#how is it any more dangerous than if you just had them in your back yard??

[tobesolnelyx]

— achilles come down || shauna shipman x reader. (post crash) 🌊

a/n: im a massive greek mythology freak so enjoy. tell jesus that the bitch is back

summary: person you loved the most returned but she's more of a ghost than anything. hurt/comfort. angst.

warnings: standard yellowjackets warnings

word count: around 2k

Shauna stood in the middle of her room, completely at a loss for what to do with herself. Everything around her felt unnaturally quiet, a silence so sharp it made acid rise in her throat — only this time, it had nothing to do with months of starvation.

The floorboards creaked as you stepped up behind her, your gaze fixed on the back of her head. She didn’t turn around. Her eyes moved slowly, cautiously, across the room — first the bed, then the posters, and finally landing on the desk and mirror. Her jaw tightened visibly. For a moment, she just stood there, staring at the likeness of a saint and the photos of you and Jackie.

She didn’t understand why. Didn’t understand how. Or what she was supposed to do now that she was back in this world. Once, she had been a queen. For one brief moment, she’d had them all under her control, held fast in the grip of her will. How was she supposed to return to normalcy? And what was normal, anyway?

Shauna, still staring at the photo of the two of you, absentmindedly ran her hand across her hip, instinctively reaching for her hunting knife. But they’d taken it away at the hospital. Someone had fed her some hollow excuse about it being for her own safety. She would’ve felt far safer with cold steel in her hand.

Finally, unable to hold back, she turned toward you. Her sad eyes met yours — but without their usual brightness. Shauna wasn’t trying to read you this time. Now, she looked more like someone calculating how dangerous you might be, how fast she might need to run.

You met her gaze with something softer, something raw and honest — but not pity. Shauna wouldn’t have endured another drop of pity, not about what had happened, and certainly not about Jackie. Her fingernails dug into her palms, and you couldn’t stop staring. Maybe because she had changed so much. Maybe because, over the past nineteen months, she had started to fade into something more ghost than girl, more memory than person.

And even though it was she who turned to face you, it was you who couldn’t look away — like a selfish Orpheus casting one final glance at Eurydice. As if Shauna, too, might vanish at any moment, but now only your eyes could hold her here.

"I don’t want to be here," she finally confessed. Quietly, like the ancients pleading with their gods for forgiveness. As if she were begging you to do something, anything, to send her back. It struck you then that there was a kind of selfishness in that wish — but at the time, you thought you were doing it for her. You wanted her to come back to the world more than she did herself.

You stepped closer and placed a hand on her shoulder, fingers pressing in — trying to say everything words couldn’t. At the hospital, just days earlier, someone had changed her clothes. Someone had forced her into a shower. They’d burned her old clothes. Now, Shauna squirmed in these clean ones like they were a second, intolerably itchy skin. Like nothing fit anymore. Like everything was wrong.

“We’ll get through this together,” you whispered.

Your thumb brushed over the rough skin of her arm — skin hardened by months of brutal temperatures and gods only knows what else. You didn’t want to imagine it. And Shauna wasn’t sure she wanted to get through anything at all. Or to get through it with you. Her lifeless eyes were fixed on the soft bedsheets, as if even touching something that gentle, something cleaner than dirt and worn-out blankets, might undo her.

She only nodded.

In the days that followed, Shauna committed herself to a quiet rebellion. She spoke to no one. Refused all forms of social interaction. You couldn't spend every hour with her, but Shauna couldn't seem to find a place for herself. The next time you stepped into her room, photographs lay shredded on the floor, books strewn in every direction. The entire space was drowned in a chaos so raw and disordered, you doubted you could ever get closer to the landscape of her thoughts.

The bed was neatly made — untouched, as if no one had dared disturb it. And Shauna was nowhere to be found. Neither was her mother, who couldn’t afford to take more time off to watch over her.

You left behind the echo of that silent fury to find her outside, curled beneath a tree. Her fingers clenched and unclenched, restless, as though missing the familiar weight of something between them. The comforting steel of a blade, perhaps — that gave her a sense of control. A notebook rested open on her lap, alongside an ordinary pencil. She hadn’t changed her clothes since the last time you’d seen her. Judging by the state of her hair, she was still refusing to bathe.

Her skin was pale — the kind of pale that didn’t speak of delicacy but of absence, of death. Her eyes stayed fixed on the ground, her throat bobbing slightly with each breath. Her wrists looked thinner than they ought to be. Shauna looked, all at once, far too old and far too young. But you suspected her age had stopped the moment the plane crashed into the earth.

She had never told anyone what happened out there. Sometimes you’d glance toward the journals buried deep inside her wardrobe and wonder what truths they held.

"Have you eaten anything?" you asked, standing over her. A simple, practical question — one she could endure. She shook her head.

"Everything tastes too… vivid," she said at last, her voice roughened from disuse. Speaking seemed to cost her something now — perhaps because words had long since lost their meaning for her.

So, you learned to make meals that were deliberately bland. Shauna seemed to trust you more than anyone else when it came to food, and from that point on, you were in her kitchen daily, her wary brown eyes tracking your every movement.

Her relationship with meat was particularly strange. At first, she grimaced, chewing cautiously, tearing the fibers apart with a strange sort of reverence — or fear. You didn’t ask why. You didn’t need to. The reason was too close, too raw. At least she was eating. That alone was enough. You weren’t about to push her into confessions she wasn’t ready to make.

Then, as if in some Promethean act of defiance, Shauna began sleeping outside. It seemed, to her, a matter of utmost importance — only instead of stealing fire from Olympus for the betterment of mankind, she was fulfilling some unspoken mission crafted entirely in her own mind. For her, it was something that helped her survive — something as sacred and immutable as divine law.

At first, you tried to understand. You were willing to give her space, to occupy yourself with other things. You prepared her meals, cleaned her room — a space that, without fail, would always return to a chaos worthy of the dawn of creation itself.

But when the nights began to turn cold and Shauna’s breath fogged the air, and still she refused to sleep indoors, your patience began to fray. Though you tried not to show it, your jaw clenched when you stepped outside one chilly evening into the Shipmans’ yard. Shauna was in the same spot, with the same things, clinging stubbornly to her quiet rebellion.

"You'll freeze," you said, sitting beside her on the ground, pulling your hoodie tighter around yourself. You wrapped a blanket around her shoulders — she didn’t move.

"I’m used to it," she replied simply, though the way she stared at her trembling hands betrayed her. It wasn’t acceptance — it was punishment. She looked more like someone willingly chained to the Caucasus than someone merely enduring the cold.

"I can stay with you," you murmured, your hand moving toward hers before pausing midway, uncertain. Shauna’s dark curls fell across her forehead as she looked at you like she was seeing you for the first time. "If you want."

Before everything, sleepovers had been routine. You’d fall asleep in her bed on Friday nights and wake up to her cold nose pressed against your neck, her arm wrapped so tightly around your waist it nearly cracked your ribs.

Shauna had never seemed like someone who needed touch — but she always sought yours. You never quite understood why. At first, you thought it was because something had existed between you before the crash. And “something” felt like the only accurate word. Friends didn’t steal kisses, didn’t hold hands like that, didn’t dance too close at parties.

Or maybe they did. Maybe Shauna had done all of that with Jackie, and you were only a substitute — a poor imitation. Either way, you both lost to Jeff. You found out first, and though you should have told Jackie, something stopped you. Loyalty to Shauna — or maybe that sick, quiet competition that had always played out between you and Jackie.

Still, Jackie was gone now. Shauna didn’t look like anyone — not even Jeff — crossed her mind anymore. That made you her only option. The only trace of the life she'd had before.

"Why are you doing this?" she asked eventually. Her voice wasn’t sharp. it didn’t come laced with blame. There was something so unguarded in her curiosity that your heart clenched.

"You know why," you answered, because the words I love you wouldn’t come. That was enough, apparently, because Shauna let you rest your head against her shoulder. She tensed, but didn’t pull away. That was already a victory.

"I’m not sleeping in a bed," she said after a moment — a quiet compromise, one that didn’t name itself. A gesture that hinted at release, as though she’d just shooed away the bird pecking at her entrails.

So you let her keep her rebellion, in some small way. You cleared her room of most unnecessary things, the emptiness seemed to soothe her. The window remained open most days, as if the outside world tethered her to sanity. You laid down blankets on the floor, and for the first time since her return, you fell asleep side by side. Shauna’s hand rested between you — a fragile truce.

Everything could have started to come together. You saw a glimpse of hope, a chance for improvement—Shauna began to give in more often, whether because the arrow had started to chafe her heel or simply because she was getting better. Either way, at least she was willing to compromise.

Then you discovered Shauna’s problem with anger.

The girl you knew before the plane crash would never have hurt anyone—not physically, and probably not purposefully emotionally either. She simply wasn’t good at handling feelings. Which included sleeping with Jeff. At least you were telling yourself this.

You’d suspected something was off back when you’d walk into her room and find it engulfed in chaos. Still, she had always seemed more withdrawn than aggressive.

Until something inside her exploded.

She fell into pure rage, screaming so fiercely it was as if she hoped some god might finally hear and recognize her pain. You prayed you wouldn’t share Hector’s fate. All you could do was watch as her fury built, as she shouted, smashed things, bloodied her knuckles—circling around you like a starving dog, cursing you to every demon imaginable.

And just as quickly as her anger rose, it burned out. She flared like a match—intense and brief—before collapsing at your feet like a fallen hero in battered armor, begging for forgiveness.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice trembling as she clutched at you, her fingers digging painfully into your skin. “I’m sorry, forgive me, I’m sorry...”

She buried her face in the hollow of your neck. She hadn’t meant to get attached. She knew she could lose you too. One wrong glance, and you’d vanish like the others—just another cruel hallucination, a rotting piece of flesh buried deep beneath the ground. All she’d have left would be flowers to lay on a grave.

“Don’t go, don’t go—I swear I’ll change, do you hear me?” she begged, after she’d pushed you by accident in her fury.

“Don’t leave me, don’t leave me...” she pleaded, even after she struck you for the first time.

She didn’t want to hurt you. But she couldn’t place you above her rage or her pride, no matter how much she wanted to. She simply couldn’t. And yet she knew she would tear heaven and earth apart to win you back.

“I love you,” she said. “I promise I love you. I never stopped—please...”

[mahmahmahmysharona]

When Bob realizes he's in love with you, and it sucks even more.

(Bob Reynolds x Avenger Reader) Part 3/?

Part 1 // Part 2

It took you a while before you figured out your true feelings for Bob. Unfortunately for him, he knew from the beginning.

Seriously. From the moment he laid eyes on you in that death trap where you all almost suffered a violent, fiery end, he was gone.

And, let's be honest, terrified.

You were beautiful, formidable, and watched him with this calculating stare that looked like a scowl if he caught it at the right moment. And he understood why. You were keeping your guard up until you were sure who he was and whether you could trust him.

Whatever this feeling brewing was, he knew it was unusual. He knew it was precious. And he knew it was dangerous. How did he know? Well, it was the only thing that hadn't made him feel like utter shit in years.

And, despite everything, he knew that things like happiness and hope were only tools that The Void could use against him. And maybe Void was right — he didn't deserve anything. At least, not anything good.

And you were good. You had a laugh that danced across the room, a sharp wit, and a bravery that he could only dare to dream about possessing one day. He watched you for months, carefully. And then you started talking to him.

It freaked him out. He didn't want it. He didn't want to get closer to you, because he didn't trust himself to handle it right. He couldn't handle anything right. So he withdrew into himself, trying not to give you any reason to want to talk to him more.

But damn it, you kept trying. And then, that one day, he had to give you a reason. He said he was scared. Of you. Which is only half true, because he knew all you really wanted to do was help people. And you quickly proved yourself by helping him, shaking hands and cementing a friendship.

And suddenly, his new family became something more. The others cared about him, looked after him, helped him learn how to live again. But you soon became the thing he lived for. He looked for you every time he walked into a room. He listened to your radio updates on the comms, and he stayed up on nights when you were out on missions. He never said anything to you when you returned — he just wanted to hear the sound of your bedroom door clicking shut, signalling that you were back. (And alive, more importantly.)

You snuck him out to the movies that one time, and he hated it. He couldn't stop thinking of it as a date, which it definitely wasn't, but it gave him this horrific feeling of not knowing how to act. He looked around the room to see if he could get cues on what other couples were doing around them. But then you'd squeezed his arm, and he didn't feel so stressed. (Actually, maybe he didn't hate it at all.)

The nightmares and tiptoeing around his own emotions eased up around you. There was an ease he hadn't felt in...well, ever. And when those old horrors did bubble up, you were always there. Soon, he couldn't imagine how it could have ever been any different.

So yeah, he loved you quickly. But he didn't even know that's what it was until one night, when you'd fallen asleep on the couch. He knew you hated sleeping like that — it made your neck stiff — so he nudged you awake.

You woke up, looked towards him, and smiled. Your eyes were still lidded with sleep, you brushed your hair from your face, and you said, voice throaty, "Hmm. Hey, Bob."

And, honestly, that was it. Nothing profound or anything. He just watched you wake up, like he'd done before. But that was it. He was yours.

Or at least, he would have been. The next day, he walked you to the jet and took your hand in his, because for the first time, he was worried that there was a slight chance you wouldn't come back. You were more than capable, he knew that. But bad things happened to people he cared about — he didn't dare think about what could happen to someone he loved.

But he didn't need to think about it. His nightmares did that for him. That night, his spinning mind was quickly invaded by him. And he brought out the big guns: visions of you, bruised, beaten, brutal fantasies that dripped in blood.

And, for good measure, he even made sure Bob remembered what he'd already done to you during his brief life as Sentry, when he's easily toppled each Thunderbolt, including you, grabbing you by the throat and throwing you away like you were made of nothing.

He woke up yelling, covered in sweat and the sheets torn beneath his hands. There was no way he was sleeping after that. He waited until the sun rose and he heard the first clangs of life in the kitchen. The others were up, but you weren't. You weren't sleeping — you were hiding out in your room, consumed by your new revelation.

You didn't want to lose Bob. Let's face it, you needed him. Just because he told you to be careful, that doesn't mean he loved you too. So then what? You profess your new feelings to someone who's emotionally delicate, they freak out, and the most important connection in your life is gone, just like that?

You decided you would go find him. You could both read each other easily, and if you could just look at his face, you'd know if you were crazy or if there was something there.

Bob, meanwhile, was in the kitchen, listening to Bucky recap the night's antics, but not really listening at all. He was waiting for you to walk through the door, to see your face. If he could see your face, he would know what to do.

Then, you walked into the room. You were tired, wired, and weren't feeling like yourself at all. You looked at Bob. He looked at you. For a second, you thought he was going to cross the room and come to you. If he'd done that, you would have thrown yourself at him, asking him what it all means. But he didn't. He looked at you, then looked away. He ignored you completely, walking towards his spot at the window, and picking up his book.

You must be crazy.

Bob sat in his chair, the book trembling between his hands. He could have torn it in two right then if he wanted to. You'd stood there, so beautiful and brilliant, and he loved you. He loved you, and he couldn't. He wouldn’t let himself. He’d lost his family, his future, his sanity, and himself. He’d just about managed to forgive himself for all that, but this would be the end of him if it ended badly.

He's crazy for even thinking he deserved any part of you.

Next: When you and Bob tried to stay away from each other and failed miserably.

[hearts4johnwick]

˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊ Your Girl. / Y. Belova.

SUMMARY. 𝜗𝜚 yelena and you don’t really get along, and when she decides to confront you about what you did during a mission, things take a turn for the worst…or, best?

CW. 𝜗𝜚 (my once in a blue moon) smut, fingering (r), violence, profanities, walker x reader (mention no biggie).

A/N. 𝜗𝜚 well… as i said, this is my ONCE IN A BLUE MOON smut, this is my first smut of the year 💔 so it lowkey sucks, idk ill let yall be the judges of that ;)

Ava, Bucky, John, Yelena and you were in a meeting, Bucky was saying how the mission went well, but then Yelena stepped in and said that it backfired, and you couldn’t help but feel the tension rise when you saw her look at you when she mentioned that it backfired.

“I don’t think it did. People died, yes, but, we can’t always save them. And for God’s sake. Look at this room. All of us have combined kills of probably a million people.” Bucky says and raises his arms you scoff and Yelena rolls her eyes as she huffs.

“I think what Yelena is trying to say is that we could have avoided causing more damage because that number of money that we owe in property damage is… almost millions” John joins.

“Almost millions? No, Millions!” Yelena corrects John and groans.

“To be fair, we didn’t cause any damage, it was the gunmen’s fault, they were the ones that shot, and it couldn’t have been us because we never miss a shot.” You say. “We’ll just pay the city and get over it, we’ve done worse.” You add and shrug.

“Yeah, remember when the Void turned the whole New York into a Void and made us relive our worst memories?”

“Okay, but that was more mental damage than physical,” Bucky says and Ava nods with a shrug. “Whatever. I’ll talk with the senator and we’ll settle with something. Point is, we handled the mission and it was successful, good work team.” Bucky nods and stands, Ava follows and so does John.

You stay in your seat for a while but then step out. Everybody had seemed to already left as they were nowhere to be seen in the living room. You were walking to your room when you heard footsteps behind you.

“Stop.” A thick and familiar Russian accent makes you pause in your tracks. You run your tongue over your teeth and turn around. Your cocky smirk is enough to make Yelena’s blood boil or turn her on.

“What?” You say with a strong tone. “You gonna say thank for you to me saving your ass or what?”

Yelena laughs and scoffs. “Saving my ass? You didn’t do shit! You put us in more danger than we already were because you wouldn’t stop running your mouth! You fucked it up!”

You chuckle and walk up to her. “What exactly did I fuck up, Yelena? We made it out of there didn’t we?”

“We had a plan, and you didn’t listen to it, as always.” Yelena shoots and you step closer to her, inches away from her face. You glare deep into her green eyes.

“You know… you should be more careful who you’re talking to, or else the next thing I’m gonna fuck up is your face.” Yelena felt the hair in her arms stands up at the words that left your venomous tongue. But she stays quiet. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Suka.” [ bitch ].

You smile and Yelena’s lip twitches. She pushes you and then serves you a mean right hook. You stumble, but your knees catch you. You laugh as you hold your cheek.

“Did you think of that?” She grabs your face roughly as you look up at her, asserting her dominance, and you like that. She kicks you back and you straighten yourself in one knee. “Walker isn’t here to protect you now, is he?” She says as she circles you and you giggle.

“Is that really what you think of me?” You ask as you lift your fists.

“Aww, no, it’s what I know.” Your legs slide over to her feet, where she drops to the floor. Your leg wraps around her leg while you grab her other. You lean down, her breath on your lips.

“You know nothing.” Yelena looks down at your lips and hitches her breath, you glance down at hers and bite your pair, before getting off of her by doing a back walkover.

Yelena stands and the two of you circle each other again. She runs over you, wrapping her arms around you and ramming you into a wall. You groan in pain and kick her off of you. You walk closer to her and grab her by the neck, she places her knee on your chest to avoid you getting closer, but you ram her into another wall. She claws onto your wrists and you throw her onto the ground.

She grabs the knife from her pocket and you shake your head. You dodge her slashes and kick the knife off of her grasp. She gets a hold of your leg and throws you to the ground, she straddles you and brings her taser to your neck but you wrap your legs around her waist and switch positions, where you now straddle her and pin both her wrists together.

“You’re boring me, Yelena.” You lift your hips slightly and she takes this chance to break free from your legs and wrap hers around your waist, where she flips you over and now pins your wrists together. She throws the taser away from the two of you and places your pinned hands above your head.

She leans down, maintaining hypnotizing, butterfly-inducing, and knee-weakening eye contact. Your heartbeat quickens with each second passing. The time it takes for her lips to reach yours seems like years, or if this was happening in slow motion, you don’t think it would happen until it finally does, and her soft lips are on yours.

She’s slow, and patient, taking her time with you and getting to know your lips, and then, when you kiss back, your tongue. She pulls away and looks into your eyes. “Am I still boring you?” She asks her tone barely above a whisper, her thick accent still audible.

“If you don’t do more than that, yes.” Yelena chuckles and rolls her eyes.

“Suka.” [ bitch ]. She teases and you lick your lips. Her lips peck yours, you’d thought she’d leave them there, but you swear you feel your heart skip a beat when she kisses your chin, leading down to your cheek, and jaw, next thing you know she’s leaving wet kisses, and soft nibbles on your neck and collarbone. “This is what you need me to do.” She looks at you and you nod. Her fingers find their way to the zipper of your suit and she pulls it down.

She smiles at the sight, you don’t have anything underneath like you were begging for this moment. She mumbles something in Russian, but the euphoria of the moment doesn’t allow you to hear it.

You want to tell her how badly her Russian turns you on, and how you would love to hear her say the dirtiest things in her native tongue, maybe after tonight, you will, but for now, you can only hope and pray.

She frees your hands just so she can use hers to remove her gloves, but when she sees you move them she exclaims. “Ey… I didn’t tell you to move your hands.” You take in a deep breath and place them back to where they were.

