyone figured they would fade once the boy healed. His healing was first priority, and whatever lingered after could be dealt with.

Get Eddie better. Then question all that lingers.

A simple plan. A genius plan. A torturous plan.

The two of you had been friends, if you could even call it that, prior to it all. Teasing in the hallways, working on school projects here and there when in shared classes, he was your favorite (and only) dealer when you craved something to make sleep come just a little bit easier. He had been familiar — an old ghost you'd grown comfortable with, long before you’d seen those large and wet eyes looking back up at you in the boathouse.

Long before he’d pieced together the puzzle pieces as to why you’d needed the weed to cancel out the nightmares. Long before he’d processed exactly what those nightmares entailed.

But then, you’d fought for him. You’d fought with him. And most importantly, you’d bled with him.

God, you had bled for him.

Something admirable had blossomed in that short time. Eddie’s entire life had fallen apart, thread by frayed thread, and that new planted emotion had been the only solid thing to emerge for him to absolutely cling to. You were more than a fellow classmate to pass by in the hallways. You were more than his favorite customer, always weaponizing fluttering lashes and puckered lips for a discount he’d have given you regardless.

You were a force to be reckoned with, and had ignited a hunger in him like no other.

That’s all he had thought it was when he’d awoken in his living room — not the distorted version but the real one — to you screaming for the others to help you as you’d sealed his wounds. That’s all he had thought it was when you’d come to visit him as wounds turned to scars, and stabbing pains turned to hungering pangs. So he had tried to bury it, listen to Harrington and Wheeler and Buckley when they told him to take time to readjust. He’d locked away that hunger and focused on his healing, just as everyone else had, and told himself it was just residual feelings.

Residual feelings had been bound to happen after seeing someone bloody their hands, with your own blood, for your survival.

And in his burial, he’d never considered a similar hunger igniting somewhere deep within you.

You visited far more often than you should have. Returning time and time again to change his bandages, taking on one too many shifts at the hospital during his unconscious spells and baring your teeth for anyone who got too close. The sweet blood on your hands hadn’t washed away in that first shower; you swore, if you looked closer, you could still see the stain of nearly losing him across your knuckles.

Physical wounds were easier to heal than the internal ones. It was easier to lather on antibiotic lotion than it was to sleep soundly at night. Both of you came to realize that quickly in the weeks that followed Eddie’s return from the dead.

His nights were plagued with bad dreams, with thirst and cravings he couldn’t quite name. He’d wake up, burning up from the inside out with a fever that never existed. Tearing skin. Puncture wounds. Blood spilling across floors and his lips alike. He could never tell if the shivers that traced his spine had been from the cruel visions that had become his nightly visitors or if it was due to his perpetual drop in temperature that had worried Nancy since the very first night home from the hospital, that had concerned the nurses who piled blankets atop him during his week long sleep of recovery.

Your nights were even less kind. Horrific memories were the demons that haunted you — remembering the way you had watched Eddie cut that sheet rope, remembering finding him bloodied on the ground, remembering the warmth of his blood seeping across your palms and how when your ear had turned just as heated with it as you pressed it to his chest. Only to hear nothing. Emptiness.

His heart had stopped for minutes. Plural.

It had been your steady rhythm, your desperate hands and your gasping breaths breathing into his lungs. You’d sunk your claws into him, caught them right between his ribs and had decided he couldn’t leave you.

Some nights, when you wake up screaming, you can still taste his blood on your lips. You sometimes still swore that when you’d checked for a pulse after that, you hadn’t heard anything. Still worried that Eddie Munson’s heart never really restarted and resumed beating.

The worst was when you’d stare through the faded grey of mornings plastering across your room’s walls, and could still remember that initial look in his blown out pupils, once honey brown swallowed in pure black as he’d taken his first breath on his own.

Hunger.

You’d felt it, too. Shame riddled you on the nights you’d come down from the nightmares and remember it; it was as though the Universe had snapped back into place the moment you’d watched his chest first rise. A need so ardent to remain at his side. A chain clicking into place, binding both yourself and Eddie to one another, unaware of just what price had been paid to keep the boy that had laid under you in this world. Unaware of the hunger you had struck the match too that would become both your downfalls.

And so it had been buried. Something alive, even with your doubts of Eddie’s liveliness, and choking on dirt while six feet under. You and Eddie, two sides of the same coin, had decided to not speak of it. He never told you how he had come to be able to pinpoint your heartbeat in every shared room he entered, throat burning as his gaze always settled on you, and you never told him of the matching aches that had shamefully sparked within your chest and between your hips for him.

A hunger to be near one another. A hunger to devour. Neither of you really understood the heaviness.

“How are you feeling today, Eddie?” Steve asks as he sits on the edge of the new bed in the new apartment in the new part of town the Munson men now occupy.

Government money could go a Hell of a long way. Especially after your home had been devastated by the aftermath of alternate dimensions and unheard of evil being defeated.

“Fine,” is the only response Eddie can muster.

In reality, every time anyone came near him now, he burned. His throat tightened till it was surely raw, he swore his teeth sharpened until a mere slip of his tongue against his canines could bring the taste of metallic blood to his mouth. His entire body would tense with every person that walked through his door.

Control. Whatever was happening to him, Eddie needed to exercise control.

“Just fine?” Steve continues on, not catching the drift as he puts down the bag of things he’d bought at Eddie’s request. Basic things — painkillers, packs of cigarettes, a 6-pack. Some habits die harder and can’t be controlled, “You look like shit, Munson.”

“Gee, thanks, Stevie.”

Everyone had assumed the dark shadows beneath Eddie’s eyes would fade. They assumed his cheeks would eventually fill back out. They assumed he could wash away the ashen shade his hair now flatly flowed in. It was as if the life had been drained from Eddie since that day, and they had all assumed it would eventually flow back into him.

It never did. Just as his new hunger lingered, so did the look of Death.

“Sorry, man,” Steve throws his hands up, shrugging a bit before he stands, “Just being honest. It’s the best policy.”

“Is it? Is it really?”

If honesty was the best policy, Eddie could have filled the room with it. He could admit about the nightmarish wants, needs, he’d been keeping at bay. He could admit the way his irritation had been growing this last week every time another body, another friend, walked through his doorway and it wasn’t you. You, who had begun to plague the night terrors. You, who Eddie was beginning to crave far more than he had before he’d stared the afterlife down the barrel of the gun.

Steve just looks at Hawkins’ newest zombie boy, sighing, “Look, I don’t know what’s got you pissed off-“

“The whole dying thing, for starters.”

“-or why you’ve insisted on being an asshole to all of us these last few weeks-“

“Again, I died.”

“-but you’ve got everyone but me scared to visit you. We’re all scared of you biting our heads off, dude,” Steve finally finishes with a scowl.

Everyone. It’s unspoken that you’re included in the generalization.

It occurs to Eddie that maybe, just maybe, he should be kinder if he ever wants the ache of yearning to see you again to fade. If that’s what he could call this ache.

By the time Steve has left, Eddie’s still thinking about his warning. About the way he had been unusually cruel since coming back to life, since waking up handcuffed to a hospital bed. It made sense initially. But he wasn’t handcuffed to a hospital bed anymore — he was home, or as close to home as he could get, and he was technically safe.

The issue was that he’d accepted his safety. Everyone who had wanted Eddie Munson dead was now six feet under themselves. No, the bigger issue at hand was everyone else’s safety.

Your safety.

Once he’d realized you were the staring lead in his violent fantasies, he had stopped calling. Half of your absence last week had been his fault.

No one really bothered to look deeper into it. Steve didn’t press as to why Eddie’s fridge had remained empty, Nancy didn’t take second glances at the odd books on vampire tales that were now littering all the free real estate of Eddie’s room, and you hadn’t questioned the coldness of his tone whenever he spoke to you. The chill of his words had grown icier than his own palms, desperate to keep you at arm’s length until he figured out what had changed in him that day he came back to life.

He wanted you near. He wanted to rip your throat out. He wanted your blood to stain his mouth and neck just as his had stained your hands. That was an issue. That wasn’t normal.

Something had changed in Eddie Munson, and it had terrified him to his twisted core, and no one had cared enough to notice. Not yet.

–

It took you two weeks to be fed up with the radio silence.

Eddie stopped calling even Jonathan (the only one of the group he found he didn’t want to devour whole, as it turns out). When everyone had mentioned it in passing, it had only reminded you of the sleepless nights you’d be enduring. That small voice in the back of your head that had called out to you in the dead of night, the whisper of come to me that echoed all the way across a broken town.

Come to me.

Sometimes you swore it was Eddie’s voice calling to you. Sometimes, you nearly left your own new apartment in the dead of night, and let your legs guide you to the undead boy you had single-handedly revived.

Tonight was one of those nights. Your stomach was twisting, your head was pounding, your bones were aching. Every single inch of you hurt as it listened to that soft calling, and at some point, you gave in.

Hunger. You were insatiable with the need and drive to be at Eddie’s side. Warnings from the others be damned.

One thing leads to another. You find your coat, you find your car keys. You find yourself driving the deserted streets of Hawkins in the middle of the night. You find yourself on the Munson doorstep, knuckles shaking and aching with the knowledge that just beyond the wood of the door, he was there. You don’t have to see him to feel him; his thrumming presence, his anchoring existence.

Come to me.

The door swings open before you get the chance to knock. This string tying your two souls together is not a one-way channel, it seems.

“Why are you here?”

You watch him wince as the harsh words leave him. Immediately, you know that the abrasiveness is on instinct. Just as something claws inside of you to be near him, there is something within him howling to keep you far from him.

The polarity of two magnets. Some nights, surely, his twists in a way that would draw him to you, just as yours will twirl with the sensibility that whatever has changed within him should give you cause to run as far away from him as possible.

But tonight, your magnetism only yanks you closer to him. He doesn’t even invite you in, and yet, you find yourself stepping over the threshold of the new apartment.

“You’ve gone quiet,” you whisper as an answer. It’s not what he wants to hear, grimace deepening, nearly a scowl now, “I just… It’s been weeks. I…”

I missed you. I needed you. I heard you in my dreams and I’ve never had much self-control when it comes to you.

Magnets are a useless metaphor for whatever is happening here between you. A better comparison would be the cliche image of a moth to a flame; he’s dangerous, threatening to burn you alive, and you still find your heart fluttering after him hopelessly. You’re going to get scorned, and you’ll still never learn. You’ve fallen victim to a tired narrative that you’d rolled your eyes at in a plethora of books. How many times had you sworn that wouldn’t be you? Just how many eye rolls had you exhausted at the mere idea?

And now, here you were, on his doorstep. Grasping for something you’re not sure either of you can give.

“I’ve been dealing with a few things,” he mutters as he shuts the door behind you, shielding you both from the chill of the night. The room is still cold, especially in his radius, “Didn’t think it would make much of a difference.”

“You didn’t think I’d care if you just stopped calling?” you turn slowly, taking in the state of the living room. Wayne was clearly gone for the night, work most probably, and several books littered the coffee table. Eddie had been the one reading them, lounging on the couch.

The last time you had seen him, he couldn’t even sit up in bed on his own.

He’s keeping an unusual distance, nearly leaning back out of your vicinity, “Figured you were busy.”

He’s never been this short with you. His words are choked up, his body tense with pain. You assume it’s just his injuries bothering him.

You couldn’t be more wrong, but you’re completely unaware.

“I brought you back from the dead, and you think I’d still be too busy for you,” you laugh humorlessly, fully in disbelief at his pitiful excuse, “Eddie, we could find out Vecna didn’t really die, those damn cracks in the Earth could open right back up, and the first person I’d care about finding is you.”

The animal inside that had been yearning for his presence is satiated for now, but you can still feel it lurking in the darkest depths of your mind, ready to call out a new request at any moment. It’s the distraction that has you spilling pathetic truths.

The only response he offers you is a dead stare. With eyes wide, pupils nearly swallowed up by darkness.

“You could have called,” your voice cracks, body shaking with the effort not to take a step closer to him, “You could have just let me know you were still alive.”

“I-”

He cuts himself off when he’s the one taking a step closer. His entire face twists with pain, and you give up keeping your distance. In an instant, you’re at his side as your hand reaches out for his bicep.

He flinches away. Something inside of you burns.

Your hand is hovering in the air between the two of you, and in this lighting, you swear the skin is still stained with the blood that won’t wash away.

“Please don’t,” he begs, “I’m fine, but… please.”

You don’t know what he’s begging for. Distance, for you to pull your hand away, time – you don’t know what he needs.

“We should sit down,” you insist, finally pulling your hand as far from him as possible but making no move to put the space back between you two, “Has anyone helped you with your bandages? If your wounds got infected-”

“They didn’t.”

“If you didn’t change the bandages, they definitely could have-”

“They’re not infected,” he grits out, but he’s still walking over to the couch regardless, “They’re healed.”

Healed.

Mere weeks ago, those wounds were still deep enough to keep you from ever achieving a full night's rest. Deep enough to worry you to the core that you would wake up to them finally having consumed him. Deep enough that you all assumed it would take him months, not weeks, to recover.

“What do you mean they healed, Eddie?” you whisper, almost reaching out for him as he sits down.

Your hand twitches, but the echoes of his begging and his flinching keep it at bay as you stand before him.

“I mean, they healed,” he huffs, nostrils flaring as he takes deep breaths. He’s looking anywhere in the room but at you, his gaze subverting you with purpose. As though the mere sight of you, the mere proximity, is painful to him, “Don’t know how, don’t know why – they just did.”

“So why are you still in pain?”

A sharper intake of breath. A hush of silence falling over the apartment. Even the buzz of the building’s AC unit has faded from all your senses. It’s just you and him, and a heavy quietude like no other.

Until he finally breaks the surface tension, breathing out, “You.”

Your heart drops. That tug inside your chest, the one taut as you look at him right within your reach yet still so far away, almost snaps.

“Me?”

He nods with a harsh swallow, “I- Look, I can’t explain it, but when I came back, I came back…”

“Different?”

He doesn’t have to explain it. You’d felt it.

The moment his eyes had opened, just moments after what should have been blissful victory. The taste of his blood heavy on your tongue, a terrible sweetness that had choked you rather than its initial metallic twang. The whispers of his voice in your mind.

He wasn’t the only one changed from whatever had occurred that night.

“Different is a good way of putting it,” he nods, looking up with apologetic eyes, “It’s not you. It’s cliche as fuck, but it really isn’t – it’s me. I died, and you brought me back, but I don’t think either of us knew the cost.”

The yearning. The nightmares. The unmanageable needs. The hunger.

“What was the cost?”

He almost doesn’t hear you. Your voice is a whisper, tone weighed down with the curse of knowing.

You might not have known the cost when you were pressing your palms into his chest through your wretched sobs, functioning as his heart and lungs for nearly a minute, but you think you might have a clue now.

All that had been tethering you to him since he’d come back to you, all those webs and strings that had formed their knots around both of your necks. He’d changed, and you had plummeted right into the chasm of the unknown with him.

His blood on your tongue, sweet as honey.

Blood shouldn’t be sweet.

He grabs one of the books off the coffee table, motioning for you to join him on the couch. Under the weight of your realization, you’re nearly under a trance. All he has to do is wave a hand, and you follow.

You’re at his beck and call. Just like you had been when he’d been calling out for you, yearning for you.

“Don’t make me say it,” he mutters under his breath, tossing the book into your lap the moment you’ve sat down. This time, you’re mindful to keep your distance.

This time, you’re painfully aware of the compromising situation the two of you have found yourselves in.

The book is older, leather-bound and worn from years of readers’ careless hands breaking the spine. The corners of every page are weather, close to disintegration. The entire thing could easily pass for a Halloween decoration.

It’s not. You flip open to the title page, and if Eddie didn’t appear so deathly serious at your side, you would have scoffed.

“Dracula?” you question carefully, running a finger over the delicate script of the title, “Eddie, I don’t-”

“I’m not insane,” he interrupts you, “I’m not fucking- I swear to you. I’ve gathered up every goddamn book about it that I can. Fictional, nonfictional. Just- there’s obviously a Hell of a lot more fictional material to work with, okay?”

