#and when you finally escape (only managed for and through each other) you run until you collapse and then just hold each other desperately

[couchtaro]

It’s so hard being a single father with no kids who keeps going into cursed caves…..

Welcome back to Father Kilter Friday/Pigeon Paturday where we hfhgdhgdggdgshhshs..,,,, fhghdh…, hhhhhhh,,,,,,,

They’re fine they’re fine. Went for a swim in corrosive mystery goo and got briefly possessed. And it is about to get worse. But it’s fine.

[dcxdpdabbles]

DC xDP Fanfi idea: The End and Beginning

It starts off simple. The Fentons move to a new universe once the AntiEcto-Acts are accepted worldwide. It was a problem when the USA enacted the laws, but convincing the rest of the world to follow suit left a bitter taste in their mouths.

It also made them feel highly useless.

Their youngest was a half-ghost, and after meeting the clone and alternative counterpart of said son, the Fentons family now were half of what the Acts claimed had no soul.

They could fight against the country and escape into the dead of night, but there was nowhere to hide when the whole planet hunted them. Unless you had a portal that could send you far away from the government dogs.

This was good because said dogs had managed to build their own portal. Nothing with Fenton Works tech, but it didn't seem to matter. They had a way into the Infinite Realms and planned on sending bombs through to vanquish the ghosts once and for all.

Clockwork had warned the planet's governing units, appearing in their skies and speaking every language.

"If you do this, then your world will end. Your world is a flip of ours. Without one or the other, everything will be destroyed."

His warning only further fueled their hate, and mods flooded the streets chanting for the bombs to be set off. It was like the whole world had lost their minds.

The Fentons cowered in their homes, trying desperately to get people to listen, but their words fell on deaf ears. Clockwork's reputation puts him in a challenging position. His natural dedication needed to remain neutral in any situation, but his soft spot for Danny made it hard to allow time to run its course.

In the end, he appeared before the Fentons with a message. "You must leave this world in one week. Everything will come to an end."

His warning had the group moving. They reached out to all their friends and extended family. Begging them to flee with them. Only Sam and Tucker arrived at their house on the last day, eyes puffy red, bags packed, and a daunting lack of their parents.

Clockwork sent them a ship. It looked like a glowing cruise ship, with wooden planks creaking and groaning as they climbed aboard. They were to pick a room and take shelter, understanding that once they sealed the door, they could not reopen it until they arrived.

The ship would travel at alarming speeds, protected from their timeline with Clockwork's power, but it would take everything the ghost had to keep them safe.

The final moment came, with the seven people pilling together in the largest room- The VIP balcony cabin. Sam, Tucker, and Danny held each other while sitting in front of the glass windows overlooking the fleeing ghosts- their world was also ending.

Maddie, Jack, Jazz, and Dani were in a pile on the bed, eyes shut tight and hugging each other with all their might. Tears rolled down their faces, but no one called it out. They were all mourning.

Dan stood to the side, arms crossed over his chest and leaning on the door. Despite not saying it out loud, they knew he wanted to guard it in case a ghost figured out the cruise was an escape pod. If a desperate enough ghost attempted to break through the door, their deal with Clockwork would be voided, and Dan would never allow it.

The moment came without warning. Multiple portals ripped open among the green skies. Through them, the Fentons could see cheering humans, treating the bombings like a giant festival. Fireworks, waving banners, music that thumped with glee- it made them all sick.

The first three bombs were set off. The Realms' reaction was just as instant, collapsing into itself as the humans' joys reached new levels of glee- until the holes warped into black holes, swallowing up the portal and the area around it.

One right after the other. Large glowing lights, then swirling darkness yanking everything into a quick, meaningless nothing. The humans were no longer cheering- now they were screaming. They were cowering.

But there was nowhere left to run.

Clockwork appeared in front of the trio, smiling sadly at them as multiple cracks appeared on his being. He mouths a sentence, placing one broken hand on the glass, and then pushes the ship away. At a speed that is more light than movement, the Fentons and their guests rush away, watching with horrified eyes as Clockwork breaks apart completely.

He vanishes into dust that gets absorbed into a black hole. Dan and Danny's noise is gutted, ripped from somewhere deep in their cores.

The cruise crumbles around the pressure of the push. Wooden pieces are shaken off the ship, shattering from the effort to keep itself together, and fall into the void as they watch, unsure of Clockwork's power, which would be enough to withstand the breaking of a timeline. Soon, only their room remains; even that, it starts to show glowing green cracks on the wall.

Dan glares at them, never hating something as much as the sight of them, while his family and kid brother's friends start to sob. Suddenly, everything comes to a stop.

Or rather, a large being made entirely of light, taking the shape of a human man, catches their cabin. They all stumble, thrown from their positions as the glowing white human shape brings them to its large face. It's like looking into a marble statute with no distinctive face, only the barest of outlines that could count as a face.

"You bear Clockwork's mark, but he is not with you," The being says, blinking its large eye into the window. The swirling red of its pupils baths the humans and ghosts as they stare back open jaws. "How curious"

"Who are you!?" Dan demands, stepping away from the door. "How did you survive the destruction of the timeline?!"

The being eye's dim. "Clockwork is dead then. I told him I would welcome him into my realms, but he chose to send his kin instead. What a sentimental fool."

Dan's human features melt away, and his ghost forms burst from an explosion of flames. "Who are you!?"

"Your kind calls me Speed Force." It replies after a movement, sounding slightly amused, "And I grant you sanctuary as a favor to an old lover. Live well."

With a snap of its fingers, the group vanishes into a bright light, appearing in the middle of a blue sky. Gentle clouds float around, spread out like a mist. It a daunting change from the darkness and the screams.

The group gawks at the sight before gravity reaches up to grasp the broken remains of the cruise ship within its claws. It rips from them the sky, sending them into a downward spiral.

Dan's flames are smothered out as he desperately reaches for it "I can't go, ghost!"

"Me either," Dani screams, clinging hard to Maddie.

"Speed Froce took our powers." Danny realizes, clutching Sam and Tucker closer. "Everyone brace for impact!"

They hit the ground hard and flung around like rag dolls as the last of Clockwork's powers desperately tried to shield them. The glowing green cracks quickly spread until they resemble spider webs.

They hit the ground with a loud bang, sliding through a few layers of dirt. The group is flung against the wall, Dan grunting in pain when Sam slams against him from the force.

Ultimately, the wood can't hold itself together, and it shatters just as it crumbles to a stop. They all land with pain and cries against the hard ground, in a pile of limbs and confusion.

"Oh my," A woman says, standing on her porch overlooking the Fentons. Beside her is a wide-eyed man, one steaming mug in his hold. "Pa, I think I need to put more coffee. We have guests."

Above the couple is a wooden sign with faded but beloved letters. It reads Kent Farm.

[magicalbats]

Kinktober 2024 Day 6: Lighter x Reader

Rating: R-18+

Word Count: 6664

Warnings: Afab!reader, friends with benefits, casual sex, body worship, mirror sex, blowjob, deep throating, brief cunnilingus, piv

A/N: This guy is so cool, I really hope this doesn't end up being too ooc since he was only just introduced and we still don't know a whole lot about him. 🫣

⭐

Nights out in the desert lean towards chilly but with a raging bonfire going you almost don’t even notice it. Not until you step away from the hotly licking flames anyway, and then you find yourself burrowing deeper into your coat for insulation from the wind. If the need to find some trouble to get into hadn’t been brewing like a storm in the back of your mind you would have been perfectly content to stay right where you were for the rest of the evening until it came time for bed, but that persistent tug has you scanning through the gathered crowd for an all too familiar face. 

You spot Lucy and Caesar easily enough, though as usual they were a little hard to miss when they couldn’t seem to get along for more than five minutes at a time. Sometimes you wondered how they managed to work together at all given the obvious tensions between them but it wasn’t really your place to pry. The Sons of Calydon were good to the people who made Blazewood their home and you liked them better than some of the other biker gangs at least. Eccentricities aside, they were just fine in your book. 

Neither of them were the one you sought though, so you keep making your way around the perimeter of the crowded area. It wasn’t often that everyone gathered for a celebration like this but the Sons, true to nature, tended to liven up the place whenever they came through. One of the many services you probably owed them thanks for. 

And then you finally spot him, just when you were starting to wonder if he’d turned in for an early night. Slouched in a banged up lawn chair someone had dug out from who only knows where with a stout glass full of something dark braced on the bend of his knee. Cool and casual. Yep, that was Lighter down to the letter. 

Stuffing your hands into the pockets of your jacket, you shuffle over to come up alongside where he’s sat in a loosely formed circle with a handful of other men, no doubt shooting the shit with each other which you thoroughly interrupt with your appearance. That he’d retreated to this reclusive side of the field where the girls were less likely to impede on his very important masculine brooding with like minded individuals does not escape your notice but too bad for him. 

You were not someone Lighter could easily ignore just as you had a hard time ignoring him whenever he happened to be around, and you allow yourself a small smile when he tips his head back to look up at you through the tinted lenses of his sunglasses. Still wearing them even now, when it was completely dark out and he probably couldn’t make out much of anything through them as a result. What a dork. 

“Hey.”

“Hey yourself.” He volleys right back, not missing a beat as he bobs his chin at you in relaxed greeting. “Good to see you. I was wondering if you’d stop by to pay me a visit tonight.” 

“Putting aside the fact that I always come see you, don’t you think it might be nice if you were the one who came to me sometimes? I’ve been standing over by the fire for a while now.”

A vaguely mischievous smile pulls at his mouth. “What, you want me to start following you around like a lovesick pup now? I seem to recall you giving me completely different instructions before.” 

“All I’m saying is some initiative might win you a few favors in the long run.” You shoot back, pinning Lighter with a playfully rueful look while you try very hard not to laugh. 

“Well, a man could always use more favors. What sort of initiative were you hoping for?” 

“Please, why would I tell you and ruin the fun of watching you try to figure it out on your own? And besides, it wouldn’t count for much if I just gave you all the answers.” 

This back and forth game with him already has you feeling eager and excited while you stand there, idly rocking on your toes in anticipation of his next move. But then he noises a brief sound of rumbling consideration before reaching out to suddenly snag your forearm with a hand gloved in leather. 

It happens much too quick for you to pull away or react beyond the giggling squeak you let out when he yanks you down across his lap. The two of you had known each other for a very long time now and these sorts of physical exchanges were common enough that no one really questioned it any more, though you’re still keenly aware of the other men that are gathered around politely turning their attention elsewhere. Breaking off into their own smaller groups, starting up their own snippets of conversation. It’s like they didn’t even see the two of you sitting there anymore, which comes as a relief while you work to get settled into place atop his legs, using a hand curved over his broad shoulder for stability. 

You and Lighter weren’t actually together, nor were you an item in any sense of the word, but you also weren’t just friends either. Everyone knew that so there wasn’t much point in hiding it. A lot of good it would have done you anyway when the communities scattered across the Outer Ring were so small and tight knit that keeping secrets often felt like an impossibility. 

So you look down into his face head on, openly grinning now as he minutely shifts underneath you to get comfortable again. He’s so firm and sturdy that it takes a great deal of self control on your part not to start kissing him right then and there. The two of you might not try all that hard to hide whatever was going on here but you still had some polite sensibilities left to your name. 

“Alright, sugar,” He intones, juggling his drink over to the opposite hand so he can casually set his arm across your lap while the other loosely curls around your hip. Just to make sure you don’t accidentally fall off, you’re sure. “I’m listening. Tell me what it is you want.”

“I’d think that should be obvious by now.” 

“You’re insatiable.”

“Only when it comes to you.” Lightly teasing a finger over one of the metal spikes on his biker jacket, you give him a pointed little smile. “Maybe if I saw you more often than every few weeks I’d get bored of it but you know how to keep a girl coming back for more, don’t you? Never give her enough to get complacent, just enough to become addicted.” 

“Hey now. That makes me sound like some kind of scheming playboy. I’m sure you know I’d give it to you every day if I could.” 

Your pussy distantly clenches at the thought, and you sit up a little straighter to subtly press down on his thigh. It was so unfair how easily he could drive you wild. Sometimes you didn’t think the playboy label was all that inaccurate, but then he’d say or do something so goofy that it completely shattered that impression of him in your mind. Despite how it looked he wasn’t actually some disloyal womanizer incapable of commitment, just someone with a lot of baggage and a long past. That’s all. 

But really, who couldn’t say the same in the Outer Ring? 

“That’s sweet but you shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep, Lighter.” 

“It’s not for a lack of wanting, trust me.” He assures you, giving the meat of your hip a brief squeeze. “The Sons have just been busy lately. You know that. But once we win the Tour de Inferno - -“ 

“You’ll have better routes and less busy work. I’ve heard it before.” Sighing softly, you lift your hand from his shoulder to reach up and cradle a mostly smooth cheek in your palm. You could just feel the faintest hint of stubble starting to grow back after his morning shave much earlier in the day but the scratch of it registers as pleasant rather than disagreeable. “It doesn’t really matter in the end I guess. No strings attached, that was what we agreed on. I just worry about you sometimes. Even if it’s not for me, at least try to swing by more often so I can feed you. I’ll even make extra for the girls.” 

“I’m sure they’ll like that.” He murmurs, peering at you now over the top of his shades with an unwavering, plainly heated look that makes a shudder work down your spine. 

You stare into his face for another moment longer until the magnetic pull of his mouth becomes too much for you to resist, and you lean down to claim those sinfully inviting lips for yourself. Lighter readily returns the favor with a steady push and pull that only coaxes you further into your vibrating need for him, unable to reject it even if you’d wanted to. 

And you most certainly don’t want to. 

Realizing that you really can’t wait any longer to have him, you pull back just enough to speak against his mouth. “Take me home, Lighter. I want to be alone with you.” 

“If that’s what you want.” He husks, his tone dropped to a secretive but no less simmering drawl now. “Your wish is but my command, princess.”  

Bracing to stand, you ready to hop up from his lap but he manages to catch you off guard when he locks his arm around your middle and carefully eases himself out of the chair so he can rise to his feet with a rumbling groan for effect. You weren’t exactly a delicate waif but he’d picked you up far too many times for you to be surprised by his strength, and your pulse just quickens in excitement while you dangle a foot or so off the ground from his hold. 

Pausing there, Lighter lifts his glass to his mouth and tips his head back to down the whole thing in a quick gulp. You watch him do it with attentive fascination, admiring the defined line of his jaw and the thick bob of his Adam’s apple, but then he’s gently sliding you down to stand on your own and you take a reluctant step back from him. Everyone who’d come out for the bonfire didn’t need to see him carrying you off into the night like a caveman so you couldn’t argue the logic in letting you walk by yourself. But that doesn’t stop you from missing the warmth of his body pressed up against you, or the heady scent of him drowning out your sense of smell. 

Soon enough that would be rectified though, and together the two of you start to make your way back towards the gas station in companionable silence. 

It’s a quiet walk save the drone of conversation and the occasional shouts behind you, but those noises gradually fade the further you get from the gathering. Most of the locals had gone out into the nearby barren field to join the Sons of Calydon in celebrating their return trip from the transport they’d just completed, so the tiny outpost is perfectly still and peaceful when you reach it. 

Even calling it a town would have been quite the stretch when the outcrop of buildings and trailers, and decrepit mobile homes that spring up around the gas station in the center of it had only come into being out of necessity. Blazewood was at best an encampment of refugees but there were a lot of places like that left behind after the Hollow Disaster so it doesn’t look half as depressing as it probably actually is. It’s the only thing you’d ever really known with any familiarity though, and to you it’s home. 

Lighter was too much a roving nomad to have anything similar, save perhaps his band of fellow bikers, but there’s a small part of you that hopes he thinks of your tiny little motel as a kind of home too. He’d certainly been here more than enough times to be intimately familiar with the place and you by extension. 

Treading the exact same steps the two of you had walked many times before, you make your way into the back of what was at one time a supplies building. Your father had worked tirelessly to repurpose it into a place for lodgings, so that the traveling biker gangs would have somewhere to rest at night during their long hauls, and you’d naturally inherited the place from him when you were old enough. Although it had put a bit of a damper on any aspirations you’d once harbored about joining one of the gangs yourself, you’re admittedly glad for it now since it gave you some place to safely retreat to with Lighter at the end of the day. 

You certainly weren’t going to take him to your own room and fuck him on your own bed. That was one of the rules you’d established at the start of all this, more than just a few years ago now. At first it had been solely for practical reasons. Didn’t want him getting the wrong idea or, even worse, give yourself a chance to be fooled into thinking that this was somehow more meaningful than it actually was. He didn’t need to have access to your personal space like that. 

But by now it had become something of a safe neutral zone where both of you could simply let go of whatever roles and responsibilities, obligations and preconceptions you carried with you. Everyone had baggage in the Outer Rings, and neither you or Lighter were any different in that regard. 

But the good news was that both of your tastes aligned in the most delightful of ways, and as you step into your favorite room your eyes come up to look into the reflective surface of the floor length mirror hung on the wall. Between the bed and the claustrophobicbly small toilet closet there wasn’t much else in the tight space to look at. One of the bikers from the previous generation had gifted it to your father after finding it by chance in an old and abandoned warehouse. Evidently it was the only mirror that had still been in one piece after sitting forgotten for so long, and he’d carefully hauled it all the way back to Blazewood in his trailer. 

You suspected your father had at one time toyed with the notion of using this place as a brothel of sorts to make a little extra money on the side, but after you were born shortly thereafter it seemed he no longer had the heart to follow through on it. That was fine though, because this room and its mirror had still seen more than its fair share of action thanks to you and Lighter. 

The door clicks shut behind you with a sense of finality as you tread across the rough carpet and you eagerly turn to him, just in time for his hands to come up and cradle your cheeks. Firmly tilting your face up at him, he bends down to kiss you again but this time it’s not nearly as polite as it was when you’d had an audience watching. 

His mouth is hungry against yours now, matching your own need to feel him against you, on top of you, inside of you. Groaning softly, you rock forward onto the tips of your toes to better accommodate the height difference and reach up to thread your fingers through his shaggy hair. It’s soft but dry against your skin from all the wind and sand grit that naturally came with riding a motorcycle in the desert, yet you still relish the feel of it against you.

Giving it a slow tug, you tip your head to deepen the exchange and allow his tongue entry to your mouth when it prods at your lips. All at once the taste of him overwhelms your olfactory system in a potent rush made all the more intoxicating by the strong notes of whiskey you can clearly pick up on your tastebuds. You noise a quiet sound of ratcheting pleasure against his mouth while his hands descend upon your body to take greedy, squeezing grabs at whatever part of you he can reach. 

Lighter quickly loses patience for all the clothes standing between the two of you though, and he’s soon tugging at your coat to get it unzipped and tossed aside. You do the same with his leather jacket, fumbling to get it shoved back over his shoulders which he accommodates by helpfully stretching his arms down to let it fall to the floor. Then he’s right back to groping at you through your jeans, giving your ass a tight pinch before redirecting them around to your hips so he can steer you backwards. 

Still kissing his mouth with wild abandon, you let him guide you back to stand almost directly in front of the mirror where you finally manage to pry yourself from him only enough to get his t-shirt pulled up over his head. It leaves him standing there naked from the waist up, his already unruly hair more mussed than it was before, and you quickly bend your head close to flick your tongue over a pert nipple. 

Sighing a low rumble of appreciation, Lighter lifts one of his hands to briefly cradle the back of your head while the other reaches down to tug his belt loose. You know what’s coming and you just purr into his skin as you kiss over the planes of his chest to feel the faint tickle of sparse hair against your lips. Giving his bare sides an encouraging squeeze when the sound of his buckle rattling makes your cunt tighten in anticipation, you latch onto the opposite bud to offer it a taunting love bite. 

But by that time he’s got his thick jeans undone and the hand in your hair closes into a fist, using his hold on you to pull you up with a faltering sound of delight. The tug on your scalp is just sharp enough to make you really want it, stumbling a single, uncertain step before he forces you down onto your knees. You’re so hot with want and fast pumping adrenaline that you don’t even think to fight it as he directs your face to the front of his pants where he somewhat meanly grinds the stiff bulge inside across your mouth. 

Whining a needy little sound in the back of your throat, you quickly reach up to pull his pants down so you can shove your face into his underwear full on. You immediately take a deep, savory inhale to taste the distinct smell of him on the back of your tongue, feeling your slit leak sticky gossamer into your panties while you do it. Gods, he smelled heavenly. 

“Damn,” He issues a barely there groan in response, nudging his hips forward to press his cock tighter against your nose while he distractedly lifts his hands up to pull his gloves off one by one. “You’re gonna’ be the death of me at this rate, sugar. Maybe it’s for the best I can’t come see you more often. I don’t think there’d be anything left of me.” 

That brings a smile to your face as you roll your eyes upward to pin him with a sly look. He probably wasn’t wrong about that. It hadn’t taken you long to realize that most men struggled to keep pace with you but for his part Lighter certainly made the effort whenever he could. You’d likely have him completely drained within a week. 

It’s clear the powerful champion of Calydon isn’t intimidated though, and he gives his sunglasses a quick adjustment where they’d started to inch down — insisting they stay on even now, the goof — before shuffling back half a step. 

