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hannahbarberra162 · 3 days ago

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Under the Microscope (Yandere Sabo x Reader) Part 8

on Ao3 18+ MDNI

All the other chapters

This particular chapter is fluffy. I promise Sabo's coming back to the island soon. And that he's just as focused as he was before :)

Remember I don’t know anything about science! If you do, just pretend you don’t either!

Your POV

“Make a Logia fruit? Um, that’s kind of the opposite of what I’ve been working on,” you explained, wiggling your toes in your wet socks. Your butt, feet, and sleeves were wet from the sea water lapping gently at you as you sat on the beach. The temperature was dropping steadily and you felt the chill of the night starting to bother you as you splashed. “I’ve been trying to reverse engineer the fruits and find a way to nullify their powers. I was thinking that maybe, um, Sabo…or someone..could um..I’m not sure really. But I can’t - those fruits shouldn’t exist and it’s all my - all my f-fault…S-Sabo tried to tell um tell me -” Your heart started racing again, beating faster and faster as your thoughts returned to the collateral damage you’d caused.

You felt Ace’s hand on the back of your neck. He was probably trying to bring you comfort but right now it felt more like the weight of a guillotine. You shook him off, wanting to wallow in the feelings you deserved in spades. You hugged your knees and rested your head on top as you ran your hands along the parts of your pant legs that were still dry. You realized your hands were stinging from salt water that had entered the open wounds left from biting your fingers.

“I caused a lot of pain and suffering, too. I get it,” Ace said, stretching out his legs. You hummed, you couldn’t imagine any one person had unintentionally brought so much devastation to the world as you had.

“Did you watch Marineford? The Paramount Wars?” Ace asked while observing the sunset.

You took a deep breath, held it in for a moment, then exhaled. “Um, no, Sabo already asked. I was supposed to watch it live but I was too busy and then I never got caught up. I had just started getting assignments from the higher ups at that time and -”

“That was me. I caused all those Marines to die, my friends to die. Brought my brother into my mess, almost killed him too. Even killed my own father.” Ace said with no emotion in his voice.

“You - you didn’t kill your father. Are you playing with me? I’m sorry, it’s hard for me to tell sometimes,” you said, wiping your running nose on your sleeve. You hoped he was joking but the stiffness of his shoulders belied his calm tone.

“No. I’m Portgas D. Ace, Gol D. Roger’s son. I was sentenced to execution but Luffy came to save me. Whitebeard and the crew too.” You tried to take in all the information Ace was telling you but it had your head swimming.

“Is Luffy your other brother? The one in the picture with you and Sabo?” you asked an obvious question to avoid the awkwardness of his statement. Helping others with their emotions was never your strong suit.

“Yeah. Strawhat Luffy. Me n’ him n’ Sabo aren’t related by blood. Roger was my biological father but Whitebeard was my dad. Died trying to save me. Buncha my crew siblings died too. Good men.”

“Oh.” You wanted to support him like he’d supported you but you were afraid to say the wrong thing in case he started crying or got angry. “That explains a lot of your lineage factors,” you added quietly. “If your dad was Gol D. Roger, it makes sense you’d have Conqueror’s Haki.”

“Didn’t help me much,” Ace lamented. “Luffy even got me free and all I did was waste the opportunity by taking bait from Akainu. Fucker tried to kill Luffy and punched me through the chest. The only reason I was revived is Law brought me to his sub.”

You blinked rapidly. “Law? Trafalgar Law? Dr. Trafalgar D. Water Law?” Ace grunted.

“Yeah, Trafalgar Law. How come you know him but not me’r Luffy? I’m more famous than him,” Ace said in a half hearted joke.

“Oh, I’m familiar with Dr. Trafalgar from his articles, not his piracy. He’s brilliant, his articles are always so intriguing. I pay for a subscription out of my own pocket to the journals that publish him, actually. His last article was about heart replacement complications, I wonder if that was from you,” you mused. You cringed as you realized that was not an appropriate statement to make, considering it was likely Ace’s heart he detailed in the article.

“Probably. He said it was difficult, but I didn’t ask about the details,” Ace said unbothered.

“How did he save your life?” You were curious about the intricacies of Dr. Trafalgar’s devil fruit power and how he used it in conjunction with his medical knowledge and skills. You’d hoped to be invited to a Warlord meeting and catch a glimpse of him but it had never happened.

“I dunno, I was dead for that part,” Ace stated, flicking his long hair over his shoulder.

“Right,” you said, wishing you could bury your head in the sand much like your toes were. If Sabo were here he’d know what to say, you thought. Unlike your own awkward nature, Sabo was suave and charming and would know how to soothe his brother.

“Are you still healing? Is that why you still have all those bandages?” you asked. Ace raised his eyebrows and looked down at his own chest.

“Oh, no. I’m healed, there’s just a huge scar I don’t like seeing and the yukata doesn’t cover it.” he explained.

“Why don’t you wear a shirt then?” Ace frowned like you’d asked him to eat sand off the beach.

“Nah, not my style. Besides, all the shirts here are Sabo’s and uh��they’re a little too frilly for me,” Ace said. Shirts weren’t his style? What on earth did that even mean? And why didn’t Sabo bring him any? Maybe Sabo was keeping Ace on the island too, not letting him leave. You decided to gently press for information while Ace was in a sharing mood.

“So how long has Sabo kept you on the island?” you asked, hoping Ace would reveal some negative feelings towards Sabo. If Ace wanted off the island, maybe the two of you could work together and figure something out.

“Hm? He doesn’t keep me here. Actually, he’s been trying to get me to leave for a while. Wants me to “reintegrate back into society.” Ace said, using air quotes and mimicking Sabo’s voice, your hopes of escaping dashed. Still, you stifled a laugh at Ace’s impression, trying to keep your composure for the serious conversation. Ace gave you a small smile. “It’s OK, you can’t say anything to me I haven’t said to myself already.” The sun had set, leaving the two of you in the chill of the dusk. “C’mon, it’s cold and I’m sure the water’s making you feel shitty. Let’s go back to the house, get changed. If you get sick, Sabo’s gonna yell at me even more than he’s already gonna.”

Ace stood up and offered you a hand, pulling you to your feet as well. The two of you walked in companionable silence for a minute before he spoke again.

‘But just hypothetically speaking, could you make a Logia fruit? From a scientific standpoint?” Ace asked curiously.

Ace’s POV

Ace knew you fell for his bait when you slowed your stroll and began chewing your lip. He could practically see the cogs turning in your head as you thought through the possibilities, your wet socks squelching on the path to the house.

“Well….the other fruits were made in advanced scientific labs. I don’t have the equipment needed to engineer something like that…” you trailed off.

“No, no. Not to actually make it here. But could you make an artificial Logia fruit?”

“I could use the- well, it depends which one,” you said, starting to gesticulate. “The fruit I’d have the most success in creating would be the Mera Mera that you and Sabo ate. You still have the lineage factor which provides a large part of the genetic material needed to make an artificial fruit. Oh, and a strand or two of Sabo’s hair, that’s definitely here. Oh, and maybe part of my own lineage factor? Even though mine is paramecia it might help with some of the active components… And I could probably use any fruit, but for a Logia I would probably want something with a similar quality, maybe some kind of spicy - no that wouldn’t really make a difference, I think Vegapunk used apples? But there aren’t any here so maybe from a common fr- no, no…” you were off in thought, talking to yourself about how the fruit could be made. Reaching the deck of the house, you stopped before you went up the stairs. You stared off in the distance in silence, giving Ace pause.

“Hey, are you alright in there? Didn’t mean to start anything, I was -”

“The flame flower,” you stated.

“Right.” Ace nodded knowingly, but had no idea what you were referring to.

“I could use the flame flower as the base and the genetic material provided by your and Sabo’s lineage factor. That’s how I could make it work,” you said, nodding slowly. Ace’s mouth dropped open as he watched you staring off into the darkness, Sabo hadn’t exaggerated. Your genius was on par with Vegapunk and other top scientists of the world. You looked at Ace and tilted your head. “But again, I can’t actually do anything without a lab. And a lot of money. So, hypothetically probably. In reality, no.” You nodded to yourself and entered the house, going up the stairs to change your clothes. Ace trailed behind you, pulling on your sleeve to get your attention.

“But can’t you like….” Ace trailed off, using his fingers to pantomime pulling marionette strings.

“What? I don’t follow,” you replied, looking worn out. He should really leave you alone and let you sleep but Ace couldn’t drop the idea, not after you said it was possible.

“I’m not - I don't know how to say it, but like, can’t you like change stuff? Like move the molecules around or cells or whatever?” You blinked rapidly while frowning.

“Say more,” you commanded, your brow furrowed. You looked like how he’d found you in Sabo’s office, completely focused on one thought. The intensity of your stare almost rivaled Luffy’s when he was serious.

“Like, um, y’know, like change stuff when you magnify it. Like move the stuff around to make other things? Aren’t molecules the building blocks of life? So move the blocks around?” Ace finished with something Sabo had taught him, trying to get his idea across to you. He wasn’t a scientist but he knew devil fruits could be awakened, he’d tried to do it on his own but ran out of time before his death. Maybe this could be the key to your own fruit awakening and to him getting his powers back.

You stopped walking and stared past him, blinking rapidly. Ace waved his hand in front of your face after a moment. You were on the stairs, he didn’t want you to fall and get hurt when you finally surfaced again. You moved your head away from his hand but didn’t resume walking. Sighing, Ace picked you up, disrupting your thought process.

“H-hey! Put me down! I’m not a child,” you protested while making no movement to get out of his arms.

“Go do your big thinking after you change your clothes. Like you said, none of this is possible here and if you get hypothermia Sabo’s gonna kill me for real this time,” Ace joked. Depositing you in Sabo’s room, you smiled at Ace.

“Thanks Ace. Good night,” you said, holding the door to shut it.

“Good night, kid,” Ace replied, smiling. He turned and walked away to his own room, getting inside before he heard you yell.

“I’m not a kid! I think I’m older than you!” Ace chuckled lightly, reaching to unwind his bandages.

Your POV

You were exhausted from the panic attack and the subsequent heart to heart with Ace. But you couldn’t stop thinking about what he’d said to you. You were turning the thoughts over and over in your mind, thinking about artificial devil fruits and the implications of changing the molecular structure during magnification. Like you’d told Sabo, you could get to the sub-atomic level but it took a lot of concentration and effort. You closed your eyes to rest but you were fixated on Ace’s idea. You tossed and turned for what felt like hours until your stomach rumbled. Oh yeah, you remembered, you hadn’t eaten since earlier that day. It was going to be a long night for you anyway so you might as well eat some food while you thought through the creation of artificial Logia devil fruits.

Heading down to the darkened kitchen, you took out a bowl and some rice. You’d made jambalaya a few days prior so now you’d give your stir-fried rice a shot. There still wasn’t any fish in the house but it would taste ok without it. You were able to make the dish on autopilot, washing the rice and vegetables while thinking about molecular changes. As you thought, you noticed the droplets of water that had landed near the colander.

You could probably… try what Ace suggested. Changing h2o to h2o2 wouldn’t cause a huge reaction or anything, it would just be hydrogen peroxide. And only one molecule… If you changed the wrong elements or made too many molecules unstable, you could cause a huge chain reaction but that would take so many molecules and this was just one…this was just water…After starting the rice and starting the vegetables sauteing, you magnified a water droplet on the table. Getting down to the molecular level took a few moments but shortly there were two h2o molecules in front of your eyes. Careful not to erase the image, you used your thumb and forefinger to try and pluck one of the oxygens from a molecule and put it into the other. Picking it up felt like static electricity and your heart was racing as you tried to move the oxygen from its current molecule. It almost felt sticky, like it didn’t want to move, but it didn’t take much effort to disrupt its bonds.

You held your breath as you placed it within the bonds of the other molecule. If it didn’t work, at least you tried. You let go.

It worked.

You were now looking at a molecule of hydrogen peroxide and an hydroperoxyl radical left over. “Holy fuck,” you said softly, looking at the newly formed molecule. You rotated it under your magnification and it looked identical to every other hydrogen peroxide molecule you’d ever seen. The implications were….

“Boo,” a voice said from behind you.

You shrieked like a banshee, jumping in fright. Ace laughed loudly and you swatted him with the spatula you were holding while cursing at him.