A vampire. He’s convinced he’s a vampire.

And even worse – you’re convinced right along with him.

You turn your head to look at him, trying to find the right words, but all you find is Eddie burying his face in his hands, head nearly hung between his knees.

“I can’t eat normal food anymore,” his voice is muffled, “That was the first sign. Couldn’t stomach it, made me throw up for hours when I tried. And then all those nurses kept talking about how I was healing faster than they expected. Most of my smaller cuts – those healed in under a day,” he finally lifts his face just enough to turn and peer at you through all the stray curls that fall into his vision, “My vision and hearing were the next things I noticed. Remember how I had a nonstop migraine those first few days?”

He doesn’t need to convince you, but the argument is compelling, “It… wasn’t a migraine.”

He shakes his head. “Not even close. Just turns out that it’s a killer to get used to fucking superhuman night vision and impeccable hearing. I still can’t handle being out in the sun very long. I don’t… burn up or any of that shit, but… it just…” he trails off, shoulders falling in defeat before he throws himself back against the couch. When he continues, his tone is flat, devoid of all emotion, “I keep having these dreams about you, too. Bad dreams. Terrible dreams.”

You shut the book, toss it back onto the coffee table, and decide to Hell with keeping your distance.

You need it. Even if he’ll only allow you to get an inch closer to him, you need it.

“What do you mean by terrible dreams?” you ask, breath catching at the end of your question as you scoot yourself closer on the couch. Even with such a small movement, Eddie is quick to notice, eyes flicking to you quickly with a sense of urgency flashing behind them.

“Don’t,” he lowly warns.

“What’s happening in your dreams, Eddie?”

Another inch closer. His jaw clenches.

“Sweetheart, do not-”

He doesn’t finish his sentence. Your knee bumps into his thigh, and you watch him go rigid. Hands turning to fists, eyes pinching shut and face twisting with the same pain he’d worn the ghost of when you first arrived at the apartment.

The moment you touch him, you see it. The flashes of his nightmares, all those terrible actions haunting him every time he closed his eyes. You. Your blood. That hunger.

Like a blackhole in the center of your stomach, it burns viciously as it sucks the air out of your lungs. It threatens to cave your entire being into itself until there’s nothing left. Not even a crumb of who you once were.

But it's not yours. It’s Eddie’s.

That pain on his face is only exhibiting a fraction of what he was feeling. That dizzying craving that he’d miraculously been keeping at bay since you’d simply entered the building, not even yet knocking on his door. You hadn’t even been in the same room as him yet, and he had still known. Had smelt you, had felt you.

He could almost taste you.

“You…” you have to shift your knee away from him, break the touch, break the connection, “You haven’t fed since you woke up.”

“I haven’t fed, period.”

With the connection severed, he somehow finds it in himself to open his eyes once more. You don’t know how – if he’s feeling what you’d just been privy to, you’d be an incoherent mess on the floor. Something feral and unrecognizable.

Although, maybe he was nearly there. You couldn’t see his pupils. That same look when he’d first woken up – a man swallowed whole by hunger.

“You’ve been dreaming about ripping my throat out,” you say it as a matter of fact, not a lick of judgment in your tone.

It wasn’t you scrutinizing him. It was what you had seen, with one simple touch.

His voice is hoarse as he echoes in confirmation, “I’ve been dreaming about ripping your throat out.”

You should probably be afraid. All your survival instincts should be kicking in, your feet should be carrying you towards the door, you shouldn’t be leaning in closer.

“You know what really sealed the whole vampire ordeal though, sweetheart?” he breathes out, your eyes fluttering shut at the lull in his hushed tone.

Just as you’ve been leaning in, he’s been slowly turning his body to face yours, hands twitching at his sides. He’s no longer retreating from your presence, sucking down breaths in harsh gulps the closer you grow to him.

He’s losing control. You’re losing control.

That thread, vibrant red as it draws you near him, is clear as day now. A noose around your neck. A road to your damnation.

A road to your hunger.

You hardly hum in response, completely entranced now. Had he ever been capable of this before? Of holding you beneath such an inescapable spell with such ease?

Probably.

He doesn’t use his words to answer. Instead, he finally takes the plunge.

His head ducks down towards your neck just as his hands lose the war, grabbing onto your hips, dragging you dangerously close to him until his lips hovered just over your pulse point. And by some strength that you certainly don’t possess, he stops there. Letting his lips barely brush against your soft skin, breath coming out in pants for you to feel, to relish, to get lost in. And just as soon as those pants, those waves, become a comfortable pattern to succumb to, you feel them.

His fangs.

Grazing over your sensitive skin. Sharp tips nipping at a surface they could so easily break, pierce with one wrong move. Your pulse is thrumming beneath the surface, heart racing painfully as Eddie’s grip turns bruising.

Come to me.

“Please.”

You’re the one begging now. It goes against every rule you’ve ever seen applied in fiction. If a vampire is baring their fangs against your neck, you should be reaching for a stake. The only noise escaping you should be a scream for help, not the pathetic whimpers beginning to slip out.

“I can’t,” you feel his gasp more than you can hear it. Your blood is too loud, roaring in your ears as you feel the fangs slip with his words, “I can’t.”

That hunger you felt, the one that had called out to you through the night and led you right to his doorstep, is unavoidable now. You need him closer, you need him to do this. For the first time since you had saved his life and tasted his blood after the Upside Down, everything seems to click into place. All he needs to do is let them sink into you, take that final leap of faith and reprieve that ache you’ve battled for weeks now.

You’re so close. So close.

“Eddie, please,” you’re nearly sobbing, hands gripping onto his shoulders, trying to pull him in closer.

But you’re no match for his strength. You don’t know if it’s a new addition with his vampire business or if there was always more to him than met the eye, but he easily stays stoic against your attempts, not moving a centimeter. Still hovering, still just barely making contact with your heartbeat.

“I-” his head drops slightly, tip of his nose beginning to trail down the side of your neck, mouth no longer dangerously close, “You saw my dreams-”

“I trust you.”

You do. You trust him even more now than you had when you first stumbled upon him in the boathouse. More than when he had pleaded his case, promised he hadn’t been the one to kill Chrissy Cunningham. The trust comes easier than breathing as his nose nuzzles into the junction of your neck and shoulder.

“You shouldn’t,” he mutters, fangs now brushing your collar bone, “You really, really shouldn’t.”

He doesn’t stop you when you move to straddle his hips. Your weight settles onto his lap, and he only fights to keep his face burrowed there in your shoulder, arms now moving around your waist to hold you tightly to him.

His self-control is impeccable. You’d admire him and all this impressiveness another time, when something inside of you wasn’t lamenting his resistance.

All at once, it occurs to you how to give him the final push.

“Did I ever tell you how sweet your blood was on my tongue after I brought you back?” you start, sighing, rolling your shoulders to expose more of your neck, grip on his shoulders tightening, “All that blood, all those tears, and I still can’t forget how welcome that warmth of you was in my mouth. How I needed more. How I pictured it every night, after every nightmare-”

He breaks.

One moment, his nose is buried in your skin. And the next, his fangs are.

You weren’t sure what to expect, but relief would have been low on your list. You gasp out in initial shock, but as you feel his teeth dig in, it’s as though something has snapped. The ache has been satiated, preening as you feel the warmth of your blood contrast the chill of his chin pressing into you.

If there’s any pain, you don’t feel it through the haze of pleasure.

Ice shards spread through your bloodstream, but the point in which Eddie’s mouth is connected to you radiates heat. He’s pulling you into him, letting go completely and relinquishing all that control as he nearly purrs against your skin in satisfaction. That connection is back, two minds linking with a heavy click, and you can feel all his pleasure mingling with your own. Satiation, desperation, adoration – the plethora of emotions all swarm your head and block out any better judgment.

You’d let him drain you dry, if that’s what he needed. If nothing more than to hear those soft moans as his fangs sink even deeper.

He pulls back too soon, though, suddenly and unexpectedly. Just as quickly as he had given in to both your desires, he’s putting an end to them. He hadn’t taken much blood, but your head is swimming from the loss all the same. Your grip has gone slack on him, hands slipping down to just barely cradle his biceps while his own touch stays unyielding around you.

You can hear his thoughts. Or rather, maybe more aptly put, you can feel them.

He wants to devour you. Wholly, ruthlessly.

He looks up at you with pupils still blown wide, chest heaving and a small scarlet drip trailing from the corner of his mouth. For the first time since he’d come back to you, he looks alive. Hair fluffed in a halo around his head, skin tinted with a healthy glow and unmistakable blush, bags beneath his eyes faded for the time being.

You were never quite sure if Eddie Munson’s heart had ever restarted, knew for certain that it hadn’t now, but you swear you can feel its pulse finally thrumming for you.

I need more.

It’s his voice in your head, echoing in the empty space as you look down with wild eyes to match his.

But it’s your voice in his head when you respond instantaneously.

Then take it.

Something unspoken lies there in the need. He doesn’t move back to your neck, doesn’t bite down and drink his fill of your blood. He only stares for a few seconds, watching the welt of blood that pools from each puncture wound of his making. His eyes follow when it runs down your skin, as though he might lose it should he so much as blink. Down, down, down. Following the trail that his nose had followed minutes before, across your collarbone until it stains the neck of your loose shirt.

My pleasure.

His hold proves helpful when he quickly changes positions, roughly throwing you down onto the couch before he’s settled between your thighs, crawling his way up your body. He pays close attention to the maroon trail on your throat, his tongue cleaning up after his mess, savoring the taste of you on his tongue.

Sweet as honey.

His tongue only pauses for a moment over the bite wound, pressing into it, making your back arch as you press yourself fully into him. Your head digs painfully into the cushion behind you as you expose your neck, wanting and begging and pleading all without words.

“I think we should take this off,” he plucks at the hem of your shirt, tugging hard before he begins to carefully lift. His freezing knuckles brush against your burning skin, eliciting a whimper from you, “Before we make an ever bigger mess. Don’t you agree, sweetheart?”

A sultry tone you’ve never heard from him before. Honeyed words, familiar to how he once spoke, but entirely new in the way they curl around you. There’s a confidence there, a baiting that he’s luring you with.

“Yes, please.”

He could ask anything of you in this moment, and you’d be eager to comply. Fueled by your desire for him before the events of spring break, worsened by his new condition. A bright, red, vibrating thread. You couldn’t severe the tie if you wanted to.

And you most certainly did not want to.

Your shirt is removed, his hands careful despite the way they shake. His words may be smooth, but each move is jagged, the only sign you had that he’s still exercising control.

“And these?” he whispers, lowering his lips to your sternum as he toys with the band of your pants. His fangs scratch down the center of your stomach as it quivers with each breath, careful to not break skin as they make their presence known. You nearly lose all capability to speak until he says, “Use your words, baby. Tell me I can take them off.”

Yes.

His eyes flare, looking up to you, “Use your words. Not your mind. I want to hear how badly you need me – I want everyone to hear you beg.”

The words strike straight to your core. Lashing out in your lower stomach, burning deliciously.

It’s more than putting on a show. He needs to know you want this.

“Take them off,” you gasp out, hands wandering to tangle in his hair, “Take- Take it all off. I’m yours, Eddie.”

Shaking hands perform a dance you had long since fantasized about. In easier days, when Eddie had been uninvolved in the episode down, heart still beating along as he would bounce his knees in front of you and his fingers would idly fiddle with his pencils and pens. A yearning, a wanting, you’d always held for the boy.

He used to be an escape from it all. A pretty thing to daydream about when you weren’t worried about monsters. And now – he was one of the monsters.

Your monster. Tied to you inexplicably, brought back by your hands and your stubborn efforts.

His lips and fangs are one in the same, trailing along your body as he finds a home at the apex between your thighs. Even in undeath, he’s the most beautiful thing your mind could conjure.

You’d forgotten how he was privy to your every thought until he reacts.

“You’re too sweet,” he murmurs, smirking salaciously as he mouths innocently at that sensitive skin of your inner thigh, tongue darting out to lick a cool stride before he breathes out against it. It has you writhing beneath his hold, “You’ve wanted this all this time, sweetheart? Wanted to see me, between these pretty thighs, making you scream my name?” His mouth falls open a bit wider, the sharp canines pressing but not sinking against where he had just licked. He holds there, eyes locking with yours, until he pulls back to cockily say, “Could’ve just said something, y’know. Didn’t have to bring me back from the dead to have me devoted to you.”

Finally, finally, he lets his fangs sink back into you. The soft meat of your thigh is more pliant in his mouth, and he doesn’t linger as long as he had on your neck. One nick, just enough to start the blood flow, before he’s pulling back and licking hungrily at the scarlet liquid. Less for feeding, more for marking.

Marking you as his, just as you have with him. His methods just appeared a bit more physical.

He’s quick to avert his focus on your cunt, no warning before the tongue still covered in your blood is taking long strides over your entrance and clit. Devotion. That was the only word to describe the way he was unraveling you, alternating between indulging in your sweet cunt and returning back to that bite, going as far to even sink his teeth in a second time to take a proper drink of you. His chin and lips grow slick with it all – with the blood, with your wetness, with his own saliva. A starved man with a feast before him.

The way he’s rutting his hips into the couch as he slings your legs over his shoulders doesn’t go unnoticed.

It’s a mess. A wonderful, satisfying, enchanting mess.

Beautiful. So beautiful, all mine.

His voice has you teetering on an edge of new carnal pleasure. Completely consumed by him, your hands tugging viciously at his curls. His face is round once more, eyes and cheeks no longer sunken in, vitality being breathed into him with each taste of your blood.

Let me touch you. Please.

You beg over that connection, trying your best to not buck your hips mercilessly against his tongue. You feel his wicked grin.

“You’re already touching me, sweetheart,” he reaches up, untangling your fingers from his hair for emphasis before he’s pinning them to your sides, “And what did I say about using our words? Hm?”

“Need more,” your voice is wrecked as you tilt your head back, wrists straining against his hold, “I need more.”

You’re fully light-headed now, the blood loss finally catching up. Maybe you were about to let him drain you dry.

And what a beautiful way to die. At the hand, at the fangs, of the one you had fought so urgently to bring back to you.

One last timid lick to the wound on your thigh, and he’s crawling his way back up to you. The mess doesn't phase you as he kisses you hungrily – the blood remains sweet rather than metallic, the remnants of your juices still on his tongue – and you meet him with an unbridled fervent. Nipping at his lips with your own dull canines as if you were the one looking for a bite of vivacity.

You don’t know when he lets go of your wrists, or when your hands find their way up beneath his shirt. The specifics don’t matter once he’s naked before you, clothes discarded messily to the ground with your own. The only thing that matters is the weight of him, the reminder that he was still here as his hips roll into yours and the head of him catches on your entrance.

He had been dead. For minutes. And you had brought him back to you.

The process had taken longer than the mere CPR administered, had taken weeks of whatever waiting game you two had tortured yourselves with, but you had him now. He was yours. You were his. There wasn’t a deity, a monster, an omniscient being in this world that could take that away from you. Not even Death herself.

“Last chance, baby,” he whispers against your lips, holding himself up so that not a single inch of his skin pressed to yours. You nearly cried out, missing that connection, missing him. Your hunger, the hunger for him entirely, rattles your bones once more, “Say the word, and I’ll-”

“No,” your hands pause their exploration of skin jagged with scars. Reminders of those few dreadful moments in which the world existed without Eddie Munson in it, that would fade in time but never fully disappear. Always there, just like the stain of his blood on your palms. Always there, just like your desperation to have him at your side. “I meant it when I said I’m yours. I’m not changing my mind. I want this.”

His skin is back on yours, body laid fully along your own road map, and it all comes flooding back. The pain of seeing his lifeless body, the nights spent in an eerie hospital room, baring your own teeth at any one who came too close to the man you had pulled back from the ledge of Death. The anxiety, the fear, the relief, the yearning – it all accumulates as he’s pressing into you, brimming you so full that there’s no room for memories of nightmares.

He’s here. He’s yours. You’re his.

His heart didn’t need to beat for you to accept that truth.

