#not looking forward to the process of replacing it

[athenamikaelson]

Written in Fate- WITS Book 2 Chapter 1

Klaus and Elijah Mikaelson x Reader Book 2- Chapter 1

Warnings- swearing, blood, death, grief, the reader going through it/rocking elijah's shit

Word Count- 3.8k

A/N- Here we are again, Chapter ONE. Good lord. 

“And so I process grief by running from it; until it meets me in the middle of a street on a beautiful summer’s day.”

Organs. Skin, eyes, liver, heart. My mother’s head was just bashed in, and now these strangers are asking me about her organs. 

“They’re only valuable for a short time, so we should discuss options as soon as possible, Miss. Y/n.” 

“And since your father wasn’t down as an organ donor either, we should discuss the options for him as well. We won't be able to salvage anything above the neck, but we can access the other vital organs. And… I know this is hard, but since your parents are gone, that makes you the guardian of your brother Theodore. And since he’s in surgery, we should also think of the worst-case scenario if surgery doesn’t go well-”

“If you finish that sentence, I promise you the next organs to be harvested will be yours.”

A gasp. Silence. Footsteps.

“He’s going to be fine. I gave him my blood.”

He gave him his blood. 

His…blood. 

“My beautiful baby girl, I’m sorry I wasn’t always able to protect you… But this time I did. Right? I did?”

“Beauty, I need you to calm down, alright? Your eyes…”

My eyes. Right. 

Cold hands press themselves to my cheeks, and I look forward to seeing Alastair with his face about 2 inches away from me. 

“These past 6 hours have been horrible, sweetheart, I know. But I need you to keep fighting for just an hour. Just until your brother gets out of surgery, alright?”

His eyes are different shades of brown. But there's a singular speck of dark green in his left eye. 

“Y/n. Tell me what’s going on in that head of yours.”

In my head?

Two Hours Before-

“Klaus is dead.”

Klaus? 

I brush my mom’s hair out of her face as her lifeless body leans against me. 

“Come on, Theo, take the blood!”

My vision is blurry as I see Alastair press his wrist to my brother’s mouth. 

“Damnit!”

I’m frozen in place until Alastair reaches for him and I react without thinking, shoving the vampire back with a deep growl. My grief quickly replaced with something darker, something territorial. 

“Ah shit,” Alastair mutters as his eyes look over my face.

“Babe, listen to me,” He inches closer, which only makes me tighten my grip on my brother, “He needs blood. My blood. I don’t know how much time I have left, but there’s no way in hell I’m dying without saving him. You just triggered your curse, and I know you’re scared, but you don’t have to be scared of me. So let me heal him,” He reaches out a slow hand as if to test the waters, “Let me bring your brother back to you.”

Now-

“Why is it so sticky?”

Alastair frowns in confusion until I pull my hands up and glance at the semi-dried blood that has covered my hands and up my forearms.

“There’s so much of it. I didn’t know someone could bleed that much,” I stare at the dark red flakes of blood that are falling off as they dry, and I bring my hands closer to inspect them, “Why does it smell so bad? My mom never smelled like this before.”

I hear Alastair take in a sharp breath. 

TICK TOK TICK… TOK TICK TOK… TIK TOK TICK TOK TICK TOK TIK TOK TICK TOK TICK TOK TIK TOK TICK TOK TICK TOK TIK TOK TICK TOK TICK TOK TIK TOK TICK TOK TICK TOK TIK TOK 

I shove Alastair away harshly and stand up.

“What the fuck is that sound!”

“Y/n, your senses are heightened right now. You’re going to be hearing, smelling, and feeling things that you don’t normally hear, smell, and feel. But this is all perfectly normal…just take a deep breath for me alright,” Alastiar tries to place his hands on my shoulders, but I shove him away again. This time, he’s shoved into the cement wall with a hard thud.

“Right super strength…great,” He mutters to himself but I hear it perfectly.

“The fuck did you just say,” The voice that comes out of me is almost foreign, and all I can think of is how much I want to rip his fucking throat open and watch the blood drain from his body. 

“My beautiful baby girl, I’m sorry I wasn’t always able to protect you… But this time I did. Right? I did?”

A piercing pain hits my chest, and I feel my knees give out. 

“Ok, ok, I’ve got you, Alastair’s here,” Alastair wraps his arms around my hunched body, and I inhale, hoping to find comfort in the smell of his Amrani cologne, but instead, a rush of bile fills my throat at the smell of something dead.

I quickly crawl away from him and rush over to the metal trash can in the corner of the room. 

The bile burns as it makes its way out of my mouth.

“I’m here, My Love,” A cold hand presses itself to the side of my face, and the person’s other hand grips my hair away.

I glance over to see Elijah, looking at me with pitiful eyes, and I push him away, run my hand over my mouth to clean the bile away, and then stand. 

Both men watch me wearily as I glare at them.

“Elskan, I am so sorry but we’ll-” Elijah’s sappy fucking monologue is cut short by the sharp punch I throw into his nose. Blood gushes from his nostrils and onto his already dirty white dress shirt. 

“WHERE WERE YOU?!”

My voice booms, and I notice a security guard quickly approach, and without thinking, I start to stalk over to him before a pair of strong arms wrap themselves around me. 

“LET. ME. GO.”

I struggle to get out of Elijah’s grasp as Alastair compels the guard to leave. As soon as the compelled man is gone, Elijah’s grasp lightens, and I use the opportunity to swing my head back and hit Elijah in the nose again. The smell of copper fills my senses, and my brain goes numb. 

“Damn, let him get up, Babe,” Alastair chastises, and I let out an animal-like sound at the tone. 

“Oh, my Lord!”

My eyes dart to the older woman standing behind us with a chart clutched to her chest.

The urge to rip out her throat is quickly squashed as she says she’s looking for the family of Theodore Y/L/N. “That’s us,” Alastair quickly says.

The woman looks between the three of us with an odd look before sighing, “Not the weirdest I’ve seen… Anyways, Theodore’s surgery went well. For the injuries he sustained, it’s a miracle he’s been able to heal as well as he has. He’s resting now, but you are free to go in and see him,” She gestures towards a room down the hall, and I don’t wait for anyone else, I just start running. 

I get to the front door and throw it open, accidentally making a hole in the wall with the doorknob. My eyes frantically search the room until they freeze on the sleeping body of my little brother.

I softly walk over to him and I can now notice the light bruises covering his face, a small cut on his upper lip, and I white bandage wrapped around his head. 

“I can give him more blood while he’s sleeping.”

I smell Alastiar before I see him. 

“The doctors have done what is needed to do,” I hear Elijah’s grating voice next. 

“Do it.”

I don’t turn back towards them, I only step closer to my brother and raise my hand to brush a fallen hair out of his face. 

I pause midair.

Blood. 

My hands are still stained red from blood. His blood. My blood. Our mother’s blood. His father’s. 

My hands start to shake, “I can’t… I can’t, I-”

“Y/n,” Elijah’s hand grabs mine, and he pulls me closer to him, “Alastair, you heal him, I’ll clean her up.”

“No! I can’t leave him! I-”

Elijah grabs my shaking head with his hands, “Y/n, we’re going right there,” He points to the ensuite bathroom, “We’ll keep the door open so you can see him at all times. But I need to get you cleaned up.”

I don’t nod. I don’t say anything. But I let him pull me. 

Just like he promised, he leaves the door open as he gently pushes me to sit down on the closed toilet seat. I don’t take my eyes off Theo as Alastair bites into his wrist, opens Theo’s mouth, and drips the blood down his throat. 

“I’m so sorry, Elskan, I came as soon as Mr. Cromwell called me. But I shouldn’t have left you and Theodore by yourselves, I should’ve known something was going to happen and now-”

“Are you going to start crying?”

Elijah stops wiping my hands with the wet cloth he has. He glances at me, and all I feel is annoyance. The longer he stares, the more a fiery pain builds in my chest.

“No, I’m not…”

He eyes me wearily, and I start breathing harshly through my nose to try and get my heart to stop beating a mile a fucking minute.

“Elskan, what’s wrong?”

Elijah’s worried voice alerts Alastair, who runs into the room and stares down at us.

“Did you seriously just ask me that?”

I stand up and shove Elijah away. I walk to the sink and turn it on, and start scrubbing everything. It’s not long before the once porcelain sink is painted red with my sins. 

“Go back to Theodore, I can handle this,” Elijah says to the other male, but the ladder doesn’t even glance at the Original, the busy watching me through the mirror. 

I feel my eye twitch at Elijah’s words, “You can, can you?”

I whip around, sending watery blood onto the sink and the wall next to me. 

“Right, because Noble Elijah handles everything so well, doesn’t he?”

My glare is met by Elijah’s narrowed eyes, “What exactly are you implying, Y/n?”

“I’m not implying anything. I’m saying that you talk a big game and make everyone think your some white knight but in reality all you ever do is show up after the blood has already been drawn and try to mend things because you think it’ll make everyone look at you like your some hero and not like the monster you are!” A visible look of pain washes over Elijah’s face, and I see Alastair stare at both of us with wide eyes.

“You think you save people? What about Klaus? What about my mother,” With each word, a lump fills my throat, and I feel a burning in my blurry eyes, “What Theo…What about me!”

I shove Elijah's chest, but he doesn’t move, so I keep hitting. 

“Where were you?!”

Shove.

“Why didn’t you come?!”

Hit.

“Why didn’t you save me?! Why didn’t you save Klaus?!”

Hit.

“Why didn’t you save her!? Why didn’t you save my mom?!” I go to hit him once more, but whatever strength I’ve gained over the past few hours seems to have left me, and I trip into him and he quickly catches me, wrapping me in his arms. 

“Let me go!”

My protest comes out pathetic as I try to get out of Elijah’s hold, but he doesn’t budge, only pressing his mouth to the side of my head and starts to whisper calming words that don’t register. 

“I’ve got you. Just let it out.”

—-

“Y/n, babe, you need to wake up,” A deep voice fills my ears, and a piercing pain hits my chest, jolting me forward.

“Woah, okay. When I said wake up, I didn’t mean abruptly.”

I  quickly blink and feel the pain lessen slightly. 

“Y/n?’’

My heart practically drops as I hear my brother’s voice. I stand up so quickly that I lose my balance, but thankfully, Alastair grabs me.  

I shrug him off and practically jump over to my brother’s bed, who looks at me with tears in his eyes, seeing my normally happy, carefree brother look like this…so broken and confused, God, it makes me want to die. 

Bad timing. 

“Y/n, what happened?”

Theo looks around frantically, and I hear his heart monitor pick up, and I press my hands to his shoulders, trying to ground him, “Theo, I need you to take a deep breath, okay?’’

“Y/n, what happened?! Where’s mom?!”

Oh no. 

Please no.

I turn over to look at Alastair, who takes a step forward and gives me a sorrowful look.

“Y/n?”

I look at Theo, and I know I can’t say it out loud. 

“No. Y/n no,” Theo’s voice breaks as he puts the pieces together, and I feel my eyes water at the defeated look on my brother’s face.

“No! NO! Not mom, not…”

I grab my brother and wrap my arms around him, and I feel him shake in my grasp. 

“It’s ok. Everything’s going to be ok.”

—

“Y/n?!”

My pulse jumps as I see Caroline and Matt standing in the doorway of Theo’s room. A few hours have passed, the Mid-morning sun now shining through the blinds, and yet I can’t step out of the darkness that seems to be suffocating me. My brother’s gone non-verbal. Wordlessly watching soap opera reruns on the en-suite TV. Every time I try to talk to him or get him to eat something, he doesn’t even blink. I tried calling Jeremy, hoping he could comfort him, but his cell just goes to voicemail. Elijah’s gone to handle my parents' affairs, talking to doctors, the cops, since I technically committed a murder, even if it was self-defense. He left Alastair to watch over us and said the vampire is now in the Cafe trying to find food that is actually edible. 

“My mom called me and told me what happened,” Caroline takes a step into the room, and I take a defensive step in front of my brother, who still won’t look at anyone.

Caroline and Matt watch my movements, and Caroline pushes them both back with a careful smile. 

“I can’t even imagine what you’re going through, but I want you to know that if you need anything at all, we’re here for you. I mean technically, I’m on the run now, but…”

“I’m here, I can stay with you guys,” Matt chimes in.

“Is Tyler dead?”

The question shocks them both, but the look on Caroline’s face gives me my answer.

“Why the hell do you think I want to be around you guys? This is all your faults,” I take a slow step forward, and a look of fear flashes onto Caroline’s face.

“Y/n sweetie, wait. We didn’t know this was going to happen, ok? We just didn’t think-”

“When do you ever,” I bite out a snarky laugh, “Your boyfriend is dead because of you and your friends. Because you guys couldn’t let bygones be bygones. My soulmate is dead because of you and your stupid fucking FRIENDS!”

I jump to pounce on her, but I’m caught mid-air by Alastair, who gives a cruel look to the two other teens, “You both need to leave. Now!”

Alastair keeps hold of me until they leave our eyeline. As soon as his hold lessens, I shove away from him with a growl.

“You had no right!”

“Ok, listen here, Teen Wolf,” Alastair points a finger at me, “I know you’re angry. Rightfully so. But you need to take a breath and not start clawing up vampires in the middle of a busy hospital. And yes, I know Elijah told me to handle you with care, but fuck that because I know that’s not what you need. You don’t need anyone to coddle you right now; you need the truth, and you need someone to blame. Blame Mark, blame him. None of this is your fault. Do you understand me? You protected yourself and you fought. And because you fought, you saved him,” He shoves a finger towards Theo’s direction, “And you saved yourself. So it’s ok to be angry and upset, but pick a different place for it. If you want to leave, we can. I’ll pack your bags right now and leave. If you want to go to the Mikaelsons, we’ll go, and if you don’t want to be anywhere near here, I’ll take you both out of town right now. We can go before Elijah even realizes we’re gone.”

Alastair releases a breath. I do too. 

“I’m sorry about Klaus.”

A small voice has me whipping around to my brother, who is now looking down at the blanket that covers him. 

I close my eyes and fight back the wave of tears that threaten to bulldoze their way out of my eyes. Not now. Not in front of Theo. 

“What do you want to do, Theo?”

Theo is quiet for a long moment, and I begin to think he’s gone mute again. 

“I want to leave. I don’t know where I just can’t be here.”

I nod, then turn to Alastair, who is already picking up our belongings.

“Then we’ll leave.”

—-

“Why the hell are we going here again?”

I sigh as I look at the approaching driveway of the Gilberts. 

“This is where Theo wanted to go,” I say, annoyed.

“Him and that fucking Gilbert boy, I swear.”

—

Theo, Alastair, and I stand at the front door of Elena’s house. 

“Let me just say this right now. If anyone gives you two any stress or pain, I can’t promise I won’t kill them.”

Theo doesn’t knock; he just walks in. 

I pause. Not entirely sure what to do.

“If you don’t want to go in, I’ll stay out here in the sun with you.”

“I don’t want it to get dark. It’s so dark in here,” I say as I shove a finger at my head. 

Alastair releases a shaky breath before he turns and pulls me into him. 

“I’m not going to let that happen, alright? I’m here. Already almost lost you once, I’ll die before letting it happen again.”

“Y/n?”

Alastair lets go of me, and I turn to see Jenna standing in the doorway with tears in her eyes as they dart over my face and body. 

I’m not sure what I expect of her. Maybe to run away screaming or look at me in disgust, but none of that happens. 

“Oh, baby girl,” Those two words are all she says before she runs over to me and pulls me into her. I’m not sure if it’s the maternal embrace or the way she's clutching my head into her shoulder, but whatever it is breaks whatever walls I built up over the past day, and the tears fall. 

And they don’t stop. 

—

“Damon called, he got them. They’re going to be ok.”

Jenna releases a shaky breath as she sits down across from me. She tries to pull off the cork of the red wine bottle she brought to the kitchen table where we’re sitting. 

Jenna and I have been sitting around for about an hour, whilst Alastair and Theo are up in Jeremy’s room. In that past hour, I’ve come to find out I’m not the only one who’s had a shitty past 24 hours. From what I’ve got from a shaken-up, way over her head, Jenna is that Rebekah, in her grief, ran Matt’s truck off a bridge, which he was driving Elena in. Stefan got there in time, but instead of saving his girlfriend, he saved the fucking blonde boy because Elena told him to. So that resulted in Elena dying. But I guess she had Damon’s blood in her system, so she’s in transition. Bonnie then said she’d find a way to reverse it, so Jeremy went with her to do that. But then some cultists from the council came and kidnapped Stefan and Elena. I think that’s it. Hopefully. 

I watch with slight annoyance as Jenna continues to struggle with the bottle and I grunt as I rip it from her hands and break the stem of the bottle off. 

“Oh. That works too, I guess.”

I meet Jenna’s look and she reaches over to grab my hand, but I shrug her away. 

I grab her glass and fill it up, and then bring the bottle of alcohol to my lips, not caring if the broken bottle cuts me. I’ll heal. 

I’ll heal because I’m a werewolf. 

Right. 

“Y/n?”

I look towards Jenna, who watches me down the bottle in under 15 seconds. 

“What?”

“You know you can talk to me about it. If not right now, then whenever it becomes a little too much to handle.”

“I can handle it.”

Jenna tilts her head and gives me a soft look, “I don’t doubt you can, but…”

I narrow my eyes at her, “But what?”

“I think you were born with the weight of the world on your shoulders. I think it’s time you let someone else take some of that weight.”

I sit with her words. 

I sit with them as the clock chimes, alerting the next hour. 

I sit with them as Alastair comes downstairs after getting Theo to sleep.

And I sit with them until the front door opens and Elena, the Salvatores, Bonnie, Jeremy, Tyler, and Caroline walk through. 

I pick up my head, and my eyes meet Elena’s. Her brown eyes look over my clothes that are still covered in blood, then at my face. I don’t say anything. Neither does she. 

That’s fine. I don’t need words. I don’t want them. 

Jenna gets up to greet her niece, but Elena pushes through everyone and stops a foot in front of me. 

She pauses and sniffs the air. 

“You smell bad.”

I sniff the air. 

“You smell like death.”

My words hit something in her, and she grabs me by my arm and harshly tugs me into a hug, clearly not used to her strength. Makes two of us. 

I meet Damon’s eyes as Elena hugs me. He gives me a single, saddened look before storming out of the house. Whatever. 

“Um, Y/n?”

My mood instantly darkens as I turn my attention towards Caroline, who watches me wearily. 

“There’s something you should know…”

I don’t give her a response. And instead, wait for her to get over the dramatics and just say what she has to say. 

“Klaus…he’s alive.”

[sky-is-the-limit]

Both? Both.

P: Sanji x F!Reader x Zoro

Summary: just porn without plot

CW: Oral (giving), Vaginal sex, double penetration (oral + vaginal), threesome

WC: 3,430 words

Sanji's cock pushes past your lips with a thick, filthy glide and the weight of it smears pre-cum along your tongue as your mouth stretches wide around him.