“Ace!! What the fuck?! What the fuck is wrong with you?! Why would you do that?!”

“Hey! Ow. Stop hitting me! Ow, that hurts! It was just a joke!” You huffed but you weren’t really mad as Ace dodged your well aimed spatula strikes.

“Why are you awake?” you asked, looking at the clock. It was the middle of the night, surely he had been sleeping like you should have been.

“Smelled good food cooking and I’m hungry,” he shrugged. You noticed he was wearing his yukata but no bandages underneath. The scarred skin on his chest was a deep red and in a circular pattern, blazing out from where his heart was. It was large and raised and had likely taken months to heal. You knew you were staring but the scar was so large and harrowing, you couldn’t stop looking at it.

“Stop undressing me with your eyes. You’re not my type,” Ace teased, sitting at the bar to wait for the food to be done.

“Oh? And who is?” you asked, genuinely curious. You weren’t offended. Besides Sabo, you’d never been anyone’s type. And even Sabo was just pretending.

“Men,” Ace said offhandedly. Ah. Well, that made things between you a little easier since you didn’t have to worry about any sexual tension between the two of you.

“Nice,” you replied, stirring the dish on the stove.

“Whatcha cookin’?” Ace asked, standing on the rungs of the bar stool to look over the counter and into the frying pan.

“Stir-fried rice. It’s one of the three dishes I can make, you’ve had the other two. Usually I put seafood in there too but we don’t have any,” you said, giving Ace a pointed look.

“Well, there is a boat on the island,” Ace began, scratching his cheek. Your interest was immediately piqued - maybe you could use it to escape at some point. “But it’s my old one, Striker. It’s powered by fire and since I don’t have my devil fruit anymore, I can’t use it. There’s a sail but that’s not to propel it, just to direct it.”

You sighed, another plan to escape the island foiled. You thought in silence for a few moments, adding in the rice to the dish.

“What were ya lookin’ at?” Ace asked, watching you cook. You bit your lip, unsure if you should tell Ace about your experiment. You couldn’t think of a reason that the information could be used against you, and it was his idea anyway.

“Um. Well, it’s um. Not that big of a deal and I didn’t think it would work but um. I did kind of do what you said and, ah, changed the structure of a molecule - only one! Just one, it’s fine, don’t worry. And um it. It did work. I changed it by hand, so to speak. So I - that’s what I was looking at.” Ace waited patiently while you stumbled over your words.

“That’s amazing! So what does that mean? Does that mean you can make the devil fruit? The Mera Mera?” He exclaimed, his face breaking into a huge smile and eyes alight.

“Um, yes, I suppose hypothetically speaking, I could potentially make a Mera Mera artificial fruit. It would be a huge undertaking but again, hypothetically, I could do it. Um, there’s enough genetic and lineage factor material here and I probably could if I worked on it enough but I don’t think -”

“This is wonderful! Oh my god I can’t wait, I’m gonna blow up Sabo when he comes back,” Ace exclaimed. He was off the chair and on his feet, pacing in front of the kitchen. “He’ll be fine, it can’t hurt him. Ooh, maybe we can finally fight each other! That little fucker has been using my moves, I know it. Gonna teach him who’s the real boss, ha! And I can finally make my way back to Wano! Maybe see Luff? I know his bounty is way higher -”

“Ace -”

“But before all that I need to find Marco and the crew. And Deuce, oh my god, Deuce. I miss that man so much, gonna kiss him first thing, did you know he was my first mate? I wonder -”

“Ace!”

“He might be doing better off without me, he wasn’t really a pirate, more of an intellectual type. You’d like him a lot. But I also need to go thank Traflagar and hug Bepo, there’s so much to do -”

“ACE!”

Ace finally stopped pacing and chattering and looked at you. “Ace, I said I might be able to do it. I just made one molecule , do you know how much work it would take to engineer something like that?” Ace shrugged and waved off your concern, continuing to pace behind the counter.

“So what? You’re a genius, you’ll figure it out. Besides, it’s not like you have anything else to work on right now,” he said, unbothered by your hesitation.

“No,” you stated, crossing your arms. Ace turned on his heel to face you immediately.

“What do you mean ‘no’?” he asked worriedly, racing to the counter.

“No. I’ve been working on ways to undo the damage my research has caused, not increase the damage. It’s unethical to bring yet another artificial devil fruit into the world, no matter who it goes to.”

Ace held you in his gaze for a moment, staring into your eyes. Even though he wasn’t related by blood to Sabo some of their mannerisms were eerily similar. He plopped back down on the bar stool with a sigh and ran his hand through his tangled black hair. “You can’t undo what you’ve done. Trust me, I’m the first one to wish things were different, that I could change what I did. But it’s not possible. Doflamingo already made the money, Kaido got the soldiers, Vegapunk made the Seralinas or whatever. You can’t undo it. What were you going to do? Make a new fruit for them to eat? It won’t work, what’s done is done.” Ace got up and walked to where you were turning off the heat on the stove and put his hands on your shoulders. You looked up into his freckled face.

“The only thing to do now is to help the good side win, help people like me ‘n Sabo. Y’know, fight fire with fire,” he said seriously.

“I don’t know, Ace….I don’t know if that’s something I want to do,” you hesitated. Ace hummed.

“It could be a one time thing, make the Mera Mera and be done with it,” Ace pleaded, shaking your shoulders lightly.

“Ace, even if this works, you’ll still be you. You’ll be the same person, with or without the fruit. It’s not going to solve all your problems. You need to work on your emotional healing, not just your body. You can’t even show your chest most of the time,” you said quietly. Ace didn’t respond, looking away to avoid your eyes.

Ace took his hands off your shoulders and went over to the cabinet, pulling out two bowls. His face was impassive but his departed enthusiasm spoke volumes. You plated the food and set the bowls side by side on the counter, Ace bringing you a fork. You ate in silence for a few minutes, Ace mostly pushing the food around his plate. You thought about what he’d said about Striker and getting off the island. If Sabo found out you could manipulate matter, you didn’t think he’d ever let you go. Your only window of escaping closed once Sabo came back to the island. Steeling yourself against your better judgment, you faced Ace.

“I’ll do it. On one condition,” you said, looking at him. Ace’s cheeks were puffed out wide with food.

“Hwaf cuhdihun?” Ace asked, not bothering to chew or swallow.

“You have to take me off the island. Away from here,” you stated. You knew Sabo and Ace were brothers but maybe the desired reward would offset his loyalty to Sabo.

“Hmm,” Ace mumbled as he chewed. You watched him closely to see his reaction, this would make or break your escape from Sabo.

“Sure, why not?” Ace said, quirking his eyebrow with a small smile.

“You’re sure? You know I mean you need to take me away from Sabo, right?”

“Yeah, I got it. I can get you off the island if the fruit works. It won’t help you,” Ace said, scooping the last of his food into his mouth. His careless attitude made you worry that you’d fallen into a trap you set yourself.

“What do you mean, it won’t help me?” you asked, frowning.

“Sabo’ll just chase you. And he’ll find you, no matter where I take you,” Ace shrugged, literally licking his bowl clean.

You chewed on the skin next to your nail for a moment. “Are you sure? I mean, I’m not -”

“I’m sure. He’d follow you to the South Pole if he had to. So I’ll take you out, but you won’t get far. He really likes you.” Ace replied, patting his belly.

“He doesn’t, it’s all an act. He’s just using me for - well, for this. To have me finish Project Seraphim for the Revolutionary Army. I heard him tell Dragon,” you protested. Ace stared at you, eyes softening with an unknown emotion.

“Whatever you say,” Ace said lightly, getting up and plugging the sink to begin washing the dishes. You tasted blood as you bit too hard on your already chewed thumb.

Sabo’s POV

Sabo wasn’t sure exactly what set off his internal warning signal. He and Ace had been calling back and forth every few days over the weeks, exchanging information and pleasantries. Ace had been in an elated mood, which he chalked up to becoming better friends with Sunny. Sabo noted Ace hadn’t been wearing the bandages around his chest anymore which was an interesting development. According to Ace, you worked in the morning and took a short walk with Ace before lunch. After eating, you’d work again until the evening when you and Ace would eat dinner and go stargazing or hang out in the house. You’d spoken on the snail a few times, you sounded happy and refreshed. But Ace was up to something and had dragged Sunny into it, Sabo was sure of it. The end of his trip was approaching and Sabo was eager to sail back home and see Sunny. And Ace, of course.

Narrowing his eyes, Sabo wanted to catch Ace in whatever dumbass idea he’d concocted. Sabo was between meetings and ducked into an empty storage room to call. It was nearly lunch, not his normal time to connect with Ace. With luck, Sabo would be able to detect what was going on.

Puru puru puru puru puru puru

“Hey Babo, what’s up?” Ace said, using a childhood nickname Luffy had given him.

“My ‘Ace is doing something stupid’ alarm is going off. Are you doing something stupid?” Sabo asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Almost always. But right now I’m making lunch. Potato salad,” the Ace snail said.

“And where’s Sunny? What’s she up to?” Sunny was an incredibly poor liar, even worse than Ace. With only a little pressure, Sabo would get the truth out of her.

“She’s working in your office, wanna say hi?” Ace asked, the snail throwing a kitchen towel over its shoulder.

“Inna minute. How are you guys doing? How’s she feeling?” Sabo asked, trying to keep from projecting his worries into his voice.

“Good, good. She’s working right now, like always. Sleeping enough, I make sure of it. Eats food, drinks coffee and water ,” Ace said proudly.

“Alright, put her on.”

“Gimme a sec,” Ace said, the sounds of boots on the wood floor coming through the receiver. Ace pounded on the door three times.

“Yo, Sunny! Wanna -”

“Fuck off Portgas, I’m busy!” you yelled through the door. Sabo’s gut twisted with the ease and familiarity in your voice you used for his brother. He’d been feeling jealous for a few days now even though the jealousy made him feel guilty. He had brought you to the island partially for just this reason - to befriend his brother. And now that the two of you were friendly he was seeing green. Sabo wished you were just as comfortable with him , telling him to fuck off or spending all your meals together voluntarily. Sabo tried to rein his feelings in but it was difficult when he saw that you’d given Ace a haircut, or you were wearing Ace’s old clothes, or saw how well rested you were looking. During the calls between the three of you, it was difficult to contain himself from making snarky comments. Sabo was homesick for you and Ace, his meetings felt endless and the two of you were up to something. He could feel it in his bones.

“Nah, it’s Sabo, c’mon.” Ace urged you. Sabo heard a huff and the door open.

“Fine, but you know the penalty for disturbing me when I’m working,” you said cheerfully as the snail changed its visage to your bright smile. Sabo had never made that smile appear before, he thought.

“Ow! Owww ! That hurts! Stop pinching!” Ace whined in the background as you laughed.

“No, you get five pinches for disrupting my flow. I was moving the mol- er -” you looked at Sabo, afraid you’d almost said something.

“Moving what?” Sabo asked brightly.

“Uh, nothing! Nothing, um just moving the, um, mol- um…mole. The mole,” you finished lamely. Sabo quirked an eyebrow.

“The mole?” he asked incredulously.

“Yeah, um the mole. It’s um, gotten into the office and um Ace and I have been trying to catch it and I um, oh lunch is ready! I have to go!” you stammered. The snail turned back to Ace, who was laughing into his palm.

“I know you’re up to something dumb and I’m gonna find out what it is. If Sunny gets in trouble because of you…” Sabo trailed off menacingly.

“Ok, love you, see you sooooon!” Ace chirped happily and hung up the snail.

The call ending quickly gave greater credence to Sabo’s theory that some Ace-derived foolishness was afoot. He sighed and leaned back against the nearest crate. He was leaving for the island in a few short days and it couldn’t come quickly enough.

Your POV

You and Portgas D. Ace stared at the flower-turned-fruit held in the palm of your hand as you sat side by side on the beach. You’d experimented and developed it for the past few weeks almost constantly. You’d worked harder than you ever had in your life, racing to complete the project before Sabo returned in the next few days. True to his word, Ace had locked you out of Sabo’s office at 8 every night but that alone didn’t turn off your brain. For the first few weeks after your discovery, you stayed up late in the night in the darkness of your room, rearranging molecules and perfecting your craft. Ace had figured out you weren’t resting enough and started sleeping on the floor of Sabo’s room to get you to go to sleep. Eventually, you’d invited him into the bed because you were tired of seeing him toss and turn on the hard floor. You enjoyed having a warm body next to you but it wasn’t the same as Sabo’s heat and pleasant aroma.