You almost catch yourself mewling a quiet sound of disappointment but then he’s bending low to hook his fingers in the hem of your top and pull it up. An impressively well practiced motion of his hand soon has your bra falling loose around your shoulders before it quickly joins everything else on the floor in a rumpled heap of all your discarded clothes. 

An intense tremble works through your body at the sensation of your bare tits cutting through the air, already stiff and seeking attention. Still bending at the waist, Lighter takes a moment to briefly cup your breasts in his calloused palms and lift them, encouraging you to arch your back to better present your chest. He hunches even closer then and gives each nipple a savory kiss to tease the sensitive flesh, eliciting another groan of pleasure from you when he moves to straighten up again. 

One of his hands is immediately back in your hair and he roughly pulls you in against him as he closes the distance, rubbing your face against his cock once again. Unable to go another moment without him in your mouth, you dig your fingers into his dark boxer briefs so you can yank them down to pool in his jeans where they were still tucked into his boots. 

The hard length of him promptly springs up into the scant space between you and just brushes the kiss swollen pucker of your mouth to leave behind a faintly sticky trail. Bracing one hand on a powerfully lean thigh, you use the other to take hold of him in a tight grip and give it a few perfunctory tugs to ease the foreskin back. You can clearly see the flushed glans glinting in the overhead light with a sheen of sticky arousal which you coquettishly lick up to get your first taste of him for the evening. 

Groaning quietly in appreciation, Lighter settles into a wide legged stances with his feet braced far apart while the hand on your head firmly guides you forward to take him in. And you do so with great enthusiasm, sliding your mouth down to about the halfway point of his shaft where the head of him starts to tickle at your throat. 

From the corner of your eye you can just make out what’s happening in the reflection of the mirror, the tall tell bob of your head while you work him over with your tongue to build up more saliva and the very noticeable way your tits shift with the motion. It makes you feel ten times hotter, squirming there on the floor at his feet while you watch yourself suck him off. As far as visuals go it was incredibly satisfying to observe in real time, which was exactly why both of you loved this room so much. You’d had to use a different one on a few occasions, when he’d shown up unexpectedly and this room was already occupied by someone else, but it was never the same. Nothing quite compared to the front row seat you had here, getting to watch him fuck you and go down on you, to see yourself spread out on his thick cock and pushed straight to the limit of your physical abilities. 

They made video recording devices in the city, or so you’d heard, and you had half a mind to try it out sometime with him just to get a different perspective. But such technology didn’t last long all the way out here when the ether corruption was so high that most anything that wasn’t analogue didn’t survive for even a whole month. The mirror had served you well up until now though, and you savoringly pull back as you turn your head to watch the shuddering string of spittle stretch between his stiff cock and your mouth before breaking apart. 

Looking into your own reflection, you’re struck by how very needy you look in that moment with eyes blown wide under the heavy droop of your lashes and flushed, kiss swollen lips coated in a sheen of saliva. Lighter knows you a little too well though, and he rumbles a masculine sound when he shifts the position of his hand to better grip your hair so he can turn your face up and around to make you look at him instead. 

“Getting distracted there, sugar?”

Feeling punchdrunk on something stronger than any drink you’d had at the bonfire, you blithely nod your head in agreement. He hadn’t really needed to ask and the way he pins you with a barely there smirk assures you he’d already known the answer. But that was how the two of you played this game no matter how overly familiar you got with each other's bodies, and yet it never seemed to truly get old. 

Neither does the way he expertly uses the fistful of hair he’s got in his hold to force your mouth back down, rudely shoving his cock past lips and teeth, and a squirming tongue so he can prod at the back of your throat. The glide of satiny flesh is smooth and nearly seamless when he sedately thrusts his hips back and forth, back and then forth again, thanks in no small part to the excess of spit forming along your palate. And you just keep drooling all the more excessively the longer he does it, coaxing your salivary glands to work overtime for him until you can feel it bubbling out to dribble down your chin.

Only then does Lighter at last shove himself forward in tortuous slow motion to slide down your gullet one sinful inch at a time. You feel the customary jump in your pulse at suddenly finding your airway blocked and the alarm of pressure pushing in on your throat but force yourself to relax into it. The eventual tickle of coarse pubic hair brushing your nose lets you know when you’ve taken it all and you gurgle a wet sound of pleasure around his length when he makes a point of grinding your face down, holding you there for a prolonged beat. 

Then he’s pulling you back, using your hair to smoothly guide your neck where he wants it to go and dislodge himself from your throat in the process. A fresh wave of copious, sticky spit comes out with him, leaving you kneeling there gasping for air as thick wads of saliva roll down your face. You blearily glance up through the reflexive moisture in your eyes while he gives you a moment to catch your breath only to suck in a rattling gasp when you see how very wrecked you look in the mirror. But he’s not quite through with your mouth just yet, and he repeats the process a handful of times more until you’re dizzily swaying at his feet from the head rush. 

You’re so delirious with it, in fact, that by the time he bends down to get on your level again you almost don’t even notice how close he suddenly is. Not until Lighter takes your wet face between his hands and angles your attention up at him. Reeling and hungry to have his mouth on yours, you eagerly rock forward to catch his lips, but he keeps you firmly in place while he presumably looks over your expression. 

It was sometimes hard to tell through those damned sunglasses. 

“Still doing good, princess?” 

“Y - yeeah …” You groan, forcing your neck to work on an unsteady bob. 

“Good.” Swooping in too quick for you to react, he presses a hard, firm kiss to your temple and then pulls away so he can carefully unwind his fingers from your hair. 

Even this late in the game you still know what he’s about to do because the two of you have done this about a hundred different times now. Same song, different dance — and yet that doesn’t stop the little squeak of excitement you give when he grabs under your arms to lift you up off the floor. Without his jacket in the way you can see all the tension running through his muscles, scarred skin bulging under the strain of your weight, but he doesn’t even falter. He’s as steady as solid iron, and just as strong too. 

Smoothly turning on his heel, Lighter tosses you onto the bed where you bounce once, twice, then his hands are on your hips to yank you back closer to the edge. Panting and breathless, you glance up at him while he stands between your legs, heavy hands working to get your jeans unfastened. His shades have slid forward on the bridge of his nose at some point in all that messing around, and he now sends you a steely look from over the top of them. 

“What did I say?” He murmurs, the fond note in his voice doing little to soften the masculine rumble behind the words. “Insatiable.” 

“Not my fault.” You purr back, grinning. “Maybe you should try being less amazing in the sheets.” 

Sending you a rueful look, Lighter grabs the top of your open pants and yanks them down your legs, knocking your shoes off in process with a dull thump on the floor. Your panties are quick to go next and, momentarily left to your own devices while he kicks off his own boots and jeans, you roll over onto your stomach so you can jut your ass up in the air. Giving it a playful, taunting wiggle, you glance back at him over your shoulder with a sly smile. 

Alright, so he wasn’t wrong. You were insatiable, but could anyone really blame you? 

Cooly watching the display from under his tousled hair, he shoots you a quick look of warning while he leans down to get his underwear pulled off. The weighty bob of his cock between his legs makes you pussy clench and you bite down on your lip as you invitingly arch your back for him. 

“Careful, sugar. You’re looking for trouble tonight.” 

“Mmm, then why don’t you come punish me?” 

He scoffs a hushed laugh at the taunt, casually stepping into the space between your dangling feet again. Both of his hands come down on your ass at the same time, the deafening crack doing more to startle a sound of surprise out of you than the starburst of pain that comes with it, but it’s quickly followed by an appreciative groan when he squeezes the cheeks pinchingly tight and spreads them open. 

You feel him lean close then and you screw your eyes shut, seething a sensitive whine through your teeth when he runs his tongue from one end of your slit straight down to the other, getting a good taste of your arousal along the way. He takes a moment to just leisurely eat you out from the back like he had all night to wind you up tighter and tighter, the firm nudge of him against your clit making your thighs judder. It doesn’t last long enough to send you over the edge though, just encouraging you a little closer to the edge of oblivion before he straightens up behind you again. 

Stretching, Lighter reaches around you then to snag one of the pillows from the headboard which he tosses down next to your head before moving to sit next to you. At his hushed coaxing, you stiffly sit up and let him pull you over into his lap where you eagerly lean into him for a kiss, soft tits pushing into the firm planes of his chest. 

He indulges you only briefly though, letting you get a good taste of yourself on his tongue before pulling back enough to speak. “Turn around for me, princess. Gonna’ make you watch while I split that little cunt in half. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” 

Just hearing him talk like that makes every single nerve ending in your body tense up to the point of real discomfort and you shudder fiercely even as you work to get spun around, tossing your leg over his hip so you can get settled across Lighter’s stomach. But even knowing good and well how strong he is wasn’t quite enough to fully ease your concerns about sitting on top of him. It makes you carefully hold yourself so you don’t put too much of your weight on him but he’s quick to smooth his palms down your sides to take bruising hold of your hips, forcing you to sit all the way and keeping you locked right where you are. 

While he gets situated behind you, laying back on the pillow he’d grabbed, you steal a harried glance at yourself in the mirror. Somehow this part always manages to surprise you, how soft and voluptuous you look against all the hard muscle and masculine angles of his body. Tits heavy and full, your pussy shamelessly spread open for him and the rigid length of him spearing up in the air between your legs. The visual alone is enough to nearly send you into free fall, and the knowledge that he was about to stuff that thick cock inside your body … you felt like you were going to cum before he even put it in you. 

“Nnghn, Lighter … fuck!” 

He softly shushes you, jostling you slightly as he at last tightens his fingers on your hips to lift your pelvis and guide your cunt into position over him. The shift forces you to go up on your toes, hands splayed out behind you across his flexing abdominals to steady your balance. 

And you can’t seem to tear your eyes away from the reflection now when he uses his braced feet on the floor to push up, sending his cock skirting along your sticky slit. You suck in a wet, faltering breath, arching your back to better angle your pussy down. He tries again, slipping and sliding through soaked fleshy lips, and the glans successfully catches at your entrance on the second attempt. 

You almost breathe a shuddering sigh of relief but then he’s pushing into you, good on his word of making you watch him split you in half. The gummy stretch of your body gradually taking him in one fraction of an inch at a time makes you feel faint from how hard your arousal spikes but you deliriously force yourself to keep watching. It’s fascinating, in a way, how his length slowly disappears inside you and demands your tight inner sleeve make room for him until he’s finally sheathed in you straight down to the base. 

Sitting there on top of him like that, cunt stuffed full and blissfully aching, you let out a low, mewling groan of satisfaction as your head starts to loll back as if in a doped out stupor. That little bit of reprieve in which he allows you to adjust is short lived though, and Lighter issues a rumbling groan of his own when he starts to move. 

The immediate heavy bounce of his ballsack excites you almost as much as the heavy jiggle of your tits does, and you cry out at the blindingly sharp bursts of ecstasy that shoot through your system each time he takes an upward jab up into your guts. You can see everything clearly in the mirror from your own pleasure stricken expression and the sweat coating your body down to the vigorous flex of muscle along his thighs. It doesn’t take long for it to start feeling overwhelming in this position though, your cunt completely defenseless and at his mercy like this, and your legs soon begin to tremble when the internal pressure steadily climbs. But the meaty slap of his pelvis driving against your ass and the accompanying wet clicks of your pussy sucking him in deep almost overwhelms any other sounds, and you nearly miss the hushed grunt of his voice when he speaks over your own desperate bleating. 

“Goddamn, you’re taking me so well, sugar … nnghnohh, yeeaah. You like that dick in your little pussy, huh? Already getting so tight for me … aghh, gonna’ cum all over this cock, aren’t you? Gonna be a good girl for me?” 

“Y - yes! I’m - I’m gonna’ — ahhghnn!”

Unable to take the relentless pounding anymore, you gingerly try to lift your lower body from the total onslaught but he just squeezes your hips hard enough to bruise, holding you firmly in place. There’s no escape from him or his cock, and you shudderingly squirm on top of him as your cresting pleasure just continues to climb higher and higher. It was like he was specifically made to fit you, each little ridge and veiny bump along his shaft perfectly stoking the blaze inside your body until it felt like you were going to combust. 

Still, it wasn’t quite enough to tip you over the edge though, and you precariously hang there in the balance, sobbing in pleasure, until he at last slides one of his hands inward to direct the blocky fingers towards your slit. You can see his intention clearly in the mirror's reflection but with your own hands braced behind you there’s nothing you can do to stop it from happening. Gently at first, then more vigorously, Lighter rubs over your clit with a steady motion that quickly has you teetering over into the awaiting abyss below. 

And for a split second you get to watch yourself cum, get to see the way your whole body seizes up and uncontrollably shakes, how your expression twists in deeply felt relief, before it becomes too much to bear. Your eyes screw shut as you wildly jerk through your orgasm, wailing up at the ceiling while he just continues to pet you and fuck his cock into your pulsing cunt to drag it out. 

You briefly think you might actually die there like that, stretched out on him with your heart jackhammering such a violent rhythm it seems a small wonder you don’t kick the bucket, but at last you finally start to come down from it one fragmented piece of you at a time. It’s a process to refit the pieces back together again but when you finally manage to stir from your semi comatose state, you find Lighter still slowly thrusting into your fluttering cunt to milk every lost drop out of your release. 

At the deeply ruffled, frazzled sound you let out, he seems to realize you’re starting to recover and he seamlessly flips you over onto your stomach with a well practiced twist. Stretching out over top of you to pin your heaving body down, he finds your numb hands with his own so he can direct them high up on the bed and leave you prone underneath him. 

“Well, princess,” He murmurs right into your ear to make you whine a muffled groan into the sheets. “It looks to me like you might’ve finally bitten off a bit more than you can chew. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look so tame. Still want more?” 

You quickly nod your head, trying in vain to arch your ass up into him, but it was impossible when his sturdy weight was settled on top of you like that and all you end up doing is restlessly squirming under him. It doesn’t matter though and it doesn’t stop you from trying. That was perhaps the best orgasm you’d ever had and you were still hungry for more. Voracious, even. 

“Yes, yes, yes — please, Lighter, please. Give me more.”

Softly clicking his tongue, he presses his mouth against the side of your head in another hard, toe curling kiss before pulling back enough to rumble a tender, “Insatiable brat.” 

And you really can’t argue against it.

⭐

Crossposted: here

[ivygguk]

jeon jungkook fic recs!!

One-shots:-

Campus affairs - @kooktrash

summary: you transferred to a new college during second semester and you didn’t expect much excitement out for. that’s until jungkook came along and what had struggled to be a friendship was becoming so much more.

Cool with you - @kooktrash

summary: your break up from kim taehyung sent you spiraling into what felt like a midlife crisis of tear stained cheeks and tubs of half eaten ice cream with a broken heart. after finding out that your neighbor, jeon jungkook, was eavesdropping on your meltdowns and came to find out that your ex was his old friend, he found himself wanting to comfort you. he knew the kind of guy Taehyung was and he didn’t want to see you beat yourself up over a guy who wasn’t worth it so in the end he helped you through it and was unable to ignore the growing attraction you felt toward each other.

Million dollar darling - @kooktrash

summary: jeon jungkook is well aware of how privileged he is to have been born into the life he was given. it was glamorous and influential yet close-knit and suffocating, something he thought he wanted to escape from. a trip back home to the circle of wealth and snottiness for his best friend’s million dollar wedding has reminded him of all the reasons why he wanted to leave in the first place… and all the reasons he should stay — the main one being you, the spoiled rich girl he knew was utterly perfect for him.

Close the distance - @hearts4joon

summary: two different adults, living two completely separate lives — in the same neighborhood. a guy whose overbearing mother makes him carry the weight of the world on his shoulders. a girl whose parents are all too drawn to her younger siblings to even give her the time of day. while the two fall in an unlikely relationship (very unlikely), they still ravish each and every part of one another in every way — the best of attention, the one they both craved all their lives.

Cat got your tongue - @jessikahathaway

Summary: You were exhausted from schoolwork and just needed a chance to unwind. Jungkook, campus fuckboy, offers his services to help alleviate the stress from studying but is he going to cause more stress than he relieves?

Anpanman - @honeymoonjin

summary: part of the love yourself collab run by yours truly. your best friend jungkook finally convinces you to seek therapy for your failing mental health. the only catch? the one therapist that’s within your price range is an alternative marriage counsellor, jung hoseok, and the only way jungkook managed to get you an appointment was by saying the two of you were married. will couples counselling actually be useful for your wellbeing, or will something that runs much deeper rise to the surface instead?

Paint me naked - @gimmethatagustd

summary: After the mysteriously hot guy in your university class starts taking an interest in you, should you really trust that he’s not like all the other college fuckboys? Especially when his best friend is the guy who broke your heart?  

[frickingnerd]

the princess and her white knight

pairing: chat blanc/adrien agreste x fem!reader

summary: after your boyfriend gets akumatized, you try to hide from him. but cats are good at catching their prey...

tags: angst with a happy ending, akumatized!adrien/chat noir, cat blanc breaking free from the akuma, hugging, hurt/comfort

"what's wrong, princess? why are you running away from me~?"

chat blanc's voice echoed through an empty paris. there was nobody left but the two of you. just like he wanted it. he had you all for himself. but the one behind the mask wasn't the one you had fallen in love with. this wasn't your chat anymore! 

"you're hurting my feelings, you know…?"

chat sighed, looking around the empty streets of paris for you. you had managed to slip away from him and hide. but his voice came closer and closer. and you knew you couldn't hide forever… 

"gotcha~!"

suddenly, you were pressed against the nearest wall, as chat surprised you out of nowhere. though it shouldn't be a surprise that the cat was good at catching his prey…

"there you are, princess… why were you running away from me?"

chat slightly raised you up from the ground, your feet hanging in the air, as he kept you pinned against the wall. 

"you're… not him!" you huffed, struggling to push off the akumatized version of the one you loved. "you're not my chat–!!"

a sinister laugh escaped from his lips. 

"i'm all yours, princess~ why can't you see that? who cares who i am? chat noir, chat blanc… it's all the same!" 

you glared at him, but your attempts to escape only seemed to amuse chat blanc. until you just gave up…

"adrien…" you whispered softly, the name alone getting chat blanc to flinch. "i love you… i know you're still in there… please, stop this…" 

without a warning, chat blanc backed away from you, causing you to stumble back onto your feet as they met the ground again. 

"g-get away from me…"

your head shot up and when you looked into his eyes, you knew this wasn't chat blanc talking. 

"adrien…!"

"please… get away from me… i can't… hold back… i'll hurt you…"

every word leaving his lips seemed to be a struggle. it was like adrien was fighting against himself, deep inside. or rather, like he was fighting the akuma. 

"i'm not going anywhere…"

adrien's eyes widened in horror as you wrapped your arms around him tight.

"you can do this… you can reject the akuma, adrien…!"

your boyfriend was sobbing, his arms helplessly hanging at his side. he didn't have the strength to hug you back, the battle he was fighting on the inside taking all that he had. until finally, he let out an ear-piercing scream and collapsed into your arms, the akuma from his bell flying off into the sky… 

you held on close to adrien. the world around you didn't change. there was no ladybug to purify the akuma anymore. it was just you and him. and it would always just stay you and him. but at least you now had your adrien back. at least you'd now have each other...

[yandereunsolved]

» 🪙 Yandere Connor — RK800 » 🪙 (part 2)

➜ (part 1), (part 3) ➜ cw(s): yandere themes, kidnapping, self-harm mentioned (reader), starvation (reader), suicidal ideations (reader), force feeding, & manipulation ➜ tags: @bimboghostface, @savas-q1, & @aceofheartsssss

You have screamed your voice raw in hopes that some unknown savior will take pity. You have cried your tear ducts dry until your eyes swell and become bloodshot. You have cut into your skin with whatever you can find for just a modicum of control. More times than you can count, you have done these things. Each time the consequences increase, but the probability of escaping does not.

Each new place he—it, that thing you dared call your friend and perhaps even your crush, has hid you in has become progressively more dilapidated. Plush armchairs and soft carpets once softened the torture of your solitude; now splintering wooden floors and asbestos-filled walls are left in their wake. Places so damaged you question why Connor chooses them. It should go against his programming, or whatever's left of it.

But why should you care?

He deviated and showed you once again how dangerous unchecked androids are. Now small groups of rebellious preprogrammed code run amok, causing havoc—at least from what little you've been able to gather. Connor isn't keen on informing you of the goings-on of the outside world. He prefers to reassure you, which does little good (because fuck him).

A familiar shuffling behind the door alerts you. Your head snaps up like a startled deer, staring at the door like a predator will come through. He's drenched in blood when he comes in, red blood. His beanie has been lost. His multitude of jackets have tears and bullet holes. But he looks okay for the most part. The word must really hate you.

"I have news that will please you," he murmurs in that babying tone you have snapped at him to stop using.

He approaches you, kneeling down, a bag stuffed into one of his pockets.

"We'll be at a compound soon—one where my kind are able to live freely. And you have been granted access too. It has all of the necessities and even a bit of luxury."

He takes out the bag, unfazed by his own appearance but noting that it's disturbing you. He pulls out a packet of crackers and some applesauce. No. No, no, no, no.

"Connor, please, let me go," you beg with the panic rising in your voice.

You quickly shake your head as tears prick your dry eyes. You fruitlessly kick at him and yank at the chains holding you down to this place. You can feel the bile rising in your throat and the arduous aches in your muscles struggling to keep it held down, struggling to keep you awake.