He is already pulsing, leaking enough to coat your tastebuds with his scent and you can't help but swallow him inch by inch until your nose is nearly buried against his pelvis.

The tip bullies past your resistance, brushing the soft, vulnerable spot at the back of your throat to make you gag softly around the intrusion, though it is not just the stretch in your jaw and the steady throb against your tongue that make your thighs clench instinctively.

It's the sight of him towering at the foot of the bed over you, blonde hair falling over those stormy eyes, pupils blown wide as they drink you in, making you feel worshipped as if it is not you on all fours serving him just right.

Sanji's fingers clamp around your hair, dragging you back just enough to keep control while the other hand cups your jaw, gentle in a way only he can pull off as if this filthy act is sacred and he is trying to burn every detail into his memory.

His stomach tightens with every slow, wet bob of your head with the soft moans from you pulsing against him and sending small shocks through his length to cause his hips to jerk forward.

''Fucking hell, love-''

The words barely make it coherently out of his throat while saliva drips freely from the corners of your lips, sliding down your chin in warm rivulets.

Every time you draw back, a thick strand of spit clings from your mouth to the flushed base of his cock, only to vanish when you plunge down again to devour him whole with no hesitation.

Oh, if you could only see what he sees…

Ruined mascara streaked over damp skin with eyes glassy and mouth stretched wide around him, leaking spit…

You'd understand why he looks half-crazed like that, staring down at you like you're a masterpiece that belongs in a museum.

''That mouth…'' Sanji groans, fraying as his head tips back, unable to keep the strain from echoing in the room.

Your pace only quickens, tongue dragging along the thick underside, teasing the ridge at the crown before you sink down again with your throat opening enough to help you take him in further.

The soft patch of golden hair above his cock brushes your nose slightly, the tickle of it making you blink back the tears forming by the second.

One hand works between his thighs, fingers cupping his balls and massaging the weight of them as your mouth keeps up its pace for just a moment.

Without warning, you ease off, pulling him from your mouth with a loud, wet pop just to lift his cock and run your tongue beneath it, licking over the sensitive skin before wrapping your lips around one to suck gently, teasing like it's your favourite candy.

Both of his hands find your scalp this time, fingers curling tight in your hair, pulling harder than before as you giggle against him and return to mouth at his shaft again.

With teasing licks, you take him back in while burying him to the hilt like you are starving for that musky scent of sweat mixed with smoke and cologne decorating his skin.

You have just found your rhythm again, spit coating Sanji as you take him down with more ease when the mattress behind you dips with sudden weight.

Suddenly, two hands clamp around your hips from behind with wide palms calloused and fingers curling into your flesh like burning iron.

The grip alone makes your stomach flip but then you are pushed forward brutally, leading your mouth to plunge deeper onto the blonde man's cock until you choke around it, convulsing repeatedly and the pain blurring your vision.

Before you can even process, a raspy voice cuts through the haze.

''My turn.''

It rumbles behind you, almost like a warning and then the hand on your hip disappears.

Fingers replace it almost immediately, sliding down the curve of your ass and knuckles graze your inner thigh before they press into the soaked arousal between your legs.

He dips into your folds like he is sampling how wet you are, middle and ring finger curling to gather everything dripping there.

When he pulls back to pinch your clit, you flinch in response with a whiney moan gurgling in your throat around Sanji’s cock.

The man behind you leans in close and lips ghost the shell of your ear.

''That's all it took, huh? The waiter?'' Zoro mutters, clearly not caring whether you can answer or not. ''Look at the mess you made.''

Two fingers push inside in a single, shallow stroke. Not as deep you need them, not yet.

Just enough to feel the way your walls clench hungrily around them as he scissors them torturously slow and then pulls out with a lewd sound that follows with a slap of the mess across your cunt, making you spasm in response.

Then his mouth joins with open kisses down your spine, warm breath grazing your skin as his tongue licks a possessive path toward your lower back.

He hums against you, pleased by how wet you are and by how little resistance your body offers as his digits slip in without effort despite not liking who got you to that point.

The sound of a belt hits the floor with a heavy thud and next his erected cock lands hard against your ass, dragging through your cunt on the recoil and catching on your throbbing clit just enough to make your thighs almost give in.

It smacks again louder and harder, as if punishing you for still having the blonde man between your lips in his presence.

Zoro doesn't warn you, he never intends to anyway before he drives into you with one brutal stroke, sheathing himself to the base with a deep dragging thrust that splits you wide open.

The sudden stretch makes you struggle for oxygen immediately, windpipe locking tight around Sanji as the intrusion is so unexpected, it pushes you forward.

Your neck then snaps back from the force of the swordsman pulling you back onto him and Sanji slips free from your mouth with a rope of spit stretching between your lips and his flushed tip.

The sudden movement has your entire frame trembling and spine bowing hard as your body adjusts around the thickness, already fluttering from the pressure.

''Fuck, you're perfect-" Zoro hisses through gritted teeth while his fingers dig bruises into your waist like that's the only thing keeping him grounded on the bed.

With arms quaking and barely keeping you up, the green-haired man drags out just enough to slam back in with a vicious snap, the sound of skin meeting skin ringing obnoxiously loud while he sets a brutal rhythm with no intention of slowing down.

Just fucking you through the shock and watching your body struggle to keep up.

In front of you, Sanji's knuckles go white at his sides with his needy cock still hard, abandoned and twitching against your cheek. ''Oi! Could've waited till I was done, you fucking brute!''

Zoro does not even spare him a glance. Instead, he withdraws slowly to let you feel every inch and then drives into you with a merciless smack of his hips. ''Maybe if you weren't taking so damn long.''

His shaft reaches so far inside that your walls spasm in response, clenching and releasing as if trying to hold him in and your hands claw at the sheets with your back arched high just the way he likes it.

There's a flicker of jealousy on the Cook's face and his mouth tightens uncomfortably as he watches the way you tremble under Zoro's thrusts, pussy stretching around him perfectly to have the man before you almost pout like a child.

''You made her drop me.''

''Yeah?'' Zoro snarls at him, palm striking your ass again to leave another bruise against your tender skin.

His other hand yanks you back fully onto his cock, forcing you to take him down to the base. ''She’ll pick you back up, won't you, Y/N?''

''Yes, yes! Please-'' The response from you sounds cracked, almost full-on sobbing from the overwhelming sensation and yet your fingers are already finding Sanji again, gripping his swollen erection like an anchor.

Your tongue slides across the sensitive head, flicking over the flesh as you deepen the kiss with him to savour everything once more until you let him slide off from your lips with a smile of a mad woman.

''I told you- fuck, I can handle you both.''

Sanji's eyes narrow and a flush rises on his cheeks in the prettiest pink shade that puts every sunset to shame.

That's all he needed to hear.

His hand returns to your locks, fingers weaving through the damp strands before giving a firm pull, guiding your face to his length once more. ''You want me in your mouth again, sweetheart?"

Your lips fall open eagerly and you take him back in one fluid motion, tongue stretching to meet his taste like you have been starved for it and he wasn't just there moments ago.

The swordsman doesn't ease up nor share any words like Sanji does.

He just slams into you harder now, each plunge jarring you forward onto the other man's cock so far down your throat, you're convinced you won't be able to speak for days as his fingers curl around your neck.

He's not choking the tender spot but holds there to steady your spent figure as you are pounded from both ends.

Each time Zoro sinks in, Sanji disappears further down and your lips ache at the corners with spit shining as it dribbles down.

The sounds are obscene, punctuated by the slaps of Zoro’s force against your ass and the soft groans he spills behind gritted teeth, more animal than man.

He drives in one final time, thick warmth spilling and starting to drip down your thighs, staining the sheets beneath.

His grip trails down to tighten on your chest, large hands sliding to cup your breasts and thumbs grazing your hardened nipples while he watches the creamy mess pool he created with nothing but pride.

''Beautiful..'' The man behind you mutters, thumbing one of your buds over and over again. ''You take me so well.''

Before your mind can even begin to register the chaos, Sanji prays out your name with no control over his volume.

There's clearly no care for the thin walls of the ship nor thought to who might be hearing it. Only him, barely holding on with his chest heaving uncontrollably.

''Where, my love? Tell me where you want it-''

Instead of pulling away to answer, you wrap your hand around the base of his length and keep him in your mouth, moaning around him as you nod once.

His whole body then tenses and shudders, hips twitching forward as hot juices burst across your tongue.

You swallow without hesitation, greedily taking everything he gives as his fingers tangle tighter into your dishevelled hair till not a single drop goes to waste.

Behind you, Zoro wastes no time to have his thick fingers drag slow circles over your swollen clit with enough pressure to make you arch backwards and let Sanji fall from your lips for the last time, your body already past the point of return.

He pulls you upright against his toned chest with one hand wrapped around your throat to have you staring forward and the other buried between your thighs as he uses the mess he has made of you as lubricant.

From where you are, your gaze locks on Sanji. His hair is tousled, eyes wide and mouth parted as he stares like he has never seen anything so breathtaking.

It doesn't take much after that to send you into a euphoric state.

Zoro's lips drag along your neck, sucking hard enough to promise bruises that will last for days and finally, the tension within snaps, making your whole body jerk with the force of your orgasm.

Your back is glued firmly against the swordsman as he holds you there, mouth dragging over the sweat-slick curve of your collarbone and your vision goes dark.

Then, instead of settling in the afterglow of your release, you are ripped from it so harshly that your brain goes.. blank.

Everything instantly fades, the two men vanishing in the darkness like shooting stars and you wake with a jolt and air leaving your lungs in a gasp.

The sheets are damp, your skin's sticky and all you can manage is blink into the soft light of the morning, trying to steady your breathing.

Your heart still thuds from what your mind had convinced you was real and rings with audacity in your ears like an alarm. Almost timidly, your fingers slip under the covers and at least, you were not imagining the aftermath.

On top of that comes a loud knock on the door to bring you back to your lonely, dull reality.

''Y/N, breakfast's ready!'' Sanji’s cheery voice calls through the door.

Just as you sit up, swallowing hard and fighting with the words in your head to respond coherently... he snaps,

''What the hell do you want, mosshead?''

Zoro's voice follows sharply. ''Fuck off-''

Their argument trails down the hall and all you can do is sink back onto your pillow with wide eyes before dragging the sheets over your face, wondering if you will ever look either of them in the eye again.

Staring at the ceiling, you finally exhale shakily. ''Yeah… I think I'll skip breakfast today.''

[eclec-tech]

My microwave just died.

Died as in mwrohhhhhhhh-POP. Dead. Sounded like a transformer arcing in my kitchen. Me: banging my head against the kitchen cabinet

[byfawn]

INSPECTED

౨ৎ — beware of dubcon, possessive behavior, pussy inspection, rough unprotected sex, fingering, degradation, implied cheating accusations, breeding, throat fucking, cunnilingus, and manhandling

the barracks were quiet, the usual hum of soldiers winding down for the night replaced by a thick tension. you’d been simon’s little secret for weeks now, his barracks bunny, always eager to please him whenever he crooked a finger in your direction. but tonight, his mood was different—dark, possessive, the kind that made your stomach twist with both fear and something hotter, something desperate.

“heard you’ve been spreading those pretty legs for anyone who asks,” he growled, his voice low, rough like gravel. his massive frame loomed over you, crowding you against the wall of his private quarters. the accusation hit you like a slap, your breath catching in your throat.

“w-what? no, sir, i—i wouldn’t—”

“shut it.” his hand clamped over your mouth, cutting off your protest. his eyes, sharp behind that mask, raked over you like he could see right through your clothes. “gonna inspect you myself. make sure you’re still mine.”

your pulse skyrocketed, thighs pressing together instinctively. but he didn’t give you a choice. one large hand gripped your waist, spinning you around to face the wall. his body pressed against your back, his cock already hard against your ass.

“spread ‘em,” he ordered, voice leaving no room for argument.

you whimpered but obeyed, shuffling your feet apart. his hand slid down your thigh, pushing your skirt up roughly. his fingers hooked into the waistband of your panties, yanking them down to your knees. the cold air hit your bare skin, making you shiver.

“fuck, look at you,” he muttered, his free hand spreading your cheeks apart. “gonna check every inch of this cunt. make sure no one else’s been here.”

his thumb dragged through your folds, slow and deliberate, spreading you open. you gasped, your hips jerking forward, but he held you still. “stay put,” he growled. “this is an inspection, sweetheart. not a fuck.”

his fingers slide through your folds, spreading you open. “fuck, look at you. puffy little cunt, all swollen up just from me lookin’ at it.” he rubs his thumb over your clit, just once, and you jerk. “sensitive, too.”

he chuckled darkly, rubbing his thumb over your clit again, just enough to make you whine. “dirty little thing,” he murmured. “already soaked. you like this, don’t you? being checked like some cheap whore.”

“n-no, i—ah!” your protest turned into a moan as two thick fingers pushed inside you without warning, stretching you open. he worked them deep, curling just right, and your knees nearly buckled.

“tight,” he noted, voice rough. “but that doesn’t prove shit.” his fingers fucked into you, rough and relentless, the sound obscenely wet. “gotta check deeper.”

you were panting now, your hips rocking back against his hand, chasing the pleasure despite yourself. he added a third finger, stretching you impossibly wider, and you cried out, your nails scraping the wall.

“fuck, sir—please—”

“please what?” he leaned in, his breath hot against your ear. “tell me what you want, bunny.”

“i—i need—ah!” his thumb pressed hard on your clit, rubbing circles just shy of painful, and your vision whited out. your orgasm crashed over you, your cunt clenching around his fingers as you came with a broken sob.

he didn’t stop. his fingers kept pumping into you, dragging your pleasure out until you were shaking, oversensitive. only then did he pull his hand away, bringing his glistening fingers to his mouth. he licked them clean, eyes locked on yours.

“taste like mine,” he rumbled. “but i’m not done.”

before you could process his words, he was spinning you around, forcing you onto your knees. his belt clinked as he undid it, his cock springing free, thick and flushed. “open,” he ordered.

you obeyed, your mouth falling open, and he shoved himself between your lips without hesitation. you gagged, tears pricking your eyes as he fucked your throat, his grip tight in your hair.

“gonna check this too,” he grunted. “make sure no one else’s been here either.”

you choked around him, drool dripping down your chin, but he didn’t let up. his hips snapped forward, forcing himself deeper, until your nose pressed against his pelvis.

when he finally pulled back, you gasped for air, your lips swollen, your face wet. he tilted your chin up, his thumb smearing spit across your bottom lip. “good girl,” he murmured. “still mine.”

then he was hauling you up, tossing you onto the cot. his hands ripped your clothes away, leaving you bare beneath him. his mouth was on your cunt before you could blink, his tongue lapping at your folds like he was starving.

you writhed, your back arching, but he pinned your hips down, his tongue fucking into you with brutal precision. he sucked your clit into his mouth, biting just enough to make you scream.

“simon—fuck, i can’t—i can’t—”

“come again,” he ordered, his voice vibrating against your skin. “prove you’re mine.”

you shattered, your body convulsing as another orgasm tore through you. he didn’t stop until you were limp, your thighs trembling around his head.

only then did he rise, unbuckling the rest of his gear. his cock was dripping, his need obvious. he dragged you to the edge of the cot, flipping you onto your stomach. one hand pressed between your shoulder blades, holding you down as he lined himself up.

“gonna inspect this cunt thoroughly now,” he growled.

then he was inside you, splitting you open in one brutal thrust. you screamed, your nails clawing at the sheets as he bottomed out, his hips flush against your ass.

“fuck,” he hissed. “so fucking tight. still just for me.”

he didn’t give you time to adjust. his hands gripped your hips, yanking you back onto his cock with every thrust. the cot creaked beneath you, the sound drowned out by your moans, his grunts.

“mine,” he snarled, his pace relentless. “this pussy’s mine. say it.”

“y-yours!” you sobbed. “only yours, sir—fuck!”

he slammed into you harder, his fingers digging bruises into your skin. you could feel him everywhere, his cock stretching you impossibly full, his breath hot on your neck.

“gonna fill you up,” he promised, his voice ragged. “mark you from the inside. let everyone know who you belong to.”

the words sent a fresh wave of heat through you, your cunt clenching around him. he groaned, his thrusts turning erratic.

“come for me, bunny,” he ordered. “one more time.”

you did, your body obeying him instantly. your orgasm hit you like a freight train, your walls fluttering around him, milking his cock. with a final, brutal thrust, he followed, his cum flooding your cunt, his growl muffled against your shoulder.

he stayed inside you for a long moment, both of you panting, before he finally pulled out. his cum dripped from your used cunt, and he dragged his fingers through it, smearing it over your thighs.

“good girl,” he murmured, pressing a rough kiss to your spine. “passed inspection.”

[invoncible]

BLUFF ✰ mark grayson & mohawk mark w/ childhood bsf! fem! reader cw. canon compliant themes (ex. distress)

SUMMARY. when mohawk mark doesn't find debbie at his childhood home, he goes after the next best thing: you. he thinks you're together in this world too, and when he realizes you're not... well, how could he possibly give up such a perfect opportunity? / wc. 6k oops

— i started this to train my writing skills but it got out of hand T-T anyways enjoy <3

You didn't even notice your phone ringing. It must've been the third time it buzzed on your kitchen counter but for the life of you, you could not look away from the news. Invincible was laying waste to all the major cities of the globe, seemingly unprovoked.

Your breath caught when the news broke to process new information, senses finally tuning into the whirring behind you. You swiped your phone, barely glancing at the caller ID before answering.

"Hel—"

"Y/N, thank goodness." Debbie gasped on the other end.

You stood rigid. You've known Debbie your whole life. You and Mark were inseparable growing up—it was a rare occurrence to hear her so unnerved. Her unease was contagious, zapping through the wireless connection and taking root in your conscience.

"Are—" You cleared your throat, clutching the phone tighter. You walked over to the window, dragging down the blinds with two fingers and peeking outside. "Are you okay? You sound—"

"Fine, I'm fine." A shaky exhale was what you were met with, along with the sounds of a car starting up. "Honey, have you seen the news? You need to stay safe." A pause followed, too long to be natural. "Do you have anywhere else to go?"

You scrunched your brows in confusion. "Um... no, I don't. But from what they're saying on the news, the Invincibles are only targeting big cities."

"Listen. If you stay there—" Debbie's line crackled as you assumed she was driving away, far away from the neighborhood and fast. “—‘ll come for you.”

“No, you don’t have to do that. I've got my car if something goes wrong.” You pulled away from your phone, glancing at the call screen when you got no response. "Hello?"

"In light of new footage, we have information that—"

The TV fizzled out next, the low drone of cable replacing rowdy chatter of the newsroom. A low-pixel message of NO SIGNAL floated around the screen, bouncing off the edges.

You stared at yourself in the black reflection, wishing it would flip on again so you weren't alone with your thoughts. The paranoia was setting in... you could hear your heartbeat in your ears.

“Mark is—”

beeeeeep.

"Hello?" You whispered over the phone, desperate for Debbie's familiar comfort. “...Debbie? Mark is what?”