She removes her gloves and begins her journey underneath your suit. Her bare touch and cold fingertips are enough to bring goosebumps throughout your entire body. Yelena can already feel the pulse from your core calling out for her, her hands grab onto your wrists once again and hold them firmly above your head.

Her lips trail from your chest, your perk breasts to your stomach, then reunite with yours. Her fingers make their way to your wet cunt, and the contact is enough to make you moan right there, instead, Yelena earns a soft gasp from you.

“Already? Aww.” She teases and begins to slowly rub her index and middle finger in swirls, you hold onto your hands as you let out shaky breaths. She was about to place your lips on yours before she let out another tease. “Walker doesn’t touch you like this? Doesn’t he?” You whimper and she laughs before placing a soft kiss on your lips, and then a deep and passionate one.

Your soft whimpers and shaky breaths were begging for more, and Yelena got to work. She dipped in her digits, and you reward her with a loud enough moan, she shushes you as she caresses your eyebrow. Yelena hooked her fingers against your walls and watched as your back arched, she smiled and kissed your neck.

The soft, barely audible noises coming from your little mouth were angelic to Yelena and better than any song on this earth could compare to.

Yelena licks her lips and lets out shaky breaths above your lips as her thumb finds your clit, she lets go of your hands and wraps her hands around your throat softly. Your hands cup her cheeks as you urge her to kiss your swollen lips. “F-fuck, Yelena…” Your lips grace each other as you throw your head back in reaction to the blonde picking up her pace.

“You’re doing so good…” Yelena kisses your lips and bites your bottom one softly, before getting back in, and burying her tongue in your mouth, letting them fight for dominance.

After a while, she pulls away and digs her face into your neck, sucking softly and marking territory on your neck and chest. You grip the blonde’s hair and pull on it which causes her to moan softly, and at the moment, you think that’s what causes you to reach your peak because, at the moment, you did. “Yelena…” you call out the girl’s name in a pathetic whimper and she lets out a shaky breath.

Yelena removed her digits from your dripping cunt and moved her fingers to your mouth. “Open.” Your lips part and she makes you taste yourself. You suck on her fingers, never once taking your eyes off of hers. She bites her lips and once you’re done with her fingers, she kisses you, digging her tongue into your lips and fighting with yours in a messy and sloppy kiss made up of moans and whimpers.

Yelena sits up and this is the chance you take to press her down and get on top of her. “What—.”

“What? Think I’d let you have all the fun?” You bite your lips and she smiles before pushing your head so your lips can land on hers.

❛ late at night, baby you and i can get to know

each other. i wish i was your girl. ❜

[save-the-villainous-cat]

pt. 1

When the hero awoke for the second time that day, they found themselves in a hospital bed.

At first, their surroundings were unfamiliar enough to make them believe they had entered heaven, with those blinding lights above them. But, no. The hero's mind caught up quickly, but for some reason, they weren't quite relieved that they had survived.

They were tired.

Their eyes widened. The villain.

They wanted to get up, but they couldn't. Their entire body felt numb and although they suspected it to be the work of some kind of painkiller, they couldn't help but feel even more helpless than under the concrete.

"Hey, easy." The hero's head followed the voice and for a split second, they thought, they hoped it was the villain right beside them. "Please, have some self-respect."

It was the hero's friend. They were still dressed in their uniform, looking like they were at work, helping some injured kid. The hero cursed internally. How could they have been this weak? They were a hero, they should have been able to do more. To prevent the building from collapsing, to rescue the villain instead. They should have been the one on top of the villain, shielding them from the pain and danger.

They gritted their teeth, feeling the tears rise again.

"Hey," their friend repeated, softer this time. "Hey, do you realise how lucky you are?"

They took the hero's hand and got out of their chair, only to drop to their knees next to the hero's bed. The hero could feel the gentle grip around their bandaged hand. Their friend rested their forehead against the hero's hand they were holding onto so desperately, almost as if they were praying.

"You could have died right there. Do you know how insane that is? What on earth are we supposed to do without you?" Their friend's voice was quieter now and the hero stared. Stared at the person who had saved them countless times, the person they had rescued just as much. The person they had grown up with, studied with, worked with.

And yet, and yet, the hero didn't care about their own survival. They weren't lucky or happy or grateful that they were here. They truly loved their friend, but they feared they didn't deserve to live. Not after their incompetency.

"My nemesis," the hero croaked. "Where...?"

Their friend looked up at them and the hero's heart sank.

"I'm sorry, they are still undergoing surgery. I've been told they are probably not going to make it."

The hero's eyes were wide open, staring at their friend as if they had been told their exact time of execution.

"They saved me," the hero said. Their voice was trembling.

"I know." Their friend's voice was soft. "They seemed to have been protecting your head and vital organs on purpose."

"They saved me," the hero repeated. The tears already ran down their face again and the hero couldn't help but loathe themselves to the utmost degree.

Because of them the villain was going to die, because of them someone was fighting for their life right now. The hero swallowed the tears, but the upcoming headache didn't vanish.

It was them who was incapable. They were the problem. A lousy excuse for a hero. Someone who needed to be saved, someone who destroyed everything. They should have died right there.

"Hey, hey, hey --" Their friend stood up and brushed the tears out of the hero's face gently. "I don't know a lot about your relationship with them, but I do know that that villain in particular is always making their own choices. Them saving you says more about them than about you."

Their friend's fingertips were warm, they were soft. Oh, they were so soft. The hero could feel their heart break. They didn't deserve this. They didn't deserve any of this. Their own fingers were shaking.

They wished the building had buried them, swallowed them whole.

God, the villain had basically confessed their love back then. How on earth was the hero supposed to move on from something like this?

They couldn't. They couldn't do this alone. Their heart started racing.

There was blood under their fingernails. There had been blood everywhere. The villain had bled onto them. Because of them, because of the hero.

The panic attack crept up from behind quickly. Their heart was beating in their throat, the edges of their vision started blurring.

"Listen, you've been through a lot and-" Their friend stared at the heart rate monitor. They didn't hesitate for a second. "Quick, what's my favourite food?"

The hero closed their eyes, took in deep breaths.

"Chicken. Any recipe." Name of my first dog?

"Name of my first dog?"

"You have never had a dog," the hero said. They were out of breath already. They grabbed their friend's hand, even though it hurt. My first job?

"My first friend?" The hero opened their eyes.

"...me," they said. They took in even deeper breaths.

"That's right." Their friend smiled. "We have known each other for a long time now. I know you are blaming yourself. I know you wish it was you instead of them. But they have made a decision that you have to accept. What they did was of their own volition."

They looked at each other and for a second, the hero was convinced that their friend was right. But just as quick, their mind spiralled right back through the thick layers of blame.

"This will take time," their friend said. "And right now, it is unclear what will happen in the future. But no matter what, I am right beside you."

The hero took their time to think about their wording.

"They...they told me..." Their eyes didn't stop burning. "They told me they did everything because of me."

"I think they adore you greatly," their friend said. "When someone loves you that much, when someone gives that much of themselves to you, it is your duty to take care of yourself. That includes healing."

Their friend sat down on their chair.

"I am right here," their friend said. "I am not going anywhere."

pt. 3

[therainscene]

Gonna be a bit of a buzzkill here, but: I think what annoys me about Ted's been casually assuming that Mike was dating Will this whole time theories is that they always tend to treat it as a fun outcome.

Like, I get it: Ted's the useless one-dimensional suburban dad who makes bland observations he thinks are insightful quips, and he hasn't had much of a character arc beyond getting dragged along for the ride his more three-dimensional wife is on -- so what is there for him to do, really, other than to delight us with one final, genuinely insightful joke that subverts our expectations but makes perfect sense in hindsight?

But I feel like this would essentially make him one of those "allies" whose egos are more important to them than actually being supportive, and so they make smug jokes about how accepting they are at the expense of their kids' fear of rejection:

"I hate my gay son! Oh, not because he's gay, he's just an asshole." 🤭 "Why are you telling me you're gay? I figured that out years ago. Stop crying and go help your mother with the dishes." 🙄 etc.

It wouldn't be out of character for Ted to do this. I can totally see him doing it! But it's out of character for the show to make light of queer struggles, so I'd expect it to be critical of Ted for doing this.

Often, parents like the ones described above really do mean well, but they just don't know what they're supposed to do other than try to keep treating their kid the same as if they were straight. Lots of parents struggle with that; I'd argue even Joyce does in S3:

Will's clearly experiencing a specifically queer difficulty here -- boys like him aren't allowed to fall in love and he's upset about having to watch straight people openly enjoy things he thinks he'll never have -- and that apparently sails over Joyce's head. She just smiles at her Silly Immature Boy Who Doesn't Get The Appeal Of Sex Yet and drops the topic.

[Edit: To be clear, Joyce knows he's gay and is explicitly showing support for gay love here. She just has a blind spot when it comes to the gay teen experience.]

It's a disappointing change in her approach from the first two seasons, in which she fought her ass off to understand and advocate for his needs, even when communication seemed nigh impossible.

But then, maybe S3 is about granting Will his S2 wish to not be coddled by his mom anymore.

The Jonwill heart-to-heart at the end of S4 is my favourite scene in the whole show, because it's a pitch-perfect demonstration of how to balance closeted queer kids' need for support against their need to handle things on their own terms, all without embarrassing them by showing your hand of Already Knowing.

Maybe you're thinking: didn't Karen do exactly this with Mike all the way back in S1?

[Literally hiding his future beard in his closet during this convo lol 10/10 queer-coding]

Well, no. The point I made in my previous Wheeler analysis still applies: Karen, as of S1, is too prone to trusting dangerous authorities over her own kids -- and so her words ring hollow. She means well, but deep down she's prioritizing her need to feel like a good mother over putting any real effort into figuring out what Mike needs: reassurance that he and his flock of outcast friends will be safe if he's open with her.

The key thing Jonathan gets right is to understand his brother well enough to directly address the underlying fear that's been preventing Will from opening up:

So if Ted's sole contribution to Mike's queer arc ends up being a reveal that he's always known and been too cool to blab to anyone, but also that he did nothing about it other than to smugly wait for Mike to come out...?

...I just think that would feel more tragic than funny.

[alessiamalfoyzabini]

Moondir - 01

Pairing | moondir!OT7 x human!Reader

Word Count | 5,6k

Warnings | +18, angst, dirty and crude language, references to mass extermination, MC is forced to have a gynecological examination, discomfort and humiliation, references to future forced impregnation practices, MC is evaluated as if she were an animal, this is not for minors.

This fanfiction is dark and yandere, if you don't like the genre, don't read and if you are not of age, don't read.

I don't want to hear any complaints in the comments, thank you.

This does not reflect my way of thinking or living at all, it is just a work of fiction, it is like watching a horror movie, many of us love horror movies, but we would never dream of what we see in those movies happening in reality as well.

Simply put, this story was written for entertainment purposes, it should not be seen as a reflection of my values, opinions or morals. I absolutely do not condone such acts.

⤷ Summary | The Moondir, born of the Moon Goddess' love for a wolf, were persecuted and enslaved by humans for merely existing. Moondirian women have been captured and killed in the most heinous ways, men have instead been forced to do dangerous work in place of the humans themselves, and after more than a century, this has virtually brought their race to the brink of extinction. A group of Moondirian rebels have succeeded in their quest to regain their freedom, and not without the use of the crudest violence. Their females are now gone, and it will be human women who will help them repopulate the world.

➢ Author's Note | Hi, guys! 🥰 Here I am back with the story I had announced a few days ago, it will be divided into chapters, be sure to always read the warnings in each chapter! I'm very excited because I've been thinking about this storyline for a while and I really hope to do a good job 🤧 Let me know what you think, I love you ❤️

Taglist is open: @katherine-kookie - @btsuga-d - @pantara - @angelicsmilesworld - @lennieharper - @takemeaway5402 - @jiminismine4ever - @m00njinnie - @ke1k029 - @velvet-stardust2002 - @darkuni63 - @douknowbts - @aiiselle90210 - @fewercascade - @mageprincess7 - @get-that-brain-working - @whipwhoops - @dragons-flare - @seokjins-luigi - @pjmsneverland - @jimincrystal - @ajkwww - @ungodlyjoon - @hecateslittlewitchling - @namjoonsbuspass - @xicanacorpse - @btssimplove - @antisocial-mochi267 - @reallygenerouskoala - @dabishou - @themwordsblog - @deluluisme - @justanarchiveforfics - @blackberrywonie - @the-holy-hobi - @justlikecrazy - @herareila - @furioustrashlover - @mar-lo-pap - @dachshunddame - @pantaral81 - @lattejimin - @withmuchluv-tannie - @calmyourtitts7 - @plushjeno - @rafesbunniebby

Main List

Is it really so strange for you to find yourself at the feet of the man who swore to destroy your family?

Although your brother has downplayed his words over the years, you have now had the confirmation you so feared. Min Yoongi meant what he said and came back to end your existence, dressing as the icy captain of his team.

“I see you're all right,” he murmurs with a smile that does not reach his feline eyes, devoid of any human warmth. He looks down at you, imposing his presence on you, and you find yourself forced to bite your tongue not to answer him curtly. But, in fact, your silence only seems to provoke him.

One step forward from him and you find your chin clenched between two cold, ungentlemanly fingers, “I don't like this look, Y/N... I've always told you that sooner or later I'd wipe it off this pretty face,” his hot breath brushes your face, making you shiver. Mint and tobacco. A typical male smell that he didn't have the first time you met him.

You still don't respond to him, though you can't help but notice how much he has changed. The thin, shadowy young man like a ghost is gone; in his place is a hard, unreadable man. His high-quality jacket sparkles with prestigious medals and accolades, his tight pants highlight the sinuous lines of his athletic legs, and his solid leather boots shake the floor with every imposing step he takes.

You in comparison are just a little mouse who should beg that man.

“Will you die quietly, Y/N?” a question asked in a distant, mean tone. As if he hasn't known you for a lifetime.

You tighten your lips, releasing yourself from his grip angrily before spitting a stream of saliva straight into his face. Some soldiers remain impassive, others widen their eyes, stunned by your audacity or perhaps your death wish, but Yoongi remains perfectly calm and, with one hand wrapped in a dark glove, picks up the trail of saliva slowly creeping down his snow-white cheek.

“Interesting... proud to the end,” he murmurs with an amused grin, his eyes twinkling with interest as they return to scratch your fragile skin, “Yes... pride is a trait I've always detested about you,” he admits, using the same hand with which he picked up your saliva to nod to his men. Suddenly two of them grab you by the arms impetuously, holding you down for their captain.

Your heart speeds up and you can feel the dull thump pushing against your eardrums. A shameful fear grips your stomach as you see him approach further. He slowly kneels in front of you once more to whisper in your ear, undisturbed.

“The women of my race were just like you; beautiful, proud and fierce,” he begins, using a tone so sweet it makes you shiver.

His race. Moondir.

Neither beasts nor humans. Born from the union of the Moon Goddess with one of her strongest wolves.

Creatures born specifically to strike terror among the humans, great enemies of the Goddess, who, however, sought and found a way to enslave the Moondirians and succeeded. But after a century of mistreatment and starvation, the Moondirians have managed to rebel against the dictatorship, saying no more to those chains made of abuse and suffering, succeeding in setting up a rebel group worthy of opposing human power.

Now they have taken control of every country and rule with ferocity, taking revenge not only for the mistreatment they suffered but also for the extinction of their women.

The Moondirians have been forbidden to procreate, and to be safe, every female of their species has been killed.

Guilt compresses your chest when you think that none of those women were given a dignified or quick death, even more so when you remember that your father and brother willingly took part in that carnage.

Yoongi squares you with a new ferocity in his gaze, “Can someone remind me what human practice was when one of our women was captured?”

A faint frantic murmur rises from the soldiers, observing you in turn with disgust.

Another man approaches you, with a cadenced, light step; he is as tall as Yoongi and wears, along with the typical uniform, a stiff, black cap with silver embroidery that lets you know he is a lieutenant. His plump, soft lips are tight in a severe, irritated line, distorting his real beauty.

“When a Moondir woman was captured, they would rob her of all her possessions, proceed with forced undressing, and after a whole series of shameful abuses designed only to humiliate her, they would end the practice with a bullet in the head, if they felt generous enough that day to let her die right away.”

Yoongi nods in his colleague's direction, “What do you want me to do in this case, Jimin?”

Your heart leaps into your throat, peering into this man's furious amber eyes you can already get a taste of what will happen to you. But why is Yoongi leaving the choice to someone else?

“We are not inferior to humans, we should show them that we are capable of worse,” he barely manages to hold back a snarl that makes your skin crawl.

You will die. Like your brother, like your father, like your mother. There is no way they will leave you alive, and perhaps that is the best thing that could happen to save at least some of your dignity.

The Moondirian - Jimin - finally turns to his superior, “But without killing her of course, we need her.”

Suddenly the world comes crashing down on you. What does he mean by “we need her”?

Yoongi's icy bearing begins to chill even your bones, his satisfied grin makes you nauseous.

“What are you going to do?” opening your mouth to give breath to your fears costs you quite a bit of effort, the acid in your stomach begins to churn, clamoring to rise back up into your esophagus.

“We have no more women, Y/N,” he says softly, “You will be one of the many other humans who will help us become what we once were, which is a great and powerful people.”

Some sneer among the soldiers, others turn away to let Jimin, who no longer seems interested in your fate, pass by.

“Will you kill men and use women to bring others of your kind into the world?” at your choked question, Yoongi returns closer.

“Have you regained the use of speech, darling?” you shush immediately, shuddering at the feel of his palm brushing your face, “That's it, good girl,” he murmurs before moving closer to your ear again, “We've already killed most of the men, we'll kill the others we flush out of their shit holes, and as for the women... we're already having a great time fucking them like whores.”

A knot in your throat prevents you from swallowing the tears you are trying so bitterly to hold back, “You're a bastard,” you hiss in his direction, making him burst out laughing.

“And you will soon be a whore with your thighs open and your lap always full of cum, just like all the others.”

Your stomach churns with disgust and you eventually vomit, even putting your soul back in.

Contrary to what Yoongi said, you are not thrown into a cell to suffer the pains of hell, at least not right away.

You are forcibly yanked out of your home by a pair of snarling soldiers, you turn to gaze with tears in your eyes at those old walls that saw you come into the world and grow up. You have nothing left in there now. Your family was never rich, what your father and brother did was for the good of all, but you cannot deny the satisfaction in their faces every time they completed a mission.

The punishment for their sins affected you, too, because you grew up on money made from the skin of many other people.

“Get in, woman,” a soldier rudely shoves you into a military truck, you are practically surrounded by men more like beasts, and a ridiculous squeak escapes your lips as a disgusting taste makes you curl them, it was not a good idea to vomit.

You observe their uniforms and the weapons they hold against their well-placed bodies. You recognize everything, even the men in your family wore those uniforms, the Moondirians took and looted, now possessing what once belonged to humans.

“Where are you taking me?” you ask, trying not to let your voice tremble, and almost no one pays attention to you. Only one turns toward you, reserving a wicked grin.

“Trust me, human,” he chuckles, “You don't want to know.”

Discouragement assails you and you pay attention to the night landscape you see out the window, or at least what allows you to see the large bulk of the soldier standing in front of you with crossed arms.

“Don't ask too many questions,” he grunts, nailing you with an ugly glare, “The stench of your fear is making me nauseous.”

If possible, those words agitate you more; your father had told you about this ability of theirs, but you never really believed it. Other than Yoongi, you never saw a Moondirian in your life, and Yoongi was anything but sociable. He worked in your father's place, and as absurd as it sounds, even the poorest family was entitled to own at least one Moondir wolf. It was just one more way to humiliate them, but you child could hardly have known that. To you he was simply a sullen boy of few words, someone your brother had taught you to ignore for everyone's sake.

When Yoongi managed to escape, your brother and father-although concerned- scoffed at his words of vengeance, words that stuck with you for a good ten years, more than enough time for the Moondirians to create riots, revolts, murders and conquer all there was to conquer.

Mankind, from the height of its arrogance, believed it had everything under control, until little by little the throats of all the most important Leaders were cut, throwing the world into a black crisis from which it was then impossible to recover.

“Hey, human,” grunted another, “We're here, come on down.”

With trembling legs, you are dragged listlessly inside an old building that you recognize as a long unused hospital, inside-despite the long years of neglect-there is still the pungent smell of disinfectant and the neon lights work quite well. Inside, it has been kept clean and tidy, although employees at the front desk are missing and the main entrance is virtually deserted except for a few soldiers posted on guard duty.

The firm grip on your arm is painful, but you dare not say anything to the wolf who is escorting you. Rather you are terrified, wandering with spirited eyes from corridor to corridor, watching the hospital signs without really seeing them. You hate hospitals, you hate everything about them, and you don't understand why they brought you here.

A desperate wail escapes your lips as the wolf stops in front of a metal door with an opaque glass porthole.

"Straighten your feet, you fool! You look like a damn-"

“Hold your tongue, soldier,” the metal door slowly swings open, two blue eyes rimmed with long, thick lashes stab at you from all sides, while in response that soldier stiffens, “We need cooperation, if you treat her that way you will make my job more complicated.”

The man who opened the door is continuing to talk to the wolf at your side, but he does not look away from yours, he is firm and stern, making you petrify on the spot.

