#Emptiness and Freedom of Empty Nest

[goodgirldelusions]

The empty nest phase can be both challenging and exciting. As children leave home, parents often experience a mix of emotions, from loneliness to a sense of loss. However, this transition offers a unique opportunity to rediscover yourself. Learn how to navigate this change, overcome feelings of isolation, reconnect with your passions, and set new personal goals. Embrace this new chapter of life and create a fulfilling, vibrant future for yourself. Empty nest, self-discovery, and personal growth are just the beginning! Check out the full article now at g00dgirldelusi0ns.wordpress.com.

[grandline-fics]

Can you do the nightmare wedding scenario with Luffy, Sanji, and Ussop

DESCRIPTION: They have a nightmare that you marry someone else

WARNINGS: little bit of brief angst/insecurity but it's kept light for the most part

CHARACTERS: Luffy, Usopp | Law, Zoro, | Ace, Shanks, Mihawk, Kid, Katakuri

WORDS: 1,653

A/N: Thank you for the request. I loved the past versions of this prompt so I was happy to return to it. Sadly I wasn't able to think of something unique for Sanji so left it to just Luffy and Usopp. It's my first time writing for Usopp so hopefully I got his character right and that you like what I came up with for this.

*REQUESTS ARE OPEN*

DIRECTORY | PROMPT LIST

———————

LUFFY

Love was a word Luffy knew a great deal about in all of its various meanings and depths. He loved freedom and adventure, discovering each new island and opportunity to explore like a restless electricity ran through his nerves. His love for food and fun was quite literally sating a deep hunger leaving him content and filled. The love he had for his brothers was deep and intense, sadly sometimes painful but it was a hurt he bore willingly and without complaint. His crew and friends brought out a love that left him feeling stronger, fierce, and determined to protect. 

You were all those feelings wrapped into one amazing person that Luffy knew he couldn’t and wouldn’t be without. Being separated from you for two years and losing Ace had been the massive wake up call to his feelings for you. He truly didn’t think he would ever have to endure that sharp twisting feeling of shock and pain when it came to you again. Oh how wrong he was because now here he stood looking at your smiling so brightly and staring at only Trafalgar Law with your entire attention raptly on the other Captain, your hand interwoven and anchored into his; refusing to let go. 

On the one hand, seeing you smile made Luffy want to smile too but on the other hand, why did you have to be looking at his supposed ally like that? Robin had warned him that pirate alliances usually ended up in betrayal but this was a hundred times worse than what he ever could have imagined. Then it got worse when Luffy stared in horror as you and Law exchanged rings and vowed to be each other’s spouse forever and complete the declaration with a kiss. 

With a yell Luffy woke, launching himself out onto the floor. In his dream he’d tried to leap between you and Law before your lips could connect but he had been so tightly invested in it that his actions had carried through his subconscious. Groggily he rubbed his eyes and got to his feet blearily looking around the empty Crow’s Nest. The memory of the dream fresh in his mind, Luffy wasted no further time in racing down the mast and to the sleeping quarters. 

The door slammed open loudly causing you to wake with a jolt, eyes barely opened and alarmed when you felt someone leap onto your bed and grip your shoulders. Instinctively you grabbed the person’s wrists and blinked through your tiredness to become even more confused to see Luffy staring at you intensely. “Wh- what’s… Luffy? What’s wrong?”

“As your Captain you’re not allowed to marry Tra-guy ever!” His order did nothing to help bring you out of the heavy fog of sleep. You scrunched your face up in confusion, you recognised the words but the context of the order just didn’t make sense. 

“Marry Law?” You mumbled with a yawn. “What’d’you mean?”

“I know he’s smart and whatever but this is your crew. You can’t leave-”

“Luffy.” You stopped your Captain with a light squeeze of his hand and smiled at him sleepily. “I’m not leaving the crew, relax.” Your voice was soothing at it was a relief to hear you say you weren’t leaving but still Luffy couldn’t shake the uncomfortable twist in his stomach. 

Feeling your hands over his helped with ridding him of the image of Law’s hands over yours. Luffy took a breath and kept his gaze on you, heavily frowning at your lips, the image of Law’s about to claim yours making him glare. Before you could ask what was wrong you blinked in surprise when Luffy kissed you. It wasn't the first time you’d kissed, your relationship with the Captain was one neither of you really thought to put a label on, just deciding to enjoy how things naturally progressed. This was the first time however that Luffy’s lips pressed against yours so insistently, like he was trying to prove something.

Given his confusing statement about you and Law marrying you could connect the dots now that you’d woken enough. With a smile you pulled back and lifted your hands away to wrap Luffy into a hug and lay back down on the bed. Your smile grew when Luffy adjusted his arms to hold you tightly, your body already feeling the pull to go back to sleep. As you smiled contently you tucked your head under Luffy’s chin, falling back to sleep to the sleepy mumbles of your Captain cursing out Law for being an idiot if he thought he could ever have you.

USOPP

“Usopp! I have to tell someone before I burst!” Your excited voice shot through his concentration as he sat working in his workshop. Immediately Usopp turned to smile at you, his own excitement mirroring yours. You were truly the only one that was capable of stealing his attention no matter what the situation. You slid to a stop in front of him, hands reaching out instinctively to take his into your hold, your excitement only growing with each second. “I can’t believe this is happening!”

“Well come on, tell me already!” Usopp laughed trying to keep you concentrated on the mystery topic that he now couldn’t wait to be part of. 

“I’m getting married!” Your exclamation caused Usopp’s face to freeze in shock, his previous smile twitching into one of disbelief, thinking you were pulling a prank on him. How could you get married? He hadn’t proposed to you yet. While you’d both been together for a while and he loved you, he’d been too much of a coward to say those three little but massive words to you. Mostly he told himself it was too soon, really though he’d convinced himself that if he did confess the full weight of his feelings to you, you’d crush him by saying you didn’t feel the same.

“O-oh! Th-that’s…great!” He forced out tightly, unwilling to see you upset for not taking your news well. “Wh-who’s the lucky guy?“

“That’s the amazing thing!” You all but swooned as you thought about your betrothed. “He’s a real hero and warrior! So brave and strong, you’ll love him! Promise you’ll come to the wedding, please Usopp?” Your request was spoken so sweet and earnestly that again, despite the painful punch to his heart Usopp refused to show it. Unable to say no he ground his teeth together before forcing himself to nod, flinching when you let out a cheer and threw your arms around him to hug him tightly, thanking him.

In the blink of an eye you were no longer hugging him and Usopp was no longer in the workshop. Instead he stood on the deck of the Sunny, hearing the rest of the crew laughing happily as they waited for the wedding to start. Usopp kept his head down, trying to avoid the reality of the situation for as long as he could. When your laughter sounded Usopp slowly looked up and let out a shriek of shock to see who your were marrying standing at the altar, arms folded tightly and face completely hidden by the all too familiar mask. “Sogeking?!” He demanded in disbelief managing to stagger over to you, his head spinning at the development. How was this even possible? “You’re marrying Sogeking?”

“Of course!” You beamed, oblivious to Usopp’s distress as you left Usopp’s side to approach his secret persona. “Look at him. Isn’t he perfect? There’s no one else I’d ever consider marrying. Only him.”

With a gasp Usopp woke and covered his eyes, slowly working on calming his breathing as he realised everything was a dream. Just a stupid dream. Sighing in relief he rolled his eyes at his own silly mind. Of course it was a dream. Then his mind began to stir up uncomfortable thoughts once more. Why were you with a coward like him? He wouldn’t blame you for choosing someone else to marry. Just as he was about to spiral more, he jumped in surprise when you rolled over in your sleep, your arms tightening over his as your lay your head on his shoulder. As if sensing how tense he was, you stirred and woke with a small sleepy hum. “Usopp?”

“I’m okay…”

“Liar.” You sleepily mumbled, pulling yourself closer lifting your head up to press a small kiss to his cheek. “Bad dream?”

“Yeah…” Usopp sighed, moving to hold you close. You always could see through him. Swallowing hard, he began to think of the deeper meaning the dream must have had and cleared his throat. Bracing himself he blurted out. “I love you.”

“Usopp.” Usopp flinched and prepared himself for your rejection but it didn’t come. Instead you sat up to face him fully, smiling happier than he’d ever seen you show before. “I love you too.”

“Thank goodness! I thought you’d call me an idiot or something…” He sighed with a nervous laugh. You smiled softly, shaking your head at your boyfriend’s timid nature. You knew he could be brave when he needed to be, it was just a shame he didn’t have the same amount of faith in himself that you had in him. “Also, you should know I’m Sogeking. No one else. If anyone says they are, they’re lying. Okay?”

You stared at Usopp in surprise. You and everyone on the crew- except for Luffy and Chopper- knew that Usopp was Sogeking. It was obvious but you didn’t have the heart to disappoint him by telling him that so instead you slowly nodded. “Thank you for trusting me with the truth. You really must love me to tell me that.”

“Of course I do!” Usopp declared, offering you a proud grin as you kissed his forehead and lay back down, allowing him to hold you close and sleep dreams better than his last one.

——————————————-

TAG LIST (If I’ve missed anyone or if you want to be added just let me know) @3v37773, @tsaaps , @i-am-all-love-puns-and-lazy , @sanemisnonexistenteyebrow , @fiery-captain-spider-santa, @kabloswrld , @atanukileaf , @ane5e , @stuckinthewrongworld , @deathsmajestysworld , @cloudysunset04 , @chillerkiller , @extremely-ashtridic , @decayingpizza , @liesatemyocean , @ace-for-ace , @nerium-lil , @destynelseclipsa , @dreamcastgirl99 , @my-name-is-heartache , @iamn1ya ,  @yunho-leeknow , @hinata7346 , @h0oouwlss , @missrandomdreamer , @sleepykittycx , @ddawn111 , @jaygrl22 , @sylum , @acehyacinth , @resident-cryptid , @treelogirl , @maellem , @its-a-dam-blue-brick , @thulhu , @appalost

[revelboo]

BEGGING ON ALL FOURS FOR MORE STARSCREAM AND HIS LITTLE HUMAN shield PET

Everything is Alright Pt 2

Starscream x reader

• At some point you fell asleep wrapped in your weird smelling blanket that’s doing blessedly little against the chill in the huge room. By some miracle, your sleep is dreamless and not full of murderous robots. It’s cut short when you wake up to having a giant, alien fistful of junk food dumped on you. Including soda cans and those hurt.

• Starscream watches you fight free of the little nest you’ve made, while swearing nonstop. Up until you look up and spot him watching. Venting softly in amusement as your shoulders hunch and you drop your wide eyes to what he’s brought you, he waits. If he’s going to keep you as a bargaining chip to thwart the Autobots, you’ll need to be fed.

• Junk food. Your captor just dumped a handful of junk food on you- beef jerky, chips, soda, and candy. That has to be a good sign, right? Why bother feeding you if he’s just going to squish you? You just wish he hadn’t dropped it all on top of you. And you aren’t going to think too closely on where this stuff has come from. It’s not like he can just walk into a store and buy it. You’re snapped out of thoughts of sirens and explosions when you realize those fearsome red eyes are scrutinizing you and when you offer up a quiet and very uncertain ‘thank you?’ Big, scary robot freezes. Those wings on his back flick up then back down. Is… he surprised you thanked him?

• While he’s not exactly accustomed to being appreciated, Starscream recovers quickly enough. Of course, you’re thanking him. Your pitiful human life depends on him now. Which is a bit worrying now that he’s actually thinking about it. But how hard can humans be to care for?

• You’re positive that the thank you did take him off guard, a useful fact you file away for later. If it keeps you alive, then you will absolutely fawn over your captor, because you suspect he not only enjoys the attention, he craves it. And that smug, preening smirk paired with those little wing flutters? For a kidnapping killer robot, he’s kind of adorable. Not that you will ever admit that, because you definitely don’t have a death wish.

• Reaching into the empty cube he’s left the human in so it can’t get under ped, he’s only mildly annoyed that it scoots back as if to avoid his hand. Cocooned in that old cleaning cloth as it is, it doesn’t get far before he catches it and lifts it free. Tiny, soft hands clutch at his servos and he can feel its frantic heartbeat as he carries it to set on his desk.

• Heart hammering against your ribs, you swallow down the panic as he places you on a desk before taking a seat and reaching for a huge tablet. You’re not sure what to make of your new found freedom, but you really wish you’d grabbed a handful of snacks before you’d been snatched. You’re hungry.

• Scrolling through reports, Starscream keeps an optic on his new- what, pet? Yes. A pet. Letting out a long drawn vent, he works and tracks you as you stand up still wrapped in your cleaning cloth and dragging it along as you cautiously move around his desk. It only takes a low growl under his breath to discourage you from getting near the edge.

• Your head snaps around to your captor. Yep, he’s watching you. While you’d only wanted to see how high up you were, that apparently isn’t allowed. You retreat closer to him, watching indecipherable alien glyphs scroll on his tablet.

• “Can you believe those idiots? I told them that mine was unstable,” he mutters to himself, refocusing on his work. What he doesn’t expect is for you to wander closer, little face tipped up toward him.

• “They should have listened to you,” you say because agreeing with him has worked so far. And there it is, he freezes and those wings flick slightly. Red eyes dart toward you and away. Then back. He really does crave validation, doesn’t he? And it’s so easy.

Previous Next

[theskywithin]

Profection Years: The Year Your Soul Turns the Page ( all houses )

Every birthday, your chart shifts without announcement. Like a chapter turning behind your back. You wake up the next morning and something feels different, not louder, not clearer, just undeniable. A new lesson, humming beneath the skin. A new part of you asking to be heard. This is the language of profection years. Twelve-year cycles. One house activated each year. One ruling planet holding the light. Not as fate, but as focus. A lens you start to see your whole life through, whether you mean to or not.

1st House Profection Year

This is the year you become the ground you stand on. Everything begins at the body. Not your image, not your reputation, your pulse. Your breath. The primal instinct underneath the performance. This year, the mask slips. The old names don't fit. You’re not becoming someone new, you’re being emptied of who you were never meant to be. This is the year you remember that identity is not a fixed state but a skin that sheds itself as you grow. You’re rebuilding your reflection from the inside out. The soul reclaims the steering wheel. It’s raw. It’s personal. It’s you before the world asked you to be anything else.

2nd House Profection Year

This is the year you learn what can’t be stolen. Your sense of worth gets stripped to the roots. Not in punishment, in purification. The external scaffolding you’ve leaned on, money, possessions, praise, begins to wobble, not because you're losing, but because your soul is asking: what remains when the performance ends? This year teaches you how to hold value the way the Earth holds water: quietly, unshakably, beneath the surface. You become your own source. You learn to eat from your own garden. To own what no one can take. Not status. Not salary. But presence. Breath. Trust. This is the year you stop renting your worth from the world.

3rd House Profection Year

This is the year your mind becomes a labyrinth and a lantern. You start hearing yourself differently. Not just what you say, but what you repeat. The questions that loop. The beliefs that follow you like shadows. This year doesn’t just sharpen your thoughts, it exposes the architecture of your perception. The stories you've inherited. The phrases you use to keep things safe. You may pick up a pen, speak something out loud, or realize your voice is not what you thought it was. This isn’t the year to silence yourself. It’s the year to trace every thought back to its origin and rewrite the script. Let your language become your liberation.

4th House Profection Year

This is the year your bones begin to speak. You are returning to the memory underneath everything. The quiet ache you’ve carried without knowing. This year opens a door inside your bloodline. A hallway of dreams and ghosts, inherited fears and forgotten promises. It is not always visible. This is underground work. The soul is excavating. You may feel the need to nest, to disappear, to go soft and silent. Trust it. Your roots are being rewritten. You are learning how to be your own home, not in theory, but in texture. In silence. In surrender. In the stories you’re finally willing to unlearn.

5th House Profection Year

This is the year your joy stops asking for permission. There’s a kind of freedom that can only be accessed through the body, through laughter, through mess, through art that makes no sense and needs no explanation. This is the year you stop explaining. The year your soul kicks the door down and demands to feel. Not to perform pleasure, but to practice it. To remember what desire feels like without shame hanging from its neck. Creation becomes instinct. Romance becomes ritual. The world wants to see you bloom and you finally let it, without trimming the petals. This is the year you take up space just because it feels good.

6th House Profection Year

This is the year your healing becomes a rhythm, not a rescue. Forget transcendence. This is the year you meet your healing on the ground. In the dishes. In the breath before you say yes. In how you talk to yourself when no one’s around to listen. This isn’t glamorous. It’s intimate. You begin to notice how much you’ve abandoned your own body in the name of being "productive." You start to listen. To tend. To show up for yourself not as a performance, but as a promise. Every act of care becomes a rebellion. Every pause, a prayer. You’re not being fixed, you’re being fortified. This is devotion, not duty. This is the rebuild.

7th House Profection Year

This is the year you meet yourself in the eyes of another and flinch. Relationships stop being theory. They become threshold. The mirror gets too clear to avoid. Suddenly, the way you give, the way you vanish, the way you perform being “easy to love”, it all surfaces. You may fall for someone. You may fall out of a version of yourself. But either way, you see. This isn’t just about connection, it’s about reflection. You’re meeting parts of you you left behind in other people’s hands. This year asks: Can you be held without disappearing inside it? This is the reckoning. And the repair.

8th House Profection Year

This is the year you lose what you thought you needed, and find what you were born to carry. There is no easy way to write this year. Only truth. Something ends. Something breaks. Something is stripped from your grip not because you did something wrong, but because you’re not supposed to carry it anymore. This is the year of thresholds. Of intimacy so deep it undoes you. Of power reclaimed from the ruins of performance. You learn to trust again, not blindly, but fully. You may grieve. You may tremble. You may finally understand what surrender actually means. This is the year the soul gets honest. And the body learns how to survive without the armor.

9th House Profection Year

This is the year your soul packs a bag and leaves before you understand why. Restlessness isn’t a problem, it’s a message. Something in you wants out. Out of the story, out of the pattern, out of the room where you’ve been pretending to believe what no longer fits. This is a year of search. A year of seeking the language for what you’ve felt your whole life but couldn’t name. You may leave the country. Or just your comfort zone. But you go. Not to escape, but to expand. The soul wants the sky now, not for distance, but for perspective. You don’t need to be right. You just need to be open. And brave enough to follow the ache.

10th House Profection Year

This is the year you rise and decide what it’s for. Visibility comes. But so does the weight. The pressure. The temptation to let the world define your success. But this isn’t about applause. It’s about alignment. You are being asked to claim your voice in public. To live your purpose out loud. Not just in theory, but in action. What you build now will echo. This is legacy energy. It doesn’t have to be big. But it does have to be real. Let your ambition come from your integrity. Let your impact be rooted in truth. You’re not here to perform success. You’re here to redefine it.

11th House Profection Year

This is the year you remember: you’re allowed to be seen and still belong. The crowd becomes the mirror. This year, community comes into focus, not just for connection, but for reckoning. You begin to see where you’ve outgrown the rooms that once felt like home. You also start to imagine futures bigger than yourself. Dreams too heavy to carry alone. This is the year your vision expands. The year your people shift. The year you realize your soul doesn’t want to climb the mountai, it wants to build the village. What you imagine now can take root in the world. You’re not alone. You never were. Now you get to believe it.

12th House Profection Year

This is the year of disappearing to find what’s been buried beneath your name. Let it come undone. Let the noise go silent. This is not a year of rising, it’s a year of dissolving. You are being pulled inward now, not in weakness, but in necessity. You cannot carry this next chapter with your old patterns intact. This is the cocoon. The unraveling. The slow, sacred death before the new self takes form. You may need to retreat. To sleep. To cry for no reason. Let yourself. The soul is doing work the mind cannot name. Trust the quiet. Let the world forget you for a moment. So you can remember who you were before all the performance began.

Want to get to know your birth chart in a real, human way? My book unpacks it step by step, no fluff, just truth. Available here, and all digital platforms!!

[p0orbaby]

As We Plunge into the Ocean

summary: snapshots of your pregnancy journey with leah by your side

warnings: pregnancy and its potential symptoms, duh !

a/n: thank you for the request !

word count: 1.8k

-

You have to hand it to Leah, she's really leaned into this whole pregnancy thing. Not that you’re surprised. She’s always been a bit of a control freak. Actually, no, she’s a lot of a control freak. But now, it’s like she’s running drills for motherhood, and you’re the center of her training program.

Month 2: The Overprotective Phase Begins

“You’re glowing,” she tells you one morning. It’s sweet until you deduce she’s actually staring at the sweat on your upper lip. You’re clammy, nauseous, and you smell like day-old toast, but sure, you’re glowing.

Leah’s taken to hovering. She’s always been protective, but now, it’s like you’re made of glass, or maybe like you’re the last good avocado in Waitrose—precious and prone to bruising. She watches you closely, eyes narrowed, as if you might spontaneously combust into a pile of hormones and ash at any moment.

“You’re going to be late for training,” you remind her, trying to shoo her out the door with your tea bag as if you’re some sort of British Gandalf.

She glances at her watch, sighs, and then gives you that look. The one that says, I’m going to worry about you while I’m gone, so don’t do anything stupid like trip over air or suddenly decide to juggle knives.

“Don’t lift anything heavy,” she warns, pulling on her jacket, but making no move toward the door. “Or stand on anything taller than a pancake”

Close enough.

“Okay, Mum,” you say, deadpan. You’re both amused and slightly exasperated because Leah’s version of protective involves a lot of hovering and unnecessary life advice.

She kisses you on the forehead before leaving, like she’s blessing you for the day ahead. Or maybe she thinks you’ll forget how to breathe without her around. Either way, it’s oddly comforting.

When she finally leaves, you flop on the sofa, determined to enjoy the fleeting freedom before she comes home and starts fluffing your pillows like you’re an elderly Victorian woman with consumption.

-

Month 4: The Hormone-Palooza

Leah walks in from training one afternoon to find you sitting on the kitchen floor, crying over an empty jar of pickled onions. To be fair, they were really good onions. You’d eaten the last one two hours ago, and now the world feels like a cruel, onion-less void.

“What happened?” Leah asks, dropping her kit bag and rushing over like there’s been a national emergency.

“The pickled onions,” you sob, pointing dramatically at the empty jar as if it’s committed some unspeakable crime.

She stares at the jar, then at you, and you can see the mental maths she’s doing to figure out if this is worth her calling 999. But then she just nods, like she’s made peace with your hormonal breakdowns.

“I’ll get more tomorrow,” she says, like she’s promising to fetch water from a well three villages over.

You look up at her, eyes wide and wet. “Really?”

She nods. “Really. And I’ll get the sliced red ones this time”

You sniff, feeling vaguely stupid but mostly just grateful. “You’re the best”

“I know,” she says, deadpan, and helps you off the floor like you’re a drunk at a party who just tried to wrestle your reflection in the mirror.

But Leah doesn’t make fun of you for your hormone-fueled tears. She’s too busy making sure you’re okay, which is annoying and endearing in equal measure.