A rhythmic beeeep beep met your ears instead. You glanced at your phone once again—CALL FAILED.

"Ohhhkay." You muttered under your breath. This is fine, you soothed yourself.

The electricity in your house died out, gently setting you into darkness. With the TV signal lost and your phone disconnected, the cell towers and power grid were probably down.

This is fine. As long as you stayed inside, you'd be fine.

You pulled down the blinds once more, letting a shred of the sunset glow into your home. Your gaze travelled to Mark's house; across the street, a couple houses down. So easily accessible yet so distant at the same time.

You and Mark were attached at the hip for seventeen years—your entire lives. Separation should have felt strange. But just two years since growing apart, his absence almost felt... normal.

Almost like he was never there to begin with.

You went off to university. You assumed he did, too, but got more reliable intel when you connected with William. He shared that they both got into Upstate, as well as his girlfriend, Amber.

Girlfriend?

You remember the pause you took to process that information—the moment you realized he was moving forward while you remained where he left you. Facing the reality that you were no longer a part of his life.

"Stop fidgeting," You whispered with a little chuckle. "It's high school, not the end of the world."

"High school is where things start to happen." Mark whined as he pulled down the hem of his sweater. "Grades matter, who you hang out with matters, girls matter."

"Uh-huh."

"You think I would make a good jock?"

"You've got the look for it."

"Dumb?"

"Yes."

Mark rolled his eyes, a smile playing on his lips as you both walked up the steps to the next phase of your life. "That's not very nice."

"You can be anything you want, Mark." You groaned, deciding to be encouraging. "Literally. You're good at everything. You'll fit in wherever you want to."

"Okay. Too nice." He huffed and bumped into your side. "But thanks. I just..."

Your brows furrowed in concern when his head dipped, distress sneaking its way through his cheerful disposition.

"Stuff's supposed to happen this year. Big stuff." He was mumbling, unfocused like he regretted taking the conversation this direction to begin with. "I don't want to mess this up."

You wanted to tell him high school wasn't that deep. There were complete losers that all turned out just fine. Something about his expression, though... it was heavy.

You weren't sure what he was talking about, but you knew what he needed. You always did. "Whatever stuff you're talking about... it's gonna work out. You'll take it one step at a time just like you always have, and you have your parents at your side.... William, me."

He offered you a little smile. "We'll do this together?" He held out his pinky finger.

You giggle and interlocked yours with his. "Together."

He broke that promise pretty quickly. Different classes were the first step apart. From there, it only got harder to see each other.

Family stuff was Mark's favorite excuse—vaguely explaining family stuff had become 90% of your conversations. You figured he didn't want to tell you whatever he was really going through, which was fine. It hurt, but it was fine.

Before you knew it, you stopped talking altogether. You didn't think much of it at first—you were approaching adulthood, obviously you were going to get busy. You just thought you'd get busy together. You didn't even know what he was up to these days.

You drew back from the blinds with a long sigh, hoping that Debbie and Mark were safe. Wherever they were.

You trudged down into the basement to turn the generator on. The wooden stairs of the unfinished space crrrrrreaked under your feet. You waved away the dust, pounding your chest to cough the particles that snuck their way into your airway.

It was cooler down here, much darker without the ambient lighting of the sunset above. With your trusty phone flashlight, you managed to maneuver your way through the storage buckets and old boxes to the backup generator.

You grunted trying to pull the lever down. "Shit..." you cursed in disgust, feeling the grime and dust underneath your palm. i want electricity i want electricity, you repeated over and over to block out the icky sensation.

"Need some help?"

"Ah—!" you shrieked, spinning around in a panic. Your flashlight illuminated the figure in front of you, shadowed by the soft light of open door upstairs. "What—" who—?!

"Damn. Relax."

Vaulting over your initial dread, you grabbed something—a wrench or a hammer, you didn’t know, you didn't care—and swung it with all your might.

They caught it in their fist. Your breath shriveled up in your throat at how stiff they were, intercepting your attack without even budging. Their fingers curled tight around the tool and yanked you close.

"tsk, tsk," Their low voice chuckled. "Thought you'd be happy to see me, pretty girl."

You shone your light into the intruder's face, the tension in your body dissipating when you recognized—

"...Mark?" You squinted in the darkness, the flashlight just barely illuminating his face in a ghastly glow. "Wha... what are you doing here?" You huffed.

Blood was pumping through your system, telling you to get ready to run. Your nerves wouldn't calm their tingle even though you realized it was just Mark. Cuz it was Mark, right?

"Checking on you."

"Where's your mom?"

"Smart enough to leave home."

"Oh, yeah. She called. I thought you'd be with her..." You trailed off, frowning when you heard him laughing. "What?"

"Nothing." He hummed. "You're just so..."

"What?"

"Nothing, nothing."

"Okay..." You gave him a weird look. Then your brain caught up to you: Pretty girl? "Aren't you dating Amber?"

He took a moment to think, tossing the wrench aside and grabbing your wrist in his hand instead. "Am I?"

You pursed your lips, eyes narrowing. "I'm... asking you?"

He shrugged. "I wouldn't know."

"What—" You exhaled, brows knitted in confusion. You tried to pull away but he held firm; for every step back, he followed. "Mark, wait—"

Your phone clattered to the ground, the ray of light spinning chaotically through the darkness before it fell on its back.

"I missed you." He murmured lowly, almost reverent in the way he boxed you against the cold generator. "Shhh..." He calmed your trembling frame with his strong arms (when'd he get so strong?) wrapped around your shoulders.

He burrowed his nose in your hair. "It's me, bunny. Why're you so scared?"

This isn't Mark. Your heart pounded at your chest, eyes frozen and piercing into the darkness over his shoulder—Wake up, dumbass. This isn't Mark.

When your tremors refused to quiet, he pulled back with what you hoped was concern. That's when you saw his hair...

"Is that..." You whispered. The soft light from the main floor was fading, but reflected off the shiny sides of Mark's head. "Are you bald?"

What was he doing in the two years since you saw each other?

"Aw..." He laughed heartily, leaning further towards you and flattening his palms over the top of the generator. "Not quite."

He leaned to your side, breath fanning over the shell of your ear as he continued to snicker to himself softly. He grabbed the lever of the generator and shoved it down.

Your body jostled into his firm chest as it sprung to life. It went clank-clank-clank-clank, pumping electricity back into your home. You heard the melodic trills from upstairs as devices booted up again.

The light in the basement flipped back on. It didn't reach you. Mark towered over you and kept you in shadow. But you could see him—rather, who he wasn't.

"What?" Mohawk Mark grinned down at you, sadistic and teasing. "Not who you were expecting?"

No, not who you were expecting. He looked like Mark, sounded like Mark, felt like Mark... But your Mark had a kind face.

"You're not..."

"Nope."

You felt the heat drain from your body as you simply stared up at him, wide-eyed. Run. Where? Why the fuck was he dressed like ... Invincible...

A connection snapped together in your head, synapses clicking together like legos. Oh. Invincible. Everything made sense now, and you felt a little stupid for not figuring it out sooner.

And now one of those murderous variants you saw on the news was in your home.

"You're really out of it, huh?" He frowned, waving a gloved hand in front of your face. He sighed and looked away, "I thought you'd—"

You had the itch to burst into a sprint. You snatched your phone off the floor and ducked under his arm, skipping stairs to the main floor. Car. Keys? Where the fuck did you put them?

A shuddered whimper tumbled off your lips. You felt helpless, mind racing with too many things at once to pick one task and get out of there. You snatched your purse from the sofa, rifling through it to make sure your keys were inside before going outside.

"Come on, come on," You whispered, out of breath.

"Don't run from me, Y/N," Mohawk Mark sang teasingly, drawing out the last syllable of your name. "Hey, I'm just playing with you."

You screamed anyway, the sound harsh and high-pitched. He pouted, hand firmly around your arm to prevent you from breaking away.

"C'mon, baby. You're hurting my feelings. We're just having fun, yeah? A little roleplay?"

First off, you wished he'd stop calling you things like that. It felt wrong, but... good. With every pet name, he let butterflies loose in your tummy. Your heart pulsed, sending heat to your cheeks. Your brain reminded you, this isn't Mark... this isn't Mark... this isn't the real Mark...

Second, what kinda freaky ass fuck did he turn into?

You rolled out of his grip, barely making it a step away before his arm circled around your stomach, pulling you back into his chest.

"Get the fuck off me—" You squirmed uselessly, your phone and bag tumbling onto the floor. You yelped when he threw you over his shoulder, patting the small of your back affectionately as if securing cargo. "Mark!"

He just laughed, taking off through the door at a abnormal speed. Your nose smushed into his back under the acceleration, stomach somersaulted twenty times over as you soared up into the clouds.

He stopped in the air. With a hoarse shriek you clung to him as if he was your lifeline. He was, in this moment, despite everything. Your legs immediately latched around his waist, and he supported you with hands under your thighs.

"Oh, come on, now." He chuckled with a shake of his head. He easily held you and brought a hand to wipe your cheeks. "I'm just playing around. If I'd known you were this sensitive, I would've taken it a little bit easier on you..."

You hadn't even realized you started crying.

He stared at you, eyes trailing over your face. He laughed softly to himself. "Who am I kidding. No, I wouldn't have. You know how cute you are when you cry?"

You glared at him but his grin only grew wider. "What? M'not gonna hurt you! Haven't I shown you that?"

You stared at him incredulously, finally finding your voice and blowing up at him. Your fists curled, pounding at his chest and jabbing a finger in his face. "You broke into my home and have me hanging 100ft in the air?!"

"So? I'm not dropping you, am I?" You felt his fingers tap against your thigh.

"That—" Your cheeks burned. but from being embarrassed or flustered, you couldn't quite place.

"This world's Mark is the biggest piece of shit for leaving girlfriend all alone."

You blinked, "Girlfriend?"

"Yeah, you're..." Mark's head tilted, sharp eyes acutely aware of your confusion. "Ohhh. Don't tell me that fucker didn't lock you down."

You didn't even know what to say. Things were being thrown at you left and right and you were still on the fact that Mark was Invincible. Your mind rifled through all the headlines that had his name... all that pain, death, and destruction... and how you weren't there for him.

He clicked his tongue in disappointment. "Well. I'm a better version, anyway."

[]

The sun finally set on day 2 the war with no hope in sight. Mark just admitted Eve into the hospital—she stubbornly decided to help him with two of his variants and paid the price. Her broken leg was under construction, and she was unconscious.

Mark sighed as he closed the door behind him, looking up to see Cecil waiting for him in the hallway.

"You can't be here, kid."

Mark scowled. "The other Invincibles know about this place. They could kill her to get at me. I... can't lose another friend. I won't."

After Amber, Mark wanted to be with Eve. It was the next logical step, right? Both superheroes, went through a lot together, understood each other... But he couldn't bring himself to do it. Not even under Future Eve's advice.

Not when he still held space for you in his heart.

He was an asshole for it, he knew that. He couldn't put a date to the last time you spoke and he selfishly held onto your memory. Were you pining for him like he was pining for you?

His time with Amber taught him a lot. He wasn't going to make you suffer like she did. He wasn't going to ruin the friendship he had with you just because he selfishly wanted your love.

"We're losing this, Mark." Cecil sighed, snapping Mark out of his thoughts. The bruise on his face throbbed with every word. "The world needs you."

"You got every superhero on the planet fighting for you right now." Mark shot back angrily, shutting his eyes only to see you behind his lids.

"Mark. Oliver's out there. Your mother's out there." Cecil pressed, pulling out his phone. "Which reminds me. She left a voicemail."

With his interest successfully piqued, Mark listened as his mother's panicked voice played over Cecil's device.

"I can't reach Mark—if you see him, tell him I'm at Paul's. Oliver insisted on going out there, and I let him on the condition he finds his big brother."

Mark's gaze dropped down to the floor guiltily, a war of emotions swirling inside him.

"I couldn't stop him if I tried. He was going to sneak out anyway, but..." A sharp inhale. "I'm worried. I know they're strong, I know that. But these other versions... they're nothing like Mark." Seconds of silence passed as she collected her thoughts. "Can you check on someone for me? If all these Marks grew up the same, there's a childhood friend on our street that he was never without. I tried to reach her but service went down. Please."

Cecil pulled back his phone. "I already sent agents to her home—"

Mark's head snapped up, gritting his teeth in annoyance. "What did I say about going near my family?"

"I wasn't aware she was family." Cecil raised an eyebrow, pocketing his device and pulling down his cuffs.

"They're my responsibility. She's my responsibility." Mark retorted, running a anxious hand through his hair.

"A thank you would be nice." Cecil mumbled, unperturbed by the boy's argument. "Seeing as you are currently shirking said responsibility."

"Don't—" Mark lurched forward, a threat on his tongue. Cecil flinched backwards, his hand firmly in his pocket finding his controller.

Mark pulled back, dropping his fist. "...Just shut the fuck up, Cecil." He blasted off through the halls.

Cecil watched him leave with bated breath, exhaling slowly when he got the intel that Mark was off the grounds. At least he was out there.

[]

"I killed the Guardians, yeah."

"All of them?"

"Yeah. No big deal."

You raised your eyes in surprise but the notion wasn't as gruesome as you thought it would be. Blinded by love, maybe? Or were you just happy to be talking to Mark again, regardless of the version?

Hours ago, you couldn't imagine sitting in your bedroom with the man who invaded your home. But, genuinely, what were you supposed to do? Pick a fight and lose? Worse, die? You weren't so stupid to waste the goodwill he held for you.

"What happened to me in your world?" You asked, your voice quieter now.

Mark tilted his head, exhaling through his nose. His jaw flexed, like the memory alone was an irritation.

"The resistance killed you to get at me," he muttered, his voice dark, laced with something sharp and unhinged. The crazed gleam in his eye flickered under the dim lighting, like a fire burning just beneath the surface. Then, with an almost amused sigh, he shifted his weight, offering you a small, self-satisfied smile. "Don't worry. I made them pay for it."

You didn’t bother asking how.

Mark’s arm stretched behind you, draping lazily across the back of the pillows, his fingers idly toying with the fabric of your sleeve. Every casual brush of his fingertips sent a ripple of goosebumps across your skin.

"We were a good thing, you know," he mused, voice lower now, softer. gentle. "You didn’t fight me. You didn’t run. You loved me." There was a teasing lilt in his voice that you recognized.

That’s not so different here, you swallowed the thought, masking it with a roll of your eyes. "Did you love me?"

That made him pause. His gaze flicked to yours, brows furrowing slightly, like the question had caught him off guard. Then a slow smirk tugged at his lips, amusement flashing in his expression before he let out a low chuckle.

He leaned in so close you could feel his breath ghost over your lips. "Let me show you," he murmured, voice dark and filled with intent.

The air between you tightened as his hand trailed from your sleeve, fingers dragging along the bare skin of your arm, slow and deliberate. His touch was light, teasing, like he was waiting for you to react—to pull away or lean in.

You offered him nothing but a careful stare and the slow rise and fall of your chest.

His eyes narrowed, delighting in the challenge. His nose brushed against yours, his lips lingering just shy of touching.

Pull away, your brain screamed at you, ringing every warning bell it had in the book. This isn't right.

But his other hand came up, grazing along your jaw... and his fingers slid beneath your chin, tilting your head up, forcing you to meet his eyes... all of it felt so familiar, like something out of a dream. And it'd been so long since you saw his brown wells, you couldn't tear your gaze away.

Your daze was broken when you heard him laugh again. He adored the way you frowned in confusion, the moonlight twinkling in the reflection of your eyes.

“Aww,” he cooed, lips curving into a knowing smirk. “look at you. So easy. This world’s Mark has left you all alone, hasn’t he?”

Your chest rose and fell with uneven breaths as he tilted his head, watching you squirm.

“S'like you’ve been waiting for this," he hummed. His hand gripped your chin, tilting your face up, forcing you to look at him. His eyes darkened at whatever he saw.

“I’ll take care of you,” he murmured, brushing his lips over yours—you could feel him smiling. “Since he won’t.”

Stop, stop, stop. You wanted Mark, wanted him desperately, but not like this. Not with him.

You released the breath you were holding when he paused his fixation on your lips, head turning minutely to the side as if he was hearing something.

"For fuck's sake..." Mark scoffed, a low chuckle passing through his lips. "Speak of the devil."

What?

Mohawk Mark heard the whistle of air before you did, only clueing in when it grew louder. It reached a peak when a projectile CRASHED through your window—

You scrambled backwards on your mattress as splinters flew everywhere. Mark caught you before you tumbled off the bed, shielding you from the broken glass and wood.

"What's—" You began to ask, but over Mark's shoulder you saw him—the real Mark.

You just stared at each other for a moment, though you couldn't see much past his tinted goggles. But the slow scowl growing on his lips communicated all you needed to know.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Mark—the real one—growled. "Get off her."

Mohawk Mark laughed into your shoulder, turning to face him. "Why? She's not yours, is she?"

Mark's eyes twitched behind his goggles, abandoning his inhibitions and diving at him, grabbing his variant's hair and yanking him off of you—

"Mark..." you warned, fear bubbling in your gut.

—your caution fell on deaf ears; Mark threw him up and drove him through the floor.

"Mark!" you yelled behind him, feeling the air whip past your face, following him as he crashed into the living room below. "Shit—"

Squeaking as you fought against the slope of the cavity, your feet, only clad in socks, provided the worst possible grip and you began slipping down the gap. Your breath caught in your chest as you felt yourself plummeting—

"Hey." His voice was urgent yet comforting, his arms tightening around your body in seconds, pulling you back from the edge. "I got you."

Your hand instinctively gripped his shoulder, grounding yourself as you realized you were suspended in his embrace. As he gently descended to the floor, your eyes moved quickly, scanning the outline of his goggles.

"You... I guess you know now, then." His voice was low, heavier than usual, like a weight he’d been carrying finally released.

The moment your feet met the ground, you stepped back, your heart pounding. Across the room, Mohawk Mark was sprawled on the floor, blood leaking from his nose, unconscious for now. Your gaze flicked back to your Mark, heart still racing.

"Yeah, I know." You snapped, the anger rushing through you, the frustration and confusion bubbling up.

His expression faltered, something unreadable flashing across his face before he sighed, almost too quietly, as if he were disappointed in himself.

"You’re angry," he observed, his voice tinged with regret.

"No shit, I’m angry!" Your hand shot out, slapping against his chest before it balled into a fist at your side. Every inch of you was yelling at him, every question, every unspoken feeling, everything that had been left unsaid for the past two years. "The first time I've seen you in two years and it's—it's not even you?"

"I know, I know," Mark’s hands moved to his mask, tearing it off with an impatience that only grew when it caught on his nose. He grimaced as he yanked it free, tossing it to the side. The dim light of the room revealed the exhaustion etched into his face, but even through that, you could see him—the real him, just... different. Worn down, tired.

"I can explain."

"You better fuckin start."