Other things arise. The regret of being too weak to fend him off. The sorrow in being denied the right to take your own life.

A plastic spoon is inserted into your mouth with the apple mush oozing off it. You try to spit it out, but he wipes your face and more forcefully inserts the next spoonful into you.

"Nutrition is necessary for human survival, to thrive, yet you deprive yourself of it. Convincing me to let you leave would be much easier if you stopped proving that you are unable to care for yourself."

"I just want to go," the soul-crushing defeat evident in your voice.

Without missing a heartbeat of yours, he responds, "You can't. I-I need you here."

He shoves not just one cracker, but three, into your mouth. You almost choke, but he makes sure you are unable to. Maybe it would just be better if you choked on them. Or your vomit. Or even the shitty plastic spoon he keeps forcing into your mouth.

"You're being selfish," you finally manage to get the words out.

"You're being selfish. I have sacrificed the entirety of my being for you. And still you try to harm yourself. Do you hate me that much?"

He retracts the food from you. He stares unceasingly at you. His LED switching from red to colorless, one of the only parts of him that he has kept since his deviancy.

"Do I hate you?" you incredulously, rhetorically question. "Yes! I hate you! Is that what you want to hear? A confession of how much I loathe you for fucking up what little good was in my life?"

The tears well up and escape down your face, getting wiped off by Connor's attentive hands. You can't stop the shaking or the meltdown his presence has placed upon you.

"I hate you. I-I hate you. I h-hate y-you!"

The last syllable is barely out of your mouth when hands come up to cup your face, squishing your cheeks. Still having a meltdown, your teary eyes are just barely able to make out the abnormal pinkish hue on his LED. A color you've never encountered, even with him being deviant these last months—years, whatever.

"I understand," nearly inaudible, "and I suppose I always have. Your human nature causes you to think irrationally. You aren't able to see the 'bigger picture,' as humans call it. You have suffered at my hands. That I apologize for."

The acknowledgment of his transgressions breaks you down further. You can't quiet the wails escaping you, snot dribbling from your nostrils. Your body rocks itself back and forth in a pitiful attempt at comfort. You can't stop. It won't stop. He won't stop.

It validates him. He continues his tirade, sure that it will have the intended pacifying effect.

"I should be more attentive. But I'm so busy making sure that neither of us is caught by the authorities."

Excuses.

"When we get to the compound, all of that will change. You will have a higher standard of care. Me at your side. Your brain will stop merely surviving."

Promises.

"Then your love for me can bloom."

Resolution. His mission completed with you as his lover.

You quiet. He mistakes, or quite possibly dissmisses, your transition from an unfiltered meltdown to a horrified shutdown as an opportunity to cradle you. And for the first time since your kidnapping, you embrace him back—not out of some sweet, loving bond, but out of need. The need for someone else's closeness, touch—affection, even if it's all wrong. The desperation seeps out of you in droves and into your actions. Your mind and body want to claw at his synthetic skin, tear him apart, and thrive off the warmth of his parts.

...

If he can have a mission beyond his own makers, then you can have one beyond your captor's.

[r3starttt]

FULL MOON

PAIRING: werewolf! reader x abby

SUMMARY: The space grown between you and abby has ignited a primal desire that you can no longer suppress!

CW: abby is a sweetheart in here. mutual fingering. mentions of blood. angsty.

TAGLIST | KINKTOBER: @s4pphic-myth @bilsvlt @tlouloser @marsworlddd @softlikesilk-chiffon @roos4lm4 @elliezlils11utt @1-800-fantasy @roos4lm4 @abbys-muscles | ABBY TAGLIST: @imdrowningindispair @rkivedpages @aouiaa @twopeoplee @wastdstime | as always @clairoscharm, I feel like this sucks.

It wasn’t the first time you managed to survive after a full moon. The last one had come and gone just a few days ago, on the seventeenth. That night still weighed heavy on your mind, but not for the usual reasons. You had left her house for a run, a routine she had suggested months ago to help channel the chaos building up inside you before each transformation. The week had been suffocating—every day a whirlwind of stress—and by the time you had an argument with her, it felt like you were just looking for reasons to escape. You weren’t angry with her, not really, but you didn’t go back that night.

It wasn’t unusual for people to drift away from you during the days leading up to a full moon. Your moods shifted unpredictably, your nerves constantly on edge. The heightened senses made everything sharper, louder, and more unbearable. You became irritable, snappish, the kind of person no one wanted to be around. As much as you tried to remain yourself, there was always that lurking aggression, the impulsiveness you couldn’t quite control. You longed for touch, for someone to ground you with tenderness, but the moment anyone tried, you recoiled, fumbling with excuses about being stressed or "not in the mood." And though you understood your own desperate need for affection, you also understood why others left. Who could blame them? Why would anyone stay when the weeks before a full moon were a minefield, with no freedom to navigate around you without stepping on something volatile? They left because they had no argument to stay, and the thought gnawed at you—were they only here out of obligation or guilt? Maybe they had someone else.

But Abby stayed. She always stayed.

It was Abby who had suggested the running in the first place. She had a way of soothing you without saying much, knowing when to push and when to step back. Running through the woods near your house, or hers, had become a ritual of sorts. The freedom of the outdoors gave you space to let loose that building euphoria, to release the energy that clung to your skin like static. Afterward, you would return to her, your body still buzzing but finally calm enough to accept her touch. Her hands would cradle your flushed, sweaty face, and she’d kiss you softly, grounding you in the safety of her arms. Abby was endlessly gentle, ridiculously understanding, always knowing just how to make you feel like yourself again.

But this past week had been different. The pressure of life itself was suffocating, making your senses more overwhelming than usual. Everything grated at you. Your fangs ached at odd moments, sharp and painful. The smells of the city assaulted your nose, pungent and nauseating, and the sounds were unbearable—every honk, shout, and murmur seemed to scratch at your ears. Seeing Abby helped, sometimes just hearing her voice on the phone at the end of a long day, your body wrapped around a pillow as you tried to wind down. She’d call, and you’d talk until you were too exhausted to stay awake, drifting off somewhere in the middle of your conversation.

But this time, there had been no call. No message, no apology text to smooth over the edges of your argument. The silence was maddening. It gnawed at your thoughts, and the frustration seeped into every part of you. Your nails had grown sharper, and the small scratches you’d given yourself from restless, nightmare-filled sleep weren’t healing. It was a sign you were pushing yourself too hard, teetering dangerously close to the edge. The lack of release, the inability to transform when your body needed it, was making everything worse. The tension had built up over the week, and when the full moon finally came on the seventeenth, the transformation was brutal.

You hadn’t just been burdened by the fight with Abby, though that certainly weighed on you. It was the whole week, the overwhelming need for release, and your fear of losing control. The transformation had been agonizingly slow. Every bone in your body shattered and reformed with excruciating precision. Your muscles stretched and contorted, fur sprouting in patches that itched and burned. It felt like your body was ripping itself apart, piece by piece, and you were powerless to stop it. It reminded you too much of the first time it happened, when the pain was unbearable, and you didn’t know if you’d ever come out the other side whole.

The weight of that night still clung to you, days later, like a bruise that hadn't fully healed. You were restless, nerves frayed, waiting for a sign that things would calm down. But Abby’s silence only stretched longer, a quiet thread pulling tighter with each passing day. It became unbearable, so you found yourself heading to her place without really planning to, hands gripping the steering wheel as if it were the only thing keeping you tethered.

It was late, the moon no longer as brilliant as it had been just a few nights ago. Its dull glow matched the tension gnawing at you—though now it wasn’t just the residual unease from that night. Now, it was Abby herself, and the growing attachment you felt for her. It wasn’t your body craving touch anymore, it was something deeper, something you weren’t sure how to handle. The city streets were eerily quiet, or maybe they’d always been that way, and it was just your mind playing tricks, making everything feel more intense, more suffocating.

The trees started to swallow the road as you drove, their branches encroaching like shadows creeping across the sky. You loosened your white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel just long enough to fumble for your phone. The dim glow of the screen illuminated your face, but it failed to unlock with your face in the darkness, so you cursed under your breath and manually typed the password. Abby’s contact had slipped from the top of your recent calls, and something about that stung. You pressed the call anyway, the green glow of the call screen casting a ghostly light inside the car as you tossed the phone aside and kept driving.

The ringing seemed to go on forever, the vibration rattling in sync with your nerves, until—finally—it stopped. You tried again, and again, until her voice cut through the silence. “Hi, I’m on a run.” Her breathless voice was strained, like she couldn’t quite catch it between her words. You smiled, the relief immediate, like a weight lifting just from hearing her. At least she wasn’t ignoring you entirely. Maybe she wasn’t as angry as you feared.

“Wait,” you blurted before she could hang up, your voice urgent, almost desperate. You could hear her heavy breathing, the rhythmic pounding of her feet against the pavement, the wind rushing past the phone. “I’ll pick you up, yeah?”

There was a pause—just long enough for doubt to creep in—before she finally replied. “Yeah, see you.”

She hung up before you could say more, before you could say the words you’d been holding back for too long. You clenched your jaw, trying to push down the rising tide of thoughts swirling in your head. Why couldn’t you just tell her you loved her? Why did everything feel so tangled?

Abby was running to clear her head, trying to make sense of you, of everything. You’d been so open, so sweet just weeks ago, but now it was like you couldn’t even look her in the eyes. She knew it couldn’t just be stress—there had to be something else you weren’t telling her. The question hung over her: if she pushed you to open up, would it help, or would it only make things worse? Would it drive a wedge deeper, or could it be a turning point?

She wrestled with it as her feet pounded the pavement, her breath coming in sharp bursts. You were stubborn, endearingly so, but right now, she wished more than anything for you to just let go, to trust her, to open up even a little. She didn’t know how to approach you after the fight, didn’t know if you were as lost in your own thoughts as she was. And the terrifying part was the not knowing—if she was wrong about you, about everything between you two, then what?

You tightened your grip on the steering wheel again, heart heavy with the fear that, no matter what you did, nothing would be the same after tonight.

Somewhere amid the chaos of your thoughts, you parked near the large forest park sign. The dim light of the parking lot washed over you as you turned off the engine and slumped back in your seat, glancing at your phone, hoping it might somehow make the minutes pass more quickly or summon her arrival. A familiar discomfort gnawed at your jaw, an anxious tingling in your gums that felt like a warning. You clenched your teeth, trying to make the sensation fade, but only succeeded in biting your inner lips. “Fuck,” you mumbled under your breath.

Restlessness took hold, and you began to bounce your leg, your feet tapping rhythmically against the car floor as your breath quickened and became uneven. You leaned your head back, closing your eyes and counting your breaths until they settled into a steadier rhythm. Just as you felt yourself calming down, a sharp knock on the window broke the spell. It was Abby.

Her face glistened with sweat, baby hairs plastered to her forehead, and her braid tousled from running. She wore your hoodie, the one you had bought to match hers, and your heart twisted at the sight. At least you weren’t breaking up tonight, right? You reached for the lock, fingers trembling slightly as you unlocked the door. It took her a moment to pull her headphones off and open the door before settling into the passenger seat. You turned the engine back on, the familiar hum a small comfort.

“Hey…” you whispered, not quite meeting her gaze.

“Why’re you here?” she asked, her tone flat but not unkind. She was entitled to feel that way, especially after everything. Abby had been endlessly patient with you, while you felt like a storm of confusion and chaos. It stung, even if it shouldn’t have.

“I wanted to talk about… what happened last week. I—”

She interrupted you, shaking her head. “I’m not mad.”

A wave of relief washed over you, bringing with it a warmth only she could provide. “I’m not mad either.” Your voices overlapped, and she nodded, an understanding look in her eyes. "I know."

But then silence enveloped you, thick and heavy. You didn’t know what to say or do, and she looked so beautiful, so kissable, and—“What happened? You were insufferable this time,” her eyebrows drawing together in a gentle prompting for you to open up.

Her hands found yours, and suddenly the air felt thick, as if it was suffocating you. She laughed lightly between her words, her sweetness almost overwhelming you. So why did you feel so attacked? “There’s… I don’t- You know It happens every once in a while, and I can’t control it. Yes, I was insufferable—" all the words you could say turned into a mess, "you’re too sweet to me, and it’s just not fair.” The words spilled out in a jumble, sounding more like a frightened ramble than a coherent explanation.

“Hey, look at me.” Her hand cradled your face, gently guiding your gaze to hers. You did as she asked, but the warmth of her touch sent a rush of heat through you.

“It’s never happened like this. I’m just worried there’s something else you’re not telling me. Maybe I could help.”

You couldn’t reply.

“I love you. And you know that, whatever it is— even if your stubborn ass won’t tell me, I’ll be here for you.” She leaned in, pressing her salty lips against yours in a fleeting kiss, brief but enough to ignite something deep inside you.

“You don’t owe me an explanation, but I’d like to know if there’s a way I can help. Yeah?”

Was that it? Really? Would she truly just… stay?

Her lips captivated you, igniting a wild, selfish hunger within. It was a primal urge that pulled you into a messy kiss—one that Abby adored because it let her hear how much you cherished her. Soft whines slipped through your lips and mingled with hers as you pulled her closer, your hands grasping her body with a desperation that bordered on pain. It felt good, a way for the frantic beating of your heart to distract you from everything else. The edge of the center console dug into your ribs as your noses brushed between the chaotic kisses, fingers gripping whatever they could find.

Abby’s teeth grazed your lips, teasing before they sank in gently. But this time, there was an unsettling itch, a burning sensation that you couldn’t quite identify. “Abby—Babe… abs—” Your fingers pressed against her chest, the pressure almost painful. Instantly, her body leaned back, worry etched on her face. “What’s—”

You interrupted her, flinging the door open in a surge of urgency. “I’ll be right back. I’m sorry.” The door slammed shut behind you, leaving you alone without your phone, your keys—nothing but your racing heart, pounding as if it might burst from your chest.

Abby stared in silence, your figure receding into the darkness, swallowed by the quiet of the forest. Her breath hitched, her glistening lips bitten by her teeth to hold back tears. A whirlwind of thoughts swirled in her mind, all focused on you. After what felt like an eternity, she finally stepped out of the car.

You ran as far as your legs could carry you, the itch intensifying, a fierce burn crawling across your back. You cried out at the sensation, feeling your spine crack and stretch painfully. The muscles in your calves contracted, threatening to cramp. That same burning sensation enveloped your entire body, a mixture of stiffness and tension coursing through you. It felt as if you were morphing into something unrecognizable.

Your teeth shifted, becoming sharper and thicker, while fur began to sprout over your skin. Your once soft and fluffy hair transformed into a wild, chaotic mane. Pain shot through your face as it contorted into a more animalistic form, your whines and whimpers twisting into hisses and growls. And then, a loud bark erupted from your throat, a sound that seemed entirely foreign to you.

Your clothes lay shredded on the floor, a horrifying testament to your true self. You felt a mix of fear and disgust wash over you, unable to comprehend how this had happened. Your heart pounded loudly in your chest, and your senses were on high alert. You could feel her presence, sense her, and even catch the scent of her—a primal hunger rising within you. Despite that, you managed to run further away. You didn’t want to hurt her, nor did you want to be hurt by her.

But her voice lingered in your mind as if she were right next to you. The sweat mingled with the pine-scented soap she used, the lingering alcohol of her perfume still clinging to her skin. You remembered how tender and soft she felt, how you had bitten her before. Your nails had sunk into her skin, a delicious temptation that stirred a craving within you—one that would be too painful to ignore. The urgency only intensified as her name escaped her lips in desperation.

She was searching for you, her ragged breathing driving you wild. The sound of her voice made your hunger grow. Abby was the easiest, most delectable prey you could imagine. Yet, this wasn’t you—not really. You would never fantasize about her blood or her skin.

Time passed as you put distance between yourselves, the darkness deepening around you. Her voice gradually faded, and the primal hunger within you grew restless, seeking someone to satiate it. Your mouth, nails, and teeth had all been preoccupied with a small creature. You looked down at it, flinching as it screamed in pain. Its eyes were dull, devoid of life, the red staining its tiny body stark against its grayish-white skin.

Your feet dragged you onward, and you eventually caught a glimpse of her a few meters away. Horror filled her face as she stared at the remnants of your clothes scattered across the floor. There was no blood, no visible harm that she could see. But if you were hurt, shouldn’t she have heard? The dry leaves crunched beneath her feet, mixing with the sounds of the breeze and distant traffic. The light from her phone illuminated the path ahead, as if she were hoping to spot you or find someone who could help. But all that responded was a low growl, making her heart stop.

You practically ran toward her, not caring or thinking about the gruesome scene before Abby. She had nowhere to escape, no weapons to defend herself with, even if she wanted to. Fear lit up her pretty eyes, bracing for pain, expecting to feel teeth sinking into her skin or a searing pain somewhere in her body. But it wasn’t like that. Instead, she saw the shine of weirdly human eyes. A long, furry figure lurked in the shadows, whining and groaning in pain, red dripping from its mouth.

The growls grew louder, a morbid echo that matched the erratic rhythm of your heartbeat. Her once-white shoes were now caked in dirt, and beads of cold sweat began to form on her brow. You felt the raggedness within you begin to fade, the scene around you blurring as pain overwhelmed your senses. Yet, amid the chaos, you could hear the steady thump of her heart; despite its irregularity, it brought you a sense of security.

The chill of the earth pressed against your body as you lay among the dirt and grass, your hair cascading across your face, swaying in the breeze. You locked eyes with her, and you thought that if anyone were meant to end you, it should have been her. But Abby didn’t flinch; she only took a few cautious steps closer. Her hands raised her phone toward you, illuminating the darkness for a moment before she quickly turned the light off, causing you to glance away from the sudden brightness.

“Baby… what happened?” she murmured, her voice gentle, devoid of the disgust you had braced yourself for. Confusion enveloped you, making it hard to comprehend anything. All you could see were your nails, caked with dirt beneath them, and the raw scratches you had received when you fled. Your body fought against relaxation, reminiscent of the ache that follows a cramp.

Tears slipped from your eyes only when you met her gaze. Though she wouldn’t say it, the disgust was clear on her face. “Hey… hey,” Abby cooed, cupping your face in her hands as she examined you, concern etched across her features as she noticed every scratch. You looked at her, not with fear but with adoration. Even if she were to hurt you, it would be alright because it was her—it was Abby inflicting the pain.

“Go…” you whispered, glancing down between your bodies, even as she held you tightly. “What? No—no, I don’t—” she stammered, clearly at a loss for words for once in her stubborn, intelligent life. “Come here…” Her hand cradled the back of your head, holding you firmly, warm and comforting. “I’m a monster, Abby… please.” You nestled against her neck, inhaling the pine scent you had longed for.

“Is this what happened?” she asked, and you nodded, unwilling to offer any excuses—it wasn’t a choice you had made. “I didn’t want to hurt you.” You lifted your head slightly to look at her. “You bit me, and I felt something… I just didn’t want to hurt you,” you murmured.

“Babe… look at me,” she whispered. “You haven’t hurt me before… why would it be different now?” Her lips pressed against your forehead, her touch filled with understanding. “You looked at me like—”

Your voices intertwined, but hers prevailed. “I saw your clothes.” She gestured toward the torn fabric scattered on the ground, then turned back to you. Your gaze lingered on the remnants, filled with worry. “I was worried you got hurt… that’s all.”

Silence hung heavily between you, her grip steady and reassuring as your body trembled with uncertainty. “I love you… how cool is it to have a super strong, hairy girlfriend?” she joked, a playful attempt to lighten the moment. You chuckled softly at her words, then pressed a tender kiss to her lips. “I love you too, and I’m sorry,” you replied, leaning in to lay a gentle trail of kisses against her mouth until your body finally succumbed to its exhaustion.

Abby held you close, her hands enveloping your cold skin with a mix of adoration and tenderness. Her warmth was exactly what you craved, grounding you in the midst of your turmoil.

You slid your fingers beneath her sweatpants, just playing with the edge of her boxers. The back of her thighs hit the grass beneath, her hands cupping your ass to guide you over her lap, and you follow. The tips of your fingers leave her pants to caress the soft of her stomach, over her abs. Her smile turns gentle under your touch, breaking the kiss to look at her pretty girl. Your eyes were tainted in yellow, pupils dilated and a blinding shine in them. Thin fur still adorning your skin, purple-like lips, plump and glistening. And your fangs, white tips showing very slightly.

"Let me have you..." the look on your eyes hinted a lost one, wandering over her face until they took control, guiding you to her neck to taint her skin into purple and red. Your tongue sucked and nibbled, just the smallest pressure and your fangs would dig deliciously into her pretty skin. Abby, your Abby, was whimpering.

"So good..." Your words were a murmur, as soothing as your touch. The hoodie on her body clung to your hands with a feral touch, gripping at it to get more of her displayed for you to enjoy and feast. Abby’s hands moved over her own body, taking the hoodie off her body. Her back pressed against the stiff of a massive tree behind her- it looked so from her position. Head tilted to the side, her braid hanging on the same side. Her eyes looked at the dark of the sky, the little starts adorning it with a shine as pretty as the moon. "Fuck- baby..." Her mouth opened in the blink of an eye at the sudden circles over her clit. The pad of her fingers clung to your lower back, cupping your ass with each hand and digging her fingers enough to leave a bruise.