You weren’t sure if you missed Sabo or not. Ace was fun, dynamic, engaging, and easy to talk to. He made you laugh, either intentionally or from his antics, and he had interesting insight to share. Ace was an endless talker, providing you with background noise to listen to while you walked together. He told you stories about Whitebeard, the Spade pirates, his brothers, anything he could think of. Ace enjoyed your company and would watch you work in Sabo’s office, sometimes falling asleep and snoring to your amusement. You thought you and Ace were friends and you’d miss him when you left the island.

But a little part of you missed Sabo, too. He treated you like you were worth the world, not just what you could make or produce for him. Ace claimed repeatedly that Sabo was romantically interested in you, which always made you flush. You found Sabo attractive and charming, unlike Ace who felt more like a sibling. He was smart and intelligent and enjoyed the same intellectual pursuits that you did. He had kidnapped you but through his actions you’d realized how drained you were from the Marines, subsisting on coffee and loneliness. You had been miserable, sick, and stuck, even if you didn’t see it yourself at the time.

“Hey, your hand’s shaking,” Ace noted, bringing you out of your thoughts.

“Yeah.”

“Haven’t seen that in a while,” Ace mused. You didn’t answer, too nervous about the outcome of your experiment. There was no way to test anything and make sure you’d gotten everything right. You used parts of your other research, Sabo’s hair, Ace’s saliva, and sheer willpower to craft the hideous looking fruit in front of you. It didn’t look like the Mera Mera no Mi, it looked like a sad black sea urchin covered in molten red spots. Your lips were bloody and Ace had bandaged all your fingertips after you bit them too much.

“This is a bad idea,” you said.

“Yeah,” Ace replied.

“It might not work. You might not get any power and you won’t be able to swim.”

“Yeah.”

“It might kill you.”

“Maybe.”

“Sabo will be mad.”

“Furious.”

“You gonna try it?”

“Yeah,” Ace said, taking the fruit from your sweaty palm. You had the urge to reach out to take the fruit and fling it into the sea, to let life stay the way it was. But Ace’s brow was furrowed and his jaw set, you knew he wasn’t going to hesitate. You held your breath and covered your eyes with your hands as Ace bit into the fruit, scowling as he chewed.

“You got the taste right. Not something you forget,” he joked, trying to lighten your mood. You took a little peek and he hadn’t exploded or projectile vomited. That was a good sign.

“Did it - did it work?” you whispered. Ace ate the fruit in a few bites, one of the advantages to his eating habits, you supposed. He wiped his hands on his yukata and stood up.

“One way to find out,” he grinned, pointing his index and ring finger like the barrel of a gun.

Fire bullets shot out of his hand rapidly, making you scuttle backwards on the beach. He whooped loudly and beat his chest with his fists, screaming at the top of his lungs. Turning and running full force at you, you squealed as he picked you up under your arms and spun you around in circles. His arms were too warm, almost burning you as he laughed wildly and spun.

“Ace! Ace! Too hot!” you yelled into his ear, trying to get him to put you down.

“Ah! Sorry, kinda forgot about that,” Ace said, grinning from ear to ear. He set you down only to give you a huge kiss on your cheek. You couldn’t help but share in his happiness and laughed along with him. He looked so much younger, his face radiating pure joy as he raised his arm to continue testing his strength.

“Hiken!” he yelled, his arm outstretched. A column of flame burst forth from his fist, the raw destructive power it posed sending a shiver down your spine. He turned and winked at you, finger still made of flame.

“And that’s why they call me Fire Fist Ace.”

Tag list: @mfreedomstuff

#yandere sabo #sabo x you #sabo x reader #revolutionary sabo #one piece sabo #fire fist ace #ace op #under the microscope au #life on idiot island #they're both idiots #just in different ways #bffaeae #op x y/n #artificial devil fruit #mera mera no mi #babo #jealous Sabo

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zyafics · 3 days ago

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everytime i read this series i feel like im entering the battlefield 🚬😮‍💨my annotations below hehe ⬇️

It was unthinkable to be contemplating about gravestones. How could you sum up your family in limited words or dates, let alone choose a font for it?

ur writing has such PERSONALITY in it, i swear to god when i read this in beta, i was so in awe

Your first thought had been telling Topper, your only real family left, but he was as much Rafe’s as he was yours, and when it came down to it, he was still his best friend. Loyal to him since they were five, and jesus knows how he’d react if he found out about this. He’d most likely freak the fuck out and tell Rafe everything, thinking he was doing the right thing, or worse, letting it slip to Ruthie.

this parallels perfectly to the first chapter where topper called rafe when reader was leaving, so not only is this paragraph giving us an at-point breakdown, but it's referring evidence that topper would slip and tell rafe

It’s then you recognized how small your world was. How few people were truly yours.

their lives are so intertwined that reader doesn't know who to turn to when she needs independence 😭 oh curse rafe and his big dick

Today, it was just you, a few kids and teens dotted along the beach with oversized trash bags. It wasn’t even noon, but the sun felt like it was scorching you alive. It was laughable, really, standing under this blistering sun with a cheap trash bag and an endless stretch of sand to clean.

this specific paragraph i wanted to highlight because i thought it was so descriptive and imaginative, but simplistic in a way that didn't feel like it was purple prose.

The kids were watching you again, with that look of curiosity. You couldn’t look them in the eye. It wasn’t their fault. They just didn’t understand that sometimes the grown-ups didn’t know what they were doing either.

the last line EATS BITCH IT EATS

“You should sit down.”

oh suck a dick

It was hard to believe the two of you had once burned hotter than any bonfire, two people who got under each other’s skin, in love, and in hate.

in love to hate omg

Instead, he narrowed his eyes, “You think I don’t know what fine looks like? I was there.”

THIS IS SO COLD BUT IT SHOWED HOW THEIR RELATIONSHIP IS SO WELL, HOW INTERTWINED THEY ARE WITH ONE ANOTHER

And the worst part? You could see that frustration in his eyes, the same look he used to give you when he’d reached his limit with you. You wondered if he ever got to that point with Sofia.

i would crashout

Sofia—the one who looked like she'd been ripped off from some perfect postcard, all wide-eyed sweetness and gentle smiles. She probably never challenged him, snapped back, or made him want to pull his hair out.

hm.

This was a version of you only Rafe could bring out.

they're so toxic and dynamic and i love them

Your chest hurt like you’d been run over a hundred times—it felt suffocating. “I hate you.” For the first time, you thought he might actually leave you here.

that stopped me cold i had to write something in my diary

His fingers stopped as if your words had made an impact, his lips pressed into a thin line. Your vision blurred as he leaned in, his touch hovering as if to wipe away the tear running down your cheek, but he didn’t, instead, he closed his hand into a fist and drew back, his face just inches from yours. A faint, humorless smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he clicked the seatbelt into place. He made a low humming noise, that thing he did when he was getting ready to make someone feel two inches tall. "Yeah? Get in line."

LISTEN LISTEN LISTEN I'M LISTENING TO BAD OMENS BY 5SOS AND IT'S AT THE BEATS AND WHILE I READ THIS, IT FITTED PERFECTLY OHMYGOD

Rafe drove fast, every rev of the engine matching the churning in your stomach perfectly. You sat there, trembling, the dread building with every mile that passed. You gripped the seatbelt so hard it felt like your entire body might go numb, and stared straight ahead, breathing shallow, trying to ignore the sting in your eyes.

i wanted to highlight this specific paragraph because i adore the writing, something about it made me feel every single atom of the scene

“Would you stop?” His voice softened for the first time, as if he was trying to reach some part of you that he thought still cared. “You look like you haven’t slept in days, like you haven’t eaten anything that wasn’t out of a vending machine. I know you don’t want my help, but can you just stop for a second and—” “And what?” you interrupted. “And think! If you don’t get in there, I’ll drag you in myself.” Your heart raced, “You wouldn’t dare.” Rafe stepped closer; his jaw set in determination. “Try me.” “You’re not coming in." He blinked like the idea hadn’t even occurred to him. “What?”

HE DIDN'T EXPECT THAT SHIT NO NO

“Yeah, I got someone.”

that's right baby tell em

💌 — ugh, something about this part has been so dynamic, in the way it's constructed, the way it flows so naturally, the way the dialogues are so emotionally-charged but bounces off one another seamlessly. it was like i was watching a perfectly-curated film, where the dialogues were performed by seasoned actors. i love love their arguments. i love how intense it always gets, how they have this push-pull against each other, this hate-love, this line they can't even comprehend nor define. and i love how you written it so beautifully, that you communicate the intensity and depth of this relationship but aggression, tension, and hurt.

LOVED YOU AT YOUR WORST - r.c series - FIVE

pairings: ex!sweethearts; rafe x thornton!reader; rafe x sofia. chapter warnings: mention of pregnancy; abortion; lack of self-care

You’ve had to make a lot of unfortunate decisions in your life.

Choosing a place for your entire family to rest for eternity, picking the caskets, the headstones—it felt like deciding which curtains to buy for the house, except you were burying your entire close family.

After the crash, your parents were gone instantly, just like that—no goodbyes, no warning, just there one moment and gone the next.

But your sister survived. Three days. You thought maybe that was a sign, she’d live despite everything, and you wouldn’t be left alone.

Two weeks later, the doctors told you it was time, but you couldn’t accept it. You held her hand, begging her to stay, telling her every promise you could think of if she opened her eyes.

When the monitors finally went flat, you couldn’t feel anything but desperation. Rafe had to pull you out of there, his arms locked around you while you kicked and screamed, sobbing and begging your sister not to go, not to leave you here.

You fought him with everything you had left, clawing, crying, pleading for just one more second. You were screaming so loud you didn’t even recognize your voice. Everything good had been ripped away from your hands, there was nothing left of the world you’d known.

After that, you remember sitting in some stuffy funeral home office, skimming through catalogs and hardly seeing the pages through your tears. The caskets all looked the same, the types of wood made no difference to you, fabric linings, all of it felt so wrong.

None of it was a choice you should have to make.

It was unthinkable to be contemplating about gravestones. How could you sum up your family in limited words or dates, let alone choose a font for it?

You just picked something neutral and blank, something that didn’t require thought or emotion because, by then, you had nothing left to give.

Now you were trapped again, caught between a rock and a hard place.

Ruthie—no chance you’d involve her. She’d just see this as another fucked up piece of gossip she could hold over your head, another way to judge or control you. She was “friend” only in the loosest sense of the word.

Kelce was the last person you’d consider turning to for something this serious. He has always been there, but you never got close. He was too much of an instigator, always pushing Rafe to do reckless things he’d regret later, peer pressuring him in ways that made you wonder if he even knew what loyalty meant. He had this weird loyalty to Ruthie, defending her comments as if she was some misunderstood angel when really, she was just… mean.

So that left Sarah.

It felt weird, thinking of her as the person you’d call on for something so serious, she was the only one who felt… safe. She wouldn’t judge, wouldn’t pry, she’d seen what the worst kind of family conflict could do, and she’d keep this private, just for you.

It’s then you recognized how small your world was. How few people were truly yours.

You were pretty sure no one in this town would fully understand, they’d just offer their "advice," as if they knew you, seen what you’d been through.

The truth was, they didn’t know shit. They hadn't seen you holding your sister’s hand, begging her to stay alive. They didn’t know what it was like to bury everything that made you feel like a person, like you belonged somewhere, and have to get up the next day like nothing happened.

Nine days, you would be halfway across the country, and you needed someone. You pictured saying it out loud: “I’m pregnant", just those two words, to someone’s face, you had no idea what to say next.

Maybe you’d tell them that it wasn’t about wanting it gone out of spite or shame, but because you couldn’t bring a child into a world where you felt this alone.

Earlier that morning, you’d stared down at your phone, thumb itching to click on Sarah’s name, like just pressing "call" could fix everything. You despised how needy it made you feel—reaching out, when you’d prided yourself on surviving alone.

You didn’t have much time to ponder about it, because you were stuck at the beach cleanup.