"Be mad at me all you want, but look at this." His arms gestured wildly around your place. "I was right to not tell you! It could've been way worse, way sooner if you knew anything about what I was really up to. Why didn't you leave when Mom called you?!"

"The phone cut off, asshole, I didn't hear everything she said, and I certainly wasn't aware that you were the one behind Invincible—"

He shook his head, dismissing the topic. He stepped into your space and held onto your arms. "Did he touch you?"

"Get off me."

"Did he touch you?" He pressed, shaking you slightly as his grip tightened around your biceps.

You blinked at him, caught off guard by the urgent crack in his voice. "Yes, but I let him."

He pulled away from you as if burnt. A heavy silence hung in the air, nothing but the clattering of broken floorboards crashing down from above.

"...He's a murderer, Y/N." He whispered, eyes narrowed.

You knew that. You knew he was right. "I was... vulnerable."

"He killed people—"

"Shut up," You snapped, cutting him off. "Don't lecture me; this is a nonissue. What was I supposed to do? Hm? Want me to pick up my fists and come out swinging like you did—"

"I thought he was hurting you!"

"My hero." You rolled your eyes, the words dripping with bitter sarcasm. You knew you were being unfair, maybe a little cruel, but you couldn’t stop yourself. You were exhausted from the many near death experiences you've somehow survived in the last few hours. Strung so tight you felt like you might snap.

Every inch of you was begging to cry and let him hug you like you both so clearly wanted... but the fact that it took something this bad to get him to show up? That hurt more than anything.

Mark stared at you, his face an amalgamation of emotions, like he couldn’t decide on one.

Should he be angry at you for being difficult, for making him work for this moment when all he wanted was to explain? Should he feel pain, the sharp ache in his chest that another Mark got to hold you before he did? Or was it jealousy, searing heat into his face, that another version of himself had been the one to touch you, to be close to you before he had the chance? Maybe... maybe it was the bittersweet happiness, the relief that he was finally standing here in front of you.

He didn’t even care that you were glaring daggers at him—he missed staring into your eyes, albeit hardened and displeased, making his heart race; the way you’d furrow your brow when you were frustrated, the way your voice would call out to him.

Mark’s hand twitched at his side, wanting to reach out, but he held himself back. Would you even allow it? The distance between you was far more than physical. He had a thousand things to say but in that moment, words felt hollow.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he finally muttered, his voice quieter, more vulnerable than he intended.

Childish.

You scoffed lightly, rolling your eyes again. "All that time and that's all you have to—"

Before you could finish, your world spun. The floor tilted beneath you as Mohawk Mark launched himself into you, sweeping you off your feet and through the door.

[]

"Y/N!" Mark yelled after you, breathing heavy in a panic. "No, no, no, no—" He launched himself from your home, bursting through the roof after you.

You barely heard him over the rushing wind. You clawed at Mohawk Mark's back, the height siphoning the air from your lungs. "Stop..." You ordered weakly.

"Changed your mind already?" He laughed, cradling you in his arms. Your head lolled against his chest. "Don't tell me you buy his bullshit."

"Mm..." The sharp ascent from ground level to the clouds made your head spin, vision darkening as you grew dizzier.

"You're fucking dead!" Your Mark came out of nowhere, shooting up beside Mohawk Mark and bashing his nose in. With a pained groan, he dropped you. "Shit—"

"Look what you made me do, dipshit!" Mohawk Mark snarled, shoving Invincible away and bolting after you.

"Don't—" Mark growled in frustration, racing against time. He watched as your limp body dropped helplessly against gravity.

It never changed. Whether he told you or not, you would end up in these perilous situations regardless. He cursed under his breath, catching Mohawk Mark's ankle and catapulting him into the night sky before pushing forward.

He collected you in his arms before it was too late, wasting no time as he shifted his direction and carried you off to GDA's hospital.

[]

The steady beep... beep... beep of your heart monitor was the first thing you tuned into upon waking up.

"Oh, good."

Your eyes fluttered open, slowly drifting towards Mark. He was bent over your cot, his hand on your forehead while staring down at you with stars in his eyes.

"You just passed out. Nothing serious, but I wanted to make sure." He mumbled, pulling back.

Your eyes drifted back to the ceiling, unfocused and hollow. There was too much—too much to process, too much to feel, too much weighing down on your chest all at once. It pressed against your ribs, thick and suffocating, a tidal wave crashing over you before you could even take a breath. Every nerve in your body screamed with something—fear, exhaustion, embarrassment, confusion—but it all blended together into one overwhelming, crushing force. Your mind was shutting down for its own sake.

The sounds around you dulled into distant echoes, the weight of your own limbs barely registering. Your chest rose and fell, but it felt mechanical.

"Y/N?" Mark whispered, brows furrowing in concern. "Hey." he poked your shoulder.

You shook your head, turning away from him as tears pooled in your eyes. God, you felt so embarrassed.

Mark frowned when you shifted away from him, any comfort he planned to offer dying in his throat. "I'm... sorry." was all he could say.

Nothing.

His leg bounced nervously, chewing at his lip as he fought with his own emotions. "I want to kill him for putting hands on you."

Your brows tightened. Not what you wanted to hear either.

He sighed heavily, running his hands through his hair. "M'sorry for blowing up at you. It's not your fault—"

"It is." You sniffled. "I missed you... so much, that I pretended that he was you..." you choked on the words, turning your back to him and burying your face into the pillow. "How pathetic is that?"

Mark's heart squeezed, kicking off his shoes and climbing onto the bed next to you. "Stop. Not your fault." He reiterated.

You scoffed and shook your head, laughing wryly. He frowned, and pulled you to face him. He saw your tears and felt his own pile up behind his eyes.

"I'm sorry." He whispered. "I told my.... uh, last relationship that I was Invincible. It didn't end well for her, and I didn't want to put you in that same position. Always unsure, always in danger, always waiting..."

"I'm not her, Mark." You muttered.

"I know." He pursed his lips. "I was gone for months at a time—"

"I waited two years for you, didn't I?" You pushed away from him and sunk back into the cot. "You didn't even give me a chance."

Childish. That’s how you sounded. Because in the end, that’s all you two were—two kids who once grew up side by side finding each other once more, with all the petulant hurt coming through the surface.

A beat of silence passed between you, with nothing but your heart monitor to keep the time.

"You said he touched you." He started.

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. "...don't bring that up."

"No, I want to know." He shifted his weight, hovering over you. His face was painted with something foreign, green-eyed and greedy. "Show me."

Heat blossomed on your face as you lay in his shadow. "Mark..." You laughed nervously. "It was barely anything."

"You missed me so much you had to settle for that." Mark didn't look away from you for a second. "I want to give you the real thing."

You screwed your face up. Again, the thought passed through your mind: you wanted Mark, but not like this. "I don't want this to be a pity thing."

"No," Mark shook his head firmly. "not pity. Everything I feel for you has been there since... since I can remember. And it fucking boils my blood that a different version of me got to you before I had the balls to do it myself. Please," he whispered. "I need this."

"Need what?"

"You." He answered, like the answer was obvious. To him, it was. "I'm done waiting around."

You blinked at him before a soft smile spread across your face. "Me too."

Mark's lips brushed against yours with a gentleness that made your heart ache. He cupped your face in his hands, and you melted into him, your arms wrapping around his neck.

You let out a soft sigh when his lips parted slightly, allowing you both to breathe. You pressed forward, kissing him harder, feeling the intensity of everything that had been building between you over the years—years of longing, of waiting, of wanting something more.

Mark responded with equal hunger, his hands sliding down your back, pulling you closer. His chest rose and fell with each breath, his heart pounding against yours.

Where had he touched you? Mark didn't care anymore. By the time he was done with you, you'd know his touch and his alone, and he'd know every inch of you like the back of his hand. He wasn't leaving this room without it. He was allowing himself to be selfish for once; for you, it was worth it.

He sat back on his haunches, tugging his gloves off by his teeth before diving back into you, sliding his bare fingers underneath your shirt, sighing into your mouth as he squeezed your skin in his palm.

"You'll never need anyone ever again," He nosed your cheek, trailing kisses down your jaw to your neck. "Promise."

This time, you believed him.

— wayyy too self indulgent lmk if it was boring at places :)

© invoncible

[neptunsx]

PERMANENT | P.SH

⤷ genre: angst, nsfw.

⤷ synopsis: sunghoon as your toxic boxer ex who got your name tattooed.

You hadn’t meant to see him again.

You were scrolling absently through channels, not really watching anything. The day had been long, your body heavy with the kind of tired that no amount of caffeine could touch. You just wanted background noise. Something to drown out your thoughts.

You paused on a channel where the crowd was going wild—flashing signs, girls lifting their tops in a frenzy of excitement.

With a sigh and a roll of your eyes, you turned your attention back to admiring your freshly done nails.

Then…his name echoed through the chaos and hit you hard, like a punch to the chest.

“Park Sunghoon steps back into the ring tonight—”

You froze.

You didn’t breathe.

The screen shifted to show him entering the ring — black gloves, cold eyes, hair pushed back the way it always was before a match. He looked sharper. Stronger. But it was him.

Sunghoon.

Your ex.

You didn’t even realize you were leaning forward until your elbow knocked the remote off the couch.

He looked exactly the same. Like no time had passed. Like he hadn’t wrecked you eight months ago with nothing more than distance and silence.

Your throat tightened.

You hadn’t seen him since the night he left — or rather, the night you did. The night you packed a bag after another argument that started small and turned brutal. That was your pattern: quiet resentment, building pressure, then a blowout that left both of you staring at each other like strangers.

It wasn’t always like that.

There was a time when he made you feel untouchable. When his voice in the early morning, raspy and low, was your favorite sound. When his hands were always on your waist, grounding you, and his mouth only ever knew how to say stay.

But the higher his career climbed, the more he looked down on you.

He stopped talking. You started overthinking. He buried himself in training—and in other women when he thought you wouldn’t notice.

He made you feel needy for asking to be seen, dramatic for needing his time. He mocked your softness, called your emotions a distraction.

The compliments turned to criticism. The late-night phone calls became silent treatments.

The warmth in his voice vanished, replaced by cold calculation—like you were just another task he didn’t have time for.

And still, you stayed… until it hurt more to hold on than to let go.

You told yourself you moved on.

But there you were, heart racing, watching the man who used to sleep next to you throw punches with the same precision he used to kiss you with. Calculated. Controlled. Cold.

The match ended fast. It always did. A blur of footwork, one perfectly placed hit — and Sunghoon stood in the center of the ring, victorious, breathing heavy under the arena lights.

He pulled off his gloves. The camera followed the movement.

And that’s when you saw it.

A tattoo, dark and fresh, inked into the side of his ribs.

Your name.

You blinked. Your lips parted.

No. No, that couldn’t—

You leaned closer.

Your full name. In his handwriting. Just under the curve of his left ribs, near where you used to rest your head at night.

You felt like the floor shifted underneath you.

When did he do that? Why would he do that?

You hadn’t spoken in months. Not even a text. He didn’t show up when you moved out. Didn’t fight for you. Didn’t ask you to stay.

And yet there you were. Permanently etched into his skin.

Your stomach turned with confusion, heat, and something dangerously close to longing.

Midnight came and went. You paced. You sat in silence. Trying to process what the fuck you just saw.

Your fingers hovered over his name in your phone. You told yourself not to do it, told yourself you didn’t need to know.

But you called anyway.

He answered after two rings. Like he always used to.

“…Hello?”

The sound of his voice pulled something tight in your chest.

“Hi…” you said, voice barely above a whisper.

A pause. Then: “Y/N?”

You ignored the way your name sounded coming from him. Focused on the tremble in his voice instead.

“Can you come over?”

He was quiet for a beat.

“Are you okay?”

“I just… I need to talk.”

Another pause. Then: “Yeah. I’ll come.”

He showed up in a black hoodie and oversized jeans. His sleeves were pushed up, revealing his bruised knuckles.

When he showed up at the door, it was like everything stopped for a second. Your chest tightened, a familiar ache creeping in.

He leaned casually against the frame, his fingers flicking the keys to his expensive car, the sound of metal against metal almost too loud in the quiet of the night. The faint scent of cigarettes wrapped around him — a bitter contrast to his polished athlete image.

As he looked at you, the weight of everything unspoken between you hung thick in the air.

You moved aside, allowing him to enter your house.

He stepped inside like he still knew the way. Like nothing had changed.

But everything had.

You sat on the edge of your couch, arms crossed over your chest. Trying to seem calm. Like you hadn’t been rehearsing this moment in your head all night.

He stood a few feet away, like he didn’t know if he was allowed to get closer.

“You said you wanted to talk.” he said quietly.

You nodded. “I did.”

A heavy beat passed.

“So?” he asked, shifting his weight. “Talk.”

You swallowed.

“I saw the fight.”

His jaw tensed. “Okay.”

“And I saw the tattoo.”

His expression cracked. Just slightly. But it was there — the flicker of surprise. The way his shoulders tensed, like he’d been caught in something.

“So…” you said, voice sharper now, “when were you planning to tell me you got my name inked into your ribs like I’m some kind of ghost you can't shake?”

He hesitated.

“I wasn’t planning to.”

“Seriously?” you scoffed. “So what, I was supposed to just never find out? You really thought you could keep this from me? You thought I wouldn’t find out that you permanently branded yourself with my name, like some fucking trophy?”

His eyes flickered for a second, but he quickly masked it with a smirk. “I didn’t do it for you.” he said coolly, spinning the car keys around his finger. “I did it because I couldn’t pretend anymore. I’m not here to explain myself to you.”

“Pretend what?” you snapped back, stepping forward, heart pounding in your chest. “What were you pretending? That you were over me? Because you weren’t, and you knew it. You just didn’t want to admit it.”

He gave a low laugh, but it wasn’t a real laugh—it was condescending. “You still think everything’s about you, don’t you?”

He took a step closer, his arrogance flooding the room. “No. I didn’t pretend to be over you. I just let you go because you couldn’t handle it. I wasn’t about to sit here begging you to stay, like some weak, desperate idiot.”

You shook your head, your pulse rising. “And now you think you can fix it by putting my name on your fucking skin? As if that somehow makes up for the years you spent shutting me out? You didn’t fight for me, Sunghoon. You never did.”

He shrugged, unfazed by your words. “You weren’t worth fighting for. I don’t need to prove anything to you, and I don’t need your forgiveness. I did what I had to do to keep moving. You’re just... a reminder.”

“Is that it?” you spat. “I’m just a reminder? You’re so full of yourself, you think this tattoo is some kind of redemption. You don’t get to claim me like this.”

His expression darkened, but only slightly. “You never understand, do you? I didn’t do this because I missed you. I did it because it’s the only thing that won’t leave. Everything else does. You did. So I kept pushing, kept fighting, kept pretending I didn’t care. But every goddamn time I stepped into that ring, I felt your presence, like a shadow I couldn’t outrun. You never left my head, no matter how hard I tried.”

“You think this tattoo means something?” you said, the bitterness thick in your voice. “You think that after everything you did, a tattoo will fix it? You never tried to make things right, Sunghoon. You just let me walk away. And now you’re expecting me to think this is some grand gesture?”

He stepped even closer, voice dropping lower. “It’s not about you thinking anything. It’s about me reminding you of who I am, who I was to you. You think you can walk away, pretend I don’t still haunt you, but I’m still here, aren’t I? And you’re still pissed, still holding on.”

You froze, a shiver running down your spine. “You’re so arrogant.” you said, the words barely escaping through your clenched teeth. “You don’t even realize that it’s not about you anymore. It’s about me and how you destroyed us. You shut me out over and over again. You didn’t give a single damn.”

“You think I didn’t know that?” He was inches from you now, his eyes burning, but there was something almost... possessive in them. “I didn’t need to call you. I didn’t need to chase you. You think I didn’t know how much I hurt you? I knew. But I was never going to chase you down, begging for forgiveness. That’s not how this works.”

“You’ve always been so damn prideful.” you seethed, voice trembling with anger. “You think you can just leave me with nothing and then show up with this thing on your skin like it makes everything okay?”

“I never said it made everything okay.” He looked at you, his gaze flicking to the tattoo briefly before locking back on your eyes. “But it’s real. That’s more than you’ll ever understand. You were always so temporary to me, and I wanted something that wouldn’t leave. You won’t leave me, not like this. No matter how much you think you hate me, no matter how many times you tell yourself you’ve moved on—you're still here.”

You shook your head, feeling something twist in your chest. “I’m still here because you never let me leave completely. You always found a way to pull me back in, and now it’s too late. I’m done. I’m done trying to fix something you never wanted to fix.”

He smirked, a faint edge of satisfaction curling his lips. “You think I didn’t know you’d say that? You think I didn’t know you were still in love with me? It’s the same shit, every time. You want to hate me. You want to make me the villain. But you still can’t walk away. You’ll never walk away.”

You looked at him — really looked at him. The tired eyes. The bruises. The tattoo. He was still him. Still sharp edges and cold fire. But now there was something soft underneath.

And you were still you.

Still in love with a boy who didn’t know how to ask you to stay until it was too late.

“I shouldn’t let you back in.” you said.

“I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t.”

Silence. Long. Heavy.

You hated him.

You hated the way he stood there like he hadn’t torn you apart. The way his jaw clenched when you spoke, like you were the one being unfair. The way he smelled like cigarette smoke and expensive cologne and memories you still hadn’t managed to drown.

You hated the way your body still ached for him, even now.

“You think I can’t forget you?” you whispered, stepping back, needing space, needing air. “You’re wrong. I do it every damn day.”

But you didn’t sound convincing. Not even to yourself.

His eyes flicked down to your mouth. “Then why are you shaking?”

You froze. Your breath caught. And in a flash, like muscle memory, he was already in front of you again, backing you against the wall like gravity was pulling him there.

“You hate me,” he murmured, voice low, “but you let me in.”

“You’re still a fucking narcissist.” you hissed, but your hands had already found his chest, trying to push him away.

“And you’re still lying to yourself.” he shot back, just before his mouth crashed into yours.

It wasn’t sweet. It was angry. Raw. A clash of teeth and breath and months of words you never said. His hands were on your waist like they used to be—possessive, rough, like he was trying to memorize you all over again.

You knew you shouldn’t.

But God, he felt like fire after a lifetime of cold.

He pulled back for a second, forehead pressed to yours, both of you breathless.

“This doesn’t fix anything.” you whispered.

“I know.” he said, brushing his lips against yours again, softer this time. “But I need you. Just for tonight.”

You knew it was a terrible idea. Knew that the next morning, none of this would be simple. But when he looked at you like that — like you were the only thing that ever quieted the chaos inside him — logic didn’t stand a chance.

Your fingers gripped the front of his shirt, pulling him back in before you could talk yourself out of it. His mouth crashed into yours, hungry and unrelenting. He kissed like he fought. With intensity, control, like he needed to win. And maybe you did too, in your own way.

His hands were on your body, sliding beneath your shirt, calloused palms dragging across your skin like he was rediscovering a language he hadn’t spoken in months. You gasped into his mouth when his thumbs brushed under your ribs, sending a jolt of heat straight to your core.