It is not just embarrassment or fear what you feel, it is something more visceral, a disarming awareness. Those blue eyes are laden with promises the man has every intention of keeping, a threat whispered gently, your heart beating so hard and so fast you don't question that he is listening with rapt attention.

Then, as if your gazes hadn't just nailed each other, he waves you in.

You try to put one foot in front of the other, aware that you have no escape route in that place, and when the soldier begins to follow you as well, a low growl of warning makes the hair on your neck stand up. But the warning is not for you, it is for that wolf who instantly freezes.

You don't know who this man is, but he must be someone with a lot of power, because up until a few moments ago that soldier was playing up, while now he looks more like a dog on a leash.

Making yourself as small as you can, you walk uncomfortably into the medium-sized room, eyeing the clean linoleum floor, then the light green walls with a few medical posters posted, finally the desk filled with papers and files locked in large binders.

“Have a seat,” the man says, pointing to an examination couch that makes you shudder. You search your eyes for medical instruments such as needles, gauze and who knows what else, but beyond the smell of disinfectant you see nothing else.

As if he has read your mind, the man gives you a sarcastic smile and it is as if a veil is lifted from your eyes, making you see past his blue ones. The first thing that strikes you are the full lips bent in that mischievous smile, the shape of the cupid's bow is enchanting, and smooth black hair manages to graze the base of his neck, while his bangs almost cover the well-defined line of his elegant eyebrows.

“Do you fear medical equipment?”

You tighten your lips at that blatant tease, feeling mixed emotions. You can't even remember the last time you've been to a doctor; you don't even know if this man is one.

“Are you a doctor?” you ask abruptly, almost as an accusation.

“Sort of, yes - not the way you humans understand it, though,” he replies with a shrug, shrugging off the partition to pull out a wheeled cart where medical tools are stored. You pale when you notice a speculum.

You take a quick step backward, toward the door, with every intention of escaping, and the man quickly turns to stare at you with slightly dilated pupils, no need for him to growl to freeze you once more where you are, “No risky moves, human,” he warns you in a deeper voice, “I'm still a wolf,” he hisses, gritting his teeth hard. Then you see it, a deep scar around his neck, which only moments before was covered by the tips of his hair and the collar of his lab coat.

“I don't want to be touched by you,” you murmur, terrified. You've always refused to face a gynecological examination, but you know what a speculum is for and you're uncomfortable with even the thought of him...!

You shake your head, but the man is not intimidated by your statement.

“It's going to happen what needs to happen, girl,” he replies, disinfecting his hands and putting on sterile gloves, “Now lie down on the table, after the examination we'll talk a bit so I can register you in the system.”

You didn't understand half a word he just told you, but his voice is enough to convince you not to take any steps.

The man snorts slightly, bowing his head and squinting his unusually blue-colored eyes.

“You should listen to me, I'm not going to hurt you... I'll probably also be the only man who will touch you gently enough not to make you cry” his words hit you like a violent slap, a knot tightens your throat and suddenly your eyes fill with tears.

“I didn't do anything wrong, I don't deserve such treatment,” you murmur swallowing the pain, the man stares at you with an impassive expression.

“Many of us have said the same thing, yet humans still played God by hunting us down, killing us and enslaving us” his harsh words make you realize that he will not listen to you, he may speak to you with an unusual calm, but the hatred is always there, ready to burn you, making you guilty of actions you never committed. Violence only breeds more violence.

“What will really happen to me?” you ask fearing your fate.

"If I deem you eligible, you will be escorted to one of our procreation centers, our staff will complete your genetic tests, and you will be assigned to the right males."

You will be raped, and not just by one man, but by many.

“Like a beast,” you blurt out angrily, incredulous and disgusted. Yoongi did not lie.

“Yeah, like a beast,” nods the man, “But you always have a choice: Are you going to lie down on that exam table, allowing me to figure out if and how healthy you are, in the most humane of ways, or do you want those soldiers to take you one at a time - or even more together - so that you remain pregnant in the most inhumane of ways?”

A shiver of terror squeezes your gut, making you want to vomit again.

Silently and with a lost look you begin to take off your shoes, “Wise decision,” he nods, beginning to arrange a gray monitor, “You can leave your underwear on, if it will appease you.”

You swallow bitter tears with each layer of clothing that leaves you, you feel humiliated as it is, but what other choice do you have?

When only your bra and peach-colored cotton panties remain on you, you slowly reach for the exam table and being very careful not to brush against the man who is now waiting for you sitting on a wheeled stool, you lie down with an insane urge to cover yourself from head to toe.

With a satisfied murmur he picks up a bottle, spreading clear gel on your lower abdomen, the icy sensation of the gel giving you chills, making you wince.

“What's your name?” the doctor asks, focused on the monitor-apparently able to read the strange shapes that appear between the grayscale image as he slowly moves the probe across the area of your abdomen. He pushes the probe across your skin for greater visibility and you stiffly murmur your full name

“My name is Kim Seokjin, and if you come back into the program, I will follow you as a doctor for a long time,” he replies, pushing the probe toward your lower abdomen, “Lower your slip a little.”

The request fills you with discomfort, but you do as he tells you, the fabric drops a little more with a slight rustle, and the probe reaches down to touch your pubis. You remain rigid as a statue, scrutinizing Seokjin's expression, but never once has the man looked at you with strange, slimy eyes. He is absolutely professional as he creates freeze-frames, occasionally asking you to take deep breaths and other times to remain totally still.

“Good, now place your legs in the stirrups, I will proceed with an internal examination.”

You widen your eyes, staring at him pitifully, “D-Do I have to?” you hate yourself for the tiny, terrified tone you used, but fear and shame are eating you alive.

The man - Seokjin - freezes for a moment, staring at you with a strange shadow in his blue eyes.

Finally, he sighs, “When was your last period?”

You think for a while before answering, "I think -- about two weeks ago? I guess have a regular period...?" you answer a little unsure, you haven't exactly kept track, because...

“Have you had sexual intercourse recently?”

At her question your skin heats up, turning redder than a tomato, “I-I... no, I mean... I haven't had any, ever” you bite your lips in embarrassment. You know very well that at your age it's strange. Your father always complained that at over 20 years old you were still not married, but it simply didn't happen, you never forced yourself to do anything, although there was no shortage of opportunities.

Seokjin's eyes shine for a single moment, but it is enough for you to catch his amusement.

"Basically I have no reason to proceed internally, but I still ask you to let me continue with my examination, I will only touch you superficially, I will go no further. Is that enough of a compromise for you?" you breathe shakily, nodding slowly.

You slip off your briefs and with a courage you don't feel you have position your legs on the stirrups, spreading them apart. Your heart pounding in your ears as you wait for the exam to end, you stiffen when the man touches your intimate area, going so far as to do something you've never allowed anyone else to do.

“What are you-” the words die in your throat, you feel the sensation of latex gloves against the entrance to your vagina, and two fingers checking its elasticity and shape. Your stomach clenches in raw shame, but you remain still, acknowledging the gentle, shallow touch, just as he promised.

“Right now I am checking the appearance of your vulva and the general elasticity of your entrance, to make sure there is no redness or sores, but everything seems to be okay,” he announces as he walks away, “You may wear your panties again, but remain lying down,” he announces, leaving you confused.

If the exam is over, why would you stay lying down? A wave of panic turns you pale; it is so intense that Seokjin turns in your direction with a stern look.

“Your smell is steeped in fear, woman,” he scolds you, tossing the latex gloves into the bin next to the monitor, then handing you some Kleenex to remove traces of gel, “If I wanted to do anything to you, believe me, I would have done it by now.”

You swallow before nodding, accepting the Kleenex and lying back down.

“Now I'm going to check the general state of your body,” he informs you as he returns to your side, in awe you watch as his hand rests on the soft skin of your abdomen, claws you didn't notice before glisten under the neon light of the room, but the touch is so gentle that the claws don't even reach out to touch you. The Moondirian's blue eyes slowly clear as a gentle tingle invades your body. The sensation reminds you of a lover's lips lightly brushing kisses against your skin, causing delicious shivers throughout your body, you find it quite natural to close your eyes, relaxing against your gloomiest expectation.

Seokjin continues his examination minutely, your blood flowing like peaceful waves inside your body, with the palm of his hand he moves closer to your chest, until he touches the curve of your breasts covered by the cotton bra. Although he has reiterated that he has no strange intentions, the sensual movement of his hand along your most sensitive skin makes your throat contract, a movement that immediately attracts his attention.

He thus begins to murmur something in a language unfamiliar to you, a song as sweet as a bird's song. You feel welcomed into a big hug and find yourself instinctively sighing, your heartbeat finally beginning to calm.

After another two minutes, the words stop and the warmth of his hand leaves your body, rousing you from that brief respite.

“You have excellent blood circulation and your vital organs are healthy, you are healthy,” he announces, “Now you can get dressed.”

You blink quickly, still with a foggy and confused mind about what exactly he did, "What happened? I felt strange," you whisper more to yourself.

“Do you know what the people of Moondir are like, Y/N?” he asks you, sitting down at his desk as you quickly get dressed, shake your head in denial, and Seokjin crosses his arms.

"We came into the world through a Goddess; our father was a wolf. We are connected to nature in more ways than one, and every Moondirian is born with the ability to rule an element. My element is Water, and with it I can control any kind of fluid, including blood, and through blood I listened to your body," he explains as if it were something very easy to understand even for someone like you.

When you sit in front of the Moondirian doctor, you can't help but ask, “Why are you so kind to me?”

His pointed smile leaves you breathless, and not positively.

“I know what you're up against, that's all,” he replies, igniting a flame inside.

"Are you doing this out of pity? I don't need it!" you growl, trying to retain some dignity, but Seokjin shakes his head.

“You are more stubborn than a puppy,” he sneers, before lowering the collar of his lab coat, finally allowing you to see the scar around his otherwise pale, sculptural neck. The mark is deep, but it is so old that it has lost the bright color of blood, blending in with the rest of the skin, “Do you know what this is instead?” he asks you.

You don't know exactly why such a devilry had been invented, but you remember that Yoongi, when he still worked for your father, always wore a thick electrified collar. The memory sends shivers down your spine, because you witnessed what that terrible object could do-it took at least a whole day for Yoongi to recover from those horrible shocks.

When you don't answer, Seokjin chuckles, “Of course you know, I can tell from your smell that you are aware of it, but maybe you don't know the reason behind its use.”

“Was it to punish you?” you ask, but the man shakes his head.

"Worse, it was suppressing our sexual instincts. “ he reveals with gravity, ”They exterminated our women to prevent us from procreating, and to prevent us men from feeling desire they designed a contraption as small as it is powerful and useful for their purposes.“ in his blue eyes you see a shadow drop, and when he resumes looking at you, there is no amusement, ”Out there you will find many of my kind who will not mind taking you by force, they have endured over a century of sexual deprivation, there is no one left to keep them on a leash, Y/N."

The world seems to be collapsing on you, you know the people of Moondir are not human, you know they are part wolf - beast - so you also have reason to think that you will be dealing with unscrupulous men, “Will I die like this?” you whisper with trembling lips, unable to believe that such a thing is happening to you of all people.

"No, you will not die. You are healthy and your body is mature, you are perfectly eligible for this task, and you will be cared for by experts at the procreation center, every kind of relationship will be followed, documented, and if there is a need, someone will step in to rescue you."

“That doesn't me-” but whatever you would like to say is interrupted by another man who opens the door wide without knocking.

You petrify like a marble statue, returning alert and anxious, how long has it been since the visit began, an hour? More?

He entered as if there was no one inside the room, if you hadn't dressed in time would he have had the horrible opportunity to look at you?

“You're early,” Seokjin does not seem pleased with the newcomer, who does nothing to apologize.

“You took too long this time, and I was wondering if you finally gave in to your instincts,” shrugs the other. He is a perfectly fit Moondirian specimen, his clothing similar to that of Yoongi and Jimin except for the camouflage color.

His deep green eyes nail you to your chair with vivid, eerie interest, his brown hair pulled back allowing you to peer into his face without any problem. His elegant features almost hide the madness behind those cheerfully cunning eyes. He reminds you more of a fox than a wolf.

"Stop it, Hoseok. I'm working," the other picks him up harshly, beginning to sign and stamp papers with a strange red, pungent-smelling substance.

"Oh, yeah? And here I thought you were examining these women for another reason,” he laughs lightly, approaching you with an all too confident stride, “One that involves very little words and more the body."

You move imperceptibly away from him, your survival instinct is warning you this Moondirian is different from Seokjin. Definitely. He seems more dangerous, more driven by his baser instincts.

“You're rambling, as usual” Seokjin unceremoniously hands over a freshly compiled file of documents, “She's eligible, don't damage her” Hoseok's smile turns meaner as he teams you from head to toe.

Then he takes a long breath, appreciating something, “I can't smell that other weird gel you use when you dilate them, you haven't examined her inside and it only means one thing,” he sneers alluringly, Seokjin's blue eyes light up with irritation.

“It means you won't touch her, she'll get safely to the center and you'll stay away from her after that, got it?” he asks with a certain amount of patience.

There is something unspoken in the air, you speculate that this Hoseok did something to one of the women and that Seokjin was not particularly happy about it.

“A hundred years of abstinence and you're acting like you're not feeling the effects, they fried your brain in that shithole and now you don't work anymore?” but the wolf's clear provocation - Hoseok - falls on deaf ears, Seokjin's attention is back on you, watching them both wordlessly.

A hundred years?

Can a Moondirian really live that long? That would explain Yoongi's youthful appearance. Aside from his more trained muscles, he hasn't changed a bit.

“Hoseok will take you to the nearest procreation center, he will see to it that you arrive safely, no matter how unreliable he may seem, I can assure you that with him by your side, no one will dare touch you with ill intentions.”

You nod as if intoxicated, casting a nervous glance at the man with the incredible green eyes. As unbelievable as they are disturbing.

“Yes, little flower ... you won't have to fear any one except me.”

‘You filthy bastard, try touching me and you will find that you are not the only one who can bite.’

Keep that furious thought to yourself, tightening your arms around your body protectively.

“One more thing,” Seokjin resumes, blatantly ignoring his colleague's response, “As I told you at the beginning of the visit, no rough movements, they excite us more than you think,” the doctor's warning hovers in the air like a gunshot, and you don't know if you will end that long day with all your limbs in place.

You leave the hospital with a weight in your chest; you are eligible.

Before you left, you asked Seokjin one last question, you asked him what would happen to you if he didn't find you eligible for their new repopulation plan, the doctor's glazed look was more than enough of an answer, then had come Hoseok's whisper at your side, amused.

«In that case I would have taken care of it, little flower.»

In a sports sedan that attracts far too much attention, you observe Hoseok, who drives in a relaxed and cheerful manner. As if he were a normal civilian and not a Moondirian trained to kill.

The profile sculpted with an almost aristocratic grace unnerves you. He is an animal of the worst kind, not deserving of that beauty, much less all that freedom.

“If you keep staring at me like that you're in danger of wearing me out, little flower,” you gasp, taken aback and appalled by the pointed smile he turns on you, “But I can give you a picture of me if you like me so much.”

In response you avert your eyes, pointing them to the clean but unusually empty streets. The razing has stripped the city of its soul, the once colorful and brightly lit stores are closed and empty, others have broken windows with obvious signs of struggle.

A frightening thought begins to creep into your fragile mind.

“You have killed the men and are using the women for your own purposes, but what about the children?” you ask in a hoarse whisper, your eyes lost in nothingness.

Hoseok snorts slightly through his nose, turning onto a highway.

“We are not so cruel, little flower,” he says almost bored, "Children have purer and more elastic minds. They have learned to fear us because of you adults, now they will learn to live with us, nowadays it's called a ‘reset’."

Children are not to blame, he does not say but that is what his words imply and you sighs relieved. Apparently, Moondirians have animal instincts in every respect, just as they love to hunt their prey when they run away, they also tend to take care of cubs, regardless of species.

“Don't be so relieved, woman,” his sharp teeth gleam under the flickering light of the road lights, “I would think more of myself than of others if I were you.” There is something true in his words, you can feel it in the way he utters them. Hoseok must have gone through hell, and you are sure he will put you through it too. Like a personal gain.

[earthsparked]

You really didn’t expect that when you went to work this morning, before your second cup of coffee you’d be pinned against the remnants of a broken brick wall, sheltering under the unnaturally shiny armor of some giant fucking PacRim jaeger as explosions whump and boom around you.

Your ears feel strange and dull, like they’ve been stuffed with cotton. You’re half blinded by the clouds of dust swirling in the air that keep catching in your throat, choking you and making it impossible to catch more than glimpses of the battle going on around you. Flashes of hot summer sunlight glinting on metal monsters. You can vaguely hear gravel growls and shouts from mechanical throats as giant robots try to kill each other for god knows what reason. With you and the other humans in your tiny, rural town caught in the middle.

And you are indeed caught. You’d been staring at the giants, confused as to how you’d ended up lying in the street with sirens going off all around you. Then a voice like a mountain rumbled something you were too rattled to catch. Hard, metallic hands padded with something like thick rubber - bigger than your entire body - swooped on you, and scooped you up like a wayward kitten. You gasped more than screamed, black spots peppering your vision as you fumbled for something to hold onto. The metal under your hands was warm and had an inexplicably shiny finish, like the giant alien robot had a thing for detailing. A thought so inane that the one that follows it is, oh. I’m in shock.

It had pressed you into the lee of what used to be the back wall of the old bank. Then it had parked itself over you, towering and terrifying, kneeling so you were squeezed into the space between it and the wall. It wasn’t looking at you now, its giant gun - fuck, that thing’s practically a cannon - balanced on the edge of the broken wall. It fired irregularly, its electric blue eyes shining pale as it tracked the movements around you. Hopefully with better accuracy than you can manage.

You’re so close to it you can feel hot air rushing from vents, mechanical systems whirring in a strange symphony of what feels nearly organic. Alive. It’s like being too close to a skyscraper to see the top, but feeling its enormity all the same in every nerve ending. You can’t stop flinching at every move it makes, certain it’s going to crush you by accident or by design, any second now. The sense of imminent danger is inescapable. Some part of you has already given yourself up for dead. There are other people out there, lying still, tangled in rubble. You are going to join them any second.

You’re shaking uncontrollably. There’s blood on your shirt, and you don’t remember how it got there, much less whether it’s yours or not. Adrenaline numbs you too much to feel any pain, for now. Later, you’re not going to remember a lot about these terrifying moments at all - shock mercifully shielding you from some of the trauma while you recover. You fumble in your pockets for your phone, feel a surge of hope as your fingers close around it. Hope that’s immediately dashed when you realize the screen has been smashed to oblivion, dark and useless.

The one thing that somehow cuts through the chaos is that rumbling voice, the vocalization moving through you as much as through the air. It takes your jumbled mind and senses a beat to grasp that this giant robot is speaking words you can understand.

That was incredibly stupid, it says, electric gaze peering down at you with an eerily human curiosity. It’s strangely disarming; typically, skyscrapers don’t come with curiosity. Or the mild frustration that you could swear you hear from it. Why were you just lying there in the street, waiting to get stepped on? Are you damaged?

You definitely are, but you don’t know how to explain. You can’t get your words to work. Every bit of your nervous system is in a full-on meltdown trying to keep you alive. You settle for nodding, in hopes that translates to a “yes.”

The robot’s face, makes a face. You read it as alarm.

Slag, don’t tell me you’re going to crash. The Prime was very clear we’re not to let any of you get hurt. It exhales ferociously and makes a noise not unlike a laugh. That energon’s already out of the cube, I see. But don’t offline, all right? It’s my first cycle on your planet, and The Hatchet said he’d turn me into a …actually, maybe you can tell me. What in the Pit is a lawnmower?

You are having a conversation with a giant robot who is holding a gun that looks like it could put a hole through the moon. Who doesn’t know what a lawnmower is, and yet has been threatened by someone named The Hatchet with being turned into one.

You begin to entertain the possibility you are hallucinating.

It pauses to fire off two shots at something big that wanders too close in the smoke of the battle. You grab your head, duck-and-covering like you were taught in tornado drills all those years ago in school. Something makes a terrible mechanical groaning, and the ground shakes as something huge crashes onto it, making the dust swirl. You’re pretty sure now some of it is smoke, but you’re not sure what’s on fire.

Oho, he’s gonna be feeling that in the morning, the robot crows. Fragging ‘cons. They gotta be getting desperate to go after an energon deposit in an inhabited area. Or maybe that’s not what they’re after. Don’t suppose you know of any secrets this town of yours is hiding, huh?

S-secrets? I, I don’t know. The water tastes weird sometimes? That poultry company didn’t clean out the chicken houses on route six all winter, and then in spring there were rats everywhere…

Each word is breathless like you’ve been running a marathon. You can just about feel the weight of its attention shift back to you where you’re hyperventilating. There’s a change in it suddenly, as the hand that had been squeezing the trigger on that cannon reaches down. You flinch as it brushes tentatively along your spine, but the metal creature does it again, more firmly, when you don’t try and move away. It’s very nearly comforting, the contact and pressure, and you can’t help but lean into the touch.