Just like every other summer, another "social responsibility" event that your late father’s foundation insisted you smile through. Even back then, when they were alive, your summers were a carousel of charity galas, fundraisers, endless hours of small talk, and impeccably arranged seating charts.

The board members of the foundation probably thought it would “ground” you—remind you of your privilege, of your “responsibility” to give back. As if a couple of hours and a few bags of garbage would somehow balance the scales. They never seemed to understand how much of it was all for show, this shallow idea that if you looked the part, no one would care to learn more.

But, still, you’d show up. You always did. Smile, make just enough small talk to appease the right people.

Kie, who was so genuinely invested in this whole “save the planet” thing it was almost enviable was there too with JJ, who was running around her as usual, wearing his ‘I’m just here for the ride’ expression but enjoying himself. The love between them made you miss having someone who cared in ways that weren’t just calculated moves.

She waved at you from the shoreline, her eyes moving to the trash bag you were barely half-filling.

You weren’t friends, but if Sarah liked her, you did too.

You offered a faint smile back, tired, because between all the shit you’d been thinking about, you'd forgotten to eat, to drink anything, and every time you leaned down to grab another crumpled plastic bottle or a bit of seaweed-laden garbage, you felt like your legs were about to give out on you.

Every now and then, she would throw a quick, appraising glance your way, like she was expecting you to miraculously become invested in the beach’s ecosystem.

You didn’t have it in you to pretend this was enjoyable today. The “effortless” philanthropy your family loved was a lifestyle you’d never bought into. It didn’t matter how many smiling photos of you had ended up on some charity’s social media—you knew you’d rather be anywhere else.

You had to take a break every few minutes, leaning against a pier post, trying to get yourself together as a few of the younger kids gave you wary glances. You could have left—probably should have.

You managed a tight-lipped smile, giving a thumbs-up that said, Just doing great over here, guys!

You were in a long t-shirt, which hung over your bikini and shorts, the fabric slightly oversized, to help hide what was still a small change in your body. Paranoia was your new best friend, always worrying that someone would notice something different, even if you didn’t have a noticeable bump yet.

Bending down to grab another plastic bottle, you felt a stab of nausea hit you hard, rolling up from your stomach, thick and sour, but you ignored it. Not here. Not now.

You straightened up too fast, and your vision blurred slightly, that familiar sense of vertigo hitting you. You took a shallow breath, ignoring the burn at the back of your throat, your hands shaking slightly as you adjusted the bag slung over your shoulder.

One girl looked up at you with these wide eyes kids like to pull, “Are you okay?”

You smiled, brushing it off as if you weren’t about two seconds away from collapsing. “Of course. Just... need a second.”

Just a few more bags of trash and you’d be able to get back to your car, maybe grab some water from the cooler in the trunk, sit down, and think about it.

This used to be easy, you got a weird kind of enjoyment from these cleanups, running around with your sister, making it a competition to see who could pick up the most trash, laughing until your stomachs hurt over stupid jokes about jellyfish and sunscreen. Back then, this was just one of a thousand little family traditions, one of those things that felt effortless.

Now, sweat dripped down the back of your neck, making your skin prickle uncomfortably.

You’d long given up wiping it away, knowing that it would only come back thicker and hotter the next second. Every instinct told you to run off to the parking lot, and sit in the car with the AC blasting until your body remembered it didn’t hate you.

Leaning down for one last bottle wedged in the sand, your legs wobbled and gave way beneath you. Just like that, your vision was spotty, as if someone had turned down the brightness on the entire beach, and you pitched forward.

Just as you felt yourself going down, a hand caught your arm, pulling you back up.

"Whoa, whoa, you okay?" A teenage boy, maybe sixteen, gripped your arm firmly, keeping you upright.

How much longer could they realistically expect you to go on, plastering on that sweet, dutiful smile? How much “grounding” could one person take?

You blinked, trying to clear the haze in your eyes, "I’m fine. Just a little lightheaded, really, it’s fine,” you insisted, but then a shadow loomed beside you.

Your vision was so foggy that it took seconds for you to register it.

You looked up slowly, feeling a familiar drop in your stomach as you realized who it was.

The last time you’d been this close to him, the two of you had been screaming insults across the room, Lily having to physically step in. She’d forced him to leave before you two killed each other. It was a miracle you hadn’t punched him then and there.

“You should sit down.”

It felt like a sidekick to your chest.

The sound of his voice was grinding on your nerves, and just like that you were stuck back in your dream, a real memory, leaning against him, his hand playing with a strand of your hair as he laughed at something you’d said, the two of you carefree under a golden sunset.

Except this was real.

Rafe was shirtless, with his board tucked under one arm, surf wax staining his fingers, and the sun glinting off his damp skin, like he was God’s gift to the Outer Banks. His buzzed hair was dark and wet, droplets trailing down his temples and catching along his jawline. His cheeks were flushed, a little red from the heat.

You looked away, somewhere over his shoulder, anywhere but at him, refusing to let him see you in this fragile state.

“Go away. I’m fine.”

But he didn’t move.

He’d been summoned from your absolute worst memories, catching you at your lowest when you least wanted his help. Typical.

“No,” he refused firmly, with that stupid, stubborn look that made you want to throw something at his head. “I’ve seen you almost fall three times now.”

“Maybe if you stopped looking at me like a creep, you wouldn’t have to see me ‘almost fall.”

“I wasn’t—"

You grounded your teeth, “Just go back to surfing.”

Rafe let out a dry laugh, shaking his head as if you were the one acting crazy. “Yeah, 'cause you look perfectly stable right now.”

He'd always been a master of the passive-aggressive half-sneer, the art of making you feel like everyone else was imposing on his day, no matter the situation.

“Don’t act like you care.” you snapped, voice carrying over the sand, earning a few glances from nearby kids.

He ran a hand over his face, looking around as if he didn’t want to be there any more than you did, mouth pressed into a tight line. You wanted to scream that this was his fault too, that every choice he’d made led to you standing here alone, exhausted, and terrified.

“Water would help, y’know”, his tone just shy of patronizing “You can’t go around dehydrating yourself just to make a point.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Your fingers twitched with the urge to send him stumbling to the other side of the beach, you knew that any sudden movement would make you light-headed again, and the last thing you wanted was to give him more proof of your weakness.

The kid—still standing there, eyes wide and darting between you both—looked like he was watching a reality TV show when Kiara appeared at your side.

“Let’s not do this here,” she begged under her breath, handing you a bottle of water she’d brought over, a kindness you didn’t want but couldn’t reject. “Just sit down for a second, please?”

JJ followed, always with that air of easygoing nonchalance, but his eyes were serious as he glanced from you to Rafe.

“She’s right. Just take a second, yeah?” He looked over at Rafe, “Maybe you should leave,” he said pointedly.

“Maybe you should mind your fuckin’ business Maybank.”

“Look, uh,” the kid stammered, knowing he could get caught in the crossfire. “I’ll… I’ll go see if anyone needs help further down the beach…”

You waved him off, your focus still locked on Rafe as the kid all but bolted away, you didn’t want anyone to think they had to “rescue” you.

You tried to take a step back, but the little strength you had in you disappeared as you felt your knees wobble.

"Jesus," you heard him groan, and then his hands were on your arms, board on the sand, holding you as you stumbled. "I told you to sit down."

You shook his hands off, "Don’t tell me what to do.”

It was hard to believe the two of you had once burned hotter than any bonfire, two people who got under each other’s skin, in love, and in hate.

He let out an exasperated sigh while you took a sip from the water Kiara handed you, ignoring how your hands were still shaking around the bottle.

She spoke again, trying to be the voice of reason, "We’re here to help the community, remember?"

JJ smirked, "Yeah, think the sea turtles are rooting for y’all to work out your issues somewhere else.”

You ignored his joke, keeping your eyes on Rafe, your pride and stubbornness refusing to let him win, “I’m fine.”

“Yeah?”

He looked you over, his gaze fixed to your warm cheeks and the dewy sheen across your temple, “You look real fine, don’t you?” He didn’t even try to cloak his sarcasm.

God, he could be so exasperating.

He couldn’t understand. How could he even think he could look at you now and know anything about who you were? Standing there, with that stupid board and that look, like he couldn’t imagine anything bothering him as much as this seemed to be bothering you.

As if he hadn’t already ruined you in so many ways that felt impossible to get over.

“Don’t you have something better to do?”

“Oh, believe me, I do,” he drawled, his eyes trailing from the waves back to you.

You were tired of this game, of fighting him every time he showed up only to leave you feeling even emptier than before.

Your fists clenched, and you opened your mouth to hurl something back, but the dizziness hit you again. Before you could compose yourself, Rafe’s arm wrapped around your waist, strong and frustratingly secure, holding you upright with an ease that made your skin crawl.

He had seen you at your weakest, had been there at the hospital after the accident, keeping you together when you were certain you’d break.

Yet, here you were, in a sick way, back in his arms, all broken apart.

“That’s it. I’m taking you to the hospital.”

“I hate to say it, but he’s right,” JJ chimed in, hand shielding his eyes from the sun.

The world alone had all kinds of alarms going off in your brain. You fought back instinctively, your hands pushing at his chest, freeing your arm.

“I told you, I’m fine.”

He let go, but he didn’t back away.

Instead, he narrowed his eyes, “You think I don’t know what fine looks like? I was there.”

He was there. And you didn’t want to be reminded of it, not in front of other people.

He meant the exhaustion and hunger pains you’d welcomed after your family was gone, embraced even, because it meant you wouldn’t have to feel anything else.

You’d wanted to disappear, and he’d been there—dragging you back, forcing you to drink water and swallow bites of food, even when you pushed him away. He’d seen you at your absolute lowest, where you didn’t care if you made it through the day.

The thought of the hospital, tests, questions, you fought it, but your vision was already blurring.

You couldn’t let him find out about the baby.

Your breathing felt tighter, each shallow breath only making the spinning worse, you could sense your body giving in to the exhaustion

“Shit,” you heard him curse, sounding distant now like he was farther away.

You felt yourself sway as if the ground was opening beneath you, there was a ringing in your ears that made his voice sound muffled but you still felt his arms catching you again, holding you upright before you fell.

Waking up in a moving vehicle was like emerging from a nightmare, except somehow, this was worse, because you were no longer at the beach.

You blinked hard, desperate to wipe the fogginess in your eyes and when it did go away, you realized who was behind the wheel.

Rafe.

Your heart pounded—your desperation to keep the baby a secret, how you almost passed out at the beach, and the fact that now he was most likely driving you to the hospital.

“What the hell are you doing?” you practically screamed, your voice hoarse from the lack of water.

He didn’t spare you a glance, “You passed out, genius. I’m taking you to the hospital.”

Your whole body went rigid. “Are you insane?”

“Me?” He scoffed, as he kept his focus on the road. “You practically ate sand back there. You’re not fine.”

“Turn the car around. I’ll call my driver and be fine.” You huffed like he was too dumb to understand. “I don’t need your help.”

He let out a dry laugh, still not looking at you.

“Yeah. You’re out of your mind if you think I’m letting you out of this car right now.”

“Rafe, I’m not kidding,” you warned, louder this time. “Stop. The. Car.”

He gave you a sideways glance, his grip on the wheel tightening.

“Not happening.”

Your heart hammered as you realized he wasn’t going to back down, you were driven by sheer desperation.

“Fine, then I’ll do it myself." you muttered, reaching for the door handle.

Anything to get out of this suffocating car before he dragged you all the way to the ER and they found out you were pregnant—with his baby, no less.

His eyes widened, finally snapping from the road to your hand on the handle.

“Are you crazy? Get your hand off that, I’m fuckin' serious.”

You yanked at it anyway, twisting the handle and pulling with spiteful defiance, and Rafe’s expression went from annoyed to full-on rage. He swerved the car to the side of the road, tires skidding as he slammed the brakes and practically threw the car into park.

Before he could even stop fully, you flung the door open and stumbled out, sandals sinking into the gravel as you stalked away.

You didn’t get more than a few feet, he was already bolting after you.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” you muttered, digging your nails into your palms.

How the hell had it come to this? You were stuck here, pregnant with his child, and he played the reluctant hero like you needed him swooping in to save you.

Rafe reached you in two strides, his fingers were digging into his forehead, pointing at it with exasperation imprinted into every corner of his face.