“Still so fucking soft.” he muttered against your neck, his breath hot. “You think I ever forgot this?”

You didn’t answer — couldn’t. Your back hit the wall again and your arms wrapped around his neck instinctively. His mouth moved down your throat, teeth grazing just enough to make your skin erupt in goosebumps.

You tugged his shirt over his head, eyes tracing the familiar scars, the bruises from his latest fight, the ink over his ribs — your name etched in bold, defiant permanence.

“You’re fucking crazy.” you whispered, dragging your nails down his chest.

“Only for you.” he said, eyes dark as he pulled your sweatpants down.

He worked you out of your clothes like it was muscle memory — like he’d imagined it a hundred times since you left.

His mouth moved to your tits, grabbing them firmly and marking them as his.

You gripped his hair, gasping his name, and he looked up at you, lips already flushed, voice gravelly,

“Say it again.”

“Sunghoon...” you moan again, softly.

He groaned like it hurt. Like it healed.

He lifted you effortlessly, carrying you to the couch.

He finished undressing himself and pumped his dick a few times while maintaining eye contact with you.

When he finally pushed into you, it wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t slow. It was desperation wrapped in need — teeth on your collarbone, fingers digging into your thighs, curses muttered into your skin. He was everywhere. He was too much. He was exactly what you needed.

He was ramming into you like crazy, like he was starved. You clawed at his back, legs locked around him, moving in sync like your bodies never forgot.

“God, you still feel like mine.” he growled into your ear, hips thrusting harder, more erratic now. “Tell me I didn’t lose you.”

You bit his bicep, half a sob, half a moan. “You never really had me.”

But even as you said it, your nails raked down his spine and your body arched into his like gravity couldn’t bear to keep you apart.

“Are you sure about that?” he said, looking at you with dark, needy eyes.

His hand crawled up, finding your neck and giving it a strong squeeze, holding you in place.

Your vision blurred as pleasure crashed over you in waves — overwhelming, all-consuming. Your back arched off the couch, breath hitching, unable to ground yourself in anything but the way he moved, the way he owned every inch of you. He slapped your cheek and grabbed your jaw, making you look up at him.

“You fucking slut,” he groaned, “missed my dick that bad?” he mocked, making you whimper and feel vulnerable under him.

“Fuck you.” you spat.

He chuckled, low and dangerous, like he loved when you talked back.

Before you could blink, he flipped you effortlessly, pressing your chest to the couch cushions, dragging your hips up with rough hands. You gasped, caught off guard, dizzy from the shift, but burning with need.

“You always needed it like this.” he muttered behind you, voice like gravel, hands gripping your hips with a possessive hold that left fingerprints in his wake. “Hard. Messy. Mine.”

And then he was moving again — deeper, rougher, pulling sounds from you that didn’t even sound like your own. You buried your face in the pillow, but he grabbed a fistful of your hair, yanking your head back just enough to hear your pretty noises, “Don’t hide from me now."

“F-Fuck.” you gasped, your voice breaking as your hand shot back, trying to slow him down.

But he didn’t stop.

He gripped your wrist mid-air, pinned it to the small of your back, and kept going — relentless, feverish, like he was trying to burn his name into your skin.

He’d never been like this before. Not this rough. Not this desperate.

Not this possessed.

Every thrust sent a shockwave through you, your cries lost in the heat between you, in the way your name kept falling from his lips like a prayer turned curse.

Your thighs trembled.

Your breath hitched.

And then you shattered. Back arching, vision blinding white, everything in you unraveling all at once. You cried out his name, broken and breathless, feeling yourself fall apart around him.

That was all it took.

With a guttural groan, he slammed into you one last time, burying himself deep as he spilled inside you, head thrown back, fingers digging into your hips like he was anchoring himself to the moment — to you. Like he needed this more than air.

You were still catching your breath, your body buzzing with the aftershocks, when it hit you.

Your eyes flew open.

“Wait—” you gasped, twisting to look at him. “Did you just—? You didn’t pull out.”

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t even blink.

“Yeah.” he said, calm. Too calm. “I did it on purpose.”

You stared at him, stunned. “Are you insane?”

His hand slid down your spine possessively, slow and deliberate. “No.” he murmured. “Just done pretending.”

Your chest tightened, fury and disbelief tangling with something that felt a lot like fear.

“You can’t just—” you started.

“I already did.” he interrupted. His voice was low, dark, final. “That wasn’t just sex. That was me putting you back where you belong. You’re mine again — deal with it.”

Your mouth opened, then closed.

You should’ve pushed him off. Should’ve screamed, left, anything.

But instead, you laid there, his breath still warm on your skin, trying to decide if the rapid beat of your heart was from panic… or the fact that a part of you liked being wanted this much.

Even if it was twisted.

Even if it was wrong.

© NEPTUNSX, 2025 / do not copy or repost.

[sukunahs]

to distant lands - ch.1: nightmare | ryomen sukuna

pairing: ryomen sukuna x fem!reader (medieval fantasy au)

summary: It’s expected for a princess to have a personal guard, especially when you’re an only child and heir to the kingdom. The knight who has watched over you since childhood is retiring and, much to your dismay, your father decides to put his best soldier on the job as his replacement - Ryomen Sukuna, the Kingdom’s most vicious warrior and far from your biggest fan.

Little did you know that Sukuna would end up tangling himself in your life in ways you never could’ve anticipated. 

word count: 7.8k

chapter content: 18+ mdni, eventual smut, enemies to lovers, slow-burn(ish), forbidden relationship, medieval fantasy setting, fluff, angst, protective sukuna

authors note: I've been consuming a lot of fantasy writing and media lately and all I've been able to think about is knight!sukuna! I'm not sure how many chapters this will have but I've got a lot in my plan for this one!

series masterlist | AO3 | next chapter

The first time that you’d ever encountered Sukuna was four years ago. The Cerulean Kingdom, led by your father: King Kashimo, had been at war with the Zenin Nation who had been trying to expand their land into a neighbouring kingdom. 

That war came to an end in just six months. It was practically unheard of for conflict to be resolved between nations so swiftly. Usually battles would take place over years until one side begrudgingly agreed to a peace treaty. But no such thing was required on this occasion. 

It was all due to Sukuna. 

Sukuna, the twenty-two year old Knight, was such a force of nature on the battlefield that he single-handedly pushed back the Zenin troops. He took the head of their main General with ease and left their forces scattered and afraid. The Zenin King, Naobito, had no choice but to pull back, to give up on his attempt at taking land - he had no soldiers capable of taking on a man like Sukuna. 

So Sukuna had returned to your Kingdom as a legend. Every Knight respected him, any woman that crossed his path swooned at the mere sight of him, and your father was completely captivated by him. 

Even you, the sole Princess of the Cerulean Nation would confess to having been taken by his status as a legend at first, for he reminded you of tales of King Arthur and his Knights, a shining beacon of bravery. 

Your father had thrown a whole celebration for him when he returned from war, a massive banquet where Sukuna was to be commended for his bravery. Kashimo had given you the responsibility of awarding him the medal, knowing how captivated you were with stories of legendary Knights, knowing that you’d be eager to meet one in the flesh. 

As Sukuna had approached you in the great hall, he had dropped to his knees at your feet, as was custom. Leaning forward you’d placed the medal around his neck. 

“You’re a hero.” You’d whispered softly, heart pounding at the proximity. “You kept me safe from this country’s ruin, thank you for doing your duty.” 

He looked up at you then, his eyes meeting yours. You expected to see pride and loyalty reflected in those red orbs, but instead all you saw was disdain. 

“I didn’t do it for you, princess.” He said, keeping his voice low enough that he wouldn’t be overheard by anyone else. “I couldn’t care less about what happens to some spoiled little dreamy-eyed brat. There’s no duty for me, your father just pays better than anyone else, and I get to crack a few skulls in the process.” 

And just like that, the illusion was destroyed. He was no chivalrous Knight of old, but a selfish man filled with bloodlust. More of a mercenary than anything else, his loyalty not with the Kingdom but with the pay that your father could provide him. 

And thus, your dislike of Sukuna began. 

Your view of him only tumbled downhill from there, for from that moment onwards he seemed to get a kick out of the disappointment that would flash in your eyes when he would do something unbefitting of a Knight. 

When he caught you in private he’d tell you the crudest stories of his bloody feats on the battlefield. In public he’d do his best to make you trip up, to subtly infuriate you in front of your subjects, just trying to pull a reaction out of you. 

You’d yelled at him once, when you were all alone, telling him to cut it out, to leave you be. A number of insults that had never passed your lips before that moment were hurled at him. But somehow that seemed to just egg him on, a look of pure elation on his face as you screamed at him - you supposed all he really wanted was a reaction. 

It was hard for you to comprehend what his problem was with you. You knew that there were people who held general disdain for the royal family, so perhaps that was it? But his unsavoury nature always felt very specific to you, as though your very existence was an offence to him. 

Regardless of his reasoning, the two of you had been at this standoff for years, and now it was coming to a head in the worst way possible.

—

“No.” You said firmly as you glared up at Kashimo. 

You stood before your father’s throne, with Yaga standing tall at your side. The two men had just informed you that Yaga would be retiring, that he would have to be replaced with a new Knight. 

The narrative that they’d both fed you was that Yaga was getting too old for the position now, that he was too slow to adequately fend off an attacker should it ever come to that. But you weren’t buying it for a second, Yaga had never failed you before, and you’d never even been attacked anyway, so what did it matter?

“I’m sorry, princess–” Yaga started to speak again, but you cut him off, your sharp gaze fixated on your father. 

“You’re older than Yaga but I don’t see you retiring from your post.” 

“Don’t be childish.” Your father warned. “It's Yaga’s choice to retire, for twenty-three years he’s watched over you, let the man rest.” You said nothing, your brow furrowing. It was hard to fight with that sentiment.

“Besides, with the political unrest between nations right now I need your Knight to be on high alert. Daughters of Kings are always the prime targets to be kidnapped for ransom, and I won’t have you be put at risk.” 

You rolled your eyes at that, you felt that your father always overestimated the level of danger that you were in. No one had ever tried to kidnap you before, and you doubted they would now. But there was no arguing with the man when it came to matters of your safety. 

“Who’s the replacement?” You asked.

“Go back to your quarters.” He ordered, “I’ll send him up to you shortly. Do try your best to get along.” 

That had you concerned. It was evident that your father didn’t wish to tell you who it was himself, perhaps to avoid an argument? You opened your mouth to ask further questions but he silenced you with a sharp glare - a look that told you he was in no mood to entertain you further. 

So, just like a good daughter should, you scampered back to your quarters, waiting to see what fate had in store for you. 

You hadn’t anticipated that waiting for the time to pass would be agony. You’d done everything that you could to entertain yourself: reading, drawing, braiding and unbraiding your hair in front of the mirror, staring aimlessly out of the window onto those gorgeous green mountains that loomed up on the horizon, just beyond the castle walls. Nothing was easing the growing anxiety in your stomach over who your father had chosen to protect you.

So instead of trying to occupy your time, you’d taken to just lying on your canopy bed, gazing up at the blue material draped across the four intricately carved wooden posts. A flower pattern embroidered in a darker blue shade adorned the material. Your mother had sewed it when you were young - embroidery was always her main joy and subsequently, many of your childhood dresses had been made by her. 

She’d passed before you’d grown to be an adult, so none of your current dresses had been crafted by her. It was a shame, the royal tailors couldn’t do half the job that she could. 

It was because of her death that your father was so unbelievably protective over you. You were his only child, and that made you heir to the throne - even if you were a woman. 

It was highly irregular, usually the throne would go to the next living male relative, but Kashimo had no brothers to hand the crown over to. Most people had assumed that once your mother had passed he would marry another woman, try for another child - hopefully a boy this time to be his heir. He never did. Kashimo had married for love, and his soul was shattered when his wife died, he didn’t want to share his bed with anyone else - he would remain alone until he met his own end. 

So, you were all he had - his one shining light. You knew that you should make more of an effort to understand his perspective, that all of his decisions were out of his love for you, but it didn’t make you feel any less like a bird trapped in a gilded cage. 

A sharp knock at the door pulled you from your thoughts, and you shot to your feet. For a moment you considered not opening the door, keeping yourself locked in your room in protest. Perhaps you could even climb out the window and give your new Knight a really hard first day, prove to your father that this fool could do no better a job at protecting you than Yaga did. 

But you were fully aware of just how childish that would be. 

So you let out a sigh and pulled open the door, only to be met with a sight that you could only describe as being your absolute worst case scenario. 

Ryomen Sukuna.

Standing there in your doorway at almost 7ft tall, tattoos winding over his tanned skin, and red eyes so sharp that his gaze constantly felt like it was piercing you. He was adorned in his usual silver armor, intricate patterns running over the metal. 

When your father has said that he’d be sending one of his best Knights, you certainly hadn’t been expecting him to provide his favourite. 

Sukuna had been a Knight for the Cerulean Nation for around ten years now, since he was sixteen years old. He’d climbed his way through the ranks quickly, and had gained the approval of the King himself. He was one of the most capable and lethal Knights in the army, the type of man who would always get the job done, who would kill without remorse on behalf of his King. 

The way that your father spoke about Sukuna, in this awe-filled manner, always had you rolling your eyes. You wondered sometimes if your father wished that Sukuna was his own son with the way that he’d obsess over every little thing that he did. You’d think that he was a miracle-maker from the praise Kashimo would heap on him whenever he returned from a quest. 

But he didn’t have you fooled. He was attractive, yes - but that was all he had going for him. He was immensely unpleasant to be around, an arrogant and ill-tempered man who believed that the world revolved around him. He’d look in disdain at those he didn’t respect and that happened to include you. 

You despised him. 

Yet here he was, leaning against your door with a big grin spread across his handsome features. This man, who had done nothing but make things difficult for you, was supposed to put his life on the line to protect you? You’d be lucky if you didn’t end up dead or kidnapped by the time the sun set. 

“You’ve got to be joking.” You hissed. 

“Unfortunately not.” Sukuna said with a wide grin, striding into your chambers as though they belonged to him. “Cute little room you’ve got here,” he snickered. You felt as though he’d already got you on the backfoot - it was embarrassing to have someone like him scrutinise your living space, especially considering you’d hardly made any effort to clean things up. 

“I always did take you as the type to sleep with a stuffed toy.” He said with a laugh as he wandered over to your bed, picking up the well-loved rabbit plushie that sat on top of the duvet. “Does it have a name?” 

“That’s none of your business.” You snapped, trying to grab the plushie from his hands. The bunny did have a name, but there was no way that you were going to grace him with an answer. He held the toy rabbit just out of your reach, stopping you from snatching it back. 

“So it does.” he said, amusement laced in his tone.

“Give him back.” 

“Him huh? Tell me what he's called and I will.” 

You pouted and crossed your arms. You weren’t about to give him what he wanted, if you gave in now it would set the precedent that he could just push you around whenever he wanted.

Sukuna shrugged, his eyes roaming to the open window, a wicked grin crossing his face. “If you don’t tell me his name, Mr Rabbit might just take a tumble out of the tower.” He said as he wandered over to the window, holding the bunny out in the open air. 

Your face contorted with rage as you ran over to him. “Stop it! Give him back!” Sukuna fended you off with one hand as you grabbed at him, he seemed to be thoroughly enjoying his newfound power over you. 

“I will, if you just tell me his name.” He teased. You weren’t sure that he’d really drop the toy out of the window, but you didn’t want to take any chances. That bunny had been in your life from childhood, had fended away many a nightmare, you weren’t going to have him chucked out of a window just because of some jerk of a Knight. 

“It's Sir Bounce-a-lot.” You whispered, face flushed red with embarrassment. Sukuna was so surprised that you’d actually given in that he almost dropped the bunny by accident. 

“Sir Bounce-a-lot..?” He asked, clearly unsure if he’d heard you correctly. 

“Yeah…” You mumbled, a feeling of humiliation creeping into your chest as he openly laughed at you, placing the bunny back into your hands. You pulled the plushie to your chest, shielding him from Sukuna’s cruel hands. 

“Like Sir Lancelot?”

Your father had always been fond of telling you those stories when you were a child, your bookshelves filled with tomes recounting the great legends of King Arthur and the Knights of the Roundtable. Hearing those tales always filled you with a strange feeling, as even though your own life was filled with Knights and Kings, your existence felt so mundane compared to the characters in those legends. 

Most of your time was just spent sitting alone in your chambers, and the Knights that you encountered seemed to be the furthest thing from chivalrous. You highly doubted that Lancelot ever threatened to throw Guinevere’s treasured possessions out of a window. 

“Yeah.” You weren’t willing to give him any more of an answer, you didn’t want him to know anything about you. 

Sukuna continued to poke his way around your room, much to your dismay. He made a few comments here and there about things you had on display, his thoughts on the decoration and colour scheme. You mostly stayed silent, still trying to process that his presence was your new reality. 

Once bored with assessing your room he took a seat in an armchair in the corner, sprawling himself out across it as though he belonged there. You found yourself once again frustrated by the audacity of this man, but held your tongue. There was no point in engaging in bickering with him for now, you were sure that your father would replace him with someone else once you expressed how difficult he was.

“So…what now?” He asked. 

“What?” You asked incredulously. 

“What are we meant to do now?” He asked, speaking slowly as though he thought you’d been too stupid to understand his first question. 

“I just…do whatever I want and you’re meant to make sure that I don’t get assassinated.” 

Sukuna let out a deep sigh, throwing his head back against the armchair. His red eyes were closed and he dragged a hand down his face in frustration. “That’s it? All I can do is sit here and watch you…” he paused for a moment in thought. “What do you even do with your time?” 

You were a little offended by his tone. Sure, it wasn’t like you got to go out much, but you had your hobbies - it wasn’t as though you were sitting motionless day after day like some porcelain doll.

“Well, sometimes I stay in here and read or paint. Sometimes I go out for walks in the gardens. Occasionally I’ll go shopping in the town…” He didn’t look impressed with your list, so you scrambled for something more interesting to add. “I go to social events too! Balls and tea parties with other nobles.”

He rolled his eyes. “Lame.” He said. 

“Excuse me?” You squeaked. 

“You heard me. Fuck, I can’t believe the old man really stationed me here.” For some reason, his sentiment offended you. Even though you had no desire to have him as your Knight, you despised the idea that he also didn’t want to be at your side. It should be a blessing to serve a princess. 

“It's a coveted position, you know.” You hissed out before you could stop yourself. 

Scoffing, he shook his head at you. “Maybe for soft little Knights who shit themselves at the thought of actual combat - like that old man you had before, not sure he’s ever laid eyes on a battlefield.” 

“If you don’t want to be here, why don’t you just leave.” You shot back, internally begging whatever gods listening that he’d take you up on that offer. Maybe your father would be more inclined to listen to his golden-boy of a Knight than the will of his own daughter. The look on Sukuna’s face told you otherwise. 