Its voice gentles. First time almost dying, sparklet? Don’t worry, you’re gonna be -

You don’t find out what you were gonna be, because in a roar of unearthly engines and a flash of sun on metal, something huge lunges out of the smoke and dust. Your cry of alarm is drowned out in the apocalyptic clang of an even bigger, scarier-looking robot launching itself onto the one that had been sheltering you.

The one standing over you makes some harsh buzzing noises that you can almost understand as foul cursing, and then the two robots are tumbling away into the next building over. No skyscrapers in your little town - just a two-story insurance company that goes down like a toddler stomping through a play-block castle. You hear human screams that you’re pretty sure aren’t yours.

They’re fighting hand-to-hand, and as you make yourself as small as possible against the brick wall, you feel something hot soaking through your clothes. You pry a trembling hand away from your head and swipe at it, staring in incomprehension when it’s not blood, but something bright pink and smelling of ozone and something far, far stranger. It tingles in a weird way. On your skin, and under it. You try and wipe it off, but there’s nowhere on your clothes that isn’t already wet with fluids or covered in dust.

The ground shakes. More explosions. You contemplate making a run for it, but - where? In what direction? You can hardly see, you could get stepped on in a heartbeat, or be crushed under rubble.

You look up and in a brief burst of inspiration, see a glimpse of the town’s water tower in the distance. The pale blue-painted structure is tall enough that it rises above the chaos of battle, still standing. For now. A landmark to aim for? It’s on the edge of town, and from there you could hit the woods and hide deep in the trees. Even a giant robot would have trouble getting to you through the underbrush on the nature conservation land, with its barely-there footpaths accessible only by bicycle, foot, or horseback.

You glance in the direction the friendly robot had gone, feeling a sudden twinge of guilt for even thinking of leaving it behind. Of leaving the other humans behind.

But what could you do? No, you could - you could get to the fire tower. It’s occupied this time of year, and there’s a radio system there. It connects to the forest service, who surely can get in touch with people who can do more good here than you.

But the robot…you shake your head. What could you possibly do for it? Distract it more from the fight so it gets -

You’re not sure how to finish that thought because “killed” means that thing has registered to you as alive in the first place, and that’s several magnitudes of comprehension above what you’re capable of right now. Gahdammit, you hear in your beloved grandfather’s voice. you hadn’t even finished your fucking coffee.

Then something in front of you explodes, flames licking hot over your shelter, which suddenly doesn’t seem very sheltering at all. Get to the landmark to escape the fighting. Get to the forest. Get to the fire tower. Call for help. A plan, in theory.

You stagger to your feet, and with an eye to the water tower - you run for your fucking life.

This has a part 2 now

[whambamsami]

smile, you're on camera!

summary: you accidentally find out what neighbor!bucky really does for work. and he's more than interested to show you how professional he can be.

note: trying to work a bit more on my dialogue! definitely a bit out of my comfort zone haha but trying new things! this is also not proof read at all lol so it fully might be rlly jumbled and rambly but its 3am soooo

warnings: 18+, a little bit of language and the tiniest sliver of smut!

It really wasn’t your intention to find out what Bucky Barnes did for work. 

He was always kind, even friendly at times, and an overall good neighbor. Always lent you sugar when you needed some for any baked goods you’d make (in exchange for a bite, of course). Changed your oil for free when your car was giving you trouble. You’d shared a few movie nights, and he always made the popcorn with extra butter, just how you like it. Even let you crash on his couch when the power went out. 

That’s where you accidentally stumbled across his… equipment.

He had told you that he kept extra candles in a bottom drawer in his bathroom. He didn’t specify which, so you tried the left side.

And there they were.

Cock rings, vibrators, handcuffs. Things you didn’t even know the names of, but you were clever enough to infer. A whole rainbow of sexual depravity.

Certainly no candles. 

A gasp had left your mouth before you could stop it, drawing his attention. 

“What is it?” 

“I- nothing!” you replied, admittedly a bit too quickly, slamming the drawer back into place and scrambling to grab the candles from the correct drawer on the right side, hurrying back into the living room before he suspects anything. 

It’s not like you were snooping. It was his fault, really, for being so loose with his instructions. He should have been more specific.

“Found them!” you said, a bit breathless, thankful that the darkness of his apartment cloaked the rosiness that was blooming in your cheeks. 

You could only see his tall, broad silhouette, and you could see his head tilt a bit to the left. You imagined he was looking at you skeptically, but decided not to push it. 

In actuality, he was getting a better look at you. Smirking knowingly. 

Like a wild animal who had just trapped its prey. 

Once the candles were lit, he pulled out his projector you’d grown all too familiar with from your movie nights. Lucky for you two, it was battery-powered.

“You’re a genius!” you exclaim.

He grins. “Horror or rom-com?”

“Oh, rom-com, please. You can’t put me through a horror movie when the power’s out.”

“Aw, I was just trying to get you to cling to me when you get scared! We have to conserve body heat in these kinds of dangerous events, don’t we?” 

And despite his usual flirty demeanor, you let yourself imagine that he snuck a glimpse at your lips in the dark.

The candlelight was playing tricks on you, surely.

Always a great host, he made sure to remind you, “If you need anything, and I mean anything, I’m sleeping one door away, ok?”

You barely slept a wink that night, your mind plagued with questions of what he does with those toys. 

Of how he might use them on you.

A week goes by, and you’ve spiraled a bit. You haven’t seen Bucky since you spent the night on his couch, which was a bit of a relief, and you’d honestly been actively putting a bit of space between you two. But your apartment complex wasn’t all that large, and it was only a matter of time before you were waiting on the elevator to head up to your floor when a familiar vibranium hand stopped the doors from closing. 

Bucky’s large frame slid into the elevator, offering a warm smile and nod. 

“Hey. Think you might know what floor I need.”

You laugh lightly when you hit the button, doing your best to ignore the fact that his cologne in the tight space was starting to become really overwhelming. God, you just wanted to bury your face in his chest and breathe him in while he-

“Oh, forgot to ask- do you have a lighter I could borrow for tonight? It’s for a work thing” he asks as the doors to the elevator open and the two of you head to your adjacent apartments. 

“Oh, yeah, I can drop it off in 5?”

“Perfect! You’re the best.”

You close the door to your apartment, finally feeling like you can breathe again, before rummaging through one of your junk drawers. Where’d you put your lighter again? 

When you find it in your bathroom by a scented candle, your mind started to wander a bit. 

A lighter? For work? 

You’ve never really talked about work. You always assumed he was still doing the Avengers thing, or at least some form of government work. Hell, with his body, he could probably be a personal trainer and make more money than you could imagine.

So what did he need a lighter for?

After slipping the lighter into your pocket, you pop into Bucky’s apartment after two quick knocks.

“Bucky?” Nothing for a few beats, and his apartment wasn’t exactly huge, so he had to have heard you. Where the hell was he? “I brought the lighter, like you asked!”

“In here! He calls from his bedroom. 

…Were you supposed to go in there? 

No. Thats a bit personal.

It’s not like you’d accidentally seen his sex toy collection or anything.

No, the bedroom is too personal, you decide. 

“I’ll just leave it on your counter! Don’t want to interrupt…”

You can hear him rustling a bit behind the closed door, and it creaks open. 

Bucky, wearing an easy smile, and almost nothing else, making his way toward you.

Okay, it wasn’t like he was naked, he had on a loose-fitting pair of joggers, but this was your first time seeing Bucky shirtless, and the way his bare torso had you reacting was practically worse than if he came out totally nude. 

Tanned, broad shoulders. Those arms, thick and toned, hanging casually by his sides like they weren’t the most tempting thing you’d ever seen. Rippling muscles littered with scars of his life before, hardened by such physical work. A dusting of chest hair, and a happy trail that led your traitorous eyes down, down, down…

“Thanks again, really. My last one hasn’t worked since the power outage, and I haven’t had the chance to replenish.” 

You snapped your gaze back to his, trying desperately to fan the flames in your stomach that were making your cheeks a bit rosier than normal.

“Of course! It’s just a lighter.” You shrug, hoping that you sounded casual. 

“I did mean to ask you…” Bucky tilts his head, intrigued as to what you might be asking. “What exactly does a supersoldier need a lighter for? Does Tony Stark not have that in the budget?” You joke lightly, a mask to your genuine curiosity.

That earns you a laugh from the mountain of a man before you. 

“That’s just my day job, actually. The candle I need for the night shift.”

“...Night shift?”

“I’m in the adult industry.” He says. His voice comes out plain but his eyes scan your face, trying to guage your reaction. Like he’s secretly a bit nervous.

“...Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“So like… drugs?”

Another laugh from him.

“God, no, I work for the government! Which, believe it or not, doesn’t pay very well, so… I do a little work in the adult entertainment industry. Sometimes”

A beat passes. 

“You know…porn?” he continues, having the gall to smile. 

You go bright red. 

“Oh!” you finally manage to squeak, “that’s nice! I mean, whatever puts food on the table, right? Plus, I’m sure you have a good clientele… not because you’re hot or anything, I mean, you are hot, but I just meant being an Avenger and all-”

He’s chuckling warmly as you scramble for coherence. 

“No, I get it. It’s definitely a bit… unconventional, but I can’t deny that the pay is a large draw. Plus, it isn’t work if you’re doing what you love, right?”

Oh, now he’s trying to kill you. 

You pause a moment more. 

“...can I ask one more question? At the risk of being even more invasive?”

“Course. I’m an open book.”

You take a deep breath.

“Are you going to fuck a candle?”

That makes him burst out loud. 

“God, is that what you think I need this lighter for? No! I mostly do solos and I have a private chat room where people can request whatever depraved stuff they’d like me to do. Tonight, I had someone ask me to do some wax play. It’s not exactly something I do all the time, so…” He holds the lighter up, like it should’ve obvious what he needed it for in the first place. 

“Well, what was I supposed to think! And good, I can’t imagine that would feel amazing.” 

You both laugh a bit, and you’re silently thanking the lord that he seems to see this conversation as amusing and not incredibly intrusive of you. And that he can’t seem to tell that the fact that your hot neighbor does porn is a living fantasy for you or anyone else with a libido.

As you turn his doorhandle to leave, you pause and turn around to ask,

“...Would you fuck a candle?”

He grins and has the nerve to wink.

“For the right price.”

And you practically sprint out of there.

Later that night, curiosity got the best of you.

Well, of course it did! Your superhero neighbor-crush-thing does porn. You’re only human. 

You felt shame, hot and wretched, curl in your gut as soon as the idea crossed your mind.

But, like all bad ideas, once it dug its way into your brain, there was no stopping you until you scratched that itch. 

It was late. Really late. The glow of your phone told you it was almost 2 AM. That added to your shame a bit as you punched in Bucky’s name into your search bar, earnestly unsure of what you might find. 

You tried combinations. JamesBarnes popped up with a profile of a middle-aged dad in Minnesota. WinterSoldier came up with a ton of profiles, from fan accounts to political conspiracy theorists. The prolonged longevity of your indignity almost had you giving up, but you decided that it wasn’t wrong of you to look. It wasn’t like you were paying for an OnlyFans here, you were just looking up your neighbor’s public profile. Was that such a crime? 

Your shaky fingers typed in BuckyBarnes, and there he was. A blue checkmark perched like a medal next to his name. He was a bit famous, you supposed, so it only made sense. 

For someone with so many followers, he only had a few pictures. Some of him with Sam, and other Avengers you recognized. Some posts from him at charity galas, supporting children in underprivileged countries, veterans, and more. 

His more recent posts were definitely a bit more suggestive. His bare chest glistening after it appeared he’d finished a workout. In your apartment gym. His shorts hiked higher to display his muscular thighs. A knowing smirk for the camera, like he was smiling just for you. Some at the beach, his time in the water plastering his shorts to his skin, leaving very little to the imagination. Cheeky captions inviting an onslaught of admirers to leave comments, some suggestive, some so graphic you’re surprised they weren’t banned. @Fuckmebucky92’s remarks on his latest post of him sprawled on white linen sheets in just his boxers had even you clutching your pearls. 

A purple ring around his profile drew your attention.

He had posted a story.

Recently. From today, maybe.

It couldn’t hurt to look, you think. After all, he had so many followers that even if he did think to look to see who was viewing his story, he’d have to sort through thousands of fans before even getting close to you.

So you took a breath and tapped. 

And there he was, in the same joggers you’d seen him in earlier, smiling easily at the camera like he knew who was behind it. His metal arm glinted at the camera, and you could see he was speaking. You turned up your volume to hear his voice, deep and raspy, speak to his fans. 

“...and I’m lucky enough to have a few slots open tonight for some solo sessions, so if you’d like to get to know me a lot more personally, click the link in my bio. I can’t wait to see you soon.” and he winks cheekily at the camera, just like he did earlier. 

You almost throw your phone across the room, how much he affected you. Luckily for both your phone and your insurance, you managed to just drop it on your chest and cover your face with your hands. You needed a second to catch your breath, but you felt a buzz from your phone, and when you picked it up and checked the screen, you had a DM request.

No. 

There’s literally no way.

@BuckyBarnes: Saw you viewed my story. Did my confession earlier have you feeling a little curious, doll?

You could just die right now. 

@Y/N: is this how you find your clients? hunting down people who view your public profile?

He replied almost instantly.

@BuckyBarnes: Call me an entrepreneur. And don’t pretend like you were trying to be neighborly.

God, you could practically see his smirk.

@Y/N: confident, are we? i just wanted to make sure you weren’t using my lighter for anything more inappropriate than you already planned!

@BuckyBarnes: So you weren’t the least bit interested in what you might find on my account? C’mon, I won’t tell…

You’re about to quip something back, but you see those bubbles pop back up again. 

@BuckyBarnes: If you ever want a private session, I’m right next door.

Oh, he had to be kidding.

@Y/N: …do i get a neighbor discount?

@BuckyBarnes: Hell, I’d give it to you for free. 

@Y/N: that’s high praise. 

@BuckyBarnes: Call it an ambitious marketing strategy. Maybe if you’re good, I’ll convince you to be a guest star in one of my little homemade videos…

@Y/N: you must have really liked that lighter, huh?

@BuckyBarnes: I had plenty of fun with the lighter. But if I need to hold it hostage to convince you to come over here, I’m not above that.

You roll your eyes. Ever the flirt.

@BuckyBarnes: C’mon, baby. I’ve been dying to see what makes you tick. 

Once again, Bucky Barnes was stealing precious sleep from you. 

Of course you bump into him in the elevator the next morning.

You two exchange polite nods. He stands next to you. Had he gotten taller overnight, or was his presence just more encapsulating Your plan was to keep your mouth shut, because god knows it’s been getting you in trouble lately. But of course, Bucky wasn’t having that.

“Late night?” a knowing tone in his voice. 

Great. He’s in the mood to fuck with you. 

“..a bit.” you reply cautiously. What the hell is he playing at?

“You don’t want to ask me if I got enough sleep?” and that false innocence in his voice had you more nervous than you’d like to admit.

“...Did you have a late night, Bucky?” 

“Oh, I think you know the answer to that.” he coos, leaning in just enough to be closer than usual. 

Thank god it was your floor. 

The elevator doors opened and you practically jumped out, speeding off to your apartment, praying you made it out in time before he caught a glimpse of your face.

“Offer still stands, doll.” he calls after you.

Jesus Christ.

Your phone dings seconds after you make it to your apartment. 

@BuckyBarnes: Door’s always unlocked, sweetheart. Let me show you why I’m a professional. 

And you slump to the floor.

Hours later, you finished up at the gym and took a much-needed shower. The heat that had been building between you and Bucky was enough already to warrant at least 20 minutes self-reflecting in cold water, and your attempt to sweat him out of your system had proved fruitless. 

Of course, there was always the old fashioned way to relieve a little stress.

So that’s how you ended up on your back in bed with your hand shamelessly stuffed down your panties. Your little silk slip nightdress, the black one you sleep in when it’s extra hot in your room, is bunched up around your hips as you work yourself as silently as possible, stifling your little gasps, the thought of what Bucky could do to you filling your lust-clouded mind. 

You finally found a rhythm when your phone buzzed to life. Who the hell is texting you at this hour, interrupting your extremely vital indulgence?

@BuckyBarnes: Want to know one of the many perks of being a supersoldier?

God, why now? You were so close…

@Y/N: make it quick barnes, im busy

@BuckyBarnes: Oh, I know you are. Because one of the perks of being a supersoldier is the enhanced senses.

Fuck.

@BuckyBarnes: I can hear every pretty little noise you’re trying not to make right now. I can hear your heartbeat quicken. God, doll, I can practically taste you from here.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

You would have to move apartments. Countries, maybe. 

@BuckyBarnes: Let me help you, sweet girl. I know what you need. Let me give you what you need, yeah?

@BuckyBarnes: Were you thinking about me, hmm? Trying to get me off your mind? Poor thing, you should have just asked me to help. I’m right across the hall.  

@BuckyBarnes: Let me take care of you, baby. 

[cyree]

answering the age old question of why i hate pesos mother 🤑 (this is also an excuse to yap about the great penguin race)

i made a video on this but it’ll take fifty years to upload so i’m just re typing it and i shortened the great penguin race to tgpr bc i am not typing allat 😭🙏

yes this is me losing it over fucking octonauts i am very normal about a certain episode ahah

okay so first this isn’t some random ass beef i came up with i have many reasons #d1hater

number one:

assuming you have watched tgpr then you know that peso did NOT sign up it was his mother and pinto who did.

why?? why did they have to go behind his back to do it?? why didn’t they ask peso about this??

like brother you are signing up your kid for the PENGUIN OLYMPICS and you don’t get his input?? did she just not gaf about how her son would feel about this 😭

neither pinto nor his mother gave a flying fugly fart about if peso would wanna participate which is odd considering HES THE ONE PARTICIPATING and considering this doesn’t seem like something peso would want to do.

number two:

okay so maybe i could get past that but no pinto and his mother just had to go and surprise peso with ts???

BROTHER WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN SURPRISE??? THE ONLY SURPRISE IS HOW HE DIDNT CRASH OUT PESO IS BETTER THAN ME GOODNESS GRACIOUS

so not only do they surprise him they do it HOURS before the race starts.

so pesos mother wants to send him into a race he is not prepared for, very OBVIOUSLY doesn’t want to do and that he had no say in.

not only is lil broseph going up against the REIGNING CHAMPION with little to no training but pinto and his mother want peso to win??

listen you guys i fucking love peso but he stood absolutely zero chance against hugo lets be honest

number three:

why is she going along with pintos stupid plan because this bs is a disaster waiting to happen and anyone with a working brain knows that pintos idea is astronomically stupid

now pinto has some excuse since his brain probably isn’t even halfway developed but his mum?? a grown ass woman?? how the fuck did you hear this and think “hell yeah lets do this!” like??? are you insane?? lacking braincells?? diseased?? idk anymore

number four:

okay so like i said earlier pesos mum really doesn’t seem to gaf about pesos feelings like at all and theres one scene that really pmo.

shockingly the first event goes horribly for peso since hes extremely unprepared and so he lands in that bigass pile of snow so pinto and his mum run over

and you might think “oh is she gonna comfort peso?”

no.

no comfort, no “you did great” all she says is

“peso you’ll catch a cold”

YOU LIVE IN THE SNOW?? THATS IS THE LAST THING THAT SHOULD BE ON YOUR MIND ARE YOU DUMB????????

then she says nothing else and walks away not even a “good luck” like girl do you have any sort of empathy for your kid?

number five:

ok this is more yapping about the race itself but it ties into my point.

so i cannot be the only one who thinks this race is like extremely dangerous not in the extreme sports way but in the extreme lack of safety precautions

some examples include multiple animals in the water where the swimming races take place, its because that there’s other animals that peso and hugo get stuck under the ice

now this is not me blaming pesos mother for them getting trapped because no one saw it coming but you would think shed put more thought into sending her child into the olympics yk

also there are literally predators in the water LIKE THERES AN ORCA THEY EAT PENGUINS ITS IN AN EPISODE IN ABOVE AND BEYOND RIGHT??? LIKE I SWEAR THERES ONE WHERE PESO AND PINTO ALMOST GET EATEN BY ORCAS??

heres the aforementioned orca btw

also there is ZERO first aid or rescue teams at all like if the octonauts hadn’t been there to rescue peso and hugo they likely would’ve run out of air by the time a rescue team arrived

considering they watch the race every year pesos mum had to have known this and intentionally or not she put her son in danger because of her decisions.

conclusion:

i really dislike pesos mum due to her stupid decisions she made and her frankly concerning lack of consideration for her son’s feelings. considering we never see her again. there’s no real redeeming qualities for her for me, atleast.

okay yap sesh over sorry for the wall of text i’ve been waiting to talk about this

@hers-underwraps hope you don’t mind being tagged in this you seemed like you wanted to hear abt this 🤑

ok thanks tee hee

[missbluez]

Flour,Sugar and Something more 2/5

Firefighter!König x Plus Size Reader

Ao3

Part 1

CW: Fire. Slight angst. Idiots in love

König felt like nothing could bring him down from the high he was feeling. Not even the way his colleagues relentlessly tease him on the drive back to the station.

He wasn’t expecting to see you today, but he can’t deny that it immediately cheered him up. He hadn’t been feeling great lately, especially after having to cancel on you more than once because he had to cover someone else’s shift without notice.