“Are you out of your fuckin' mind?” He sounded like he was talking to some unruly child.

And the worst part? You could see that frustration in his eyes, the same look he used to give you when he’d reached his limit with you.

You wondered if he ever got to that point with Sofia.

What would he do if she was the one almost fainting? Would he still look like she was some colossal burden, or would he soften, maybe even smile as he fussed over her, acting like he wanted to help?

You hated yourself for caring at all.

There was no way he’d look at her like she was a mess, someone he just had to “deal with.” He likely saw her as easy, perfect, all soft and sweet words, everything you weren’t.

This wasn’t who you wanted to be, and yet here you were, stumbling around half-dead and pregnant with his child.

“I’m sorry, am I bothering you?” You spat the words, watching his jaw clench tighter.

He exhaled sharply, rolling his eyes.

“Unbelievable. Only you could take me trying to help and turn it into this.”

You were done. You were done with the memories, with the torment of seeing him be something better for someone else.

“Help?” You laughed bitterly, the anger engulfing you so hard it felt as if it choking you. “You think this is help? That I need you, of all people?”

He took a step back, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “I'm trying to help."

You hated how calm he was, how rational he sounded.

It was maddening when all you wanted was for him to get angry, to let that icy surface crack, to give you even a glimpse of something real, something that wasn’t just irritation or sarcasm.

You wanted proof that he still was affected by you, that this was the same guy who used to be everything, who’d promised you everything.

But you swallowed it down, straightening up, because there was no way in hell, you’d let him see even a hint of weakness.

“Trust me,” you shot back, “I’ll be just fine without you.”

He raised an eyebrow, a bitter smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, “Get in the car.”

“No,” you said, firm and unyielding, every inch of you screaming that you wouldn’t let him decide anything for you ever again.

“Fine. Have it your way.”

In one swift move, he reached out, his hands gripping your arms with enough pressure to pull you forward, lifting you clean off your feet. Your breath caught in a furious gasp as he practically dragged you back to the car, his fingers warm against your skin, like you were just a mild convenience.

“Put me down!”

You struggled against his hold, jabbing at his chest with what little strength you could muster, but he didn’t even flinch, didn’t so much as hesitate.

“Rafe, I swear—”

He opened the passenger door with one hand, keeping a firm grip on you with the other, before finally setting you down—not gently—onto the seat. Without meaning to, tears began falling as you struggled against his hands. You could feel them wetting your cheeks, your voice was breaking, jumping to distress as you tried to twist out of his hold, feeling so small under his unrelenting strength.

He almost knelt in front of you, reaching for the seat belt with one hand, while his other remained firmly on your shoulder, holding you still. You felt trapped, impresioned as you tried to turn in every direction, hands weakly pushing him back, but he caught them effortlessly.

“Stop!” you meekly choked out, failing to shove him, the words coming out shameful.

You could feel your heart breaking all over again.

You hated that he was seeing you like this, how he dared to act like you needed him—it made your skin crawl. You hated that he could do this, like he had any right like you’d ever wanted him involved in this part of your life, let alone now.

This was a version of you only Rafe could bring out.

You glared up at him, practically shaking with rage as Rafe ignored your protests like you were nothing more than a child throwing a fit.

“Get your hands off me.”

His jaw tightened, ignoring the flailing punches and slaps grazing him, and you couldn’t stop the sob that escaped, loud and ugly.

“I’m not letting you kill yourself out of spite.”

Your chest hurt like you’d been run over a hundred times—it felt suffocating. “I hate you.”

For the first time, you thought he might actually leave you here.

A faint, humorless smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he clicked the seatbelt into place. He made a low humming noise, that thing he did when he was getting ready to make someone feel two inches tall.

"Yeah? Get in line."

Without another word, he pulled back, slamming the door shut, and walking around to the driver’s side.

You wiped at your cheeks, furious that he’d seen you like this, that he had the power to break you down. It was humiliating, sitting here in his car, every part of your body screaming to escape.

He got in, started the engine, neither of you spoke.

You bit back another wave of nausea. Weakness.

You’d already shown him too much.

You didn’t need a lecture from some doctor on how you “should’ve taken better care of yourself", let alone with Rafe there, watching, scrutinizing, acting like this was his business when he’d made it clear long ago that it wasn’t. He was in your space in the worst way, reopening all the wounds.

You were seething. He had no right to do this.

The thought made you want to drop dead—doctor would walk in, casually drop the news about the baby, and you'd be left watching his reaction in real time.

You looked at the entrance to the ER. The vision of anyone running tests, of some well-meaning nurse, coming in and spilling everything about the baby in front of him—no way. You wouldn’t let that happen.

He wasted no time getting out, moving around to your side, while you sat rigidly, staring straight ahead. His hand was already on the door, yanking it open, looking down at you like he was ready to drag you inside if he had to.

You weren’t moving. You knew the second you stepped inside, it would be over.

“C’mon,” Rafe pressed, his hand outstretched, hovering there like he thought he could compel you to listen. “Stop being so stubborn.”

You crossed your arms over your stomach, refusing to meet his eyes.

“I’m not going in.”

Rafe let out a sigh, nearing his limit, and knelt down to your level.

“Look, you passed out. I’m not leaving until you get checked out.”

“You’re gonna be here for a while then.”

“And what?” you interrupted.

“And think! If you don’t get in there, I’ll drag you in myself.”

Your heart raced, “You wouldn’t dare.”

Rafe stepped closer; his jaw set in determination. “Try me.”

“You’re not coming in."

He blinked like the idea hadn’t even occurred to him. “What?”

Maybe he was seeing the protection you’d built up around yourself since he left, how there was no longer any crack left open for him to slip through.

“I don’t need you. I don’t want you in there.”

“Fine.” His tone was clipped, restrained. “But I’ll be right here.”

You slammed the door shut behind you, not letting him your legs still shaking. You’d rather collapse face-first into the concrete than give him the satisfaction of listening to him.

“Yeah, you do that,” you replied, turning and walking toward the entrance, refusing to look back.

Stepping inside, you felt a slight tremor run through you—part relief, part panic. The lights were too bright, almost white. Your heart wobbled, replaying how he’d been such a fucking asshole to you.

You’d forgotten how mean he could be, how easily he could go from angry to something so frigid it made you want to cry yourself to sleep.

“Hi there,” The receptionist greeted, her eyes moving over you with a professional once-over, “What brings you in today?”

You forced a small smile, knowing she wouldn’t buy it.

“Just…got a little dehydrated, that’s all.”

“Okay…let’s just get some basic information.” She clicked into her computer, her fingers poised over the keyboard. “Name?”

You cleared your throat, rattling off your full name, she nodded, typing it in.

“Have you experienced any other symptoms besides dizziness?”

“Nothing serious,” you replied, dismissively. “It’s just the heat, like I said. I just need some water and I’ll be good as new.”

This had to be a fucking nightmare you got sucked in, you could sense your blood pressure spike.

She tapped her screen and glanced back at you.

“Alright, Miss Thornton, it looks like we’ll just need a few quick details here to get you all checked in. Can I start with your insurance provider?”

A chuckle almost slipped out of you. Insurance—God, you were fine with insurance. What you weren’t okay with was everything else. You answered, “Blue Cross.”

She asked for your birthdate, which you gave on autopilot, hoping she’d skip any weird or invasive questions. “Any allergies?”

You shook your head. Please, just let this be over.

“It’s really not a big deal,” You blurted out, giving her a thin smile and forcing calm into your voice. “I just need the IV. You know, standard stuff.”

“Of course, dear. We’ll get things started, it will include routine tests, like bloodwork, just to be safe.”

Bloodwork. Perfect. You were doing everything you could to keep from falling into that spiraling panic mode.

Please, just get me in, get me out, and don’t find anything.

“Just head down to Room 12.”

All you could think was that you wanted this to be over—before the whole town, or worse, he, found out. It made you want to scream. He was the last person who should be outside.

This was his fault. You’d never be here if he hadn’t shown up.

The next hour passed in seconds—questions, forms, an IV drip.

They’d done blood work, too, but you’d sighed in relief when they’d told you the results wouldn’t be ready immediately. As far as they knew, you’d just overdone it, and now, as you lay on a cot in a room that reeked of sick people, all they’d prescribed was rest, hydration, and food.

When the nurse asked if anyone could pick you up, the thought of calling someone, asking them to see you like this, made you delirious. You didn’t need anyone; you were perfectly fine on your own.

But you also didn’t want Rafe and his delusional ass to barge through the doors.

The nurse moved around you awkwardly, eyes still expectant, as if you were just a button away from a reliable “someone” to come running.

You looked at her, controlling the compulsion to yell. Little people ever bothered to check on you, to show up for more than just the drama or gossip.

Out of them, only one face bounced around in your head.

“Yeah, I got someone.”

TAGLIST: @maybankslover @october-baby25 @haruvalentine4321 @hopelesslydevoted2paige @rafebb @rafesbby @whytheylosttheirminds

@zyafics @astarlights @bruher @nosebeers @carrerascameron @serrendiipty @sunny1616

@yootvi @ditzyzombiesblog @psychocitylights @maibelitaaura @kiiyomei

@stoned-writer @justafangirls-blog-deactivated2

@starkeygirlposts @enjoymyloves @ijustwanttoreadlols @icaqttt

#rafe cameron rec

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thats-a-mood-gabriella · 16 hours ago

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We talk a lot about how Blitz represents freedom to Stolas, and that's very much true. But we don't talk about the fact that he represents the same thing to others, too.

His first meeting with Moxxie, Moxxie only starts to smile when Blitz mentions that he needs to get home to his daughter, clearly demonstrating that here is a dad who cares about his kid. After the upbringing Moxxie has with Crimson, how eye opening would it be to step out of that world for the first time and immediately see that families don't have to be like that? Blitz is clearly doing crime just like his dad, hence how Blitz ended up in jail, but he's nothing like the cold hearted, abusive father that Moxxie grew up with. Blitz shows him, without even meaning to, that families can be different.

His first meeting with Millie, she's accepted the place that society says is hers. She even goes so far as to reinforce it to other imps; "imps don't work for themselves." "we don't deserve this." And Blitz shows her that she can be anything she wants, can have agency over her own life. He offers her the freedom to break out of the box she's been stuffed into by the world.

Blitz meets Loona at the pound. He didn't go there looking for a daughter, but he found a teenage girl being told she's worthless and will never matter to anyone or anything. He sees his own childhood in her and he says not again, not if I can help it. So he takes her home and what does he do? He tells her, over and over again, that she's perfect. Sure, he's sometimes more indulgent than he probably should be, but imagine how freeing it was for Loona, to not only literally be freed from a cage but then to have her adoptive father spend every day telling her that they were lying. She's perfect. She's wonderful. She can do anything she wants. She matters.

But see, that's what Blitz does! Just by being himself, just by refusing to be what society says he should be (imps don't work for themselves, they're the lowest of the low) (a criminal must be hard and ruthless, even within their own family; there is no room for softness, loyalty, or love) (you are worthless and will never amount to anything), he shows each of them a way to be free of whatever other people say they "should" be, just as he's done for Stolas. He's awakened ALL of them.

Please someone stage an intervention where they all tell him how he's made their lives better.

#helluva boss #blitz #it's always crying about blitz hours in this household #he is so good and he deserves the world

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crooked-wasteland · 13 hours ago

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I've always seen Helluva boss as a show that try so hard to be something isn't, and after reading your articles about BoJack horseman and how hb directly borrowed some of its ideas . It's started to make sense so here's my take:

Helluva boss can't be BoJack or anti-BoJack , there is room for inspiration sure . But the difference between two shows make it odd whenever someone try to compare them. Since BoJack is story of American man who happened to have a horse head, therefore the protagonist is forced to obey the morality rules that we as audience have . Helluva boss is story of demons live in society that only value violence , the rules of morality is broken in this world so where it makes sense for the show to calls out BoJack's toxic dating patterns, why should i care for blitzø's that man cannonly makes fun of children deaths of cours he's not a good partner. Another thing that BH like other many adults cartoon is critical of American culture (Hollywood culture for BoJack case) and while HB trying to do the same it only water down its world , you can point out to something relatable to our society without loosing the fantasy elements in your world especially if your otherworldly character travel to the human world constantly and see it from stranger point of view, but hb didn't do that it just turned the hell to american , and maybe this is thing bugs only me as non-western . It would be more entertaining if we explore the hellish society as something new and fresh.