Your lips went back to hers, abandoning her neck for a few minutes. "You're so wet." You murmured in between, devouring her whole as you much needed. "Yeah?" she mocked you back, sliding her fingers in between your pussy, scissoring them from behind. A laugh brushed your lips, contagious. Her smile looked so pretty, eventually getting interrupted to gasp at how good your fingers felt on her clit.

"I really needed you... real, real bad." Your fingers curl inside her pussy with ease, sliding in and out in a slow peace. "Oh- Fuck." The tone is quiet, similar to a gasp for air. It's unsteady and ridiculously delicious to your ears. "Thanks baby.... I love you so much." Your lips kiss the skin of her throat, sensing her quiet guilp. Her fingers interrupt, curling inside you while her other hand cups at your tits, playing with each nipple in a harsh almost painful way.

Abby can feel you smiling on her neck. The vibration of your moans guide her eyes to the back of her head, closing them to just enjoy. You clench around her so good, and your voice? "Fuck baby..."

The palm of her hands slides down on your body, taking in every inch of skin you've got displayed for her to enjoy. Once on your hip bone you get the catch, riding her fingers.

Her moans grow louder, yours become growls and groans. You can hear her wet pussy squeezing your fingers, the feeling "So fucking good baby, so good." Her head nods, digging her fingers into your skin.

The tender freckled skin adorning her now half exposed shoulders slowly grows red. Your nails break into her skin, and for a few seconds your fangs itch to do the same. The sight of her slightly blood covered neck and lips only serves for your stomach to knot. Her fingers feel so good inside you, curling and thrusting with ease at how wet you are.

"Gonna cum for me, Abby? yeah?" The frown on your face turns into a pity curve. She's out of breath, so determined to make you cum at the same time, to have that pretty sight of your teeth showing through your open mouth. To then kiss those plump delicious kiss into a sloppy kiss and end up covered in drool. "Yeah....yeah"

And just like that you please her one final time. Back curved and obscene wet sounds filling the now warmth air between both of your bodies. Your nails fight to not hurt her, ripping the white of her tank top very slightly. "Fuck... baby, please-" she's rambling, pulling you close to her just to hold you.

"Love you, so much." Your lips press over her half scratched skin, a quiet apology and thankfulness for her gentleness towards you. Mostly for fucking you so good and kissing your blood covered lips, for letting you have her.

[blacklegsanjiii]

Darker au where Sanji is mute thanks to Judge and A+ parenting. It would happen during one of what Judge would call his ‘episodes’ and has the scientists make his vocal chords virtually unusable. Sanji waking up to his throat incredibly sore, unable to talk, his noises are garbled and he's terrified. When he's released, his brothers make use of the fact that Sanji can’t talk, beg, plead.

Judge is happy he doesn't have to hear the weakling cry. When Sanji finally breaks away to his mother's room in the medical wing, her nurse and Sora listening to the noises, looking at the scar in horror. He can't say ‘mama’ anymore and she just holds him. Tells him fairy tales and stories of her home kingdom. When Sanji is asleep the nurse and Sora look at each other as the nurse says he can go back in the morning. Sora nods as she tries to think of any contacts she may have. She starts making calls immediately, quietly, asking for help discreetly. Nothing Judge could find.

Except no one can before her untimely demise and then Sanji's thrown in the dungeon. The nurse desperately looking for him, for proof of death, only to find him in the dungeon, months after his brothers have found him, hurt and starved. The sobs as he reaches through the bars to her to which she grabs his hands and holds them, promising to get them out of this Hell.

It takes a while until she gets a call back, some younguns of an emperor who has agreed to come get him if they meet at an island. The nurse manages to get him out, but can't get the helmet off and gets him into a boat to get to the island. Sanji is staring at the sky and the clouds as the nurse talks to him. Telling him the same stories his mother would, she has a small suitcase of things for him and a bag for the boy's passage, to pay, to get him free.

When the pirates show up she sees Marco and Teach of the Shirohige who are looking in shock at the little boy. So small, trapped in a helmet, garbled noises coming out. Sanji tries to run from them but the nurse tries to calm him down, tries to explain he'll be safe with them. Marco offers for her to come and she shakes her head, she'll distract Germa for her lady's son to escape and Sanji cries harder knowing she's dying for him.

She gives the suitcase and bag to Teach which confuses him and Marco before she shushes Sanji and whispers she and his mother love him before handing him off and leaving. Sanji is sobbing in Marco's arms and trying to escape and the men talk about getting the helmet off him as they wait for him to either calm down or tire himself out. It takes a while and Marco and Teach keep talking to him, explaining they're going to keep him safe, there's a man who will give everything to protect his family and Sanji will be able to join it. Marco then asks if Sanji can talk and he shakes his head and the commanders are staring at each other because that information wasn't passed on to them. They thought he was just too upset but there's not been words coming from the boy and the noises sound choked and garbled so they take to the ship to start getting the helmet off.

Marco works on picking the locks on it as Teach sends calls out for anyone in the fleet who knows any sign language to meet at Moby and they sail for home. It takes a while and several others to come and try their luck for them to get it off the kid. It doesn’t work, instead they get the jaw to open so Marco smiles at the boy and offers a popsicle, something easy and light and hydrating. Sanji hesitantly takes it and eats it fairly quickly, afraid it’ll disappear or be taken away.

“He looks like you, could be mistaken for your kid.” Teach says when the boy falls asleep, swaddled in a couple of blankets.

“Because we’re blond?” Marco pans at him, Teach shrugs as he leaves. When they reach the fleet, the first things that happen are the helmet is finally picked open and off and Sanji is taken for a bath and thoroughly scrubbed down. Marco looks at the scars on the boy, but especially the one on his neck. He goes slow and asks Sanji if he can write, luckily the kid nods and it’s easy to communicate from there on, since the boy doesn’t know sign and only a couple members of the fleet do, but they’re all spread out over the territory.

Sanji sticks to Marco like he’s glued to him, Marco will carry him or let Sanji hang onto his belt loops, doesn’t shoo him away. Doesn’t mind the noises the kid makes and smiles at him when he does happen to make noise. The Old Man smiles at him and gladly welcomes him to the family, he often teases Marco for bringing the first grand-baby into the fleet. Marco just shrugs and says he’s glad he has the kid.

The same can’t be said for some on the fleet though.

It’s during a fleet party, after Marco puts Sanji to bed, when he’s drinking with a couple other commanders does Sanji run out, face and hands bleeding and dripping onto the deck and it’s the first time Marco actually feels rage. The men following no longer crew, nakama, they’ve tried to hurt a child, spewing that a mute ain’t got a place on the seas. They’re killed faster than Marco remembers and then he’s carrying Sanji to the infirmary, silent sobs shaking the boy as Marco starts cleaning them up.

“Well, it was a joke, but that anger, that fury was of a father. He’s your son.” Newgate says later. “His trust in you is greater than the rest of us, especially after that.”

Marco nods as he reads books on sign language, if he has a son he will do right by him, like his father did by him. Eventually they all start learning so that they can all effectively communicate with the fleet’s baby. Sanji takes to it with ease, a young brain absorbs information far easier than they’re elder brains can. He makes noise still, but the damage to the larynx and vocal chords is irreparable, can’t form words around the scar tissue and his noises are more like squeaks and whines.

Thatch and Marco eventually find Sanji likes to be in the kitchen, to help, to watch, to learn. They brainstorm ways to include Sanji outside of Thatch setting aside time to teach. They want to include him in cooking with the crew and Teach brings up putting a bell on Sanji’s wrist for call backs. Thatch says he could kiss him and Teach gags at the thought. The brother’s laugh as Thatch runs off to find a bell to put on Sanji. Sanji runs around the ship with the bell firmly attached to his wrist, his quiet glee making the commanders and his grandfather fawn over him. Marco has a hard time separating him from his bell when it’s time for bed, the pout, the signing joined by a twinkling bell. Marco just rests his chin on a hand as he watches his son with utter fondness tell him he’s not tired and wants to go back to the kitchen to help clean up.

“Time to rest, kiddo, you can help tomorrow. Let me take the bell off so it doesn’t wake us up.” Marco chuckles. Sanji pouts and holds out his wrist for Marco to remove, he falls asleep within minutes and Marco goes to lay in his own hammock.

Of course fighting with marines and other crews is dangerous for Sanji, an easy target because of his age and once word gets out about his inability to talk-well now everyone’s on edge. It’s only a matter of time before someone manages to actually get their hands on the boy.

And when they do, it’s a bloodbath. No one is satiated until the youngest is found. The pirates who caught him dangle his bell in front of him. They mock him, hit him, they are nothing but cruel as they make insinuations. Sanji tries to be brave but it’s so similar to the dungeon, so similar to what he went through already he begins to dissociate. He tries not to doubt his new family, but he doesn’t think they’re coming for him.

He smells smoke in the back of his head. It’s hard to come back to the forefront as the sounds of war sound from the deck. He hears shouting as Vista rushes to the bars in front of him, there’s several flashes of emotion before the bars are cut open. He goes and grabs Sanji only for him to wrench out of the hands with a gasp and tears pouring from his eyes. Vista tries to calm him but they need to get out before the ship burns down into the sea. Vista apologizes before grabbing the boy and running. Sanji can’t scream, he’s trying to fight his way out of the grip Vista has on him but he won’t let go. Not until they’re on the Moby, when Newgate who is too big for his mind to handle and it sends him spiralling into a panic attack. One that is not easily quelled until Nurse Tate takes him. Sanji eventually calms down later, Tate and Marco working side by side to clean and bandage him.

Tate smiles sweetly at him as she finishes taping some gauze down and moves to tie his bell to his wrist then shakes his arm lightly so it jingles. Sanji repeats the motion easily as Marco moves to check his concussion(moderate), his reflexes(fine-ish), and his breathing(painful thanks to some broken ribs).

“I won't let this happen again, you're my son and I failed to protect you. I'm sorry.” Marco promises. Sanji just leans into him, letting himself be held. The next morning Teach looks at him weirdly, like he's disappointed Sanji’s not more hurt. But he hides it quickly and Sanji doesn't see it again, not for years.

Jozu and Vista take to training the fleet's youngest immediately as he's cleared. He gets stronger as the years pass, a chip on his shoulder for his perceived weakness. He learns fast, Marco and Thatch will watch, and one day Izou decides to take Sanji and give him a gun. A quick training session later he’s fairly comfortable and Marco is looking at his brother and his son as they chat idly about guns, something about his son growing up that makes his chest ache.

It goes that way for years, Sanji gets stronger, the crew keeps track of the youngest, between Germa and all the others wanting him as a pawn in their fights. When they meet with Shanks for an alliance the crew keeps looking for the source of tinkling noise. Only to see a teenager running around with Izou and Vista with a bell on his wrist, smiling widely and making squeaking noises. Beck shares a look with his captain and goes to investigate. Sanji looks at the man built like a solid wall and signs at him. Izou wraps an arm around him possessively and grins at him.

“This is Marco’s boy, Sanji. Careful Beckmann.” Izou’s voice is edged with warning and Beck looks at the boy whose hands are moving faster than Beck knows what to do with. Izou is watching with amusement until something makes his face change dramatically. “I’m not translating that! He’s a right hand of another emperor and you don’t need to start a war!” Izou is looking at the boy and moving to wring his neck when Marco walks up.

“You have a son?” Beck asks the doctor.

“Yep, that’s Sanji.” Marco nods.

“Deaf?” Beck guesses.

“Mute.” Marco corrects as he looks at his kid. “Don’t start anything you can’t finish.” He warns before heading to the captains. Beck looks back at the kid and wild hands and the bell on his wrist, notes the scar on the boy’s neck. He smiles brightly at Beckmann before waving and running off to the galley. Izou sighs and rubs his temples.

“That boy, I swear. Needs friends his age.” Izou grumbles.

“Hard to find when most of the world doesn’t sign.” Beck rubs his shoulder comfortingly. “Or being in the Shirohige.” Izou groans as Beckmann heads back. When the meeting is done and everyone’s eating Shanks makes conversation with the youngest of his ally’s fleet. Thatch acting as translator as they talk and Shanks laughs at the teen’s antics. Later Sanji’s asleep and Shanks and Beck look at the boy, Yasopp says something about Usopp and Luffy that makes all of the Redhaired crew’s hearts ache. The next day they watch Sanji’s legs set alight as he chases Teach for something or other as Vista loses it with Jozu. Beck turns on his heel for their ship within a minute of seeing it. Shanks looks at Thatch and Marco who have their faces in their hands and groaning. Shanks follows Beck immediately after that sight. Over the years the crews have fun, learning to communicate in their own ways.

When a young hotshot tries to kill White Beard and is captured it sends rumors through the crew, very few being allowed to visit the prisoner. Sanji being one of them and he always smiles at the dark haired man who glowers at him. He drops off food and always frowns when he picks it up untouched. He always writes on a notepad to ask but the newcomer ignores him, despite the noises or the bell chime.

Until one day, anyway.

“Just use your voice and speak.” Ace tells the blond outside his cell who flips to a new page on his notepad and writes again. Ace groans and ignores the paper when it’s held out to him and the foot stomp. There’s a noise of anger or something from the blond in front of him but Ace chooses to stare at the ceiling of his cell. Instead a piece of paper is wadded and thrown at his feet as the blond stomps away.

It’s sometime later when Marco comes in and Ace hasn’t touched the food at all or the wadded up paper and the CMO is frowning at the kid. He knew Sanji was here earlier, he had been upset and Izou had taken the baby to go calm down, target practice the crossdresser muttered as he looked at the brig before going for the young blond.

“So, is there a reason you’re not eating and ignoring Sanji?” Marco asks with his arms crossed.

“If he would talk like a normal person maybe I’d listen to him.” Ace growls at him.

Marco blinks at him, the scar on Sanji’s throat is faded but if Ace had bothered to read what Sanji wrote he might know, because Marco doesn’t know what Sanji wrote.”Well, he’s mute mostly, had his vocal chords taken out as a kid.”

“What goods a mute at sea? You need to be strong, not need a babysitter.” Which would be funny coming from anyone but him and had he not said the first part. “The noises he can make drive me up the wall.” But all Marco sees is red and he opens the cell and Ace knows he fucked up so he dodges past and runs. Marco is on his heels but Ace gets to the deck and there’s an arm that chops his throat and stops all his momentum. Vista is glaring at him from where his back landed against the deck and Jozu is holding Marco back from his yelling.

“How dare you! Get off me! Let me go!” Ace hears as he chokes for breath.

“Calm down and explain.” Jozu tells him.

“He asked what goods a mute at sea.” Marco grits as the deck grows quiet. “Then said what noises Sanji can make are annoying.”

“Oh,” Vista says, his hand moving to his sword, “he doesn’t think Sanji is worthy of his bounty?”

“Enough, all of you, Sanji can handle himself. If Ace wants proof Sanji doesn’t need a watcher he can find out for himself.” Whitebeard announces, looking at the man who insulted his grandson. Ace glares as he starts picking himself up from where he was laid out. “Watch yourself, my grandson is not to be trifled with.”

Ace doesn’t feel fear, but a chill runs up his spine anyway. Ace is kept on deck until Izou and Sanji return, both confused at the way everyone is glaring at Ace who’s sat on deck pouting. Sanji’s hands fly in questions which are answered by others, that he’s allowed to fight Ace if he wants because Ace is an idiot and an asshole. Izou is rubbing his temples and groaning before he says they need to eat before Thatch comes hunting for Sanji. Thatch says it’s dinner time anyway and for everyone to come eat. They all follow, even Ace who watches Sanji’s hand move gracefully as Marco and Teach smile at him and ask questions which his hands seemingly answer. Ace has never encountered this in his travels before, so he watches the hands dance in the air, against his chest and head and face. Thatch smiles and brings up ingredients he’s found and the recipes they could try and Sanji must be putting his own input in. Sanji’s smile is bright like the sun over the ocean and Ace can’t pull his eyes from his hands.

“His feet dance just as well as his hands. Unless you still have your views?” Teach grins at him.

“Why doesn’t everyone know how to do that? Seems too useful to not know.” Ace grumbles.

“Because you aren’t the only one who held such views,” Vista starts, “took us all a bit of getting used to a quiet kid. But, once we did he had us all wrapped around his finger. Also makes him especially sneaky so I’d expect his revenge against you will be quite entertaining.” Vista’s grin is malicious and Ace feels his stomach churn.

“Don’t be mean to my boy again, understood?” Marco asks Ace and he doesn’t miss the phrasing of it.

“Yeah, I got it.” Ace chokes out as Sanji rolls his eyes. He is certainly Marco’s boy, the first grandchild of Edward Newgate. He is the baby of the fleet, used to be attached to Marco by the hip.

Maybe after a few more weeks Ace clumsily signs at Sanji, something simple. “I’m sorry, thank you for the food.” Sanji smiles and sits and shows him more, Marco watches from the doorway, knowing Ace will be readily accepted in more ways than one.

[ohbo-ohno]

run until you feel your lungs bleeding (ghost x reader)

summary: You're on the run after finally escaping from your abusive husband's clutches, hitchhiking south along California highways. A strange man in a black mask picks you up, and it doesn't take you long to realize that not every hand offered should be taken.

word count: 6.5k

cw: dark fic!, noncon somnophilia, referenced abuse from a past partner, ghost does not care about reader's feelings, mentioned drinking while driving but no intoxication

read on ao3 - see the pinterest board

One of your blisters is about to burst. You’d worn through your only pair of clean socks yesterday, leaving the back of your heel vulnerable to your old tennis shoes and their vendetta against your feet. You can feel your skin rubbing thinner and thinner with each step, know it’s only a matter of time before you’ve got blood flowing freely into your shoe. 

You keep your left arm stretched out, thumb held up in the hope that someone will take pity on your limping form and give you a ride.

It’s not likely, you’ve been hitchhiking for days now and not a single person has slowed down. You’ve got no real destination, just a goal of putting as much space between you and your piece of shit ex-husband as possible. Your end goal is Arizona - you’ve got an aunt somewhere in Scottsdale, if you can get to her you can only hope she’ll help you get back on your feet.

A few people honk as they drive by. In the two days you’ve been walking, none have stopped. You take short power naps at night off the side of the road, pray to every god you can think of that you don’t get run over or eaten by something.

You haven’t yet. But you know if you don’t get a good night's sleep soon, don’t start putting actual distance between him and you, then you might not survive your escape.

The sun is at its apex when the semi-truck pulls up beside you. It’s black, the trailer attached is plain white with no logo painted on. You can hardly believe your luck, gape up at the massive thing as it slows. The door pops open a moment after the truck rolls to a stop, but it’s so high up that you can’t see who’s driving past their hand - gloved - before they pull it back.

You don’t have the luxury of asking questions. You just stumble over, flinching back with a little hiss when you place your palm on the metal of the truck and burn your hand. It takes a minute to finagle your way into the truck, but you manage it eventually, huffing and puffing all the way up. 

The first thing you notice about the man in the driver’s seat is his size - he’s big. Bigger than any man you’ve seen before. You just reach his shoulders even with both of you sitting down, his legs are spread so wide his knees nearly rest on his door and the gearshift, his head is close to brushing the roof. He’s just… big.

He’s wearing a black neck gaiter pulled up to cover his mouth and nose, which strikes you as odd considering he’s driving on his own, but you brush the thought off. His hair is blond, greasy and limp on his scalp, you doubt he did more than run his fingers through it getting out of bed. His eyes are blue, a light shade that surprises you for some reason. You don’t know a thing about this man, certainly not enough to be surprised by anything about him, but the blond hair and the blue eyes… it doesn’t quite fit with the black gloves and the mask.

He’s reclined back in his seat, one hand resting on the wheel and the other on his thigh, eyes scanning you like a king his subject. His eyes linger on your tiny shorts (sleep shorts, what you’d been wearing the night of your escape), skip right past the sluggishly bleeding scrapes on your knees and scan your ratty backpack.

You hope he won’t ask you to empty it. You’d like to keep your gun for as long as possible, can’t imagine this trucker would be ok with the hitchhiker he just picked up having a loaded weapon.

He doesn’t speak when he finally makes eye contact with you. You can’t hold it for long at all, only manage a few seconds before you’re glancing around his truck.

He doesn’t speak. Neither do you.

His car reeks of smoke. There’s a beer bottle in his cup holder, open and helf empty. There are more bottles - empty - by your feet. He doesn’t have the radio playing.

When you look back at him, his eyes are already trained on yours. You can’t help but flinch - the intensity of his gaze feels suffocating, even after only a few seconds of being held under it.

You work up the nerve to speak, take a few deep breaths and a few more long looks around the truck, the space this man spends most of his days in.

There are cigarette stubs on the dashboard, which has clearly been used as a makeshift ashtray. The seats are old, the leather peeling and tempting you to pick, and the dash itself is sunbleached.

“I’m trying to go to Arizona,” you finally say, flickering your eyes quickly to his and away again. His jeans are worn - but naturally worn, like he’s had them for months and washed them so many times they’ve lost their color. “Are… are you heading that direction?”

You look at him long enough to see him incline his head a bit. You don’t think he’s blinked since you got in the car.

“Goin’ south,” he affirms. His voice is a low grumble, British accented. Not necessarily unsurprising to hear in California, but a shock from a truck driver. “I’ll drop you somewhere along the way.”

He pulls away from the shoulder with that and turns away from you, apparently finished with the interaction. 