“Like I have a choice. Do you think I’m happy about this arrangement, princess?” He asked mockingly. “Do you really think I’d rather be in here watching over some spoiled little girl when I could be out on the field?”

 “Probably not.” You mumbled. His reputation for bloodlust was well-known. He wasn’t the sort of Knight who killed because he must, he killed because he enjoyed slaughtering his enemies on the battlefield. Being separated from all that was likely agony for him. 

“Obviously not. But your daddy goes mad with worry over you. He has this insane paranoia that the entire world is out to take his daughter away, so now here I am. His finest soldier, tasked with protecting some brat when I could be pushing back our enemies.”

You didn’t have a response to that. He was right, it was odd that your father would leave him here with you. Your own feelings aside, taking Sukuna away from the army felt like a sure-fire way to weaken his forces. Although the Kingdom was technically in peace time at the moment, political unrest aside. Perhaps he felt that an assassination attempt was more likely than a war right now. 

“You should ask him to send you back.” You suggested. “I don’t want you here either, so it would be a win for us both.” 

Sighing, he shook his head. “I tried that already, princess. Face it, we’re stuck together.” 

A sense of horror washed over you at that statement, that couldn’t just be it. You’d had Yaga as your Knight for twenty-three years, would you have to suffer Sukuna for that long? Perhaps even longer? 

As your eyes trailed over to him, taking note of the amusement written on his face, you found your resolve. You could accept that Yaga needed to retire, but you were not going to accept him as your Knight. 

No, you were going to do everything in your power to get rid of Ryomen Sukuna. 

—

As the days started to pass by following Sukuna’s assignment as your personal Knight, you thought that you’d grow at least a little accustomed to his presence, that he’d just start to fade into the background and you’d get to continue on mostly in the way that you always have. 

Back when Yaga was still your Knight he’d always do an excellent job of making himself scarce, only ever there in your peripheral vision, always knowing when he wasn’t welcome in the room, taking the opportunity to stand guard outside and leave you to your privacy. 

Sukuna had no such compulsion. 

On the contrary, his presence was stifling. He was always right there, demanding your presence at any given moment. 

When you were in public, he’d be right at your side, joining in on your conversations with palace staff, ruffling your hair and teasing you openly in front of others, knowing that you’d do nothing to tarnish your image by snapping at him if there were people around to see it. 

If you were in your room, then he was in there too, sprawled across the armchair or occasionally even lying on your bed. That alone would’ve been fine if it weren’t for the running commentary that he brought with him. No matter what you tried to do, he had something to say about it. 

Brushing your hair had him telling you that you were too vain, that guys didn’t like women who tried too hard. 

Reading had him passing judgement on every book that you opened, sneering at the sight of a romance book that you’d picked up, stating that all romance novels were worthless and written for lonely old women. 

Painting had him criticising everything that appeared on the canvas, telling you that the perspective was off, that the colours weren’t mixed properly, and the worst one of all: that he didn’t ‘get’ it. You weren’t sure what there was to get in a simple landscape painting of the garden, but it got under your skin all the same. 

It got to the point where you’d stopped trying to do anything, at least then he couldn’t offer any opinions to grate at your nerves. 

You’d taken to spending all of your days the same way. You’d wake up late, the sun already high in the sky by the time you’d stumble down to the dining hall for breakfast. Sukuna would always be waiting just outside the doors of your chambers for your appearance. You were fortunate that he didn’t spend his nights in the room with you, that was the rare respite that you got from him, with the quarters for your personal Knight being one room down from yours. 

Together you’d eat breakfast - this was usually in silence, at least from your side. Sukuna would poke and prod at you until it was clear that you weren’t going to rise to it, before submitting himself to the quiet. Your father would join you in the dining hall whenever he wasn’t busy with Kingly duties - those times were always the most painful because you were forced to make polite conversation with Sukuna to avoid a scolding from the King. 

You’d already learned the hard way that you couldn’t speak negatively about or to Sukuna. On the day he’d been assigned as your Knight you’d gone running to your father to complain, only to be told that you needed to ‘grow up and get used to it’.

Sukuna clearly loved it when Kashimo would join the two of you. He’d take the opportunity to ask you endless questions about yourself, ones that you’d begrudgingly answer to avoid your father’s wrath, but knowing that Sukuna would use all of this newfound information against you once you were left alone again. 

Once you’d had your breakfast, you’d generally head straight back to your room, where you’d enact Operation: Make Sukuna so frustrated that he loses his mind and quits. The operation was simple, you’d spend the whole day lying still on your bed with the hopes that Sukuna would fall apart from boredom before you did. 

Luckily, you’d had plenty of experience with boredom as a princess, likely more than Sukuna had - you were pretty confident that he would crack long before you would. So you laid there, day after day, staring up at the canopy. You’d often keep Sir Pounce-a-Lot clutched to your chest, still wary that Sukuna might threaten to throw him out of the window again. 

You’d do your best to completely ignore Sukuna, a task that you found wasn’t particularly tricky after the first few days. He’d originally tried to make conversation, to aggravate you with his comments. When you’d given him nothing he’d quietened down and the two of you started a long-running stand-off of existing in silence in that decadent room. 

Until Sukuna hatched a plan of his own. 

You’d become vaguely aware of him moving about the room while you laid there, but you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of your attention. You’d hoped that his movement was a sign of his restlessness, that it meant that your days of lying idle would soon be over. 

Sukuna had said that your father wouldn’t bend on his decision on where he posted his star Knight, so if Sukuna really did get frustrated enough to quit, he’d be quitting your father’s service altogether, and then you’d never have to see his frustratingly handsome face again - the perfect outcome. 

As you daydreamed about a life free of Sukuna’s presence, the man in question settled back down into his chair. Unbeknownst to you he had found something very interesting as he’d rummaged through your drawers - something that could signify the end to this annoying little game that you were playing with him. 

You’d half drifted off to sleep when his deep voice cut through the silence. At first you’d tuned it out, decidedly uninterested in whatever he had to say, until his sentences started to sound more familiar to you. “Looking up at the king she felt desire deep in her gut, her body naked before him, giving herself over to him in ways that she had never given herself to a man before–” 

You shot up into a sitting position, your eyes wide in sheer horror at the words coming out of his mouth, words that you’d only ever read by candlelight when everyone else in the castle was asleep. Heart racing you looked over at him, sitting spread out on the armchair as he continued to read aloud. 

In his hands sat a tattered pink book. It had some art of a beautiful woman on the cover, being held gently by some handsome prince. This book in particular had not been on your bookshelf with the others, mostly because you were a little ashamed to own it. 

Your friend Yuki, one of the noblewomen that you spent a lot of time with, had gifted the book to you. She’d told you that it was a good learning resource for womanly matters. 

The story itself was pretty cliche: a protagonist who was whisked away to the court of an evil and attractive king, with said king actually turning out to have several layers to him, and the characters ultimately falling in love. But you weren’t really reading it for the plot, instead you’d spent many an evening re-reading one particular scene, where the main character finally gave herself to the king, letting him take her virginity. 

The scene always served to rile you up, you’d never encountered such content written down before. All of your knowledge of sex came from what Yuki would tell you about her relationship with her husband Choso. Outside of that no one had told you anything. Your mother had passed away before you were old enough to have such conversations, and your father certainly wasn’t going to approach the subject, most likely deeming it as a job for your future husband. 

So this book was akin to the holy grail for you, allowing you to live vicariously through the character and fantasise about what it might be like to one day have sex. It allowed you to brush aside the worries that your father would marry you off to some gross old man, and indulge in the thought that you too would get to find your own version of the book’s evil king. 

But that information, the deep desires that the book stirred in you, were meant to be for you alone. So the humiliation that ran through you as Sukuna read from the page that you had bookmarked was unparalleled.

“-and as he crawled on top of her, he lined himself up with her entrance, pushing himself in–” 

“Please stop.” You pleaded softly. You wanted to yell and scream at him but you were afraid that your father might come in if there was too much commotion, and you certainly didn’t want him to see the book. 

He looked at you with a sharp grin. “There we go.” He said, as he snapped the book shut. He placed it back in the drawer where he’d found it, even going as far as to bury it beneath the pile of clothes that it had originally been hidden under.

“Are you done with your little tantrum now? Or do you want me to read more of that smut aloud for you?” 

“I fucking hate you.” You said, still shaking with embarrassment. 

“At least you’re talking again.” He said. “I know you’re trying to get rid of me, but I get good pay working for your father. I’m not going to quit just because some little brat gives me the silent treatment.” 

He took a seat on the edge of your bed and leant in close. Perhaps it was because of the words from the book that had just been spilling from his lips, but you felt a little flustered with the heat of his body so near to yours. 

“If you want me gone, princess, you’ll have to work so much harder than that.” He reached out and brushed a stray strand of hair behind your ear. 

“You have no idea what I’m capable of.” Your voice came out shakier than you would’ve liked it to. You didn’t want his presence to affect you in such a way, but this was the closest a man had ever been to you, and his gaze was so intense that you were quickly losing your nerve. 

You were sure that was how he wanted you to feel though, so you needed to pull it together quickly to not lose face in this battle of wills. 

“Mmm, do your worst.” He said, that shit-eating grin never leaving his face. 

—

Your first operation had been a colossal failure. You could hardly look Sukuna in the eye after the filth that he’d so proudly recited from that book of yours. In the future you’d need to be more careful about where you were putting your things to make sure that he didn’t stumble across your diary or something else equally personal that he could weaponise against you. 

If you couldn’t force him to quit by boring him, you’d just have to get rid of him another way. 

One of the only times that Sukuna ever really left you alone was when you were with your handmaid, Shoko. Despite his frustrating knack for constantly being at your side, even he knew that it was inappropriate for him to be present when you were bathing or getting dressed up. 

Shoko was gently brushing your hair as you stared down your reflection in the mirror, completely lost in thought. The handmaid was content with the silence, she’d been working with you for a few years now and had become accustomed to reading your moods, always doing her best to match your energy. 

“What would you do to get rid of him?” You asked, eyes moving to meet hers in the mirror. 

Shoko shrugged as she placed the hairbrush down on the vanity, her hands going back to your hair as she began to braid it. She didn’t have to ask who you were talking about, your dislike for Sukuna had been all you’d been able to talk about for the last few days. 

You’d thought that she was going to provide no further response, that she’d grown weary of Sukuna talk, before her neutral tone cut through the silence. 

“Make him look like he’s doing a bad job.” You raised a brow at her in interest. “For example, if you went to the King and told him that I was intentionally pulling hard at your hair whenever I brushed it, he’d probably fire me and bring you a new handmaid.” 

You turned that thought over in your mind for a moment before shaking your head. “No, he worships the ground that Sukuna walks on, he’d probably just yell at me and say I was making stuff up.”

“What if it wasn’t made up?” She suggested. “Sneak out or something, go hide at your friend Yuki’s house. Sukuna will have to confess that he’s lost you and then your father will fire him for being incompetent.” 

So that was exactly what you did. 

That night, you waited until Sukuna had retired to his quarters, giving it another hour to ensure that he wasn’t coming in to check on you before you put your plan into action. 

Sneaking out of your window was not new to you. Back when Yaga was your Knight you would often climb down the lattice outside one of your windows, allowing you to drop down onto the ramparts, giving you free run of the castle. There was no real reason for you to do it back then beyond the rush that it gave you of doing something forbidden. Usually you’d wander around the castle halls aimlessly before heading back to your room - you’d never snuck out properly, always staying within the relative safety of the castle walls. 

This time there could be no half-measures. If you were going to really highlight Sukuna’s incompetence, you needed to leave the castle and strike out into the town itself. Once you were out you could run straight to Yuki’s doorstep and wait until your father came to find you. 

You scrambled down the lattice and onto the ramparts below, taking a moment to check both directions before slipping down a hidden passage that would lead you to the ground level of the castle. As a child you had spent a large amount of your free time discovering every nook and cranny of the castle grounds, so you were fairly comfortable with getting around quickly and unseen. 

It's because of that exploration that you were aware of a passage that ran beneath the castle wall and into the sewers beneath the town that surrounded the castle. You headed into the garden, brushing aside shrubbery until you found the metal covering to the passage. Pushing it aside, you grabbed a lit torch from the garden wall and dropped down into the hole.

So far so good. 

It had been a while since you’d been down here, but you were pretty sure you could remember the way. Following the winding path along until it opened up into the sewers. This was where things got a little more tricky - you weren’t exactly sure which sewer grate opened out into an ideal location, and the last thing you wanted was to emerge in the middle of a busy street. 

You weren’t even disguised, so you certainly didn’t want to be sighted by commoners while smelling like the sewer, that would do irreparable damage to your reputation. 

Doing your best to mentally map out the town above you, you snaked your way through the sewer passages, marking your way with chalk on the wall here and there so you could backtrack if you needed to. 

Eventually you reached a ladder heading up to the surface. By your calculations, you were quite far from the main bustling part of town. You made your way up the ladder and pushed the sewer grate aside, trying to move it as quietly as possible, not wanting the sound of the metal scraping against the cobbles to draw attention. 

Popping your head out of the hole you thanked the gods that you had ended up in a completely deserted alleyway. You scrambled out from the sewers and quickly replaced the grate. 

Taking in your surroundings you figured that you’d come out in the upper district of the city, where all of the larger houses of nobles were situated - exactly where you’d been trying to get to. You took a moment to get your bearings, trying to figure out the fastest way to get to Yuki’s house from your current position before heading out of the alley. 

Your journey was a relatively easy one. The upper district was an area that had a high presence of city guards, meaning that the crime rates were low. As such, the streets were mostly empty and risk free, with you only running across the odd guard and late night reveller. 

Why did you even need a personal Knight anyway? You were getting along just fine without him. 

As you approached Yuki’s house you noted that all of the windows were dark, not a single lit candle in sight. You supposed that made sense, it must’ve been approaching 1am at that point, and you hadn’t written to tell her to expect you. You hadn’t wanted to risk Sukuna intercepting your letter and finding out - he had no real respect for your privacy so you didn’t think it would be beyond the realms of possibility for him to do such a thing.

But now concern was gnawing at your belly. What if you knocked on the door and she didn’t wake up to answer it. Or worse, what if her sensible husband Choso opened the door and took you back to the palace? He was unwaveringly loyal to your father, and you considered that he may not be willing to risk Kashimo’s wrath for the sake of your little game. 

Lost in thought, you didn’t hear the footsteps behind you until it was too late. 

A hand clamped firmly over your mouth, swallowing the sound of your scream as another hand snaked firmly around your waist. You were pulled back against a large body, the figure yanking you into a side-alley. Tears brimmed at your eyes as you desperately tried to struggle against the man, but to no avail. His grip was iron-clad. 

Fear overcame you at the possibilities of what could happen to you next, were you going to be taken away? Killed? Tortured? Was your father actually right? Maybe you should’ve listened to him about needing Sukuna, if you hadn’t been so stubborn you wouldn’t be in this situation.

All of those thoughts and regrets instantly dissipated when a familiar laugh sounded from behind you, his hands loosening their grip and releasing you as you spun around to look at him. 

Sukuna was peering down at you, his red eyes were lit up with amusement. He was still wearing his Knight’s armor, but he’d concealed it with a long black cloak that he’d likely been using to blend into the background. The look on his face told you just how elated he was that he’d caught you, like this was all some big game of cat and mouse to him. 

“Aw, are you scared, princess?” He asked, a hint of laughter still present in his tone. 

“What’s your problem?” You hissed. “I thought that was real, I could’ve–” 

“Exactly.” He cut you off, his voice surprisingly serious now. “It could’ve been real. Someone could’ve whisked you away just then, done whatever they wanted with you. Aren’t you lucky that it was just me?” 

You opened your mouth to protest, but his hands were on you again, pressing you up against the stone wall of the alley. “And that’s why we don’t run away. Good thing you’ve got such an attentive Knight huh?” 

“The only threat out here was you.” He rolled his eyes and brought his face closer to you, so close that his nose was practically touching yours. 

“That doesn’t sound like a thank you to me.” His warm breath fanned over your face, and he grinned at you condescendingly, his smile so wide that you could see his fang-like canines. 

“I’m not going to thank you for giving me the scare of my life.” You said, your hands bracing against his armored chest to try and push him away a little, his close proximity was stifling. “How did you even find me?”

He scoffed. “That was easy, you and your handmaid don’t talk as quietly as you think you do, I’m very familiar with your whole little plot to get rid of me.” 

Well, that was not ideal. You considered denying it, but that felt like a waste of time - he’d already heard the entire conversation, lying wouldn’t really get you anywhere. 

“Mmm, any pointers so I can succeed next time?” You asked dryly, and he laughed - it was a more genuine and joyful laugh than you were used to hearing from him, and it caught you off guard. 

“Make sure I’m definitely not listening next time you hatch a plan, that would be a big one.” 

You nodded, a little deflated. “Noted. Are you going to tell my dad about this?” 

“The sneaking out? Or your evil plan?” 

“Both, I suppose.” You mumbled. Ideally, your father would never find out about this situation at all. You’d get scolded for sneaking off, and your credibility for accusing Sukuna of anything in the future would completely disappear. It would essentially ensure that he would stay as your Knight for the foreseeable future. 

“I won’t tell him about either.” Sukuna said simply, an unreadable expression on his face. 

Your brow furrowed with confusion, trying to understand what game he was playing. The only person who benefitted from your father not knowing was you, Sukuna had every right to tell him what was going on, it was only fair in this petty little game you were playing. 

“Why?” You asked with uncertainty.

“Because this is enjoyable. I like watching you come up with all these cute little plots to get rid of me, it keeps me on my toes.” 

You couldn’t decide how you felt about that. Nothing about this was supposed to be entertaining for him, it was meant to be torturous. He was meant to despise you for putting him through hell, and yet here he was talking about it like you were taking part in some trivial competition. 

“And,” he continued, “I thoroughly enjoy thwarting your little plans. I’m not going to ruin my own fun by bringing your father into this.” He brushed a hand through your hair and brought his lips to your ear. “This is between you and me, princess.”  

An involuntary shiver ran down your spine, the hairs on your arms standing up at the feeling of his warm breath on your ear and neck. You were quick to side step away from him, thoroughly flustered by his behaviour. He was smirking back at you. 

Smug bastard. 

“Anyway. We should head back.” Before you could say anything, he stalked over to you and hoisted you over his shoulder. You let out a little yelp of surprise, adrenaline rushing through you as you were manhandled into the air. 

“H-hey! Put me down!” You demanded. When he didn’t respond, you started to beat your fists against his back, desperately trying to get his attention. He seemed completely unbothered by the action, striding through the streets with you firmly in his grip, as though the weight of your fists was no more irritating than a fly buzzing around his head. 

“You might want to quieten down, I’ll be carrying you back all the way through town - wouldn’t want your citizens to see you making a scene now would you?” 