(out of topic sorry)

But even if we want BoJack-like show the writer clearly don't know why BoJack works but I don't need to tell you since you already wrote about that, I remember watching a clip of livestream where medrano admit she blind-love her favourite media without critical thinking and I think this is her biggest weakness, she's the kind of person who would see something cool in TV so she applies it to her OCs without a further thinking which explains the directe reference of others show like BH

These are excellent points. There's a saying in writing that goes "Write what you know". The team who wrote Bojack knew the ins and outs of that Hollywood bubble due to professional experiences. And because Bojack was written by a diverse team of creative people, they even addressed how eating meat would work in a universe with sentient animals. They had the experience and knowledge of setting as well as basic life experience to ask obvious questions in the name of world building.

It's why I argue that Medrano appears to be someone with very few life experiences. Not only does her story lack emotional depth, having a shallow well to draw from, but basic rules of world building are neglected in a way that is very obvious due to a lack of human curiosity.

Writing what you know isn't supposed to be limiting. Instead it's supposed to challenge you to ask more questions. Expand what you know to incorporate it into your imagination.

#vivziepop critical #helluva boss critical #helluva boss criticism #helluva boss critique #vivziepop criticism #spindlehorse critical #vivziepop critique #anon ask #anonymous

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rememberingliampayne · 2 days ago

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Dear Liam,

I never imagined something like this could happen. You’ve been someone who brought joy, excitement, and comfort into my life, especially during my teenage years when things felt so uncertain. You and the rest of 1D were more than just a band to me; you were a constant source of happiness and inspiration. Through your music, I found an escape, a safe place, and a sense of belonging that I didn’t feel anywhere else. I can't believe you're gone. It doesn't feel real. How can someone who brought so much life to the world no longer be a part of it? You were my favorite, along with Louis. Watching you perform, hearing your voice, it felt like you were right there with me, even though we were physically far. It’s hard to put into words the emptiness I feel right now. The music you made will live on forever, but knowing that you’re no longer here leaves a void that’s hard to fill. Your songs have been the soundtrack of some of the best moments of my life, and even now, I’ll continue to celebrate you by listening to your voice. Thank you, Liam, for being a part of my life, even if you never knew it. Rest in peace, Liam. You’ll always be in my heart. -Gabe

#liam payne #louis tomlinson #one direction #zayn malik #niall horan #harry styles #rip liam payne

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honorhearted · 2 days ago

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"They say those who can't, teach," Rebekah teased. "I wouldn't sweat it though. You're pretty good at plenty of other things."

"You're right," Ben agreed. "After years in the classroom, I'm an excellent finger-painter. Not that my fifth graders are too keen on that, of course, but why not live a little?"

Rebekah nudged him with her elbow, grinning as she pulled the blank paper forward. "Based on what we just did, I can't imagine you're more vanilla than ice," she reassured.

Ben snorted. "And what's so kinky about missionary? That's the oldest one in the book. And from behind? Intermediate at best."

Not that he was an expert, but the less Rebekah knew on that front, the better.

She nudged him again. "Of course, we're gonna write it together. Gotta kill time while we wait for 'za anyway."

"Don't say 'za,'" Ben admonished, though he was smiling. "Back when I taught kindergarten, one of my kids called pizza 'za,' and I don't think that's the effect you were going for."

Not that "za" could be considered sexy to begin with.

Rebekah glanced at him. "Okay, level with me, Ben. Is there anything remotely kinky you've ever wanted to try?"

He hummed, pretending to mull it over. "Well, maybe going down on you while you recite Shakespeare...though that'd put me in the wrong position for this whole thing to work."

Chuckling, his expression grew a touch self-conscious. "I've never been intimate in nature...there's always been a sort of appeal in that, just being out in the elements. Though not in a park where anyone could just come across us, 'cause the world doesn't need to see my bare arse." He held up a finger. "And there'd be a blanket involved, 'cause I'm not eager to get dirt in my hard-to-reach places."

Leaning forward on his elbows, Ben nudged her with a smirk. "And what about yourself? Though my question is toward your kinks, not your preference for dirt-free romps."

This all would have been easier if he did have a ranch where he raised kids. But of course, things had to be done in the most unconventional way possible. Maybe that was just Bekah's style. Hell, maybe it was Ben's too, all things considered.

If he hadn't stopped her train of thought by giving the worst analogy possible, she might have lingered on the fact that he was more than willing to prolong their cockamamie (no pun intended) arrangement.

"They say those who can't, teach," she teased, "I wouldn't sweat it though. You're pretty good at plenty of other things."

Had she really just said that? Out loud? For a moment, some considered following up with a playful wink but worried about whether or not she might close both eyes and accidentally blink instead.

By then, too much time had passed in between her statement and the present to do much of anything but stare at the blank paper and pretend she wasn't implying anything salacious.

Smoothing out the paper and clicking the pen, Bekah nudged Ben's forearm and softly chuckled at his admittance as she wrote their names, side by side, and underlined them to create separate lists.

"Based on what we just did, I can't imagine you're more vanilla than ice."

Great. Now he was rubbing off on her.

"And of course, we're gonna write it together. Gotta kill time while we wait for 'za anyway."

Her smile became a little bit (just a little bit) coquettish as she eyed him once over.

Perhaps, if they continued to approach the topic humorously, it would make it a little less awkward, less like a business transaction, and more a decision made between friends.

"Okay, level with me, Ben. Is there anything remotely kinky you've ever wanted to try?"

#faithhearted #chromozoned #ben x rebekah #v: modern au #lime #//clearly i didn't do much better on that front lol #fight for what queue believe in

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brights-place · 3 days ago

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TWST Yuu Ramble

A/N: Listen I just wanted to ramble about TWST because its so fun but so messed up fucking hell I could make a lore video. My english is not the greatest still getting accustomed to it but holy shit

Warning: Angst, ANGSTTT

You realize how fucked up twst acutally is

Your known as Yuu the main character and just imagine being so smart so accustomed you have a life you have a job people you care for and that being taken away from you as your dropped off into a different reality filled with magic and all that jazz.

Imagine that you had a partner your mother your family and friends ASWELL being the top of your classes fuck your school even! you had a life the main character YUU HAD A LIFE AND IT WAS TAKEN AWAY!! Thats so fucked up your put into a new area forced to learn from a kindergarten level of the seven Villans in NRC learning all this stuff and how people could be little you because your intellect is not like theres and how you need to change and adapt while putting your mental health at risk.

For fucks sakes your mental health is already shit and being put into a different reality stopping all these over-blots dude Yuu needs to have a fucking break!

The weight would go so far as to giving a panic attack or worse Im a person with tics but just imagine having a tic attack after all the weight of stress because of being some sort of chosen one getting scars for each and every fight not only physical but mental and the only thing pushing you through is going back home. Just fighting to not only see your friends but family.

Yall know that part in the underworld song in epic the musical just the part with the mother ‘waitinggg odysseus when you come home i’ll be waiting’ THE GRIEF OF A MOTHER IS ENOUGH TO MAKE YOU CRY just imagine fighting malleus at the end and your so close to beating him and all you want is just to see your mother and family again.

Now listen im cooking up a giant story for this because how fucked up it is I wanna put realistic ass responses cause the mental breakdowns the scarring all the weight can lead yuu/you to cracking fighting for your life to a world you dont get at all.

I mean I love the characters I love the interactions but Yuu going through all this still would have trauma all im thinking is how they’d feel in the middle of the night trying so hard not to break down beside grim hoping they wont die the next day and live these people they befriends yes they loved them yes Yuu cares for them however they are still the same people who nearly took their life the same people Yuu had to save and its so fucked.

Thanks for coming to my ramble session Im 100% making this into a book on my wattpad and upload the chapters up in here because holy fuck its so messed up.

reblogs + comments are appreciated ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

#twst #angst #twst rants #twst theories #twst reponses #Twisted wonderland #Twst Fanfic Idea??

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charmwasjess · 5 hours ago

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My tiny mountain town is a blue dot swallowed up in a sea of red. Our statistically-irrelevant town went for Harris. The larger counties around us all went for Trump. Here’s what this election looked like in the southeastern Appalachian on the front lines of that cultural divide:

Outright unprosecuted voter intimidation: in the few blocks walk from my house to downtown, I can see a prop skeleton dressed as a Harris supporter hanging from a noose, and Harris yard signs slashed with a knife, others just ripped down to the cardboard.

Gerrymandering - years ago, these little-known poorer districts were redrawn around population centers in ways that give likely Republican strongholds more weight, particularly in rural areas like mine. Republican lawmakers literally have opened prisons in rural counties in my state to artificially inflate population numbers with people who can’t vote due to their felon status to tip the scales.

Of course, the Electoral college, where US votes are decided by weight of a state’s respective collective population and importance rather than just the counted individuals votes

I’m not making excuses. I echo the rest of the world’s collective disgust and horror about the outcome. I am literally sick with my country. People will die because of this. People who don’t live here, people who didn’t get a choice or stake in the US elections, and who probably wish they’d never heard of the place. And people in my own community.

Yet it is so easy to picture this election as the ultimate triumph of laziness and inattention, particularly in “ignorant hillbilly” places like where I live, which generally go for Trump without any fight - at least not one that shows up on an election night map. But the Republican right has been working for decades to put the legal, economic, and societal pressures that lead to this in place here.

We fought hard. Grassroots campaigners, our organizers of LGBTQIA+ groups, leaders in our communities who showed up despite the fact that it put a target on their backs if shit went bad. Teachers fighting Republican-led mandates of ignorance and racism to choke out any thinking that might interfere with their political goals for their ideal voter base. Librarians who get death threats for having kid’s books dealing with gender or queerness in the public libraries.

These are not imagined examples, these are things that happen to real people I know in my tiny blue community. And the violent, right-wing party, the party that promised to make this second Trump term one of revenge and retribution, knows who those people are too.

The Charlottesville “Ignite the Right” attack happened in my backyard. I had friends on that street when a self-described neo nazi drove into a crowd and killed Heather Heyer and injured 35 others. Trump was president when it happened; he called the alt-right who invaded Charlottesville with guns and armor and torches that day “good people.”

I have no faith in my party now. It feels like we’re still trying to play a game we lost years ago, while the other side is busy winning a new game, one where they get to make up all the rules.

I realize that there are greater global trends at play - incumbents being ousted, a swing to the right, post-pandemic economic scrambles - larger issues than the difficulties of voter suppression in my rural American communities. I'm not in a great mindset to consider them this week. I've been politically active since I was old enough to vote, and it feels like we always build so much momentum and then slam facefirst into this fucking invisible wall.

Honestly? I’m so tired and depressed and anxious, I feel like I can barely function right now. At the same time, I’m disgusted by my own despair and whining. What gives me the right to stop trying now, when so many people across the globe are facing the same anger and exhaustion? When so many people are in more active danger, with less options than I have?

Anyway, I wanted to write something out about the election, maybe just to let go of the words and get them out of me. I'm a queer politically active liberal in a Republican-dominated rural space. Next week, I'll read all the posts about hard work and hope and building support networks. This week, I just need a fucking minute on the floor.

#to be deleted #cw for depression and US election stuff I'm sure everyone is sick of hearing about

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alexitheslayer02 · 3 days ago

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My Inane OC Ramblings

Why are Ning Yun and Wukong are a thing? Cause I said so! Okay, in all seriousness from a story standpoint. I do adhere to the same headcanon this person @newkatzkafe2023 has. That if someone gives Wukong a run for his money in a fight, that he will interested. One look at Ning Yun's design and people will no doubt have questions as to how in any world Ning Yun can apply to this rule XD Fair question (that no one asked). Your friendly neighborhood fox and monkey lover shall explain.