-

Month 6: The Nesting Madness

You wake up one morning to the sound of power tools. In your half-asleep state, you briefly consider the possibility that Leah’s decided to open a B&Q in your living room.

When you manage to roll out of bed, because rolling is now the only way you can get up, you find Leah assembling a cot in the nursery. She’s wearing a headlamp like she’s about to go spelunking. Her tongue is sticking out in concentration, and there’s a distinct air of “I watched this on YouTube once, so I’m basically an expert” about her.

“Do you even know what you’re doing?” you ask, leaning against the doorway, trying not to laugh.

She pauses, mid-screw, and gives you a look. “I’m following the instructions,” she says defensively, even though the manual is open to a page that looks more like IKEA hieroglyphics than anything else.

You decide not to mention that the cot is currently upside down. Instead, you settle in to watch Leah’s one-woman DIY show. It’s honestly better than whatever’s on terrestrial right now.

After a good twenty minutes, she steps back, admiring her work. You both stare at the crib, which is somehow missing two legs but is otherwise a valiant effort.

“It’s... something,” you say diplomatically.

Leah sighs, rubbing her temples. “I’ll call my dad”

You nod. “Good idea. He’s got that handyman vibe”

She gives you a mock glare. “Don’t think I didn’t notice you didn’t help”

“I’m in charge of moral support,” you reply, patting your stomach. “And the baby’s supervising”

“Lazy,” she mutters, but there’s a smile tugging at her lips.

-

Month 8: The Belly and the Beast

By this point, your belly is so big that it has its own gravitational pull. Leah has taken to treating it like it’s a small planet she needs to orbit. You’re the sun, and she’s some overzealous moon that won’t give you any space.

“Do you need anything?” she asks for the fiftieth time that day, hovering like a helicopter parent who’s misplaced their child in a crowd.

“No,” you reply, staring at the TV, which you can barely see over your stomach.

“How about water? I could get you water. Or juice. Or something with electrolytes. Do you want electrolytes?” Leah’s pacing now, clearly itching to do something.

You eye her, bemused. “I’m fine, Leah”

“Are you sure? I could fluff your pillow, or I could—”

“Leah,” you interrupt, trying to keep a straight face, “the baby and I are okay. You don’t need to, like, feng shui the living room or whatever”

She stops pacing, looking slightly sheepish. “I’m just... I don’t know what to do with myself”

You reach out and grab her hand, pulling her to sit next to you. “You’re doing great,” you tell her, squeezing her hand. “Now, just relax. Let’s watch something. Maybe something without pregnant women, though. I can’t deal with seeing anyone else going through this”

Leah laughs, finally settling in next to you. “Deal”

Five minutes into the show, she’s already got a hand on your belly, her protective instincts kicking in even during a Netflix binge. You roll your eyes fondly but let her be. At least she’s not trying to rearrange the furniture again.

-

Month 9: The Home Stretch (Or, The Last Nerve)

Leah is a bundle of nerves, more wound up than a cat near a cucumber. It’s almost cute, except when she insists on triple-checking the hospital bag, which she’s already checked twice in the last hour.

“Leah, seriously, if you add one more onesie to that bag, it’s going to explode”

“I just want to make sure we have everything,” she mutters, rummaging through the bag as if it’s one of those cursed Hermione purses from Harry Potter.

“We have everything. And then some,” you assure her, eyeing the ludicrous pile of baby supplies that could probably last through an apocalypse.

She finally zips up the bag and sits down next to you. For a moment, there’s silence, and you think maybe, just maybe, she’s finally going to relax. But no. She starts tapping her foot, glancing at you every few seconds.

“Do you think—”

“No,” you cut her off, knowing exactly where this is going.

“But—”

“Leah,” you say firmly, “I love you, but if you ask me if I think the baby’s coming today one more time, I might actually lose it”

She opens her mouth, then closes it, looking like she’s physically restraining herself from speaking.

“I’m sorry,” she finally says, sighing. “I’m just... I’m excited and nervous and I feel like I’m waiting for a bomb to go off, but the bomb is cute and we’re going to love it and—”

“Leah,” you interrupt again, “you’re doing amazing. But you need to chill, or the baby’s going to think it’s coming out to meet a drill sergeant”

She cracks a smile at that. “Okay, okay, I’ll try to relax”

She doesn’t. But she does stop asking you if you’re in labor every fifteen minutes, so you’ll take that as a win.

-

The Grand Finale: The Delivery Room Circus

The day finally arrives. Naturally, it’s at three in the morning because why would your body ever do anything convenient? You wake Leah up by shaking her arm like you’re waking a teenager for school.

“Leah,” you say, trying to stay calm even though your insides feel like they’re being twisted into balloon animals. “It’s time”

She’s up in an instant, wide awake like she’s just heard the starting whistle at the World Cup final. She starts pacing, half-dressed, muttering about the hospital bag.

“We need to go, we need to—oh my god, where are the keys? Do we have the car seat? Should we call an ambulance? No, wait, we’re not calling an ambulance, that’s for emergencies, this is an emergency, but not that kind of emergency—”

You grab her shoulders, trying to steady her. “Leah, breathe. We’ve got time. But we do need to go”

She takes a deep breath, nodding like she’s trying to calm down a very excitable puppy. Then she’s off, running around the house like it’s an obstacle course, grabbing everything and nothing at once. You watch her in bemusement, one hand on your belly, wondering if you should tell her that she’s just thrown her shoe into the fridge.

When she finally gets it together, the drive to the hospital is an adventure in itself. Leah’s driving like she’s on her way to rob a bank, weaving through traffic and swearing under her breath at every red light.

“Leah, the baby’s not going to fall out if we don’t get there in ten minutes,” you say, trying to keep a straight face as she mutters something about the stupidly long red lights.

Finally, you make it to the hospital, where Leah practically drags you to the entrance like a deflated balloon on a string. Once inside, she’s all business, directing the nurses like she’s running a tactical operation.

The actual labour is a blur—hours of pain, and sweat, and Leah alternating between holding your hand and looking like she might faint. But she doesn’t faint. She stays with you the whole time, even when you scream at her that she’s never allowed to touch you again.

When the baby finally arrives, Leah’s expression is one of awe, relief, and sheer, overwhelming love. You’re both exhausted, but when you see her holding your baby, all of her earlier madness makes sense.

She was never just overprotective or anxious. She was just ready—ready to love, ready to care, and maybe, just maybe, ready to stop checking that bloody hospital bag.

Maybe.

Probably not.

But you love her anyway.

[lanalace]

Our Last Hunt - Part 3

Yandere Caleb x Reader

[Chapter - 2] [Chapter - 4]

Summary: Y/n made a mistake that changed her life forever. Once a fearless hunter of blood-sucking fiends, she is now becoming the very thing she once swore to kill. How can she live with herself? And how will her immortal brother—the one who raised her, trained her, and protected her react when he discovers she’s turning into a creature of the night?

Warnings: Manipulation, Murder, Dubious Consent, NSFW, Psedo-incest, Smut, Dead Dove Do Not Eat 🔞

Word Count: 7.6k🍏🍎

Caleb had been watching her for hours.

She lay curled in bed, softly breathing, the soft rise and fall of her chest the only sign she hadn’t already slipped from his world. Moonlight painted her in silver-blue through the window, and in that light, she looked like something too fragile for war, too soft for the stains she bore.

A phantom vibration still resonated in Caleb's bones from the lie he’d woven into her phone, a fabricated distress call that had tugged at her eager hunter’s spirit. He’d known she was itching for a solitary kill, desperate to prove her mettle. His enhanced hearing had tracked her silent descent from the window, the almost imperceptible rustle of fabric against brick, the soft thud of her landing. He followed soundlessly, keeping to the rooftops, a phantom in the dark. She never once looked back. Never sensed him.

The coordinates led to a desolate abandoned warehouse lot. Though visibly on guard, her small form radiating a fierce determination he both admired and resented, she’d drawn a polished wooden stake and a glinting silver knife, the moonlight catching the sharp edges as she prepared to face a phantom threat. She was ready for anything.

Except him

She moved in slow circles, scanning shadows, muscles taut with anticipation. Finding nothing, she scoped out the surrounding area, eventually entering an alleyway, the air thick with the cloying stench of damp refuse and something else, a metallic tang that hinted at past violence. 

She moved with a cautious grace he’d personally instilled, her senses scanning the shadowed corners, the overflowing dumpsters. The alley remained stubbornly empty. He felt a pang of guilt, quickly suppressed. Sheathed her weapons with a soft click of leather against metal, she retrieved her phone, the screen’s pale light illuminating her focused brow as she re-checked the nonexistent coordinates.

That’s when he moved, descending for the building above her as the rough asphalt barely whispered beneath his weight. Her instincts were sharp. He relished the almost imperceptible stiffening of her spine, the sudden stillness that broadcasted her awareness of a presence behind her. 

A delicious chill, born of instinctual fear, prickled the air around her. She whirled with a speed he’d trained into her, a roundhouse kick aimed with lethal precision at where she sensed the threat.

To her utter surprise, not only was her swift leg caught mid-air, the delicate bones surprisingly fragile in his grasp, but it was caught by him.

“Gege…?” The shock in her voice was a raw, wounded sound, quickly bleeding into shame as his cold, unwavering gaze settled upon her. Her violet eyes, usually so bright with life, now clouded with confusion and a dawning horror.

“What exactly are you doing out here, meimei?” His voice was low, dangerously controlled with a sharp edge of disapproval. 

He held her leg in a grip that could easily crush bone, a silent reminder of the power she so carelessly disregarded. Caleb released her abruptly, the sudden freedom making her stumble. She hung her head, the moonlight catching the strands of her dark hair, unable to meet his piercing gaze. 

“I… uh…” Her words caught in her throat, a pathetic stammer as she tried to find a believable lie. Instead, she sighed in defeat and told the truth. “I was hunting a nest…”

“By yourself?” The question was a low, furious hiss. 

“Do you have any idea how incredibly dangerous that is? How recklessly foolish it is for a single human to take on a nest, alone?!” He forced his voice down, the quiet fury more terrifying than any shout. She flinched visibly at his harsh tone, her small shoulders hunching. Rarely did he raise his voice, and never at her.

“I’ve taught you better than that, y/n. You don’t charge into a nest solo. Why are you being so willfully ignorant?” His brows furrowed, his gaze scrutinizing her small, vulnerable figure. She trembled visibly, tears pricking the corners of her eyes, blurring the harsh edges of the alley.

“I’m sorry… gege.” Her voice was a choked whisper, punctuated by a pathetic sniffle. “I just—sniffle— I just wanted you to be proud of me.” She fought back the tears, her lower lip trembling. 

“I just wanted to show you that I can handle myself.” A fleeting warmth touched his cold features at her vulnerability. “That I don’t need you to protect me anymore.”

The warmth vanished as quickly as it came, his body hardening, becoming rigid with a chilling resolve. The fleeting tenderness in his eyes melted away, replaced by a cold, unfeeling look of disdain that pierced her fragile hope.

“You don’t need me anymore? Is that what you truly believe, little one?” His voice, once familiar and comforting, now dripped with a sweet, venomous undertone that made her skin crawl. He grabbed her arms, his fingers digging into the soft flesh, a possessive grip that stole her breath. 

Y/n gasped, her glassy eyes widening in alarm as she looked up at his suddenly alien gaze, her mouth opening in a silent plea, ready to explain her foolish desire.

“Alright then, what exactly do you think you need?” He said through clenched teeth, the subtle tremor in his hands betraying the storm raging within him. “Go on then, little hunter. You can tell me everything.”

Her bottom lip trembled violently as she stared into his unfamiliar, glacial gaze. The words she’d so desperately wanted to speak now withered on her tongue, leaving her mute with a growing dread. Caleb leaned down, his face inches from hers, close enough that she could feel the ghost of his cool breath on her cheek, carrying the scent of ancient power and something darker, something possessive. 

“You see, meimei, you’ve allowed yourself to believe you don’t need me because I’ve been… lenient. You thought you could leave me behind—outgrow me. But you belong to me, Y/n. I shouldn’t have allowed you to become so strong— so independent.” 

One hand, its grip tightening almost imperceptibly, trailed up her arm, across her shoulder, the back of his knuckles brushing along the delicate curve of her neck until he was cradling her face, his thumb pressing against the frantic pulse point beneath her ear. 

“But that ends tonight.” His fingers squeezed her jaw, hard enough to bruise the delicate bone, and she whimpered, a small, terrified sound. “After tonight, you’ll never be able to not need me. I’ll be your only solace, your only anchor. You’ll depend on me for your very sanity.” He promised.

“Wh-what do you—“ she gasped, a strangled sound as he pulled her body flush against his, the hard muscles of his chest pressing against her softer own, his arm wrapping around her waist in a possessive embrace that stole her breath.

Using the hand that cradled her jaw, he tilted her head to the side, his gaze dropping hungrily to the smooth, vulnerable column of her neck, his nostrils flaring as he inhaled her scent, a heady mix of fear and innocent sweetness. Before she could utter a coherent word, Caleb’s head snapped back, his mouth opening, his elongated fangs glistening in the dim moonlight, sharp as he sunk them deep into the delicate skin of her neck.

Y/n’s eyes widened in absolute horror, a muffled scream trapped behind his suffocating palm that clamped over her mouth. All she could feel was the searing, agonizing pain, the shocking betrayal that ripped through her, and the horrifying sensation of something sharp and alien piercing her flesh. She writhed in his arms, her nails digging into his pecs, her tears soaking into his palm. 

Caleb, on the other hand, let out a low, guttural moan of pure pleasure, a sound that vibrated against her muffled cries. He was intoxicated by the taste—by the claim. Her life’s blood surged into his mouth, a taste that ignited a primal fire within him.

He hoisted her up effortlessly, wrapping her legs around his waist, pressing her intimately against his hardening member, the immediate arousal was a brutal testament to the potent power of her blood had on him. Her life force flooded his senses, filling his veins with an electrifying energy, claiming every part of him. His arousal throbbed painfully against his pants, the scent of her body—fear, shame, arousal—an elixir he could never replicate. He was so utterly captivated by the taste of her, the intoxicating rush, that he almost missed the soft, whimpering sound that escaped her lips. 

Almost.

Y/n’s body went limp for a horrifying few seconds after his teeth sank into her neck, then a strange heat bloomed within her, a sensation so intensely pleasurable it momentarily eclipsed the pain. Her mind swam in a hazy fog, all coherent thought dissolving into pure sensation. All she could feel was him – the hard press of his body against hers, the low moans that vibrated through her, and the insistent pull at her neck that made her legs involuntarily tighten around his waist.

A high-pitched whine escaped her lips, a sound of mingled pain and a terrifying, unwanted pleasure. Soft pants followed, and more quiet whimpers, sounds of pleasure meant only for Caleb’s ears. It made him so incredibly hard, a painful throb that demanded release. He wanted to claim her fully, right there in the grimy alley, to brand her as his in every way.

With a monumental effort, he restrained the primal urge. He had a goal in mind and he would not be dissuaded by the alluring call of her body. His only focus now was draining her completely, ensuring her dependence. His free hand slipped possessively around the back of her neck, his fingers tangling in her hair, the other pressed against her lower back, arching her closer as he felt her body grow more and more lax, her struggles fading.

“Ge…ge…please. Don’t— don’t do this.”

He heard her call out to him weakly, her voice barely a whisper. So small. So broken and in that moment, a sharp pang of something akin to remorse pierced through the intoxicating haze. He almost let her go, the tragic sound tearing at something deep within him. He couldn’t bear to hear her so weak, so vulnerable. It caused him a fleeting moment of distress, enough to make him stop drinking for a split second. 

His hand on her back began to move in slow, circular motions, a pathetic attempt to soothe her as he continued to take from her. It was his twisted way of saying sorry. He couldn’t stop. Not when she was finally going to be his. Not when he was this close.

“I’m sorry.” he whispered against her pulse, circling his hand along her back as she slackened in his arms. “I have to. This is the only way you’ll stay.”

When she was almost completely drained, her body sagging against his, her skin pale and clammy, her heartbeat a faint flutter against his chest, he finally pulled away. His eyes were completely blown, the violet irises swallowed by the black of his pupils, his breath coming in ragged gasps as her limp form rested heavily in his arms.

Caleb lowered himself to the dirty alley floor, his movements surprisingly gentle as he placed her down, cradling her head as if she were a fragile doll. He looked at her still form with troubled eyes, a sheen of unshed tears blurring his vision at her near-death appearance. She looked like a fallen angel— ruined by his love.

Y/n lay there with her eyelids half-closed, her breathing shallow and barely perceptible. She looked as if she wanted to speak, her lips twitching slightly, but she lacked the strength to utter a single word. Caleb offered her a sad, almost regretful smile, leaning down to press his forehead against hers, a silent apology, before nuzzling her hair slightly. When he pulled back, he made sure her unfocused gaze was on him.

“You fought well, little hunter. You took down eight vampires by yourself. But due to your human limitations, you failed to protect yourself from the last one. You were exhausted, the battle was long. As you went in for the final kill, you were blindsided, knocked down, and bitten. Just before you passed out, you managed to stake it. Now, you are going to drift off, and you will forget that I was ever here tonight.” 

His pupils constricted and dilated rapidly as he compelled her, his voice a soft, hypnotic murmur. A single tear escaped her eye, tracing a lonely path down her pale cheek before her eyelids slipped shut, her breathing evening out into a semblance of peaceful sleep.

A heavy sigh escaped his lips, his hand caressing her cooling cheek with a possessive tenderness. He took a shaky breath, the scent of her blood still clinging to him, before using his fingers to gently pry open her slack jaw. Caleb raised his wrist, just above her parted lips, and with a sharp flick of his wrist, slit his own skin, letting his dark, potent blood rush into her mouth. 

He used his other hand to gently massage her throat, ensuring she swallowed the life-giving liquid. Once he was satisfied, he licked the wound on his arm, the skin knitting back together instantly, then used the back of his hand to wipe his own blood from her mouth, a final, possessive touch.

Just as he was about to stand, a new scent drifted into the alleyway, acrid and hungry. A vampire. Its eyes glistened with predatory hunger in the dim light. ‘He must have smelled her blood.’ A strange, dark satisfaction bloomed within Caleb. He welcomed the intrusion, a desperate need to unleash the turmoil within him, a violence he couldn’t direct at himself. The vampire lunged, a blur of unnatural speed, but Caleb was faster, his reflexes honed over centuries.

He caught the skinny vampire by its throat, the fragile bones cracking audibly beneath his grip, and glared down at the struggling creature with cold, incandescent fury. 

“As much as I would relish the opportunity to torture you, to take out my… frustrations… on your pathetic existence, I need your blood more.” 

His voice was deceptively calm, a stark contrast to the rage simmering beneath. The vampire cursed and clawed at his hand, its eyes wide with terror, but Caleb paid it no mind. Raising its emaciated body over his unconscious sister, he bared its throat with a swift, brutal movement, allowing its dark, tainted blood to spill onto her pale clothing and skin, a grotesque baptism.

Once he was satisfied, a dark ritual completed, he plunged his other hand into the vampire’s chest, ripping out its still-beating heart, the black liquid staining his fingers. He held the grotesque organ before its horrified eyes before crushing it mercilessly. The vampire arched in a silent scream of agony before bursting into violent flames, its desiccated body crumbling into ashes against the brick wall.

Caleb wiped his hands clean of the vampire’s filthy blood on its burning remains before crouching down, his gaze softening as he observed his peacefully sleeping sister. He would stand guard, a silent sentinel, until she woke, ensuring no other predators dared approach his claim.

It took a mere ten minutes, an eternity in his heightened perception, before he saw the first signs of life. Her fingers twitched, small, involuntary movements, and then her eyelids fluttered, delicate as butterfly wings, though they did not yet open. Caleb released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, the tension slowly easing from his rigid frame.

Satisfied that his claim had taken hold, he leaped to the rooftop with a silent grace, melting into the shadows, and watched her as she finally woke, her eyes widening with confusion and a lingering sense of unease. When he saw her stand on shaky legs, her movements disoriented, and head in the direction of their home, he moved with supernatural speed. Traveling by rooftop, a blur of motion against the dark sky, he made it to their house in a mere two minutes.

Slipping silently into the bathroom, he meticulously fixed his disheveled appearance, the wind having tousled his dark hair. He changed his clothes and washed his hands, cleansing himself of the remaining traces of vampire blood. 

As if nothing happened, he Walked into the kitchen and began to cook. He needed his alibi to be perfectly prepared, a comforting normalcy to greet her when she inevitably stumbled through the front door, her memories carefully rewritten. Pulling out the ingredients for one of her favorite meals, the familiar scents filling the quiet house as waited for her to come crashing back into his carefully controlled world.

🍎🍏

Y/n bolted upright in bed, a strangled gasp tearing from her throat, her heart hammering against her ribs with a frantic, terrified rhythm that echoed the phantom pain in her thigh. The dream... no, the memory... clung to her like a suffocating shroud, the metallic tang of blood and the sickeningly sweet scent of his arousal still vivid in her senses. It was a visceral imprint, a violation that refused to fade.

Y/n's consciousness returned in a slow, syrupy haze, her body alight with a pleasure so thick it bordered on pain. The first thing she registered was the wet heat between her thighs-the slow, deliberate suck of lips against her inner thigh, the sharp sting of fangs buried deep in her flesh.

Her back arched forward, a ragged moan tearing from her throat before she could stop it.

“Mmmm… ah!~”

A chilling silence, broken only by a wet, disturbingly intimate sound – the slick suction of lips on flesh.

It wasn’t a nightmare conjured by a fevered mind. It was real, etched into her very being with agonizing clarity.

Her thigh screamed in protest, a deep, pulsing throb that bloomed with sickening intensity with every slow, deliberate draw of Caleb’s possessive mouth. He was a dark, predatory shadow wrapped around her hip, one hand a brutal brand on her lower stomach, holding her captive while the other cradled her thigh open with a horrifying tenderness, as though she were a delicate offering, a chalice to be reverently defiled.

Her hands flew to Caleb's hair, fingers tangling in the dark strands, caught between yanking him away and pulling him closer. The bond between them thrummed like a live wire, amplifying every sensation-the searing pleasure of his mouth on her skin, the icy horror clawing up her spine as the memories flooded back.

His fangs, sharp and cruelly efficient, were still buried deep within her flesh, a living tether binding them together.

The heat of his mouth was unbearable, a silken inferno against her skin, each insistent pull coaxing her traitorous body to betray her further, igniting a terrifying pleasure amidst the horror. A low, guttural purr, a sound of pure, animalistic satisfaction, trembled from his chest, vibrating against her skin like a dark promise. 

Her blood, her very life force, ran slick and warm down his jaw, glistening crimson along the strong, possessive line of his throat. He was savoring her, claiming her with every agonizingly slow movement.

And her body—weak, languid, utterly compromised—trembled beneath him, a horrifying symphony of unwanted sensation.