In the few months you have been living next door to him, he has totally and irrevocably fallen in love with you. He had been alone for so long that he had believed it was how he was supposed to live the rest of his life. 

But ever since that first day when you gave him that plate of lemon cookies, he knew that he had to get to know you. He had only planned to invite you for lunch as a thank you and a welcome, but after that, you wormed your way into his heart and life in a way that made him feel cared for and loved. Something he hadn’t felt in ages. His usually anxious mind seemed to settle whenever he was with you, which is something that has never happened to him. His dating experience was always filled with anxious thoughts and second-guessing. Not that you both were dating. But a man can dream.

They say that absence makes the heart grow fonder, and König can attest to that. In the few days he hasn’t seen you, his heart has only yearned for you. 

Every waking moment was plagued with thoughts of you, and his dreams seemed to revolve around the things he wanted but couldn’t say to you.

He knows his feelings for you aren’t platonic, but he doesn’t want to risk losing you completely, so he hasn’t said anything to you yet. But that changes after he sees you at the station.

Once the team makes it back to the station, the teasing doesn’t stop. It’s all in good fun, so König doesn’t pay much attention. He just brushes his colleagues' comments off with a slight blush. But some of the things they said made him wonder if his feelings might not be as unrequited as he thinks they are.

It’s far past midnight by the time he makes it home. His first instinct is to knock on your door, needing to see you before he goes to sleep, but he knows it’s too late and you’re probably asleep. So he just walks into his apartment feeling like he might pass out any second. Thankfully, he had taken a shower at the station, knowing he was too tired to do it once he got home.

He walks into his room, kicking his shoes off before throwing himself on the bed with a tired groan. 

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

You could barely sleep that night. Some part of you was always worried about König, considering the inherent danger of what he does. But this time, your mind was haunted by memories of that kiss. It was just a kiss on the cheek, something so simple and innocent, yet it made your entire body feel like it was on fire. 

You let your mind get away for a second, imagining what it would be like to feel those lips on yours as he wraps his big arms around you. Is he the type to kiss you slowly? Or would he devour you hungrily? You don’t know which of those two you prefer, you just know that you want him. Bad.

You stop that train of thought before it becomes too much for you to handle. 

You had barely realised you had fallen asleep when the incessant ringing of your phone woke you up. With a groan, you reach for it and turn the alarm off. Your eyes are still half closed while you go through your recent notifications. A few emails from work that you will get to later, and a couple of messages from König that pull a smile out of you before you even have a chance to read them.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

After a well-needed night of sleep König has made a decision. As usual, he will make lunch for both of you, and then he’ll tell you how he feels about you.

Nothing complicated; both of you are way too anxiety-prone for him to do something more elaborate.

It doesn’t take him long to get ready after he wakes up, and he goes into town shortly after. First, he goes to the grocery store to buy the ingredients he needs for the meal he has in mind. You always love anything he makes, but he wants to recreate the first meal you two had together, which consisted of his favourite Austrian comfort dishes. He isn’t as gifted as you at baking, so he stops at his favourite bakery and gets a couple of things he knows you like.

He can’t keep the smile off his face as he continues his errands. Excitement and nervousness were bubbling under his skin. A certain warmth coils in his stomach, making him feel like he’s high. For once, his anxiety isn’t completely overriding any other feelings, and it’s great to just let himself feel. 

Once he’s back in the building, he’s tempted to go over to yours, but he decides to get everything ready first and just let you work. He knows you like to get your work done in the morning to maintain a routine, since you barely have to go to the office.

He can’t keep the smile off his face as he starts working on the meal. He knows he looks insane, smiling as he chops vegetables, his favourite upbeat playlist playing in the background, only adding to his good mood.

He is so focused on perfecting this meal that he might not even have noticed if it weren’t for his keen senses. His eyebrows immediately shoot up in alarm when he spots the cloud of grey smoke floating past his kitchen window. He quickly opens it to check on the origin of the smoke. It looks like there’s a fire coming from the floor below. He promptly jumps into action, turning off his stove as he rings emergency services, but it seems that someone else had already called, as he hears the familiar siren of the firetruck.

He runs out of his apartment and starts knocking on your door. He knows you’re always wearing your headphones, so you were unlikely to hear the fire alarm with how loud you play your music. You like to drown the world around you as you focus. When your door doesn’t open, his knocks get more frantic. The hallway between your apartments is starting to get filled with smoke, and he can hear the sound of the firefighters' heavy boots as they run up the stairs. He knows it’s probably his colleagues responding to the call. The 141 is the closest fire station.

Suddenly, your door springs open, and you're standing there watching him with a confused expression. Your hands reach towards your head, and you yank your headphones off. Before you have the chance to voice your confusion, he reaches for your hand and pulls you towards him.

“There’s a fire on the floor below, we have to leave, ja?” He explains as he guides both of you down the stairs. The shock on your face is clear as the grip on his hand tightens. In your haste to leave, neither of you notices you’re barely dressed. But once you make it past the firefighters and out of the main door, he notices your bare legs, you are wearing a big oversized shirt that reaches to your mid-thigh, and it seems like it’s the only thing you are wearing, there are shorts under it, but it’s not like he can see it. The wind outside bites at your skin, but it doesn’t bother you, the warmth of his hand in yours completely overwhelms you.

For a second, your bare skin is the only thing his mind can focus on before his need to protect you kicks in.

“Oh, Schatz, it’s cold.” He says, your hands still interlocked, but even if neither of you wants to let go, he does so, so he can take off the hoodie he’s wearing and slip it over your head. You want to refuse it, not wanting to face the embarrassment of his clothes not fitting you. Still, your words die in your mouth when his hoodie easily slides down your body. You're far too familiar with being too big to borrow clothes from friends or partners, you are aware that he is much bigger than you, but it still is something you haven’t gotten used to. It brings a flutter to your chest, a tingly feeling, that, along with his hoodie, warms you all over. You feel his scent engulfing you, and it almost makes you dizzy.

When you look up, you can both see that his downstairs neighbour’s apartment is engulfed in flames that are slowly climbing towards König’s apartment, but it seems like the firefighters have it under control.

There isn’t much either of you can do as you watch them suffocate the flames.

“Are you okay?” He asks, looking at you

“Yes…I didn’t... I didn’t even notice. I was in my room getting some work done, and… yeah.” You say, hugging yourself, realising that you wouldn’t have noticed until it was too late. The smoke inhalation would have probably got you before the flames.

König notices your distress and wraps his arms around you to comfort you while you watch the shrinking flames. Even as fire potentially destroys your apartment, you feel safer than ever in his arms. That’s when you realise that you are wholly and utterly fuciked. You are in love with him and can’t keep it in anymore.

[just-dreaming-marvel]

Crimson Ties ~ 23

CRIMSON TIES MASTERLIST

< previous chapter

Word Count: 2,235ish

Summary: The team rushes to rescue Tony.

Warning(s): talk of rape, talk of abuse, torture, death, mental health, violence

Note(s): MAKE SURE YOU'VE READ THE PREVIOUS CHAPTERS! This is my third update in the last 24 hours. So make sure you haven't missed anything before you read!

Reminder: I DO NOT do taglists. Please don’t ask. Please follow and interact! I appreciate any reblogs, likes, comments, and asks!

Rhodey sighed as he watched Happy’s lifeless body get rolled away. He stood on the sidewalk outside of the therapist office, unable to wrap his mind around it all.

“Obadiah knew he couldn’t attack the house,” Natasha said. She was sitting on the curb. Yelena and Bucky were close by getting stitched up. “It didn’t have enough people to do that again… He’s been watching us… watching her.”

“Steve said he got her to the penthouse,” Rhodey stated. “She’s safe.”

“For now,” added Yelena. “We need to end this.”

“We will. But we can’t do anything that could put Tony’s life in danger.”

~~~

The penthouse wasn’t home. It felt cold. You felt trapped. You were curled up on the leather couch in the living room. Your knees were tucked to your chest and Steve had carefully thrown a blanket over your shoulders. Rhodey, Peggy, Natasha, Bucky, and Yelena joined you and Steve there, but you didn’t move. Didn’t acknowledge them. They began laying out information on the large dinning table, trying to figure out how to get Tony back. They kept glancing over at you, wondering if you’d ever be okay again. 

They hadn’t told you that Happy was dead. But you knew. You had seen his body laying across the concrete and knew that there was no coming back from that. You could help but imagine all the terrible things your father was doing to Tony. You hated to think of the pain your father could inflict and that you may never see Tony alive again.

“I want to help,” suddenly and quietly slipped from your lips.

The room stilled and everyone turned to face you.

“Y/N… what?” Steve questioned.

You squirmed under their gazes, pulling the blanket around you. “I want to help,” you repeated a little louder. “I want to help find Tony.”

“Sweetie,” Peggy said gently, “you’ve been through—“

“I know what I’ve been through. But I can still help… please.” Everyone remained silent but had eyes on you. You took a shaky breath before continuing. “He’s the only man who ever made me feel like I was more than what happened to me. He’s… the only thing that’s truly felt safe since… well, since ever.”

“Y/N…” Bucky stepped forward.

“He’s my home,” tears gathered in your eyes. “Let me help. I’m not asking to go with you. But my father’s home was once my own. I may know things you don’t.”

The others shared a silent conversation through looks. Rhodey nodded, stepping up.

“Alright, Y/N,” he said. “You’re in.”

~~~

Tony couldn’t remember when they stopped. It was hard to measure time here. No windows, no clocks. Just his pain. His body was slumped sideways in the chair— one arm unshackled, useless at his side, shoulder dislocated from where they’d yanked too hard during the last round. His lip was split. One eye was swollen shut and there was more blood oozing out of him than he cared for. Breathing hurt. Everything hurt.

He blinked slowly, vision swimming in and out of focus. A flickering light above him buzzed. The hum of the camera’s lens shifting in the corner echoed louder than it should. He hated this silence the most. It gave him too much space to think. And right now, thinking was a battlefield.

“She’s safe. She’s safe. She’s safe,” he kept repeating in his mind.

Tony let his head lol back against the chair, gasping shallow breaths through his clenched teeth. His mind focused on you. He saw your face. Heard your voice.

“Hold on for her. Hold on for her.”

Footsteps outside the door made him tense, every nerve in his broken body flinching. Not again. Please, not again. But they passed and the silence returned. Tony let his head fall forward, hair damp against his forehead. Every breath felt like a fight. But at least he was still breathing. Still here. Still yours. He would make sure to tell you that if— when he got out of here. That he was yours. He would promise to do better. To take you somewhere safer than what he had provided so far. He would move heaven and earth if that’s what it took. Because that’s what you deserved.

~~~

The city buzzed below, but it felt like lightyears away. Everyone decided to call it for the night. It was a hard call, but they had taken a hard hit and everyone needed sleep. You were still fully dressed, curled on the end of the bed. You stared out the tinted window, hating that you couldn’t see any stars. 

The silence in the room was heavy, pressing against you like a ton of bricks. You blinked, swallowing hard. Something wasn’t right. Slowly, you sat up. Your chest was tight. Not with the usual panic. This was different. A deep ache. A throb in your ribs like you’d been bruised from the inside.

“Tony,” you breathed out.

You couldn’t explain it. No alarms had gone off. No update from the team or new intel. But something had shifted, like the thin thread between you and Tony had gone taut. Like he was trying to hold on but slipping. Your hands trembled as you slid off the bed. You stumbled over to the window, like some how but staring out it you could see Tony. Tears welled in your eyes as you pressed your forehead against the glass. 

“Please…” you begged to the universe. To anyone that would listen and grant your request. “Please… don’t let him die.”

You slid down the window, sobbing.

~~~

The dawn broke with you having got no sleep. It hadn’t even been twenty-four hours since Tony was taken and you were already a shell of yourself once again. You sat at the table, the others standing around it. A blueprint of your father’s house was rolled out. You leaned in and looked it over.

“It’s not right,” you mumbled. Your shaky hand reached out and pointed to a blank spot. “He’s office is here. There’s stairs to a basement. Like Tony’s… He’d be kept down there.”

“We need more men,” Rhodey stated. “We’re not going to get him out of there alive without extra help.”

“Then we need them gathered quickly,” Steve said. “We can’t waste another day.”

“I’ll stay with Y/N,” Peggy offered. “I’ll get her back to the house.”

“No,” you shook your head. “Please… I can stay here?” You couldn’t be in that big house without Tony there. 

“Of course,” Yelena said, sensing your growing distress. “This penthouse is probably safer anyways.”

~~~

Obadiah felt like he was winning. He was confident in his plan to gain control of all that Stark had. There was only one more step.

“I need her in our hands tonight,” Obadiah told his men. “She needs to be alive, but you can kill anyone in your path to get to her. My daughter will come home. And she will be the thing that causes Stark to hand everything over. If I put her life in jeopardy, he’ll have no choice but to cave.”

A bomb going off shook the whole house. Before Obadiah could say anything about it, a second bomb went off. This time it was closer, throwing him off to the side with his other men. Obadiah coughed, struggling to get to his feet.

“Secure Stark!” He ordered. “Bring him to me!”

“On it, sir,” his men said, rushing to do as they were told.

~~~

“We’ve breached,” Steve stated over their comms. 

They weren’t stupid. They weren’t going to go into the house, but had formed a plan to blast a hole where the basement was. They knew it was risky, but it was the best plan they could come up with.

“Then go!” Rhodey ordered. “We’ll handle Obadiah!”

Steve and Bucky entered the hole, smoke blinding them. They could hear the gunfire echoing from upstairs. The lights overhead flickered as Steve and Bucky moved swiftly through the hallways, taking out anyone who got in their way. They didn’t speak. They didn’t need to. 

They moved fast, quickly spotting the only room with a closed door in the hallway.  Steve got there first. He threw the door open. Tony was slumped in the metal chair, no longer cuffed because he was too weak to do anything. His right eye was completely swollen shut. Blood stained his torn clothes and any skin it could latch onto. His breathing was shallow. So shallow that for a terrifying second, Bucky and Steve thought they were too late. But then Tony’s good eye blinked, slowly.

“About damn time,” he rasped, voice like sandpaper.

“Shit, Stark,” Bucky muttered, already at his side.

Steve dropped to one knee. “We’ve got you, Tony,” he said. “We’ve got you.”

Tony let out a broken laugh that turned into a cough. “To—Took you… long enough.”

“We had to be dramatic,” Bucky smirked. “You know how it is.”

“Y/N— Y/N… How is she?”

“She’s safe. She’s waiting for you to come home.”

Tony nodded, sliding off the chair. Steve quickly caught the man.

“Hey, stay with us,” Steve coaxed. “We still have to get out of here.”

“He… He’s going after her,” Tony continued. “Are you sure she’s safe?”

“Peggy’s with her and another group of guards. She’s in the penthouse. They’d be stupid to get her there.”

“Come on,” Bucky urged, helping Steve pick up Tony.

“We have Obadiah cornered,” Rhodey’s voice came through the comms loud enough for Tony to hear. “We’re going to end this.”

“Tell them to wait,” Tony ordered. “I want to end him myself.”

“Are you sure?” Steve asked. “You need to be looked over. We have Banner outside and—“

“Take me to Stane.”

~~~

Despite the pain, Tony refused to let Steve and Bucky help him into the room Rhodey had Obadiah cornered in. Natasha and Yelena were there too, refusing to point their guns anywhere else but that man. Tony stepped inside the room, limping heavily.

“You look like hell, Stark,” Obadiah taunted. “Did you come all this way to gloat?”

“No,” Tony replied, voice firm. “I cam to make sure you heard me.”

“What could you possibly say that matters now?”

Tony took a step closer. “You lost. You had all the power, all the leverage. And you still lost.” Obadiah glared. “You don’t get to touch her again. You don’t get to inflict pain on her again. Y/N is protected. Always.”

Obadiah scoffed. “You think this is over? She will never escape my pain.”

Tony raised his hand and Rhodey placed his gun in it. “Threaten my wife again. I dare you.”

“You’re wife?” Obadiah cackled. “She’s not wife material. She’s barely anything. You’ll throw her away eventually. And I’ll be there to remind her that she is nothing. She is—”

The shot was quick. The bullet left the barrel and shot through Obadiah’s head quickly, causing the man to slump back, dead. Tony dropped the gun, stumbling back as his adrenaline wore off.

“Take me home,” he muttered as Steve caught him. “Take me to her…”

~~~

The penthouse was too quiet. The only sounds were of your feet as you paced the floor. Peggy stood still, off to the side as she watched you. They hadn’t updated her and she was growing anxious as well. She watched you paced from the window, to the kitchen, back again. Every minute that past felt like it was crushing you. Your whole body was trembling as your thoughts spiraled.

What if they’re too late?

What if he’s dead?

What if your father is on his way right now to you?

A sudden buzz broke the silence— the alert panel by the door flickering on. It turned green as you heard the elevator rising. You froze, not daring to move or even breathe. A chime. The doors slide open and there he was. Tony. Bloodied. Bruised. Injured. But it was him. And he was alive. Your eyes locked with his. Tony tugged away from the others as he staggered forward. You ran, throwing your arms around him without a second thought. Tony caught you, his good arm pulling you in while his whole body practically folded into the embrace like its as the only thing keeping him standing. 

“You’re safe…” you whispered, voice cracking. “You’re safe…”

Tony let out a breath like it had been trapped in his lungs for days. “I did it,” he whispered, voice still rough. “Obadiah. He’s gone. It’s done.”

You pulled back just far enough to look into his eyes. “He’s… he’s dead?”

Tony nodded slowly. “I made sure.”

Your tears fell freely. “I’m free?”

“You’re free, Y/N.”

“And you came back…”

He rested his forehead against yours. “I will always come back to you, honey.”

“I… I felt it,” you whispered. “When it got bad… I knew something was wrong.”

Tony’s lips trembled, but he couldn’t get the tears to fall. “I kept seeing your face… Even when I wanted to quit. You were there. Pulling me from the edge.”

The two of you stood there for a long time, wrapped in silence, pain, and relief. With a shaky breath, you pressed a kiss to his cheek, so softly that it was barely felt. Tony let out a pained breath.

“I was so scared,” you admitted.

“I’m here,” Tony said, his good arm tightened around you. “I’m right here.”

next chapter >

[justsomeoneintoomanyfandoms]

Hii, can I request a longer fic about the life-or-death situation that'll make Tohma confess to the mc/reader? This one from what you wrote 🥹↓

• I think it would take a life-or-death situation for him to confess. Something where he nearly looses you before the year is up and he realises he has to tell you how he feels before you’re gone.

Hi Anon! Thank you for your request! I'm glad my headcanons made you want to read more! Sorry this took so long. I hope you like the fanfic!

In case anyone hasn't read the original headcanons and was curious they can be found here! You don't have to have read the heacanons to read this though.

Fandom: Tokyo Debunker

Characters: Tohma Ishibashi x gn! Reader

Word Count: 1k (1,058 words)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When you get abducted by an anomaly during a case, Tohma realises the panic welling in his chest means his feelings for you are anything but platonic.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

How had it come to this?

The mission had been going so smoothly up to this point so how could it possibly have gone so wrong so fast?

As Tohma ran through the shifting mansion rooms, he scanned each corner for any sign of where you might have gone. He could still see so clearly the look on your face as the wall had swallowed you up. Could still hear how you’d called out his name.

This was supposed to have been a simple mission. Easy and safe.

The mansion had sat at the top of the hill for decades and no one had had any problems with it so far.

Go in, walk around, get out.

So how come the anomaly lurking there just had to be such a high level one? And why did it have to have such a fixation on you of all people? It had barely batted an eye at the other people in the building but as soon as it saw you, there was nothing anyone could do to stop it from reaching out and taking your hand.

Even worse, the second its hand had touched yours, you had both vanished into the wall behind you.

And Tohma had been left with nothing but the rising feeling of dread in his chest and a panicking Kaito and Lucas by his side.

He’d quickly sent Kaito and Lucas off in separate directions to begin searching for you and had set off down another hallway, phone slipping from his pocket and up to his ear.

“What?” His captain’s voice was sharp and Tohma knew he wasn’t pleased about being interrupted.

“They’ve been taken.”

Silence.

“Taken?” Jin’s voice dropped dangerously low.

“The anomaly got to them. We’re trying to get them back.”

Another long pause.

“Get them back. I won’t accept failure.”

Then a click. Tohma put his phone back in his pocket and picked up his pace. He didn’t need his captain to tell him to get you back.

He’d been suspecting his feelings towards you were deeper than those of a friend for a while now. And while he’d pretty much figured out that he wanted a further relationship with you, he hadn’t said anything to you about it yet.

But now, with panic welling in his chest, unexpected thoughts flew through his mind of never getting to tell you how he felt.

A scream from ahead pulled him abruptly from his thoughts. Your scream. Tohma’s fast stride broke into a sprint as he pulled his artefact from its resting spot.

Rounding a corner, he pulled up short. The hallway ended in a dead end. But the blank stretch of wall in front of him was broken by your face, pushing out through the wallpaper. You looked scared and Tohma felt his stomach swoop.

“Tohma!”

“There you are. Is the rest of you stuck in the wall?”

Your face moved slightly before you realised the wall was stopping you from nodding properly. “Yes. I’m standing up.”