------------------- I always tend to look through an RPG lens, cause I'm a gamer girl as well as writer hhh So *pulls out DnD stats* How I see it- Wukong has most of his stat points in strength, dexterity, and a few in arcane and intelligence. Ning Yun's stat points are mostly in arcane, intelligence, and wisdom with a few in dexterity. Polar opposites. Basically the classic warrior and wizard/sorcerer tag team. Also take in mind, I don't know how many people heard of this show, so if you know, you know. Ning Yun is basically my Frieren. (Kinda funny, since that anime has "Beyond Journey's End" in the title) Ning Yun was the Archivist for the Celestials. His library contained thousands to millions of books and tomes from across the known, and unknown, world, gathered by his fox spirits, right at his fingertips. Ning Yun is certainly not stupid. So of freaking course he would take advantage of this. Studying these books cover to cover, time and again, often repeatedly. Imagine all the books on the occult, on magic, on the practices the invoke such magic. Ning Yun, having lived for centuries to millennia, has practiced, perfected, and even fine tuned what he has learned, like Frieren in her respective world. Now, the magic in Jttw is kinda... hard to grasp sometimes for me personally. From what I gather, it is deeply rooted in Chinese philosophies (Taoism is one of the ones mentioned, the other I keep forgetting, please remind me. I think it was Daoism?). I don't know a lot about Chinese culture, I am still learning. So what I take from is mainly from media related to it, like Black Myth or Wo Long, mainly Wo Long. So that is my main reference. Yes, I said that Ning Yun's main specialty is illusion and shapeshifting. Those are his default skills as a fox spirit turned celestial fox. (from research I learned that in folklore, foxes are often associated with illusions and shapeshifting. And yes, I also know they are commonly associated with women. According to what I looked up, SOME legends speak of male foxes in Chinese lore. Either way THIS IS FICTION!!)

From his library, he gained more magic. Sealing, offensive, curses, and so on. So, what about a fight? Firstly, depends on what you mean by fight. Are we talking duel? Sparring? Fight to the death? If duel, what are the rules? If the rules restrict magic, Ning Yun is getting his ass beat, no question about that. If it restricts hand to hand or with weapons, then Wukong might face defeat (if he follows those rules that is). Sparring with both holding back? I don't know. Fight to the death. Wukong can't die XD Ning Yun will get worn out and get himself beat. But in all seriousness, it depends on how they both take that fight. They have their own strategies. If Wukong gets touched, and Ning Yun thinks fast, Wukong might be faced with one of Ning Yun's direct nightmare illusions, and find himself fighting a mental breakdown >:) (if you read my thing about that, then you know exactly what I am talking about) Again, it all depends on how they react to each other and their respective capabilities. Anything can happen in a fight. Ning Yun is at a physical disadvantage. His strategic thinking and magical capabilities however, could win Wukong's respect however.

#my oc ning yun #jttw #oc x canon #sun wukong

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forwhump · 3 days ago

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a/n; as promised, some wren <3 I said somewhere “nothing good happens now for a long time” so here’s some not good things happening >:)

I consider the second part of this whole thing (I’ll pick a title eventually) the “farmhouse arc” & the arcs are all based around the different vibes i felt like writing at the time LOL

this is when i was feeling slasher/serial killer sort of vibes & also hopelessly devastating yearning but worry not: it’s still just horrible shit happening to my (our ?? 👀) favourite little guy <3 (but seriously wren gets tortured in this one)

tw/cw: kidnapping, false imprisonment, sexual slavery, implied rape/noncon, mentions of past rape/noncon, misgendering, transphobia, psychological torture, drowning, burning but with water (boiling ???), mentions of necrophilia, mentions of a living weapon, dehumanization, body fluids

creepy whumper

Wren wakes up in the dark, naked and shivering.

It isn’t the first time, not even close, but something about this time is different. Wrong. He knows even before he’s opened his eyes.

He doesn’t recognize any of the sounds for a long time, a sort of rumble that’s so familiar but out of reach, detached. The floor beneath him moves restlessly, almost vibrating. It isn’t until somebody honks in the distance, laying on the horn, that Wren recognizes the hum of traffic and his throat constricts so tightly it makes him gag.

He’s in a trunk. He’s outside. But there’s none of the relief, there isn’t a deep breath of fresh air, because there are only two people Wren knows that would want to get him out of the district and above ground. Only one of those people, Wren thinks, would throw him in the trunk.

Now he’s alone. He’s more alone than he’s ever been. Trapped, and the farthest from Silas he’s been since he’s known him and Wren can’t save himself. How is he supposed to save himself?

That thing bursts in his throat and Wren screams bloody murder. The car swerves quickly, Wren slides, hits his head pretty hard but screams again, anyway. The car jerks and he hits his head again. He’s naked — he’s so fuckin’ tired of being naked. What’s the last thing he remembers?

What’s the last thing he remembers?

He doesn’t remember anything; nothing that ends with him in the boot of a car. How did he get here? Where’s Silas?

What the fuck happened to Silas?

He isn’t really the type to let Wren get far without him, but Silas has never been above ground, not as much as he remembers. Wren doesn’t even know how long he’s been unconscious, so he can’t even begin to guess how far they’ve gotten. Not that knowing that would even do him any good, seeing as Wren has no idea where they came from, doesn’t have the first clue where the district might be. How is Silas ever going to catch up? How is ever going to find him?

Wren’s never going to see him again.

It’s like cold water. It’s barbed. It knocks the wind out of him and he doesn’t scream again, but he makes a helpless, gasping sort of sound, the same sound he makes when he tries to scream in his nightmares.

Wren is never going to see him again. The world is too big and Silas is too unfamiliar with it; Point is never going to let Wren go. He’d kill him before he got far. He’d fuck his corpse once he’s dead.

Wren’s naked and shivering in the boot of a car and nothing is ever going to be the same again. The end of Wren’s life is unfolding formally in the trunk of Point’s car; the only way this ends now is with Wren’s death, or with Point’s. He’s never going to let him go. There’s nobody around anymore to save him. His life, in the district, had been grey and miserable, but he hadn’t been lonely. There had been warmth.

Wren’s never going to be warm again.

He tries to scream — he makes another breathy, choking noise. In the miserable grey of the district, he wouldn’t have been able to imagine being above ground and wanting to go back under it. Now, he can’t take a full breath in and his chest buckles beneath the weight and he starts to hyperventilate in the darkness of the trunk. He wants his books, and his brother. He wants Silas. He wants his looming shadow and his protective hand on Wren’s back. He wants the way he says Wren’s name, with the faintest twang of Wren’s accent because that’s how he had learned to say it. He doesn’t want to be alone.

The world is too big and Wren is completely alone. He takes another hitching breath and his chest hitches along with it. He doesn’t want to be alone. He can’t do this alone. He can’t do this by himself.

The car screams to a stop and Wren hits his shoulder so hard he feels the pain in his wrist. When the trunk flies open above him, Wren doesn’t have time to think or react — the world is so much brighter than he can remember it being. As the trunk opens, the light is let in, and it’s like being blinded, so bright he sees spots. He can’t keep his eyes open against it, and he flinches; as he’s flinching, Point is already reaching into the trunk with him, grabbing him around the throat.

He grabs him so tightly Wren can’t breathe under his hand and he makes an empty, wheezing sort of sound. Point grins widely; he’s here with him and still, Wren’s never been so alone. He grabs at Point’s wrist, tries to pry him off, claw him away, but he presses Wren a little harder into the boot of his car and says, “shucks. You’re awful pretty when you’re scared, cowgirl.” In his other hand, he has a rag he uses to cover Wren’s mouth and his nose. It smells sweet and Wren already knows what’s coming, even before the spots burst in his vision and the light starts to get wavy, blurry. “Unfortunately,” he adds, “you’re being awfully loud back here. I’m gonna need you to be a good girl and keep quiet a little longer, baby. You can scream as loud as you need to when we get where we’re going.”

He doesn’t even have time to scream.

He’s unconscious for a very long time.

Point keeps him sedated, keeps him under, and Wren only knows this because he knows to recognize the heavy, hazy feeling once he’s finally allowed to wake up again. It’s a different sort of headache than being knocked unconscious, a heavy throb of overmedication and dehydration.

He’s still naked, still on his back, but he isn’t still in the boot. He can’t open his eyes yet, his eyelids are too heavy, and his hands are tied, this time, wrists knotted behind his back. His fingers are pushed into what feels a lot like old shag carpet. “What?” Wren says, and he doesn’t mean to. But carpet?

There’s a series of sounds Wren recognizes quickly, a door being closed then locked, then locked again, then bolted. Point says, “well, good morning, cowgirl,” to the sound of him pushing something heavy in front of the door. “You’re right on time.”

Wren still can’t open his eyes. He slurs when he says, “what are you doing?”

“I got us a room,” he answers. “You need a bath.”

“What?” Wren says. He’s having a hard time thinking. Or is Point just not making any sense? They’re in a room? He chokes on a breath in, tripped up by the weight of sedation on his chest.

Conversational, Point says, “you can scream if you want to, baby. I made sure of it. I don’t know how soundproof the walls really are, but this place charges by the hour. Nobody’s gonna come running for a screaming girl.”

Wren still can’t open his eyes and it hurts when he swallows. Slowly, he says, “why are you doing this to me?”

“What?” Point replies. He snorts. “I got you out, cowgirl. You’re gonna have a warm bath.”

“I wanna go back,” Wren slurs.

“What?” He repeats.

“I don’t wanna be here with you,” Wren says. He’s being too honest and he still can’t open his eyes. He isn’t sure where the words are coming from — not his brain, that’s for sure. “I want Silas.”

“The fuckin’ dog?” Point spits, and then he’s quiet for a long time. He’s quiet for so long that Wren finally gains the strength to open his eyes again, blinking up at Point who’s leaned in close, too close, so close it makes Wren jump. He snarls in his face and takes a fistful of his hair. “That’s too fuckin’ bad,” he seethes, “you ungrateful whore.”

The room is exactly what Point said it would be, cheap and dirty, straight out of a 70’s porno or an 80’s slasher. It’s been a long time since Wren’s thought in any sort of movie references, and maybe being above ground again is bringing it out in him, maybe it’s the sedatives, but he thinks now, for some reason, about what happens to the blondes in every cheesy 70’s porno and every gory 80’s slasher, and he thinks, fuck. Panic finally starts to seep through the sedated cracks in his chest as Point hauls him across the filthy shag carpet by his hair.

Point drags him into a bathroom that wouldn’t look out of place behind a gas station and that looks like it hasn’t been cleaned in thirty years. The bathtub is coated with grime and the rusted pipes squeal as Point turns on the water, cranks it as far as he can. Somewhere deep, the heater rumbles, and the water that shoots from the faucet steams with heat. As the tub fills, the bathroom fogs, the water simmering in the filthy tub.

Panic rises up the back of Wren’s throat. He thinks he screams, but it might be the shriek of the pipes. “Darren,” he gasps, because he can’t catch his breath around the knot in his chest, he can’t breathe. Point snarls, and he tries, “don’t — don’t do this to me, don’t — don’t —,” gets stuck in a panicked sort of loop of, “don’t, don’t, don’tdon’tdon’tdon’tdon’t—” as Point pulls him up by his hair.

Wren begs, thrashes, pleads, panics, but Point lifts him with ease and a curled lip. He throws him into the tub, into the boiling water.

Wren’s skin starts to split immediately. Like boils, it starts to burst, opening through his skin and layers of tissue, worse at his palms and the bottoms of his feet, around the sensitive skin where his wrists are bound. Point reaches for the faucet, finally turns on the cold water, but with his other hand he keeps Wren in the tub as it boils, even as the skin of his own wrist peels away in the heat. He holds Wren in the water as he flails, and the nails peel from his fingertips as he claws at Point’s arm. He shrieks when he can, but he can’t very quickly; he can feel the heat in his lungs and he can feel the way the flesh starts to bubble with it, deep in his chest where it should be safe. He can’t scream because he can’t breathe and his upper lip splits open on one side.

When the water starts to cool, Wren’s skin still steams. It doesn’t feel hot, but like razor blades, hundreds of millions of razor blades, restless under his skin. He trembles so uncontrollably water sloshes from the tub at his stillest.

“The dog isn’t around to save you anymore, cowgirl,” Point says, dipping his other hand into the tub, shutting off the water once he’s deemed it’s acceptable. “I don’t want you to think about it again. Y’hear?” He adds, mocking, and pushes Wren’s head beneath the water.

Wren still trembles with heat and he never got to take a full breath in, hitching relentlessly. He doesn’t mean to gasp but he still inhales water. His hands are still tied behind his back.