You can’t decipher which chants of your name fall from his lips for others to hear, and which ones whisper in the depths of your mind for only you to bear witness to. Each curse, each grunt, each moan – there for you and only you anyways. You’re entirely unsure if your lips even separate once as he thrusts, cock brushing somewhere deep in you that has you clenching around him.

And if his fangs wander, it only adds to the pleasure.

Blood, sweat, and tears all mingle between your bodies. He’s holding you tighter than water, as though you’re at risk of disappearing from him at any given moment. But that link between your two minds, your two souls, is unwavering. It’s the only thing grounding you to the moment as your half curls around his waist and your heel digs into his lower back. Urging him, pressing him, taking him.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he says it out loud, this time. You feel his lips brushing against your ear as he does, “Gripping me so tightly. This pussy was fucking made for me.”

Every movement only unlocks something more feral inside the two of you. Your nails rake down his back, leaving angry red lines to trace over once it’s all said and done. There’s enough shallow bite marks across your neck that you’ll be wearing scarves for weeks, months. The others might question it, strangers might stare, but the pride you feel as he marks you is unmatched for any anxiety about it.

That black hole of hunger is no longer swallowing either of you whole. That debilitating pain, that animal inside, has been tamed.

When his hips begin to stutter, mouth no longer capable of the strength to properly bite you as his lips only smear the soft spattering of blood pooling at the base of your throat, you’re already there. Squeezing him tightly, sucking him in, voice raw as you let everyone know who’s ravishing you.

Eddie.

Hawkins’ newest zombie boy – Hawkins’ newest vampire.

The climax is just as pleasurable as the lead up. The haze lingers long after his spent has dripped out of you, long after he’s collapsed into your body with exhaustion and contentment. The blood dries, the wounds clot – but that haze doesn’t falter.

As long as his skin presses to yours, you feel that caress of his mind against yours.

“Did…” you’re breathless as his face nuzzles into your nude chest, a few mindless hums of gratification still slipping from him as you bring a hand to toy with the curls at the crown of his head, “Did any of your vampire books say anything about… that?”

The connection. The bloodlust. The spell you swear he still has you under, even as it’s all said and done.

He snorts against your skin, “Not that I, uh, recall.”

“What? You mean to tell me in all your research, you never dived into any vampire smut?” you tsk jokingly, a calm smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. He lifts his head, and you swear, those honey-brown irises have threads of a deep maroon now, “You’re slacking, Munson.”

“Why read about it when I can just experience it?” he coos, letting his nose and lips drag across your still hot skin before he rests his chin on your sternum, “Besides, I mean – we’ll need to do this again, won’t we, baby? For research.”

Your head still spins. Your body aches in a welcome manner. There will be a need for explanations to others, for actually researching his condition, later on. But for now, it’s enough.

The pounding behind your ribcage, the one you know Eddie feels for the both of you when his ear presses to your chest, is enough.

Of course, lover.

That thought stays between the two of you. The world doesn’t need to know what can’t hurt them.

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#ghost's stories #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #kas!eddie munson #kas!eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson angst #reader essentially became soul bound to him womp womp #don't drink a vampire's blood kids #i really didn't edit that intensely i spent two hours fucking with photoshop #if it's bad it's bad #finally dipping my toes into kas!eddie tho wahoo #vampire!eddie munson #someone requested eddie with this song forever ago but i lost the ask #eddie reading dracula to figure out if he's become a vampire is actually so fucking funny to me

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murdrdocs · 10 months

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more on being miguel o'hara's babysitter ... fem!reader

there starts to be schedule mixups.

not the sort where you're too busy to babysit gabriella, or miguel doesn't need babysitting for a while and you're out of work.

but mixups in a way that seems almost intentional.

when you're scheduled to babysit gabriella, but when you arrive, she's out of the house or having a tutoring session for hours. or she's asleep from a viral illness and your job for the night is to check on her every hour, and sit in the living room for the rest of the time.

you're getting paid for it no matter what, a hefty tip always slipped in there, which you're incredibly grateful for. almost as grateful as you are for the time you're left to spend alone with miguel.

the first few times right after the thursday where he devoured your cunt, there was nothing. everything was back to business as usual, leaving you to feel a litle immature and unprofessional. till came the day where gabriella was at a friend's place until dinner, and miguel told you to come over at lunch, and his meeting at work was cancelled, and suddenly you two had the house to yourself.

and suddenly miguel had you laid back on the island –– the island where you've prepared snacks for you and gabriella many times –– his cock steadily breaching past your entrance in a beautifully, painful stretch.

you're hissing and whimpering and digging your nails into his biceps with an intense strength that you didn't even know you possessed, but he's unaffected, his eyebrows furrowed with concentration that you know comes from his attempt at self control.

he didn't even bottom out that day, yet his cock was filling you up so well and you were so wound tight that you almost came with the first few thrusts. it only took a few minutes until your back was arching, your hips pushing into miguel's thumb that rubbed along your clit and his cock that fucked you as deeply as he could at the time, your muscle tensing and your mouth opening in a silent scream as you came on the dick of your boss for the first time.

but hopefully not the last.

#miguel ohara x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara #spiderman 2099 x reader #spiderman 2099 x you #spiderman 2099 smut #boss!miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x babysitter!reader #miguel ohara x babysitter!reader

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miguelhugger2099 · 2 months

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Eye for an Eye

Summary: Miguel rescues you in an ugly way. A/N: my guilty pleasure is sometimes i wanna be saveddd Warnings: Brief suggestion to sexual harrassment/assault, a bit of violence.

Somehow in the year 2099, most people didn't understand that Spider-Man in this age didn't follow the famous "no killing" rule that the original Spider-Man upheld in the Heroic Age. Most people meaning criminals.

Spider-Man, even when saving people from falling from skyscrapers or punching Public Eye scum in the face, if pushed to his limits- he would kill. This was his rules, his timeline, his Nueva York and if some pesky criminal wouldn't understand that then he'd get rid of them by any means.

So where do you come in all this?

Despite your efforts at secrecy, in the dead of night Spider-Man would often escort you home after work or if you had gotten into trouble with some purse snatcher. Other times, he'd sneak in your apartment window after a long fight, wanting to see you and have you patch up the wounds that would take a little more time to heal.

Spider-Man had revealed to you that he was actually Miguel O'Hara, the handsome stranger that had seemingly bumped into you more and more often after your very first encounter with Spider-Man. Having already been in an established relationship, you felt your heart drop at this major secret.

A part of you was angry at him for not telling you. For revealing your feelings about Miguel to his alter ego Spider-Man and making a fool of yourself. For all the nights he cancelled seeing you without explanation-something that put a strain on your relationship for a while.

However the other half of you was drowned in worry. So all those times his masked covered face had come in to see you, bloody and bruised while you fixed him up, it was all him. He could die, you told him. Why would he do this to himself?

"I haven't been good all my life," He groaned while you pressed a damp cloth to his wound one night. "I think of all this as repentance for being a shocking moron in my earlier years."

"There are other ways to repent. Like donating to charity or some confession booth at a church. Not some...Not risking your life." You could barely look at him, tears brimming your eyes and threatening to fall while it clouded your vision.

"I'm not religious." Miguel replies. "It wouldn't mean anything with these in my body now. They'd probably still send me to Hell regardless." He lifts his hand, his talons auto extracting from his fingertips and he feels the bile from his stomach stir, an urge to vomit at the disgust of himself.

He forces his talons back into his fingertips so he could tilt your chin up to face him. His thumb caressed your cheek to wipe off a stray tear that had fallen. "I'm sorry I put this all on you." He whispers.

You shake your head. "You're stupid, I always knew that," You sniffle and Miguel bites his cheek so he doesn't smile. "But I could help you better now. I...I know who you are and everything makes sense now, we could-"

Miguel stops you by shushing you. "No, no, no. You're not helping me anymore." Your heart drops again.

"What do you mean?"

"This is the last time we'll see each other."

Your jaw drops this time. Eyes that widened in shock now turn to anger. "Shock, Miguel. I knew you were an asshole but breaking up with me after revealing your secret identity to me has got to be one of the lowest things you're doing."

You lean away from him, bloodied and dried cloth thrown at his chest. "I was useful when you could just pop in whenever? No strings attached–was it fun?" You scoff in hurt.

Miguel grits his teeth. "No, carajo, it's-it's me-"

"Don't bullshit me Miguel with that it's not you, it's me rhetoric." You cross your arms tightly to your chest.

"It's dangerous!" He barks back.

"Like it wasn't dangerous before?"

"It was! That's why I can't come back! I can't let myself lead them to you!" Miguel sits up and grabs onto your shoulders tightly and gives you a firm shake. His hands shake as he holds you, his head hanging. "This...this power of mine. I...it can lead so many of those assholes to you." He whispers. "I trusted you enough to come here, which I hate myself for. I should’ve never involved you in any of this.” Miguel’s hands fall from your shoulders and down your arms to grip your hands in his. “I’ve already put you in so much danger. If you got hurt, I don’t know what I’d do.”

The feeling of his talons pricking your skin and the sight of his fangs leaking a drop of his venom made you think maybe he did know what he’d do. He would just really want to avoid it.

“Miggy,” You say softly. “How about you let me make that choice? Now that I know, it doesn’t scare me. Do you know why?” You take your right hand out his grip to cup his cheek. His tired eyes look up to yours, nostril dried with blood and a scar on his forehead that surely needed bandages.

“Because I know you’ll protect me. You’re Spider-Man.” You lean in closer, Miguel under your spell. “Let me help you. That’s my decision. In return, if I’m ever a damsel in distress, I hope you’ll help me.” You give him a small smile and his hand covers yours on his cheek. He squeezes your fingers. “I promise.” He swears. Miguel always kept his promises even if he stumbled on the way. So when he went to visit you after his nightly patrol, he didn’t expect to see your entire apartment in disarray. His mask phases off his head, scarlet eyes wide and panicked. He gulps down his fear, muscles tense as he steps into your room. Blankets and pillows on the floor, some slashed and stuffing being poured out the seams. Your desk that held photos of you and your friends had also fallen to the floor, glass shattered and frames broken. Miguel takes another quiet step outside of your room. Your entire living room was a mess. Your couch had been moved and cut in half, lamps cracked and more photos on the floor. His heart stops when he sees blood in the kitchen. Some of the knives had been taken and another wave of fear splashes down his spine. It was clear there had been some sort of resistance with whoever took you. Whoever took you. Who took you? Miguel feels the fear morph into rage, his mask phasing back on his head. “Lyla. Scan this place.” He growls. His AI assistant glitches into existence, her eyes behind her pink heart shaped glasses full of worry. She begins phasing in and out of different places while Miguel lets the anger fester in his body. HIs talons on his fingers and feet itch to come out, to be sharpened for whatever poor soul’s flesh he’ll rip into. His fangs seep out his paralyzing venom, his tongue licking off the excess. Lyla appears in front of him, more meek and smaller compared to her usual upbeat and sarcastic nature. She knew there was a time and a place. “The blood isn’t hers. They most likely knocked her out since there’s no trace of her own blood around. Fingerprints on the knife handle are hers. No other DNA samples could be acquired.”

Miguel walks towards the entrance of your apartment. His hand grazes the door frame that had been split apart. Lyla appears next to him. “Forced entry, probably by foot. There’s some traces of wet soil–mainly seawater. I’ve tracked several fishing ports–most in Staten Island.” She displays holograms of different spots, standing tall by his side while he skims through. “Did you find a match on the blood?” His voice rumbles. “Negative, Miguel. None in the criminal database, including The Raft. Looks like this is the work of someone new.” Miguel grows furious. He roars as he punches his hand through the already destroyed couch. Some novice wants his attention so badly, he’s willing to piss him off for it. Miguel swings out of your place and searches the entirety of Staten Island’s fishing ports until he finds the one he was looking for. You don’t know where you are but you can feel everything. A sash was wrapped tightly around your eyes, some rope or zip ties held your wrists together and your ankles to the chair you sat on. You felt the pounding of a headache when you woke up. The last thing you remembered was one of the intruders lifting his gun and slamming the barrel down on your temple. They grew tired of you after reaching into the kitchen to protect yourself. You held them off well but you were still just one person. The sash had been lifted from your eyes and you groaned when a bright light of a lamp shined in your face. While you squinted, you could make out at least three people in front of you.

“I’m sorry about my men. They’re still a little new. You know how it is when you get trainees for a new job.” The one in the middle speaks, you noticed he also is the one that took off your sash. “What the hell was the point of all this? You just kidnap random people from their homes?” You glare up at the man and his two puppets. “Streets say you’re good friends with Spidey.” One of the smirks. “Had one of these guys watch him crawl in your window like some squashed bug.” You scoff softly, rolling your side to the side. “So what?”

The man in front shrugs. “Either you’re his whore or you know him. So which is it sweetheart?” He rests his hand on the back seat of your chair and leans in close to your face. “Who is Spider-Man?”

You licks your lips and stare back up at him, choking back the stretch his breath was. “I don’t know.”

He grins. “Hm. So you’re his whore. A special one at that. He doesn’t appear in just anyone’s home so what services do you offer him in exchange for some protection? Do they apply here? Baby, I can protect you too.”

He’s sick, your mind screamed. You struggled against your restraints.

“Shock you.” You spit on his shirt and he lands a hard slap across your cheek.

He mumbles a string of curses before grabbing your chin and forcing you to face him again. “Don’t forget who’s in the shocking chair, sweetheart. Your hero ain’t here so be a doll and shut the hell up.”

Your chest heaved up and down in deep breaths to calm your scared heart. You feel your cheek stinging and it didn’t help with this rotten man’s fingers digging into your skin.

Your silence pleases him and his other hand reaches down to your knee. “I don’t wanna hurt you, sweet thing. It’s just one simple question and I’ll let you go.” He lies. His hand rides up your thigh and your leg tries to kick him away from you but he just grips you tighter. “I don’t know.” You plead hoarsely. “I know, I know. So you say.” Out of the corner of your eye you see one of his men snatched into the darkness with a clawed hand around his mouth. Miguel. The guy in front of you digs his nails deeper in your skin and you can feel the scratch. “Eyes up here, sweetheart.” You whine at the pain, pursing your lips to keep yourself quiet. “See, Spidey’s head goes for millions of dollars–money you can’t even comprehend so if you could do your community a favor of just letting us in on some intel on the son of a bitch; that’d be great.” “You wanna kill him?” You ask breathlessly, looking to the other side to see another newbie being hindered, his neck tilted to the side while some teeth bite into his flesh. His body slowly lost consciousness and was also dragged into the darkness silently. “Most of Nueva York wants that guy dead. All the ones on top but I’m dirt poor, sweetie. It’d be a disservice for the hero to not let me kill him. Shouldn't he give to the poor and needy?” He sighs, letting go of your cheek so both his hands rests on your upper thighs. You feel your skin crawling and try to move away as far as you can in your seat. “But you don’t know anything do you? Then I’d be doing a disservice by throwing out some useful goods here, don't you think?” His grimy hands grip your hips, looping his fingers around your jean belt loops. Before you could even think, the man is instantly ripped off of you by his shirt. He’s thrown back on his side, skidding as he comes to a halt. Spider-Man towers in front of you, his back facing you. You could still see the rage oozing from his suit, shoulders and muscles tense and claws out. His chest rises and falls with each jagged breath, the only sound coming out of him.