“C… Caleb… stop…” she whispered, her voice a broken, breathless rasp.

He didn’t stop, lost in the intoxicating act of claiming her.

Didn’t hear her desperate plea, his senses overwhelmed by the taste and feel of her altered blood.

His tongue swept lazily across the raw punctures, sealing nothing, teasing everything, igniting a fresh wave of unwanted sensation. Her blood—no longer purely hers, now tainted and bonded—was like wildfire to him, a potent elixir that fueled his possessive hunger. The irreversible change had completed, and she could feel the insidious tendrils of their connection, no longer trembling with potential but singing with a terrifying, absolute ownership.

He moaned, a soft, broken sound that bordered on pain, as if she were the one devouring him, stealing his very essence.

“Caleb,” she tried again, her voice cracking with rising hysteria, louder this time, forcing her shaking hand to press against the slick, blood-warmed skin of his shoulder. “Please!”

He lifted his head slowly, his breath coming in shallow, ragged pants, his chest heaving against hers. Her blood, thick and viscous, dripped down his chin, painting his lips a horrifying crimson. His pupils were blown wide, the violet of his irises swallowed by the encroaching black, his eyes gleaming with an unholy light as he stared at her, his expression bordering on religious fervor.

Worship. Possession.

“You taste different today— like fire,” he murmured, his voice thick with a possessive awe. Richer. Darker. A taste so perfect it bordered on sacrilege.

“So sweet. Wild. No one compares. Every note, every drop, it’s like you were tailored to sate the deepest craving I never even knew how to name. You were always meant for me, my precious meimei.” He murmured against her skin before diving back into her open wound. Every swallow sent liquid fire through his veins, his cock aching against the confines of his pants, desperate to claim her all over again.

She slapped at his shoulders, nails raking down his back. "Get off! You’re disgusting!"

A growl rumbled in his chest as he narrowed his eyes in annoyance. Caleb looked up through his lashes, pinning her with his glare, mouth still latched to her skin. He sucked once more, slowly as he watched her flushed face. His free hand slid between her trembling thighs, finger slipping through her slick folds with ease. 

"Liar." he shot back, pushing another finger inside her to the knuckle in one brutal thrust, pulling a sweet sound from her lips. "You're already so wet for me." he murmured against her skin, voice rough with hunger. 

"You don’t want me to stop, I can feel it." And he could. He could feel the ache through the sire bond. Her resistance was being consumed by her desperate need for him.

His fingers pushed inside, curling just right, just the way she liked and she arched off the bed with a broken moan, her blood still spilling into his mouth. 

“Gege… Don’t!” Her voice broke, her hips bucking against his hand as the pleasure built, unrelenting, unforgiving.

Caleb growled, the vibration against her skin sending another shock of heat through her. “Don’t do what, y/n? Don’t taste you or don’t fuck you like I did last night?” He said as he scissored her insides, stretching, preparing her for the possibility.

She whimpered, her drooling pussy swallowing his fingers so easily as he pumped his digits into her at a hurried pace. He could feel the way she squeezed him, her gummy walls tightening around him like a pulse, signaling her approaching orgasm. 

‘Gonna cum, already?’ He smirked at her. 

"You didn't mean that, right?" His thumb circled her clit, relentless and he swore she came a little. Her pussy was soaked, the lewd sounds of her drenched core enveloped the room, along with her shameless moans. 

She didn’t mean it. Not really. How could she with all the evidence of her body’s betrayal stacked against her.

The bond between them was wide open now, her shame, her anger, her desire— all laid bare for him as he continued to fuck her cunt on his fingers brutally. 

Y/n came with a broken cry, her body clenching around his fingers, her blood spilling into his mouth as he drank her down like a man starved. Caleb released her, opting to watch her pretty contort with pleasure as his finger piston into her, helping her ride out her orgasm. She squealed, shaking violently as her little hole milked his fingers as if it were his cock. 

“Fuck… so beautiful.” He whispered praises, licking his lips in carnal hunger, catching the last beads of blood that escaped his lips. He wanted to taste her honey this time, test it against her blood to see if it had also changed.

Y/n came down from her high quickly, her strength surged, adrenaline-fueled burst, just long enough to deliver a firm slap, hard across the face, the sound echoing in the blood-soaked silence.

He didn’t react to the blow. The sharp crack of her hand against his cheek reverberated through the room, but he only blinked slowly, his head tilting slightly, as if the pain didn’t register, as if the only sensation that mattered was her touch, however violent it was.

"The alley." she choked out, tears welling in her eyes, blurring his concerned expression. "The warehouse... the bite... y-you lied to me.” she choked, her voice raw with betrayal, trying to scramble away, to put distance between them. “You compelled me to forget… the entire mission, all of it was a lie.”

But her legs wouldn’t obey, her limbs heavy and unresponsive. He’d taken a significant amount of blood from her and she finds that she feels weaker than she ever did when she was human. Understanding dawned in his violet eyes, a chilling realization that left no room for doubt. 

"You finally remembered." he sounded almost happy. The small quirk of his lips stood as a confession. “I guess when I sealed the sire bond last night, it broke the compulsion.”

Her body sagged, trembling uncontrollably, breath catching in a ragged sob. “I remember everything! You— it was you who turned me into this… you turned me into a monster!” His smile was slow, a soft, possessive curve of his bloodied lips.

“You think you became a monster the night I bit you?” he asked gently, his voice almost tender, laced with a disturbing affection. 

“No, meimei. You became mine.”

“You used me. You manipulated me…”

“No.” His voice deepened, a low, resonant rumble of velvet and smoke that seemed to coil around her. “I loved you. I love you. This was the only way.”

“Only way to what?! You murdered me!”

“I gave you eternity. It was the only way to keep you by my side.”

He rose from the bed with a fluid, unnatural grace, the sheets rustling with the movement, licking her slick from his fingers slowly with a satisfied moan. She shrank away instinctively, clutching the bloodied sheets to her chest as her body throbbed with a hollow weakness.

“I hate you…” she said so low that a normal person would have struggled to hear. But he was anything but normal and despite his unbrothered appearance, those words stabbed at his heart. 

"You don’t. You want to know the worst part, meimei?" His thumb brushed her lower lip, smearing her own blood across it. "You could've fought the bond... if you'd truly hated me."

“A sire bond doesn’t create feelings, it amplifies it. It wouldn’t have affected you if there were no feelings there to begin with, little one.” he said quietly, his gaze intense. “If you didn’t find me attractive, on some deep, primal level… if you didn’t love me, more than you should have ever loved a brother… this would never have worked. Our connection is too strong.”

She scoffed, knowing his words to be true but disbelief clouded her mind.

“A part of you craved me, Y/n.” Caleb continued, his voice a hypnotic murmur. 

“I made sure of it. All these years, I stayed close, a constant presence. Loved and protected you. Coveted you with every fiber of my being. Because I needed you to need me, truly need me. To love me, beyond the bounds of sibling affection. Human minds are so fragile, so easily swayed. And sometimes love gets… confusing. Hard to differentiate. But I only needed you to think of me as more than just a brother. Just once. And then I’d have you, forever.”

“But I never did!” Y/n shouted, her voice raw and hoarse with disbelief and rising panic. “You’re delusional! You’ve twisted everything!”

“But you did, sweet girl.” He spoke with confidence as  knelt at the edge of the bloodied bed, his eyes level with hers, his gaze unwavering. “I knew exactly when it happened, too. The first time you acknowledged it.”

She glared at him, eyes narrowed as she waited for his silly revelation. 

“It was when we were teenagers.” he said, a faint, knowing smile playing on his lips. “You were so used to my undivided attention, my constant presence, that when other girls started to notice me, to flirt… you nearly beat them senseless. Remember that? You dragged me away the second they got too close, your small hand a surprisingly fierce grip on my arm. You wouldn’t speak to me for days, a furious silence that only I could break.”

Her face twisted in horror, the memory surfacing, finally dawning on her yet still, she denied it. “I was a child! I didn’t want to share my favorite person. It doesn’t mean I had… feelings. I was just a spoiled brat!”

“And who do you think spoiled you, little one?” he asked softly, his gaze intense. 

“Who isolated you, subtly steering you away from others? Who gave you more attention than any sibling should, whispering reassurances until my presence was the only constant you could truly rely on?”

Her breath hitched, the realization dawning with chilling clarity.

“Should I tell you more? Before you even knew the depths of my powers, when gran left us home alone. You thought I was asleep...”

Y/n face scrunched in confusion, wondering where this story was going.

“I heard you that night— touching yourself to the thought of me. You even whispered my name so sweetly into your pillow that I almost broke down your bedroom door and took you right there.”

Her jaw dropped, hands flying to cover her mouth as she recalled that moment. How disgusted she was with herself back then when she came to the thought of her brother touching her inappropriately. She’d buried that memory. Locking it away to the point that she didn’t even remember until he brought it up. 

“No… no…” she whispered, shaking her head vehemently, tears streaming down her pale cheeks.

Her face flared up, blushing furiously with embarrassment and she looked away from Caleb’s all too amused eyes.

“Sweet meimei…” He leaned forward, his touch feather-light as he brushed a stray strand of blood-soaked hair from her face, turning her back to face him. “Don’t be embarrassed. Its ok. I was so happy you liked me that much.” 

“That’s the moment I knew you were mine. You were so easy to guide after that. So desperate for my affection even when you tried to keep your distance. But I… I was even more desperate for you. Your human love had limits, boundaries you tied yourself to that I couldn’t abide by. I needed to shatter them, to make you mine in every way.”

“So you turned me…” she whispered, her voice cracking, raw with grief and betrayal. “You took my life from me. You took everything. You turned me into a freak… like you. You even killed Dalton… just to prove a point. He had a family!” The weight of Dalton’s death, made meaningless, pressed down on her. ‘All of this just because he wanted me?’

“So perceptive. Of course, I did. I heard him coming a mile away. I wanted him to see you. Knew your body would reject his unworthy blood but…” He leaned in, his lips mere inches from the shell of her ear. “You needed to learn that you can only drink from me.”

Her eyes widened, betrayal and heartbreak etched into her face. She shoved him weakly, her small fists striking his chest, the impact barely registering against his supernatural strength. He didn’t flinch, his gaze unwavering.

“How could you…? He was our friend. You’re supposed to be my brother! How could you be so selfish?! I thought you loved me! You’re the worst!”

“I did this because I love you, Y/n. But you’re right, I am selfish. I want you all to myself.” he replied, his voice a low, possessive murmur. ‘If I hadn’t drained him while she slept, I wouldn’t be able to feed her.’ 

“Was any of it real? Did you ever see me as your sister? As your family?” She hadn’t meant to ask such a pointless question but it slipped from her mouth regardless. Something like this didn’t matter now that things have gotten this far.

“Of course, I did. I am your brother, meimei. But I am so much more than that now. And so are you.” He said so tenderly, it was like he was her Caleb again but his words were so foreign. His hand caressed her cheek, a touch both gentle and so possessive. 

“I’m the same brother who loved you from the moment I first saw your tiny face. The one who spoiled you rotten, who indulged your every whim. The one who took your first kiss. The brother who fingered your dripping pussy. The same brother who ate you out until you came on my tongue last night. The brother who took your virginity and fucked you full of my seed.”

“You’re disgusting!” she screamed, lurching away from his touch, her body wracked with sobs. “You took advantage of me! You made me feel guilty for- for… but this entire time, it was all you!” 

He moved in an instant, a blur of predatory grace, pinning her back against the bloodied sheets with a terrifying gentleness, his eyes burning with an obsessive fire. He slotted his hips between her still wet thighs as he lowered himself onto her. His body pressed firmly against hers. 

“I know, sweet girl. I know. But you are my best friend.” he whispered, his lips brushing against her temple, his breath hot against her skin. “My precious, meimei. My cherished lover. You are everything to me. How could you think I’d let something as simple as mortality keep you from me?” 

His planted a kiss on either side of her cheeks. “I wanted you so bad, it hurts. I couldn’t watch you grow old, sick and die. Couldn’t let you leave me. I need you. All of you. I won’t accept anything less.” He spoke into her neck, kissing and nipping her between words. She could feel the sincerity of his words through the bond. It flooded her body with the warmth and love that he had for her. 

Y/n shook with rage despite that. His confession was worse than anything she had ever felt. “I will never be your friend! Or your lover! Or anything!” Her voice cracked, raw with hatred and despair. “I hate you, Caleb! I hate you so much!”

He exhaled slowly, his lips brushing the delicate curve of her ear, his voice a low, possessive murmur that sent a shiver down her spine. “No you don’t, Y/n.” he said as his grip tightened almost imperceptibly. 

“You can’t. Even if you wanted to with every fiber of your being… you couldn’t. Our bond cemented the moment I drank from you. You can dislike me. Though, it would never last so I can live with that. But you can never hate me while the sire bond is in place.” His teeth grazed her sternum, making her jolt away. Caleb chuckled, his breath tickling her.

“The bond goes both ways. I can never hate you either. You are mine now, whether you like it or not. And I am yours. My heart, my soul, my blood— it’s all for you.” He tongue dragged over the length of her neck, earning him a gasp.

“This body of mine— mmm~” he grinded his half hard dick against her wet slit, dampening the thin fabric of his cotton pants. “It’s all yours.” Y/n Hips bucked against his, involuntarily. She pushed against his chest but it was like trying to move a stone wall.

“Caleb… don’t.” she gasped.

Caleb's fangs grazed her pounding artery as he pinned her thrashing body beneath him. "Shhh, meimei," he crooned, the vibrations of his voice traveling through her skin. "just relax for me, yeah?" He pecked her lips softly, his hips rolling against hers in a slow, maddening rhythm. The thin fabric of his pants did nothing to hide the thick length of him, already painfully hard and eager, the heat of him branding her.

Y/n arched beneath him, a broken whimper escaping her lips as her traitorous core clenched around nothing, still throbbing from her earlier release. The sire bond pulsed between them, amplifying every shameful spark of pleasure, until her anger blurred into something far more dangerous.

"You feel it too, don't you?" His lips curved against her damp skin. "That delicious heat coiling low in your belly? The way your nipples harden when I breathe against your neck?" To emphasize his point, he blew a cool stream of air across the sensitive flesh he'd just licked.

Her body responded instantly. A whimper escaped before she could choke it back. She could feel his need for her through the bond. It was suffocating her mind to the point that she couldn’t tell where her want began or his need for her ended.

Caleb chuckled darkly, the sound reverberating through her bones. "Your blood sings for me, little one. It’s begging me to fill your pretty cunt." His hips rolled forward, the thick ridge of his erection grinding against her damp core through the thin barrier of his pants.

"See? Even now, soaked and ready for me."

‘I hate him I hate him I- oh god—‘ Another lie she told herself. 

Her nails dug into his shoulders, drawing thin lines of blood that only made him groan louder. Caleb grabbed the back of her neck and pulled her face to the marks she had just made. “Drink, meimei. I took so much from you earlier.” 

“I won’t.” She meant it. But once her face pressed against his collarbone, the scent of his blood hit her. The scent coiled through the air before she even process it. Iron, spiced with something indefinably Caleb. 

Y/n's nostrils flared as the aroma wrapped around her starving senses, thick as smoke from a sacred fire. She salivated, her fangs descending almost painfully. She hesitated for only a moment. Her strong will to resist him making it’s final stand before she gave in, lashing her mouth to his shoulder, feeding from him the way she needed.

The first taste was ruin.

Heat exploded across her tongue, scorching and sweet, like swallowing a dying star.

But instead of burning, it bloomed inside her-euphoria so sharp it bordered on agony. She moaned against his skin, fingers clawing at his shoulders hard enough to draw blood as her body arched toward him like a flower starving for sunlight.

Caleb shuddered below her, his arms locking around her waist as he hauled them both upright. His skin burned against hers, fever-hot, his cock pressing insistently against her stomach.

"Fuck—" His voice was wrecked already, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "That's it, take it-"

She drank greedily, the flavors unfolding across her tongue in waves. Like honey drizzled over black cherries, a richness that coated her tongue and slid down her throat like silk. Beneath that, something musky, something that was purely him. The essence of him, of power and hunger that made her keen against his skin.

 Whining and clawing at him, trying to meld her body with his as she rocked her naked form down onto his hard length with such fervor as she locked her legs around his sculpted waist. 

Caleb's head lolled to the side, letting her indulge in her want for him. His free hand fisted in her hair, tilting her head back just enough to watch her drink. Completely captivated by the sight of her, his pupils had swallowed all color, his breath coming in ragged gasps. 

"Gods…" he choked out, transfixed by the sight of her lips moving against his skin. "You ruin me." She was ruining him, he was falling deeper and deeper under a spell she hadn’t even known she crafted.

She was rough with the way she touched him, scoring his chest with her marks, turned him on so much that his cock weeped with excitement. Just the feel of her greedily drinking from him made him a complete mess. 

‘It feels so good. I need to be inside her or I’ll fucking die!’

He lifted them carefully, not wanting to disrupt her as he hastily dragged his pants down his thighs. He sat back down, hands on her hips as he stilling her frantic hips to his, earning him a whine in protest. So desperate for friction that he would never deny her.

In an instant, his hips snapped upwards, simultaneously slamming her down onto his cock, burying his impressive length to the hilt. Y/n cried out from the brutal intrusion, barely missing the deep, satisfied groan from the brunettes as her body stretched to accommodate him.

The stretch burned as she tried to adjust, bordering on too much. But the pain was already melting into pleasure, her walls fluttering around him as if trying to pull him deeper. She arched into him as he set a terrifying pace that she couldn’t hope to keep up with.  

“Still so tight~” He groaned, staring down at her small frame while fucking her on his cock. He set a punishing pace from the start, his hips snapping forward with enough force to shake the bed. Each thrust punched the air from her lungs, his pelvis grinding against her clit with bruising precision. The wet slap of skin on skin filled the room, mingling with their ragged breathing and her broken whimpers.

"Look at you," Caleb growled. "Taking me so perfectly." His hands gripped her hips hard enough to bruise, fingertips pressing into the fresh bite marks on her thighs as he held her impaled on his cock. "Every inch. Just like you were made for me."

Y/n could feel him everywhere, the thick veins along his length pulsing inside her, the way his hips pressed flush against her, the hot spill of his precum coating her walls.

The bond between them sang with shared sensation, amplifying every twitch of his cock inside her, every flutter of her cunt around him.

It was a claiming. Each thrust punched the air from her lungs, his pelvis grinding against her clit with bruising force on every inward stroke. The wet slap of skin on skin filled the room, mingling with their ragged breathing and her broken whimpers.

"Feel that?" Caleb panted, his fangs grazing her collarbone. "How your body sucks me back in every time I pull out?" To demonstrate, he withdrew almost completely, leaving just the tip inside before slamming home again. "Like you're afraid I'll leave you empty."

Y/n's nails raked down his back, drawing blood that only seemed to drive him wilder.

The metallic scent filled the air, mixing with the musk of their joining. Caleb groaned deep in his chest, the vibration traveling through where their bodies were connected.

"Fuck, you're perfect," he snarled, increasing his pace until the bedframe creaked in protest. "So tight and wet and mine." His hand slid between them, thumb finding her clit and rubbing rough circles that had her seeing stars. "Cum for me, meimei. Let me feel you fall apart on my cock."

As if his words had power over her body, her orgasm hit like a tidal wave, tearing through her with brutal intensity. Her walls clenched around him in rhythmic pulses, her scream muffled against his shoulder as she bit down hard enough to draw blood. The taste of him, rich, dark and addictive, flooded her mouth as her vision whited out.

Caleb groaned, his body shuddering. His thrusts became shorter, more frantic, his grip on her hips bruising. "Y/n..." he gasped, his breath ragged. Caleb stiffened above her, a guttural cry tearing from his throat as he spilled his seed deep within her, a final, brutal act of possession. The bond between them flared white hot, magnifying the sensation until she came again, her body spasming uncontrollably around his still-pulsing cock.

For long moments, the only sounds were their ragged breathing and the wet drip of their mingled fluids onto the sheets. Caleb remained inside her, his forehead pressed to hers as they both came down from the high. Using his weight, he pushed their bodies back, dropping them onto the bed.

When he finally spoke, his voice was rough with satisfaction and something darker.

"Now you understand, don't you?" Caleb's fingers traced the fresh bite marks on her neck with possessive reverence, his voice a velvet-wrapped blade in the darkness.

"This is what eternity feels like, meimei." His hips rolled lazily, still buried to the hilt inside her, drawing a broken whimper from her swollen lips. "Every heartbeat. Every breath. Every drop of blood in your veins—all mine to savor."

Y/n's body trembled beneath him, caught between the aftershocks of pleasure and the rising tide of shame. The bond between them pulsed like a living thing, amplifying every sensation until she could barely distinguish where his pleasure ended and hers began. His cock twitched inside her, still half-hard, still claiming.

He shifted his weight, lifting himself slightly, just enough to withdraw with a slick, wet sound that made her stomach churn. The brief emptiness was quickly filled as he positioned himself again, his gaze never leaving hers, a predatory anticipation tightening his features.

"Round two, little one?" he murmured, his voice a low growl of possessive hunger. "Now that you're properly warmed up."

[stargirlygirl]

downpour

bakugou katsuki x fem!reader ⋆｡°✩ — medieval fantasy!au, size difference kink, age gap (he's mid-thirties, she's late teens early twenties), nsfw, smut, p in v, oral sex fem!receiving, dubcon? (she's known him since she was a kid), unprotected sex (don't be like them!), 4.8k words

a/n: despite what i've said here, he's not the best thing that's ever happened to you ladies

You groan, hearing the thunder roar from the pouring heavens above. The cold rain soaks into your most modest dress, making the embroidered pale yellow fabric cling to your skin. Your hair sticks to your forehead, wild like a bird’s nest. But wet. Your bones ache with the chilly dampness, and your toes squelch in your boots.

As lightning blankets the sky, you ask yourself why tonight had to be like this — the night before you’re supposed to get married. You look behind you with wide eyes, positive that you’ve lost the guards chasing you. Their princess.

You slow to a walk and tighten your grip on the heavy fabric of your dress, hiking it up to your ankles (wench). You’re breathing erratically from running and from your fear of being caught. You already miss the warmth of the castle and the comfortable life you led with your parents and siblings.

“Get it together, y/n,” you whisper. The thunder screeches over your pathetic attempt at self-motivation. With a huff, you look up from your mud-covered boots and gaze at your surroundings. You’ve been wandering through this forest for a long time now. You’re cold, wet, and tired. You need a rest. You whine, seeing the pitch-black forest all around you. At least no animals would try to attack you, right?

You trudge on for a little longer, grumbling to yourself about how maybe you should have just sucked it up and stayed in the castle. But when you think of your betrothed, you remind yourself that this is a good decision. For the first time in your life, you’re choosing your future happiness and freedom. And that’s exciting. It would be even more exciting if you weren’t shivering and sniffling and stumbling every ten feet.