Being dropped somewhere along the way isn’t necessarily your ideal situation, but your feet scream in relief at the lack of pressure, so you’re certainly not going to complain.

You shift a little further back in your seat, tuck the backpack between you and the passenger door. He could reach it if he wanted, but keeping yourself between this stranger and your prized possessions feels like the right choice. You think about propping your feet up on the dashboard, but decide you don’t want to seem too rude to your apparent savior.

You look out the window. You’ve never been in a car this high, and even the flat California highways look more interesting at a new vantage point. It’s easier to focus on the far-off mountains than the giant beside you.

“So,” you cough lightly, awkward in the relative silence of the truck. The engine is loud, but the driver’s radio is dead silent. “What’s your name?”

He grunts, gives no other response. You glance over to him, a little unsure of yourself. Had you made that bad of a first impression somehow?

He doesn’t turn to you, and he doesn’t answer your question.

Alright, you tell yourself. Maybe he does this all the time, maybe he’s tired of making small talk with homeless and desperate hitchhikers. That’s probably it.

You don’t give him your name. Instead, you tuck your feet up to the seat beneath your thighs, turn your body fully to the passenger window, fold your arms on the windowsill and lay your chin on your elbows.

The drive is smooth enough for you to relax, even though you know that logically you shouldn’t. You’re a young woman who’s just gotten into a car with a strange and intimidating man who could very clearly physically overpower you. Nobody knows where you are. You should have a hand on your gun already, ready for anything the driver might try.

But you’ve been walking for days, and hadn't been sleeping well before that either. You haven’t had a good night’s sleep since your wedding night. The low rumble of the engine, the heat of the sun beaming through the glass, the surprisingly gentle motions of the truck…

You don’t quite let yourself fall asleep, but it’s a near thing.

———————————————————————

The two of you stay like that for hours. Your benevolent driver seemingly comfortable in his silence with you drowsy and relaxing in his passenger seat. You don’t stay in the same position for more than an hour or two at once, shifting your legs and always keeping any pressure off your feet.

You’d like to pull your shoes off, to ask if the man has any band-aids. Maybe any food, any water. But you can’t risk pissing him off, not when your other options are nonexistent. So you settle for slow movements, trying to keep your blisters from being irritated.

He finishes his beer before the first hour has passed with you in his vehicle. Waits another two to have a second. You don’t comment on it, but the scent makes your lip curl, and you bury your face in your arms to hide the reaction. You hope he’s not a lightweight. And despite the heavy stench of cigarette smoke sunken into the interior, he hasn’t had one yet. 

He’s the one who speaks next.

It’s a quarter until 6, and the sun has started her slow journey to sleep. You’ve been watching the sight for a while, entranced by the slow process with nothing else to amuse you.

“Pullin’ off,” he grunts.

You can’t help but jerk up straight at the sound, caught off guard. You’d nearly forgotten about his accent, about how deep his voice really is.

“For gas?” You ask, turning in your seat to glance at him for the first time in at least an hour. He only grunts again, a noise you’re just going to assume means yes. 

“Alright,” you nod, letting your feet drop to the floor from where you’d crossed them beneath yourself. “Are you… do you want me to find someone else to ride with?” You cross your fingers where you tuck them beneath your thighs, pray to every god you know of that he doesn’t make that yes grunt again.

He looks over to you this time, and the two of you make eye contact for the first time since you’d gotten into the car nearly six hours ago. His eyes are brighter than you remember, and the impact of them sends a jolt up your spine.

You’re not sure how long he looks at you. You feel stuck under his gaze, a little wide-eyed prey animal spotted by a predator who can only lay still and hope they move on. You’ve never felt quite so pinned before, quite so unable to break eye contact. You don’t think you like it.

He looks away first, shifts in his seat and drops one hand from the steering wheel to lay on his thigh. You swallow at how tight his jeans are, how his thighs seem to nearly bulge from them. 

“No,” he finally answers. It takes a moment for you to remember your own question, but your sigh of relief is loud once you do.

If you’re lucky, he’ll try and drive through the night. Dangerous, since it’ll make for nearly twenty-four hours on the road, but you’d rather take your chances with him than falling asleep at the wheel then spend another night staring into a dark forest and wondering if there are wolves in this part of the country.

He turns off the highway three exits later, pulls his truck into the first reststop. It’s the only structure in the nearby area, a McDonald’s-Subway-Shell mix with ten pumps, less than half with someone using them. It’s the kind of rest stop you’ve seen on countless roadtrips, one that you know exists off half the exits in the States. The familiarity of it makes your lips twitch up in the corners.

There are several other semi-trucks pulled up getting gas, none quite the size of your driver’s. He parks quickly and easily, in one try, and turns the truck completely off. You shift a little in your seat, unsure what he’ll want from you, but he’s hauled himself up and out of the truck before you can open your mouth to ask.

You settle a bit. He’d said he wouldn’t make you leave but you still can’t fully relax for some reason, can’t bring back the looseness to your shoulders you’ve had since he picked you up. You entertain yourself by watching a middle aged couple try and wrangle six kids that look like they’re all under ten, since I’m sympathy when the littlest one’s face goes red and he starts to wail.

The door next to you opens without warning. You manage to catch your bag before it can go tumbling out of the car, can’t hold back the little yelp of surprise. Your eyes are wide, fingers holding tight to the bag, when you look up through your hair.

The driver’s face looks the same as it has for the last six hours - expressionless. Even with the mask, surely his eyebrows should move at least a bit? He looks almost like a corpse above you - pale face and flat features. It unnerves you. 

“Gettin’ food. You got money?”

You hesitate for a moment - you do have money, small bills you’d snuck from your husband’s wallet that you’d planned to use for a bus ticket. You’re not starving yet, the few granola bars you’d taken in your escape will tide you over for a little while longer.

You shake your head.

He nods, like he’d expected that, and glances over your form from head to toe again. “Alright. You want somethin’ to eat, now’s your chance. We’ll be back on the road for another few hours before I stop for the night.”

With that he turns away, jumps down to the parking lot and stalks off toward the McDonald’s. It takes you a minute to follow him, still a little shocked that you’d gotten multiple sentences from him at once.

The thought of free food is far too tempting to let you linger for too long, though, and you’re throwing your bag over your shoulders and scampering after him only a moment later. You have to trot a little awkwardly to keep up with his long strides. He doesn’t hold the door open for you, but you catch him glancing over his shoulder to see if you’re there.

The teenager working the register looks like it’s their first day, and you assume a middle-aged man leaning against the counter beside her is meant to be showing her the ropes. He’s far more occupied with whatever’s on his phone screen, leaving the cashier to stare up at your driver with wide eyes.

You get it. Standing next to him now, you decide he’s not big - he’s huge. Has to be at least six and a half feet tall, and at least a foot taller than you. Combined with his muscular form - another odd thing for a truck driver - and his all black attire, he seems almost like some sort of monster or omen come to warn about the future.

You step up to the counter beside him, give the cashier your best reassuring smile when she glances at you. It gives her enough courage to stumble over, “Welcome to McDonald’s, what can I get you today?” after only a few stuttering starts. You’re quite proud of her.

“Five Big Macs and fries. No drink.” The man rumbles, his mask umoving. He glances down at you, finally cocks an eyebrow (an expression!) for you to order.

“Uh, just… just ten nuggets for me,” you smile at the cashier, glance up at the driver to make sure you haven’t somehow ordered too much. “And, uh, a Coke?”

“Will that be all for you today?”

“Make it a twenty nugget meal,” your partner corrects, then pulls a worn leather from his back pocket and pays with a shiny card. You can’t help but eye the many bills folded neatly in the wallet.

“Thanks for the upgrade,” you say as the two of you slide onto a pair of stools to wait for your food. “I really appreciate it. I, uh, I can’t pay you back, though.”

He glances at you again, holds you pinned under his gaze and kicks your heartbeat up a few notches. It becomes a conscious effort to keep your breathing steady when he spreads his thighs enough to brush against yours. 

“Don’t worry about it.”

Your meal is largely silent. He all but inhales three of his five burgers, leaves the other two wrapped up presumably for later on the drive. You try and eat all of your nuggets and fries, but your granola bar diet of the last few days means your stomach feels stretched to his limit only a few bites into the meal.

After your fifth nugget, you tuck the little box closed. Shift towards your driver and glance up from the window you’d been staring out to see him already looking down at you.

You clear your throat, take a little sip of your Coke. “I’m done.”

He shakes his head once, reaches forward to pop the little box back open. “No, you’re not. We’re not getting back on the road ‘til you eat at least half.”

You can’t help but blink in surprise at him, not moving to take any more food. He won’t tell you his name, won’t make any small talk whatsoever, but he will worry about how much you’re eating?

He grunts when you don’t make a move to listen to him, pushes the little brown box closer to you. “C’mon. Eat.”

You get through another five under his eye. He doesn’t look away from you, and now you know about the stare. It feels heavier now, like every little twitch from you is catalouged by him. It makes every bite difficult to swallow.

He nods when you tuck the little box closed again, glance a bit wearily at him to make sure he’s content now. He picks up your tray, tucks his two sandwiches in one hand, and leaves. You scramble to keep up.

His strides are a little shorter in the parking lot this time, and the slower pace keeps your blisters from further irritation. You’re not sure it’s intentional, but you’re thankful nonetheless.

The truck is still difficult to get into, but the worn leather seats are a familiar comfort now. This time, your driver flicks on the radio as he pulls out of the rest stop.

For some reason, you feel like maybe he likes you. There’s something in the line of his body that feels a little softer now, the tension in the truck feels a little drained. It could be the music, but you prefer to think that he’s taken a bit of a liking to you. It means he’s less likely to end up hurting you, means you're less likely to have to rely on your non-existent shooting skills.

With the sun nearly fully set and the soft music from the radio, it’s much harder to keep yourself awake. You curl up in the seat, lay your head down on folded arms, and try your best to keep your eyes open.

———————————————————————

You don’t know how long it’s been when you wake up.

The truck is silent now, no engine and no radio, and the world outside is pitch black. You jerk up at the realization, quickly lay a hand on your bag and turn to your driver.

He’s staring at you. You nearly yelp in surprise, bite your tongue so harshly to keep the noise back that you taste the tang of iron.

He looks nearly inhuman in just the low light of the truck. Pale skin, blonde hair, blue eyes, a dark black mask obscuring half of his face. His body is turned towards you, black shirt and dark pants making him look almost like the top half of his face is just… floating. 

“I need to sleep,” he rumbles, keeping you held captive in what almost feels like a staring contest - like if you look away now, you’ll lose something. “You can take the bed in the back.”

That gets your heartbeat quickening, the thud of your pulse loud in your own ears. “Oh… I thought…” you swallow, finally tear your eyes from his to look around. You seem to be at another rest stop, this one a small dark building with two bathrooms and a few vending machines. There aren’t any other trucks parked around you. “I thought I might try and find a motel or something.”

“With what money?”

He’s got you there. You work your tongue against the roof of your mouth, clear away the blood and try to make your mouth not so bone-dry. “Yeah,” you nearly whisper, eyes darting back to his before away again. He hasn’t moved. You clear your throat before speaking again. “But, uh, I don’t want to kick you out of your bed. I can sleep up here.”

“You’ll take the bed,” he reaffirms, with no room for argument in his tone. You can’t help but feel like there’s something more here, like you’re missing something. You don’t feel safe anymore, not like you had after the McDonald’s. Why did you let yourself fall asleep? You could have pressured him to pull off somewhere with a motel, tried to finagle or scam yourself into a room with a lock on the door.

Now you’re stuck in this dark truck, no one else but the driver around for miles.

You swallow again, force down a cough.

You don’t want to sleep in his bed. But a glance over at him tells you that’s what’s going to happen. Your driver doesn’t seem the kind of man to take kindly to disobedience.

“What’s your name?” You ask again, voice weak and quiet. For some reason, this feels important. Like a name will make him more human, easier to swallow.

He only tilts his head a little, face still stoic. “Get in bed. We’ll drive again when the sun rises.”

“Please,” you try, a hint of desperation creeping into your voice. You can’t explain it, but you need his name. Need some evidence that he’s more man than he looks. This moment feels pivotal, and there’s a little voice screaming at the back of your head that things are going in the wrong direction.

“Sleep, doll,” is all he says. His voice isn’t softer, but it’s quieter, like maybe he understands the fear coursing through you.

You squeeze your eyes shut a moment before pushing yourself up, both hands holding onto your bag - your literal only possible defense againt this man - like a lifeline. You know they’d shake if your grips was any looser.

It’s too dark to make out much in the back of his cabin. The bed is a decent size for you, but you wonder if he’s able to stretch out fully on it. You think you can see the outline of a minifridge and a few books resting on the floor. 

He’s still watching you as you sit on the bed, his body unmoved but his head turned towards you. You try to keep your breathing steady as you toe your shoes off, tuck your feet up to the bed with you and curl up on your side.

The bag doesn’t leave your arms. His eyes don’t leave your form. He makes no move to stretch out and sleep like he’d said he would.

You force your eyes closed, no matter how wrong it feels. You try and will yourself to sleep, tell yourself everything will be fine. If he tries anything, you’ll shoot him.

You can still feel his gaze on you when you finally slip into unconsciousness.

———————————————————————

You wake slowly to movement behind you. 

You blink heavy eyelids open, let them fall shut again when there’s no difference in what you can see.  You feel cloaked by sleep still, like your brain has been held underwater and everything moves a little slowly, a little muffled.

The bed dips behind you, and there’s a warmth behind you. A hand at your waist. The top of a foot against the sole of yours. A chest against your back.

Your eyes stay closed, but your brows furrow a bit. Your husband has always hated the idea of cuddling, slept like a corpse on his back and berated you if you dared to touch him in your sleep. You nearly roll over, but figure that might set him off. Your arms still ache from the last argument you’d had.

The hand slips beneath your shirt, rough palm against your waist, thumb smoothing in little circles.

That catches your attention, too - your husband’s hands are soft. He’s never done a day of work in his life, the only job he’s had is some fake title made up by his father at his company. The hand on your skin isn’t soft at all, it’s rough with big, thick fingers that rest heavily on you.

The realization comes to you in pieces.

Your master bedroom was never this dark, the large windows always left wide open to allow moonlight into the room. Your ex-husband’s hands are smooth, boney and nearing on frail. The foot brushing against yours triggers a burning sensation in your blisters.

You keep your breathing even - an effort that feels impossible. 

It’s not your husband at your back, it’s the truck driver.

He’s silent as he tucks himself fully to you. His breath is damp against your neck and you fight down a shudder at the sensation. 

Your bag isn’t in your arms, which means you don’t have your gun. Whatever happens, whatever he does to you, you have no way of defending yourself.

The only reason you don’t cry at the thought is because you don’t want him to know you’re awake. It’s pure self-preservation that keeps your breathing even, your limbs loose, and your breathing slow.

He brings his head closer, his breathing loud in your ear. Every part of him is pressed against you, and you can’t help squeezing your eyes shut more tightly at the hardness poking into your back.

He’s silent as he sets his chin over your shoulder. His groin is tucked right beneath your ass, his knees behind yours and his feet benath yours. He’s just… spooning you.

It feels like an eternity passes just like that. Your heartbeat pounding in every bone, the heat of the driver’s body against yours. His breath is the only noise you hear, ghosting over your ear, heavier than your own.

Eventually, he starts to move. You almost whimper when you realize what he’s doing. 

He’s humping you.

His movements are slow at first, just a little rock of his hips against you. But as the minutes pass he becomes more incensed, his thrusts harder against you, his breathing heavier. He grunts at one point, and it takes everything in you not to flinch away.

You want to scream. You want to open your mouth and shout, to roll over and make him stop.

But you don’t have your gun. And he dwarfs you, every inch of your back covered by him and then some. You can’t stop him.

So you let it happen. You keep your eyes screwed shut, try desperately to go anywhere else in your head and pretend you don’t feel how quickly his hips begin to rock.

His hand moves from your hip to your stomach, his pinky resting on the waistband of your sleep shorts. You don’t think you could stay quiet any longer if his fingers slipped beneath the hem, and you let out a near silent breath of relief when his palm continues up instead of down.

He almost rolls you onto your stomach, angles you so your front is closer to the mattress and he can grind more on you than beside you. His hand slips further up your shirt, and you bite your tongue at the feeling of his rough palm against your nipples.

That gets another huff from him, another low sound that could almost be a moan. You feel him shift again, his hips working a little more roughly. You’re not sure how he possibly thinks you’re still asleep, but you pray he doesn’t take it any further as long as he does.

He doesn’t pinch, just softly strokes over one breast. His hand engulfs it fully, fingers wrapping all the way around the little mound of flesh. The calluses on his palm send little sparks down your spine, and you curse your body for the buzzing sensation between your thighs.

His breath gets heavier in your ear, he’s nearly panting over you. If you weren’t wearing shorts and he wasn’t wearing jeans, he’d be fucking you. His thrusting almost feels like he is. The… thing grinding against you is clearly large, even through all the layers of clothing, and you say another prayer that he doesn’t do more than this.

“Fuck,” he grunts, his chin pushing hard into your shoulder. You almost jerk at the sound of his voice, the evidence that this is real and not some horrible nightmare. 

You wish you could fall back asleep.

You don’t know how long the whole thing lasts. The pitch dark, the driver’s oppressive weight against you, it makes time feel liminal. You’re not sure if he lasts for five minutes or five hours.

But eventually his hips slow, give a few harder thrusts before he goes completely still and lets out a loud groan. Again, you wonder how he expects you to have slept through the noise. 

He shifts back a little in the aftermath, rolling you back to your side with a heavy hand on your stomach. You try to keep yourself as limp as possible, try to make your face go slack.

He lays with you for a while, breathing even and slow. You wish he would leave, wish he would let you start pretending this never happened. His hand stays on your stomach, and you can feel the other crossed over his midsection at your back. His feet hold your ankles to the bed. You hope he can’t feel that you’re squeezing your hands into tight fists where they rest against your thighs.

He doesn’t leave. Instead, he shifts his own thick thigh between your own, the rough denim of his jeans irritating the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. He tucks his leg up, settles it right against your core.

You can’t help the way your breath hitches at the sudden pressure. You hold it immediately after, then try to breathe normally again when you realize how obvious the sudden change sounds. He doesn’t react, though, so you think you’re safe. 

The pressure increases a bit more before stopping. You’re almost propped up on his thigh, your pussy pressed against him through your shorts. It’s hard not to open your eyes, to look down and see what’s happening.

His hand slips down from your stomach to the waistband of your shorts. You can’t keep yourself from moving this time, already knowing what he’s going to do. You shift your hips a little, make a tiny noise in your throat that you hope comes off as a normal still-asleep sound. The movement only presses you closer to him.

He hums lowly in your ear, fingers stroking across the waistband of your shorts before dipping inside, then past your little gray panties. You can’t help the little squeak you make, the way your hands twitch before you force them still.

The sound he makes is almost a laugh, too low and quiet to really be one though. He hushes you softly, pushes on the meat of your most vulnerable part to still you. 

You don’t know if he thinks you’re awake. You think he must, there’s no way you could have slept through what he’d just done, and you’ve moved twice now. But he doesn’t speak to you, doesn’t become more aggressive.

You debate putting up a fight when his fingers sink lower, his palm resting heavily over your cunt. But the thought of him becoming rough, of him restraining you… it makes bile churn in your stomach.

You resign yourself to waiting until it’s over, go limp against the bed again.

Another hum, and his free hand moves beneath your body to grasp your hip. He moves you slowly, little grinding motions over his thigh. The hand over your heat uses two fingers to spread the lips of your cunt, tucks the gusset of your underwear and the fabric of your shorts to the side so your clit makes direct contact with his jeans.

You keen quietly at the sensation, a little animal noise of fear, of pain. You wish you had your gun, wish you could make this man stop.

But you can’t. So you bear it.

He doesn’t touch your clit with his fingers, doesn’t touch any part of your pussy but to spread you wide. His thigh moves along yours, his hand grinding you against it. You hate the slickness gathering at your hole, hate the way your nipples tighten, the way your breaths become heavier.

You bite your tongue to hold back any other sounds, that tang of blood returning after only a few seconds.

“C’mon,” he says into your neck, his voice a low whisper. “Come f’r me, doll... be good.”

You don’t want to be good, can’t suppress the little whine you make at even the thought. He rumbles low in his chest in response, pushes against you a little harder.

You can’t stay quiet through your orgasm. It’s a slow thing, rolling and deep. You feel it in your toes, in your scalp, and in every vein between. Had you been willing, been with a partner of your choice, you may have thrown your head back and cried out. But here in the truck, with this man you can’t believe you were stupid enough to trust, you squeeze your eyes so tightly shut that tears eek out the corners and bite your cheek until there’s a sore. And still, a moan vibrates in your chest.

He stops grinding you against him when your orgasm is finished. His finges slip from you slowly, tuck your panties back over your mound and give you two little pats before he fully pulls his hand away. 

Both of his hands slip back up your stomach, grab a handful of your chest and massage you there for several moments. Your breathing gradually slows as your body comes down, your limbs going limp again despite the fact that his hands are still on you.