“Spider-Man!” The man growls, stumbling to get back on his feet. His pistol had slipped from the back of his jeans, sliding away from him. “Dammit–Darrell! Fernando!” He calls to his two men but he freezes. On the floor are both his associates, one’s clothes ripped apart with claw marks on his chest, the other with his jaw slacked open and two puncture holes in his neck–a strange mixture of blood and another liquid oozing from the wound. He lets out a strangled scream as he looks back up at Spider-Man. His tall frame stalks over to him but the man crawls to find his gun. Before he could grab it, Miguel stomps on the man's arm, giving a satisfying crack to his bone which the man cries out painfully. While he writhes on the concrete ground, Miguel grabs onto his broken arm and lifts him up–he screams, trying to push Miguel away. “You wanted to kill me?” Miguel growls, his voice deep and menacing. The man pleads for his life and another set of footsteps come from behind. “Shoot him!” The man yells as Miguel looks back over his shoulder. The rest of the group comes up from behind Miguel, raising–what Miguel considers pathetic–guns up to his face. The eyes on Miguel’s mask squint slightly and just as quickly, he turns with the man in his hands and uses his body to protect himself from the onslaught of bullets. The man’s entire group fires and every single bullet pierces into his body, splattering blood on the ground and Miguel’s suit. Miguel makes sure that you weren’t hit at any moment. Miguel tosses the limp corpse to the side and pounces into the group, attaching his fangs into some man’s neck while his talons ripped along his arm to let go of the rifle he was holding. Chaos ensues and they all begin shooting at one another in hopes that one shot could land on Spider-Man. Miguel’s claws ripped apart limbs and skin, every single hand that raised against you was littered to the ground. He continues to swing and jump around, letting everyone get lost in the confusion before tearing through chests and stomachs. His rage knew no bounds at the moment. He had planned to just come in secretly while he still had a part of his mind. Get in, use his venom, take you and get out. But when he saw what that scum would’ve done to you, touching you, gripping onto you–he lost his mind. Even with Lyla’s brief protest, Miguel couldn’t help but want to tear him apart. So he did.

It wasn’t often Miguel had to be reduced to such measures but everyone had their limits. By the time it was over, he barely noticed how silent it had become. His ears were still ringing, he felt like he was underwater as he gulped in heaps of air. “Miguel!” He hears Lyla yell at him. He snaps his head to where he heard her voice, blind rage melting when he sees you still in the chair. He sees Lyla with her arms crossed, her little foot tapping angrily in mid-air. Lyla had done her best to cover your sight and hearing of the crime Miguel had done with holograms of whatever–surely it was much nicer than watching Miguel gnaw off a piece of someone’s throat. Miguel glances at his hands stained and dripping with blood. He wipes them on his legs, hoping to get it off him before you could see. He falls to his knees in front of you with a soft whine of your name and his mask phases off. “Lyla, blur the room.” Lyla does as told and lets you see him. Your eyes are concerned and scared. “Miggy…” You whisper, feeling the trauma set in. “I’m here, I’m here–I told you I’d protect you, yeah?” Miguel uses his talons to cut off the zip ties from your wrists and ankles that were digging in your skin. Once you were free, you wrapped your arms around his neck and jumped into his arms. Miguel fell back but made sure to hug you back, his arms going around your waist while his other arm went up to cradle your head. He buried himself in your shoulder, breathing in the mixture of your natural scent and the scent of the man. He growled and held you tighter. He’d do something about that smell.

“I was so scared–I didn’t know what to do–How did you find me?” You babbled as you finally felt safe enough to sob and cry. “Don’t worry about that. You’re safe. You’re okay.” Miguel reassures you, kissing your temple and cheek, pulling away gently to brush your messy hair away from your face. He wipes your tears with the back of his hand, unintentionally leaving a bloody mark. “Shit..” He mumbles, ashamed and pulls his hand away. You stop him, holding his hand back to your cheek. You just wanted to feel him, his warmth. You weren’t stupid. You knew what happened when Lyla put up holograms that blurred what you weren’t supposed to see. You didn’t care. May they rot. “Thank you.” You whimpered. “Thank you.” Miguel presses a kiss to your forehead. “Always. I’ll take you home.” “But, my apartment–” You try to speak as Miguel moves to hold your body in one hand while he swings on his web with the other. “Not your apartment. Mine. My penthouse. I’m never leaving you out of my sight again.” Your arms were securely around his neck. He was still tense but much less before. You tried to look back down but he squeezed you tighter– he didn’t want you to see.

For tonight, he’d take care of you just like all those nights you took care of him.

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara x you #atsv miguel #miguel o'hara #miguel spiderman #miguel spiderverse #miguel ohara #spiderman 2099 #miguel x you #spiderman 2099 x you #spiderman 2099 x reader #miguel o'hara imagine

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andivmg · 2 months

Text

Please excuse my initial reaction, I was quite distraught after reading his statement. Now that i’ve slept on the situation and have a more clear head i can say that i whole heartedly do not accept his apology for a few reasons:

1. One of us clearly remembers that night in excruciating detail. I will forever wonder what actually happened that night and that is something that weighs heavily on me. Although the next day i “accepted” that he would never hurt me, I no longer feel that way. It was a very fresh wound and I wanted to believe him because I still loved him. However, after two years of sitting on this and reflecting I take that back. And I felt like he was excusing his behavior by saying he didn’t realize how drunk I was. Also the fact that he shared it in such detail made me extremely uncomfortable. I respected him enough to not share such intimate details and he did not have the same respect for me. I think he could’ve just said “she initiated intimacy in the way she normally did” and it would’ve gotten his point across just as well. Regardless, he still had sex with me when i was blacked out while he was in a conscious enough state to assess and remember the encounter in such vivid detail. That fact has not changed.

2. All the stuff about his friends is frankly of no consequence to me. Everything that happened with Friend A happened while we were broken up. And him bringing up Friend B felt unnecessary given the fact that we all discussed the matter with each other at the time it happened. I never cheated on him and i would like to stop that theory in its tracks. Him and I have spoken about this matter privately on numerous occasions so that is all I will say.

3. About the shower thing, I was coming out of the shower/bathroom. He had the discord call on speaker on his phone. So yes, I heard very clearly what George said and Luke simply ended the call, he did not call him out. I believe he is recalling a different instance where another one of his friends said that he wanted to have sex with me once i moved to Florida. I was not witness to it and he did tell me he stood up for me that time which is why I didn’t bring it up. I did not go into more detail about it because I was just using that one quote as an example of how some of his friends would speak about me in his presence. However this is already more than one instance of his friends speaking about me in that way, which leads me to believe it happened quite often when I was not around.

4. Intentionally or not, I felt he demonized BPD and used that as a way to invalidate a lot of what I said

5. He still called me a slur when he knew it was wrong because I was getting cancelled for it at the time. I do not believe he was actually confused as to the gravity of what he said to me

I would like to remind you that i know him personally. I lived through that. When I say we remember things differently I mean it. I think that he believes he is being truthful. However because I know him and I know what I experienced, I do not trust him. I do not believe that we were “equally” toxic. While I admit I made a lot of mistakes in the relationship, to me they do not justify all I endured. I repeat, you can believe what you want. This is a very nuanced situation but if you were looking to me to accept his apology, I do not.

#hopefully this is is the last time i will be addressing this

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shoccolatine · 2 months

Text

their reactions if MC was fatally wounded by wanderers and passed away

⚘pairings: xavier x reader, zayne x reader, rafayel x reader

⚘tags: sfw, gender-neutral MC, established relationship, loss and grief, ANGST, alcohol consumption (in xavier's part), very slight chapter 7/8 spoilers (in rafayel's part)

⚘a/n: sorry xavier's is shorter, i'm still figuring out his character! also can you tell i have a bias um hehe,,,

╰┈➤ ❝ XAVIER. ❞

is devastated by the news, and blames himself for not being there as their hunting partner to protect them and keep them safe

he drowns his grief in liquor at The Nest—the bartender worries for his sudden habit, but xavier's lips are locked tight, and so he doesn't pry. the best he can do is cut him off before his veins are more alcohol than blood

he also takes it out on the wanderers he fights from then on, hoping that the next one's throat he slits is the one who took his precious MC away from him

on calmer days, he brings flowers to their grave whenever he's able—he'll sit and chat about everything and nothing in the hopes that somehow, somewhere, they're still listening

╰┈➤ ❝ ZAYNE. ❞

would be in the ER doing everything he can to save them

....but it's not enough

the guilt of their life slipping through his fingers weighs heavy on him. but he never lets it show

he already spends a lot of time at work, but after they pass, he throws himself fully into his job

he's even more clinical and impersonal than ever and fully embodies the "cold and distant dr. zayne" title everyone else thought of him (everyone but MC)

he doesn't allow himself to get close to anyone anymore—after all, the ones he opens his heart to always get taken away from him

he keeps himself busy 24/7. if he allows even a moment's break, he starts thinking, and thinking is bad

his already frequent nightmares worsen, and he finds himself pulling even more all-nighters than usual to avoid them

bonus extra angsty alternate ending: his lack of sleep and inner anguish affect him to the point of messing up a delicate surgery. he resigns that same day.

╰┈➤ ❝ RAFAYEL. ❞

thomas is unable to contact him for days. texts and voicemails remain unanswered, deadlines are fast approaching with no updates... but, isn't this normal behaviour from the antisocial artist?

it's not until finding out about MC's passing a week later that thomas realizes he should have been more persistent with rafayel. but would it have even mattered? when rafayel is in a mood, it's near impossible to find/reach him, nevermind pull him out of it

weeks pass with still no word, and thomas regrets his last conversation with rafayel—pressing him to finish his latest painting, with an eager buyer already waiting

thomas does his best to manage cancelling rafayel's many interview and art show invitations without stirring up concerns. rafayel is already known to be dodgy with such things, though, which thankfully buys him some time

rafayel is finally spotted some time later on the beach just off his home studio, drenched to his bones and wandering aimlessly barefoot along the coast

he hasn't touched a paintbrush in ages, and has completely forgotten the inspiration for his last unfinished piece

he's spent nearly the entire time in the sea. the rocking of the waves and the rush of his heartbeat in his ears keep him distracted more than painting ever could

his muse is gone, and with it his flame. he spent all this time to find them... just to lose them again. his poor heart just can't bear it

one day he leaves one last cryptic message to thomas, dons his scales once more, and returns to the sea forever

#i maybe got a bit intense with rafayel's hfhds #zayne's was the first to come from this idea and writing it made me sad #love and deepspace #rafayel #rafayel x reader #zayne #zayne x reader #xavier #xavier x reader #hcs #zayne really be like 'conceal don't feel don't let it show' ❄️#elsa coded /hj

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butwhyduh · 4 months

Note

honestly jdk just tim drake x reader where one/or multiple of the batfam walks in?? i just find them entertaining, or they are continually being interrupted through the day!

Warning: eventual smut and Tim is done with everyone’s shit. If it’s not the end of the world, don’t call me- level done. And you can tell it’s fanfic because Tim is actually an adult.

Tim didn’t get into shows very often. He’s busy and he has a terrible habit of falling asleep after the first 10 minutes. He didn’t want to watch the show but he was tinkering with some of his tech while sitting on the couch and you put it on. And that’s how he got sucked in.

“And Daphne said yes to that? Drew is not good enough to lie to her friends over,” he said and you started telling him the backstory.

You binge watch the next few episodes to catch up to the new season. It was a fun and scandalous show, nothing like Tim’s usual picks. And he thought it was cute how animated you were when talking about the show.

“Trevor needs to get his shit together or not only is Naomi going to leave him, he’ll go to jail,” Tim said.

“Yeah but he owes the local crime boss money and he said he’d kill his family otherwise,” you countered.

“Sounds like Gotham,” Tim quipped. You lightly smacked his arm before laying your head on his shoulder and entangling your arm in his.

“That is not comforting,” you said. “Oo they’re going to tell us who took the diamonds!”

The bat phone started ringing almost off the coffee table. You groaned and let Tim go to sit up to answer that.

“The corner of 17 and Parkway? How many combatants?” He said in Bat speak. And that’s when you knew your date night was over. He hung up and turned to you looking apologetic.

“I have to go,” he said. You sighed but pulled him into a hug.

“Be safe. I’ll be here,” you said with practices familiarity. He kissed you before grabbing his stuff and leaving. He didn’t get back until hours later with some fresh bruises and a girlfriend asleep on the couch.

It was 2 days later that you tried to continue the show. Tim had told Bruce to call someone else first. The door was locked and his phone was on silence. You’d even given him some pretty good incentives if you were uninterrupted and alone after the show.

It was all of ten minutes into the continued episode with pho takeout on the way that the fire escape window opened. In flopped Nightwing covered in mud.

“No,” Tim groaned. You huffed before pausing the show. “Do you need help?”

“Only a bit,” Dick said as the understatement of the year. He let Tim look at him to find that he was leaking blood all over the carpet from a bullet wound in his thigh. “Only a graze. Do you have a bandaid?”

“Good lord,” you replied as Tim called Alfred. You quickly grabbed a towel to stop the bleeding.

It was a few hours later and a carpet cleaner before Nightwing and your carpet were patched up. By that time it was the middle of the night and you couldn’t concentrate on anything. Tim promised a date night another day.

This one was a whole week later. All of the Robins had been warned under pain of torture to not talk to Tim for that evening. Because Tim was to put it mildly, frustrated. You two hadn’t had alone time in over a week.

You started the show back up with all entrances locked and phones off. You were able to watch the next 15 minutes before you heard broken glass.

“Hey did you know your window was locked,” Superboy said standing in front of the window. Tim practically growled before pausing the show to shove Kon out the window.

“I don’t know what you need but the other members of Young Justice are available. Call them,” Tim said but it was already too late. The wind had blown into the room and it was starting to snow outside so he couldn’t exactly ignore the window. Once again date night was canceled.

Tim was so frustrated that he had dreams about you in his bed. It was almost a week later and now 3 episodes behind on the show that you had another date night. He was almost willing to skip the show entirely at this point just to have alone time.

Tim had practically threatened everyone he knew with death threats to leave you both alone.

“Someone is feeling the mode,” Bart joked.

“You mean, someone needs to get laid,” Kon added.

“At this point, yes! I don’t want to see, hear, or think of either of you tonight. Unless it’s the apocalypse, then I don’t want to even know about it,” he growled. The two other heroes howled with laughter as he left.

You could tell Tim was distracted and preoccupied by the way his hand gripped and squeezed your thigh. He gave you frequent kisses between scenes. As the episode ended, Tim pounced.

“Tim!” You gasped as he pushed you to lay on the couch before the credits were even done. It turned to a moan as his hand slid between your thighs to rub you through your panties.

“It’s been way too long,” he groaned as he kissed down your throat. He was almost never this aggressive and it was dizzying. He pushed your panties to the side to finger you.

“Oh fuck,” you gasped as he hit deep inside you. His hips rubbed his hard cock against you. He pulled at your shirt with one hand.

“Take it off,” he groaned with impatience. Before you had even gotten the fabric over your head, he had attacked your chest. Pulling a nipple into his mouth and sucking hard while fingering you thoroughly had you whimpering.

You shoved down his pants to grasp him in a loose fist. Tim rutted into your hand while sloppily kissing across your chest.

“Please, want you,” you whined and he wasted no time sliding in. Your back arched with a gasp. His arm reached behind your back and Tim took his time with long deep strokes.

This pleasure cycle couldn’t last forever and you both finished far too soon. Tim kissed you softly and gently.

“We can continue this later. I think the food is here,” he said.

“Sounds good,” you said adjusting your clothes and sitting up. “I’ll be right back,” you added as you went to clean up.

Tim answered the door in his messied hair and haphazardly placed clothes. Instead of the food delivery guy, it was Jason standing with his food box. Tim frowned.

“What do you want?”

“Pizza anyone?”

“Leave,” tim growled, taking the box. Jason laughed.

“Interrupting something?” Tim almost slammed the door in his face. “Hey, I just need keys to the Robin motorbike,” Jason added. “Oh I didn’t know you watched that show. Can you believe that in last week’s episode, it was the mom all along. Wild hu?”

Tim sighed before throwing the keys at Jason. “Go away.” He slammed the door.

“Well that sucks,” you said across the room.

Tim locked the door and sat the pizza box on the table. “I’m gonna be honest, and that is that I really just want to finish what we started before pizza. I’m not picky where.”

You laughed before letting him grab you fireman style over his shoulder to drag you into the bedroom. There was no way you were answering the door after that.

#Tim drake x reader #friday night smut #red robin x reader #Tim drake smut #Red Robin smut #dc smut

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winterarmyy · 11 months

Text

Around My Scars

Glimpses of mafia!bucky and his wife's arranged married life.

Summary: A careless decision leads to Bucky almost losing his wife.

Note: Read 《 Plot Twist 》 for backstory of the couple.