“Are your arms next to you?”

You frowned. “Yes. Why?”

Tohma hefted his halberd over his shoulder. “Close your eyes.”

Your eyes widened before you squeezed them shut. Tohma swung at the wall, the halberd slicing into the wallpaper. A few swings later and you were staggering forward, plaster falling around you.

Tohma caught you in his arms, pausing for a moment before pulling you into a firm embrace. You made a squeaking noise.

“Tohma?”

“I was worried.” Tohma was taken aback by his openness. He was so used to keeping his thoughts to himself that being honest was a foreign feeling on his tongue. But he pressed down the mild discomfort. He couldn’t risk those thoughts of not telling you how he felt becoming reality.

He pulled back from the hug, holding you by the shoulders. “You know I don’t know what I’d do if you never came back. Not before I could tell you how much I care about you.”

You blinked in surprise. But before you were able to respond, a shuddering laugh echoed through the building. Tohma, grabbed your hand and turned back down the hallway.

“We have to get out of here. This anomaly is a way higher level than Darkwick told us.”

As you raced down the hallway, Lucas and Kaito barrelled out of a side corridor.

“You’re okay!” Kaito had tears in his eyes and Lucas’ face was an open beacon of relief.

“I’m fine. Let’s go!” Tohma appreciated your drive to get out of the mansion. Even he was concerned about the risk level the longer they stayed inside.

But the front door was looming in front of them, and they were spilling onto the street outside before Tohma could quite believe it. He had been sure he’d found you deep within the house. It was almost like the mansion wanted them out of it.

Kaito doubled over, wheezing. “I thought we were going to die!”

What sort of anomaly was that?” Lucas’s brow was furrowed, a hand lifted to his chin in concentration.

You pulled on Tohma’s hand and he realised his fingers were still wrapped around yours. He looked at you and you nodded your head away from the others.

He followed you a short distance away, just out of hearing range.

“So, about what you said earlier…what did you mean?”

“You know I have feelings for you, right?”

You face registered nothing but surprise. “Really?”

Tohma smiled. “I know I’m not the most open sometimes. So yes. I have feelings for you. It’s alright if the feeling isn’t mutual but I had to tell you.”

But you were shaking your head before he could finish his sentence. “They’re definitely mutual! I like you too, I just didn’t think you were interested in…that sort of thing.”

A laugh bubbled up in Tohma’s chest. “Well, I can assure you, I am interested in…that sort of thing.”

A shy smile began spreading across your face. “So…what now?”

“I suggest we get back to Darkwick and figure out our next step in this case.”

Your face fell and this time Tohma couldn’t stop the laugh from spilling out.

“And then, after it’s closed, how about we get dinner together? I’ll get the permit sorted, so find somewhere nice you’d like to go. Wherever you want to go, I’ll be there.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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[notinthislife50]

Chapter 3

Next Chapter

Previous Chapter

The only noise to come from the room is the creak of the chair when you shift. You’ve been tied to it for days, apart from the occasional toilet break, your body was aching but you kept your mind sharp.

They’ve left you like this for awhile, long enough to try and wear you down. But you won’t give them the satisfaction of seeing your pain, but you can feel their eyes on you.

You refuse to look at them, focusing instead on the floor in front of you. But it’s hard to ignore the way the air shifts whenever any of them move.

The power they exude is suffocating, You know this game isn’t over. They know you better than anyone else ever could. But they also taught you how to play the game. So you know you would survive.

FLASHBACK

You sit at the table somewhere underground and stare at the faces surrounding you people you trust with your life. Steve leans forward, his face carved with the weight of it. Natasha’s voice cuts through the heavy air.

“And this is the hard part,” she says steadily. “You have to let them take you.”

There’s no hesitation from you. “I know,” you say.

Clint speaks next. “They can’t know about us. About the resistance. Not yet. If they catch even a hint of it…..”

“I won’t let that happen,” you interrupt, “I’ll get what we need.”

Steve leans back, “They’ll be rough with you,” he warns.

“I can handle it.”

NOW

A shiver runs through you as you snap back to the present. You lift your head, You chose this. You will not break.

You smirk as your stare in to Loki’s eyes.

He steps forward, breaking the silence. He leans down, his breath brushing your ear as he whispers, softly “You think this will end differently, don’t you, Pet? What if we just kill you?”

You don’t flinch. You know them too well. You know they wouldn’t kill you.

“If that was the case, Loks,” you say, the nickname, hoping it might unbalance him, even slightly. “I believe I’d be dead already.”

Loki flinches at the name, his grip on your jaw loosening, his expression softening just a bit. “Well, maybe I don’t want to kill you. Maybe I have other ideas of what to do to you instead.”

His gaze flickers over your body, lingering just a moment too long before locking back onto your eyes. There’s something dangerous there, as if he’s considering all the ways he could break you without even laying a hand on you.

Loki leans in closer, his breath warm against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. His voice is barely above a whisper, carrying that unmistakable, intoxicating power he holds over you. “I think you know what I could do to you, don’t you, Pet? I could make this much more interesting.”

Before you can respond, his lips graze your neck. You swallow hard and close your eyes as he sucks on your skin, his teeth scraping lightly marking you, claiming you, just like he used to.

“Careful, Y/N…” Loki whispers, when he sees your eyes close. “You might start wanting this.”

Then he kisses you, hard and possessive. For a split second, you get lost in it the familiar taste of him, but your brain kicks back in, and you bite his lip sharply.

Loki gathers himself quickly his fingers dig into your cheeks, forcing you to look at him as he smirks down at you.

“I always did like it when you played rough,” he purrs, “The biting is new, but I have to say, I very much enjoy it, Darling.”

Before you can snap back, a low chuckle rumbles from the corner of the room.

You whip your head around, glaring at Bucky where he leans lazily against the wall. His arms are crossed over his chest.

“Something to say, Barnes?” you snap.

Bucky doesn’t flinch. He straightens, pushing off the wall. His boots echo heavily against the floor with every step he takes toward you.

Loki steps back, allowing Bucky to take his place. You can’t stop the way your body tenses when he moves in close, that familiar energy surging between you.

Bucky crouches in front of you, his eyes burning into yours with that same intensity he always had. You feel it crawling up your spine.

His fingers lightly brush your leg, just enough to make you flinch. You try to hide it, but he sees it. He always does.

“You’ve got this whole ‘I’m untouchable’ act down, Doll,” Bucky murmurs, his voice low. “But we both know you’re not. You never have been.”

The words hit hard. You can feel the heat rise in your cheeks, But you’re not going to let him see it. You won’t.

His fingers trail up your leg, slow and deliberate, and you bite back a moan. This is what they’re good at. Drawing you in with nothing but their touch. They’ve always known how to make you feel both powerless and wanted at the same time

“I’m not the one who’s vulnerable here, Bucky,” you manage, your voice barely a whisper. “You’ve got nothing to hold over me anymore.”

Bucky’s laugh is low, “Oh, sweetheart” he says, tilting his head to one side. “You think that’s true? You think you’re still in control?”

You don’t respond. Your jaw tense, your lips pressed into a thin line. But you can feel the pressure building in your chest. They’re playing with you now. Testing you.

But before you can make any sort of remark, before you can even think, Bucky crushes his mouth against yours.

It’s not gentle. It’s punishing.

A brutal claiming, full of frustration and anger. His metal hand grips the back of your head, holding you there, refusing to let you pull away.

Your body betrays you, instinctively leaning into him for just a split second Memories flood you

your wrists strain uselessly against the binds holding you to the chair.

Finally, when Bucky pulls back, he leaves you breathless, dizzy. His lips are swollen. His breathing uneven.

“You can keep fighting us all you want,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing almost tenderly over your lower lip “But you and I both know…” He leans in again, his forehead brushing yours, “You were always ours.”

[vinsmoke-js-66]

I agree with a lot of this analysis, but for some parts I have alternate takes that I have very rarely seen discussed and I want to... I guess sound them out? Not saying your take is wrong, obviously. These are also my personal interpretations, and maybe you can respond back about them.

I considered that there is the possibility of Judge asking all of that to Luffy quite literally because he don't know any better. Maybe he was shouting "Why don't you answer?" not because he's just ranting like a madman, but because it's actually a genuine question.

You did mention that his point of view may have been the result of upbringing. Rather than lashing out, what if he has just never been made to see otherwise? It reads to me like whatever he has seen in life only bolsters the ideas he has been raised with, and that only made him want to cut out empathy/mercy even more.

Some of the villains started out innocent and became twisted because of outside influence. Linlin and Orochi, for example (and those two being back to back arcs is kind of interesting, especially with both seemingly ending up dead). Suppose the previous king of Germa had been betrayed and killed? Or maybe this kind of ideal was passed down through the generation for centuries?

Maybe the one who had been betrayed was the ancestor from 300 years ago, and for centuries they taught their descendants to distrust others and have no mercy. If that's the case, wouldn't that technically mean that even Judge had no choice in this? If he has never known any other point of view, why would he have any reason to want to behave any differently?

He mentioned that everything he did was for revenge, and then the restoration of Germa. The details of the goal and reason are all rather mysterious, and for all we know for 300 years all the kings have raised their descendants to give their whole lives for this mission.

We don't know much about Germa's past besides that they seemingly have conquered North Blue centuries ago, and that they were a kingdom of science. Since Brook had told us that they had a reputation of having a powerful military, maybe this kind of attitude that idolise "power/strength" is how the royal family of Germa was raised for generations. It doesn't help that the kingdom is even more isolated after their destruction.

I would compare this to Noland and Kalgara's encounter. Noland showed up bringing a worldview that completely turns upside down the tribe's traditional ways. Kalgara very nearly rejected it too, but Noland was able to prove himself and Kalgara was willing to take the chance.

The same goes here. Maybe this is the very first time Judge is truly confronted by something that goes against what he has always known. Luffy is strong, Sanji is also strong now, yet they both value the things that Germa considers to be worthless, and he just doesn't understand why.

In regards to blaming Sanji, the scientist had said that the medicine Sora took didn't undo the lineage factor modifications. The scientists seemingly wasn't able to figure out why Sanji's modifications isn't working, and they may not have been able to connect its cause to Sora's medicine. So not knowing this, it would look like Sora made herself sick for nothing and Sanji just came out a "failure" on his own.

There's very likely pride in here, because if all of them couldn't tell Sora's actions led to this, then they only had themselves or fate to blame for the failure.

For another, it is a fairly common trope in fiction where the father loves the mother so much that he despised his own children when she dies. Especially if the child indirectly is connected to her death (childbirth, or the mother dying from trying to save the child from danger).

Obviously there's still the issue of the direct confrontation with Sora, like why didn't he listen to her? Maybe he really is just a horrible person, but you know. Until canon confirms the facts, I'm personally open to various interpretations.

I'm personally of the opinion that it's not too late to change, which clearly you don't share. I think Oda-sensei had written that it's never too late for anyone until they die.

Villain Analysis: The Garuda Himself

AKA What turns men into monsters; Is it ideology and propaganda? Projection and insecurity? Class and upbringing? Or perhaps, it is all of these combined.

A not-so-quick analysis of Vinsmoke Judge, what makes him so despicable and hate-able, why he works as a villain, what does this mean for Sanji as a character and WCI as an arc, and how the brains of awful men like his work.

Warning: this is very very long (around 2k words) and talks about topics of abuse and imperialism, obviously. Also, a lot of this hinges on personal subjective interpretation of the narrative and speculation, so please be patient.

For starters, let’s get a quick comparison between Judge as a villain and other antagonists throughout One Piece. There’s, in my opinion, something that quickly separates him from the rest.

While most villains in One Piece are often motivated to do horrible things because of personal pathos and experiences, wants, needs, desires and traumatic memories, Judge –at first glance at least, seems to be motivated by something very different: Ideology. He is an imperialist, a fascist, a eugenicist, a classist, a warmonger, and so on and so on.

He is most similar to a villain like Hody Jones in this regard. There’s no personal big event in their lives (that we know of, at least) leading this type of character to their horrible actions, but rather a worldview. Most other antagonists in One Piece are in my opinion written as “person first, ideology second”. They’re often motivated by their own specific experiences, even if they can be assigned an ideology on top of that. But Judge and Hody seem to be more symbolic of broader ideas at their core, so they’re in a sense the odd ones out. They’re the reverse; “ideology first, person second”, almost feeling like they’re representatives of broader harmful structures, rather than being their own individuals.

I think also it’s worth mentioning why the ideology is here, and what it offers in terms of the narrative of Sanji’s abuse. Some might think it was an unnecessary element that isn’t that thematically connected to Sanji’s struggles. Couldn’t his family simply have been abusive, without all that Germa nonsense? Well for starters, it’s mostly here for the pop-cultural Kamen Rider references, yeah. But getting that out of the way, I think Sanji’s suffering is connected to his father’s terrible worldview pretty directly.

For starters, fascism is all about control. It preaches scapegoatism, demonization of “weakness” and fetishization of strength. Judge is a man that runs his family the same way he runs his state; with an iron fist. Sanji’s abuse IS a direct result of him being unable to meet these horrific standards. It also helps that we know Sanji as a kind person, so juxtaposing him to his comically evil literal-supervillain family, makes it simply easier for us to root for Sanji and hate his relatives, from a narrative building perspective. Ideas around masculinity and what an “able body” is in Judge’s eyes, are both part of Sanji’s backstory of abuse. It is also important that the Vinsmokes are royalty, because the first thing we learn about Sanji in One Piece, is that he suffered through great hunger. These people are wealth itself; they have never experienced that hardship.

However, while I think it’s true to an extent that Judge at first is simply “walking ideology” without being much of an actual individual, the way WCI is written, he starts showing interesting cracks behind the mask that reveal hints of specific personal motivations. In other words, the awful person behind the just as awful ideology starts to subtly show, and can be pieced together by looking intently.

As we experience the arc through Sanji’s eyes, Judge is a man who initially seems like an intimidating “strongman”, an impossible-to-read stoic threat, with no thoughts of his own outside cruelty. He’s a walking stereotype without much depth to be found. But slowly, the faults of his character begin to show; he is hasty, he has emotional outbursts, he is pathetic and hypocritical, he is careless and thoughtless, falling easily into Big Mom’s trap. In other words the imperfection and insecurity that Sanji was never able to spot in his father as a scared kid, starts to reveal itself, as Sanji slowly overcomes his fear of this man. He is not terrifying anymore; he is pathetic. And he is human, the worst kind of evil. The image of a man who is as perfectly mechanical as his genetically augmented sons, is shattered. They have no choice in their cruelty (to an extent, at least, due to Judge’s actions no less), but Judge is perfectly capable of compassion. He simply chooses to disregard it. His evil, unlike his sons, is his own choice.

Judge often laments his own humanity, doing so multiple times throughout the arc. He complains about how he can’t bring himself to take “his own son’s life as a father” to Sanji’s face, or often shows his twisted love for the rest of his children. This is a man who wishes nothing more than to be like his so-called “perfect” cruel sons, these unfeeling warriors, soldiers with no fear or sorrow. He fashions himself after them, in a way. But that is not the truth of who he is, and he very very clearly hates that.

This is where his hypocrisy comes in; he punishes Sanji for the very same things he himself is very capable of. To me, that’s kind of the point of the scene of him crying during the assassination, a highlight of his “rules for thee but not for me” behavior. This might sound absurd at first, but don’t misunderstand what I’m about to say. I think out of the three parental figures Sanji has had in his life (Sora, Judge, Zeff) he is the least like his birth father. He is in every sense, much more like the other two. However, no matter how absurd it feels, out of all his sons, Judge is most similar to Sanji. And he hates every second he is reminded of it. Not in the kindness, of course, but in his emotional nature. This is a man who, I think is not a stretch to say, projected on his eight-year-old son.

But here comes the problem, of course. As I said earlier, I think this is a man whose ideology came first. He doesn’t latch onto it to cover up for his insecurities, but rather, they are comorbid, it’s the reverse. The elements he sees in himself as “weakness” are elements that he hates, precisely because they clash with his worldview, not the other way around. The ideology is a result of upbringing, similar to the Celestial Dragons; taught from birth that as royalty he is superior to others, that he deserves everything by existing, that his kingdom’s horrific nationalism is excused due to whatever scapegoatism the Vinsmokes have been propagandizing for centuries. So when he is reminded that these ideas might be false, when he looks at his own “weak” son and realizes he is more like him than he is like his other “perfect” sons, he lashes out in ways the escalate in cruelty. I think he is at his core, a disastrous mix of entitlement and insecurity. After all, secure and happy men don’t fall for such ideas.

There’s an interesting moment right before he gives his last horrid speech where he lists all of the things he hates about Sanji (that scene where Luffy lovingly responds with “Why did he list all the good things about you?”). Before he starts angrily and pointlessly rambling, there’s a panel where he looks down at Sanji, their faces juxtaposed, with his bandages covering one eye; just like Sanji and his hairstyle, and while making a similar facial expression to him. There’s a pause in that moment. I think the narrative is telling us in a way, and if you want to interpret it as such, about the insecurity and projection hiding behind this man’s “strongman” mask. Literally a mask- Big Mom broke his helmet. He is here without it. And of course, he cannot change. He will not change. He will keep acting out his cruelty; it’s too late for horrible old men like him. But not for someone like Sanji. This is the last moment where we see the two reject each other for good. And it’s a reminder of how that man’s shadow no longer looms over Sanji. Sanji can see through him, he sees the real, pathetic, sad man behind the intimidating persona. Maybe he does see himself a little bit too, but he rejects that. He rejects a future where he grows to be like this man.

The last element I want to talk about however, one that I didn’t touch on so far, probably has to do with Sora. There’s two things that stood out to me in regards to Judge’s relationship to Sora that I never see anyone talk about.

The first is the fact that Judge calls Sanji “his greatest failure”. Think about it for a few seconds. Why would a man so self-absorbed not simply blame Sora for what happened? He could have easily gone “Oh, there’s no failure on my part here, my science was perfect! I didn’t make any mistakes; I was simply sabotaged. Sabotaged by a third party.” But he doesn’t. He doesn’t use Sora as a scapegoat. I mean- it wouldn’t have been inaccurate either. The reason Sanji was born human IS because of Sora’s interference, not because of any mistake in the science.  So why? Why does he not do it? Why is Sanji “his mistake”. I simply couldn’t figure it out at first, but then it dawned on me.

If Sanji is “Judge’s mistake”, than it can’t be “Sora’s success”. He is erasing her. He’d rather present himself as someone who messed up, than include her and acknowledge her actions. It’s about taking agency away from her. If HE is the one that failed when it comes to Sanji, he can make it about himself, and take her out of the picture. He can strip her of her power and decision. This is at his a core a man who is obsessed with control. Everyone else exists to serve him, in his eyes.

We see this even further in one of the most interesting and under-analyzed parts of Reiju’s speech to Sanji in WCI. While trying to figure out her father’s behavior, she makes the suggestion to Sanji that right after Sora died “he blamed you for everything that happened, and started to mistreat you accordingly.”

While Reiju is an unreliable in-universe narrator, she is one of the few people close enough to her father to be able to figure out his behavior. And here, she is suggesting that a big part of Sanji’s mistreatment is because, in his twisted mind, Judge blames Sanji for Sora’s death. This to me reads in a couple of ways. For starters, it’s once again taking agency away from her. It couldn’t have been her own decision; it had to be the fault of something or someone else. In this case… their unborn son…? Wild choice on who to blame. But it works in his head; Sora didn’t CHOOSE to disobey him, it was all that child’s fault. But also, it does beg that question again of what happens when you mix that complex villainous humanity with wretched ideology. Did he love Sora? Or is him mourning her just a feeling of loss of something he owned, a loss of ownership and control? Well, if I had to guess, it’s probably a bit of both. And that’s what makes Oda’s villains much, much more interesting to me, compared to simple walking stereotypes. Twisted abusive love expresses itself this way very often. To people like this, genuine feelings of love and horrific desire to control and hurt are the very same. And I think the same can be said for his “successful” children. I do think he loves them, genuinely, but a man like this experiences that emotion through a sense of ownership, control, and an extension of his own ego. It's not that is isn't love, or that it's performative. It is simply twisted, selfish, abusive, but it is there. But Sanji? He doesn't even get that.

God I hope this man suffers a terrible punishment for everything he’s done. An excellent villain, I need him dead and rotting in hell. Whole Peak Island. Thank you Mr. Oda.

[blackswallowtailbutterfly]

Still haven't messaged my mom back. And I don't think I'm going to.

[tonycries]

Sweetener - C.K.

Synopsis. You, hit by your heat cycle and accidentally calling your best friend over in a daze. Choso Kamo, your utterly sweet best friend - and totally not an aIpha, right? Right?

Pairing. Choso Kamo x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! oméga! reader, alpha! Choso, heats, best-friends-to-lovers, pining, creampíes, bréeding, Choso goes FÉRAL, OMÉGAVERSE AU, overstím, knots, MARATHONS, making him cúm blanks, MATÍNG BÍTES, cúmplay, first times (Choso), pússydrúnk Choso, oraI (fem), proposals, p talking, pet names, swéaring. 

Word count. 8.1k

A/N. Hope you have a lovely week <3

“Open up f’me, beautiful.”