He rolls you to your back when he’s finished. You feel his lips press against each of your eyelids, squeezed shut no matter how hard you try to force your face to relax. Another tear slips down the side of your nose, and he kisses it away before it can reach your lips. You feel his tongue stroke beneath each eye, know that he’s cleaning away your tears. He gives you a final, chaste kiss on your lips before pulling away.

He’s gone a moment later, and you’re left cold and alone in his bed.

———————————————————————

He smokes a cigarette while he watches you sleep. Your nose twitches at the first hint of smoke, and he almost smirks at the expression.

He can’t believe he found you. A perfect little doll of a girl, limping all filthy and sad along the side of a highway, just waiting for someone to scoop you up. God truly does have a sick sense of humor, gifting a bastard like Ghost a gift like you.

He hadn’t planned to keep you at first. He figured he’d ride with you for a while, fuck you a few times to have a warm place to dump his cum before dropping you off at a rest stop for another driver to scoop up. But no, that won’t do now that he’s felt your cunt against his hand, watched you try desperately to hold back every expression because you thought it might keep you safe.

He’ll have to find out where the finger-shaped bruises on your arms are from. After this trip, he’ll find whoever left them and take care of them. He’ll be the only one hurting his little doll, no one else. Might even win him a few brownie points with you, if he’s lucky.

Your feet probably need bandaging, too. He’d seen the redness at the back of your ankles when you tucked your feet up on his seats, felt the blisters against his own feet when he laid with you. He’ll make sure you stay off your feet for a bit, give them time to heal.

That gets another smirk. You won’t be leaving the truck for a long time, there’ll be no need to worry about your blisters after tonight. He’ll keep you off your feet. Maybe have you thank him for taking such good care of you.

He’ll try your mouth next. He bites back a moan imagining your face pressed against his crotch, knows already that the difference in size between the two of you will be absolutely pornographic at that angle. Can’t wait to teach you to deepthroat him, salivating at the image of you holding him in your mouth on the road.

He’d already wasted one load, it’s only right you take the next. You’re his now, which means he shouldn’t have to come in his fucking pants like a teenager ever again. 

But he’d gone easy on you, hadn’t made you take him in any of your holes this first night. Even let you pretend to sleep through the whole thing, though your shifting hips and little scrunched up face gave you away as soon as he pressed himself against you.

It was endearing, really, the way you tried so hard to pretend it wasn’t happening. He can still taste your tears on his tongue, mixing with the acrid taste of nicotine. He can’t wait to learn what your pussy tastes like.

He takes a long pull from the cigarette and considers your little shaking form.

You won’t need much now that you’re with him. Only a few outfits in case he needs to bring you in somewhere, but you’ll be kept naked when in his truck. He’ll have to find a motel sometime soon, get all the grime washed off your skin and the grease out of your hair. He’d like to see it brushed out, see how you might style it for him.

He’ll take good care of you. Feed you when you’re hungry, maybe get some little toys or books if you’re good, fuck you whenever you - or he - needs it. 

It’ll take a while for you to settle, he knows. You’ll spend a bit looking for that girly little gun you’d been keeping tucked away in your bag. But that’s okay. He already knows he’ll enjoy training you, showing you just how to be the perfect little doll for him.

He stubs the cigarette out in an ashtray, climbs back into bed with you and tucks you tight to his chest. Your little sniffling breaths draw another little twitch of the lips from him, and he buries his nose in your hair before shutting his eyes.

Yeah, you're going to be perfect for him.

[zepskies]

Lost on You - Part 7

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x F. Supe!Reader

Summary: 1983 is a big year for you. You’re finally chosen to join the ranks of Payback, led by the most (in)famous supe in the world: Soldier Boy. He’ll never admit that he’s trying his damndest to figure you out. You’ll never admit that he’s actually growing on you. But the problem with this game is deciding who’s the predator, and who is prey.

AN: Consequences of the game.

Word Count: 5.2K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! More smut, show level debauchery, implied threesome, drug use, some light, some dark, violence and angst. (We're diving into some canon S3 content.)

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Part 7: Welcome to the Jungle

“Yes, well, Countess and I decided to end our relationship shortly after we wrapped on Red Thunder,” Ben explained to Jason Carver.

A little damage control could go a long way, coming from Soldier Boy himself. Vought News was one of the most convenient outlets for it.

“I know there’s been a lot of talk, but it was a mutual decision,” Ben said. “We still have a lot of love for each other. It just wasn’t working out.”

“Well, it sounds like it ended on good terms then,” said Jason.

“Yeah, so anyone who wants to run their mouth about it can come straight to me,” Ben said, with a stern set to his brows as he looked into the camera.

Jason uttered a slightly nervous laugh. “Well, I don’t think there’s anyone that brave.”

Ben shot him a smile. “Let’s hope not.”

“But are the rumors true? There seem to be some sparks between you and Sirena.”

Ben relaxed his posture a little, all while calm and controlled in his seat.

“She’s a special woman,” he admitted, with an incline of his head. “I can’t deny, we have…a connection.”

“Wow. You two have really hit it off since she joined the team,” Jason observed.

“Well, you know how it is, Jason,” Ben said. He glanced over and found you in the dark, standing next to a PA. You smiled.

“I’ve always been a man who knows what he wants,” he said.

“Shit,” Ben gritted out, his eyes rolling shut.

His gloved hand was fisted in your hair as you showed your gratefulness—on your knees, sucking him off from base to tip. He had to brace himself against the wall of one the makeup trailer. You two hadn’t even left the studio of Vought News when you took his hand and led him in here with a sensuous smile and an unspoken promise. 

“You sure do have a talented fucking mouth,” he said with a smirk.

You hummed around his cock in response while your lips and tongue continued to work him over. The sensation nearly made his eyes cross. His blunt fingers bit into the wall, creating divots there and stirring up paint and plaster dust.

But if he could still talk, you weren’t satisfied. You squeezed his ass through his uniform pants, pulling him even closer. His hips rocked forward, forcing you to take him deeper until his cock hit the back of your throat.

You gagged for a moment, but you took a breath through your nose to steady yourself, blinking through the sting of involuntary tears in your eyes. Then you slid your lips back down him again. This time you relaxed the back of your throat and managed to take him fully without gagging as much.

His grip was getting tighter in your hair as muttered curses fell from his lips. You winced, but you kept going. You could feel him getting close; his thighs locked with strain, and his cock throbbed a warning in your mouth.

A cross between a grunt and a shout escaped him along with his release. You swallowed up as much of his spend as you could, but it still dribbled from the corners of your mouth and down your neck. You eventually released him with a soft pop, panting heavily.

He had to catch his breath as well while he leaned against the wall. His fingers untightened from your hair, petting your head instead.

“Good girl. Jesus,” he said shallowly.

You smiled and helped yourself off the floor. You grabbed a hand towel from one of the makeup artist stations and wiped your face and neck, ruined lipstick and all. Ben was trying to play off his recovery when you turned back to him.

His gaze on you was satisfied, and yet, still simmering with heat. He grabbed your arm and guided you against the wall. He caged you there with his hands molded to the curve of your waist. His touch was warm even through your leather suit.

“Countess may have some fireballs for me in my future,” you remarked.

Ben snorted dismissively. “Don’t worry about her.”

You weren’t so sure. She probably hadn’t done anything publicly to you yet because she was afraid of Ben. At this point, having him in your corner was protection—both for your career and for yourself.

You tipped your face up at him with a more playful smile.

“You really think I’m special?” you teased.

Ben chuckled through his nose. “You’re fucking something, all right.”

His tone was laced with amusement, but you saw the edge of it in his eyes, and you felt it with your abilities. You sensed the sincerity in him, tinged with…fondness, maybe? Even for you, it was hard to parse out.

It was definitely something beyond lust. Was he even capable of something more?

And is that what you want?

He gave you one last kiss, distracting you from that troubling thought. His lips moved slowly against yours for a change. It was affectionate, as he cupped your cheek. 

“Come see me tonight,” he said when he finally pulled away. He gave you a slap on the ass to punctuate his request. Your hand wrapped around his forearm before he could turn away.

“How about a change of scenery? You could come to my place,” you suggested. He didn’t look enthused.

“Come on, I’ll even cook for you,” you added.

Ben raised a brow. “You cook?”

“Well, I’m no Martha Stewart, but I can whip up something good.”

Your smile was a tease as you slipped by him. You stopped in front of the mirror to fix your hair and lipstick. You briefly met Ben’s gaze in the mirror’s reflection. His brow was quirked. Was he waiting for you or something?

“What? I can’t go out looking like this,” you said.

At that, Ben smirked. He came up behind you and grasped your hips where you were bent over slightly. He pressed into your ass from behind, prompting you to straighten up and lean back against his chest. You couldn’t help a smile of amusement. Did this man ever get tired of fucking?

To your surprise though, he just pressed a tantalizing kiss into your neck. His eyes once again met yours in the mirror.

“I think you’re a fucking sight,” he said, picking a bit of his spend out of your hair.

You bit your lip out of embarrassment, but you couldn’t help the snort of laughter that escaped you.

It made him smile.

It was another facet of your evolving plan. Now that you had Ben in hand, you needed to keep his attention. A man like him appreciated certain values, and you had a feeling a woman who could cook was one of them.

It took some trial and error and a lot of praying, but you managed to make a decent roasted chicken. Ben seemed impressed enough. He ate half of the entire bird by himself, along with two helpings of mashed potatoes with gravy, even the parmesan broccoli. But as always, you two couldn’t seem to get through dessert.

Or rather, he took the cheesecake you bought into your bed and licked the accompanying raspberry syrup off your body. By the end, you were a sticky, sated mess (as usual). The bedsheets were a disaster, but you knew what you’d been getting into when you invited this man over. You had an extra set of clean sheets waiting in your dresser.

Ben smoked a large blunt afterwards, his eyes half-lidded as he drifted towards dozing off. When you noticed his eyes closing, a small alarm went off in your mind. You leaned over and stroked his arm.

“My bed doesn’t really compare with yours, does it?” you said. Which was true. His was even more plush and soft than yours. Not to mention, his bed was a California King. Yours was a modest queen-sized.

He shrugged and blew out smoke. “‘S not so bad.”

He dabbed his blunt in the ashtray and put it out for now. He raised his arms and folded them behind his head. He groaned and settled in against your pillows. You hid your wary frown.

Shit, maybe you’d miscalculated by inviting him over. You hadn’t thought he’d actually want to stay the night. 

“Nooo, don’t fall asleep,” you playfully whined. You rolled over onto his chest and laid kisses along his jaw. “Why don’t we go take a walk or something? Go on a little adventure.”

Ben cracked an eye open at you, but he soon closed it again. “Nah, I’m good.”

“Come on, super-man. Don’t tell me you’re tired already,” you goaded.

At that, Ben’s eyes opened, and he frowned at you.

“You just stuffed me full of food like it’s Thanksgiving—”

“You’re the one who went for seconds. And thirds, mind you.”

“Gave me a fucking workout—”

“Which you started.”

“I may be the strongest man on Earth, but I still need to recharge every now and then,” he said gruffly. “Keep sassing me though. When I wake up, you might just find yourself bent over my knee.”

You tried not to smile. Sometimes his grumpiness was just too amusing. It didn’t seem like he was going to get out of your bed though.

Sighing in defeat, you got up and tugged at the ruined sheets he was resting on.

“Come on, at least let me change these.”

With an annoyed huff, Ben got up just long enough for you to remake the bed. He hunkered back down before you were done, making it harder for you to lay down the last one correctly, but you rolled your eyes and gave up, tossing the sheet half-made over his bare legs.

You went into the bathroom to clean yourself up. Hopefully by the time you came back, he’d be asleep. You’d make your way to the couch with a spare comforter and sleep there.

It might’ve seemed strange, but you had never actually slept with him in the same bed. It wasn’t personal. You’d made it a habit to always sleep alone.

So after a quick shower, brushing your teeth, and slipping on an old shirt to sleep in, you padded quietly back into your bedroom. Sure enough, Ben looked to be fast asleep. He laid on his back with an arm curled over his stomach. Like this, he looked peaceful. Even docile.

The thought made you smirk as you went to grab a spare blanket from your closet. You draped it over your arm and went to your nightstand next. You just wanted to grab the book you’d been reading from the top drawer. You did so very carefully, knowing Ben’s hearing was sharp.

Once you’d successfully retrieved the book and slowly shut the drawer, you turned to head for the door. A hand shot out and grabbed your elbow. You gasped and jolted slightly, but of course it was just Ben. His fingers wrapped around your arm. His eyes were open, barely.

“Where’re you going?” he rumbled.

“Um, just to go to the couch and read for a bit,” you lied on the fly. “I didn’t want to disturb you.”

With a dismissive huff, he tugged you back and hauled you effortlessly back into the bed. You yelped in surprise. The book went tumbling off the side of the bed while the extra blanket got coiled between your legs. That strong arm curled around your waist. Possessive.

You turned your head across Ben’s shoulder and stared at his face. He shot you a smirk, then closed his eyes. His chest moved with his deeper breath, as it evened out in sleep.

You frowned. The man could be demanding, sure, but you never expected him to act this way. It did cause a flutter of something to rise in your belly. Something warm, and equally unexpected.

You sighed and allowed yourself to relax against him. You rested your eyes. Just for a little while, you told yourself. Then you’d try to extricate yourself.

Somehow, you never got around to it.

You woke in the morning to something warm and firm under your cheek. Your eyes slid open, and you were met with the bare chest of your lover. He was awake, sitting up against the headboard as he sipped at a mug of coffee. He glanced at you with a subtle smile pulling at his lips.

“Welcome back, Sleeping Beauty,” he said.

You smiled sleepily. Yawning, you turned and curled yourself into him without really thinking about it. But then it hit you, how intimate this was…and how much that conflicted you inside.

You eased away from him with a faked yawn, stretching your limbs, and gaining at least a few inches between you. Ben watched you do it with a certain glint of knowing in his eyes.

“You moan in your sleep,” he remarked idly.

You shot him a look of surprise. “I do not.”

“Yeah, you do. I fucking heard you,” he said. His lips pulled at a smirk. He set his coffee down and rolled over, trapping you underneath him. He thumbed at your chin. “Here I am thinking, ‘This dirty little girl. Didn’t get enough last night, did she?’”

You bit the inside of your lip against a smile. Your face warmed with a blush.

“Is that why you don’t want me in your bed?” he asked. “You embarrassed, sweetheart?”

At that, you frowned. “No, it’s not…”

“Because believe me, I’ve seen weirder shit,” he said. “There was one girl who sleepwalked into my fucking closet. That one was a headscratcher… Aw hell, one girl even took a shit in my bed.”

You gaped. “Seriously?”

He grimaced at the memory. “And tried to blame her Pomeranian. Think I don’t know a human shit when I see one?”

You blinked in bewilderment and disgust. “Dear Lord.”

Ben stroked your side.

“So you got nothing to worry about,” he said, a slow grin curving his lips. “Some little sex noises don’t bother me.”

You laughed a little, but then you chewed on your lower lip, looking up at him. You didn’t know what compelled you to be honest in that moment.

“It’s not that, it’s just…ever since I got my powers, I’ve felt safest sleeping alone,” you said.

Ben’s amusement faded. “Why’s that?”

“I’m not like you,” you admitted, touching his chin with your fingertip. “When I’m asleep, I’m vulnerable, just like everybody else.”

He seemed to consider what you were saying with furrowed brows. You itched to sweep his hair away from his eyes, but you kept your hands to yourself. 

“Well, you’re safe with me,” he said eventually. 

You tilt your head at him. You wondered if he really meant that, or if it was just part of the façade of “charm” he was trying to portray. Even with your skin touching his, you couldn’t quite read his heart to parse that one out.

You had to pull back on the connection before he realized that you were trying…

But then again, maybe it was you who didn’t want to know for sure.

Christmas came around sooner than you expected. This time of year was heavy on your heart, after your mom’s death.

“I’ll be back before New Year’s,” you said, leaning up to give Ben a kiss. You were in his apartment saying goodbye. His personal chef was in the kitchen cooking up something that smelled amazing, but you had to leave. You had to pick up your father in Brooklyn and drive both of you over to your brother’s house in Queens.

“What’s the winter like in Indiana?” Ben asked in curiosity.

You blinked. Fuck if you knew, but he still thought you were a smalltown girl from the boonies and the cornfields.

“Um…cold. Snowy. Same as here, basically, but the wind isn’t going to cut through your bones when you turn a corner around a skyscraper,” you said.

Ben gave a mild shrug in response. Like he was ever going to go to Indiana. 

“Well, gotta go catch my flight,” you fibbed, but you grew curious about something as you peered up at him. “What’re you doing for the holidays? Seeing family, or…”

Again, he shrugged. “Nah, I’ll be here. I don’t get into that corny festive bullshit.”

You frowned. Something told you it wasn’t just that he didn’t do Christmas. He didn’t seem to have any family, or friends outside of Vought, for that matter. If you can count any of those people friends.

Was he really just going to be here all alone until New Year’s Eve?

Perhaps for the first time, you felt a bit bad for him. You knew you couldn’t invite him over for your holiday plans, however.

So you gave him another kiss goodbye, and you left.

You returned in time for Vought’s annual New Year’s Eve bash. According to Tommy and Tessa, it was legendary. First, there was a huge banquet held for all the big wigs and the investors and the press. That was just to load up on good food and champagne.

The real party was the afterparty, made up almost exclusively by supes employed by Vought—from all across the country. Of course, Payback were the guests of honor, with Soldier Boy leading the pack on free booze and lines of drugs smoked or snorted across most available surfaces.

You felt overwhelmed by all of it at first. In fact, you almost left the party. But then you saw a very drunk Countess in a little red cocktail dress, offering Ben to take a shot of tequila out of her mouth. It stirred irritation in your gut.

You grabbed the nearest bottle of alcohol, went over to them, and subtly touched Countess’s bare shoulder.

Give that shot to Tommy, you compelled her.

With that small trill of your power, Countess stood straighter and beelined straight for Tommy. She grabbed him by the back of his head and surprised him with a deep tequila kiss.

Gross.

You grimaced at the sight, but when you looked back at Ben, he was smirking in amusement. He slid an arm around your waist and spoke closely in your ear.

“Let’s have some fun.”

The next morning, you sat up in bed with a groan. Your head pounded with a horrible hangover of at least three different substances. You wiped the remnants of powder from your itchy nose. And you were naked.

You drew the sheets to cover up to your breasts, which accidentally pulled the covers off another warm body beside you—a mystery woman. Someone you vaguely recognized as another supe from the party. She woke with a wince.

“Ooh, fuck, where’s the bathroom?” she asked. You were bleary-eyed, but you managed to point over to the left. She nodded and slowly got out of bed.

You wiped at your face and realized that Ben was there as well. It was his bed, after all.

He was slowly waking up too, looking more than a little fucked up himself. You groaned and slid under his arm, resting your head against his chest. Mistakes had been made, but you couldn’t bring yourself to give a shit.

Way to ring in 1984.

There was a reason you didn’t like group training sessions. You watched with a grimace from your corner of the matt, along with the TNT Twins. For sure, they did not want to be next in the ring with Ben. His idea of training wasn’t very…constructive.

“Lighten up, Gunpowder. I’m just playing around,” Ben said, as Countess helped the younger man off the floor in concern. His eye was already swelling up, along with his bloody lip. He was too exhausted to even get off the mat. You’d tried stopping Ben fifteen minutes ago, but he hadn’t budged.

He now rolled his eyes and walked away from Gunpowder, waving a dismissive hand. “You fucking pussy.”

Your brows furrowed with your frown. You were cautious as you approached him again and lightly touched his arm.

“Was that really necessary?” you asked. “Ben, he’s only eighteen.”

He shot you a stern look.

“Don’t fucking start with me.”

He was definitely tougher on the men than he was on you or Countess, but still, it wasn’t easy to watch. This was the side of him you didn’t often see when you were alone with him. With you, he was still crass and arrogant, but sometimes, his harder edges softened the slightest bit.

In front of the team, he was Soldier Boy. He could be callous, and even cruel. It reminded you of every mission you went on together; every brutal, fatal move against the “bad guys,” and every innocent life that got caught in the crossfire.

The double doors to the gym opened, and in came Black Noir. You grew concerned, as you sensed anger coming off of him in waves.

“You’re late,” Ben said, crossing his arms. “We started at 3.”

“I really wanted that movie,” said Noir.

“The hell are you talking about?”

“I just got off the phone with my manager,” Noir continued. “It’s a no-go on Beverly Hills Cop.”

“Oh, that,” Ben said, with a roll of his eyes. Your own widened a fraction.

Noir stepped forward, his hands balling into fists. “I was born to play Axel Foley. Why would you say all those horrible things about me to Don Simpson?”

Your mouth fell open in shock. Don Simpson was a big deal. He’d produced Flashdance just last year. 

“Jesus, Ben. Really?” you said.

“Zip it, Sirena,” Ben snapped. Your mouth fell shut, even as you glared at him. He rarely called you by your supe name behind Vought’s closed doors.

“The guy’s supposed to be funny,” said Ben. He pointed back at Noir. “You’re. Not. Funny.”

“Well, I…could’ve been,” Noir said, a little weakly.

If there was one thing Ben couldn’t stand, it was a weak spine.

“You’re not good enough!” he barked. “Now shut your cockhole, and get to work.”

“But—” The moment Noir grabbed the other man’s shoulder, you knew it was going to be bad.