There’s one thing you need right now — well, not just one, but the main one — shelter. You need somewhere to rest for the night. You gaze up, analysing the dense trees and shrubbery. In the distance, you can see the faintest light. With renewed energy, you set off in that direction. As you draw nearer, the light becomes brighter. It’s warm, golden-orange like egg yolks. Like fire.

Feeling both hungry and invigorated, you walk faster. Ducking beneath a tree branch, you see that the light is emanating from a cabin. It’s more like a shack, really, with how small it is. But it looks sturdy, safe, and, most importantly, dry inside.

You run the last few steps to the cabin, panting as you reach the door. You knock on the door loudly, hoping that whoever is inside will show you mercy. No response. You knock again, louder. Still, no response. Growing impatient, you turn the door knob and press your body against it to push it open.

As you stumble inside, you call out, “Hello. Hello! Sorry for intruding, um—” It’s empty. You slam the door shut and rest against it as you gaze around the cabin. A fire burns in the fireplace. The scolding tongues lick the base of a heavy pot hanging above it, casting shadows on the walls and across the furniture. You rush over to it with your hands out, eager to feel the fire’s heat. You sigh as it tickles your skin.

You close your eyes, allowing the warmth to seep into your soul. Your dress soon becomes hot yet damp, a most uncomfortable combination. You kick off your boots and place them by the door before reaching for the back of your dress. You pull at the lacings, loosening them and shimmying your dress down to your ankles. You bend down and grab it, grimacing at the mud splattered on the hem and the deep golden colour of the gown from how wet it is. Draping it over the arm of a nearby chair, you hear the door rattle.

You stand there, paralysed by fear, as the door swings open, revealing a huge, shadowy figure. You scream as the lightning cracks and the figure stalks in. Your hands cover your mouth as you stare at the brute of a man in front of you. The cloak he’s draped in doesn’t conceal his muscular frame, and he carries a pile of wood on his back. Sharp red eyes glare at you, and his full lips are twisted into a scowl.

He growls, “WHAT’RE YOU DOIN’ HERE?!” Your mouth is dry as he comes over to you. His shadow casts your frame in darkness as he drops the wood on the ground. You flinch at the thud, stepping back slightly. Your heart thumps in your chest so hard and loud you feel like it’s about to burst.

You stutter, avoiding his harsh gaze, “I-I’m sorry I-I had nowhere else t-to go. I-I saw your cabin, and I—”

“Made yourself at home, huh?” He grunts. You nod frantically as you watch him untie the heap of wood and throw a few into the fire lazily. The flames crack and pop at the new addition, dimming and then brightening.

“Get out of my cabin!” He grumbles, staring daggers into you. Suddenly, you feel so bare beneath his gaze. You realise that you’re only wearing your undergarments. No proper way for a princess to dress, especially around a man who wasn’t her husband. But you don’t care as you invade his personal space and cling to his arm.

You plead for him to let you stay the night, but he pushes you off and yells at you to leave. Shaking your head, you drop to your knees. You stare up at him with big eyes and quivering lips as you beg, “Please! Please! Don’t make me go back out there, please! I’ll do anything! I’ll be good. I promise. I won’t get in your way. You won’t even know that I’m here. Just let me stay the night! Please!”

He gazes down at you with raised brows and a slackened jaw, unsure of what to make of your sudden outburst. He gulps and looks away from you. Tch. You sniffle as he walks over to the door, expecting him to throw it wide open and force you out.

Instead, he shrugs off his cloak and hangs it on a hook next to the door. Holy moly— Your eyes rake over his toned back. The shadows illuminate his juicy muscles, and you can feel the saliva pooling in your mouth as he turns around.

He grunts, “Only for tonight.” You nod enthusiastically as you try to tear your eyes away from his godly frame. Even the scars marring his skin look heavenly. You wanna take a bite of those biceps with the way they flex and—

“STOP LOOKING AT ME, WOMAN!” He yells. You hum and avert your eyes, getting off the floor. As a princess, you’ve never had to beg anyone for anything before. And you hope that you don’t have to ever again. You shift to standing in front of the fireplace, sighing as the heat sinks into your pores.

He grumbles, “Could you move?” You gaze up at him, confused, as he looms beside you. Nodding, you shift to the side. You hope he thinks the redness of your face is from the fire and not your embarrassment. He takes this opportunity to stir the stew, filling the pot. You watch with curious eyes as he slurps from the spoon.

He orders you to sit down, and you do as you’re told, planting yourself down on the same chair your dress is drying on. You’re delighted to watch his delicious muscles at work as he takes the pot off the fire and dishes out the stew for you to eat.

He hands you a bowl and spoon, which you take, thanking him. He sits on the chair beside you and starts downing his soup at an alarming rate. You stir the hearty goodness, identifying some veggies and meat of some sort. You slurp a mouthful and moan in delight.

The spiky blond stares at you, his cheeks full of stew. You can hear the blood rushing in your veins, somehow flowing more to your face as you gaze at your bowl.

You mutter, “It’s really good.”

“It’s just stew,” he grunts. You hum as you resume eating your dinner in silence. Once he’s finished, he starts cleaning up the dishes. Your cheeks are aflame as your eyes roam his body, content to gaze at him doing domestic chores.

With a deep breath in, you ask, “So, what’s your name?

He grumbles, “What’s it to you?” You shrug, blowing on a spoonful of stew.

His back is to you, washing his bowl as you say, “Can’t I know the name of the man who’s letting me stay in his cabin on such a dreary night?” He’s quiet for the next few minutes, so you assume that he’s not going to tell you.

As he wipes the cooking pot dry, he mutters, “Katsuki.” You hum, your mouth full of stew. That name… There was something familiar about it. Shaking your head, you push the feeling aside. That’s ridiculous, you think. Of course, you don’t know him, right? How could you forget someone so… handsome rough?

You swallow before chirping, “It’s nice to meet you, Katsuki. I’m y/n.” His eyes flicker to you before darting back to the pot. When you’re finished, he stalks over to you and grabs your empty bowls. He avoids your gaze, seeing something he hasn’t seen in a long time.

He’s about to step away from you when he grabs the neckline of your dress. You gaze at him with a crease in your brow until it clicks. You snatch the damp gown from him, but it’s too late. He stares at you with wide eyes as he asks, “Why do you bear the royal crest?” You shake your head.

“It’s nothing, really.”

He grunts, “Don’t lie to me.” He grabs your dress and yanks it out of your hands, dragging you to the edge of the plush chair.

He spits out each word harshly, saying, “Why do you bear the royal crest? Are you from the castle?” You’re screaming at yourself internally to lie despite how awful you are at it.

You ramble, “It’s not what you think it is! I’m-I’m a maid. A maid for the royal family!”

He scoffs, “A maid? Only the royal family is permitted to wear the royal crest.” He discards the dress and bowl on the floor and steps the slightest bit closer, positioning himself between your legs. He palms the armrests as he leans over your quivering frame, glaring at you.

“So, cough it up, woman. You’re either a dirty thief or a runaway royal. So, which is it?” You gulp as you avert your eyes from literally anything other than his perfect body hovering so close to yours.

He grunts, “Said your name was y/n?” His large hand falls to your knee and pushes up the sheer fabric coating your thighs.

“What’re you doing?” You exclaim with wide eyes. He clicks his tongue at you as his rough fingers run across your soft skin. His thumb traces your birthmark from memory. The look in his eyes is soft, reminiscent as he captures yours.

He smirks, “S’been a long time, your highness.” You gulp. What?

He chuckles, “I don’t expect cha to remember me. You were a tiny thing back then.” You blink at him in confusion. Those red eyes, that lopsided grin, and deep voice. A sense of deja vu.

“Sir Bakugou!” You blurt out, staring up at him in disbelief. He eases off, removing his warm palm from your thigh. He nods as he rises to his full height, towering over you. You stand up as he steps back, cautious but excited.

“I can’t believe it’s you! I could barely recognise you with all this,” you say, pointing to his scars and buff physique. “The last time I saw you, I was what… ten?” He hums lowly, his eyes trailing over your matured figure.

He grins, “You’re all grown up now, eh?” You giggle and slap his bare chest playfully, earning you a scowl.

“What was that for?!” He says, his chest rumbling. You laugh, unable to hold yourself back. It’s been so long since you’ve seen each other. So long since you could just be yourself around someone else.

Calming down, you breathe out, “It hasn’t been the same since you left.” He hums and picks up your empty bowl, walking over to the kitchen area.

You follow him, saying, “Everything’s gone downhill since then. Father is always stressing over the constant conflicts between lords, and Mother won’t speak to him most days. And he keeps marrying off my sisters to foreign princes, trying to establish political ties. But how can you try to ally yourself with other countries when yours is falling apart?”

Katsuki grumbles, “S’that why you ran away?” You hum, watching him rinse the suds off the bowl and then dry it off.

You mumble, “I can’t marry someone I don’t even know, Sir—”

“You don’t have to call me that anymore, yea?” He grunts. You’re stunned for a moment before humming in agreement.

He continues, “N’ I’m not just talkin’ about getting married off. Looks like yer finally using that brain of yours.” You scowl at him, earning you a hearty bellow. He puts the bowl away and guides you to one of the two rooms at the back of the cabin. He opens the door and ushers you inside.

In the corner sits a large barrel bathtub, and there’s a stone sink jutting out from the wall. You gulp as you turn around to face the blond.

He mutters, “Water’s already hot. I’ll get you something to put on after, alright?” You nod and hum.

As he turns to leave, you reach out and grab his forearm. You don’t know what compelled you to do something so inappropriate, but you can’t help yourself as you gaze at him.

You say quietly, “I missed you, Katsuki. I miss my favourite guard protecting me and taking care of me. It’s… I wish you didn’t leave.” Your gaze falls from his eyes to his arm and finally rests on your hands wrapped around him. He can’t take his eyes off of your pouty lips.

He grumbles, “I had to leave—”

“But why?” You cry out. “I thought you liked being my guard—”

“’Course I liked being your guard, doll. S’not about that,” he sighs.

“Then—”

He grunts, tugging his arm from your grasp, “I don’t wanna talk about it. Just bathe, for fuck’s sake, will ya?” He stalks out of the room, leaving you all alone. You obey, stripping out of your undergarments and soaking in the water. True to his word, it’s hot. The perfect temperature, actually. The heat penetrates your clammy skin, warming up your bones and muscles.

You sigh, relaxing in the bath. Moments of the past fill your mind. Your days were spent learning how to fence, running around and playing in the gardens, and having picnics by the nearest river. All with your head guard, Sir Bakugou.

You chuckle softly as you remember the day you told Katsuki about your birthmark. You had just learnt what it was from your mother and skipped off to show your favourite knight. You remember how warmly he laughed at you and patted your head when you showed it to him. And how you pestered him about any birthmarks he had.

Feeling too hot, you rise and climb out of the barrel. You wrap a thin linen towel around yourself and dry off. When you’re done, you open the door and peek your head out. Katsuki notices you immediately and comes over to you, thrusting one of his long shirts in your hand. You thank him as you take it from him and shut the door.

After you get changed, you walk out of the bathroom into the main area where bedding has been laid out. Your eyes rove over the glistening waves of a fur blanket; your heart rate picks up. You gasp as callous palms cup your shoulders and gently squeeze them. You gaze back at the man behind you.

He mutters, “You take the bed. I’ll sleep out ‘ere tonight.” You shake your head.

“No, it’s okay. I can—”

“M’not letting my princess sleep on the floor,” he grunts.

You start, “But—”

“Quit being such a brat. Do as yer told n’ go to bed,” he growls. Against your better judgment, you shake your head again. He groans as you turn around. Your bodies are close. Too close for comfort. It’s like lightning strikes between you two with the way your chests ghost each other.

You gulp, your heartbeat growing to be as loud as the thunderstorm overhead. You utter his name, earning a gruff “What?” in response.

“Can I… do something a bit improper?” You ask tentatively. He chuckles lowly, red eyes drifting to the bed before looking back at you.

He smirks, “When do you not?” You hold your tongue, hesitant to ruin the tension between you two. You shuffle that much closer to him, your hands flat against his pecs. He shivers at the feeling of your delicate skin on his.

Katsuki grunts, “You done yet?” You shake your head before tilting your chin up. You gaze at him with big eyes, puffing at your lips ever so slightly. Your hands trail down his abs before roaming up his chest and to the back of his neck.

He groans, “The fuck you want, doll?” You draw the side of your lip between your teeth as you pull him down to you.

You’re on your tiptoes, your lips brushing his ear lobe as you whisper, “You.” His hands are on you in an instant, pulling you into his solid torso. He grabs your chin, forcing you to gaze into his eyes before he kisses you.

You moan into his mouth, thrilled that this is finally happening. That your fantasy is becoming a reality. You tug at his locks as he kisses you roughly, teeth-gnashing and tongues swirling. He groans as he explores every corner of your mouth, his hands roughly grabbing your hips.

He pulls back, both of you panting hard. You grin as you catch your breath, staring at him awestruck.

You whisper, “I can’t believe this is happening.” He rolls his eyes at you.

“Don’t fucking start,” he huffs. He’s kissing you again, much more sweetly this time. His grip on you loosens as he strokes up and down your back, feeling every curve and dip beneath the fabric separating your bodies.

You sigh into his lips, enjoying this change in pace. This time, he sucks on your bottom lip, making you gasp before he nips at it. He gently walks you back until you’re stepping on the makeshift bed, the fur luxuriously soft between your toes. You mumble his name, encouraging a groan from him.

Your bodies part for a moment as you both sit on the fur blanket. One of his hands wraps around your knee while the other grasps your cheek. He pulls you into him and lays you down. Your hands grip his shoulders as he kisses down your jaw and neck. You squeeze the muscle there as he gently bites your soft flesh, gasps falling from your lips.

You whimper, “Kat-suki. I’ve been in love with you since—”

“Shut up,” he grunts into your skin, nipping at your flesh harder. You moan, and he pulls back.

He shifts up, his lips brushing yours as he grumbles, “I don’t wanna hear it. Want you to show me, princess. Think you can do that, f’me?” You whine, nodding furiously.

He chuckles, “Good.” He returns to kissing your neck. You moan loudly as he nips at your collarbones and shoulder. Your hands tangle in his spiky locks, massaging and tugging and then massaging again.

You whine as he sits back and peels his shirt off you, leaving you bare beneath him. He groans at the sight of you, his hands wrapped around your wrists and pulling them down to your sides before you can even attempt to cover yourself up.

“Suki!” You gasp as he grabs both of your breasts, one in each hand, and squeezes them. He smirks all cocky as his eyes drink you in. He lowers himself back down, tongue licking the fat of your tit. You bite your lip as he pinches your nipples, rolling them between his fingers deliciously.

Letting go of one, he replaces his fingers with his mouth and sucks on it. You moan, pulling at his roots. Once satisfied, he moves onto your other breast, licking and sucking on it until you’re whimpering and whining his name mindlessly.

Smirking, he kisses your ribcage, your tummy, hips, and stretch marks. He then grabs your wrists one at a time and kisses them before working up your arms with his lips. Even your ankles, calves, and thighs receive his tender affection.

By the time his head dips between your thighs, you feel utterly worshipped from head to toe. You moan his name as his tongue rolls over your clit, your back arching delightfully as he sucks it. His tongue works wonders between your folds, making you feel like no man ever has.

You cry out as his fingers brush your clit and gently rub circles over it while his tongue laps inside of you. With slick-coated fingers, he eases one into your hole, making you gasp and call out his name.

He returns to sucking on your clit; his mouth is so fucking hot, like the heat of the flames prickling your skin, as he fingers you slowly. He curls his finger when he’s deep inside, making you moan even louder.

His other hand grabs yours and intertwines your fingers. He gives you a gentle squeeze, his eyes watching your every gasp and whimper. Your head falls back as he curls a second finger inside of you, hitting that perfect spot.

You moan, “K-Kat-suki. Please, baby. Please.” He hums against your cunt, the vibrations making you buck your hips against his skilful tongue. He pulls off your sopping pussy, keen to hear more.

He groans, voice hoarse from how well he was just eating you out, “What is it, princess?” You mewl as his fingers press into your gummy walls.

You pant, “Need you, Suki. In me-please fuck!” He slowly pulls his fingers out of you, admiring your syrup dripping down his wrist in the firelight.

He chuckles, “Fuck, you really do need me, huh?” You nod enthusiastically.

“Please, baby,” you whine. He shushes you and shifts to pull off his shorts and underwear. You push yourself up on your elbows; legs spread wide lewdly as you watch his huge cock spring free. Just the sight of it, you moan as even more slick gushes from your pussy.

He comes back to you, large hands pushing you back down and grabbing the back of your thighs. He grumbles at you to wait while he grabs a pillow and places it beneath your hips. He then brings your calves over his lower back, his cock running through your folds. Your back arches as his tip slides over your clit, making you moan.

He coats himself in your arousal, his pre-cum mixing with it before he finally slides in. He goes slow, letting you stretch to accommodate his girth. Your arms tighten around his neck as you pull him down to you, your head resting in the crook of his neck. You whine as he pushes in further.

“Fuck, baby,” you whimper into his skin.

He gently kisses your forehead, whispering into your hairline, “S’okay, baby girl. You can take it.” You cry out as his balls press against your ass, his cock so fucking deep inside of you.

You murmur, “You’re so big. Just give me a minute, kay?” He hums into your forehead, sweetly kissing it and working down to your lips. You sigh into his kiss, your noses brushing as he pulls back. His eyes find yours, mesmerised by the warm glow of your skin from the fireplace, that rosy flush.

He mutters, “You ready now?” You hum, nodding. He pecks the tip of your nose before drawing himself out and rocking back into you slowly. You both moan at the feeling, the stretch of your hole wrapping around him. Your eyes gaze at the point where he’s lost inside of you. You look back up, finding him already staring at you.

He fucks you so tenderly you’re uncertain if that term can be used to describe what’s happening right now. The sounds of your sex rival that of the downpour outside. You squeeze his hand as he hits that pleasurable spot, your eyes rolling back from how good it feels.

He lets go of your hand to tilt your head back to him, needing to see that open-mouthed, lust-hazed look on your face. You sigh in pleasure as the light and shadows dance across your bodies, painting your love-making on the cabin walls. You whimper his name pathetically.

He presses a soft kiss to your lips, groaning, “I know, princess.” He draws out of you completely, earning a whine from you. He tuts at you and manoeuvres your bodies so that you’re sitting on his lap.

You lean down and kiss him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. You moan into the kiss, stretching up as he aligns himself with your entrance. You slowly lower down onto him, whimpering into his lips while he groans.

You bounce up and down at him at a leisurely pace, taking your time to feel every inch of his length. You sigh as his cock twitches, pre-cum spilling into you. Katsuki cups your cheek in one hand while the other tightens around your waist.

He grunts, “Doin’ so good f’me, baby.” You moan, fists clenching as more pre-cum leaks into you.

“I’m so glad-I found you, Suki,” you mewl. He groans lowly against your jaw, leaving tender kisses there. You drop your hips a little harder, a little faster than before.

“Fuck,” he growls in your ear. Your tits bounce as you do, the most beautiful sight your knight has ever seen. He grabs a handful of one of your breasts and sucks on your nipple before moving both hands to your hips and helping you ride him.

“I-I m-missed you,” you whimper. Your back arches as you feel those tingles gathering in your cunt, your orgasm building every single time your clit slaps his scarred skin as you bounce on his cock.

You cry out, “Katsuki! Fuck, Katsuki! Baby, I’m gonna cum-fuck!” He pulls off your nipple and pulls you into a passionate kiss. You mewl into his lips loudly, squirming in his hold as you feel the knot in your stomach tighten.

Pulling away, you scream out as you orgasm. Your back arches so deeply you know you’re gonna feel it in the morning, but you don’t care. The pleasure shuddering through your body is unlike any other. And it’s only heightened as your love groans loudly, his hot seed shooting into you. It coats your walls thickly, forming a ring around your hole from him fucking his cream into you.

You’re panting hard as you sink down on his cock. Your forehead presses against his as you both catch your breath, trying to process what the fuck just happened.

After a few minutes, you chuckle lazily before kissing Katsuki sloppily. His saliva dribbles down your chin when you part, red eyes full of so many emotions (surely mirroring your own). You call his name softly, but he shakes his head and presses another soft kiss to your lips.

He lays you two down and holds you close, pulling the warm blankets up to your chin. You sigh into his side, so happy you could purr from just being with him. From experiencing such intimacy with the man, you’ve been yearning for for a long time.

You murmur, “Suki, I love you. Please, don’t leave me.” Your hold on his torso tightens, and you nuzzle the side of his pec with your nose. He laughs lightly, the sound reverberating warmly in his chest.

“M’not going anywhere, alright? N’ neither are you. You’re all mine now,” he mutters. You hum into him, soaking up his heat and affection and the knowledge that you’re all his.

He chuckles lowly, “Let’s take five, yea?” You nod, peppering his skin with sweet kisses. You close your eyes; no other words or actions are necessary at this moment. You ease your body into him, shifting slightly and getting comfortable.

Running out into a storm was not your best decision, but the man it led you to is.

[star-spacer]

You Don't Need to Try to Belong

Sorry if the tone near the end doesn't quite match the rest of the fic something happened in the middle of me writing it and like all good writers do I used this as an emotional outlet. But hey, who doesn't want Marco to hold them amirite? This was meant to be shorter, but the rest of the crew hijacked it like the pirates they were.

Phoenix Marco x Reader (fluff, near-death experiences, dash of sickfic & hurt/comfort)

As the unofficial ‘Fixer-Upper’, the jack-of-all-trades of the Whiteboard Pirates with a helpful Devil Fruit to boot, you tend to overwork yourself helping any issues that arises. Sometimes at the detriment of your own health.

You don’t think you’d ever get used to seeing the sun rise over the horizon from your vantage point up in the Moby’s crow’s nest. 

The gentle blush of pink peeking over the horizon, watercolor-soft as the veil of the night pulled back. Blackness faded away to reveal the glittering waves of the ocean stretched seemingly infinitely all around you. It was a freedom given to you by the Whitebeard Pirates, one you could never repay.

Sunrise also had the added bonus of signifying the end of your lookout ship, the promise of your bed waiting for you.

Below you, on the deck, the morning bell rang out, signifying the official end of the night shift’s work. The hubbub of the ship coming to life stirred up as you climbed down the mast, seeing the specks of the other lookouts doing the same at the other crow’s nests. A few members glanced your way as your feet hit the deck, and you returned the greetings thrown at you, albeit with slightly less energy.

Your stomach growled as the aroma of food from the galley drifted over when you entered the halls. However, you didn’t join the others for breakfast like normal and instead went deeper into the Moby’s bowels to where the crew’s quarters were. You’d been bothered by a persistent headache all night, and you knew that going into the noisy mess hall would no doubt make it worse.

The shared cabin was thankfully empty for the most part, and you made it over to your hammock before collapsing into it and tugging the blanket up to your chin before blacking out, looking forward to the long, uninterrupted rest you’d get.