Choso Kamo was approximately four seconds away from kicking down your front door and tearing your apartment down in search of you. Or, at least, he would be if he didn’t know how much you’d huff at him afterwards.

Because it’s not everyday that his precious best friend wakes him up at 3AM with a hazy, six-second call. Mumbling nothing but an adorably sleepy “Cho— come over?” 

So what if Choso had instantly thrown on the first t-shirt he saw and broken about seven traffic violations on his motorbike here? 

“Come on, come on-” he’s hissing underneath his breath. Weight shuffling nervously between his two feet, he raps on your door once more. Twice. Thrice. “D-don’t make me use that spare key again.”

It was a half-threat - really, it was. 

But the louder your answering silence grew, the tighter his fingers curled around his own metallic key. Breathing out a low, “I’m- I’m coming in.” And slowly - ever-so-slowly - he’s cracking your door just an inch open before-

Oh. 

Oh. 

It hits Choso like a wave - hard enough to knock him down onto his knees. 

“What-” he’s gasping, heaving. Words tumbling out drunkenly in rasping ahs! that he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t even register the bright, blossoming pain sweeping his knees with the way his lungs felt like they were scorching - and Choso just couldn’t get enough. 

It wasn’t a new candle of yours, and Choso already memorized every one of your perfumes for this to be one. This was just so…carnally sweet. 

He was drinking in every drop, every ounce, every waft of that candied air inside your cozy apartment like he couldn’t breathe if it wasn’t that.

And something in the sugary scent makes Choso twitch. 

Oh, shit. 

Hastily swiping away a translucent mess of drool that’d somehow made its home by the rosy corner of his mouth, he’s straining out once more. For his sanity, more than anything. “Beautiful? Anyone home?”

Still no answer. 

Absolutely nothing. 

It takes him a few more sloppy seconds swimming his melty mind to even consider stumbling back up onto his two unsteady feet. Blinking away the bleary film over his gaze, Choso slams! your door shut with the back of his foot - cutting off the heady perfume from emanating into the corridor. 

Noise complaints from your neighbors be damned - he’ll apologize to them all personally later. 

But right now, something about the way that mysterious essence was all his, his, his scratched at such a dangerously primal itch in his brain. 

Shit- what was he even thinking?

Choso was here for you and only you. 

He’s running a jittery few digits through the sweat-dampened valleys of his hair, tugging in a stinging little pull to try and snap some sense back into him. Clearing the strangled mess in his throat, Choso smacks! his palms against his burning cheeks before calling out once more, “I’ll be coming in–”

Because it’s not as if Choso’s never been in here before - he has. Many, many times, in fact. And during every one of those hangouts you’d made it a point to pout about how he should really “let loose” and treat this home as if it was his own, too. 

Honestly, it was hard to feel anything but comfortable after knowing each other for so long - even despite those embarrassing, mushy feelings that he always drowned in around you. 

But that was a conversation for another time. 

And right now, Choso couldn’t even dream of any “comfort” when every step deeper into the saturated cloud of scent made Choso gulp. Every blink had his eyes watering even more - and his pants- fuck- Choso’s biting down on his rawly worried lower lip, eyes flickering anywhere but where he could feel his achy cock stirring. 

Something about this smell was so…hypnotic. 

And if he didn’t know any better then he’d have sworn he was practically floating down that familiar pathway to your bedroom. Feet padding down anxiously along the mahogany-covered floors, it was becoming so much harder and harder to breathe in the fragrant air without getting fucking addicted.  

Or, Choso swallows, one arm balanced on the wall, the other feeling for his thundering pulse. He probably already was. 

But what if you were sick? What if you needed help? Fuck, if he didn’t live every waking moment dancing along to your heartbeat.

That is, when he hears it. That.

Filtering from inside your bedroom…a moan. ”Ch-Choso–”

.

.

.

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit.

You didn’t know what you were thinking, forgetting to take your monthly dosage of suppressants - you’d blame it on all the time you’d been spending studying for finals with Choso lately, but you’d never put the fault on your sweet best friend like that.

After all, he was a fellow omega like you at the end of the day. Right? 

“Fuck” You’re scrambling to clasp onto a sodden sweatshirt of his on your bed, nose burying into the slightly sunny vanilla scent. You knew it was wrong to think about him this way, you knew it was made even worse considering his second gender. But- but fuck, if he didn’t have your hands slipping and sliding guiltily down towards the slick-lathered spot between your legs. Concentrated puffs of heat stifling from between your lips, “Ch-Choso–”

Honestly, you wanted him so badly you could reach over for your phone and call-

No, no, no, no - your fatigued eyes flick over to the winking clock by your bedside. 3:26AM.

You couldn’t call him over for help now. Choso was so sweet that he’d probably rush over in his pajamas and rack up a fair few tickets on his motorbike. 

Which was why you preferred to spend your heats without his help - it had been that way since you’d both presented back in high school. 

You’d met Choso after your family had moved to the cutest little suburb in Tokyo, stumbling across the tiny boy-next-door with wide honeypool eyes and a chubby hand that waved shyly your way. Even at the wise old age of eight, you remember thinking how he was so pretty. 

Pretty enough that something your health teacher had taught in your last school clanged throughout your mind - this boy was probably an ah…what was the word? Omega. 

A quiet, comfortable understanding - and it wasn’t something that the two of you never quite had to talk about too in-depth. At least, outside of sneaking the answers to pop quizzes on secondary genders, and giggling when another classmate sauntered to school with a garish bitemark on their neck. 

But, often, you wondered whether you’d ever see Choso with that type of mark. 

He never looked at another alpha - not even another omega, or beta, for that matter. You knew that society was stepping towards a more accepting environment for rather “unconventional” pairings - but Choso Kamo seemed well and firmly intent on rejecting every single one of them. 

Instead, staying by your side. Unpaired. 

Even when he followed you all the way to university - two peas in a pod, so tightly intertwined that most wondered whether you two were mated for life. And he never bothered to disagree - but then again, neither did you.

Even when the years treated him well and he grew so tall, so unfairly attractive. All prettily timid smiles, glinting piercings marrying his ears, and dark, droopy eyes tinged with the slightest kiss of dark eyeliner. Rivalling even the most cocky alphas on your entire campus with his sheer stature and ambience. 

Like he was right now. 

Towering at the very edge of your unlatched bedroom door. 

And only one word registers in your mind - alpha. 

Choso - a Choso that was so utterly real and in the flesh - jumps once those startled syllables spill from your mouth. 

Fuck, you didn’t even realize you said that out loud. 

Not until he’s slamming! one massively spayed-out palm by the side of your doorframe. Shattered pieces of wood crumbling beneath him, you’re unabashedly ogling the flex of his curvaceous biceps. Another hand covering the lower half of his handsome face, Choso rasps. He whines, “You called, m-my omega?”

Oh.

Your entire shivering body bolts upright, like you were being electrified with a thousand voltages of bliss that make your drooling cunt gush. Treacly wafts of pheromones clouding out from you all over again - and the look on Choso’s face is just drunk.

Thick lids so heavy that they were practically falling half-closed, it’s as if his entire body was flushed a prespired red. Lips all ruddied and laminated thinly with spit, his teeth were drawn back into such a wild snarl. 

Like he was about to tear something into bits and it might be you.

So…pretty. 

It almost hurts you to dart your eyes away in an urgent glance at your suspiciously open call log - did you…really call him in your haze? Fuck. 

“Y-you’re-” You swallow a few times - and even then, the words don’t come to you. They can’t. Too stuck on what a delicacy your best friend looked all slumped over by your doorway like he was begging for you. Like he’d crawled all his way to you and would do it all over again. “You’re an alpha, Cho?”

As if you had any doubt now. You could smell the sheer power on him, the thrumming strength threatening to rip through that clingy white undershirt of his. So transparently thin that you could still count every ridge of his washboard abs. And his velvety black boxers hung low-

“Shit-” he gulps. “Yes- fuck! Y-you’re an omega?” 

You can only nod. Brows raising when Choso plants another slam right onto your doorframe, indenting all slender lanes of his digits onto it this time. “And is that…mine?”

With a sudden inhalation, you’re snatching behind that sweatshirt of Choso’s that you’d still been holding. Heart thumping - but there was nothing more to say. What could you say?

Turns out, Choso is the first to break. “L-Let me prove it.”

You’re blinking, squeezing your thighs together at the bittersweet throb. You didn’t know what had your honeyed head reeling more - the sudden reveal of Choso’s secondary gender, or his answer. His sheer need. “Prove it?”

Choso’s head hangs low, chestnut bangs covering his greedy gaze, but you could tell that he was looking at you. Really, really looking at you. 

Words dripping with something you’d never heard of before. Hoarse. Tight. “Can I…can I come in, beautiful?”

You know you should say no to letting him inside your nest - you know it. 

But oh, how it looked like it was taking him every shred of will to keep standing there. To not fucking collapse at the way your gooey pheromones have him spellbound. And he likely would have had it not been for your small, trembling answer, “Yes.”

Choso whimpers - if there was ever a singular moment that would have him crawling back from the afterlife just to re-experience all over again, then it would be this. 

When he feels something in the back of his mind switch.

Senses sharpening almost painfully with one step inside your humid bedroom. Two. 

Until Choso’s stalking so languidly towards you like a predator cornering his prey, foot by foot. He takes his dreamy time prowling towards you - all the way up until your flushed best friend is looming across the foot of the bed.

There’s something vicious in his eyes. Something that has him salivating, “Can- can I?”

You’re breathing out, “Y-yes.”

Slow, sultry fingers unfurl out to draw a steady line along your ankle - he walks. Fingers blazing up your twitchy thighs, up your drenched excuse of shorts, up, up, up to smear that delirious line of your dribble. 

“T-tell me what you want, beautiful.” He pecks an innocent kiss on your forehead, then another to your throat - heaving in your perfumed air. “Anything- I’ll give ya hah- anything.”

His words are low. Hot against your face. 

And just about the only thing you can do is slither your unsteady hands down to toy with the hem of your pants. A sight that makes Choso swallow thickly with a rasping grunt. 

“I want you to…” you’re trailing off. Fingers dipping down to where you haven’t been able to satisfy for hours now. Your inner omega yelling - screaming that nothing was enough, but he might just be. “-touch me here, Cho.”

SWAT!

Instantly, you’re letting off a saccharine mewl at the way your hand is being oh-so-rudely thwacked away by one of Choso’s own. The slight sting throbbing - but not as much as your poor cunt is when meeting his digits. 

Sliding just between your cottony shorts- oh? Choso’s heart stutters. No panties? You really are going to be the death of him. He’s lingering a dewy stroke down your teary slit, honeying his ringed fingers in all your slick juices. 

For a second - just a second.

Lightning-fast, Choso’s trailing away with a slew of spatters left behind, and it makes his skin feel ten times hotter. Ten times dirtier in only the best way.

Even more so when those very digits end up slipping easily into Choso’s mouth. One by one.  Eyes trained darkly on yours, his long pinkish tongue ends up lazily lathering up and down up and down up and down every beaded gleam of your juices.

“Y-you’re so-” your voice cracks embarrassingly - pathetically, in a way that makes every copious ounce of blood in his body sprint south. “-filthy.”

Pulling off with a waterlogged pop! Choso’s tongue probes between his two long fingers, smacking his lips open and shut with the sticky dredges. And you swear you catch a whiff of smugness in his scent. Yet, he’s blushing, “All for you- only for you, my girl.”

And you can’t even complain - you can’t even tease him about the way that just another mere touch up against your feverish pussypound has Choso gasping. Eyes crinkling with something like delight and sheer awe.

Because he’s crashing his mouth into yours, suckling on your lips like his favorite berry lolly-

“Sh-shit-” Choso’s rich tone cracks into shattering lilts, and you can hear him laugh against your lips. Laugh. Humorless and crazed - pure desperation bleeding out with every swash of his intoxicating vanilla scent. “Beautiful— you taste even sweeter than in my ngh- dreams, y’know that?”

No, you didn’t - you didn’t even know that Choso dreamed of you in the first place. 

And you don’t get to pay it any mind because before you know it, the swirling edge of his rounded fingertips tuck just past where your puffy folds were pursing in a ready pucker. Cold metal rings making you gasp.

And Choso’s greedily snuffing out the sound with a sinking bite of his sharpened canines into your wobbly bottom lip. Drinking in every noise from his pretty girl. His pretty girl. 

Cratering dimples notching prettily at the ends of his lipbite, he’s practically begging them out with every slow gyration of his fingertips around and around your peaked clit. Tracing over every tiny ridge and sensitive bundle like he was trying to fucking memorize it. “H-has any other- fuck-” Ringing out a thundering growl at the back of his throat that makes your skin coat in tiny goosebumps. “-has any- other- made you feel this good?”

No no no - your inner omega purrs, and you can practically feel yourself groaning lowly at the back of your throat when you pull away. 

Trying - failing, when Choso’s chasing your kiss-bitten lips like he was hooked. Slurring after the syrupy strings of spit that smear the traces of your mouth, he’s meshing his lips in a dramatic smooch. Again. And again. And again and again-

“L-look how wet ya are…” And it wasn’t even a command, but you can’t help lolling your head down to blink at the way his pale wrist was glistening with all your laminated juices. Musing, “Gonna make ya feel so fuckin’ good. So good.”

Two deft fingers pinch your clit. Hard.

“Ah! N-no!” Your spine bends into such a pretty curve off the bed, perfectly in position for Choso to slide his massive palm underneath and massage away your tensely knotted back. Your fingers are trekking up the clamoring hike onto his broad deltoids to feel the droolworthy jolt of his back muscles. Babbling belatedly, “N-no other alpha has made me feel s-so…”

So…what?

Hypnotized? Addicted? Gone?  

But whatever it was, the sight of you being ruined into a few shattered jumbles of limbs is enough to make Choso’s alpha hum. 

Whispering out, “Can I…” And with a steep inhale of the thick surrounding air, he’s gulping. “C-can I-”

Before you’re gracing him with an answer, you’re helping inch those sleep shorts down. Snailing an almost-blasphemous slicked coat that seeps into your skin. He’s twirling his thumb over the remaining excess left behind - not wasting a single drop. 

And it takes only one saturated hit from where your pheromones were the most concentrated - only one shy peak down at your drooling cunt - before Choso can feel his mind shattering. Gasping. 

The top half of his body all but collapsing on top of yours.

It’s not even on purpose the way he flinches at the thick curve of your thumb floating upwards to tenderly glide away the swab of drool that was flooding Choso’s mouth right now. 

His neat brows quirking upwards, heaving chest choppy - you’re so lustily trapped against the bumped-up planes of his pecs. Feeling the rumble of his heated words, “I-I’ve never…” 

Sounding so utterly worn-out already, Choso’s planting a few firm pecks at the corner of your chin. He’d meant for it to reach your lips - but he couldn’t. Too in a trance to even think about it. And as if to make up for it, he’s kissing your neck, the valley of your thighs, your tummy. Every and any inch he hasn’t been blessed with reaching for the past few years. 

Shuffling all the way until he was practically lips to lips with your sloshing pussy, eyeing down directly at the way your sloppy entrance was welcoming him with another fresh bout of clingy slick. Choso heaves in a long breath.

“Been waitin’ a looong time f’you, y’know? Can I make a mess?” Choso’s whining sweetly, greedy gaze still trained firmly downwards. Tenderly rubbing over your glossed-up folds, “Can I m-make you break?” And those grasping begs of his are barely even audible over the sheer squelching resonating from your slobbery pussy. Your jaw falls slack at how they only make Choso nod. “Y-you’re right- s-so right–”

Talking. And before you know it, the filthiest French kiss is being placed right on your cunt. 

He’s not even hesitating, not even easing you into it - because Choso Kamo has waited so long for this. And he was going to have his fill.

“This is what y-you taste like- this good?” Dragging the very pointed tip of his pretty button nose down your plump clit, he’s smushing it in place with a firm kiss at the very edge of your snug hole. “Th-think this cute cunt can take my fuckin’ cock, beautiful?”

So fucking impatient. 

You’re tangling one set of fingers into the stray strands of his hair, bucking up to drag a slow glide down the lower half of his pretty face. 

And, usually, with an alpha you could be expected to be snapped at with a snarling command. An instruction to just stay put. 

But Choso’s only letting his sharp jaw comfy against the silken sheets, head nuzzling drunkenly into your thighs when you’re pushing and pulling him as you please. Leveraging the vice-like grasp on his scalp to drive steady grinds just the way you like it. 

Whining, “Need you so bad, baby–” 

“Yeah- yeah, use me-” Choso snickers around a teasing bite against the fattened edge of one of your pussy lips. Sucking. “R-reach your pretty high on my face, omega- need you to cum all over me till I-I’m dripping.”

Fuck.

Was this really your nervous, sweet best friend? His words were so dirty, as if he didn’t even realize he was saying them. And they almost make you embarrassed. Shying way just an inch-

“Oh- no. No no no-”  His words come buzzing around your clit, and with a final bite of his elongated canines, Choso’s frantic. He’s scrambling. He’s grasping his powerful arms to loop your thighs and dragging you to him like some ragdoll down the protestingly creaky bed. “S’gonna go to waste- can’t- can’t let it.”

And it’s only about then that you’re dredging up the courage to angle your head further downwards - immediately hit with the sinful sight of Choso in heaven between your limp legs. 

His hair a disheveled curtain, eyes narrowed and smudged with eyeliner. Damply bleeding down onto the regal apples of his high cheekbones at the way your meady slick was reaching his blushing cheeks. It masks his coral pink lips, his jaw, his fucking chin. 

So sopping wet that it’s forming a little puddle down below him that Choso could never even imagine being disgusted by. No, in fact, he was disappointed with himself for not lapping it up even sooner. 

Pumpish lips jutting out in a pout, Choso’s pushing away the hair from his eyes sexily. “Wh-why are you runnin’ away- don’t run away, my girl.”

With a slight giggle, you’re veering your scent to tinge with something comforting. And oh, does it do the trick - because Choso’s eyes swoop downwards drunkenly. Almost closed, almost ruined, he’s huffing out a drawled-out mantra of your name, “Lock it.”

“Wh-what?” You’re choking out.

Soft palms massage gently down your legs, wrapping them around the back of his head. “Lock it.”

Oh.

That was a command, and it has your body pulling taut. Every sensory spot all down your skin screaming to obey - yet, this is something you would have done anyway. Ankles tying together, it’s jostling Choso’s hotly open mouth against your pussy so deeply that you wonder whether he doesn’t have to breathe. 

Whether he doesn’t even want to. 

Because your dear best friend looks so satisfied to die right in the heaven between your legs right now. And he would go such an utterly happy man, too. 

Rosy red lips rubbing rawly against your clit, you’re left a puddle of a needy mess when the roughened tastebuds of his tongue swirl in meticulous little circles. Cheeks hollowing as he sucks, your whines can’t even be heard over the most oozy squelches.

“Heheh- she’s talkin’ back ta me-” Choso’s sputtering out peck after peck. In awe. “She’s talking. Th-think she wants ngh- more.”

More. 

More, more, more. 

Choso’s beginning to think that your dripping pussy’s speaking for himself with the way that’s exactly what he wants right now. Teasing the mushy outer lips of your puckered hole with his fat fingerpads, before bullying in. Inside. 

You’re taking him so well - hips careening even further downwards when he’s feeding your greedy cunt with every long inch of his digits. Slow enough that you could count it - just about six, ringed inches all the way to his knuckles. 

Shit- it’s so hot inside, as if your pretty pussy was practically melting around him. Molding to his every shape as Choso’s driveling swirling around in rummaging little stripes down your gummy walls. Slow. Slick. 

Slender cylindrical intrusions that bump up deftly against your battered g-spots. The chilling stretch of his banded metal rings was too much. Your eager cunt is splattering out a pornographic little gush of your sweet, sweet juices all over again at the way he’s teasingly fondling over that magical spot. 

“J-jus’ a little higher, baby–” you’re spewing out. Deprived. 

And oh, Choso’s darkened eyes are practically lighting up. He doesn’t pull away from your bruised clit to answer - not even to breathe before vibrating out a keening, “Here?”

So desperate. 

Even needier than you. 

You’re blinking through large, globular tears that occupy the space behind your lids. Nodding, “A little more- jus- oh!”   

And Choso didn’t need to hear it from your lips. Hell, he didn’t even need to hear it from the way your snug channel was all but milking his fingers dry. Clinging on in a soppy kiss when he’s probing into your g-spot harder. Meaner. Because the way your intoxicating scent changes - concentrating ever-so-slightly makes Choso realize that you’re cumming before even you register it.

Slamming headfirst into your high, you’re plowing out a belated cry of “I- fuck- m’cumming, Cho. M’cumming, m’cumming-”

Sparks of white splinter your vision, and your knees find themselves just wrenching free from the lecherous comforts of the bed - but Choso won’t let you escape so easily. 

No. 

Barely batting an eye, he’s straining his biceps deadlocked around your legs. Pinning you to the bed until you could barely squirm, barely do anything but take his punishing little clashes against your g-spot head-on. Bumping in. Over and over. 

Choso suckles on your clit like his favorite little gummy, stretching and nibbling until you see stars with your orgasm. 