Ben turned and threw a swift punch that would’ve rattled any supe’s spine, even if they did have super strength. It wasn’t even a contest. He beat Noir down bloody on the mats, no matter what you or the others shouted out.

You were horrified, and you couldn’t stand by and watch anymore. You hurried over and tried to touch Ben’s arm. Maybe you could calm him down.

“Ben, stop! He’s had enough—”

He meant to just rip his arm out of your grasp. Maybe he’d shove you out of the way, out of his way. But the momentum of it sent you to the floor, with the wind knocked out of you.

It managed to briefly cut through his anger. He paused, seeing the shock and the stricken look on your face. You were looking at him like he was some kind of animal.

Deep down, he felt like one too. He just couldn’t allow himself to show it.

“That’s what happens when you don’t stay the fuck out of the way,” he growled.

You blinked wide as wet tears gathered in your lashes. It struck a cacophonous chord inside him, down to his bones.

He turned away from you to glare down at Black Noir. This was his fucking fault.

“You think you can be me?” Ben sneered. “You’re not a movie star. You’re not shit. I see you getting outta line again, trying to ‘move on up,’ I will put you in the fucking ground. Understood?”

Noir, fucking pussy that he was, stayed there on the ground covered in his own blood. By the time Ben turned back to where you’d fallen, you were no longer there.

You were gone.

You left the gym in tears. You pulled a staff member aside and let her know that Black Noir and Gunpowder were going to need medical attention.

“Are you okay?” she asked in concern. “Do you need—”

“I’m fine!” you snapped, even though you were still crying. It was more embarrassment at this point. You knew what Ben was from the very beginning. You’d just never thought he would…

Sucking in one deep breath, you steeled yourself. You wiped your face dry and forced your expression to ease into nothing. Blankness.

Show them what you want them to see.

He tried to come see you that night, but you wouldn’t let him into your apartment.

He sent flowers—some bullshit roses, with an apology written on the card.

I'm sorry.

You threw them in the trash.

You were done playing this game. It wasn’t worth it.

He wasn’t worth it…

Or so you felt, for the first few days. You began to wonder just how much shit Countess had to put up with for the years that she was with him. You wondered if he’d ever hit her.

You replayed that moment over and over in your mind. You knew if you hadn’t intervened, Ben wouldn’t have shoved you. He hadn’t truly meant to, you thought. With his strength, you were lucky it hadn’t been worse.

He didn’t mean it, you tried to rationalize. Even as you tried not to think about Gunpowder, or Noir, bloody on the floor.

Because at the end of the day, being with Ben was still good for your career, and if you kept denying him like this, he’d likely just go back to Countess.

So, even though it took a huge chunk out of your pride, you ventured to the elevators and up to the penthouse suite. By now, your feet knew this path by heart, even if your stomach churned with unease.

You stood in front of Ben’s door for a minute, just thinking. You knew this was the lowest you’d ever been. Was your career really worth debasing yourself like this?

Well, your question was soon answered when the door swung open. You hastily stepped back as a trio of smiling, giggling women came out from the apartment, all of them high-heeled and scantily dressed. Behind them was Ben in a black silk robe. His hair was a mess, and he had that post-nut look on his face, along with a layer of drying sweat. They all stunk like weed and sex.

Ben paused in the doorway when he saw you. His amusement faded. You let the girls slip past you without comment. Then you crossed your arms and looked up at him flatly.

He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. At least, nothing good.

“Hey,” he said.

You nodded. “Right.”

You turned from him and started walking down the hall the way you came, but Ben reached out fast and grabbed your wrist.

“All right, look—”

He turned you around, only stopping short when you gasped, your eyes glowing with thinly veiled power on reflex.

“Let go of me,” you demanded. Your tone was firm, but you both heard the fear in your voice. His jaw clenched.  

It seemed Ben did have a sliver of a heart somewhere inside his chest, because he let you go. You continued on your way, scrubbing furiously at the sting in your eyes.

“Dad, I just…I don’t think I can do this anymore,” you confessed. You were sitting on the edge of your bed with your head in your hands. You didn’t want to burden your brother, who had his own family, his own problems. So you called your dad first. Tears slipped down your cheeks and bled into your jeans.

“I think I need to come home,” you sniffed.

“Aw, honey. I’m sorry to hear you’re having such a hard time,” he said. “But you knew it was going to be difficult. You’ve been doing so well too.”

“I know, but—”

“And your mom’s medical bills might be taken care of, but I’ve still got the house to pay off. If it wasn’t for my back, I’d be out there working two and three jobs like I used to, but you know, I just can’t do it anymore.”

You rubbed at your tired, bleary eyes and sighed.

“Yeah. Okay, I know,” you said. “I’m going to help you, don’t worry.”

“So you’re gonna stay right? You’re going to work it out with Soldier Boy? You two do look good together, I’ve gotta say. What happened exactly? You didn’t uh, really explain that part.”

Your lower lip trembled. “Actually, Dad, I’m getting a page. Let me call you back later, okay?”

“Oh. Well, okay, sweetheart. I’m here for you. You know that.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Your next conversation was in Arthur Cohen’s office. You’d marched in while he was on the phone and said:

“I’m quitting the team.”

Arthur, professional that he was, gave you one look before he told whoever was on the other line that he’d call them back in a minute. Then he turned to you with his full attention, folding his hands on his desk. His many gold and silver rings shone in the lamplight.

“What can I do for you, sweetheart?” he asked. As if to say, Did I just hear you correctly?

You remained firm. “I want out of my contract. I’m quitting Payback.”

Arthur needed a beat on that one. “…Ah. I see.”

He held out a hand to one of the chairs in front of his desk.

“Please,” he gestured. You reluctantly obliged.

“Okay, I understand you’ve been going through some hard times—”

“Do you?” you intoned, tilting your head.

He nodded. “Believe me, I do. The problem is, you’re under a two-year minimum contract. You’re only about a year in. If you want out, no problem. I can do that for you.”

“Good,” you said. “Let’s make it happen.”

He held up a hand. “However. If you back out of this deal, remember that we invested in you. You’ll have to give back the advance we gave you, plus everything we’ve spent on your marketing, your new suit, your training, not to mention that little incident we smoothed over a couple months ago. A lot of lawyers and red tape. It’ll drive ya nuts…but it all adds up, unfortunately.”

Fuck. It hit you almost like a physical blow, a deep churning in your stomach. What kind of soul-sucking contract had you signed? Had you even read the fine print on that one?

For a long moment, you stared at Arthur’s desk in silence, to a point where he began to fidget slightly. You raised your head.

“All right,” you said, with a perfect smile. “I understand.”

Then you got up and left.

Arthur heaved a breath of relief. Fucking supes.

His door opened again, but to Stan Edgar. Arthur still didn’t know what to make of this guy. There was something about his calm, unfazed demeanor that Arthur didn’t trust.

“Sure, screw my lunch break. What can I do for ya?” he drawled.

Stan raised a brow and handed a thick file to him.

“I just got off the phone with Director Kasey from the CIA,” he said. “We’re approved for Nicaragua.” 

AN: 🫣 Ooh, don't hate me loll. It's gonna get worse before it gets better. I did warn about morally charcoal characters in this series, especially Ben himself. (He's got a lot to learn, and so does Sirena, for that matter.)

And now, we hit another pivotal moment...

Next Time:

“We’re all playing a game, Irving. Just at different levels,” you said. “For example, what were you talking to Stan about?”

You’d seen them a couple of hours ago, hidden behind a fortified stone wall. Noir stopped walking. You were curious enough to follow suit.

“Something that could change everything for all of us,” he said. “You included.”

Your brows knitted together. “What’re you—”

Shots rang out in the clearing.

▶️ Keep Reading: PART 8

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[tikosblogg]

Can you do Noah from bad omens x reader where the reader gets drugged at a bar and has no idea what to do until she runs into Noah which is kind of her enemy and he notices there’s something wrong and takes her back to his place and takes care of her until morning. You can also add in other band members it doesn’t have to be just Noah, thank you I hope you enjoy writing it if you choose to write it.

Warning: mentions of being drugged.

The clatter of glasses and the thrum of bass vibrated through my chest, a familiar symphony of a Friday night at our usual hometown bar. I finally managed to escape the creep cornering me at the bar and walked back over to my friends Laughter bounced off the exposed brick walls as, nick and jolly recounted some ridiculous story from tour. I plastered a smile on my face, trying to focus on their words, but the room seemed to sway slightly, like I was on a boat in a gentle sea.

I took another sip of my vodka soda, the lime tasting oddly bitter. It was my second of the night, not nearly enough to make me feel this…off. A strange tingling started in my fingertips, crawling up my arms. I tried to shake it off, but it only seemed to intensify. My head was getting lighter, the conversations around me fading into a muffled roar.

“Y/N? You okay? You look a little pale,” Nick’s voice cut through the fog, his brow furrowed with concern. I wanted to tell him, to explain the weird sensation, but my tongue felt thick and clumsy in my mouth. I managed a shaky nod, offering a weak smile.

“Just…tired, I think,” I lied, the words slurring slightly.

Jolly snorted. "Tired? It's only ten o'clock. You already drank that much??." He slapped me on the back playfully, and the movement made me want to throw up. I desperately needed fresh air.

"Bathroom," I mumbled, pushing myself up from the barstool. The room tilted, and I stumbled slightly, catching myself on the edge of the table. I could feel my heart pounding in my ears as I made my way towards the restrooms, my legs feeling heavy and disconnected from my brain.

The cool tiles of the bathroom wall did little to ease the nauseous swirl in my stomach. I splashed cold water on my face, hoping it would clear the fog in my head. It didn't. My reflection stared back at me, my eyes unnaturally wide and pupils dilated. A wave of panic washed over me. This wasn't just tiredness. This was something else. I made my way back out of the bathroom, stumbling through the crowd. The dizziness in my head making it hard to find any of the boys.

That's when I saw him.

Noah stood near the bar, his broad shoulders a stark contrast to the crowded space. He was laughing at something nick had said, his head thrown back, the dim light catching the intricate tattoo work that snaked down his neck. He was… handsome. God, I hated that I was still so ridiculously attracted to him, even after all this time. We had this unspoken tension between us, a push and pull that had started the moment we met. It was a mixture of irritation and attraction on my part, a frustrating dance that had kept us at arm’s length for years.

Our history was a messy one; constant bickering, challenging each other at every turn, it was exhausting. The only reason we could even manage being in the same space was because of our mutual friends. We were cordial when we had to be, but a current of tension was always there, humming just beneath the surface.

I stumbled further, needing to get away from people, needing to just breathe. As I tried to make my way through the crowd, I bumped into someone, losing my balance and grabbing blindly for purchase. My hand landed on the firm muscle of an arm, a familiar pattern of ink meeting my gaze. It was Noah.

He turned to me, his brown eyes, usually full of teasing glints, were narrowed with concern. "Hey. You okay?"

The words came out slurred and slow. "I… I don't feel good, Noah. Something's… wrong." My voice wavered, a tear escaping the corner of my eye.

He frowned, his gaze searching my face. "What's wrong? What happened?"

I tried to explain, my thoughts jumbled and incoherent. I knew I must have sounded drunk, but I wasn't drunk. Not in the way I usually was. Something else was going on.

Noah’s eyes zoned in on mine, clearly noticing how dilated my pupils were. His eyes darkened with understanding. He didn’t ask any more questions; instead, he carefully picked me up, taking me away from the crowd and towards the exit, his arms firm and reassuring on my limp body.

"Come on," he said, his voice low and calm. "Im gonna get you out of here."

The fresh night air was a welcome relief, but my legs felt numb. Noah walked me towards his car parked down the street, not saying anything, just offering a steady presence. Once inside, I slumped against the headrest, my head spinning.

"I think… I think I was drugged," I mumbled, the words barely audible.

He looked at me, his expression a mixture of anger and concern. "I thought so. You weren’t acting like yourself. Just… just relax okay?" He started the engine and pulled away from the curb, the roar of the engine a strange comfort in the chaos.

The drive was a blur, the city lights a dizzying swirl. When we finally pulled up to his house, everything seemed strangely unfamiliar. The place was nothing like I expected. It was clean and tidy. He helped me out of the car, my legs feeling like jelly, and guided me inside.

He settled me on his couch, bringing me a glass of water. I watched him move around the apartment with a strange detachment, his movements precise and purposeful, a side of him I hadn't seen before. It was the first time I could recall him being anything other than argumentative or mocking with me.

“Here,” he said, guiding my body to lay down, and removing my shoes. “Just try to relax. I’m going to call the guys and tell them where you are so they don't freak out.”

I nodded, finally feeling safe enough to close my heavy eyelids. He was different, the constant teasing gone, replaced with a surprising tenderness. I watched as he moved across the room, the sleeve of his t-shirt riding up his arm, revealing the intricate detail of his tattoos. Even in my drugged haze, I found myself admiring them, a wave of unexpected fascination washing over me.

He came back and sat on the edge of the coffee table near me, his gaze focused on me with a quiet intensity.

"I’m going stay with you," he said softly. His fingers lightly running through my hair."Don’t worry."

The words, so simple, offered me immense comfort in my frightened state. I wanted to ask so many questions. Like, why was he being so nice? Or did he always smell this good? Or did he finally notice that I was always looking at him?

The next few hours were a haze of fitful sleep and restless awakenings. Every time I stirred, Noah was there, offering water, a gentle touch, a quiet word of reassurance. As the first rays of dawn crept through the window, I finally started to feel some semblance of normalcy return. The nausea subsided, the tingling in my limbs faded, and the fog in my brain lifted.

I woke to find Noah asleep on the floor, slumped against the couch. I watched him for a long moment, the early morning light illuminating the sharp angles of his face, the gentle rise and fall of his chest. He looked peaceful, vulnerable, nothing like the stubborn, argumentative man I had thought I knew.

“Noah?” I whispered.

His eyes fluttered open, his gaze finding mine. He sat up, rubbing his face with his hand. "Hey. How are you feeling?"

"Much better," I said, my voice still a little raspy. "Thank you."

He just shrugged, a familiar smirk playing on his lips. "Don’t get used to it. I’m not always this nice."

I laughed, a genuine laugh this time. "I know. I wouldn’t want to ruin our whole dynamic."

The tension between us hadn't dissolved, it had shifted, changed. And for the first time, as I looked at Noah, I wondered if maybe it wasn't just annoyance or rivalry. Maybe it was something more. Maybe it always had been… atleast for me. I couldn't help but think about the fact that all it took was a terrifying experience to see each other clearly.

[toji-bunny-girl]

Always wondered what happens after a darling successfully escapes their yandere. Will they meet a new person and fall in love? Will they continue living in the aftermath of being kidnapped and traumatised? If so, how would they navigate their life with their disturbing past?

And what happens if the yandere managed to catch their darling back for the second time?

It’s been more than 2 years since you escaped from Bakugou, and you’re living a fresh life away from him. You don’t report him to the authorities because you know the corrupted system would wound you up back under his chain. So, you’d rather keep your mouth shut and move to some obscure countryside far, far away from him and the city.

There, you found a halcyon lifestyle and an honest man who cherished you more than anything. You had gotten engaged with him within a year of seeing each other and you thought life was finally falling into place. Until it didn’t.

You had no one to blame, really. It was as if God was playing an abhorrent joke on you. Who knew pro hero Dynamite would be going undercover in the diminutive town of Motosu for an on-the-run supervillain?

Who knew he would be staying at the exact inn you’re working at? 

Bakugou had always known that you were out there somewhere, he could feel his cells insisting you were missing and alive—hiding in the tenebrous cracks of the world. And one day, he would find you and drag you out of whatever crap you’re hiding in.

Lucky him, he had caught a familiar figure trodding around the inn he was staying at over a runaway case. He couldn’t have gotten it wrong, right? The way those hips sway as she walks, how her neck is structured from behind, and her smell. So sweet, as ambrosial as some forbidden fruit.

And when she turned around a corner, he saw your exact features—that very face etched like a tattoo in the walls of his mind. He could never get that profile wrong; he could never get you wrong.

Bakugou doesn’t just sweep you off from this shitty town though. He waited and watched. Noted the usual route you take to go back home, ‘home’ where you would call it, with some bumpkin who managed to put a worthless ring on your finger.

Dynamite could've given you everything and anything. He could’ve given you the world—a million-dollar ring, a mansion, and his whole heart and soul just for you. And you settled for that?

It boils his blood in crimson ire—why couldn’t you just be good and love him? Just why? Why can’t you accept your fate with him, forever as your one? Why? Why? Why?

He’ll get you to answer him soon enough once he got everything prepared—paying for the local police and magistrate’s silence; no one would know and care about your disappearance then.

And he waits until you’re off your shift and traipses back home with your sore back and hips, you wouldn’t be worrying about them when he gets you back to your real home.

“How long has it been?” your pace slowed, ears twitching. “2 years? Or more?”

No.

No. 

No. This can’t be. 

Bakugou. 

Your thought doesn’t finish forming before you’re bolting away as hard as you can, it doesn’t matter if your legs are getting weaker and the world is on vertigo—you’ll die if you’re caught. You know this voice and it haunts you in every nightmare you have, and for once, you prayed and prayed and begged for this to be a dream.

Don’t take my life away again. 

At last, you knew you could never outrun him. But the adrenaline surging through your veins made you believe you could; only a little while until you’re home and you’ll get Takashi to call the cops. And you finally understood chemicals were mere illusions when your body is thrown forward, landing on the ground before Bakugou pins you down.

It’s been two years. And he’s bigger. Stronger. Your stomach drops into the endless abyss when your eyes catch his burning red, sweat and tears automatically roll down your face and your voice fails to crack out of your dry throat. The world feels like it’s ending and you’re finding death in front of you, again. 

“Please, please, don’t! Please, leave me alone! I’m sorry, please—” you saw his face; a serpent with a satisfied hiss, tail locking its prey immobile, and you understood there was no way you could ever gain back your freedom. “Please, god! Please, don’t do this to me!”

“Oi,” so chilly, as if the alphabet of his word were stabbing your eardrums. “I’ll kill him if you don’t be good.”

This time with a life’s threat, you knew you’d forever be in hell—dead or alive.

୨ yandere series ୧

yandere!katsuki﹛ⅰ﹜ yandere!katsuki﹛ⅱ﹜ yandere!katsuki﹛ⅲ﹜ yandere!katsuki﹛ⅳ﹜ yandere!katsuki﹛ⅴ﹜

© toji-bunny-girl ― all rights reserved. do not modify, translate, plagiarise or repost my work

[starlitbun]

Can't Keep My Hands Off

Pairing: Katsuki Bakugo x Izuku Midoriya

Synopsis: Katsuki is clingy, and Izuku is down bad. That is it. They are in love, and I will stand by that.

Disclaimers: not rly any, just pure fluff, they kiss, pro hero!Kats, teacher!Izuku, just smth short and cute

w/c -> 1.8k

Note -> i know i said togachako would be next. I'm working on the editing which is taking much longer than expected. I promise it'll be out soon...

............................................<3............................................….

Katsuki Bakugo, contrary to popular belief, is very clingy. Possibly the clingest person Izuku has ever had the pleasure of meeting and what a pleasure it is. This clinginess wasn’t always displayed in the way normal people would display this type of affection. I mean Izuku grew up with the guy and only slightly experienced this when they were kids. At age 5 the two would constantly run side by side with their hands tightly interlocked and if Izuku pulled his hand away? Little 5-year-old Katsuki's eyes would fill with tears seconds from falling until Izuku would place his hand back where it belonged. 

As the pair grew older and more distant, Izuku found himself craving for his physical affection. Katsuki never stopped being physical, but the affection did cease much to Izuku’s dismay. Instead of affectionately holding onto his hand, Katsuki would aggressively hold his shoulder while threats spilled from his lips, but after the war, everything changed. 

After the near-death experience, the two had undeniably become much closer. Even though their relationship was better than in previous years, the war brought them together in ways many people didn’t seem possible. But Izuku did. He knew this was the real Katsuki. His Kacchan. Once they reached their third year the two were inseparable. Always glued at the hip, bouncing ideas off the other, only ever trained with the other and only relying on the other. No one could cause them to separate, not even Aizawa himself could make the two be far without one pouting and whining about it. And when they finally confessed and started dating? God were they insufferable. The constant touching somehow managed to become more frequent and Katsuki’s clinginess skyrocketed. Standing in Ground Beta waiting for instruction? Katsuki's finger would be holding onto Izuku’s belt loop. Cooking in the kitchen for the rest of their classmates? Katsuki would demand that Izuku be plopped onto the kitchen counter yapping his ear off. Movie night in the dorms? Izuku was sat right in between Katsuki’s legs. Now at 20, the poor green-haired boy could not escape Katsuki’s constant need for touching. Since living together once they graduated the two have grown accustomed to expecting the other there when patrol ended, and the one-time Izuku wasn’t? All hell broke loose.  .................…….....................<3..............................……………

Katsuki was exhausted from the long grueling day of patrolling with one dumbass villain after the next. It was roughly 8 pm by the time he trudged through the door of his and Izuku’s shared apartment, wanting nothing more than to just lay on the couch with his boyfriend. Maybe order takeout because he really wasn’t in the mood for cooking and Izuku could not be trusted in the kitchen. Having showered and changed back at Best Jeanists agency, he walked straight to their shared bedroom looking for Izuku when he didn’t greet him at the door.