“WAKE UP!”

You grunted in pain as you were upended from your hammock, bedding and all falling down with you. Blearily, you sat up and squinted at the pair of legs in front of you, smacking your dry lips. You didn’t know how long it was since you’d fallen asleep, but you knew it was not long enough.

A freckled face and messy black hair invaded your vision, the inquisitive expression of one Portgas D. Ace showing who exactly it was that woke you up.

“Hey! Got a moment?”

Even though it was phrased as a question, you still found yourself forcibly dragged to your feet, his grip on your wrist the sole thing that kept you moving as you stumbled through the halls and out into the deck. Sunlight pierced your half-closed eyes, and you winced, squeezing them shut as you trusted Ace not to run you both into something. You two finally paused and you cracked your eyes open to show that you’d stopped in front of Striker, in all her dripping glory as she hung hoisted up over the deck.

Ace finally released your wrist, sheepishly rubbing the back of his head. “Sorry to drag ya all the to fix up the Striker for me? I’d ask Blenheim, but he’s with the other fleet right now.”

At the request of a fixing, you forcefully shook off your sleepiness. Tiredness still lingered, and that damn headache still nipped at your temple, but you pushed it all back. Alert eyes assessed the damage in front of you as you tuned into Ace’s chattering.

“I got cornered by a few small Marine scout boats and had to take the Striker through some sorta reef. Thought I got through it fine, but I guess the coral—”

A sudden thud.

You paused in your observation to haul Ace out of the way of the crew and lay him out straight before returning to the Striker. True to his word, the bottom of Striker’s hull was deeply scratched when you bent down to take a look at it. The wood was gouged in a few points, areas where leaks would’ve no doubt let in water. It was a miracle Ace made it back. You hummed at the thought, making a note to get Pops to talk with the young man about his recklessness.

The Striker swayed gently from the lines holding her up as you pushed gently, tilting your head to catch the sound of sloshing water in her bowels. It wouldn’t do to mend everything only to have her rot from the inside out by trapped moisture. When nothing came back, you nodded approvingly and crouched down, hand reaching up to touch the largest of the holes. There was a dim glow before the wood seemed to seal up wherever you dragged your fingers over it, returning to its previous pristine state. You did the same for the others, each spark and glow only tugging at the tiredness in your bones. It was light work, but you were still exhausted by the time you finished, opting to take a seat by Ace where he lay. You were only beginning to blink off into sleep when the young man sat back up.

“—scratched ‘er up real bad and—Oh.”

Ace blinked at the newly repaired full before turning to you, sending a thousand-kilowatt smile your way.

“F’xed it,” you mumbled, shooting him a thumbs up. Your head tilted to the side and you dozed off. While your Devil Fruit, the Mend Mend Fruit was extremely useful, it did take a toll on you.

Strong arms once again wretched you to your feet, and you squawked as Ace bodily hauled you off, cheerful as ever.

“Thanks so much! Let’s go get some food. I’m starvin’’”

You went limp in the newly minted commander’s hold, resigning yourself to your fate as he dragged you along to the mess. There were a few others there who were the stragglers from lunchtime.

Ace shifted you to drape over his shoulder like a sack as he assembled a plate for the two of you. The world flipped around as he set you down at a table, and you murmured your thanks, dragging heavy limbs to your utensils to force a few bites down.

A call of your name and a harried-looking Thatch halted right by your table, relief on his face. “There you are. Glad I could catch you. Think you can get that pipe done for us now?”

Your eyes widened as you straightened. Right. You were supposed to have stopped by this morning after breakfast to help fix up the leak in the piping that the division didn’t have the supplies to replace. “Oh shit. I’m so sorry, Thatch.”

Shooting to your feet, you pushed your plate to Ace and quickly set towards the galley, Thatch on your tail. The Fourth Division greeted you, wrapping up post-meal duties as they avoided one particular section in specific. Someone already peeled away the wooden boards to expose the problematic pipe, and rags were stuffed along the spaces in the wall and sprawled on the floor. As you approached, you noticed that there was something on the pipe. You squinted at the stain and sniffed.

“Is this–Is this dried molasses?!?” 

Thatch whistled and adverted his eyes under your scrutinizing stare. “We had to make do.”

You exhaled despairingly, pressing your fingers into the sticky mess. It was concerning how often you all ran short on miscellaneous supplies, despite being an Emperor’s crew. A glow sparked up, and you sealed the gap.

The sticky, dark substance stuck to your fingers as you withdrew them, and your stomach suddenly churned. Rushing to an empty sink, you quickly washed it off as you called back, “I’m not cleaning that.”

“Fair,” Thatch said. He withdrew a rag from his chef apron. “Thanks for this.”

You hummed as you exited the galley.

Somehow, those two actions seemed to unleash a catalyst upon your peace. The promise of rest seemed further and further away as you were directed all over the ship, fixing this odd thing or that odd part. Your headache never went away, only getting worse as nausea was added to the list.

Skull called out his thanks as you bolted away from him, clapping a hand over your mouth as you beelined for the railing. You made it just in time to empty your stomach over the side. The only food in your stomach—the meager bits you managed to shovel down before Thatch interrupted—splashed sadly into the water.

Shivering, you closed your eyes to block out the sight of the swaying waters below you. The railing dug into your stomach as you slumped down into it. Everything felt hot and cold at once, and you admitted to yourself that maybe it was time to lie down. No more using your Devil Fruit for today.

As you were straightening up, a scuffle broke out from behind you. It was two recruits, roughhousing or fighting, you couldn’t care either way. But before you could move, one of them stumbled and slammed into you. Your eyes widened as your grip slipped, and because of the way you were leaning over the railing, you felt gravity tugging you to the wrong side as you pitched overboard.

Your wide eyes were fixed on the spot where you just were, too stunned to make a peep. There was a shout of alarm on board.

It was never fun falling from the Moby Dick. Its massive size meant nothing less than a painful impact, and even a few broken bones if you were unlucky.

But you wouldn’t call yourself lucky either way if you fell over the Moby in the first place.

You slammed into the waves.

The first thing that hit you was the pain. Like crashing into solid brick, your back ached from bearing the brunt of the impact. Then the insidious cold seeped in, past your clothes, past your skin, until everything went numb. Bubbles swirled past you in a dizzying spectacle, and it would’ve been pretty if not for the death grip of the weight pulling down on your limbs.

Motes of bubbles passed your lips, but you had the foresight to not open your mouth, to not breathe. But that was all you could do as you sunk deeper, black edging into your vision.

They always said that drowning was a horrible way to go, the choking of water in your lungs. But to you, it felt soft. Like the welcoming of the tiredness you’d carried around all day.

It’s so easy,

Your eyes fluttered, lips cracking open, allowing the saltwater to rush in.

You could get the rest you wanted.

You didn’t feel the arms clamping around your waist to drag you upward.

But you did notice as the two of you breached the surface, water spewing out of your mouth as you coughed. It burned going up, and you clung limply to the form you now identified to be Rakuyo as he stretched up his other arm. “Bring us up!”

He crushed you to his chest as the two of you shot up from the water, hauled up by his living flail. You both landed on the deck again, him on his feet while you were still in his hold. However, that quickly changed as your body spasmed.

“Woah there!” The man exclaimed, quickly crouching down so you wouldn’t meet a second painful impact if you spilled out of his arms.

“Someone grab Marco!”

Quickly, you were set on your side. Just in time as you retched. More seawater (seriously you don’t know how you swallowed so much) came up, through your nose, through your mouth. Warm hands rubbed your back as you gathered the strength to prop yourself up, as the spasms continued. It would’ve been mortifying to have the crew see you like this if you hadn’t seen these same full-grown men projectile vomit their dinner after a few too many drinks. As of right now, you were busy trying not to feel like death warmed over. Someone’s oversized sash fell around your shoulders as they used it to dry you off of the cold water.

“What’s going on, yoi?”

Marco’s voice was like a balm to your raw nerves as indistinct voices murmured over your head. Someone draped something soft over you (a towel?) and you sneezed.

Like the world’s most pathetic, bedraggled, wet cat, you were picked up from underneath your arms and passed over to warmer ones.

“H-Hol’ on,” you slurred, getting wrapped up in the fabric around your shoulders. Your head lolled against a warm chest. “Might throw—throw up.”

Marco shushed you. “Don’t worry about it, yoi.”

Blue and gold flames fluttered to life around you, your aches and coldness fading away. However, you still felt that bone-deep tiredness, and your lungs still rattled wetly. 

“I’m taking you to the infirmary. We have to monitor your lungs, just in case.”

Aw, man. You hated to be a bother.

Weakly wriggling in his grip, you voiced your protests, “‘M fine. L-Lemme jus’ go sleep it off.”

“You can rest in the infirmary. I healed your superficial injuries, but I can’t fix the drain your Devil Fruit already pulled from you or expel any potential water. Don’t fight me on this, yoi.”

You let out an unintelligible noise, sagging deeper into his hold. The hubbub of the ship fell away into muffled peace as he entered the infirmary, greeting the nurses there.

“Goodness! What happened?” Lisa asked as she pulled out more towels and a pair of spare clothes.

“We had a tumble off the deck,” Marco said, setting you down on a bed in the corner and stepping back for the nurse to let her set the clothes down by your side. He grabbed the privacy curtain, readying to pull it close as he asked you, “Think you can get changed, yoi? Lisa or another nurse can assist if you think you’ll need help.”

You looked down at your shaking hands, then to the set of folded clothes beside you. It was a simple enough shirt and pants, nondescript for their versatility. “I’ll be f-f-f-fine.”

The shiver that broke your words into a stutter wasn’t convincing, but Marco didn’t push it as he pulled the curtains closed around you to give you a bit of privacy. His voice came from the other side, “Let me know when you’re done, yoi.”

It took you much longer than you’d like to admit, wrangling yourself into the change of clothes, but just when Marco began shuffling on the other side of the curtain, you managed to pull the collar of the shirt over your head with your stiff limb and wrapped your hair in a towel.

“I’m d-do-done.”

The curtains were pulled open again and Marco stepped through. In the span of time it took for you to change, the man had collected equipment of his own. His stethoscope hung around his neck, and he carried a blanket rolled up under an arm and a thermometer.

“Just a precaution, yoi,” he said when he saw you eyeing his getup. You took the blanket when he handed it to you. The back of his hand came up to rest on your forehead and he hummed as he began putting on his stethoscope. “I want to listen to your lungs and keep you here to rest up.”

Letting out a put-upon sigh, you tilted your head back, staying still as Marco pressed the cold metal of the chest piece into your skin, expression calm as he focused on your breathing. After a few moments, he pulled away and tugged off the instrument.

“Your breathing sounds alright from what I could tell, yoi. But your temperature’s a little out of its normal range. How are you feeling, yoi?”

With the assessment done, you pulled away and curled up on the bed, tugging the blanket up. “Blegh, fine. I’m just gonna rest my eyes for a bit.”

“You do that, yoi,” Marco said, patting your shoulder. “I’ll watch over you.”

Letting out a huff, you allowed the lull of sleep to finally pull you under.

***

Warm hands on your forehead and cheek stirred you from the fretful slumber you were in, and you murmured, trying to pull away from the disturbance. Your breath whistled when you sighed, nose closed by a painful pressure and the rattle when you breathed seemed more prominent than ever.

There was a quiet tut before they came back with greater insistence, pulling you into a sitting position. You resisted, but your limbs felt leaden when you tried to lift them up. A slow, pounding pain pulsed in your temples on top of that, intensifying when you cracked your eyes open. You squeezed them shut again, but that peek was enough to see the slight chastisement on Marco’s expression as you identified him to be the one taking care of you.

His voice was low, kept to a manageable level that wouldn’t upset your head as he said, “Looks like you’re getting a fever, yoi. That’s strange.”

Blue flickered through your closed eyes as a gentle wash of his flames coursed through you. The pounding in your head lessened

“Tried my best to alleviate some of your symptoms, but since most of them aren’t physical injuries, I don’t think helped much.”

“It’s fine,” you rasped, blinking the crustiness from your eyes as you sat up. “Thanks for tryin’”

He hummed, pulling away. “What I’m surprised about is that you’re getting so sick from a dip in the waters. As far as I’m aware, the waters in this part of the Grand Line should be temperate enough to avoid that issue, yoi. Unless…” He narrowed his eyes at you, suspicion flashing in his gaze as he picked up on your guilty air. “You were on deck at a time where you would usually be asleep, yoi. Why weren’t you resting?” 

“Listen,” you began. “You’re not allowed to scold anybody involved in it…”

Marco sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Why do I feel like I already know who it is, yoi?”

“Ace took me out to help fix Striker,” you agreed, ignoring Marco’s muttered ‘I knew it’. “Then we swung by the galley where there was something I forgot to fix for Thatch. Some of the crew caught me about, and it kind of escalated from there.”

The way the man tilted his head was distinctively avian. “Now, why would you do that, yoi? We’ve discussed using your Devil Fruit when you’re tired.”

You pursed your lips and adverted your eyes, shrugging. “I dunno. I couldn’t just say no.”

His eyes softened. “You know… You’re deserving of rest when you’re tired. You don’t need to bend over backward to please us. You don’t have to prove anything.”

Unbidden, you felt tears spring up in your eyes, and you blamed it on the mess running through your system, pulling away so you could wipe them.

However, Marco’s hands came up to hold your face, thumb wiping away the bit of saltiness that spilled over your lashes.

“Silly love,” Marco murmured as he tugged you into his chest and enveloped you.

Pliantly allowing it to happen, your face ended up buried in his chest. His hand rubbed your back comfortingly as he shifted to take a seat and pulled you into his lap. You sank deeper into him, instinctively relaxing at the soothing warmth he emitted.

“Nobody would think less of you for resting. There’s no payment to be on the crew beyond what you can safely provide. And you’ve done plenty, are doing plenty. Pops is not going to kick you out if you don’t repair Skull’s necklace or somebody’s sandals for the fiftieth time. You belong with us. We want you.”

You closed your eyes in embarrassment, hands coming up to cover your face. Marco’s chuckle jostled you a little bit, and the arm around your waist squeezed you, dragging you even closer to him. His flames flickered over you again, and you went boneless against him, hands dropping from your face. The ache in your chest that you didn’t even know you were carrying lightened with his presence.

“You just rest now, yoi. I’ll take care of you.”

You sighed, a trembling shaky thing. “Thank you, Marco.”

[wayward-dreamer]

I'll Be Home For Christmas

Pairing: Dean x F!Reader

Word count: 3,730

Summary: Dean resigns himself to the fact that his girlfriend has to miss out on Christmas with him, hard at work and trying to meet a deadline over the holidays, states away. He hopes she can make it.

Warnings: Swearing, slight angst, lots of fluff towards the end, smut: dirty talk, oral sex (f receiving), v fingering, unprotected p in v (wrap it up people), breeding kink if you squint, Dean being a domestic dream boyfriend.

A/N: Requested by @xlynnbbyx. I hope you like it! Happy reading everyone! Unbeta'd.

There’s nothing quite like coming home to a warm house, especially just as the chill of winter starts to set in. As Dean stepped into his home, scarf bundled around his neck and tucked into his long, black coat he was thankful that his home was well insulated, even when the heating wasn’t on. Snow was just beginning to fall, causing him to dust it off his shoulders and hair before he removed his coat, hanging it by the door on the rack along with his scarf. He slipped off his black loafers, turning the thermostat on as he walked into the kitchen. He shrugged off his suit jacket and draped it over the bar stool, making his way over to the fridge. He took out a bottle of beer, twisted the cap off and took a long swig, sitting in the bar stool with a heavy exhale.

He looked around the darkened house, the only light on in the kitchen, his eyes scanning over the photos on the wall. The only thing better than escaping the cold for warmth, was having the warmth of someone next to him. He smiled softly as he looked at his favorite photos of him and his girlfriend, wishing she had been there to greet him when he got back from work. It had been several months that hadn’t occurred, and he was starting to get sick of coming back to an empty nest. He took out his phone, checking the time and shaking his head when he realized it was too late to call her. He might just have to try for your lunch break the next day.

Y/N had been offered a new position at her company, which came in the form of a relocation for 10 months. It had been hard in the first few weeks to be apart, but they had made it work with her coming home every other weekend, or him flying in to see her on the alternate ones. As things got busier for both of them that meant they had less freedom to do that. He had spent many sleepless nights in their bed, wishing she could be back in Kansas with him and not miles away in another state.

Now with just a week until Christmas, he had to live with the fact that she couldn’t come home for the holidays. She had broken the news to him a week prior, apologizing profusely as they had to work through the Christmas period to meet a deadline. As usual, he understood it was her job and she had responsibilities, but it just plain sucked that he wasn’t going to have her home to celebrate.

He just hoped that they had a better shot at New Years Eve.

“So we’re doing 24th dinner here, and presents in the morning and then 25th dinner at mom and dad’s,” Sam explained, passing the box of orange chicken to Dean across the table.

“Sounds good,” Dean muttered, taking some of the chicken out onto his plate. “I gotta go to Benny’s after I’m done with work, but I’ll be here after that.”

Sam nodded, as he took the noodles from Eileen. “What time is Y/N flying in?”

Dean pursed his lips as he looked between both of them, totally forgetting the fact that he hadn’t told them yet. “Uh, she’s actually not gonna be here for Christmas. Her team’s working through to meet a deadline and she can’t make it.”

“Seriously? She’s not going to be here?” Eileen signed, frowning as she watched Dean sit back in his chair.

“Yeah,” he shrugged. “I mean, yeah it sucks that this’ll be our first time away from each other during Christmas, but she’s gotta work.”

“You’re shockingly cool about this,” Sam stated.

Dean huffed, shaking his head. “What do you want me to say, Sammy? You want me to say I want her here for Christmas, because it’s already been 5 months without her being home? Yeah, that’s what I want, okay? I really want that, but it’s her job, man. I can’t argue with that.”

Shoving a huge forkful of food meant the conversation was over, but as they continued with dinner and moved onto talking about other things, Sam couldn’t get the thought of Y/N not coming home for Christmas out of his mind.

Maybe he had to use his persuasive skills thanks to his job for this situation too.

If there was one place Y/N didn’t want to be so close to Christmas, it was work.

Relocating to Philadelphia had been exciting at first, even if she was sad about leaving her friends and family behind in Lawrence. She knew 10 months was going to be a lot, but she hoped with all the work that needed to be done, that time would fly by. However, it had 5 months of ridiculous hours, and only getting to see her boyfriend once every few weeks, if they could manage it. The work was fine, she was good at her job, but she never loved it. It was only meant to be temporary when she was back at the Kansas City branch, but when her boss asked her to relocate she hoped that it was just a way to prove herself and get back home sooner. Maybe even get a promotion because of it. Then hearing that she couldn’t travel back for the holidays was the tasteless icing on a shitty cake.

She just prayed they could meet the deadline by the weekend and she could still try and make it before it was too late.

Y/N finished typing up the latest report that needed to be collated with the others, emailing it to the administrative assistant of her department. Checking the time, she sighed in relief that it was just after 1pm and she could finally eat. Picking up her purse, she walked out of her office, her heels clacking against the wooden floors as she passed the assistant’s desk.

“Hey, Riley. I just emailed you the latest report, can you make 10 copies of those and have them on my desk by the end of lunch?” she asked, slinging her tote over her shoulder.

“Sure,” Riley replied, blandly as she ignored her.

Y/N closed her eyes, breathed in deep before she exhaled, trying to let go of her frustration. She looked at the younger blonde woman, plastering on a polite smile. “Please. In half an hour.”

She walked away before she caught Riley no doubt rolling her eyes, making her way to the elevators. She went down a few floors to the cafeteria, opting for lunch inside rather than enduring the cold and finding a cafe to go to. She didn’t have the energy or willpower for that today. As she sat down with her salad and water, she checked her texts and other emails she hadn’t gotten to yet. She scrolled mindlessly on Instagram, liking a post every now and then as she shoved food into her mouth. Her thumb lingered on one post, a sad smile pulling at her lips when she saw her boyfriend and his brother and sister-in-law just taking a casual selfie at family dinner, something she also would’ve been a part of had she been there. Double tapping and moving on after the heart appeared, she flinched as her phone buzzed in her hand, startling her. She recovered quickly, seeing Sam’s name pop up on the screen.

“Hey, Sam,” she answered, pressing the phone to her ear.

“Hey! How’s Philly treating you?” he asked, no doubt smiling.

“Just making me wish I was somewhere tropical right now,” she replied, glancing out the huge glass windows at the bleak sky.

She heard his boisterous laugh through the speaker, making her smile softly. “Well, it’s not much better here in Kansas, but we’re getting through it. Missing those gingerbread cookies of yours, though.”

“Oh, trust me, I’m missing the fact that I haven’t made them this year,” she admitted. “And I miss y’all enjoying them, too.”

“So… maybe we can expect a small batch at least if you swing by for just Christmas Eve and Christmas Day?” he asked, suggestively.

She sighed heavily, shaking her head. “I don’t know, Sam. I mean, I really want to and I’m working overtime just trying to get stuff done so that I can hopefully make it in time, but I don’t even know if we’ll be done by Tuesday at this point.”

Sam was quiet for a moment before she heard his soft timbre.

“Look, Y/N, I know that it’s your job and if you really can’t make it work then I completely understand… but if there’s a way you can, then just know that at least my brother’s not going to be brooding at the dinner table.”

She huffed a small laugh at that. She knew Dean was just being supportive of her and she loved him for it, but she wouldn’t have blamed him for being upset about this unfortunate circumstance. She was upset about it, knowing she’d much rather be with all of them.

“Okay, Sam. I’m gonna try like hell to be there,” she stated, firmly.

“Good. See you soon,” Sam ended the call with what she hoped was his words to God’s ears.

Y/N sat back in chair, fingers tapping against the screen of his phone, causing it to light up and show her she still had fifteen minutes before she had to head up to her desk. While she had hoped this relocation would be a way to come home to promotion, it was that she wished she could find her way home before kicking this job to the curb. She didn’t know how much longer she could handle being away from everyone, or how much longer she could endure the work that gave her absolutely no joy. Her phone buzzed again, this a text from her boss in all caps, reading: BE UP IN 5!!!

She glared down at the message, shaking her head as she considered the fact that she just felt like a pack mule carrying the entire load of the work and getting nothing in return. She had been there 6 years and barely had anything to show for it. She breathed in deep, closed her eyes and when she eventually opened them again, she knew what she needed to do. Something she should’ve done a long time ago.

When she got to her boss’s office, she walked in and was greeted by his scowling face barking orders at her. They went in one ear and out the other as she sat down calmly in the chair in front of his desk, waiting for him to finish before she spoke.

“There’s actually something we need to talk about first.”

Snowfall had begun and was sticking to the ground by the time Dean got home from his last day of work until after the new year began.