“Don’t run away-” he’s puffing out into your cunt, the very idea of parting with drizzling pussy making him yelp out a pained grunt. “P-please don’t run away- I promised to make a mess. O-one more f’me, beautiful?”

You’re just molten at his touch. Ravenous and overwhelmingly greedy for you as much as you were for him. Something carnal inside you screaming for more-

“H-hear her?” His eyes are drifting closed at the pulpy little noises your cunt mashes on. Dangling ear piercings twinkling when he’s leering even closer to hear. “Tellin’ me she’s gonna give her- hngh- alpha one more.” Fuck, Choso’s features decorate with the most blazing blush at his own words. How embarrassing. “Wontcha use my mouth all over again? I didn’t get fuuuuck- messy ‘nough last time…”

And as if to prove his point, Choso traces a slow glide of his worked tongue across the sloppily wet coating that drips down his lips. Just for a second.

Your veins bubble sensitively with need at the broken whine sounding from the back of Choso’s throat when you drag him even snugger between your legs. Puffs of leaky pheromones driving the two of you wild, making your hips stutter out a slurring pace up and down his face. 

“Th-this pussy is all f’me- isn’t it, my girl? S’all f’me?”

Even sloppier once you battle out a nod.  

Your cunt is extra slobbery because of your heat anyways, but Choso’s making such a mess on purpose. 

Eyes running away to the back of his head, tongue lolling out even messier. He’s planting such dousing draws of saliva, lathering your sweet spots mercilessly. And his fingers- oh, his fingers were relentless. Shovelling up in solid, wet nudges until you’re able to feel every circular indent of his digits on your g-spot. 

Every run of his manicured nails across where you’re sure you were beginning to get bruised. And every-so-often whenever his eyes glaze green with raw greed - with slight, stupid jealousy over his fingers - you’d peek at Choso plunging his digits into his mouth and sucking.

Thump! Thump! Thump!

Matching the lecherous sound of your thundering heartbeat, you can feel yourself squeal at the overstimulating touches. Sobbing out the cutest little whines that make Choso chuckle, “Easy– easy there, my girl.” Letting your cunt free with a sodden pwah! only to spit. Once. Twice. A sticky wad of his thick saliva that blusters its way to coat your puffy pussy lips, “You’re cumming again, right? A-all over my face?”

You’re nodding - nodding and nodding so hard, but that wasn’t enough for Choso Kamo. 

He wasn’t satisfied until a slow pull of your clit right from between his pearly whites had you bawling out. The backs of your hands dipping upwards to hide your face - which he quickly, and calculatedly spanks away with his free hand. “M’gonna cum soon- ngh- please- Cho- don’ stop.”

Hah, if this was any other time then Choso might’ve laughed. 

Might’ve teased you until you were begging for him in that cute voice once more. But maybe it’s the way his alpha was clawing at his chest from the insides to give you whatever you want, maybe it was the way seeing you fall apart on your heat like this all over him had his cock twitching-

Because Choso only smiles - drunk. Dazed. “Cum f’me, p-please. Ruin me, ma’am..”

He was ruined alright. 

Absolutely sugar-coated with your overlaying juices - it’s dripping down his bed and disappearing into the now see-through fabric of his undershirt like a badge of honor. A badge to say that he’s made you cum for the second time on his mouth. 

That he’s made you squirt. 

Splattering out all over his face with every slurping taste - and yet, Choso still couldn’t get enough. Sweeping up the milky droplets, Choso’s boring his heady gaze right into your widened eyes when he’s leering his mouth agape to make you spy the way each splash slides down his throat. 

God- you’re seeing white all over again. You’re seeing spots, having you gulp in necessary gasps of the soiled air to once more regain your steady heartpace. 

“Ch-Choso-” you’re struggling, voice brittle and gone. Frantically trying to haul - to force - Choso from his favorite home between your cunt, to stop his greedy tongue. “S’enough- can’t cum anymore can’t- ngh-”

“But, beautiful–”

Shit- it would be so easy to get swept up all over again. Because Choso was parched, and he was still far from having his fill. 

Words tinting with a slightly commanding tone, you’re making something dark and primal rear its head when you manhandle him upwards with one hand in his locks, and another on his undershirt. So heavy but pliant. 

Up, up, up-

“Choso–” you’re mumbling out. And before you know it, Chosos hands had toppled you over into the cushiony mattress, and yours were tracing the edge of his too-tight boxers. Tugging. Needy. “I-I want these- off-”

“Anything.” He’s echoing, like it was all that he could right about now. Dewey brows scrunching up into something of a beg, you’re catching the way his Adam’s apple bobs. Deprived. “Anything f-for you-”

Fuck- in your currently woozy state you’re not sure if Choso removed his pants or if he ripped them off. Stumbling and tripping to let the few scarce tatters droop into the floor in a sullen pile. 

With a gulp, your fingers skitter across the planes of his useless undershirt - letting his pretty, bulging muscles peek out at you from underneath when you slide them off of him. Palms smearing in gluttonous little touches across his push pecs, down his rippling abs, down that lusciously dark happy trail and oh-

“S-something the matter, beautiful?” Choso’s heaving in a struggling gulp at the way your gorgeous eyes widen, maw slacking into a soft oh! Head tilting innocently, “M’your hah- best friend, you can tell me a-anythin’.”

“You’re just so…” Comes the whirling answer, your voice slow and alcoholic. He was getting drunk on your words already. “...big.”

Not only was Choso big - he was massive. 

The fat, rotund circle of his head ruddied a strawberry pink, gradiating all the way down his shaft to meet blend into his creamy base. He was so hard that it looked painful, visibly throb! throb! throbbing, bumpy lightning bolts of his veins hammering up at you cheekily. He was so pretty - thick enough that you’re feeling your cunt clench already. Even the burn of your stare has Choso’s reddish divot weeping out a few ropey spurts of pre. Making you dizzy with the incredible size and that musky vanilla scent of his. 

And was that-

Oh. Fuck.

It was.

Through the honeyed slew of precum pooling at Choso’s thick tip, you’re gasping at the slight wink of something metallic. 

Without thinking - without even breathing - you’re drifting your hand down to thumb those syrupy globules thin. Discovering the absolute treasure chest that was a studded Prince Albert’s piercing right near the weepy edge of Choso’s shaft. 

“I got if for- you- Gotta a-another one, y’know-” His gentle rasp jolts you out of your sinful reverie, engulfing hands guiding your own to wrap around his flushed tip and peek under. Right on the slippery sliver of his slit, “A ngh- matching one. Th-thought you might like it…”

Oh- two. 

And, embarrassingly, you can feel the way your scent turns headier. Hypnotizing. Enough so that Choso can’t help the way he’s hanging by a bare thread, head falling into the crook of your neck to breathe in. “Y-you act so innocent but…” 

“But m’only l-like this for you.” He’s tucking your tender earlobe between his teeth. “P-promise. I haven’t even…”

Ah, a virgin. 

Sweet and absolutely gifted. 

And something about it was so cute the way Choso was acting exactly like it. Every wordless toy of your fingers up and down his sensitive glans, making him snarl a lipbite. Girthy length fucking up in shuddering slams into the cushiony tunnel of your palm. Weightily muscled abs flexing with heat when you’re running a thumb under his head to press down on that silver piercing. 

“S-so tiny- heh- your pretty hands are so tiny takin’ my cock, beautiful.” he’s giggling - giggling. Perspiration-simmered forehead knocking into yours, Choso’s letting his tired head loll there and bore into your eyes. “You needa ngh- fuck! Needa slow down, my girl, m’already so close jus’ from making out with yer sweet c-cunt out.” Already close. Just from eating you out. “Else m’n-not gonna be able to control it-”

“I can handle it–” you’re pouting stubbornly. Soft digits clenching even tighter around his cock, and shit, Choso lets his head fall into the junction between your shoulder and your neck. 

Finding himself growing more needy. More feral. Tight, hot curdling in his stomach building up and up.

“M’serious.” His lilting voice breaks, teeth skimming over the pulpy flesh of your sweetened pheromone glands. Nibbling. His incredibly shaky fingers wrap around your shoulders, “Please- ngh- please m’gonna break ya.”

And it’s like you wanted him to.

Dick twitching at those filthy fingers of yours - the way they only pump him faster. And faster. Tighter around the hefty base, more teasing up the slippery slope of his tip - like you were trying to milk out something delicious. 

And you can already feel the way your mouth lathers with a fresh coating of saliva, face inching closer and closer to the bawling peak of his swollen cock. Wanting oh-so-badly to taste the silver of his Prince Albert’s. 

“But I want you to, Cho.”

SMACK!

You’re left stupidly stunned when Choso’s behemoth palm coils like a tight shackle around your tender throat. Pulling you away from his achy cock in a flash, you’re being thrown around like his own personal ragdoll. 

And Choso snickers at the way you’re bouncing cutely on the plush mattress, legs drooping wider and wider agape with every sleazy second he really can’t help but leer over you. Wrangling those boneless legs of yours over his shoulder with a sharp click of his tongue. 

“I-I already told you, beautiful–” he’s bending down, down down to nose along your sweat-dotted cheeks, your skin stark hot against the icy chain of his silver necklace. Chest grumbling with a slight purr. “M’gonna make such a mess of you- can I?”

And that drunken look in Choso’s eyes made him look like he would absolutely shatter if you let your lips shape into a teasing no right about now. Like those warm, salted tears spattering from the corners of his half-lidded eyes and right onto your cheeks would only hasten. 

“Can I- please, my girl- jus’ wanna-” His lips wobble adorably when his sobbing cock glides a slow line between the mushy lips of your pussy. A graze for a graze of his mouth down your own. “-wanna make you mine.”

And just the tip - just a single fat inch shoved into your gummy hole is all it takes for Choso to whimper. 

You’re brushing over his precious cheek, “Ch-Cho, are you okay?”

And Choso can’t answer - hell, he doesn’t think he could even if he wanted to. Because that gushing little clench of your clingy walls all around his sodden wet tip absolutely ruins him. Delicate rivulets of slobber streaming down the smiling edges of his tongue, he’s puffing out an open-mouthed, “No- fuck- d-do I look okay?”

He didn’t.

He seemed like he was burning up - fucked-out already, practically. Pecs rippling with a bolting flex, muscled body shirking with violent shivers when with a low keen of your name - Choso’s cumming. 

“No-” he’s crying out, head flailing backwards. Just from putting it inside for the first time. “No no no no- m’not s’pposed to- yet-”

But he was. Hips recklessly meandering again and again into yours - slight, tugging grinds of just his thickened tip like Choso was afraid of sinking into your heavenly pussy anymore. Like he knew it would break him even more. 

Have him flooding out voluminous ribbons of thick seed, splattering against your spongy channel, and smearing around in dripping vertical patterns with every one of his animalistic ruts. 

“Give it t’me–” you’re locking your ankles even tighter. Prattling out such filthy nonsense that you’re sure you’d get embarrassed about had you not been in your heat. “I-I need your cum, baby- wan’ it allll inside me-”

“Ngh-” Choso’s letting off a broken sound at the back of his throat, squeezing your own with that one hand of his happily making its home there. Blocking off your airway, your heady pheromones only struggle to waft out even more. Saturating. “D-don’t talk like that- n-not outta ya pussy, beautiful.”

“But I w-ngh! want it-”

He gulps, “A-are you sure?” Because this is his best friend - this is the one person he’d never even dreamt of having because that was too dangerous. Too fanciful. The one person he’d written about in every diary, and gotten teased for it by his family just the same. Perfect. 

Yet, you’re so stubborn when you’re in heat. “Mhm– wan’ you to…breed me.”

And he loved it.

Couldn’t get enough of it - or you. 

Choso’s scrambling up one of his jostling hands to latch your hips into a perfect almost-semicircle. Lower lip worried underneath his canines when he’s wiping his fat thumb over the dewdrops of seed treacling from your soppy slit. 

That digit finds its way rummaging between your lips, “Lock it.”

This time, you don’t need it said twice - you don’t even need it to be a command.

Because Choso’s reigning up his own hand to pin both your ankles behind his head, and you think you’ll forever remember just how hot he looked this way. Biceps bulging with the strain, simmering with a slick sheen of perspiration, and his hips-

Oh, it’s like any and every slip of restraint in Choso’s hulking body snapped. 

Because with a loud, saturated squelch! you’re being filled up to what it feels like your lungs with every solid inch of his engorged girth. Inflating your tender insides, buttering your poor cervix with a thick stream of pre when he’s kissing it with a wet thwack!

“Oh- oh.” Choso’s head pushes into the crook of your neck, into your pillow until you were sure that it was soaked with tears of absolute bliss. “Th-this feels nothing l-like my ngh- hand. S’so much more heavenly-”

Yet, you weren’t in the right state of mind to be paying attention to the utter filth that was spilling from your innocent best friend’s mouth. Breath choking up in a lead ball in your throat, you whisper, “Ch-Cho…s’that your knot?”

Your slicked-up folds puckering up in a wet snog against the overinflated ring ballooning around his thick base. The sheer thumping circumference of it makes you squeeze-

“Y-yes–” he’s humming out. The sodden base of his cock thwack! thwack! thwacking your bruising entrance when he’s rutting in and out. Sloppy. Slow. Still trying not to see stars. “God- s’even softer than I ngh- imagined.”

And soft you were. 

This is what your sweet pussy felt like? This good? This should be fucking illegal, he was babbling out - but wouldn’t realize until much, much later. 

Being spearheaded open with every unapologetic rifle to fill you up, the leftover dredges of Choso’s seed trickle a slippery pathway leading him to ambush your g-spot head on. Stubbing his cool metal piercing into your sweetened bullseyes so hard, you swear you could feel the indenting divot of that sinful Prince Albert’s.

“There?” Mesmerized, his eyes grow wide. “R-right there?”

And he’s hot - so feverish. 

Glissading body on top of yours burning up with radiating heat, fracturing our rationality just as much as the sweet vanilla scent of his pheromones were. That tiny heart friendship charm on his necklace hitting your collarbones in a dirty staccato. 

You can feel yourself start to drool with how stupid Choso’s cock was fucking you, curling a few neat raking lines down his statuesquely muscled back. It makes him just arch his cock even deeper to jostle your snug insides riotously. 

“I-imagined about me a lot?” Ah, you’re finding it in yourself to smirk.

Something that Choso’s jackhammering out in quick, increasingly sloppy juts of his hips. Slathering the entirety of his cock with your slicked juices. 

“O-of course.” He’s shifting his eyes gingerly away from yours with a boyish blush. But now that Choso had started talking, he couldn’t stop. “Always wan’ed to f-fuck you through a rut or h-heat like this- to-” Couldn’t keep from hiking up a flattened foot to angle his pierced cockhead into every untouched inch inside you. The special upright curve of his shaft driving you mad. “-to absolutely ruin you and-” The hand at your legs hover right over where he was plummeting your insides with gluey kisses - your womb. “-and make you mine. Ours.”

Ours. 

God, just the mere act of confessing those embarrassing little words had Choso’s hulking body practically melting into yours. 

It’s like his abs were made of adhesive, massaging up and down your front. Drowning you into the plethora of wrecked sheets and him when he’s collapsing on top of you - but still going. Still placing pound after pound. 

“I-I want that too-” And you think you hear Choso sharply gasp, but you can’t confirm over your popping ears. “Always wanted it- ah- wanted you to fuck a baby into me, Cho.”

SLAM!

The slowly-splintering bedframe creaks when one particularly harsh rut has the headboard slamming into the wall behind. 

And that’s all he needed to hear. 

A baby - he wants a baby. He needs one - and this wasn’t just his alpha talking - and he was going to get it.

All that Choso thinks he ever could hear all through his honeyed mind for the rest of his life. Replaying it over and over in his mind like his favorite catchy tune. 

You don’t miss the way that he looks so in love above you, gaze practically heart-eyed and gone. Choso’s raw, swollen lips meteor shower your face with peck after peck - just in time with the collisions of his rounded tip into your sweet spots. 

“Boy or girl?”

“H-huh?” you’re questioning, barely-lucidly. 

“Boy or girl.”

And after those senseless little answers are falling from your lips, Choso’s brushing a hand over your lower tummy. Pushing. Hard. Until his twitchy knot was covered in buttery residues of cum, “Ah- a-always wan’ed a daughter with ya first. With your c-cute smile and ngh- eyes.”

Huffing out an embarrassed, “Choso.”

And he’s only scooping back in the leaky sediments of seed that he’s responsible for making a mess of. Turning a slow thumb right over your tight ring of muscle, “Gonna have my- ngh- style of course, heh- you’d be the best momma. D-don’t care if you’re my best friend, m’gonna breed ya until you’re overspilling, beautiful.”

You needed it so badly. Your heat turning up a notch until it felt like you were boiling from the inside out, candied scent drifting more. 

He’s giggling out, dark lashes batting without his permission. “M’gonna- ngh- take care of you-”. The hand caressing your elastic entrance flies upwards to get cleaned off by his own tongue - before prying your jaw sagging open to spit. “Goood fuckin’ care. N’ hopefully you’ll end up p-pregnant…hopefully.”

He’s encircling the dip in your waist and dragging you forwards to smack against his washboard abs. Unable to squirm. Unable to run away. “Gonna be the p-prettiest momma- the ngh- most beautiful.” Other hand restricting your throat so cozily that your vision tinges with black, “Gonna be mine.”

And when you’re cumming, it’s with those exact words in mind.

The way your sopping walls were milking him for all he’s worth - so greedily - shoving Choso to tip over the edge, too. 

Choso’s letting his body sexily cave into yours, not breaking even a mere inch apart when he’s got you trapped and overfilled with every dollop of his cum icing your insides. And right now you could already feel the way your scents were mixing, the way Choso turns slightly cross-eyed- 

Before sharply turning to your glands and biting. 

Hard. 

His predatory canines break through your epidermis layer like butter, a crimson lipstain gushing from the wound and staining his lips a handsome rouge. 

And - only belatedly, once your omega’s snapping at you with her teeth bared - do you realize that it’s your turn to do the same. As if you would want any other. 

Locking your jaw to dig into his pale, dampish throat, Choso sucks in his cheek to muffle the slightest whine when you’re wringing him through every speck of bliss he could possibly ever feel in a lifetime. Furious cock stuttering out a few more lazy wisps of cum at the mingling feeling of finally being yours. 

“Not ‘nough-” He’s eyeing the leftover ring of cum painting his knot, “Can I fill ya up m-more? Please? Please- my girl.”

You’re pulling away with a woozy nod to rub your thumb over the dug indents of your teeth, gently soothing slow circles over the feral sting. 

Filling you up over and over with each pound, he’s fucking you into the mattress like he hates you. And he’s fucking you like every shuddering ram had a creamy ounce of cum pouring into your gummy walls. Glueing in wet splats against your g-spot, your cervix, like a second sloppy skin. 

Generous helpings of cum drifting into almost blanks-

“Heh- haaaah- y’know tha’s makin’ me still c-cum, beautiful.” Choso’s leaving sodden kisses on your own mark, your lips. “M’sorry m’sorry I- I can’t stop- I just- can’t.”

And it’s sheer animal nature in you that’s screaming at you that you don’t want him to stop until you’re sure it takes. That’s bending down a hand as much as deftly as possible to wrap around Choso’s slightly softening cock - that only tuts in impatience. 

“Wh-when I said inside-” You’re pumping his soaked base as much as possible, feeling the stiffening twitch at his tip buried inside you. “-I mean- inside-”

It’s like you’re being split-apart - like you couldn’t be any fuller if you tried. 

And, yet, only the very curvaceous top of Choso’s inflated knot had bullied its way in-between your lewdly stretched hole. Gaping a pathway so incredibly girthy that it makes you scrunch your brows, head tumbling backwards. 

“Oh- oh, my greedy, greedy girl.” But Choso doesn’t look one bit admonishing - not one bit. Slithering a hand down to your cunt, he’s steamrolling two thick pads of his fingers. Rubbing up against your squeamish walls, scissoring your tight entrance so amply open. “I can put it…inside. R-really, really inside?”

Oh, Choso doesn’t know what blessings he’s received in his past lives. But absolutely nothing could have prepared him for how swelteringly hot and cushy you were around his fat knot. 

Swallowing up the bulging circlet, plugging up your seeping slit safely so that you’re not spilling a single glutinous splotch of his cum. So that it will take. It’s such a tight fit. Such a burning stretch. You felt so full you could burst with every throb of his swollen knot probing your walls. 

Ah, you look so pretty this way.

And Choso’s half-wishing he had a camera to capture this moment. With his lips pressing a few syrupy kisses along every inch of skin he could reach. Somewhere near your tummy - so full and slightly inflated with the copious amounts of cum that were dumped inside you. 

He’s murmuring something drunken - something you probably weren’t even supposed to hear. But at the curious tilt of your head, your best friend chews over his lips nervously. 

And a giddy smile plasters across your face at the saccharine love in your best friend’s eyes - the way he was probably mulling over asking you out on a date. There was no turning back at this point, and your omega purred in agreement as you got ready to say yes. For him to say a sweetened- 

“Marry me.”

A/N. You show up at the next Itadori family dinner with a ring and Sukuna has an actual heart attack.

Plagiarism not authorized.