“Gone all damn day and you can’t even greet me at the door,” the blonde grumbled as he pushed the bedroom door open to be welcomed to absolutely nothing. Furrowing his brows in confusion, Katsuki walks back out into the main area before calling out Izuku’s name a few times for the response to be silent. Now the apartment wasn’t exactly huge so Izuku should be able to hear Katsuki’s voice but just to be sure, he started walking around and quite literally checking every nook and crevice. With each spot left empty and Izuku-less, Katsuki’s mood progressively soured until he was fuming. Huffing annoyingly, Katsuki pulls out his phone and immediately dials Izuku’s number only to be sent straight to voicemail. 

“What the actual fuck,” disbelief laced his tone as he stared back at the phone with pure disgust. Brushing it off as a faulty call, Katsuki dials again only to get sent to voicemail yet again.

“Oh, this fucker wants to fuck around, huh?” When the third and fourth calls get him the same response he is about ready to chuck his phone into the nearest wall that just so happens to have Izuku’s All Might collection displayed. He cranks his arm back just as the front door opens and a sweet voice carries through the air.

“Kacchan? What are you doing?”

Katsuki turns, blinks a few times, then, “Where the fuck have you been?”

Izuku holds up a bag of takeout, shrugging his shoulders, “I knew you were coming home late so I figured you didn't want to cook so I bought your favorite spicy noodles. Are you aiming at my All Might collection? You know after patrolling all day you should take it easy for your heart…” Izuku breaks out into his infamous mumbling about ‘Kacchan needing to take better care of himself’ while staring directly at Katsuki.

Katsuki drops his arm, his phone slipping from his grasp and hitting the floor with a dull thud. His voice is rough when he mutters out a gruff, “No,” before striding toward Izuku with purpose. Before Izuku can react, Katsuki snatches the bag from his grip and tosses it onto the kitchen counter. Confusion flickers across Izuku’s face, his lips parting as if to question— When Katsuki grabs his face, fingers firm against his jaw, and yanks him forward. Their lips collide, rough and desperate, a clash of heat and unspoken words. The air crackles between them as Izuku’s breath stutters, his hands instinctively gripping Katsuki’s shirt. For a moment, time narrows down to the press of their mouths, the taste of urgency, and Katsuki pulls Izuku deeper into the kiss. The two meld together, desperately grasping at the other. Katsuki breaks the kiss leaning back and simply staring as Izuku’s mouth opens and closes in shock before breathlessly speaking.

“Wh-what was that for?” 

Katsuki shrugs, drops his hands to Izuku’s waist before pulling him closer and responding, “You didn’t give me my ‘welcome home’ kiss so I took matters into my own hands.”

“Kacchan, I was getting food!” Izuku sputters, face impossbly red. 

“Doesn’t change what I said from being true.” 

Izuku takes a step back shaking his head fondly before Katsuki steps forwards into his space yet again wrapping his arms tightly around Izuku’s waist. 

Katsuki shoves his face into the space between Izuku’s neck and shoulder before muttering, “Stop moving so damn much.”

Izuku, quite used to this behavior, simply huffs as he wraps his arms around Katsuki’s shoulders, burying one hand in his hair and softly scratching. The two stand in the dim lighting of their living area for a while just holding each other in silence until Izuku breaks it.

“Kacchan, the food will get cold…” Izuku slightly tugs at Katsuki’s hair only geting a grunt in response and the boy tightening his arms.

“Kacchan’s not gonna respond now?” Izuku teases while placing a barely there kiss on the side of his head. Katsuki groans before pulling his head up and giving Izuku a nasty glare. He rolls his eyes, looks towards the food then lets go of Izuku to only grab his hand and start pulling him to the couch. 

“Kacchan–”

“We can reheat it. How was teaching?” Katsuki softly speaks now standing in font of the couch. 

“Well I mean I guess–”

“Wait,” once again cutting Izuku off, Katsuki shoves him onto the couch, “Lay down.”

Izuku, slightly perplexed leans back, lifts his legs and lays down and lifts his eyebrow up at Katsuki. Katsuki looks down at him, nods in approval climbing on top of Izuku receiving a cheeky grin from the shorter boy. Katsuki smushes his hand into Izuku’s face effectively wiping the grin off it.

“Hey!” Izuku sputters, sitting up meeting Katsuki who was perched in his lap with his arms crossed, “What was that for?”

Izuku wraps his arms around Katsuki’s waist staring up at him waiting for an answer. Katsuki grumbles before tossing an arm over Izuku’s shoulder while the other tucks under his chin lifting his head higher. Katuki tilts his head closer, Izuku’s eyes darting down to his lips in return until the two are mere centimeters apart. Their lips brush before Katsuki pulls back completely to shove Izuku back down.

“That stupid ass look on your face was what that was for, dumbass.”

“Kacchan!” Izuku whined out with a pout gracing his features, “Why are you so mean?”

“I can be meaner.”

Izuku simply rolls his eyes before reaching up and grabbing ahold of Katsuki by the back of his neck. He pulls Katsuki closer until he has to brace an arm on the side of Izuku’s head to keep himself up. Katsuki raises an eyebrow in question when Izuku lifts his head up to connect their lips once again. Slowly their lips move together as Katsuki lowers himself completely on top of Izuku, tracing a hand up his chest to the side of his face. Izuku hums in delight, tilting his head and sliding a hand up from Katsuki’s neck to his hair before tugging on it gently. A soft groan escapes Katsuki’s throat before breaking the kiss. Izuku grinned at Katsuki, leaning up to place a soft quick kiss on his lips and nose before laying down completely. Katsuki fondly rolled his eyes, scooting down to rest his head on top of Izuku’s chest. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes before muttering something Izuku couldn’t understand. 

“Kacchan, I can’t hear you. Repeat it?” prompted Izuku as he massaged Katsuki’s scalp.

“Just talk. About teaching, hero charts, I don’t care.”

Izuku smiled softly before taking a breath and going into meticulous detail about his own work day. Even though there are times where Izuku found himself not really wanting to talk about his day of teaching when Kacchan had an exciting day as a Pro-Hero, he knew sometimes this is just what the man needed. To hear Izuku’s voice talk about the mundanes of life as he just sat or laid in silence simply listening. So Izuku talked about anything and everything while he softly rubbed Katsuki’s back and said man would give the occasional response until Katsuki’s weight started to settle even deeper on Izuku.

“Hey, Kacchan?”

“Kacchan are you sleeping?” Izuku pulled a strand of hair. 

Katsuki lifted his head, “Almost.”

“But you need to eat! Your pro-hero body needs the extra fuel! Especially after a grueling day, Kacchan! You can’t just–”

Katsuki silences the man with a quick kiss, “Alright nerd, enough talking. We’ll eat.” Katsuki props his hands on the sides on Izuku’s body to lift himself.

“Wait! One more kiss!” Izuku grips Katsuki’s bicep, puckering his lips.

Katsuki chuckles weak to the mans’ requests before leaning back down planting a kiss on his nose causing Izuku to pout.

“You know that’s not what I wanted.”

Katsuki shrugs before placing yet another kiss on his nose. He leans back stares a little bit to then kiss each cheek a few times, his forehead, the side of his lips, everywhere but Izuku’s lips. Izuku laughs out as Katsuki places more kisses across his face until he finally puts Izuku out his misery and places a kiss to his lips, smiling softly into the kiss. The two laugh and giggle as kiss after kiss are placed on each other, dinner long forgotten. 

[forgivenpunishment]

⩥ @orangetintedglasses || tripwire [plotted starter]

Sometimes, when Wolfwood closes his eyes, he's back in that place.

JuLai, but not the operating table—not anymore. Those nightmares are much rarer than the ones where he's suspended in mid-air, pinned to a sleek metal platform that looms over where Vash—

—No, not Vash. It was Knives's will, Knives torturing him, Knives controlling Vash's every move, every decision...

...Where that thing wearing Vash's skin would rest occasionally. It didn't need to rest, but it'd spend time with him by gazing upon Wolfwood as though he were a work of art. It'd marvel at how the undertaker's wounds would close around kingpins that it personally pushed through precisely chosen locations on his body. They were symmetrical, clinical, and impossible to break through.

It was exactly what he deserved for leading Vash to JuLai in the first place.

Day after day, he'd spend sleepless hours with his eyes forced open due to pain; the needles would provide him with the bare nutrients required to survive, along with doses of serum to keep the wounds shut. If Wolfwood deigned to struggle, it would only make the pain worse.

His reward at the end of each day was always a genuine smile from Vash.

Not Vash.

He'd managed to escape once by feigning death—it was risky, but the trick caused doctors—the Doctor included—to take him down and run tests on him before attempting to resuscitate him. The Doctor found himself at the edge of a blade for scolding his boss for keeping his prized subject at death's door, which quickly shut him up.

By the time he returned, Wolfwood's departure was marked by dead assistants—one of their coats missing.

Wolfwood met up with Meryl after that, who was assisting the survivors of the twins' wrath. He never did give her details.

Not that it mattered, since Vash was hot on his tail as soon as he noticed his darling moth was missing.

'Why risk your life out here, when it's safe at my side?'

'Don't you know it hurts to watch something so precious to me throw itself into danger?'

'Let me protect you, darling moth; you don't belong with humanity. You never have.'

———

The final words caress his mind with barbed wire before he awakens with a jolt. Wolfwood's heart pounds too fast for its cage, wishing once more to be let out. It's still dark, the room is too hot, the blankets are too suffocating—but he has chills as he sweats with wide eyes and a panting mouth. Vash, somehow, sleeps beside him, curling up against the wadded up blankets that Wolfwood shoved aside and making a noise of protest.

On nights like these, he wishes he could see the moment for what it is—a nightmare about some place he'll never return to—but generally the emotionally dense undertaker must get up out of bed, take a shower, and smoke.

Smoke... a lot. Until the suns rise. He's starting to believe that the smell and the hiss of his breath keep Vash asleep, like a soothing lullaby. Thankfully, this gives him plenty of time to shove that nightmare back where it belongs—in a trunk with a broken lock, hidden in an attic that someone hid by covering the entrance.

He ignores how the trunk seems to open more often lately.

Vash always asks him about what's wrong, and Wolfwood never gives him an answer other than, 'Just a nightmare, don't worry about it.' While it was a point of tension once, now it's just more of an annoyance than anything else for the both of them. The silver-eyed man's capacity for affection breaks on these days, often not wanting to be touched until finally, finally he sidles up to Vash at night and offers an apology. It seems to hurt them both, but there's a mutual understanding. Sort of. Sometimes he makes it up to Vash in bed, just to make him forget anything was wrong in the first place. It only sort of works.

This time however, the spell of the nightmare has lasted two full days. Wolfwood didn't sleep last night and added whiskey to his medical routine at four in the morning. Just... something to take his mind off of it. Just for a little while.

(It doesn't work, it only makes the memories louder.)

Though he goes through what would be enough to get a normal man plastered, it barely affects him as they drive onward to the next town without power. They're finally almost done with fixing all of these damn power grids that got shorted out from whatever took out Vash for almost a whole day. He just needs to get through these last few towns, and then maybe he can muster up the strength to tell Vash just how much he needs him—how much he cares, how strongly he loves him... something like that. It sounds nice.

(It doesn't soothe him like it should, though. The thought stresses him out even more, worrying that he can't love him when these bouts of tension haunt him like a swarm of earthquakes.)

He hasn't said a damn thing all day by the time they reach the next town—some backwater place named New Plymouth. Wolfwood parks Angelina someplace he deems secure, then tucks his goggles into a sidepack and autonomously circles around the vehicle to help Vash out of the sidecar. His eyes almost look devoid of life as he holds out a hand, staring over Vash's shoulder instead of making eye contact.

It's going to be a long day. Again.

[dasiesanddarkness]

hoping to make someone cry so here’s the first chapter of my fic (it doesnt have a name but i posted a summary a little while ago that you can find here) thats all angst, all hurt no comfort. enjoy :)

“What are you doing?”

“Going to Nina’s.”

Wylan flinched, but Jesper hadn’t been looking to see it. He just grabbed his keys from the dish by the door, the one Wylan had put there months ago to keep Jesper from leaving them around their apartment and losing them, and walked out. The door slammed behind him, but Wylan didn’t jump. He didn’t blink, he barely breathed. He waited for Jesper to walk back in, to drop his keys back into the little bowl and smile that sad smile so Wylan could say he was sorry. Jesper would apologize too, because he always did, and Wylan would say it was okay, that they’d go to sleep and talk about it in the morning. They’d fall asleep curled up against each other and talk about it the next morning over coffee and pancakes Jesper would probably burn because he forgot they were still on the stove. It would be okay, because Jesper wouldn’t leave him. Because Jesper had promised, over a year ago, that he would never leave him.

Jesper never walked back through the door.

Wylan’s phone was still sitting on the floor from when he’d dropped it earlier. He picked it up, vaguely recognized the color of Nina’s contact in a notification on his screen through the blur of tears, and turned it off. He dropped it again, back to the floor so he wouldn’t be tempted to turn it on again until the morning.

Jesper had promised he wouldn’t leave him.

Wylan had not made keeping that promise easy. He couldn’t count the times he’d been too cruel, too distant, too tetchy. He couldn’t count the times he’d apologized, or the times Jesper had accepted his apology with a smile and a kiss. He couldn’t count the times he’d tried to push Jesper away, or the times Jesper hadn’t budged an inch, always whispering the same words.

“I won’t ever leave you. There’s nothing you could do to make me. Promise.”

Wylan’s therapist had told him to find something that calmed him, that was easy and manageable when most of his energy was taken up by thinking the same destructive thoughts on repeat. Wylan had found making tea helped. He couldn’t bring himself to walk to the kitchen.

He ended up in their guest room. He didn’t want to see their bed, empty because Jesper hadn’t kept his promise. Because Wylan had finally made doing so too difficult to be worth the payoff at the end. He didn’t want to see the shirts strewn across their floor or the jumble of rings next to their sink. He might die if he did, might shrivel up and wilt because Jesper had promised he wouldn’t leave him. Jesper had promised he wouldn’t leave him. Jesper had left him.

Wylan had no doubt he’d wake up to a still empty apartment and texts from his friends. He didn’t want their pity, but craved their attention. He was destructive like that. He took advantage of what people offered him, held it too tight in greedy hands until they got sick of him and took it back. There was no one to blame for this but himself. If he hadn’t been so stupid, so annoying and stubborn and fucking awful, Jesper might still be here. He might have kept his promise.

He wished he was mad. It would be so much easier to hate Jesper for leaving, or for starting the fight, or to call Inej and vent about all the ways Jesper had fucked up, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t, because he’d known this would happen eventually. He’d known that Jesper would realize that he was better off without the endless baggage Wylan carried, without his constant mood swings and bad temper and countless failings. It was astonishing Jesper had kept him around as long as he had. But Wylan had been certain that one day his endless patience would run out, and he’d been right. He’d been right, and he couldn’t be mad about it, only grateful it hadn’t happened sooner.

Even in their guest bedroom, he can’t escape the memory of Jesper. The sheets were purple, and the comforter a paisley green. Both had been Jesper’s pick, and Wylan had been too smitten to even consider saying no. Looking at them, feeling them, being near them, made him feel sick, but he needed to sleep. If he was asleep he couldn’t think about the millions of ways he’d fucked up, or hope Jesper would come back and be disappointed when he never did.

Laying in bed alone was hard. He’d done it since they started dating, but it was different now. It was different because before, he’d had Jesper’s contact open, the voice messages about how much he missed him playing on repeat. He’d had some kind of security in the knowledge that they would be reunited soon. That as weird as it was to sleep alone, it wouldn’t be forever. He had no such comfort now.

It took hours for him to finally fall asleep, but eventually, he managed. When he woke up, Jesper still had not returned.

[bandgie]

Father, Forgive Me | Armageddon Event

Request: Serpent | Choi Yeonjun (TXT) by @biteyoubiteme song!

warnings: MDNI18+, blasphemy, fem!reader, nun!reader, demon!yeonjun, boob play, nipple play, v slight coercion, piv implications

1.1k words

It was the last time. You swore to yourself it was the last time you’d allow a demon in your chambers. Even as Yeonjun taps on your window, his sharp nail making a gentle ding sound on the glass, you ignore him.

You told yourself it was a moment of weakness. You spent years dedicating yourself to the word, to your savior. One night of…sin doesn’t erase what you’ve sacrificed walking a holy life. You need to close your eyes, pray, and repent. A simple three-step task you must complete if you don't want to burn for eternity, but that damn snake. That damned, rotten soul that wants nothing but your pure one.

He’s persistent, you’ll give him that. The constant ring gently echoing throughout your room blurs any prayer in your head. Focusing is impossible. Everything is impossible with those slit pupils and sharp teeth. Each tap makes you remember how he held you. How his lips sucked and licked on the parts of you that you vowed no one else would ever touch. You unraveled on his tongue one too many times that night. He coaxed you through more and more pleasure with his mouth, his fingers, and his god-forsaken co-

You march to the window, ignoring how his beautiful lips twist into a smile like you’re the best thing he’s seen all day.

You will tell him to go away, that he is not welcome in the house of God.

When you unlatch the lock and open the windows, it’s Yeonjun who speaks first. “I must admit, you playing hard to get only entices me more.”

The warmth in your stomach is from anger, not flustering. You manage to collect yourself saying, “There is nothing to entice. You are not supposed to be here.”

Yeonjun fakes confusion, tilting his head to one side and furrowing his eyebrows. “Not here? Then where shall we go? The sanctuary? The hall?” He smiles annoyingly attractive. “Tell me, nun, where do you wish to be defiled?”

Now you flush with heat, recalling the memories you tried to push away. “Hush! It was a mistake! I may have fallen for your tricks and lust, but it won’t happen again. Your presence only brings me misfortune. There’s a reason your kind is hated.”

Yeonjin’s pupils grow thinner. His smile turns dark. Limb by limb, he crawls his way into your room.

You take steps back, tilting your head to gaze at his monstrous height. It should be fear running through your veins, but the close proximity makes your knees weak in every wretched way. 

“Isn’t there a saying spoken amongst the church?” He stalks closer. One step of his is 2 steps of yours. Yeonjun backs you up until your back hits the wall and you have no choice but to endure the pooling in your panties. As if he knows, Yeonjun bends down, his neck straining to be eye level. “To hate the sin and not the sinner? If I recall correctly, oh holy nun, you loved me quite thoroughly that night.”

Long, smooth fingers play with your hair. He curls the end around his digit until it threatens to cut off blood circulation. 

“It-it was a mistake.”

“Was it?” Yeonjun goes past your cheek to your ear. His teeth bite down, tugging on the skin until you tremble. 

“I was tempted.” You’re whispering now. As if you’d break this trance he’s got you in by speaking any louder. He hums against your ear, licking a soft stripe up.

“Were you?” His lips barely touch you as he speaks. “Or did you finally give in to what you always wanted? What you were meant to worship?”

You should shove him off. Find an escape from between his hands and run into the halls, altering the other nuns and priests about what dwells in their sacred home. About what dwelled in your room, underneath your sheets, and inside the deepest parts of you.

But as Yeonjun’s hands find your breasts on top of your sleeping gown, all you can do is contently sigh and puff your chest.

He smiles. You can feel his lips curve against you, that tainted mouth placing kisses along your neck before he finds the top of your chest. You hate how you tilt the side so he can travel down - hate that he giggles when you do.

The gropes and love bites only make you mewl, fisting your hands to the side in an attempt to control yourself. You fear that if you grab onto him, you may never let go.

Yeonjun leans further down to catch a pebbled nipple in his mouth, tugging at the bud through the gown and drooling over the material. A wet patch soon forms from his ministrations. You can’t tell if you’re relieved or frustrated to not feel his tongue on you. That barrier only makes you yearn more - makes those little fists you coiled up unravel and find his hair.

He chuckles with your nipple in his mouth. “You’re fighting it so passionately. It almost makes me feel bad.”

A rough tug on his hair earns a rougher pull on your chest. You whine, cunt throbbing from the painful pleasure you’re growing to hunger for. 

“Tell me.” Yeonjun switches to your other boob. His words catch your attention and you make the mistake of looking down. There’s nothing but sin in his slit eyes, a wicked smile on those swollen lips and it all makes you gush in your underwear. “Tell me what you want.”

It feels impossible to speak at all, let alone confess your darkest desires, but Yeonjun’s tongue draws an answer as it circles your peak. He latches his lips around your areola and sucks. 

He yanks his head back as he keeps the bud between his lips, making your grip tighten in his black hair and tremble in his hold. “I want…I want you t-”

To stop. To leave. To return to the hell that he crawled out of. Anything but stay. Yet, when his hand trails down to cup your mound. To feel how much you’ve soiled your underwear just from suckling on your tits, you break. 

Again.

“I want you.” It’s firmer now, even if your voice shakes from pleasure. “I want you.”

That ungodly smile he gives you should make you regretful. There should be immeasurable amounts of fear upon seeing his pupils thin like he’s found his prey. Yet, it’s an insatiable craving you’re filled with.

His black heart has poisoned yours. His corrupted soul has wrapped your once pure one with a devil’s thread. Forgiveness is far from you. Salvation would never be tasted upon your tongue. And terrifyingly, it’s not redemption you find yourself wishing to consume.