After leaving and making a quick stop at Benny’s to catch up before he left for Louisiana, he was intending to go straight to Sam’s, but he decided to go home first and change. Truly he didn’t care anymore if he was a dishevelled mess after work, but his mom would’ve had a few things to say and he didn’t want to deal with that today. It was Christmas Eve, and all he wanted to do was eat, drink and not think about the fact that Y/N was all the way in Philadelphia. He kept his mind occupied with the thought of food and alcohol, and not his beautiful girlfriend that he hadn’t seen in months. He missed her too much and he supposed for the sake of everyone in his family he should at least try not to dwell on the fact that she wasn’t there with them, to be more tolerable for the next few days.

He walked into the house, closing the door behind him and blocking out the cold. He frowned as he felt the house was warmer than usual, which meant he probably didn’t turn the heat off before leaving in the morning. Shaking his head at his own forgetfulness, he took off his coat and scarf, hung it up and was about to slip his loafers off when he heard a clattering sound from the kitchen. His jaw clenched as he stilled himself, wondering if he was just hearing things but then he heard the oven open and close, making him realize that the house was wafting with the smell of ginger and cinnamon. He took slow, tentative steps towards the arch to the living room and kitchen area, his heart beating rapidly in his chest until he saw the intruder he thought had broken very easily into his home wasn’t an intruder at all.

“Hey, baby,” Y/N greeted him with her signature beaming smile, placing a tray of her famous gingerbread cookies on the kitchen counter.

His eyes widened as he looked around the room before he focused on her. “I’m hallucinating, aren’t I?”

“I don’t know whether to laugh or be insulted,” she teased, leaning her hands on the edge of the bench.

A smirk crept up on his face as he stared at her, taking in her beautiful face. “Fuck.”

He rushed over just as she skipped out of the kitchen and met him halfway, jumping up and wrapping her arms around him. She squealed as his arms wrapped tight around her waist, spinning her around as she buried her face into his neck. He kissed her shoulder, her neck, her jaw before looking deep into her eyes, confirming that this wasn’t a dream and pressing a searing kiss to her lips.

“Okay, okay, wait,” he muttered, pulling away but his face was still close to hers. “How the fuck are you here? I thought you had to work all-”

“Well, it turns out that I couldn’t take one more day in that place and being away from you,” she said, her hand combing through his short hair. “So, after a very brief but convincing phone call from your brother I went to my boss and asked if I could come home.”

“Damn, that was generous of him,” he stated, holding her tight. “I thought he was a hardass.”

“Oh, he is and he made a big noise about me leaving before the deadline, so I quit.”

“What?” he asked, frowning. “Babe, wait. Why would you do that?”

“Because I already had one foot out the door these last few months and I couldn’t spend another day doing something I didn’t love,” she explained, pecking his lips. “Plus, I missed you too much.”

“Y/N,” he shook his head, comprehending everything she just told him. “You gotta be totally sure about this, ‘cause-”

She cut him off with a soft kiss to his lips, looking deep into his eyes. “I am.”

“Fuck, I missed you so much, sweetheart,” he whispered, leaning his forehead against hers. “I guess I owe Sam, huh?”

“Yes, and I owe him a whole batch of cookies just for him,” she chuckled, pointing her thumb behind her to the kitchen.

He hummed as he kissed her once, twice as he walked back towards the staircase near the front of the house. “That’s gonna have to wait until I’m done with you, though.”

“Dean, I have to put another batch in!” she exclaimed as he carried her upstairs.

“Later,” he breathed, his gaze intense as he looked into her eyes. “Right now we got a lot of time to make up for.”

“We’ll be late,” she mumbled between kisses as he moved towards their bed.

“They’ll live.”

She giggled as they quickly stripped themselves of their clothes before he helped her onto the bed. She laid down and pulled him with her, wrapping herself around him as he kissed her, roughly. Taking her hands in his, he moved them above her head, drifting down and leaving a trail of kisses along her body. Time apart hadn’t hindered the effect that he had on her, her legs immediately falling open as he nipped and licked along her soft skin. She sighed as his tongue found the swollen nub at the apex of her thighs, her fingers combing into his locks and keeping him in place. Soft moans gained volume as he continued to pleasure her with his talented mouth.

“Dean, oh god,” she moaned, loudly, throwing her head back. “Fuck, I missed this.”

He chuckled as he pulled away slightly, looking up at her. “Gotta make sure you didn’t forget it.”

“As if I ever could,” she sighed, meeting his gaze.

He continued his ministrations, groaning at the feel and taste of her against his tongue as he circled the bundle of nerves. He slipped two fingers into her, a sharp cry escaping her as he wasted no time and set a quick pace, finding that sweet spot inside with each thrust. Her arousal grew as he kept going, the familiar heat pooling deep in her core and she knew she was close. She hadn’t felt this way in a long time, hadn’t felt him in such a long time and she found herself growing impatient.

“Dean, please,” she pleaded, pushing herself up on her elbows. “I’m so close, baby, please.”

She gripped his hair roughly between her fingers as he sped up, his tongue flicking over her clit expertly. Her eyes squeezed shut as she felt the burning knot in her stomach wind tighter, his name falling from her lips in a loud whimper once she reached the blissful peak. Her wetness coated his tongue and fingers as he slowly withdrew from her, shifting up and pressing his lips to hers. She moaned at the taste of herself against him, clinging to him as he gathered her in his embrace.

“Fuck me,” she ordered, her lustful gaze meeting his. “Now, right now, please…”

“Don’t gotta tell me twice, babe,” he grinned.

He took hold of his hard shaft, notching himself to her entrance and in one quick motion, buried himself inside her soft walls. Her mouth fell open as a long moan escaped her, her fingers digging into his shoulders as he pulled out slightly, sliding into her wet heat again and setting a languid rhythm to his thrusts.

“Fuck, sweetheart, you feel so good,” he groaned, nipping at her jaw. “Missed feeling this sweet little pussy around my cock.”

Their faces were close as they gazed into each other’s eyes, neither wanting to look away considering how long it had been without this type of connection. She shifted her hips to meet his, the pace not being enough to satisfy her in that moment. She wanted more, needed more.

“Harder, Dean,” she gasped, pulling him closer by his shoulders. “Fuck me harder, wanna feel it for days…”

“Yeah? You wanna feel my dick deep inside you, huh?” he husked, low and rough.

She whined with desperation, the rumble of his voice making her clench around him. One hand slid down his muscular back, squeezing the curve of his pert ass. “Yeah, fuck me like you missed me, baby. Come on.”

She got exactly what she wanted as he slammed into her, a shrieking moan falling from her lips, feet locked as she wrapped herself around him to keep him right where he was. He pounded into her, the head of his cock pressing against that spot that made her toes curl, that caused her moans to grow louder with each stroke.

“Oh, fuck, that’s it,” she whimpered, her eyes half closed in bliss. “Right there, Dean, feel so fucking good inside me.”

“So perfect, baby,” he whispered against her lips. “So fucking perfect.”

She grabbed his face in both of her hands and pulled him into a passionate kiss, their lips fused together as he continued to move within her. He felt her slick walls clench around him, her impending release as close as his.

She hummed as she looked up at him, her thumb stroking his jaw. “So close, Dean…”

He smirked as his hand drifted down between their bodies, his fingers circling her clit and making her eyes widen as she clung to him. Her breath stuttered as he moved them faster, in time with the hard drive of his hips against her, the heat deep in her core growing. With another thrust, her walls contracted around him as she came undone, a sharp cry of his name from between her lips as her arousal covered his shaft. He knew he wasn’t going to last much longer as his hips faltered, his cock throbbing inside her as he felt a heat curling in his belly.

“Cum inside me, baby,” her soft voice encouraged, her eyes sparkling with love for him. “Fill me up, I wanna feel it.”

A guttural moan rumbled in his chest as he slammed harder into her, his rhythm sloppier as he felt himself about to reach that perfect release. A shaky grunt escaped him as he finally shattered, pushing into her as far as possible. She moaned softly in his ear as she felt spurts of his seed flood her, content with being filled by him. He rolled his hips into her, the need to get his come as deep as he could inside her overwhelming in that moment.

He slowly dropped down on top of her, his head falling on her chest as her fingers combed his hair. They breathed heavily, coming down from the high they hadn’t experienced in a long time. She bit her lip as she stared up at the ceiling, a small giggle bubbling up through her lips. He lifted his head, resting his chin on her as he looked into her eyes.

“What?” His voice was low but rough from their activity.

She shook her head, smiling down at him. “Just… I’m so happy to be home. I love you.”

“I love you, too, sweetheart,” he husked, kissing her chest. “Best Christmas ever.”

She beamed, her lips resting against his forehead as she sighed. She had never been happier about a decision in her life, and she was glad she came home before it was too late to celebrate the holidays.

“Best Christmas ever.”

[pomegranatelifethis]

Father

I don't like it but let it stay here anyway

The summer of your sixteenth year was a golden cage, its bars forged from endless days and suffocating solitude. The city hummed with life—children shrieking in the streets, ice cream trucks chiming their siren songs, the air thick with the scent of blooming jasmine and sun-baked asphalt. But for you, it was a season of shadows, each day stretching into the next with a relentless, aching emptiness. You were Miguel O’Hara’s daughter, a fact that should have tethered you to something solid, something real. Instead, it left you adrift, a ghost in a world that refused to see you.

Home was a fortress of silence, its walls lined with your father’s absence. Miguel was a titan, a Spider-Man whose life was a tapestry of dimensions and dangers, his mind a labyrinth of anomalies and multiversal threads. To him, you were a faint outline, a quiet presence he barely registered. You’d watch him in his lab, the glow of holographic displays casting sharp angles across his face, his voice clipped as he barked orders to Lyla, his AI assistant. You’d sit at the dinner table, your fork scraping against the plate, waiting for him to look at you, to ask about your day, to notice the way your shoulders slumped under an invisible weight. But his eyes were always elsewhere—on screens, on missions, on a universe that didn’t include you.

“Dad,” you’d ventured once, your voice a fragile thread as you stood in the doorway of his lab. “Can we talk? Just for a minute?”

He’d barely glanced up, his fingers flying over a console, his brow furrowed with the weight of a collapsing dimension. “Not now, mija,” he’d said, his tone sharp with distraction. “I’m in the middle of something critical.”

The words stung, a quiet rejection that settled into your bones. You’d nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat, and backed away, the door clicking shut between you. That was the pattern—your attempts to reach him met with a wall of preoccupation, his focus always on the next crisis, the next world to save. You were his daughter, his flesh and blood, but you were also a stranger, a shadow he didn’t see.

Your room was your sanctuary, a small corner of the world where you could breathe. The walls were plastered with sketches—cityscapes of towering spires and neon-lit streets, places you’d conjured from the fragments of your imagination. You’d spend hours hunched over your sketchbook, your pencil scratching out dreams of freedom, of swinging through the air like the heroes your father spoke of. You’d hum old songs, ones your mother used to sing before she was gone, your voice soft and trembling, as if afraid to disturb the stillness. Your bed was a nest of blankets, a place where you could curl up and pretend the world didn’t exist. But even there, the loneliness crept in, a cold hand wrapping around your heart.

Summer stripped away the structure of school, leaving you to wander the city alone. Your sneakers scuffed against cracked sidewalks, your backpack slung over one shoulder, a sketchbook and a half-empty water bottle your only companions. The other kids your age moved in bright, noisy packs, their laughter a blade that cut through the air. You weren’t one of them. You never had been. They didn’t shove you or steal your money anymore—summer had dissolved the daily rituals of cruelty—but their indifference was its own kind of violence. They looked through you, their eyes sliding past as if you were a smudge on the world’s canvas. You were invisible, and it hurt worse than any bruise.

You tried to fill the days, to stitch together a life from the scraps of your solitude. You’d sit in the park, sketching the way sunlight dappled through the trees, the shadows shifting like your own restless thoughts. You’d linger in the library, losing yourself in stories of heroes who saved the day, their courage a stark contrast to the fragility you carried. But the stories always ended, and the heroes never looked like you. They were bold, bright, unbreakable—everything you weren’t. You were a girl who flinched at sudden noises, who checked the locks on her door twice, who felt like she was drowning in her own skin.

The weight of your worthlessness grew heavier with each passing day. You’d lie awake at night, staring at the ceiling, the darkness pressing against your chest like a living thing. *Why am I here?* you’d wonder, the question a knife twisting in your gut. You wanted to be someone—someone who mattered, someone who was seen. But the world seemed to conspire against you, whispering that you were nothing, that you’d always be nothing. You’d trace the scars on your heart—not physical, but just as real—each one a memory of a moment when you’d reached out and found no one there.

You tried to bridge the chasm between you and your father, clinging to the hope that he’d see you if you just tried harder. One evening, you found him in his lab, the air humming with the glow of his tech. You clutched a sketch you’d poured your heart into—a cityscape with a figure swinging between buildings, a tribute to him, to the hero he was. “Dad, I drew something,” you said, your voice small but trembling with hope. “Can you look? Please?”

He didn’t turn around. “Later,” he muttered, his fingers flying over a console. “I’m dealing with a collapse in Sector 7. It’s urgent.”

The sketch crumpled in your hands as you backed away, the rejection a physical ache that radiated through your chest. You’d stood there for a moment, waiting for him to change his mind, to glance back and see the hurt in your eyes. But he didn’t. You slipped out of the lab, the door hissing shut behind you, and the sketch found its way to the bottom of your drawer, buried like so many of your dreams. After that, you stopped trying. The hope that he’d notice you withered, leaving only a hollow ache in its place.

The summer wore on, each day a mirror of the last. You’d walk to the cliffs at the edge of the city, where the ocean roared below, its waves a symphony of chaos that matched the storm in your heart. You’d stand there for hours, the wind tugging at your hair, your toes curling over the rocky edge. The vastness of the sea called to you, its endless expanse a promise of escape. You imagined stepping off, letting the air carry you away—not to die, not exactly, but to be free, to shed the weight of a life that felt like a punishment. You wanted to be weightless, like the heroes in your father’s stories, like the girl you dreamed of being.

You’d close your eyes and picture her: a version of you who laughed without fear, who swung through the sky with grace and power, who was enough. She had your face but none of your pain. She was the person you’d never be, the one no one would ever know. You’d whisper her name to the wind, a secret you kept even from yourself, and the ocean would answer with its ceaseless roar.

The loneliness became a living thing, a shadow that followed you everywhere. You’d see families in the park, parents laughing with their children, and the sight would twist something deep inside you. You’d hear your neighbors call out to each other, their voices warm with connection, and you’d wonder why you were so easy to overlook. You’d pass by shop windows, catching your reflection—a girl with hollow eyes, a smile that never reached them—and you’d wonder who she was, this stranger wearing your face.

You stopped singing. The songs that had once been your solace felt like lies, their melodies mocking the emptiness of your days. You stopped sketching as much, the cities in your mind growing dim, their spires crumbling under the weight of your despair. You felt like a husk, a shell of a person, your insides scooped out and replaced with a void that grew larger with every breath.

One night, the sky was a bruise of crimson and violet, the horizon swallowing the last of the sun in a blaze of color. You stood at the cliff’s edge, your sketchbook tucked under your arm, its pages filled with dreams you’d never shared—cities that didn’t exist, heroes who didn’t save you. Your hair whipped across your face, tangled by the wind, and for a moment, you felt like you were part of the world, not apart from it. The ocean roared below, its voice a call you couldn’t ignore.

You thought of your father, his broad shoulders hunched over his work, unaware of the daughter slipping through his fingers. You thought of the kids who never invited you to their games, the neighbors who never asked your name, the world that had turned its back on you. You thought of the songs you’d sung, the stories you’d told yourself, the quiet strength you’d carried alone. You thought of the girl you’d wanted to be, the one who swung through the sky, who laughed and loved and lived.

You closed your eyes, and the wind was gentle, like a hand guiding you forward. The world would spin on without you, but in that moment, you were free. Your dreams, unspoken and unseen, floated with you, a constellation of what might have been. The ocean’s roar swallowed the sound of your final breath, and the sky held you as you let go.

---

Days later, Miguel O’Hara stood in your room, the silence a weight he couldn’t bear. Your bed was neatly made, your sketchbook open on the desk, its pages fluttering in a breeze from an open window. He picked it up, his hands trembling as he traced the lines of a city he didn’t recognize, a figure swinging through its heart with a grace he’d never seen in you. His chest tightened, a grief too vast to name, its edges sharp with the realization of all he’d missed.

He found your other sketches, tucked away in drawers and under books—hundreds of them, each one a piece of a world you’d built alone. Cities that soared, heroes who flew, a girl who looked like you but shone with a light he hadn’t noticed. He found notes in the margins, fragments of your thoughts: *I want to be enough. I want to be seen. I want to fly.* His knees buckled, and he sank to the floor, the sketchbook clutched to his chest, his sobs breaking the silence he’d let fester for too long.

The cliffs stood silent, the ocean’s roar a requiem for a girl no one had truly known. Miguel would carry the weight of his neglect for the rest of his days, a scar that no mission, no dimension, could erase. He’d saved countless worlds, but he hadn’t saved you.

Somewhere, in a universe he couldn’t reach, you were swinging through a city of your own making, weightless and free. Your laughter echoed in the wind, your sketches came to life, and you were everything you’d dreamed of being. But the cost of that freedom was a truth no one had heard in time: you had been enough, all along, and the world had failed to see it.

[astolfofo]

…I had a thought about the halovians(specifically sunday) and want to know peoples opinions. do u think he has nesting instincts? :3 thank u for listening to my ted talk.

hi (i did say i was gonna answer this 2 weeks ago unfortunately I forgot i'm so sorry.) But anyways, thank you for your ask, and 100% he does.

tw: non-con, forced pregnancy, dark content. truly the unedited sleep deprived trying to write.

Okay i finished writing this i know you didn't ask for acutal writing but i went ahead and did it anyways because why not hope u don't mind

also excuse the fact that thus was posted at 4am and I was half falling asleep already while writing this.

There were three days in your life that you could have called the worst.

The first one was the day when Sunday took your life away from you, and claimed you to be his "wife". The second was when first time he chose to be intimate. The third was when you got pregnant as a result.

Nothing had ever stuck to you like the day after that. You felt like washing the sheets until your hands would bleed. You wanted to submerge yourself in bleach until every fiber of your body burned, shriveled up, and died.

You wanted to forget that it happened. That the events in the previous night ever happened at all.

But the soreness between your legs was a constant reminder. And even though the pain went away after a few days, it was replaced by something much worse. Something you feared.

You saw the signs from the second you got them. Your body felt heavy. You were constantly tired. You had lost interest in eating. It was obvious what was going on.

And for a few days, you tried to hide it. The longer Sunday didn't know, the better it was for you. That way, you could slowly while away your last few moments in peace before everything was taken from you in entirety.

After a few weeks, you couldn't hide it anymore. You remember staring at the double line on the pregnancy test.

You almost instantly broke down into tears. It wasn't anything that you hadn't already know n, but maybe part of you still just believed you were ill, that maybe there was another reason why you had missed your period that month. That the pain you kept experiencing was just from some kind of illness.

The last thing you could keep away from Sunday was taken away from you that day. The sense of freedom you could've had.

To Sunday, you suppose this was the final step he needed to take to bind you to him. Another way to control you. Another way to keep you in his arms, and make sure you wouldn't let go.

And if you didn't want to get murdered by the press, if you didn't want to further sabotage both your own and Sunday's public image, you knew to take it.

You had no choice but to take it. You were no more than an insect trapped under his thumb.

-

out of the two of you, there was only one person that was particularly enthusiastic about having a child.

It certainly wasn't you.

Ever since you had first found out about the pregnancy, you had felt empty. As if someone directly sucked the soul out of your body.

You weren't yourself anymore. You hadn't been for a long time.

Sunday didn't seem too bothered by it though.

You weren't sure if it was just his own parental instincts, or whether he could tell that it was almost time for you go into labour. Maybe it was a combination of both. You didn't care. You couldn't care less.

All you knew was that his presence was suffocating. Overbearing. Invasive, even.

You couldn't do anything by yourself. Sunday felt the need to assist you with everything you did. Even basic tasks such as grabbing an object, he insisted that he would get for you.

But what set you off the most, was his intense urge to keep the house in order. You had never seen him having such intense urges to organize a room even when just the slightest thing was out of order. He couldn't stand seeing the slightest speck of dust, he couldn't stand seeing the furniture just an inch out of place.

It drove you to madness.

If you had even slightly misplaced something Sunday you would notice Sunday getting slightly agitated.

From the moment he came home, to the moment he would fall asleep, he spent every waking second making sure the house was perfectly in order, before obsessing over you. At some point you just wanted to wave him off. Lock yourself in the bathroom and sleep for a long period of time, until you had no concept of reality anymore.

You didn't have it in you to keep going. week after week, month after month, Sunday's final goal had always to perfect you into an obedient wife that would do as they were told. And no matter how you tried to fight it... you were always forced back into obedience.

There's two cold fingers touching your chin, and lifting your face up, until you're forced to meet a pair of eyes.

They're bright. Everytime you see them, you can't help but try to look away. They were as bright as the sun, and just like the sun, you felt as if you were going to be blinded jfyou looked at them for too long. You guess it could've also been a sentiment to the power he held over you too.

"Dear, did you hear a word I just said?"

It's an obvious answer. But, you know better by now just to answer the question. You slightly shake your head, which supposedly satisfied him enough, to let go of the fi gers holding your head up.

He sighs, you're not sure in annoyance or in disappointment.

"If you keep acting like this, I'm going to need to resort to drastic measures..."

You look at him one more time. You remember how when you first saw him, you thought of him to be beautiful. To be almost ethereal.

You regret falling into that hypnosis. You regret looking at him at all.

Look at where it got you.

[sentientgolfball]

Aether/Ifrit? Or Aether/Ifrit/Dew for one of them 👀

Mushy May: Sleepover

First day of mushy may YIPPEE idk how many prompts I'll do especially with it being finals time but for now I give you this ! Huge thank you to @forlorn-crows for organizing this again :DDD

Pairing: Aether/Ifrit

WC: 2k

Summary: Aether misses Dew. Ifrit comes to chase away the shadows and hold him for as long as he needs.

Dew is gone. Again. Aether thought after the first time it would not be so bad, but watching him get on that bus reopened old wounds. Maybe it would not have been so bad if the break between tours was not so long. They had a whole year together before it was time to pack up and ship out again. In that time the ache dulled. Disappeared. It became an echo of the past Aether did not have to think about anymore. But now, sitting in his empty nest with only the lingering scent of cinnamon and cigarettes, he feels it all creeping back. 

Every cold night he spent alone, staying up far later than he should just to catch a glimpse of pictures or videos. Keeping his phone volume on so he could be woken up if Dew called. Burying himself in Dew’s sheets when he could not stand it anymore. Floating around the Ministry as a ghost of himself, lost without his guiding light. 

Now he has to do it all again. He still has no regrets over retiring, but having to be separated from his mate makes it hard to remember that. He does not even take solace knowing Cumulus is here with him this time. He knows how painful it is to be without the one you love most. He would rather be alone than have her or Cirrus experience that. 