Words: 5.1k++

Pairing: beefy mafia!bucky x female!reader

Warnings: 18+ content, no minors allowed, nsfw, physical assault (not from bucky), sexual assault (not from bucky), graphic violence, reader is lowkey a badass, pussyjob, reader on top but bucky in control, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie, extra soft!bucky, fluff, tiny angst, etc.

P/S: If you have not read the original story yet. You can read it first for backstory. If not, you still can read it as standalone. And for those who came from plot twist series, I noticed there's a lot of you wanting more from this couple. So here's one of the glimpses of what happen somewhere in the future. Enjoy ♡

Read my other works here: Masterlist

All her life, she never thought a kiss could be this gentle. In fact every time Bucky's lips graced on her skin, it was impossibly tender. His kisses trailed along her bare back, from the center of her waist up to the back of her shoulder.

His lips followed the surrounding shape of her scarring wounds, as if he was tracing the shadows of them. His hot breath fanning against her cold skin and the deep, and subtle hum of his voice lulled her to near slumber.

Unlike his soft pillowy lips, his hands however were the opposite. His right was calloused and warm while the other was smooth and cold. Yet both of them were cupping her bare breasts perfectly; they felt so good on her skin.

It felt good like this; nothing in between them. Not even a single piece of clothing separating them apart. Bare and naked.

"Bucky..." a quiet moan was drawn from her lips as his hands squeeze her softness before they roamed around her frame.

Bucky only tightens his hold on her upon hearing her voice. It was if he was afraid that she was not real. As if she was just an illusion he was despretely holding onto.

He pulled her impossibly closer, his metal arm wrapped around her waist, gripping on the side while his right hand palming her chest, right above where her heart was beating.

She's real. She's here.

His own voice reassured his doubtful mind.

However, Y/N was getting nothing from her husband. Only grunts and growl and him snuggling into her, "Bucky, baby? What's wrong, honey?" she coaxed him softly as her hand reached back to played with his hair.

It took a few moments of silence before Bucky finally replied, his voice sounded like regret, "It's my fault, y/n."

~ ~ Flashback ~ ~

It was a normal day for the couple. A lovely day, in fact. They were on one of their 'undercover' dates. At least, that what Y/N called it. A name she came up with that makes Bucky rolled his eyes and shook his head.

Apparently, after the diner date they had before, they find themselves wanting more of it. The normality of life outside of the reality they lived in. And they surely made it a weekly schedule. Not that it was chore for them though, it never was, never will be.

After visiting the Brooklyn Book Festival and basically almost hauling the displays, they were planning to eat the new cafe near the location. But, as soon as they find the seats, Bucky got a call.

He was not supposed to even received any call.

That was one of the rules he set himself; no business during their dates. For whatever reason, this one got through him.

"Probably something huge." Y/N guessed as she watched Bucky excuses himself to pickup the call.

And her hunch was true. It was a huge deal. Especially when she saw his expression when he was approaching their table.

"I'm sorry, sweets. I really hate to leave you like this." He apologized when Y/N said she was okay to eat lunch alone.

"It's okay, I'm already here so it'd be a waste to completely cancel the plan." She continued to justify her decision for the reasons that the new café was hard to book a table, as if Bucky couldn't just book the whole goddamn café everyday for the rest of their life for her.

But, in the end, she did managed to persuade him. Bucky gentlely pulled her by the chin, before placing a soft kiss on her lips; whispering promises to make it up for her.

As his promises were laced with sweetness and sin, Y/N couldn't help but to smile against his lips, humming in agreement before watching him jog to the car.

She waved him a final goodbye and smiled at Steve who came to pick him up. The car drove away, leaving two of Bucky's men behind to look after Y/N.

If only Bucky knew how careless his decision was to leave those particular men in charge of his wife. Both were high on drugs and was not in a condition to be on duty. Especially a duty as important as protecting the lady of mansion.

At first it wasn't clear why she felt a little out after her lunch. She thought she would be fine after a little walk at the nearby park but she was wrong. Utterly wrong; especially when her vision went dark all of the sudden.

When she woke up in that basement, it clicked her. Her drink or food must have been spiked.

How long has it been since? How far away is she now from Bucky? Y/N woke up knowing nothing. Not knowing the place she was in nor the duration she had passed out.

Her heart was pumping fast, all the while her body was deadly cold. She was expecting to be tied up on a chair, at least she could try wiggle herself out of it but luck wasn't on her side.

Metal chains securely cuffed around her wrists as well as her ankles. Her movement was limited as the end of the chains were attached to the wall behind here. Anxiety threatens her to cry but she tried to stay calm.

Y/N looked at her surroundings. It seems to be a run down basement. There's lack of natural light source; the very little lighting were coming from the dim fluorescent lamp right above her head and another two in different location.

Clearly some empty bottles of alcohol were scattering all over the place. But none of those items were close enough for her to reach out to. Y/N heard laughs from behind the rusty metal door. It had two distinct voices; one deep and another was rather squeaky.

A clacking sound seemed to indicate that someone was unlocking the door. As the door opened, a man in his mid 30s walked in with a cruel smile.

He walked closer followed by two other man behind him; both were armed. Y/N frantically crawled back to meet her back to the walls behind her, the metal chains rubbed with each other, breaking the silence in the room.

"Stay back!" she warned.

The brutal man took a chair and sat in front of her. He looked like that type of person who would do anything for power. He had nothing but fiery eyes.

He look down and said "What's your name, sweetheart?" his voice demand nothing but a clear answer.

Y/N glared up to him, "I'd tell you, but I don't like being labelled." If hatred was visible the air would have been scarlet. The man could see she was not afraid to bite if he reach his hands out.

He chuckled darkly, "You're funny..." But unfortunately, he wasn't the type to reach out, he's more likely to; lash out.

The silenced room was once again tainted with sound, but this it wasn't just the moving chains but there was also the sound created from the impact of the harsh slap across Y/N's face.

The back of his hand hit and she fell with the force of it, "Urghh.." she groaned as she fall flat on the ground. The man continued, "... but not funny enough."

She can taste the coppery liquid on her tongue; she must have injured herself. Her cheeks stings as hell but Y/N was never the type to stay quiet and cry in front of people, especially to her enemies.

She giggled eerily as she sat back up, the undying flames in her eyes burn brighter, "Well that was fucking weak." she spat out the blood right on his shiny black shoes.

The man slipped out hysterical laugh, "I see why he like to keep you around." he smirked and stood from the chair. He dragged the rickety wooden chair away and threw it farther away than the original position.

Y/N had her gaze as strong as her will to live. The man look back to the tiny woman on the dusty floor before walking away. "Sir, what do we do with the girl?" One of the guards asked.

The man stopped midway through the door and stay silence for awhile, a wicked thought came through him, "Do whatever you want to do. As long as she remains alive." he snapped his head back to display a meaningful malicious grin and closed the doors behind him.

It was just a second of a glimpse, but the man clearly saw Y/N's despair in her expression. Too bad he had to go so soon.

As the doors closed, the two man look at each other and back to Y/N. A person doesn't need be a genius to read the mood. She knew exactly what's going to happen and for the first time a long time, she was petrified. For the first time in forever, she was scared for her life.

She couldn't breathe, it felt as if someone was choking her. Her heart was racing and all she wanted to do was curl up into a ball and wait for someone to save her. But no one would, no one was there.

A choked cry for help forced itself up her throat, "Get away! Don't come any closer!" she felt a drop run down her cheek. It seemed as if this was the end of the road for her.

"Get the fuck away from me!" Y/N roared hoping the two man had a little bit fear but considering her position, that obviously not going to happen.

The man fearless and shamelessly grabbed her despite she was crying out pleads. "Come now, sweets. Make this easy for us."

Sweets. It sounds so disgusting coming from another man.

One of the man grabbed a hold of her wrists while another took his time feasting her with his eyes.

"P-please don't d-do this..." she sniffled as her strength were getting weaker, despite all of the quarrels and battle she had gone through before, she should be fearless.

But, when one is looking into eyes that lurked with such dark lust as those she was seeing right now; fear is bound to creep in. No matter how strong-willed a person see themselves as.

"Don't worry, we'll be gentle if you behave." he licked his upper lips as he run his hand along her waist up to her chest.

It was disgusting, every cells on Y/N's body was rejecting his touch; her throats seemed like it was trying to force her to puke something out but there's nothing but the nausea.

Tears kept falling down as they escape from the corner of her eyes. She was beyond terrified, even with her struggling; it seemed to be useless.

The man grabbed on the fabric of her sundress that was framing her collarbone and forcibly ripped them apart, exposing Y/N in her bra. The man scanned her body once more, cock straining in his pants.

Damn, she looked like sin.

He managed to gripped her hands together in one hand before she could protest even more. His other hand reaching to her breast.

No.

His rough grip on her breast was only bringing her pain than pleasure. But he was rather enjoying the tenderness of her body.

No.

He dipped in closer; he stuck his tongue out to lick the valley of her breasts, leaving trails of his disgusting stickiness behind.

Stop.

He hummed in satisfaction, approving the way she tasted. His bulge rubbing against her clothed core, humping for pleasure. Y/N couldn't look at him.

Please, stop.

But the moment she looked away, she made eye contact to the other man behind him. He had his cock in his hand, lazy strokes and a wicked smile when the tears fell down from her eyes.

"So pretty, baby" he mouthed.

For a moment there Y/N stopped struggling. She sat still like a doll who loses its' battery power, the man's statement rang in her head in an infinite loop.

"You're beautiful, y/n" Bucky's voice resurfaced in her mind.

"You're always going to be mine." the voice continued.

"I'm always going to be there to protect you, sweets."

The flashbacks run through her head faster than a bullet train.

Seeing how Y/N stopped moving, they thought she gave up. But then again, some people never learn. Don't ever underestimate your opponent.

She get the hold of herself, pulled her head back and headbutt the man in front of her. She didn't even care if she could get a concussion herself from the impact. The man ended up falling back on his ass as he grunts in pain.

"Stay. The Fuck. Away. From Me." She threatened.

Though her defiant only spark anger from the man, rather than fear. When he regained his balance, he slipped the leather belt from his pants, "You asked for this little girl. So be it." he grunts as he pulled a hand back.

His palm strikes her on already stinging cheeks, making her fall on her chest. Before she could pushed herself up, she was forced to stay down as the man pressed his boots at the back of her head.

"You need to be trained like a bitch. And I'm gonna give you exactly that." His words only sounded like a warning to her.

Which was exactly it, when she felt the first strike of his belt across her back. It was one of many mean and harsh whipping on her delicate skin. Until she was aching, bleeding.

As sick as he was, enjoying the thrill of torturing a defenseless girl, the other man was much more twisted, as he kept stroking himself as he watched Y/N bleed and whimpered.

It was disgusting, it was painful; And at one point her hands were reaching around only to clung on the man's other foot.

Surprisingly he stopped, "Learnt your lessons yet, mutt?"

Y/N can hear his sinister smile despite her face planted on the floor. She didn't reply, the only sound can be heard from her, is her unstable breathing.

Wanting as answer, he foolishly pulled his foot away from her head, "Are you deaf? Answer me!" He pushed.

Foolish he was.

Y/N fought against the agonizing pain on her back and took the advantage to pull his leg as hard as she could, making his fall on the floor. She was swift with her next move; she hit the man's groin with her elbow, automatically lower the protection his other part of his body.

As he was busy tending his wounded balls, Y/N slide behind him and wrapped the chains around his neck, she yanked the man as she tighten the crossover metal chains.

"You better stay the fuck away from me or he's dead." She warned the other man who was trying to get to her, he called her bluff. He took a step closer, still pushing his luck.

Y/N strengthen her grip as well as pulling the chain as hard as she could, practically strangling and knocking out the breath out of his throat. "S-Stop. S-stay there." the dying man stuttered.

The other obliged and had his hand up in the air as a sign of surrender. Y/N glared up to the man, "Lay your filthy hands on me again, I won't hold back." she growled in his ears before drifting his head towards the wall, knocking him unconscious.

Upon seeing his accomplice slouched to the floor with a bleeding head, the other man tried to grabbed and hold her down. But she quickly grabbed the gun from the unconscious man, and pulled the trigger.

Her aim was off but enough to disarm him. His right shoulder now had a hole through it. He grunted to agonizing pain on his shoulder, but he should've known to not let his guard down. Then, it hits him. Another hole through the shins of his left leg.

He screamed and wailed, sucking air in and out of his mouth, holding on to the last cliff of his life as he fell into his knees and down to the floor.

Despite the lack of protest from the man, Y/N didn't let her guard down as she still holding on the gun in her grip.

At this point, Y/N was losing more than just her blood, but her strength and vision too. She blinked slowly, waiting for glimpse of threat from the entrance.

Even if the two men were rendered immobilized, however she knew gunshot will alert the others. Anyone could barge in at any point of time. And she needed to be ready for them.

The door was getting blurry in her point of view and the cracking headache greeted as painful as the other wounds all over her back.

The dark silence didn't last long as Y/N can clearly heard a lot of movements from the level above her. One time she heard multiple footsteps running around and another she heard loud cracks much resembles a sound of a "Gun shots..." she breathed.

It took a single kick on the rusty old metal door; Y/N's body jumped out of reflex to the sound of the door fall from it's frame. As the door fell down, it revealed the face of a man who Y/N thought she could never see ever again.

His face were painted with the colour of crimson, almost covering half of his beautiful features; but his sapphire eyes shines the same. Even if her hearts was pumping fast, it seemed like the man was more desperate for air than she herself.

A sense of relief hit her like the crashing wave as she called out his name, "Bucky..."

Bucky stood there,dark and dangerous; just a few steps away from the woman he claimed as his. His heart seemed to stop for a split second; there she was — crawled in the corner of the dim lit room, both hands and legs chained to the wall behind her.

It's not that Bucky couldn't see there were others in the basement besides her; he knew that, he could see them but the nudity of his wife's chest caught his attention and he could see the pieces of her torn clothes were near her wounded ankles and wrists.

The cuts on around her skin, cause by the metal cuffs symbolizes her struggles. The bright pair of eyes that Bucky had always admired; they glint, however, in pain and tears.

A sight that Bucky never wanted to see.

Frozen in his spot, Y/N gathered all the strength she had left, to shout his name once again, "Come here, Bucky..." the sound of the strained metal chain echoed along with her shaky plead, as she reach her arms out towards her husband.

Pleading for his touch, his warmth.

It took less than a second after hearing her calling, for Bucky to sprint towards her. Completely ignoring the riot of bullets echoed from above them, even stepping on the men on the floor.

He had lost her for less than seven hours, but it felt like forever. Bucky fell down to his knees as he wrapped his arms around Y/N, pulling her head to his chest. He hold onto her tightly, as if someone was trying to rip her away from his grasps.

It was slight, but Bucky could clearly feel her body shivering body in his embrace as she cried to his chest, a piercing pain struck his heart, "I'm here. I'm here." he whispered softly.

His hand found it's way to her back, wanting to give her a tender stroke of reassurance but he found himself frozen to the sensation on his palm.

At first he felt it; wet and sticky. But when he brought his hands up to the light, he finally saw how his whole palm were covered in blood. Her blood. His wife's blood.

A wave of pure rage reigned his whole being and what happen that day had become one of the things Bucky's men will never forget.

Bucky made sure it rain blood that day.

And it was truly a gruesome sight to see.

~ ~ End of Flashback ~ ~

Since the day Y/N woke up in their bed, Bucky never left her side. Not even for his business, for weeks now Bucky had temporarily place the authority to Steve and he had spend his day tending his wife as he should.

Now, weeks later from that day, Bucky is claiming that it was his fault that she was kidnapped?

No, it absolutely was not. Far from it. How is y/n getting kidnapped is his fault? How is y/n getting tortured is his blunder? That does not make any sense. Not in any universe.

"I should've been there with you." He explained.

Bucky's kisses took a halt in the crook of her neck, he relishes the sweet scent emitting from her as his lips rested on her weak spot. Where does the scent coming from? Was it from her body lotion or from her shampoo. Eitherway, it was intoxicating.

He almost felt guilty for finding a calming relief from it. He wasn't nearly worthy enough to find peace in her. And yet here he was; selfish and greedy for the friction of her touch, the influence of her scent, the melody of her moans, all of her.