He sputters, tries to hold his breath, to push himself up, but Point doesn’t let him break the surface. Point holds his head under water until Wren’s scorched lungs start screaming in protest and his vision starts to bloom dark spots. Point holds his head under water until Wren realizes he’s going to die.

It makes him think about Twilight, which is weird, but that’s what he thinks about. It might be the only thing he really knows about drowning. That and Silas, once, saying something passive about being waterboarded. But he doesn’t think about Silas, which is also weird. He thinks about Twilight, and how Bella said that drowning was peaceful.

She fuckin’ lied. It’s chaos, actually, and a screaming ache in his chest that feels like it might split him open down the middle. And he’s in a dirty fuckin’ bathtub, which sucks, and he’s still fuckin’ naked. He’s been naked for days, weeks, and now he’s gonna die naked. How fuckin’ demeaning. How humiliating. How unfair. How many years did he spend suffering underground just to die naked in a bathtub? What the fuck is that? Why is this happening to him?

Is anybody ever gonna know what really happened to him? Legally, he’s been dead for years, he knows this for certain. Point’s always been proud of himself for having made it happen. Nobody’s ever been looking for him. Nobody above ground knows what happened to him in the district and nobody in the district will know what happened to him once he left. Wren’s gonna drown in a bathtub and nobody but Point will ever know.

Closer to the end, things do get a little more peaceful. It doesn’t hurt any less, but everything starts to get sort of fuzzy and less severe. His fingers go numb. He thinks about Silas. It hurts a lot to die, and that makes him think of Silas.

He doesn’t die, not really, but that makes him think of Silas, too. He loses consciousness in the bathtub and comes to on the filthy bathroom tile, vomiting water. Point is pushing his wet hair out of his face and his touch makes Wren vomit again. “You feel better, baby?” He coos. “All clean?”

Wren throws up more water and it’s still hot on the way up. He’s trembling so uncontrollably it makes his muscles ache. It makes him think of Silas again, of the way his hands always shook. It makes him vomit again.

With another coo, Point turns him onto his back. It takes Wren a second to catch up with his body, it takes the panic a second to breach the surface of the water and he tries to gasp, chokes on it, vomits again. “Please,” he breathes, and Point laughs. The sound of his zipper is familiar. Wren chokes again as he tries to cry out, rasps, “please.” He tries to pull himself up, to so much as lean away, but his body is so heavy and shaking so uncontrollably and his trembling hands are trapped beneath his weight.

“You’re beautiful like this,” Point tells him.

“Don’t,” Wren rasps softly. “Please.”

Just as soft, Point says, “it’s just you and me now, cowgirl. You’re all mine. You might as well start getting used to it.”

His smile is unnatural. It isn’t human. Wren vomits again, still warm where it pools in the column of his throat and the dips of his clavicle.

“When I’m done with you,” Point says, curling a hand around the back of Wren’s thigh and he cries out, his skin still feels like razor blades, Point’s touch isn’t just bruising, it’s sharp, “we’ll get back on the road. I got a house waiting for us, baby. Big farmhouse in the countryside, nice and isolated. Nobody around to hear you scream.”

“Please,” Wren rasps, his breath hitching desperately.

“Nothing you can say or do will change the fact that this is gonna happen to you,” he tells him, soft and mock soothing. “You’re going to be kept chained up like an animal. You’re going to be used thoroughly and repeatedly. You’ll know your fuckin’ place, and you’ll show me the proper respect. You may not like it, cowgirl, but you’re fuckin’ sure gonna do it. You won’t like what happens to you if you don’t. It’ll be a lot worse than a warm bath.”

Wren’s heart beats in his throat and he wishes he had died in the bathtub.

Point’s kneeling between Wren’s thighs, starts rocking against him, coos softly when the warmth of his skin makes Wren vomit again. Why was he so desperate not to die? It has to be better than this. It has to be less miserable than this.

“Please,” he whispers, rough. “No more.”

“Oh, cowgirl,” Point says, and he smiles, wide and grotesque. “You haven’t seen anything yet.”

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liabeans420 · 3 days ago

Text

Energon Megatron X Reader

NSFW 18+ ONLY

LAST SURVIVOR

__________________________

You're the last one left. The Decepticons have taken ocean city and Megatron has chosen to keep you alive to reward himself for his hard work.

__________________________

Head pounding, vision blurry, you came to in the autobot control room in ocean city; the cold metal of the floor a stark contrast to your building anxiety as your eyes darted around the room. It started flooding back to you when you noticed SnowCat and Demolisher in the corner giggling at you lying defenceless with your hands tied: the Decepticons had taken the city, Optimus was off-world with most of the autobots leaving you with a small crew, none of whom you could see in the room with you.

The live feed which was broadcast from the large screen that sat at the front wall of the room was still running, maybe the Autobots were on the way to get you out of this if they could see the situation unfolding wherever they were.

They weren’t able to help you right now though, as you could hear heavy footfall approaching the control room. Megatron.

The Decepticons in the room quickly straightened up as their leader came into view, he was imposing, towering blue frame dwarfing his subordinates and glaring yellow optics darting between Demolisher and Snowcat, prompting them to leave. You began to strain against the wire holding your hands together, a lump forming in your throat as you imagined what was coming to you. Tears began to sting in your eyes knowing you would be meeting your end today.

“Now, now, human. I’m not going to extinguish you.” He boomed from the control panel, staring you down, “I only require something from you. And who knows, if you comply I might just let you walk free…” his tone was sickly sweet, he was clearly enjoying the suspense he was creating.

“I don't have any information for you, Megatron” You spat, assuming the Decepticon leader was after access codes or autobot intelligence, “you may as well kill me now and get it over with” defeated, you stopped fighting your restraints, only hoping the pain you were going to endure would be quick. Approaching you slowly, Megatron let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Oh no no no, small thing, that's not what I want at all! You see, I’ve taken my time extracting everything I need from your Autobot friends, they were ever so useful”. He stopped as close to you as he could be without having crushed you under him, his optics dark, observing you intently. Looking around in the hopes you would see the rest of your crew, Megatron began to laugh again, “Don’t bother. They can’t help you now”.

Noticing a glint in his gold optics, your heart sank, realising your friends had been extinguished, you were all alone at Megatron’s mercy… and if you weren’t mistaken, he was after something much more personal than information.

“Please, Megatron, don’t do this, you’ll kill me. You know it'll kill me-” Begging for a more dignified death than being split open by a Cybertronian’s spike, using your legs to push yourself away from him.

“Stupid creature, is that what the autobots have told you? They're classless, they interface like animals, but me?” he trailed off, velvet voice hanging in the air as if he were considering ways to bring you round before resorting to force, “I promise you’ll survive. You may even enjoy yourself-”

“Enjoy myself!? After you’ve just decimated our home?” anger taking you over, heat rising to your cheeks as you berated him.

Cutting you off, Megatron lifted you off the cold ground, his large servos holding your body painfully tight as you squirmed in his grip. Your eyes widened as you realised what was happening: Megatron was striding towards the live feed’s main camera stopping mere feet away from it. He knew full well that every autobot on or off world had access to the feed 24/7, too and they were all about to bear witness to what you would be reduced to.

Unable to resist with your hands tied, Megatron made quick work of removing your clothes, ripping the fabric as to ensure he wouldn't have to set you loose. He held you up in front of the screen, working one warming servo down the front of your body, exploring every inch with hard grabs and pinches, making you wince, until he got down to your upper thighs. He took harsh handfuls of the soft skin, the pain making you yelp and hiss, giving him exactly what he wanted.

Before you could process the heat flushing your cheeks, megatron had brought a large finger to your entrance, teasing at it, feeling how wet you were already under his rigorous touch. Bringing his mouth down to your ear, he let out a low hum, almost as if to let you know you were pleasing him. “You know our dearest viewers can see what a mess you're making for me already?” He laughed into the question, watching the embarrassment of knowing that someone was watching on your face morph into excitement and back again.

“Please-” Your breaths already short, “Just put it in”

“How impatient!” Megatron’s tone was mocking, and it was working for you “but if you insist, it only means I can take you sooner”

With that he finally began to slide his forefinger into you, sending waves of pleasure through your entire body.

You threw your head back, giving in to the feeling. Besides, there was nothing you could do about it. Seeing this, Megatron increased his pace to try and get even more of a reaction out of you, your moans only just covering the quiet hiss of him releasing his spike.

“Such a good girl,” he snickered “I never would have guessed you’d be so easy to break”

Praising your cooperation to the live feed, who could see everything from your eyes rolling to the puddle forming in megatron’s palm, he decided to let you enjoy yourself for a little longer, his sick degradation bringing you closer and closer until you feel yourself begin to finish on his hand, breathing shallow and legs quivering.

“Oh is that good? Hm?” He slowed his movements, but you could only let out an affirmative groan in response. “I asked you a question, human. How dare you deny me an answer.” There was genuine annoyance rising in his voice, so you mustered up an answer for him as not to cut your enjoyment (or life) short “y- yes… so… so good”.

“That wasn't so difficult now, was it?” Megatron’s optics shifted between your shaking form and the screen as if to acknowledge whoever sat watching on the other end of the feed.

Retracting his finger from inside you, he lowered you down ever so slightly. You jolted in surprise at feeling his spike fully pressurised beneath you, slick with transfluid already. Without so much as a grunt, Megatron began to work his way into you with an excruciatingly gradual pace, stretching you slowly around him and making you scream with both pain and want. It felt so good despite the agony, your wails now filling the room entirely as he ran out of space inside you. Barely half of him fit into your tight hole, but he didnt seem perturbed at all, he simply moved his grip to your thighs, your knees now spread, level with your chest.

You were utterly helpless, sitting on Megatron’s spike, screaming. All while under the watchful eye of every autobot crew with access to the signal.

His movements were relentless and calculated, hitting you at the perfect angle with every thrust of his hips, he seemed not to tire at all from the exertion which led you to wonder how long this was going to go on for exactly… Hours? Days, even? Megatron’s moans are low, filled with want as he begins leaving bites up and down your delicate neck, the pain only serving to amplify the sensation of his spike inside you.

“Oh how pathetic, it seems you really will let me do anything to you so long as you get your little hole fucked” Megatron was now musing to himself between guttural sounds of appreciation, getting lost in the sensation of such a tight body.

Snapping the both of you back to reality was a loud notification on the control panel. Someone was watching for sure now. Embarrassment flooding your body, it only drove you closer to finishing once more as your captor leaned forward to dismiss the message. As he does, one servo leaves your thigh dangling, moving to your throat after the control panel.

“‘how does it feel to have an audience like this? Everyone knows how little it takes to use you like this, and I bet they will the moment they get the chance”

With that you released again, gushing onto Megatron's spike and the floor below and leaving a clear puddle beneath you both. The angle he had you held at meant you had definitely splashed the main lens of the camera, not that he cared now. The sight of you so undone on his huge spike sent him feral, holding you flush to his torso with one clenching servo, and supporting himself on the control panel with another, your legs swinging with every thrust as he started twitching inside you, ready to finish himself. Megatron’s moans now matched your own as he drew closer to his overload, growling into the nape of your neck as he gripped your small body harder. And harder.

“You're going to take it, human,” He sounded desperate, “All. Of. It.” his words punctuated by the movement of his hips, taking the breath out of your lungs as he coated your walls with his transfluid, warm and thick, too much for your body to hold.

“Yeeeeeeeeees,” he groaned, the tension in his giant body dissolving with every slowing thrust. Your eyes trailing down to your own thighs, now covered in his release which was dripping into your own on the floor.

Panting and shaking you look once again at the feed monitor, entirely spent, at least you could go free now, maybe find a way to convince the autobots you hated every second of it despite the flush of tired bliss that washed over your skin and every sound you made as he was still deep inside you.

Your hands still bound, you struggled to move as your aching legs begged for support but Megatron seems to notice this; lifting you slowly off of his emptied spike, causing more of his transfluid to splash on to the metal flooring, the sound echoing throughout the empty room.

“Is..” you panted, “is it over Megatron?”

“Oh you silly thing, I’ve barely begun to have my fun with you”

__________________________

This is a repost from my AO3 and people seemed to like it over there, so let me know what yall think!

Part 2 below!

#transformers fanfiction #megatron #transformers energon #energonmegatron #megatron x reader #megatron x human reader #transformers smut

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