He sighs, scrubbing his hands down his face. He has the day off thanks to Omega. Something about letting him rest after seeing Dew off. He almost wishes he had not. At least running around the infirmary would distract him for a few hours. Now all his brain tells him to do is curl up in their nest and breathe in Dew’s scent until it is gone. 

A very tempting thought. 

But no, he cannot. He knows doing so will only make everything feel that much worse. So, he pushes off the bed and makes his way to the common room. The sun is high in the sky as he walks down the hall, beams of light casting rainbow wisps across the hardwood floor. After the tour bus left, he did his best to go back to sleep. It did not work, but hopefully with how long he laid around the others will think it did. 

He can hear them before he even rounds the corner to the common room. Ifrit’s boisterous laugh. Zephyr’s smooth voice. He can smell Cumulus’ scent too, citrus and wildflowers. If she can be out here, so can he. So, Aether takes a deep breath and plasters his best smile onto his face as he shuffles in.  

Ifrit notices him first, eyes lighting up, “We were wondering if we’d ever see your face.” 

His tail twitches behind him, “Lords forbid I sleep in a little.” 

Ifrit chuckles and motions with his head for Aether to come join them. He has no plans of ignoring his remaining pack members, but even if he did, the allure of Ifrit’s smile is too great. He is like the first glimpse of sun after days of rain. Warm and bright and beautiful. His light can chase away any darkness. 

Aether plops down onto the couch next to him. Ifrit immediately curls their tails together. To Aether’s surprise, Zephyr is not practically on top of him. They are sitting with Cumulus on the loveseat instead, letting her lean against them while their talons comb through her curls. His chest aches at how red her eyes look. At the way she refuses to really look at any of them. 

“So,” Ifrit pulls his attention away, “what do you want to do with your one day of freedom before Omega drags your ass back?” 

“I have absolutely no idea Fritter. Sleep? Is sleeping an option?” 

“Not if I have anything to say about it,” he chuckles. 

Aether rolls his eyes but there is a genuine smile on his face, “and what is it that you have to say?” 

“He wants to raid Mountain’s stash.” Zephyr looks up at them. 

“Zeph!” 

“If, he hasn’t even been gone for a full day.” Aether smacks him lightly on the chest. 

“I wasn’t gonna do anything…but hypothetically you really think he’d notice anything missing?” 

“You know as well as I do, Mountain could be gone for years and he’d still know if someone touched any of his plants. Including the weed.” 

Ifrit is stopped short from responding when Cumulus abruptly stands and quickly makes her way out of the common room. Her scent has shifted to something stormy, ozone and petrichor making Aether’s nose twitch. 

Everyone is frozen for a moment before Zephyr glares at Aether and Ifrit and follows after her. Ifrit’s ears droop and Aether feels a cold claw of guilt in the pit of his stomach. They sit in awkward silence, not sure what to say to break the sudden tension. 

Aether is the first, slapping his hands on his knees before he stands from the couch, “think I’m just gonna go for a walk.” 

Ifrit follows suit, grabbing Aether’s hand and lacing their fingers together before he can get far, “care for some company?” 

Oh how can he say no to that stupid lopsided smile? He squeezes his hand and tangles their tails together. A silent invitation before tugging him towards the door of the den. Neither of them bother with taking time to change out of their pajamas or even to throw shoes on. The last thing on Aether’s mind is how presentable he looks, Ifrit just follows his lead. With Copia as Imperator now he has no fear of someone making a comment towards him. 

Strangely enough though, the halls are rather empty. Did the whole Ministry get the day off? They make it all the way to the practice room without running into a Sibling or ghoul. Aether has the full intention to continue his walk, but Ifrit is rooted. When Aether feels the tug on his hand he turns to see him smiling at the doors. 

Aether raises an eyebrow at him, “I know that look. What is it?” 

“You wanna go play? Together, like old times?” 

Aether hesitates. It has been awhile since he just played something for himself. Really the only reason he has made time to pick up his guitar in the last year or so is to teach Phantom. Sure he has pulled a few chords from the old acoustic in his room. But that is not his guitar. His guitar is just on the other side of those doors, left behind now that Phantom has their own instrument. 

Apparently Aether takes too long to decide because Ifrit squeezes hand before pulling towards the practice room. “C'mon. It’ll be fun.” 

He lets himself be dragged through the metal doors. A blast of cold air makes a shiver run down his spine. The lights blink on as they enter, called to life by the movement. With tour underway, the practice room is almost barren. The mock stage is just about the only thing left that is not in one of the storage rooms. It feels wrong seeing it like this. 

It does not seem to bother Ifrit though as he drops Aether’s hand and darts off down one of the side halls, tail wagging behind him. Aether watches him go, laughing quietly to himself. Once alone, he wanders. Floats around, taking time to really look at every detail. He knows this room just as well as the den, yet it is like it is completely new to him. As his eyes travel over the various tour posters and pictures that cover the walls he feels out of place. He recognizes himself in some of them, all done up in his uniform, but standing here now it is like looking at a stranger. 

“Alright old man, let’s shake off that rust.” Aether jumps when Ifrit returns. He spins around to see him holding a guitar in each hand. One white. One black. Aether’s fingers twitch just looking at it. 

He shuffles over to him, a smile starting to grow on his face, “Aren’t you older than me?” 

“It’s about the mindset Aether. Some of us don’t spend our free time doing crossword.” 

“Ah you’re right. Some of us are like a refined wine and others are like a warm beer left open on a nightstand.” Aether takes his guitar from Ifrit, slinging it over his shoulders. 

They get set up with whatever spare equipment is left. Aether tunes while Ifrit goes through the track list. Zombie Queen is the first song that cracks through the speakers. Oh he really is going for old times. 

Aether is not sure how long they are in there, but by the time the last notes of Square Hammer fade away they are both sweating. They look at each other, panting with flushed cheeks. Ifrit has a huge grin on his face and Aether cannot help but mirror it. He starts laughing, pushing back the stray hairs that fell out of his mohawk. Ifrit laughs with him, running over to give him a hug. Aether turns to meet him, but it causes their guitars to smack together. Sour notes crackle through the speakers making both of them cringe. 

“We should pack up.” Aether takes a step back. 

“Yeah that’s probably a good idea.” 

After turning off the laptop and putting their guitars back in the right room, they leave the practice room hand in hand. As they make their way back to the den, the marble hallways are bathed in a blazing orange. The beams of the setting sun pour through the grand windows. Despite the dull ache that still lives in his chest, Aether cannot help but feel content. He actually spent his day off doing something other than hiding away in his own misery. And it is all because of Ifrit. He squeezes his hand just a little tighter. 

Once back to the den, it is full of life. Alpha is in the kitchen, the scent of cooked meat wafting through the air. Pebble is seated at the barstools watching him cook. Lake and River are tangled up on the loveseat talking rather loudly about a pretty new Sibling. Mist and Sunshine are cuddled on the couch surfing through the channels to find a movie to watch. 

It makes Aether smile. 

It also instantly zaps the energy he had from playing with Ifrit. 

It is not that he does not want to be with the pack. He is just tired. He does not want to have to put on a brave face for any longer than he has to. So, he greets everyone and slips off to his room feigning a headache. But he is not alone. Ifrit still tails after him. 

“You don’t have to come with me If. I’m okay.” 

“Okay but what if I want to?” 

“I’m sure Zeph wants to see you. We were gone all day.” 

“They’re staying with Cumulus. Keeping her company…so why don’t you let me do the same.” 

“What, you mean like a sleepover?” Aether breathes a laugh. 

“Yes of course I mean like a fucking sleepover.” 

Aether stares at him for a moment. Considering. He knows if he refused, Ifrit would not push it. He knows he could spend the rest of the night alone. 

But he does not want that. He is not ready to sleep in an empty bed again. Aether opens his door and motions for Ifrit to enter. His smile turns soft as he pulls Aether in after him. When the door clicks shut, they try that hug again. Aether is not sure which of them initiates it. All he knows is that suddenly he is surrounded by warmth and the scent of campfire and clove cigarettes. He bends awkwardly so he can bury his face in Ifrit’s neck, soaking up as much of him as he can. 

It feels good to not be completely alone. 

Ifrit remains uncharacteristically quiet. Still. He simply squeezes Aether, holding him for as long as he needs. When Aether does pull away, neither of them comment on the sheen of unspilled tears in his eyes. Ifrit simply presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth. 

“Shower?” 

Aether sniffs but he laughs a little, “You saying I stink?” 

“Absolutely.” Ifrit kisses him properly this time. When they break, he walks backwards towards the connected bathroom, tugging Aether along with him. 

He lets himself be guided, only wishing to stay close. He lets Ifrit sit him down on the toilet seat. Lets him turn the shower on. Lets him gather towels and soaps. Lets him pepper his face in kisses as he undresses Aether and then himself. He lets Ifrit take the weight from him, even if it is just for the night. 

When he steps into the shower, he sighs as the warm water cascades over his body. He closes his eyes, taking a moment to just feel the drops hit his face. He only opens them again when he feels Ifrit wrap his arms around his waist, nuzzling into his shoulder. He hums and wraps his tail around his calf as he leans back into him. He ignores the feeling of his half chub pressing against his ass in favor of savoring the softness of the moment. 

“Let me wash you?” Ifrit asks as his hands rub slowly circle into Aether’s belly. 

He nods with a hum. Normally he would insist he take care of everything, but his mind is too tired to object. All he wants to do is live in this floaty feeling so he can pretend the ache is not there. 

Ifrit presses a line of kisses across his shoulder before dropping his hold. He grabs the shampoo bottle, squirting a small amount into the palm of his hand. He guides Aether to tip his head back, making it easier to reach. He slowly scrubs the soap into his hair with a gentle scrape of claws against his scalp. He takes his time until Aether is chuffing so loudly it rattles his ribcage. Before he moves him back under the spray he spikes up his hair, giving him a little soapy mohawk. They both quietly laugh even though Aether smacks him with his tail. 

Once the shampoo is gone and the conditioner is lathered in, Ifrit moves to his body. Warm hands glide down Aether’s body, through the thickest parts of his fur. Working the soap through his damp coat. Across his shoulders. Down his chest. Over his belly to his thighs. Aether’s own cock chubs up when he looks down at Ifrit on his knees as he washes his calves. He cannot resist the urge to touch. He reaches out and runs a hand through his hair. 

Ifrit looks up at him with those big, bright eyes. Questioning at first, but it quickly melts into something soft when Aether’s hand slides down to cup his cheek. He turns his head just enough to press a kiss to the palm of his hand. When Ifrit stands again, he backs Aether up until he is under the water. As the soap slides down his body, Ifrit captures his lips in a kiss. It is passionate but not deep. Soft and hard at the same time. A fiery I love you and a gentle I’m here for you. Aether cannot help but melt into it. 

The kiss only breaks when Ifrit reaches behind Aether and turns the water off. They take a moment to stare at each other, still so close that their breaths mingle. Ifrit smiles at him and Aether feels like the sun is shining down on him. He presses a kiss to Aether’s jaw before taking his hand and pulling him out of the shower. 

He turns up his heat as he grabs one of the towels and begins to dry Aether off. Steam fills the bathroom, rising off of Ifrit’s skin. By the time he deems Aether’s fur dry enough, there is a thick haze swirling in the air. 

They forgo putting any pajamas back on. Aether is grateful for the skin to skin contact as Ifrit leads him to his bed. As they fall into it together, Ifrit shuffles around until he is spooning Aether with his arms wrapped snugly around his chest and a leg thrown over his hip. He presses kiss after kiss into his damp hair. They lay like that for the rest of the night. 

As Aether starts to doze, all he can think about is the solid warmth pressed against him. Before his eyes finally slip shut, he mumbles, “Love you Fritter.” 

“I love you too, starshine.” 

Ifrit holds him closer. 

[revelboo]

✨All hail Revel! All hail Revel! Thank you for sharing your work and feeding us thirsty robot simps. ✨

I humbly beg for more Sunny and Sides crumbs or more Armada Starscream. Pretty please!🙏

Both are on my list for today.

Even If It Kills Me Pt 17

Armada Starscream x Reader

• Watching you fuss over the mini-cons, there’s a new awareness of you that he can’t shake. All those taboo thoughts just there, taunting him. Impossible things. Like sparklings and a family. An after to this unending war. And you. Keeps imagining it and you’re always there. If he mass shifted, he could lace his servos with your fingers. Hold you in his arms. In his idle daydreams, he lounges back with you draped against him, those soft hands on his arm resting against you. Whispering together and relaxed in each other’s arms. Fooling himself with things he can’t have. Sooner or later, you’ll want other humans. You’ll leave him.

• “You’re quiet today,” you call up to Starscream, your head lifting from where you’re wiping mud off of Runway while the other two patiently wait for you to help them even though you know they can do it themselves just fine. They just like being babied and you enjoy having someone to take care of. To feel useful. And keeping muddy mini-cons from sprawling into your nest of blankets is a priority even if you never really sleep there anymore. Spending your nights stretched out on Star listening to the hum of his spark instead. Watching Star grimace and turn away, expression almost guilty like he was doing something wrong, you hesitate.

• “You know if you decide you want to be freed, if you don’t want to be here anymore with me, you just need to ask. You’re not a prisoner.” Hates saying the words, but needs you to understand you have a choice. That if you decide you want your freedom, he’ll give it to you even if it kills him inside. Even if he doesn’t want to. And you just stare at him, expression emptying to make his spark ache. Had you felt trapped here with him? Too scared of angering him to speak up?

• Why say that all of a sudden? Is he getting sick of having you around? Maybe you’re in the way. Annoying him. Mouth dry, you go back to cleaning the mini-con, but you can feel those optics on you. And it’s not like you haven’t realized this can’t last. That you can’t just hide here and pretend away reality, but it still hurts. Making you realize how much you like it here. Like him. “Right. Sure,” you manage as panic claws at you. Because you don’t have anywhere else to go. Can’t go back. Not after having somewhere safe and removed from the daily fear and uncertainty. Eyes burning, you duck your head. Not wanting to start crying, but you’re scared.

• Runway chirps in distress as you turn away from him and them. Reaching up to scrub the back of your arm against your eyes like you’re- Primus, are you leaking again? What did he say to upset you this time? Venting, he moves closer and you pointedly walk away. Avoiding him and you’re so small it’s easy for you to keep from looking at him. Acknowledging him. Frustrated, he glances at the closed door to his habsuite. Knowing it’s not safe even if the Autobots are his allies. That he’ll be vulnerable, but growling, he mass shifts anyway and catches you by an arm, startling a frightened noise from you as you reel back. Eyes wide and lashes spiky with tears before your face just crumples. Sobbing. Helplessly looking at the mini-cons as they chirp their own distress, he carefully pulls you into him. “Don’t make me go back,” you whisper, voice breaking and terrified. Little hands clinging to him as you press your face against his neck, dampening his mesh. Making him remember your bruises, your resignation when he’d found you. Your scars. As broken as he is even though you’re always smiling for him.

Previous

Next

[microwaveplate]

studying this crossroads from the original trilogy:

after riko breaks kevin's hand it is enough to get him to leave the nest, but he sort of plateaus. yes he talks to bee (because wymack makes him) but he also hides behind andrew, ever submissive. he is terrified of neil antagonizing riko but doesn't stop him. HE GOES TO THE MOUNTAINS FOR A WEEK RATHER THAN BE AT COURT BUT ALONE!

then he makes another step. he doesn't remove his tattoo but he does cover it up. he claims his place on court. he goes to riko's funeral. he still hears his voice. but HE CAN BE GOTTEN TO. he can! he is sooo close to wanting something, but he is a cleaved half of a broken whole. he is full of guilt. he has earned his arrogance but imo he doesn't truly have a sense of self-worth because kevin is a scooped out shell of a person, all this empty room left behind after riko is gone. there are hints, have been all this time, a little room he built inside and tried to hide from riko, but it’s not enough (yet).

and then there's jean. we know that jean would have never left the nest of his own free will, but once he has freedom we see him slowly learning how to fight for something (not quite himself, not yet, but he chooses jeremy and cat and laila and the trojans)!!!! and how can that not be another example for kevin, a man he knows better than anyone made almost recognizable to him in a few months…

neil and kevin and jean are locked in the same golden cage and somehow they keep buying each other enough time to find something worth fighting for

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

End Game 9

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, stalking, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your gaming buddy asks to meet up but it doesn’t go exactly as planned.

Characters: Andy Barber

Note: this wasn't my planned update but here we go.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Your grandmother is where she always is. In her chair reading her book. She doesn’t look up and you don’t bother saying a word. She’s getting exactly what she’s always wanted and she doesn’t even realise it. She’s getting rid of you. Another thing you’ve done for her that she’ll never acknowledge. 

You go into your room and look around. You sit on the bed and examine each wall. You’re not going to miss this place, just your freedom. There is no illusion left around Andy. He’s shown how far he’ll go to make his will your own. You don’t expect him to ‘take care of you’ as he keeps promising, not in the way it sounds. 

You huff and hold your head. You’re not going to sleep. You don’t have time to. You have to figure out what to take with you. What do you tell your grandmother? She won’t care either way, will she. She’ll finally have her empty nest. At least someone will have what they want. 

You don’t have much to your name. Your switch, your headset, controllers; that’s the expensive stuff. Your clothes are mostly used, easily replaceable. You’re not really worried about dressing up. 

You spend the hours going through every little nook and cranny. You’re not sentimental, you don’t have much that it more than material. Only a box of keepsakes from the few years of your life; a friendship bracelet the neighbour girl gave you before she moved away, some meaningless award you won in grade school for attendance, and the only thing left to you by your parents, besides resent; a baby sweater you wore when they thought they could love you. 

You fit everything you’re taking in a single bag. The rest you box up and drag out to the curb. In the early hours, the house is quiet and you try not to make too much noise. Your grandmother’s snores stir from her room. She’s blissfully ignorant just as always. 

You strip the bed and put the sheets and blanket in the wash. Hopefully you can switch it over before you go. You wipe down the furniture with a wet cloth and dust the corners and the empty closet. You’re covered in sweat and breathless by the time you have the entire space barren. You’re so tired you’re dizzy but closing your eyes only brings Andy’s voice to mind. 

There’s a creak and you raise your head as the ripples dissipate. Your grandmother slouches as she clings to the door handle and scowls. She looks around the room and her grey brow twitches. 

“Eh, what’re you doing?” She growls, “making all this noise.” 

“Leaving,” you shrug. 

“Leaving? To where?” 

You’re dumbfounded she’s even asked. You sit up and show your hands, “gotta go back to school soon anyway so I’m going to crash with Kara. I’ll leave money on the table when I go.” 

“Oh.” 

That’s all she says before she goes. She believes you only because she doesn’t care enough to doubt you. You hang your head and sigh. You can’t help but think of what Andy said. You hate to admit it but he’s right. There’s no one else who wants you. It doesn’t make him a better option, just the only. 

Thinking makes your head hurt. Or maybe that’s the lack of sleep. You check your phone and wrap up the charging cord. Morning already. Nearly 7am. You spent hours clearing out your old life; a life that was never really living. 

There’s a message waiting for you. Two. Both from Andy. The first is a good night you never answered and the second from just twenty minutes ago, asking if you’re awake. You send a thumbs up. That’s all you can handle right now. 

The call comes almost as soon as the message sends and the check mark turns blue. You answer without hesitation. Your so numb to the inevitability of it all, there’s no sense in avoiding any of it. You just want this over with even though you know it won’t be. 

“Morning, sweetheart,” Andy purrs from the other end. Your throat clenches and your cheeks tug into a frown. “How are you?” 

You go to speak and cough, your mouth dry. You clear your throat and rub your forehead as it throbs with the effort, “awake. Packed.” 

“Oh, honey, you sound tired.” 

“Mm,” you hum flatly. 

“I couldn’t sleep either,” he says, “I couldn’t stop thinking of you.” He pauses, waiting for the lies you won’t give him. “Well, when do you wanna head out? Do you need a little more time?” 

“Ready,” you utter. Not really ready but resigned.  

“Sure, sweetheart, I’ll just get myself together and be over in twenty minutes, how does that sound?” 

Why is he asking you like you have a choice? You garble an agreement and hang up. You put the phone down as you sit on the naked mattress and stare. Your head is swimming with fatigue. As you close your eyes, the fear returns. You’re really doing this. 

You fold over your lap and whimper. It’s over, not that it ever really begun. Not that you were ever really expected much. You just wanted to be your own person, have your own space, make your own way. For once in your life, you just wanted to be you. 

Andy isn’t going to let that happen. You don’t know him but you know he wants you to be something you aren’t. Whether it’s delusion or cruelty, you don’t know, but you know something isn’t right. It can never be right. 

You get up and unlock your phone. You key in a message with the last of your strength; ‘meet me at the corner’. You don’t think she’ll bother herself but you wouldn’t want your grandma to see the truth. You’re not sure she’d even care enough to judge you. 

You come out as she grumbles into a coffee cup. You roll your bag behind you and grab your jacket from the hook by the door; a light canvas one you wear in the mornings when the dew chills the air. She stares at the television as the news blares at her. 

“Here,” you take out the little bit of cash you have left to your name and place it on the table at her elbow, “I’m... going now.” 

“Erm,” she grunts and slurps the coffee. She doesn’t even look at you. Should you tell her you’re not coming back? You leave your keys with the money 

You just turn and pull your bag after you to the door, stopping only to put your shoes on. You open the front door and step out into the soft hues of morning. It would be a beautiful day if the world hadn’t gone gray. 

Your bag wheels scratch the pavement behind you, the whole thing jostling at the end of the long handle. You head down to the corner and park yourself on the curb, waiting as your eyes rove the area. You take it all in; the fences, the hedges, the cracked birdbath, and the few welcome signs on doors. 

The low whir of an engine approaches. You know without looking it’s him. But you do. You have to face it. 

“Hey,” Andy steps out as you stand on the curb. “Let me get this, sweetheart.” 

He reaches back inside the car and hits a switch. The trunk opens on its own. Is it pathetic that you’re kind of impressed by that? You’ve only seen trunks that you open with your hands. He lifts your bag inside easily and taps another button, the hatch closing slowly behind him. 

“Come on, you look beat,” he touches your shoulder and you flinch, curling inward as you shake his hand away. “I brought you a coffee. Not the hotel brew, the good stuff.” 

You numbly follow him around to the other side. He opens the car door and you stare at the interior. You take a breath and grab the trim of the door and haul yourself inside. You drop heavily into the seat and your head bounces against the rest. 

He lingers. You feel his gaze on you. He’s expecting something you can’t give him. Not yet. You don’t know if ever. You let out a murmur as he leans in to kiss your cheek. You fight not to show your disgust. 

“Just relax. I’ll drive, you get some sleep, sweetheart,” he caresses your arm. You don’t react. Not a look, not a flinch. 

He shuts the door and walks along the hood. You watch him through the windshield. He’s wearing one of those suits. Dark navy slacks and white shirt with a black tie. You let your head loll and see the matching jacket folded neatly in the back seat. 