Y/N release herself from his embrace and swiftly changed her position to straddling him. His eyes searched her face, wondering if she was uncomfortable and how can he please her.

She run her hands through his hair as she chooses her words carefully, "Yes, you should. But that doesn't justify why you blame yourself for it." She leaned into him, brushing the tip of her nose on his.

Before Bucky can protest, Y/N shuts him up with a kiss on his lips, "It was not your fault. No one knew that they going to spike my drink. No one knew that they managed to drug up your men. Honey, it was an accident. It was not your fault, it never was and never will be." She was only speaking the truth, even Bucky couldn't argue.

He leaned his forehead on her before speaking up, "I just hate seeing you get hurt, sweets." Bucky sighed, as a frown formed on his face.

Y/N does not want Bucky to dwell in this darkness again. He kept doing it for the past weeks, and though some days she managed to pull him out, some other she failed. This worries her; it scared her.

Bucky might not notice it right now since his mind was blurry with worry; but if he was more aware of his surroundings he might just notice how Y/N was slowly leaking on his cock. His girth was slotted perfectly between her pussy and the sight of it turns her on.

It's been awhile since they feel each other; due to her injuries Bucky was constantly worrying about hurting her during sex.

And she was desperate for him, she want him to remove all the bad memories of that day. Douse her with his touch, mark her body so the traces of the man will no longer bear any meaning to her.

Her cunt twitches to the thought, she couldn't help but to grind her hips. Letting his cock glides through her folds; getting it wet from her fluids, "Then love on me, Bucky." It was an instant respond from Bucky, his cock was growing hard on command.

His gaze briefly fell on where his cock was buried between, before looking up to her hazy eyes. "...If you don't want to see me hurt. Then make love to me, let me show you how good you make me feel." She coaxed as her hips continues to grind on him.

Each movement causing throbs of need on her clit. She kept brushing it along his length, presses a little force when it reached to the tip of cock. Bucky moaned in sheer pleasure everytime she did that.

"Please, Bucky I miss you..” She mumbled softly, rolling her hips a bit, making him groan as he melted, "I miss you too, babydoll." He breathes out deeply before placing a sweet kiss on lips.

Bucky held her by the side of her hips and pushes her down further, as he slowly thrusted his hard throbbing cock in between the wet slit of her pussy.

The immense sensation on her was beyond words to describe. She thought she knew pleasure before but turn out she was wrong. Unable to even utter a single coherent word, Bucky on the other hand wasn't planning disappoint her.

Bucky's thrusts get faster and rougher by time until he started to hump her almost uncontrollably, letting out these little desperate groans.

"Feel so good, Buck-- ah shit--" Y/N moaned, her face flushed pink, mouth hanging open as her pussy throbbed against his drenched cock. Every time he push forward, he could feel himself spreading the lips of her pussy apart.

His pace did not drop as his goal is to make her cum just by him fucking through her folds alone. He want see her feeling good. And sure enough, she began to whimper, "I'mma cum. Bucky, please don't stop. I'm cumming."

Bucky leaned into her ears and whispered, "Go ahead, babydoll. Cum for me. Let me see your face when I make you cum. That's it baby, hmmm, so pretty. Can feel ya clenching. Feels good doesn't it, sweets. Yeah you do." He held her still as he thrusted against her slick again and again, letting her ride her high; his pace was faster and maybe a bit more desperate than before while she from her orgasm.

Bucky caught her from falling back into the mattress, he leaned her body towards himself. Letting her rest on his chest. Slow drag of his cock on her pussy felt so good, she might have had a mini orgasm from it.

"Babydoll, gonna make you feel even more better. Gonna stuff your pussy full. Can I? Promise it'll make you feel so good. Want that, sweets?" Bucky coaxed her with sinful temptation that she couldn't resist.

"Yes please. Wanna be stuffed and full of you and your cum. Please?" She didn't need to beg like that for Bucky to comply.

His hand searched for hers before he interlock her fingers with him. He sit her up on her knee, using one of his free hand to line the tip of his cock at her entrance.

Y/N's whole body trembled when he thrust himself up into her one swift movement. He watch as her eyes are furrowed shut, lips parted in pleasure. Her knuckles whiten as they grip the sheets and his hand.

Oh she was so full. So full of him.

Bucky bite his lip at the feeling of being inside her, the clenching her walls around his needy cock. He lift her up off him slowly, ceating a slow but deep pace, she let the sounds of his deep groans fill her ears. He’s not noisy, but just very vocal, every breath coming out as moan of pleasure.

"You’re so good for me, Bucky." She praise breathlessly. "So good".

His hips buck up and she hiss as he inadvertently thrusts into her deeper than before. "God," he almost whined, lost at the feel of her warm cunt.

Y/N was also feeling as good. The sting of the stretch was amazing. She bite back her moan as he rubbed all over her favourite spots inside, "Hmmpph! Buck- ahh. please, ahh-- fuck me so good." She let out a breathy mumbling noises as he continue drill his cock in and out of her.

"Feels amazing being inside you, sweets. So warm, so wet. Fuck-- yeah just that, milk me like that yeahh" Bucky's hips moved upwards and downward as he fucks her rough and messy, holding her tightly against his body as he bounces her up and down on his cock.

Both of the pair of eyes never left each other. Eyes roaming to stare either at each others fucked-out face or to where their sex was connected.

How lewd it was; the way he languidly pumps himself in and out of her. How her small little hole could swallow his cock perfectly in each of his hips thrusts. How beautiful the sweat glistens across her skin;

The way Bucky dips his head into her to pepper kisses on her neck, the way his brows furrow when he gives a particularly deep thrust. Every single thing about it was beautiful.

Bucky felt so thick inside of her and he's hitting so deep, it felt fucking incredible. She can feel the pressure building inside of her, "i'm gonna cum again... oh god, bucky baby,-- ahh fuck-- "

Bucky encouraged her with with low growl and she moaned raggedly as she came on his cock; squeezing him tight, and his thrusts become even wilder, "fuck yes, squeezing me so nice. Gonna cum inside ya, sweets. Will have my load leaking from your pussy baby." his groan were starting to sound more desprete.

Still high on orgasm, she nods in agreement, "yes, Bucky. Wanna feel you leaking please" She pleaded as she felt another wave of pleasure was trying to burst.

Bucky's thrusts loses it's pattern as he chased his high, "oh fuck, i'm cummin' inside ya, sweets! Fuck fuck fuck" strings of curses spilled before he let out a long moan as his cock burst on his high, filling her to the brim with his thick hot cum.

Naturally, she came as well, accompanied by a sweet mewl as her walls pulsed around him while he empties ropes and ropes of his cum inside her, whimpering into her ear.

When he's finally finished he gives a long, contented sigh he slowly lay on the bed, gently bringing her along as he rested her head on his chest. With his cock still resting in her throbbing pussy, Bucky thought of going for round two.

But when he heard the soft snores coming from his wife, he put that thought in a backlog, and instead decided to help clean his babydoll up so she could get a better rest as she deserved.

By the time she was well taken care of, Bucky scrolled through his text messages with Steve. The 'temporary in charge' was apparently also in charge of depriving life out of the two men who had assaulted Y/N.

"Are they dead yet?" Bucky prompted.

"No. They beg to though." Steve replied.

"Then, let them beg to death." Bucky ended the conversation, before placing his phone aside.

Though he takes pleasure in torturing his prey with his own bare hands however nothing is more important than being by his wife's side when she needed him the most.

Besides, those scum will live long enough for Bucky to come down there and bring hell to them himself. He will make sure of that. But until then, nothing matters to Bucky than being here for his babydoll.

End.

Read my other works here: Masterlist

P/S: I love reading feedbacks so drop your comment in the comment section or reblogs.

There is no actual taglist. So, I only include those who reblogged with comments and/or commented on the previous series. However, do tell if you want or do not want to be tagged.

Taglist: @melsunshine @splendidreads @florence-end @spn-obession @my-lady-of-the-various-sorrows @buuuuuuucky @raevyng @kamaria-sweet-writes @chemtrails-club @just-another-writer-05 @touchstarvedforbuckybarnes @thezombieprostitute @wifeofbarnes @oldermenaremyreligion @bemysugarbean @thischubbydumpling @barnes1031 @winterslove1917 @barnesstanbucky @butterflyimmortality @iamfandomwasted @goldensunflowe-r

#winterarmyyfics #plottwistfic #mafia!bucky #mob!bucky #bucky barnes au #mafia!bucky x reader #mob!bucky x reader #arranged marriage #husband!bucky #beefy!bucky #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you

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hbyrde36 · 2 months

Text

STWG Daily Prompt 3/9/24

Written for the @strangerthingswritersguild

Prompt: Bite

Rating: G | WC: 867

Emotional hurt/comfort, Steve Harrington's parents being the worst, the best uncle Wayne Munson, supportive boyfriend Eddie Munson, the party loves Steve Harrington

Steve had given up on his dad long ago, he was never going to be the kind of man Richard Harrington had always wanted his sons to grow up and be, but he’d held out hope for his mom—hope that someday she would learn to love him the way she loved his brother.

More than ten years between them, and the fact that the Harrington’s had moved to Hawkins only after Christopher had graduated high school and gone off to college, meant no one really knew Steve had a sibling.

The party, Robin, Eddie—especially Eddie because how could they have been dating for over a year now and him somehow still not know about this—were all stunned to learn of the existence of another young Harrington.

He hadn’t meant to tell them at all, but then Christopher and their parents made a surprise visit home so that his brother could take possession of their grandmother’s ring and pop the question to his girlfriend of a whopping 9 months. Less time than he and Eddie had been seeing each other and didn’t that get under Steve's skin to know he’d never get to propose to his boyfriend with a family heirloom, not only because gay marriage wasn’t legal, but because his parents would never dream of handing down a piece of jewelry to their least favorite son.

Steve wound up having to make the rounds, letting everyone know movie night was canceled because his brother was in town. Naturally they all wanted explanations for why this was the first they were learning of this mysterious person, and by the time he got to Eddie’s place, Steve was a mess.

Years of mistreatment and neglect bubbled to the surface, and not just the big things but the little sniping comments, the small injustices—inequities between the way Mr. and Mrs. Harrington spoke of their older son vs their younger—hurt feelings that he’d pushed all the way down in order to function, in order to put a fucking smile on his face and hide the fact that he was damaged goods who not even a mother could love.

It all came spilling out of him on Eddie’s bedroom floor as his boyfriend held him, rocked him, was his rock, tethering him to the earth.

When it was all over and Steve was calm, Eddie asked him why he still spoke to them, why he still lived in their house when he and Wayne had both–on separate occasions–invited him to live with them instead.

“They’re my family.” Steve said, shrugging. “I don’t have a choice.”

“Of course you do, Stevie. You always have a choice. If you were to decide right here and now that you never wanted to see or speak to them again, you are allowed to do that. You hold all the power here. I’ll support you in whatever you decide, but I have to say in my humble opinion, they never deserved you.”

Steve took the night to think about it, though in the instant Eddie had said the words, given Steve the power to take control of his own life, he’d known what he was going to do. It was his life, he could do with it as he wished. He was already doing that with almost every other part of it, so why was he still letting his mom and dad hold any power over him? Why did he subject himself to their passive aggressive comments and disappointed glares?

In the end he never went back, not even to get his stuff. Wayne and Eddie did it for him, leaving behind his keys and his beloved car.

A small price to pay for freedom.

He called the next day and left a final message on the answering machine.

“Please leave your message after the beep.”

“Hey mom. You’re the hardest one to say goodbye to, the last member of this family I held out hope for so you’ll have to forgive me for not doing this in person. My car keys are on the table by the front door. I know the BMW is in dad’s name and I know he wouldn’t want me keeping it under the circumstances.”

“I am no longer a Harrington. I’m sure you won’t mind because you barely thought of me as one to begin with but it’s official now. I’m moving on, and moving in with my boyfriend. Yes, boyfriend, because I am nothing if not a consistent disappointment.”

“It took me longer to see it with you because I've witnessed the way you care for the people around you, most of them anyway, and what you’ve done for this community.”

“You are a good person, except when you’re not. And you were a great mom, just not to me.”

There was no bite in his words, just a sad truth finally spoken aloud.

Steve hung up the phone feeling lighter than he ever had in his whole life, and sat down to dinner with the people who really loved him. His found family, who’d all dropped whatever they were doing at a moments notice to throw him an impromptu moving-in party at his new home with Eddie and Wayne.

Thanks to my beloved @penny00dreadful for having a look over this 🥰

#stwgdailyprompt #steddie fanfic #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #stranger things #steve harrington's parents #steddie fic #wayne munson my beloved #steve harrington/eddie munson #steve x eddie #fanfic

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breeyn · 6 months

Text

An essay rebutting the “bad writing” claims of s2 ofmd. Spoilers herein.

I’ll preface this with saying you’re obviously allowed to like and dislike whatever you want. I am in no way opposing that. And your reasons are your reasons. Have at. (Also - this is a collection of observations from the past few days, I’m not calling anyone out)

I AM going to rebut the idea that season two was poorly written and lost the spirit of what the show is about.

My favourite movie of all time is Empire Strikes Back. It’s been my favourite movie since I was four. I’m pretty sure it’s a fave of David Jenkins, too. He and Taika have made absolutely no attempt to hide their love of all things 80’s - Prince, the Princess Bride, Kate Bush, Star Wars, etc.

I have ancient video tapes (that I can’t play because who has a vcr) where Lucas is interviewed by Leonard Maltin? Malkin? I dunno. Who cares. Maltin asks him about the Star Wars (original trilogy) story arc. Lucas says “in act I, you introduce all the characters. In act II, you put them in a situation they can’t get out of, and in act III, they get out of it.”

That’s how it works. This is how stories and literary structures work.

Of course you’re not satisfied with season two. You’re not supposed to be.

The arguments I have read on why s2 loses the spirit of s1 is because no one heals. No one learns anything. No one moves forward properly. The person who makes the biggest move towards healing dies. The two main characters end the show doing the exact fucking thing they had promised themselves and each other they wouldn’t do. Our romantic lead still doesn’t understand his value or make any headway on addressing his tragic flaw. It makes no goddamn sense.

My gremlins in weird: it’s not supposed to. In Act 2, EVERYONE LOSES. This is how it goes.

I’ve read a lot of people saying “but this felt like a series finale, not a season finale.” We all know that outside politics play a part here, the strikes make everything precarious. I remember the last writers strike. It destroyed tv for fifteen years. Anyone remember Pushing Daisies? Some of y’all have never had your fave show cancelled with zero resolution for the characters and it shows.

Daddy J did us a kindness. He softened the blow of a tough season. After the brutal cliffhanger of s1, he gave us a little softness and hope. All those things you’re mad aren’t resolved? It’s because THE STORY ISN’T OVER.

No one on earth thinks “stuff all your trauma into a box and ignore it” is good advice. A way to actually live. This show did not have enough screen time to throw out dialogue for no reason. There was foreshadowing in s1 for s2, and there is foreshadowing for s3 in s2. This is a well-crafted story by very smart people who care very much for these characters. There is zero chance Frenchie explained the box in his head for no reason. The reason people have not resolved their trauma and growth is because they haven’t done it *yet*.

And friends - it’s not thinly veiled. They straight up fucking tell us what they’re doing.

Luke Skywalker spends the first two movies fucking up and desperately trying to prove himself and just generally being an idiot. Sound familiar? He ignores the lessons he is supposed to be learning to go off and do what he feels like doing, and loses fucking badly. At the end of Empire, Han is gone, Luke and Leia wave goodbye to the Falcon that has Lando and Chewy - the rest of their crew - aboard. Everyone has lost everything they care about. Vader is undefeated. Yoda is pissed. Nothing is resolved.

You see where I’m going?

If you think I’m stretching this too far, welp, when Ed tells Stede he loves him - the climax of the finale - Stede quotes Han fucking Solo. Like - *it’s right there*. The story structure. The reason everything is unresolved.