You froze. He had you down on that front. In private you’d be as difficult as you liked, throw your temper tantrums at him or at you dad. But never in public. That’s a value that your mother had instilled in you from childhood. Image was everything for a princess, you couldn’t have the common folk thinking ill of you, it was your job to be a shining example of elegance and grace. 

So you stopped struggling against Sukuna, going limp in his hold and allowing him to carry you back to the castle.

Fortunately for your sanity, the late hour meant that very few people got to see you in your humiliated state. A few townsfolk spared you a glance before going on with their nights, and the guard stationed at the castle gate had a good laugh at you before letting Sukuna by. He and Sukuna seemed plenty chummy with one another, with Sukuna slipping him a gold coin in exchange for his discretion on this situation. 

Sukuna insisted on carrying you all the way to your chambers, going so far as to tuck you into your bed. You were so disoriented by the events that had transpired across the night that you didn’t even have it in you to verbally chastise him, silently going along with his actions. 

“Thereee you go.” He said softly as he pushed Sir Bounce-a-lot to your chest, your hands instantly gripping at the bunny. You were livid, this felt like some sort of sick humiliation ritual, but you felt too tired to really push back against his actions.

Not to mention, it was hard to spit vitriol in his direction when your brain wouldn’t stop replaying the way that he’d manhandled you to get you back to the castle, flinging you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing. 

It had been so embarrassing, and yet your traitorous body still burnt hot at the thought of it, at how his big, warm hands had felt against your skin, how the low rumble of his voice had reverberated through his body beneath you as he’d carried you back to the safety of your chambers.

You realised a moment too late that your gaze had been lingering on Sukuna for too long. You looked away swiftly, but not before you caught the flicker of interest that appeared in his deep red eyes. 

“Goodnight princess.” He said softly. You couldn’t tell if his tone was mocking or genuine. Either way you’d have to save yelling at him for the morning. 

Then it would be time to work on a new plan to get rid of him. 

next chapter | series masterlist

a/n: thanks for reading! I'm going to try and get the next chapter out in the next week!

let me know if you wanted to be added to the taglist.

© sukunahs

[arkaiveofurown]

kiss me, he’s watching

Pairings: Law x Reader & Ace x Reader

You feel like you’re being watched, so you ask him for help. After all, it’s just a simple kiss, right?

Word Count: ~2,000 words

tag: fluff, being stalked reader

my masterlist here ♡

——

Law

It started back in that small town—a feeling that couldn’t be ignored. You didn’t want to admit it, but you knew. Someone was following you.

Everywhere you went, you could sense eyes on you. The feeling crawled under your skin, and no matter how hard you tried to shake it, it lingered.

When you saw him again, you froze. Your ex. The one who always used to say,

You’ll never get over me. You’ll always come back to me.

Do you think someone can love you like I do? No one.

Leave all you want, but I know you’ll crawl back to me.

You couldn’t believe he was here. How had he found you? You tried to push it down, but the thought gnawed at you like a dull ache. Should you tell the crew? You weren’t sure. How could you explain this? You hadn’t even fully processed it yourself.

The next few days were tense, your every move shadowed by the unease that settled in your chest.

You walked into the Polar Tang’s infirmary, needing a moment to breathe. Law was sitting at the desk, flipping through medical files, when he noticed you. His gaze was sharp, scanning you in a way that felt both familiar and unsettling.

“You need something?” he asked, his voice calm, but with a trace of concern.

You hesitated, the weight of everything still on your mind. “Just… needed a quiet place.”

Law studied you for a moment, his eyes narrowing just a little. “You don’t lie well,” he noted, setting the file down.

You wanted to brush it off, but his gaze was too intense. “I’ll be fine. Just tired, I guess.”

Law leaned back, folding his arms. His expression didn’t shift, but his tone softened. “That’s not what it looks like.”

“I’m fine,” you repeated, forcing a smile. “Really, Law. I just need some space.”

He didn’t answer immediately, but the way he looked at you—intense, piercing—made you feel like he wasn’t buying it. Still, he didn’t push. “If you need anything, don’t hesitate,” he said quietly.

You nodded, your heart beating a little faster, and quickly left the room. But even as you stepped away, you could feel his eyes on your back, sharp and unrelenting. He knew something was off, but he hadn’t pried. Yet.

——

The feeling came first—a prickle along your spine.

He was here.

Somewhere along the outer corridor of the Polar Tang, hidden just out of sight. You didn’t see your ex, but you didn’t need to. You felt it. Just like in the town. The presence clinging to the air like damp fog. Watching. Waiting.

And every time, the same fear clawed at your throat—that one day, he wouldn’t just watch. He’d step forward. Say your name. Reach for you. Take you back.

Because in his mind, you were still his.

You tried to push it away, but the fear lingered. You had to talk to someone.

You found Law up on the observation deck, overlooking the sea. He was alone, arms crossed, the wind ruffling his coat as he stared out at the waves—calm and steady, like always.

“You alright?” he asked, voice steady, but his eyes sharp.

You hesitated before answering, your voice barely above a whisper. “I… I don’t know how to explain it, but someone’s watching me. He followed me. From that town… onto the ship. I don’t know how, but I can feel him. My ex. He’s here.”

Law’s gaze hardened, the calm expression replaced by something more intense. “Your ex? Here?”

You nodded. “I don’t know how he found me, but I can feel him. Everywhere I go, it’s like he’s watching.”

He stood up abruptly, his posture tense, a mix of anger and protectiveness radiating from him. “Where is he?” His voice was firm, and there was no hesitation in his steps.

Your hand shot out to grab his arm, stopping him mid-step. “No. I don’t want you going after him.”

Law turned to you, his brow furrowing in confusion. “What? You think I’ll let him—”

“I think,” you said quickly, stepping just a little closer, “you can help in another way.”

Law gave you a cautious look. “How?”

You lowered your voice. “He’s watching. Right now. So… kiss me.”

He froze. “What?”

“If he thinks I’m with someone—if he sees you—maybe he’ll back off. Just pretend.”

Law stared at you for a beat, then muttered, “…Only because I’m your captain.”

He leaned in, quick and stiff. His lips brushed yours for half a second—barely a kiss at all—before he stepped back like he touched fire. His ears were pink, hands trembling, eyes everywhere but on you.

“Duty,” he coughed, awkward. “Crew protection.”

“That was very professional of you, Captain.” You stared at him, unimpressed. “But that was it?”

He frowned. “What?”

You whispered, “That wasn’t convincing. At all. No one would believe we’re a couple with a kiss like that.”

Law blinked. “It was fine.”

You raised a brow. “You basically tapped me with your mouth.”

He looked away fast, adjusting his hat. “It’s not a performance.”

“It kinda is,” you whispered, stepping closer again. “He’s still watching, you know.”

Law glanced sideways, clearly flustered. You could see the tips of his fingers twitch before he shoved them in his pockets.

“…Fine,” he muttered. “But only to make it believable.”

You smiled. “You’re very dedicated to your duties, Captain.”

He groaned under his breath, then kissed you again—this time deeper, longer, moving his lips against yours. His hand steadied at your back, the warmth of it lingering longer than the kiss.

When he pulled away, he still wouldn’t meet your eyes. “Satisfied?”

You grinned. “Getting there.”

He exhaled hard, muttering, “I hate this mission.”

And from the shadows behind the corridor’s curve, you felt that presence waver—like a thread pulled too tight. Then it was gone. For now.

And even if he came back, you knew your captain would do his duties to protect you.

——

Ace

You sipped your drink, trying to enjoy the lively atmosphere of the bar, but your gaze kept darting to the man standing in the corner. He wasn’t subtle, watching you with a hungry stare, his eyes never leaving you.

You glanced around the table, trying to act casual, but the unease was creeping up your spine. Ace caught your eye from across the room.

“Everything alright?” he asked, leaning in, his voice low enough only you could hear.

You nodded quickly, trying to smile. “Yeah, just a little… off.”

Ace raised an eyebrow but didn’t press, his gaze scanning the room, but when he didn’t see anything unusual, he shrugged it off. “Alright, well, let me know if you need anything.”

You nodded, but the discomfort lingered.

——

It wasn’t a one-time thing. The man showed up again. Lurking, always just out of sight.

One afternoon, you spotted him in the hallway again. You couldn’t keep ignoring it.

You found Ace in the galley, casually sipping from a mug. He raised an eyebrow when he saw your tense expression.

You leaned in close, your hand slipping around his waist as you whispered, “Ace, someone’s been following me. He first saw me at the bar—looked at me like he was starving—and he’s been trailing me ever since.”

He froze for a second, then turned to you, brows furrowing. “What? Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

You glanced around, lowering your voice. “I thought I was imagining it at first. But… I just saw him again.”

Ace set his mug down, his playful grin fading. “Where is he now?”

You sighed. “I just saw him in the hallway.”

His jaw tightening. “He wants you, huh? That bastard.”

“I don’t want him,” you muttered. “He creeps me out. I’m scared.”

Ace stepped in closer, voice dropping, eyes sharp but teasing. “Wanna make him jealous?”

Your heart skipped a beat, but you nodded quickly. “Please. Just kiss me, Ace. He’s watching.”

Ace smirked, leaning in, his voice low and playful. “You want me to kiss you just like that?”

You nodded, biting your lip nervously.

Before you could protest, Ace’s lips were on yours—soft at first, then firmer as he tugged you closer, heat curling between you. When he pulled back, his grin was smug. “That oughta mess with his head.”

You blinked, breathless. “Think it worked?”

Ace winked. “Probably not. But I’m sure he’s regretting not moving faster.”

You smiled, feeling the tension melt away. “Thanks, Ace.”

“Anytime. Just don’t let me catch him looking at you again.” He smirked and wrapped an arm around you, pulling you closer. “But… I did just help you out. I think I deserve some payment in return.”

You raised an eyebrow, confused. “Payment?”

Ace’s smirk turned mischievous. “Yeah. A second kiss for good measure.”

Before you could answer, he leaned in and kissed you again—warmer this time, slower. When he pulled back, he rested his forehead lightly against yours. “That should do for now.”

You laughed, your heart fluttering. “You’re impossible.”

Ace winked. “Maybe. But I think you like it. And that should keep him in his place.”

The hallway was quiet now. No more shadows at the edge of your vision. Maybe the stalker finally got the message—or maybe it was just easier to breathe with Ace so close.

Either way, you weren’t afraid anymore. Not with him there.

——

a/n: law’s such a flustered shy guy while ace is a smug little flirt eitherway i want them both 😮‍💨

[zhelin-thames]

Dick finds out he's a dad

Dick Grayson stood in the shadows of the Batcave, staring at the hologram projected before him. Bruce had insisted on the DNA test. The results glowed in neon green: 99.99% paternity match.

“You’re telling me this kid is mine?” Dick asked, his voice low, almost incredulous.

“Not just any kid,” Bruce replied, his gravelly tone giving little away. “He’s Danny Fenton—better known as Danny Phantom. The half-ghost.”

Dick blinked. “Wait, ghost?”

Bruce turned, a flicker of something—concern?—crossing his usually stoic face. “He’s... unique. His DNA shows ectoplasmic anomalies. He was raised by ghost hunters in Amity Park, but his mother—Maddie Fenton—was someone you met when you court if owls took you. ”

The memories flooded back. Maddie had been a fiery, brilliant scientist volunteering for a physics exhibit. They’d shared a whirlwind romance that ended as quickly as it began. Dick never imagined their brief connection had left something behind.

Before Dick could process the revelation, a low hum echoed through the cave. The Zeta Tube activated, and a figure stepped through.

Danny Phantom floated inches above the ground, his snow-white hair and glowing green eyes standing out starkly against the Batcave's darkness. He looked like he’d been fighting ghosts—or worse. His suit was torn, and green ectoplasm dripped from his knuckles.

“Okay,” Danny started, his voice tinged with frustration. “Who the heck are you, and why did you call me here?” His gaze shifted to Dick, narrowing slightly. “And why do you look like a younger version of Batman?”

Dick stepped forward, hands raised in a gesture of peace. “I’m... Dick Grayson. Nightwing. And, uh, apparently, your father.”

Danny froze mid-air, his glowing eyes flickering. “What? No. That’s not—my dad’s Jack Fenton. Big, loud guy, bad with tools. Mom never mentioned you.”

Bruce interjected, his deep voice cutting through the tension. “Maddie likely kept it a secret. But the DNA doesn’t lie.”

Danny’s laughter was bitter, almost hollow. “So, what, you’re telling me my whole life’s been a lie? Oh, and by the way, I’m half-dead and apparently the son of a superhero? Great. Just great.”

“I know it’s a lot,” Dick said gently. “But you’re not alone in this. I want to help.”

Danny’s gaze softened, but only slightly. “Help? You think you can just waltz in and play dad? I’ve been fighting ghosts and saving the world since I was fourteen. I don’t need another parent.”

“I’m not trying to replace anyone,” Dick replied, stepping closer. “But if you’re in trouble—if you need someone to back you up—I’m here.”

Danny hovered for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, with a weary sigh, he landed, his boots touching the cave floor. “Fine. But if you try to lecture me about curfews or ghost powers, I’m out.”

Dick chuckled, relieved. “Deal.”

From the shadows, Bruce watched the exchange, his lips twitching into the faintest hint of a smile. Danny Phantom, the half-ghost hero, had found something he didn’t know he needed:

.

.

.

.

.

a family.

[pucksandpower]

You Owe Me

Day 9 → Overstimulation 💋 Charles Leclerc

Warnings: 18+ content

Kinktober Masterlist

The door to the hotel suite slams shut with a sharp click, echoing through the quiet space. You freeze just inside the entryway, one heel still half-off, your body already half-turned toward Charles. You can feel the tension before you even look at him — an unmistakable tightness in the air, like the room itself is holding its breath.

“Baby?” You ask softly, already sensing this isn’t going to be a conversation that ends with laughter or a kiss. He’s standing by the window, arms crossed, the lights of the city casting a harsh glow over his face. His jaw clenches, and there’s something stormy in his eyes, something that makes your stomach tighten.

He doesn’t turn. “You had fun tonight?”

It’s a simple enough question, but his tone carries weight — far too much for something that should be innocent. You take a breath, trying to ease the knot building in your chest. “It was fine,” you reply, stepping out of your other shoe. “The sponsors were … you know how it is. They want to feel important.”

He laughs, but it’s sharp, humorless. “Oh, I saw. You made them feel very important.”

You blink, thrown by the bitterness in his voice. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Finally, he turns, his eyes locking on yours. There’s fire there, a barely controlled flame flickering in the depths. He takes a step closer, then another, his movements deliberate, calculated.

“You spent the entire night,” he says, his voice low, “flirting with everyone in sight.”

Your mouth falls open, words caught in your throat. For a moment, you just stare at him, trying to process what he’s just said. “Flirting?” You repeat, the word feeling foreign on your tongue. “Charles, I wasn’t-”

He cuts you off with a wave of his hand, pacing now, back and forth across the plush carpet. “I’m not blind. I saw how you were with them. Smiling, laughing at their jokes, touching their arms. Acting like they’re the most interesting people in the world.”

You stand rooted to the spot, the accusation swirling around in your mind like a bad dream. “I wasn’t flirting,” you say again, more firmly this time. “I was being polite, trying to sweeten them up for you. For the team. That’s why we were there.”

Charles shakes his head, running a hand through his hair. “That’s bullshit, and you know it.”

“Bullshit?” You echo, incredulous. “You think I was flirting with them? For what? To get a free drink? To make you jealous?”

“Maybe you wanted to make me jealous,” he spits out, stopping dead in front of you. His presence is overwhelming, a towering force of frustration and anger, and you feel it pressing down on you, threatening to suffocate. “Maybe you like the attention. You like how they look at you, like they’re ready to do anything for you.”

You take a step back, the weight of his words hitting you like a punch. “You really think that low of me?”

For a moment, the anger in his eyes wavers, something else flickering behind the fury. But it’s gone just as quickly, replaced by the hard, cold expression you’ve never seen from him before. “I think you knew exactly what you were doing tonight.”

Your chest tightens, and for the first time, you feel the burn of tears threatening to rise, but you refuse to let them fall. “I wasn’t doing anything wrong. I was there for you, Charles. I was trying to help.”

He snorts, turning his back on you again. “You call that helping?”

You shake your head, stepping forward. “What do you want from me? Do you want me to stop talking to anyone else? Should I just sit in a corner and be invisible?”

His silence stretches out, and you wish, for a moment, he would just say something, anything, that isn’t loaded with accusation.

“You don’t get it,” he finally mutters. “You never get it.”

“What don’t I get?” Your voice is rising now, frustration bubbling to the surface. “Tell me what I’m supposed to understand here, Charles, because right now all I see is you punishing me for something I didn’t do.”

He turns sharply, eyes locking on yours. “You don’t understand what it’s like, watching them look at you like that, knowing that at any moment, they could sweep in and-” He cuts himself off, pressing his lips together as if he’s said too much.

You stare at him, stunned. “Is that what this is about? You’re worried someone’s going to steal me away?”

Charles’ eyes flash with something dangerous. “I’m not worried,” he snaps. “I know how this works. You think they’re just being polite, just being nice, but I see it. I see how they look at you, like you’re a prize they can win. And you, you play right into it.”

Your heart pounds in your chest, and you can’t help the bitter laugh that escapes your lips. “You think I’m some object? Some … trophy for them to fight over? That’s insane, Charles. You know me better than that.”

“Do I?” His voice is sharp, and there’s something raw, almost vulnerable, in the way he says it. “Because tonight, it sure as hell didn’t feel like it.”

You open your mouth, then close it, searching for the right words. “I was doing my job as your date, Charles. I was talking to sponsors, making connections — for you.”

He shakes his head again, the muscles in his jaw working. “That’s not what it looked like.”

You take a deep breath, trying to calm yourself. “Then what did it look like to you? Because from where I’m standing, all I did was try to help, and now I’m being accused of God knows what.”

His eyes darken, the fire in them burning hotter now. “It looked like you were enjoying it. Every second of it.”

Your breath hitches, and for a moment, you’re too stunned to respond. When you finally do, your voice is quiet, a sharp contrast to the storm raging between you. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“Am I?” He steps closer again, his presence overpowering, like gravity pulling you in whether you want it or not. “You think I didn’t notice the way your hand lingered on his arm, the way you leaned in when you laughed? You think I didn’t see him watching you?”

You shake your head, exasperated. “I was making conversation.”

“With his arm?”

“Charles-”

“I’m not an idiot, Y/N.”

Your chest tightens at the way he says your name, so cold, so distant. The Charles you know isn’t like this. He’s fierce, yes, but not like this. Not with you.

“I wasn’t flirting,” you repeat, your voice low but firm. “I wouldn’t do that to you.”

He studies you for a moment, his eyes scanning your face like he’s searching for a lie, for something that isn’t there. When he speaks again, his voice is quiet, measured, but it carries a weight that makes your stomach churn.

“You flirted with eight men? You owe me eight.”

The words hang in the air, heavy and unfamiliar, their meaning unclear at first. You blink, your confusion only deepening as you replay the sentence in your mind.