He gets in the car, his weight felt in the axle. He hits the button to wake the engine and buckles his belt. He glances over. 

“Hey, safety first.” 

You huff. He's acting like the dad you never had. You click the seat belt into place and turn your face to the window. He inhales deeply and lets it out slow before he puts the SUV into gear. 

“You say goodbye to grandma?” 

“Mm... mhmm,” you grumble. 

“She’ll miss you, huh?” 

Your lip curls and you hide your face as you focus on the houses rolling slowly by. Why is he playing this game? Did he not throw her apathy in your face to get here? 

“Did you bring your switch? We could play some at the hotel,” he offers. 

You close your eyes and ball your fists. It takes everything you have left not to scream and hit him. It’s like he’s rubbing it in. He won! He won! 

And you lost. Just like always. 

“What about Kara?” You ask crisply. 

“Oh, sweetheart, you’re hoarse. Try some of the coffee,” he reaches to flick the top of a travel mug. You narrow your eyes as you follow the gesture. The purplish pink metal is topped with a white plastic lid. On the side, the outline of a game controller is patterned on the multicoloured finish. “It’s a good brew. Only a few places I’ve found have it. I’ll take you to the shop back home once you’re settled.” 

You’re not arguing with him. You’ve seen how far that gets you. You take the cup and pop the tab on top. You take a tentative sip as you feel the heat within. 

“I added some sugar,” he says. 

“I don’t like sugar,” you snap the lid shut and put the lid back. 

“Oh, sorry, sweetheart,” he chuckles, “guess we have a lot to learn about each other.” 

“Kara,” you insist again. 

He sighs and taps his fingers on the wheel, “I called last night. They’re holding her so we can pay the bond.” 

We? He’s not subtle. You sniff as your back racks with the sort of achiness that comes from being so tired. 

“I’ll talk to them. Get the charges knocked down. If anything, I can get them piled onto that boy she keeps around. He’s trouble, if I’ve ever seen it--” 

“Seen?” You echo, “have you... seen him?” 

He hesitates and his cheek dimples under his dark beard. He stares at the road ahead as his lips move as if he’s talking silently. Finally, he answers. 

“I only wanted to make sure you were safe. I know better than any that hanging out with the wrong crowd can get you into a lot of trouble--” 

“No, Andy, tell me. Were you watching her too?” You sit up with effort. 

“You should sleep, it’s a long drive,” he girds. 

“Andy, tell me--” 

“I had too. You cut me off and I had to be sure you were okay,” he insists. “And you weren’t. Not really. Sweetheart, things are going to be a lot better. Together. You just can’t see it right now because you never--” 

“Oh, I know what I’ve never had,” you fall back and slump against the door, “you don’t need to keep reminding me.” 

A roiling silence fills the compartment. He exhales again and slows as his blinker clicks noisily. He turns onto the next road as you feel his anxiety. Or maybe it’s your own. 

“I’m sorry. I only want...” he trails of as he measures his words, “I want to take care of you. To give you all that stuff. I don’t want you to feel bad.” 

“I’m tired,” you snip and fold your arms. 

“Right,” he says tensely, “yeah, get some sleep. Easier to talk after.” 

Talk? You’re done talking to him. He only says the same thing over and over again.  

[stansthemans]

Would you ever write Ford giving fem!Stan oral sex as teens? I’m just dying to see Ford be a munch

So originally my idea for this was “hey lets practice on each other for no ulterior motives lol i don’t jerk it to this nightly” but then i was like “hmmm feelings plus a light splash of ford being a creepy peeper” so enjoy!!!

She’s got the entire house to herself. It’s an almost impossible occurrence. Ma comes and goes, running the appropriate errands to keep the household going or catching lunch or card games with her girlfriends, but Pa is almost always set up down in the shop. Few things sour his mood like even the vague prospect of missing out on a sale.

But today, her parents are out of town, up in the city visiting Shermie and his wife. That alone affords Stan a world of freedom, but Ford is also out for the afternoon. Something about some nerd lecture at the civic center. Stan could go out and do something too. She could hit the beach, meet up with friends at the pier. She’s got some pocket change. She could catch a movie. She could watch tv, bake a cake, head to the gym to practice at the bag.

Or she could take advantage of an empty house and get in a few rounds of orgasms.

Yeah, orgasms sound good. Those sound really good. On a usual day, touching herself goes one of two ways. Either she has to make quick work of herself in the shower, because God help her if she’s in there too long wasting water, or she has to do the infinitely riskier move of waiting until late, late at night, when she’s sure her brother is deeply asleep in the bunk above her.

And that’s always agony, because invariably, her thoughts always turn to Ford, to imagining that her fingers are longer, thicker, one more in number than they actually are, and as she imagines that her hands running over her body are actually her brother’s—her brother who is right there, so close—as that pleasure builds and builds, it takes everything in her to stay still enough, silent enough, that she doesn’t wake him and expose her secret.

Fingering herself is usually not as fulfilling an experience as she wishes it was, but today, the house all to herself, Stan can indulge, and indulge she does. She closes the curtains against the harsh afternoon sun and leaves the bedroom door open just a crack. She has the house to herself, but it would be a good idea to leave herself the opportunity to hear any potential noises. Stan pulls the comforter of her bed completely off and arranges her pillows and sheets into a nice little nest. She wiggles out of her shorts and panties and then heads for Ford’s side of their shared closet.

This is maybe a little weird, but she just wants a little bit to get her going. After all, she’s not fooling herself in any way to think she won’t be imagining Ford the entire time. Ford’s side of the closet is, of course, neater than hers, his shirts and sweaters all hanging up perfectly and organized by sleeve length and color. Stan sticks her face directly into the red section and inhales deeply. Ford is, without question, a teenage boy, and he smells like it, sweaty and funky and never really using enough soap or deodorant to cover it. However, he also wears cologne, and unlike nearly every other boy that Stan knows, Ford actually has an idea of how much is too much, and he never crosses that line. The juxtaposition between the natural and artificial scents that make up her brother is more than enough to make Stan dizzy.

A few more deep breaths, and Stan is ready, warmth settling low in her stomach. She flops onto her bunk and pushes her shirt up and over her breasts. She gives attention to her nipples first. This is the easiest part to imagine that it’s Ford touching her. After all, six fingers aren’t required to pinch and flick and tease here. She’s very sensitive here, and it’s only a brief moment before she can feel the slickness gathering between her legs. On a normal day, she would get to it, would shove two fingers immediately into herself and get to work, but she’s got time to be slow, to explore, and when she does finally spread her legs wide, when she does finally slide her hand down her stomach, down to her core, she’s a little taken aback by just how wet she actually is.

Stan shudders as she drags two fingers slowly around her clit, down through the folds, and back up again. Take it slow, she reminds herself. She’s not in a rush. She can enjoy working the outside for a little bit before moving in. She holds her breast in her other hand, can feel her heartbeat picking up in time with her heavy breaths. She imagines that it’s Ford’s hand. His hands are so big. He would be so easily able to cup the entirety of her breast in his palm, massage into the soft, yielding skin with his strong fingers, his thumb kneading into the hard nub of her nipple.

Stan pinches herself just as she slides her fingers over her clit. She lets out a gasping whimper at the sensation, a noise that sounds deafening in the otherwise silent room. For a moment, she freezes, and then the situation catches up to her again. She’s alone. There isn’t anyone else in the house, won’t be for hours. That’s part of this entire thing. She can not only take her time, but she can actually make noise.

Stan presses down harder on her clit and lets herself indulge in a louder moan. Some part of her thinks that maybe it’s a bit ridiculous, but it also feels good. So she does it again. She does it again and again until she’s ready to do something that she knows is going to rewrite her entire brain.

Stan stuffs two fingers deep into her pussy and moans her brother’s name. She doesn’t stop this time. It feels too incredible. She hikes up a leg and pumps her fingers wildly. She whines needfully, “Ford! Oh God, Ford!” She adds another finger and then another. It’s not enough. It’s never enough. “Ford, oh, more. I want—Sixer, more, please, please!”

Stan begs a phantom for something she knows she can never have, something she isn’t supposed to want, but God, does she want. She grinds her hips up into her palm, wishing it was his. Wishing for Ford’s hand, his mouth, his cock. Wishing that he wanted her like she wants him.

She’s so close. “Sixer, fuck, oh fuck! Fuck me! Please! Ford!” And she comes hard, panting her brother’s name over and over as she strokes herself through it.

She keeps her fingers inside as she comes down, feeling her pussy clenching around them. She lets her leg drop back down to the sheets, bringing that hand back to her chest, lightly teasing at her nipples again. She imagines her brother again, his warm presence enveloping her, skin to skin. “Hmm,” she hums in contentment. “Sixer.”

“Stanley?”

Stan’s blood turns to ice in her veins, and the entire beautiful fantasy is shattered. Her eyes fly open and land on her brother—the flesh and blood of him—standing at the foot of her bed, his eyes blown wide as he gapes down at the disgusting display of perversion she presents.

Stan stares up at him, incapable of moving, of breathing, of anything other than a slowly encroaching panic. How much of that did he hear? How much did he see? All of it or even just a second. It doesn’t matter. There is no way that she can spin this into anything other than what it was, and so now he knows. He knows that she doesn’t look at him with anything close to innocent eyes, that she sees him and she wants him in this sick way. He knows, and he’s going to hate her.

“Stanley,” Ford says again, and Stan braces herself for everything that will follow. It’s going to kill her, but she deserves it. She deserves everything he says.

But Ford doesn’t say anything else. His eyes bore into her, roaming up and down, and then, suddenly, he’s in the bed too, his big hands dropping gently—so gently it makes her tremble—over her knees. Slowly, he pushes her legs apart, opening her up again. One hand stays curled over her thigh, and the other encircles the wrist of the hand she still has not taken away from her pussy.

Ford’s thumb presses down on her two middle fingers, applying pressure to the sensitive area. Stan can’t help but gasp. “Stanley,” Ford says a third time, drawing her hand away and exposing her to the intensity of his unblinking gaze. “Do you think of me when you touch yourself?”

“I—I—“ Her throat and mouth are desert dry, and she still can’t breathe.

Ford’s hands move in a burning trail down her thighs, coming closer and closer. “You were saying my name,” he says. “Moaning it.” His thumbs rest over her labia and pull gently, opening up her hole. “Do you do that often?”

Stan whimpers, her head spinning. What is going on? Why isn’t he yelling at her?

“I asked you a question, Stanley,” Ford says. “Do you think of me when you finger yourself?” And then his thumbs move up and slide over either side of her clit.

Stan moans loudly at the jolt of pleasure that shoots up her spine. “Yes,” she gasps. “Yes, I—oh God, Sixer!”

Ford’s thumbs keep moving. “How often,” he asks.

“Every time,” Stan confesses, her hands curling into her sheets.

“You want this,” he says, his voice low and gruff. He shifts his hand, and a finger slides inside her.

Stan keens, her back arching up. She moves her hips, seeking more from him. “Need it,” she cries.

Ford pumps his finger in and out. “God, Stanley,” he says, and his voice is only full of awe. “You’re so wet.”

“For you,” Stan promises him. “Just for you. Sixer, I—please!”

“Amazing,” Ford says. “You’re so—I want to make you come again. I want you to scream again. What do I do?”

“I—what?” Stan reels. She’s too dizzy to think.

Ford leans over her, filling up her entire world with just him. His eyes are wild, pupils blown wide. “I want you to come, screaming my name again,” he says. “I want to make that happen. How do I make you feel good?”

Stan’s brain is complete mush, and she doesn’t really think before blurting, “You could eat me out?”

Ford’s eyes flash and narrow. “Has anyone ever done that to you before,” he asks, his jaw tight.

“N-no,” Stan stammers. “I’ve—uh—I’ve never done anything with anybody.”

“Good,” Ford says, growls. “Good. It will only ever be me.” And then he surges forward and kisses her. Stan moans, opening her mouth for his tongue. She wraps her arms around his neck and clings to him. “You’re mine,” he says against her lips, possessive and desperate. “Tell me.”

“Only yours,” Stan promises. “I’ve never wanted anything else.”

He kisses her again, and this time it’s achingly gentle, so perfect that it finally eases the last of the tension from her body, and Stan relaxes fully into her brother’s hold, surrenders completely. She’s his. He wants her to be his.

For a long moment, it’s just that, just arms around each other, lips moving gently together. Then Ford pulls back, only enough to press his forehead to hers. “I—um—I’ve obviously never done anything before either,” he says, nerves creeping into his voice. “You have to tell me. I want you to feel good.”

Stan holds his face in her hands and says, “It’s you, so it’s going to.”

“No,” Ford says insistently. “No, I want you to feel—I want this to be so good for you, Stanley. Just tell me what to do.”

And he looks so serious and earnest that Stan can’t do anything but agree. “Ok,” she says. “For starters, you should take off your shirt at least.” She tugs at the sleeve of his dorky little button up. “Maybe pants too.” While Ford does that, Stan remembers that she’s still got her t-shirt on too. She slips out of it, and Ford freezes above her. “What?”

“You’re naked,” Ford says simply.

And Stan can’t help it. The laughter bubbles up out of her in a snort, and then she’s giggling uncontrollably. For a moment, Ford puffs his cheeks at her in a ridiculous pout—made all the more ridiculous by his ruffled hair and lopsided glasses—but then he laughs too. “Really, Poindexter,” Stan asks.

“All right,” Ford says.

“It’s just—you were fingering me a minute ago,” Stan says.

“Ok,” Ford says, exasperation creeping into his voice.

“You watched me get myself off and you definitely could have darted out of the situation the second you realized what was going on,” she continues.

“I concede to the first point but disagree with the second,” Ford says. He reaches out, trailing his fingers from her cheek to her lips, down between her breasts and over her stomach. He stops just above the patch of hair between her legs. “Not a chance in hell could I turn away from this. I’ve wanted you for so long, Stanley.”

“We—we’re nuts, huh,” Stan asks, trembling a bit.

“I don’t care,” he says.

Ford finishes kicking off his pants and then settles himself between her legs, draping them over his shoulders. He rubs his hands soothingly over her shaking thighs and says, “Ok, begin lesson.”

“Nerd,” Stan says automatically. Ford doesn’t retort in the way he usually would. He just keeps staring at her, his fingers moving in the same slow, soothing trails over her skin. Stan isn’t really sure if it’s making her more or less nervous. Her stomach is definitely doing crazy flips almost like it wants to bring up everything she’s eaten today because her brother—her twin brother—is lying with his face between her legs, and she isn’t wearing any clothes, and he saw her fingering herself, heard her moaning his name and—

“Stanley,” Ford’s gentle voice cuts through her panic. His hands aren’t moving anymore. Still on her legs, his fingers are holding tighter, almost digging into her, not enough to bruise, but God, wouldn’t that be something. His eyes—they have exactly the same eyes—are locked directly onto hers, even as he turns his head slightly and places a feather light kiss on the inside of her thigh. “It’s ok,” he says. “We don’t—we don’t have to do this if you—“

“No,” Stan cries. “No, I want—“ She reaches for him, and he releases one of her legs to intertwine their fingers. She doesn’t know how to tell him just how much she wants. “I just—“ She pulls in several deep breaths, squeezing Ford’s fingers. He squeezes back, and it helps to ground her.

“I want you too,” he says. “Just tell me what to do.”

He doesn’t let go of her hand. Stan lets out her last deep breath slowly and says, “Ok. Ok, so I’m still—I’m still kind of wet.”

Ford’s eyes flicker down to her pussy, and he nods. “Yes, you are.” Stan’s stomach flips again. His voice is definitely lower than it was even a second ago, and it’s not any kind of weird act.

“That’s—um—that’s a big deal,” she says. “Being wet. Because, like, if you just attack the thing, that’s not good.”

“Noted,” Ford says. “What’s the best way to do that?”

She has no idea because this is entirely new territory, but Ford clearly isn’t going to let her just lie here. He’s not going to stop asking until she gives him an actual answer. “Ok, so you—you know the parts, right? Like if I say clit you know what I’m talking about?”

“Yes, I’ve seen diagrams,” Ford says, and Stan lets out another semi-hysterical laugh. Oh boy. It’s going to be like that, huh.

“Ok.” She needs to stop saying ok so much. “Ok, so don’t go right for the clit. Or—or if you do, start slow and not too much pressure. But the folds—that’s—“ She needs to just make a decision, something concrete. “Use your tongue. Like—like you’re licking ice cream off a spoon.”

Stan expects Ford to turn his entire focus down to her pussy, but he doesn’t take his eyes off her face, and that, coupled with his tongue licking a slow, fat stripe up her cunt, lights every single nerve in her body on fire. She jolts, and Ford holds onto her tighter, fingers still wrapped around her, and his other hand sliding to her hip. He licks again, just as slow, and Stan whimpers.

When Ford squeezes her fingers again, she knows he’s looking for his next instruction. “You can—oh—you use the tip of your tongue too. Get—yes—get in there, kind of—kind of trace it?”

He starts with the outer lips, and when his tongue dips between the folds, Stan whines. She actually whines, and that should be embarrassing, but it just feels too good. Ford explores every inch of her, his hand wide over her lower stomach, keeping her from bucking up into his face. He traces over the opening of her hole, but he doesn’t go in, and she wants him in.

“Inside,” she gasps. “Put your tongue inside.” He immediately follows her instruction, and Stan cries, “Oh my God!” Ford’s fingers tighten around hers, and he pushes in deeper. She’s just about to tell him to try curling it when he takes the initiative on his own. “Fuck, oh fuck!” Stan grabs at the sheets, curling them tight enough in her fist that it’s a wonder they don’t rip.

“All of it,” she pants. “Sixer, Sixer, do them all!”

Ford pulls his tongue from inside her and begins to alternate between flat, slow licks to dipping between her folds. Occasionally, he dives inside her again, pulling out after she moans his name. It feels like he’s making out with her pussy. It’s torture, and it feels so fucking good. “Sixer, please, please, I want more!”

He doesn’t exactly pull off her, but he moves back just enough to say, “You’re so wet, Stanley. God, it’s—you taste amazing.” She whines again. “Are you wet enough yet? Can I—can I lick your clit now?”

“Yeah,” she pants. “But first—put your fingers in me again.” She arches as he slides one long finger into her hole. “Another.” A second joins it, and Stan moans. “One more.” For a moment, she has to just lie there, marveling at the feeling of Ford’s fingers filling her up. It’s better. It’s so much better than when she does it. She knew it would be.

“God,” Ford breathes. “Stanley, you—“

“Slow,” she says. “In and out, but go slow.” He never fully leaves her, drawing his fingers out to nearly the tips before pushing back in again. Slow but as deep as he can go. His breath comes out in hot pants against her cunt. “Ok, ok, you can—oh God—kiss it or—or lick—my clit—“

His lips close over it, her entire body feels like it’s on fire. She can’t stand it. “Ford, Ford!” She pulls her fingers away from his, and he growls against her, which—holy shit. “Wait, I just—“ She grabs for his three middle fingers, the ones that on his other hand are thrusting in and out of her. “Curl them, like this, and then—shit, shit—make them walk like—“ She uses hers over his, shows him what to do, and then he mimics the movement as he presses the flat of his tongue against her clit.

Stan screams. “Fuck, oh fuck, Sixer! That’s—more, please, more!” His tongue swirls over and around her clit, and his fingers dance inside her, and Stan pulls his hand up to grab at her breast. He finds her nipple and pinches, and Stan grinds her pussy against his face.

She can hear herself making noises that don’t sound entirely human. Amidst it all, she begs. “Stanford, please, please, I’m so close! Fuck, fuck! It’s—“

“Do it, Stanley,” Ford demands. “Come for me.”

His lips close over her clit again, and this time he sucks on it, and Stan’s entire vision whites out. Never in her life has anything felt so good. The pleasure rolls over her in waves, and Ford never stops licking her, and she can’t stop moaning his name. Her entire body is shaking, every movement of Ford’s tongue another jolt of lightning down her spine. His fingers swirl inside her, and he groans her name against her pussy, and it’s too much. Stan feels like she’s going to shake completely apart.

Somehow, her trembling hand finds his head, and she pushes weakly at him. Ford’s eyes meet hers, and his pupils are blown so wide they’re almost completely black. The sight of him there, between her shaking thighs, staring at her like that, is too overwhelming.

She doesn’t feel the tears falling down her cheeks until Ford pushes up onto his forearms, his entire expression changing as he says in alarm, “Stanley? Stanley, are you ok?”

She isn’t. She isn’t. She needs him to—

Ford starts to sit up, starts to move away, and that’s the opposite of what she needs. Stan reaches for him, and Ford immediately comes closer again. She grabs him, yanks until he crawls over her, and Stan finds his face and pulls him into a kiss.

She completely forgets that he’s just been eating her out, that his face is soaked with the mess of her arousal, that she’ll taste herself on his tongue. None of that matters. She just needs to kiss him.

She falls back onto the mattress, and Ford goes with her. His kiss pushes the air back into her lungs. The weight of his body spread over her keeps her from flying away. His hands on her face, wiping the tears from her cheeks, reminds her that she’s whole, she isn’t broken or shattered.

“Stanley,” Ford says against her lips. “Stanley, love, please, are you—“

Love.

Stan kisses him harder, kisses him until it feels like her lungs are about to explode in a good way. Then, finally, she can pull back and look at him and marvel at how beautiful he is.

“Stanley.” A quick peck of his lips to hers again. “Did I—did I hurt you?”

Stan shakes her head. Opposite. Complete and total opposite. “Brain’s oatmeal,” she says, although really it’s more of a slur.

Ford’s brows shoot up over the rim of his glasses. “I’m sorry, it’s—“

“Oatmeal. Melted.”

“Your brain is melted oatmeal,” Ford repeats, and then the worry finally washes from his expression and he starts to laugh. Stan tries to pout up at him, but soon she’s laughing too.

“You’re so mean,” she says, grinning. “This is your fault. All your fault that my neutrons aren’t firing right.”

“Neurons,” Ford corrects.

“Whatever, dork,” Stan grumbles.

“If your neutrons were firing, we would be dealing with a much more dire situation,” Ford says. Stan rolls her eyes. “So,” Ford says, settling himself over her, hands petting at her hair.

“So what?”

“So it was worth it to follow my suggestion and have you give me verbal instruction the entire time, wasn’t it,” Ford says.

“Sweet Moses, are you I-Told-You-So-ing me right now,” Stan complains.

“Yes,” Ford says plainly.

“You deserve to be Wet Willied,” Stan declares, “but I’m still working on getting feeling back in my arms, so you’re off the hook for now.”

“And your generous forgiveness has nothing to do with the apparently mind melting orgasm I just gave you,” Ford asks with an arched brow.

“You’re gonna eat those words just as soon as my bones resolidify,” Stan promises. “I will have my revenge.”

Ford leans down and kisses her, slow and deep and punctuated with a rolls of his hips. “Looking forward to it.”