So yeah. They wave goodbye to their ship because they have wounds to heal (like Luke’s hand). The people aboard the ship have things to find. Ed and Stede have *not* learned their lesson about whims and how not to be like Anne and Mary. It’s not stupid that they’re doing the same thing, and it’s not pointless that we were shown Anne and Mary. It’s all relevant.

The resolution comes in Act 3. None of these people are done. The story is far, far from over. And just in case the studios want to be dicks about it, David Jenkins was lovely enough to not repeat my enduring heartbreak over Pushing Daisies.

Thank you, @davidjenks 🖤

#ofmd #our flag means death #ofmd s2 #ofmd s2 spoilers #ofmd spoilers

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eumivrse · 6 months

Text

warning(s) pure angst, jjk chapter 120 SPOILERS

arguments with kento are always the worst.

you’ve learned over the years that you’d probably prefer it if he would just scream back when he’s mad rather than being dead silent.

because when he’s angry, he doesn’t speak. he just gives you space to cool off, then he always makes sure to kiss you before you sleep. a way to let you know that tomorrow is a new day and he still loves you the same even if things are heated; that you can always talk it out with him.

you hate it because he always, always apologizes first even if it’s your fault sometimes, but you always appreciated his way of communicating. it’s as if he would rather take the jab every time than have you mad at him.

however, he couldn’t do so that day— october 31, 2018. he had to go to shibuya and left with tension between the two of you. you don’t even remember what exactly you argued about— all you recall was that it ended with you both saying something that could’ve easily passed as unforgivable, words specifically chosen to wound each other’s feelings.

and as per, kento gave you your space and left with you having the last word.

except you never got that good night’s kiss.

when news reached you, you didn’t even react. how could you? the last words you said to him was “then leave already,” with the coldest, meanest tone you’ve ever spoken to him in.

you just stared at the wall for what seemed like days. people were calling you non stop, but your phone was turned off. you hadn’t even left your shared bedroom. the comforter still had his scent on it and you’re afraid that it’ll disappear if you get up for even a minute and then his passing will feel real.

it wasn’t until ino stopped by to drop off his cellphone— one of the only traces he left that night— that you did something else besides laying down. you stared at kento’s scuffed lock screen, sitting at the dim dining room table.

his wallpaper was a photo of you. he took it while you were eating in the very place you’re sitting in right now and you begged him for days to delete it. he insisted that you looked pretty so you let him be. he’d always been like that, so stern with others but he had such a soft spot for you.

you knew his password because it was your anniversary date, then the messaging app opened as soon as you punched the numbers in. it’s your chat, the last conversation you had on there was him asking if you wanted to eat outside because he was free the next morning and you obliged. that was the night before you had an argument the next day and lunch plans were cancelled.

he had an unsent message— all typed out, but he never pressed the send button for some reason.

he was apologizing for hurting you.

he said that he knows it’s been tough for you these days and how he should’ve seen the signs sooner instead of thinking everything’s okay.

then he apologized again for not being able to kiss you goodnight, and for being a shitty husband that couldn’t tend to his wife’s needs.

the message concluded with “i miss you, my precious girl. make sure to eat and sleep well, i’ll make it up to you soon.”

kento’s death hadn’t hit your reality until those words on the screen registered in your mind. your dry, pale lips from barely drinking water trembled, eyes welled up in tears for the first time since you found out. so many different emotions crashed over you in such little time, your chest felt tight and you let go of his phone, clattering onto the wooden table.

“then leave already,” replayed in your mind over and over and the way his face turned pale from your harsh words. with how things turned out, it almost sounded like you were sending him on death’s row and it made you feel like you’re responsible somehow.

guilt loomed over you like a stormy cloud for making him feel like he wasn’t good enough for you and you wonder how different the future might’ve turned out if you’ve at least gave him a hug before he left.

if you could’ve just set your pride aside and kissed him goodbye like he does with you before you sleep.

and if he still loved you the same at his final moments.

#yikes #why am i feeling guilty lolol #mentally preparing myself when it gets animated #might not be accurate to the plot but tbh idc #nanami kento #nanami kento x reader #nanami x reader #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk angst #nanami angst #kento nanami #nanami kento angst

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mrswint3rs · 4 months

Note

thinking of reno sinclair going feral :3

‘Just’ Friends ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

pairings- Fwb! Reno x Fem! Reader

a/n- i’ve been wanting to write for ff7 characters so bad but I didn’t know if people actually wanted it so !!

cw- 18+ content!!, needy and possessive Reno, unprotected sex, brief vaginal fingering and nipple stimulation (rushed ass ending im sorry) 𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪

. ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄

Reno was perfectly fine with the relationship you had going. He could have you whenever he wanted while still having his own freedom. You weren’t committed to him, and he wasn’t committed to you.

There were no worries over potential breakups which he feared the most.

You were best friends, he couldn’t bare the thought of a silly breakup making you part ways. Which is why you collectively decided on being friends with benefits. Not too close, not too far.

It worked perfectly for the both of you. You could still have a semi-normal friendship without the burden of having set rules or worrying about upsetting one another.

But when Reno gets word of your new potential boyfriend, he can’t handle it.

Yeah, you weren’t dating or anything, but he thought you had something special with each other anyway.

He knew he didn’t have a right to be upset. You weren’t the only girl Reno was seeing. He’d tried things out a few times with others. Even so, you were his favorite, his main priority. He would throw them all away for you if you asked. They were nothing compared to you.

But as much as he didn’t want to admit it, he knew you were allowed to find an actual relationship.

He almost accepted it. When you straight up told him about your stupid date with this other guy scheduled for tonight, he tried so hard to act unbothered. You seemed so happy about it and all. He didn’t want to be selfish. He couldn’t help it though.

He couldn’t just let some random steal you away from him.

You’re dressed all nice and pretty, dolled up from head to toe. Reno almost feels bad, knowing you weren’t going to go. No chance in hell he was letting that guy see you at your best.

Selfishly, he pulls you down onto the bed with him, immediately going to unzip the back of your dress that hugged your curves perfectly, letting it slip off your shoulders. His lips come down to trail across the exposed flesh of your back, leaving soft love bites as they go.

“Reno…I’m gonna be late.”

“Cancel it.” he sighs, burying his face in your hair.

“Just stay with me tonight.”

He pulls your dress the rest of the way down, revealing your bare chest and lace underwear. You really went all out, buying a whole new set. Obviously you were expecting to get some tonight, which only wounded him further. He hated that he felt like this. He didn’t know how to express it, or get rid of it. All he knew was that you were going to be his.

“I can’t just cancel it…” you counter almost seriously until he cupped your breasts in his hands, squeezing and rubbing his thumb in intricate circles over your nipples.

Your voice gives out. Your thighs come together as if trying to forcefully stop the heat from pooling between them. He was giving you those puppy dog eyes, kissing and nuzzling along your neck so soft and sweet.

He pulls you onto his lap and you immediately take notice of his erection pressing right against your rear through his pants. “Let me make you feel good tonight,” he pleads into the crook of your neck, practically pouting. “I can do whatever you want, just don’t go.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to deny him when he was being so clingy. His hands travel down your midriff, tantalizingly rubbing along the way down to your panties.

He slips his hand through the front, dipping his fingers into your wetness, rubbing in light circles around your puffy clit.

“Fine, I’ll stay.” you moan. You knew how stubborn Reno could be and you could never say no to him.

He slides two fingers inside you, fishing for that sensitive spot. He slowly thrusts in and out and you find yourself pushing into it, craving something deeper.

His free hand gropes your tit, rolling your nipple between his forefinger and thumb, intensifying the feeling between your legs. “You’re so wet for me,” he groans as you squirm against his cock. He uncontrollably rubs back against you. “Do you want it?”

Without even thinking, you nod and he rushes to free himself from his restraints.

You straddle his lap, facing him with his length pressed right against your stomach, throbbing and twitching with need.

He leans in to close the gap between you, pressing his lips against yours. He starts off with slow and loving deep kisses before he gets riled up and can’t control himself. His mouth devours yours, tongue desperately jabbing at your own. Neither of you care about the clashing of teeth, panting and moaning into each others mouths.

You heighten yourself on your knees, arms wrapped around his shoulders as you hover over the top of his member.

His hands find their way to your hips and push you down onto him without warning. Your pussy swallows him up with ease and both of you synchronize sounds of pleasure.

“Fuck…you feel so tight-“ he whines, pulling away from the kiss to look into your eyes.

Your face contorts in pleasure as you start to sink yourself on him. He makes equal efforts, jerking his hips to slam into you.

Reno’s eyes travel down your frame, watching the way your tits bounce along with you. They were one of his favorite things about you and it made him more aware of how hard he was going at it.

When you start to cry out his name, he gets all dizzy. You call for him so desperately he can hardly take it. It makes him feel all needy.

He pounds into your pussy, chasing his high and losing sight of all else.

You clamp down on him as you cum, eyes rolling back and legs shaking. He can’t stop his own movements. He rapidly thrusts into you, completely filling you as he reaches a breathtaking orgasm.

He holds you tight against him, comfortingly cooing you as you both come down from it all. You slowly melt into his arms, growing tired and feeling satisfied. Reno lays down with you.

Neither of you care enough to clean up the mess you’ve made at the moment. You only cared about staying close and basking in the aftermath.

Panting, sweaty messes, you lay silently for a while before Reno breaks the silence as usual.

“Will you…be my official girlfriend?”

#smut #fanfiction #final fantasy x reader #ffvii x reader #ffvii #reno x reader #reno smut #anon ask #final fantasy series #final fantasy vii #final fantasy 7 #ff7 #ff7 remake #reno of the turks

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cosmicstarlatte · 1 year

Text

You ARE The Father! (Obey Me!)

━━━━━━━━━━ ✦ ━━━━━━━━━━

After getting back to the human world you realized you were pregnant. You decided to keep it a secret during your relationship. After having the baby/babies for a few weeks, you finally decide to tell your demon baby daddy.

»Characters: Demon bros // -> [Part 2: Dateables] Now available!

»Tags: Female reader/MC, Unplanned pregnancy, Humor/fluff, Bulleted Style Fic

»Note: Sorry it's kind of long. Also I imagine the babies all heavily resemble their dads. 🥺♡ I might make a part two with Diavolo and Barbatos but they will be short stories. Well, maybe. Lol

Lucifer:

"That's not funny."

Didn't believe you because how could you keep that sort of secret for months from him

You sent him a photo of you holding a very unamused baby boy with black hair and red eyes

The Avatar of Pride has fainted. I repeat, he has fainted

Didn't pack or say anything to his brothers once he woke up, he just bolted out the house to find a magic seal to travel to the human realm

Quickly let Diavolo know why he canceled their meeting whilst on the way to you

He arrived disheveled, man was sweating lol

Anyway he immediately reached for his child and cradled him

His baby's horns and wings popped out!

Barely wanted to talk to you at first, you wounded his pride...Did you think him unfit? Did you think he wouldn't accept?

He would've been there for you no matter what, it pained him that you went through everything alone

Promised to be there from now on

He hugged you and the baby "...I love you two. ♡ Come live with me. You two won't ever be in need."

Dia and Barb visited shortly to see Luci's baby!

His baby slapped everyone in the face at some point

Mammon:

"Ha! That's a good one! I always loved ya sense of humor!"

Really thought it was a joke

You decided to surprise him in person instead

You got permission from Dia to visit

You had only told Lucifer ahead of time about the surprise visit but not why

When you knocked on the door holding the white-haired baby girl Lucifer had to do a double take

"Is this..."

He smiled and excitedly held her for a minute before returning her

"Excuse me" Lucifer said as he closed the door

"MAMMOOOOOOOOON!!!"

yeah the baby started crying

You could hear the loud commotion inside

The door swung open and Mammon stared in shock along with the rest of the family behind him

"YA WERENT JOKING!? GUYS...GUYS!! I'M A DAD!!"

He cuddled his baby girl and gave her so many kisses

You guessed it, the baby sprouted horns and wings after being held by him

Was upset at himself for thinking you were joking

He demanded you move in right away

"Nothin' will break this family. I got ya both! Daddy will take care of y'all! "♡

His baby girl managed to grab his wallet and wouldn't let go

Levi:

"As if..."

Was skeptical...him? A dad? He always thought Mammon or Asmo would be first

He didn't know anything about being a dad but he was getting more excited the more he thought about it

You wouldn't lie to him about that right? RIGHT?

But why didn't you tell him sooner!? He could've been there for support like you always supported him!!

He texted you saying he would be visiting soon

He made a quick phone call to Dia for help getting to the human world

"Yeah let's not tell Lucifer yet heheheh"

He hurriedly grabbed a few figures and collectibles to go pawn off...kids are expensive!

After selling some things he bought some baby stuff and a gift for you...the mother of his child!!

When he finally made it to the human world he cried when he held his own purple-haired baby boy

The baby cried too lmao

The baby shifted into demon form & Levi wailed even more at his beautiful copy+paste baby

Both stopped crying when you played some anime on the tv

"I-I have a ring for you...w-will you marry me? I'll be the best husband and dad I can be!" ♡

He was planning on asking anyway; this just sped things up

He wasn't sure but he thinks his kid was giving him the stink eye when he was taking too much time with you...jealousy!?

Satan:

"You're telling me this now?"

Yeah he was angry

He had a hard time believing it but he knew you wouldn't lie about something like that

After the call, he grew excited and couldn't wait to visit

Told Lucifer what was going on ASAP and he let him go to you

He tried to read as much as he could from parenting books while on the way to you

He brought some gifts and offered to let you nap while he bonded with his daughter

Yeah she shifted into demon form after being held by him

He cooed at her, brushing her blonde hair lightly, remembering his own birth

"Daddy might've been an accident, but you're definitely not. Just a beautiful surprise. ♡"

He would do anything you asked of him, he just wanted to take care of his own little family

"Hey listen to me...I won't ever let you two down. I swear it.♡"

His daughter angrily yanked the new kitty plushie from his hands and smacked him before giggling

Asmo:

"Ahaha...riiight. That's not the first time someone's tried that on me! And triplets!? "

He loved you but that was a weird joke to pull so many months later

Seriously, triplets? You had to be joking!

You were a little hurt but you kind of understood his reaction

Either way you wanted Asmo to meet them and decided to do a surprise visit

You contacted Dia for help and Barb escorted you safely to the Devildom (it was hard moving around with 3 babies!)

You nervously waited with your babies at Dia's castle while they summoned Asmo first before the other brothers

"Lord Diavolo, I'm he-" you heard Asmo gasp

He froze and took in what was in front of him

"You weren't joking!?"

He sobbed and cried out apologies to you, as he tried to figure out how he could pick them all up (sorry only two at a time!)

You handed him the two girls and watched as they shifted into demon form in his arms

Mini Asmos!

He excitedly talked about all the different outfits you could all wear and match as a family

You took one of the baby girls and handed him the boy and watched as he too shifted

"You're my family! My big beautiful family! Papa will make you all proud! I'll work SO hard!♡"

The other brothers happily joined the gathering a few minutes later

Every time someone picked up one of the babies, they were happy and friendly!

Beel:

"Huh? What? What do you mean? ... I'M COMING."

Mixed emotions: Anger for not telling him. Excited that you had his child. Sad that he wasn't there to support you on the journey. Happy overall for his new family.

He wasted no time after you told him, he called on Lucifer to let him go to the human world. His brothers caught wind and wanted to go too.

Teared up when he saw you standing and holding his baby boy, he gave a big soft family hug

Was surprised and excited when his baby shifted into demon form when he held him

It was a mini him!

He was absolutely in love with his new family

"I will give you both everything. No matter what. I will take care of you two, always.♡"

Wouldn't stop doting on you two

Growled when Belphie wanted a turn to hold his baby...he might've been a little too protective

But everyone did get a turn eventually

His baby bit/nibbled everyone at some point

Belphie:

"Twins!? Mine!? When!? You should've said something!"

Was upset you kept it from him. Scared because what if he fails you and them? But was happy to have his own little family

As soon as he hung up, he quickly called Lucifer for help and had Beel accompany to the human world

Freaked out because what do babies need? What did you need? He hurriedly bought ready made baby gift baskets hoping it would help somewhat

Each step towards your place was nerve wracking and exhilarating

Having Beel there soothed him a little so he was thankful

Belphie thought you looked so beautiful standing there holding his twins in little cow print onesies

He nervously held both and teared up when they shifted and they looked so much like him

The baby boy started crying and he freaked out

"Yeah he cries a lot. The girl however is very quiet and sleeps easily."

Belphie hummed a lullaby and soothed his son who rested happily on him.

"This is better than any dream.I will do my best to make you and them proud.That's a promise.♡"

Beel patted his back letting him know he had him and the others

His babies seemed to like cuddling a lot. They really liked holding fingers tightly.

⬦You might also like: MC Feeling Insecure︱Waffle House︱Coconut

*Super long* Authors Note/Ramblings: Moved those notes to my AO3 journal lol

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me headcanons #obey me hcs #obey me f!mc #obey me imagines #obey me scenarios #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me fluff #obey me humor #◇˖・ﾟ— › cosmic obey me . ⊹

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femmenature · 9 months

Text

happy scars.

Pairing: Marcus Lopez x f! reader

Summary: Where Marcus gets into fights to hurt himself because he loves you to heal his wounds.

Warnings: Blood mentions, inappropriate language

"Marcus, I'm really not surprised to see you beaten, In fact, I'd be more surprised to see you without a fucking scratch on your face than this. But this is the third time, not in a week, but in a day that you've come in with bumps all over your face. Who the fuck does this to you?" I looked at him worriedly, he looked away and cleared his throat nervously.

"No one, just…it's just that" His hands fumble with his jeans anxiously "it's complicated, lately I provoked Chico…more than I should have, on purpose."

"Oh, so this is just a game of who's more badass enough to stay with Maria" I was really pissed, nursing his wounds all these weeks over some stupid thing. "Look, I don't want any part of your or Chico's patriarchal bullshit."

"No, no, no. You're missing the point. It's not that, it was never that…it was never her." His eyes met mine. Like a click. I furrowed my brows, questioning him. "Believe me, I don't like being hit, but…since I got hurt and you took care of me, I can't stop making up an excuse or a fight to feel your hand on my face. To feel the slightest touch of my skin against yours. I am satisfied with just your hand healing my wounds. Because you also heal my heart. Don't you see? Every time I'm with you you fix something you didn't even break. And that drives me crazy." His hand came up to mine, caressed it. As he did so, he looked at me, and kissed it. "I can't stay away from you and I'm so ashamed of my desperation for your closeness that I create fights as a pretext to keep you close."

"Marcus, you don't need excuses to have me near you" I brought my face close to his as he moved his gaze to my lips "You can have me without a scratch on your face, but you still look sexy" He smiled before our lips met.

thanks for reading! i wanted to make this deadly class character. Even though the series was cancelled I loved it and I think there is a need for more content from it. So, enjoy. Sorry if there is something grammatically incorrect, my first language is Spanish.

#Mattheo Riddle #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle x y/n #harry potter #marcus lopez arguello #marcus lopez x reader #marcus lopez x you #benjamin wadsworth #deadly class

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drabblesandimagines · 6 months

Text

Home

Leon Kennedy x female reader I just wanted to write some damsel in distress nonsense with Death Island Leon, but imagine whoever you like! Fluff - though mentions of blood, smatter of death.

Coming to, you feel as if you’re hungover - disorientated, nauseous and a sore head - but that can’t be right, you didn’t drink last night.

It takes a moment to localize the throbbing pain only to the side of your head rather than all over and, as you catch sight of blood smeared against the white tiles of the kitchen floor – something you were desperate to change as white shows up everything - you remember.

You’d been working in the home office. Leon had set it up for himself originally – you’d never been brave enough to research what the price of the beautiful mahogany desk must’ve been, but you’re always sure to use a coaster to avoid marking it. He used a laptop, so he’d insisted you utilize the space instead for your desktop when you moved in over a year ago. It was a nice house, on a quiet, suburban street – he’d bought it as a fixer-upper, a bit of a passion project. The rooms were all in various states of completion but he wanted your opinion and input.

“This is our home,” he’d stressed, before pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Plus, you’ll be here more than me…”

You’d heard of the conspiracy theories surrounding the Raccoon City incident. Who hadn’t stumbled down that rabbit hole before? Leon had confirmed it in vague, half-told recollections of the night a few months into your relationship after an argument about his commitment issues, and you hadn’t pressed further than that since. He told you the bare minimum so you were aware of what his work now entailed, why he had to go away for weeks at a time, why he was so desperate to keep his work and personal life separate for your safety and protection.

He accompanied you when he could to family and friends’ celebrations, charmed them all into forgiving him for his flaky appearances, but they could all see how happy you were since the two of you had got together.

You’d been wearing noise-cancelling headphones as you worked to drown out the next door neighbour’s relentless building works that had started on Monday – a basement leak meant the foundations were being fixed and the noise was horrendous - and had gone to the kitchen to make an ill-advised afternoon coffee and…

Nothing.

Well, the building works have stopped which is a positive, but that doesn’t negate the blood on the floor and your thudding head.

“Mrs Kennedy, I presume.” A man, well-dressed in an awful tight-fitting suit kneels down in front of you. He doesn’t look familiar - blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail, a bit of stubble, looking tired, mid-40s, you guessed. You’re confused by the way he’s addressed you – you’re not married, there’s no ring there - and he clocks the bemused expression at once. “Or perhaps you’re his whore, waiting for him to return to your little love nest, hm?”

There’s no good answer or witty comeback so you keep silent, instead trying to raise your hand to feel your head, gage how bad it is – head wounds bleed a lot, you knew that much – but your arm doesn’t comply. Your gaze finds the plastic of the zip-tie cutting into your wrist, holding it snugly against the arm of the chair you’re now seated in - dragged in from the dining room.

“Ah, yes.” He cups your chin, tilting your face back towards him in an effort to get you to focus on him. “A necessary measure. I need you to play the damsel in distress.”

“Leon’s not here,” you reply, quietly, words feeling thick on your tongue though it’s not a lie. “He’s away with work - I don’t know when he’s going to be back.”

“Oh, he’s due home very soon. I couldn’t make such a pretty thing wait for days on end.” He lets go of your chin only to place his hand on your thigh, giving it a light squeeze. You try to jerk away from his touch but find your ankles have received the same treatment as your wrists, though tethered together as if to stop you standing.

“I apologize about your head,” he stands up then, a smug look on his face as he towers over you. “I did tell my men to be gentle, but it appears one misunderstood.”

You shuffle in the chair in a pitiful attempt of relieving the pressure on your wrists. “Who are you?”

He clucks his tongue. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

“Kennedy’s ETA is four minutes, sir.” A gruff voice states from behind you.

“Excellent.” Your captor smiles. “I suppose he was hoping to surprise you with his arrival, hm? Nice that we can turn the surprise around on him.” He snaps his fingers at one of his subordinates, “You can gag her now.”

A hand yanks your hair, forcing your head back and you gasp only for a wad of fabric to be stuffed behind your teeth. You try and push it out with your tongue on instinct but another bit of fabric is forced between your lips, keeping it snugly in place as it’s knotted at the back of your head, causing you to whimper – or at least attempt - when he brushes up against your head wound.

There’s a hive of activity around you – the three grunts getting into position, checking their ammo. They can’t just plan to shoot Leon outright, surely. Why would he need a damsel otherwise? Your captor grabs the back of your chair and drags it, positioning it in line with the hallway door, meaning that you will be the first thing he sees. He places his hands on your shoulders and squeezes.

“Showtime.”

Your heart is pounding so loud it’s all you can now hear – maybe it’s so loud Leon will hear with that incredibly sensitive hearing he has before he opens the door, know something’s wrong and get the hell out of here.

No such luck, though. The building work next door hasn’t resumed, so you can hear him cut the engine in the driveway, hear when the Jeep door opens and closes, hear the jingle of his keys in the door. He has his eyes cast down when he enters, immediately turning to the lock the door behind him out of both security and habit.

“Sweetpea?” He sounds upbeat, happy as he calls for you and it breaks your heart all the more when he turns, eyes meeting yours. “Fuck.” He breathes out, taking a hurried step forward, hand automatically reaching for his pistol still holstered on his belt. A loud click pierces through your left ear, cold metal prods into the side of your temple and Leon freezes in place.

“Uh-uh, Kennedy. Unless you wanna see your lovely lady’s brains splattered all over the floor, I’d drop that right now.”

Leon doesn’t hesitate, holding his hands above his head and dropping the pistol to the ground, hitting the wooden floorboards with a thunk.

“Keep those hands up and kick it over.”

Leon complies, kicking the pistol so it skids down the hallway, swiftly collected by one of the grunts.

“Dante.”

“Oh, I’m flattered you remember little ol’ me. Come - join us.” The gun leaves your temple but the fear remains as Leon slowly strides up the hallway, hands still in the air. “Pull Kennedy up a chair and make sure he’s comfortable.” A grunt ducks into the dining room and emerges with one the armless chairs, placing it down heavily on the kitchen tile as Leon enters. He’s swiftly smacked across the face with the butt of a gun, followed up by a punch to the stomach, causing him to double over. Another grunt grabs his arms, yanking them behind his back and you know by the way his biceps tense that he could break out of that hold easily enough, but he’s choosing not to.

You feel horrible that you’re the reason why he’s not.

He’s pushed down onto the chair and his wrists are quickly secured behind his back with a zip tie through the wooden slats. He lifts his head up to reveal a bloodied lip, but his eyes are immediately on you as he speaks.

“She has nothing to do with me and you, Dante.”

“Oh, I know that.” He scoffs, digging his fingernails into your shoulder once more. “But your little sweetpea is so useful in making sure that you remain on your very best behaviour.”

“You’ve got me now, okay?” Leon shrugs his shoulders in demonstration. “Let her go.”

“Aw,” Dante tuts. “Did you think you had her out of harm’s way, Kennedy? Kept your personal life underwraps? Granted I couldn’t quite confirm her name, but here we are all the same. Pretty little thing – shame she had to get wrapped up with you.”

“What do you want?” You can tell Leon’s annoyed, though he keeps his voice measured.

“The Apollo files.”

Leon raises an eyebrow, scoffing. “I don’t ha- Ugh!” The grunt in front of him had pistol-whipped him once more, his nose now bleeding a little in consequence.

“Next time you tell a lie, your woman is going to get the same treatment.” You grip the armrests in apprehension and Leon once again tenses as he notes your discomfort.

“Okay, okay! They’re in the attic. One of the storage boxes up there – there’s not many. Against the south wall.”

“Good boy.” Dante chuckles, ruffling his hand through the agent’s hair condescendingly. “You two - with me,” he points at two of his men, before turning to the third. “You, keep an eye on the lovebirds.”

“Be careful where you step up there – I haven’t put in a permanent floor. Been busy.” Leon retorts.

“Aw, boys, he’s worried we’ll hurt ourselves.” He grabs Leon by the chin then, squeezing his cheeks. “We’ll be right back. I wouldn’t want to keep this lovely lady waiting any more than she has to.”

He shoves Leon’s face to the side and heads out to the hallway, the two grunts following as the third remains in position to the side, gun in hand.

“I’m so sorry, sweetpea, but I’ll get you out of this – I swear.“ Leon says softly, turning his head to the side to look at you. “Okay?”

You nod – there’s little else you can do – but you know you’re shaking. You hate yourself for doubting him, but you can’t see how the two of you are getting out of this in one piece. He doesn’t say anything more, his eyes flitting from one direction to another as he calculates his moves for what feels like hours.

The building work next door resumes – a loud drilling echoing around the kitchen. The grunt winces at the sound and Leon gets to his feet, arms still bound around the dining chair and headbutts him, sending him stumbling back, blood gushing from a broken nose. Leon spins then, slamming the chair against the marble countertops, splintering the wood and releasing himself from the chair. He then jumps again, tucking his legs impressively close to his chin, though letting out a strangled grunt and his bound hands are now in front of him. He lifts up his knee, tenses his biceps and slams it down, the zip-tie splintering across the floor – all in the time it takes the grunt to come to his senses and aims his gun blindly, sending bullets thankfully in every direction but yours.

Leon ducks and dives, swiftly grabbing the grunt around the neck with an arm and holding it tight, cutting off his air supply until he goes limp in his arms and he grabs hold of the man’s gun, quickly checking the cartridge with one smooth downward motion.

A bullet sails over his shoulder as one of the grunts returns from upstairs and Leon quickly takes him out with a headshot. You divert your eyes then, not wanting to see. It’s them or you – you know that – but it doesn’t make the act easier to witness.

It is barely a second before another gunshot rings out, followed by a second - Dante and the remaining man at the kitchen doorway, though the grunt goes down as quickly as he entered due to Leon’s return fire.

Dante’s face is furious, his gun aimed squarely at your head and he pulls the trigger. Leon sidesweeps the chair legs from under you, sending the chair toppling backwards and you with it, your head smacking once more against the tile and making your ears ring and vision dance with black. The bullet soars over your head and into the kitchen cabinet.

There’s another gunshot, a horrible, squelching sound, and then a series of grunts and groans – flesh on flesh – but you can’t look up, can’t see what’s going on as a succession of gunshots ring out and there’s the sound of a body hitting the floor.

There’s the clatter of a drawer being opened frantically and then, suddenly, Leon is above you – his shoulder bloody – and a knife in his hand. He lifts your head up gently, cutting through the back of the gag and pulls it away from your mouth, fishing out the fabric that had been making you feel close to choking.

“You’re okay, I’ve got you.” He says softly as you catch your breath, taking glorious mouthfuls of air. “Stay still, okay? I’ll get these off you.” He presses the blade against your wrist with a careful flick and you’re released from the first of your restraints. He makes quick work of your other wrist and the ones around your ankles, pulling you up into his arms, cradling you in his lap.

“I’m so sorry,” he mumbles, rocking you back and forth. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

“Leon, it’s-”

“Don’t say it’s okay. It’s not okay. I promised to never get you mixed up in this. I don’t know how they found this place, how they found you. I’ve been so fucking careful, baby.” His voice breaks, along with your heart.

“I know you have.” You try and soothe. “It’s not fair, but it’s not your fault, sweetheart. I love you.”

He presses his lips to yours then, kissing you softly. “Love you too – so much. Feel so selfish.”

“Uh-uh, no – you deserve to be happy. I want to make you happy.”

“You do, sweetpea, but-“

“If I can’t say it’s okay, you can’t go down this road either and we both can’t pout about it.”

He sniffs, rolls his eyes and you finally remember the blood patch on his shoulder.

“Did you get shot?” He shakes his head. “Grazed me. I’m fine. You, however, need a full check-up.”

“If I’m having one, you’re having one too. We can have a date to the emergency room.”

He laughs – it’s nice to hear, to see the smile reaching his eyes. “I owe you a much better date than that.”

“Nah – maybe they’ll put you in a hospital gown.”

He raises an eyebrow.

“What?” You bite your lip.

“The ones that don’t tie at the back?”

“Oh, don’t they? Interesting.”

He kisses you again then, with a bit more passion than before. “Baby, you do not have to get me in a hospital gown to see my ass.”

“Who said anything about seeing your ass? Get your head out the gutter, Mr Kennedy.”

Leon rolls his eyes once more, getting to his feet with ease with you still in his arms. He pushes your face into his chest as he walks towards the front door.

“Leon, no, you need to rest your shoulder. Put me down - I can walk.”

“Don’t want you to see.” He murmurs. “I’m gonna get you in the Jeep, call work quickly – they’ll come sort this mess – then straight to the hospital.”

You keep quiet then, closing your eyes and inhaling his scent as you nuzzle your head against his chest, a realisation hitting you.

“We won’t be coming back here, will we?”

He pauses, fiddling with the keys in lock.

“I’m sorry. I know you were finally feeling at home here and-”

“No.” You cut him off. “Home is us together – wherever. Okay?”

“Yeah.” He opens the door. “You’re right. Home is with you, sweetpea.”

Comments, likes and reblogs make my whole day x

Masterlist . Requests welcome . Ko-fi

#ghostdogwrites #leon kennedy fluff #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you

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