“Eight?” You ask, your voice barely more than a whisper. “What does that mean?”

He doesn’t explain, doesn’t elaborate. His eyes stay locked on yours, cold and unyielding, and you know there’s no point in asking again. He’s already decided — whatever it is he thinks you’ve done, however he’s convinced himself of it, he’s not backing down.

Silence stretches between you, thick and suffocating.

For a moment, you want to fight. You want to argue, to demand he explain himself, to push back against this irrational anger that’s tearing him apart. But you’re exhausted — emotionally, mentally, drained from the evening and the unexpected accusation.

You let out a slow breath, your shoulders sagging under the weight of the moment. “I don’t know what you think I owe you, but this … this isn't fair.”

Charles’ eyes don’t leave you as the silence stretches unbearably thin between you. His breath is steady, controlled, but there’s an unmistakable tension in the way he stands — coiled, waiting. His gaze sharpens, and you feel it like a current, an invisible pull dragging you back toward him.

“Come here,” he says, his voice low and commanding.

Your heart pounds in your chest, the weight of his words sinking in slowly. You take a step toward him, hesitating for a fraction of a second. His eyes darken, daring you to defy him, but you can’t. You don’t. There’s something about the way he’s looking at you that holds you in place, that demands your obedience without ever saying the words.

His hand reaches out, curling around your wrist, firm but not harsh, and he pulls you closer. The air between you feels thick, heavy with unresolved tension and desire. You know what he wants. There’s no mistaking it now.

“You owe me eight,” he repeats, and this time, the meaning behind his words is crystal clear.

Your breath catches in your throat, and you feel the heat rise in your body, your skin prickling under his gaze. There’s no room for argument, no space to deny him. He’s made up his mind, and you … you’re at his mercy.

He doesn’t waste time.

His hands are quick, efficient as he pulls at your dress, the fabric sliding down your body with an ease that makes your pulse race. Every brush of his fingertips ignites something in you, something you can’t control. His touch is rough, but not cruel — dominant, but laced with something deeper, something that sends a thrill down your spine.

You open your mouth to speak, to say something — anything — but the words are gone before they form, lost in the haze of his touch.

“Don’t,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear, sending a shiver down your neck. “Not a word. Not until I say.”

And you nod, because what else is there to do? You’re already under his spell, every part of you tuned to him, to the way his hands move, the way his eyes never leave your face. You’re his. For this moment, for as long as he decides, you’re his.

He starts slowly, his fingers tracing patterns along your skin, teasing, coaxing your body into submission. Your breath hitches, and you feel the heat rising in you, the anticipation building with every calculated touch. He’s methodical, deliberate, focusing entirely on you, on what you’re feeling, how you’re reacting. He knows exactly what he’s doing, and you can’t stop the way your body responds to him.

“Charles,” you whisper, a breathless plea escaping before you can stop it.

He pulls back just slightly, eyes narrowing. “What did I say?”

You bite your lip, nodding quickly, trying to regain control of yourself, but it’s slipping fast. His touch is too much — precise, intentional — and you can already feel your body unraveling beneath his hands.

Then he starts in earnest.

His fingers move with purpose, finding that spot that makes your breath hitch, your body jerk involuntarily. It’s a slow build at first, the pleasure winding tighter and tighter until it’s all you can focus on. Your mind goes blank, every thought consumed by the sensation coursing through you.

The first one comes hard, fast, and you gasp, your body arching into him. He doesn’t let up, his fingers relentless, pushing you higher, faster. You barely have time to recover before the second one crashes over you, leaving you breathless, trembling.

“That’s two,” he whispers, his voice low and rough, a dark satisfaction in his tone.

You’re barely coherent now, your body no longer your own as he drives you toward the third. He’s focused, unrelenting, and you can’t stop the sounds escaping your lips, broken, breathless moans that fill the room as he pulls you closer to the edge again.

The third comes slower, more drawn out, and by the time it crests, you’re shaking, your body trembling under his touch.

“Three,” he murmurs, and there’s something almost possessive in the way he says it, like he’s claiming each one as his own.

He doesn’t stop. His hand moves faster now, more insistent, and you can feel yourself slipping, your mind clouding with the overwhelming pleasure building inside you. The fourth one crashes into you harder than the last, and you cry out, your body jerking as it hits.

He pulls you closer, his breath hot against your skin as he whispers, “Four.”

You’ve lost count, your mind too hazy to keep track anymore, but Charles hasn’t. He knows exactly where you are, and he’s not done. He won’t be done until you’ve given him everything he’s asked for. Everything he’s demanded.

By the time the fifth one hits, your legs are weak, your body trembling uncontrollably. You can’t think, can’t speak, can’t do anything but feel. The pleasure is overwhelming now, consuming, and you’re teetering on the edge of losing yourself completely.

He slows down just for a moment, letting you catch your breath, but the reprieve is brief. His hand moves again, more purposeful now, driving you toward the sixth with an intensity that leaves you breathless.

It hits harder than you expect, your body spasming as it crashes over you. You can’t control the sounds escaping your lips, the soft whimpers and moans that fill the space between you.

Charles is relentless, his fingers never pausing, never giving you a moment to recover. You’re incoherent now, your mind a blur of sensation, your body completely at his mercy.

The seventh one comes before you’ve even had time to process the last, your body convulsing under his touch. You’re barely holding on, your mind fogged, every nerve ending on fire.

And then, the eighth.

It’s slower, drawn out, the pleasure building and building until you’re sure you can’t take any more. When it finally hits, it’s like an explosion, tearing through you, leaving you trembling, incoherent, completely undone.

Your body goes limp, every muscle weak, every thought gone. You can’t move, can’t speak, can’t even breathe properly.

Charles finally stops, his hand withdrawing as he leans back slightly, his eyes dark and intense as he watches you, taking in the sight of your trembling body, your flushed skin.

“You owe me nothing now,” he whispers, and there’s a possessive satisfaction in his voice that makes your heart pound, even through the haze.

***

You wake slowly, consciousness seeping in like warmth spreading across your skin. For a moment, everything is soft, gentle — the sheets tangled around your legs, the early morning light filtering through the curtains, and the quiet, rhythmic sound of breathing beside you.

And then you feel it — Charles’ fingers.

Your heart skips a beat as you become fully aware of the slow, deliberate movements beneath the sheets. He’s there, under the covers, his body pressed against yours, and his touch … God, his touch is focused, intentional, right where he knows you’re most sensitive.

You stir, a soft moan escaping your lips before you even realize it. Your eyes flutter open, but everything is still blurry, your mind foggy with sleep and the sudden, electric sensation coursing through you.

“Charles …” your voice is quiet, husky with sleep, but there’s a hint of surprise mixed with something else — something warmer, something stirring deep within you.

He doesn’t respond with words. Instead, his fingers move with more purpose, flicking lightly at the bundle of nerves that’s now fully awake. Your breath hitches, your body responding immediately, instinctively, arching slightly into his touch.

You can’t see him clearly, but you know the look on his face — the intense focus, the way his eyes darken with desire, the way his lips curl into that knowing, smug smile when he knows he’s affecting you.

A soft chuckle escapes from under the sheets. “You’re awake,” he murmurs, his voice low, the words vibrating against your skin. He doesn’t slow down, doesn’t give you time to adjust to the sudden onslaught of sensation. His fingers continue their work, teasing, circling, flicking, until your body is already trembling beneath him.

You bite your lip, trying to stifle the moan threatening to spill out. Your legs twitch involuntarily, and you’re about to speak again, to say something — anything — but he presses down a little harder, his thumb joining his fingers in perfect rhythm.

“Charles-” you gasp, but it’s barely a word, more of a plea, your breath hitching as the pleasure builds too quickly, too intensely. “What … what are you doing?”

He hums, his lips brushing the inside of your thigh as he speaks. “Making sure you start the day properly,” he says, the words laced with that unmistakable arrogance that only he can pull off without sounding insufferable.

You can feel the heat rising in your body, spreading from where his fingers work their magic. You’re already sensitive — too sensitive — and he knows it. He knows exactly how to push you to the edge, exactly where to touch, how to touch, and you can’t stop the way your body responds to him.

Your hips shift, bucking slightly as his fingers quicken, and you let out a soft whimper, your hand gripping the sheets beneath you. You can feel the tension coiling in your stomach, winding tighter and tighter with every precise flick of his fingers, every teasing circle.

“Charles, please …” you whisper, but you don’t know if you’re begging him to stop or to keep going. The pleasure is already overwhelming, your body still exhausted from last night, but the heat building inside you is impossible to ignore.

“Please, what?” He asks, his voice teasing, almost playful, but there’s a darker edge to it, something commanding. His fingers slow for a brief moment, and you take a shuddering breath, trying to steady yourself, but he doesn’t give you time to recover.

“Do you want me to stop?” He asks, his fingers pausing just at the edge of where you need him most, his breath warm against your skin.

You shake your head, biting your lip to keep from crying out. “No,” you manage to whisper, your voice shaky.

He chuckles softly, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. “That’s what I thought.”

And then his fingers are back, moving with even more purpose than before, faster, more insistent. Your hips lift off the bed, your body moving of its own accord, chasing the sensation, chasing the release you know is coming, but Charles is in control — he’s always in control.

“Relax,” he murmurs, his voice low and soothing, but there’s a command hidden in the softness. “Let me take care of you.”

You try to comply, but your body isn’t listening. Your legs twitch, your breath coming in ragged gasps as his fingers work you closer and closer to the edge. It’s too much, too soon, and you can feel yourself unraveling, the tension in your core coiling so tightly it’s almost painful.

“Charles, I can’t-” you gasp, your voice breaking as your body tenses, every muscle tightening in anticipation.

“Yes, you can,” he whispers, his voice a mix of gentleness and command. “Just let go. Let me.”

And you do. You don’t have a choice — your body gives in, the tension snapping all at once, and the release crashes over you like a wave, leaving you breathless, trembling, your vision going white for a moment as the pleasure ripples through you.

Your fingers grip the sheets, your back arching as your body rides the waves of your orgasm, and Charles doesn’t stop. His fingers slow, but they don’t stop, drawing out every last bit of pleasure, pushing you through it until you’re a quivering mess beneath him.

You’re gasping for breath, your mind fuzzy, your body limp and uncooperative as the aftershocks roll through you. You can’t even form words, your lips parting uselessly as you try to catch your breath.

Charles emerges from under the sheets, his eyes dark and satisfied, a smug smile playing on his lips. He hovers above you, his fingers brushing your cheek as he leans down to kiss you, soft and slow, letting you taste the satisfaction on his lips.

“You’re incredible,” he murmurs against your mouth, his voice soft now, the roughness replaced by something gentler, more tender.

You try to respond, but your body is still too weak, too overwhelmed by the sensations still lingering in your skin. Instead, you just nod, your hand weakly reaching up to brush through his hair.

He chuckles softly, pressing another kiss to your forehead before pulling back slightly, his eyes roaming over your flushed face, your trembling body. There’s something possessive in his gaze, something that sends a shiver through you despite the heat still coursing through your veins.

“You can take another,” he says, and it’s not a question.

Your eyes widen, your breath catching in your throat. “Charles, I don’t think-”

“You can,” he insists, his hand slipping between your thighs again, fingers finding that sensitive spot immediately, and you whimper, your body twitching involuntarily.

“I’m … I’m too sensitive,” you gasp, your hips shifting away instinctively, but he follows you, relentless.

“I know,” he murmurs, his fingers moving in slow, teasing circles. “But I want to see you fall apart again. You can give me one more, can’t you?”

There’s no real room for refusal in his voice, and despite the sensitivity, despite the overwhelming pleasure still buzzing in your veins, you find yourself nodding, your body already responding to his touch.

“Good girl,” he whispers, his fingers pressing down harder, and you moan, your body already trembling again, the sensitivity only heightening the pleasure now.

It doesn’t take long — your body is still on edge, still too raw from the first orgasm, and Charles knows exactly how to push you back to the brink. His fingers are relentless, flicking and circling in a rhythm that makes your legs shake, your breath coming in shallow gasps as the pleasure builds too quickly, too intensely.

You try to hold on, try to control it, but it’s impossible. Charles is too skilled, too focused, and your body is too weak, too sensitive. The second orgasm crashes into you faster than the first, more intense, more overwhelming, and you cry out, your body convulsing as the pleasure tears through you.

You’re shaking uncontrollably now, your body completely uncooperative, every muscle trembling as the orgasm rips you apart. You can’t think, can’t speak, can’t do anything but feel as wave after wave of pleasure rolls through you, leaving you breathless and incoherent.

Charles slows his movements, drawing out every last bit of pleasure until you’re nothing but a quivering, trembling mess beneath him.

When he finally pulls his hand away, you’re gasping for breath, your body limp and useless, your mind a hazy blur of satisfaction and exhaustion. You can’t even open your eyes, can’t form a coherent thought, let alone a sentence.

Charles leans over you, his lips brushing your ear as he whispers, “That’s my girl.” His breath is warm on your skin, sending shivers down your spine even though your body is already wrecked, trembling, barely holding on to the remnants of what he's given you.

But it doesn’t stop there. You can feel him shifting beside you, his body pressing closer, his chest brushing against your back as he moves. The anticipation builds again, that familiar, heady pull tightening in your core even though you’re exhausted, overstimulated, every nerve in your body screaming that you’ve had enough.

And then you feel it — him. Sliding between your legs, the head of him nudging against you. Your breath catches in your throat, the sensation sharp, almost too sharp, like your body can’t take any more, like you’re already too far gone.

“Charles, I-” you start to protest, but the words come out broken, barely a whisper, swallowed by the overwhelming feeling of him pushing into you, slow, deliberate, but still relentless.

“Shh,” he murmurs, his voice soft but commanding, his lips brushing the back of your neck. “I know it’s too much. I know.”

But he doesn’t stop. He slides in deeper, stretching you, filling you completely, and the sensation is so intense it feels like fire — burning, bright, consuming. Your body tenses, your fingers gripping the sheets as the overstimulation turns into something almost painful. The pleasure from before mixes with the sharp edge of it, and you gasp, your eyes squeezing shut as he presses further in.

“Charles, I can’t-” you try again, but the words are lost, drowned out by the sound of your own breath hitching, your body tightening around him involuntarily, every muscle clenching as you try to cope with the overwhelming sensation.

“You can,” he says again, his voice low and firm, like he’s coaxing you, pulling you through the pain, the pleasure, everything at once. “You can take it. Just breathe.”

You try to listen, try to breathe, but it’s so much — too much. Your legs twitch, your hips buck involuntarily as he moves deeper still, every inch of him sending shockwaves through you. Your vision blurs, your head swimming as the pressure inside you builds again, twisting tighter and tighter until it’s unbearable.

The overstimulation is like electricity, buzzing under your skin, every nerve on fire. You can feel everything — every inch of him, every stroke, every push — and it’s overwhelming. Your body is trembling uncontrollably now, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps as you teeter on the edge of something you can’t control, something that feels too intense, too much to handle.

Charles’ hands are on you, firm, steady, holding you in place as he thrusts deeper, his movements slow but unyielding, drawing out every ounce of pleasure and pain until you can’t tell the difference anymore. Your mind goes blank, your senses consumed by him, by the way he’s filling you, stretching you, pushing you past every limit you thought you had.

“I know it’s too much,” he whispers again, his lips against your ear, his voice a soft command. “But you can take it. You’re mine, and I want all of you.”

Your vision goes white, then black, the edges of your consciousness fading as the overstimulation hits its peak. The pleasure is so sharp it hurts, a throbbing, pulsing ache that sends your mind spiraling. You can’t see, can’t think, can’t breathe properly. The world tilts, and for a moment, everything disappears — the room, the bed, Charles, all of it swallowed by the overwhelming sensation crashing through you.

It’s like drowning in fire and light, your body suspended in a haze of overstimulation that blurs the line between pleasure and pain. You’re lost in it, your body convulsing as he pushes you further, deeper, until you break.

And then, nothing.

The world goes black.

***

You come back slowly, your body heavy and limp, the overwhelming sensation fading into a dull hum. Your eyelids flutter open, the room coming back into focus, the soft light filtering through the curtains casting shadows across the sheets. Everything feels distant, like you’re floating just outside of yourself, disconnected but still aware.

Charles’ arms are wrapped around you, his chest pressed against your back, his breath steady and warm against your neck. He’s holding you close, his fingers brushing lightly over your arm, grounding you, pulling you back from wherever you had gone. His touch is soft now, gentle, as if he knows you’ve already given him everything, as if he’s calming the storm he unleashed.

“Hey,” his voice is soft, barely above a whisper, but it’s the sound that pulls you fully back, anchoring you in the present. “You with me?”

You nod weakly, though your body still feels like it’s not entirely your own, like you’ve been hollowed out and filled with something entirely different. You’re trembling slightly, your breath coming in shallow, shaky inhales, but you’re here. You’re with him.

Charles shifts slightly, pulling you even closer, his arms tightening around you in a protective embrace. His lips brush the side of your neck, and you feel the warmth of his breath, the tenderness in the way he’s holding you now. It’s such a stark contrast to the intensity from before, and you cling to it, to him, as you try to gather yourself.

“You did so well,” he murmurs, his voice soothing, filled with a deep, quiet pride that makes your heart flutter weakly in your chest. “You’re perfect.”

You can’t speak yet, can’t form the words, so you just nod again, your eyes slipping shut as you let yourself sink into the comfort of his arms. The aftershocks are still rippling through you, small tremors that make you shiver, but it’s nothing compared to the storm that had torn through you moments ago.

He’s stroking your hair now, his fingers gentle as they thread through the strands, his movements slow, comforting. “I’ve got you,” he says, as if sensing the lingering haze in your mind. “Just breathe, okay? I’m here.”

You take a deep breath, the air filling your lungs slowly, and you feel your body start to relax, the tension ebbing away little by little. Charles’ presence is grounding, his steady touch bringing you back to yourself, and you’re grateful for it. For him. For the way he knows exactly how to take care of you, even when you’re completely undone.

“You scared me for a second,” he admits quietly, his voice soft, almost vulnerable, as if he’s sharing something he rarely lets anyone see. “You went somewhere else. I didn’t mean to push you that far.”

You swallow, your throat dry, but you manage to whisper, “I’m okay.”

He pulls back slightly, just enough so he can look at you, his eyes searching your face. “You sure?”

You meet his gaze, your body still weak, but your mind clearer now, and you nod. “Yeah … I’m sure.”

The concern in his eyes fades, replaced by that familiar intensity, the quiet possessiveness that’s always been there, lurking beneath the surface. But now it’s softer, tempered by the care he’s showing you in this moment, by the way he’s holding you like you’re the most precious thing in the world.

“You’re incredible,” he whispers, his hand coming up to cup your face, his thumb brushing lightly over your cheek. “You know that, right?”

You smile faintly, your heart swelling at the way he’s looking at you, like you’re everything. “You don’t make it easy,” you murmur, your voice still shaky, but there’s a hint of teasing in it.

Charles chuckles softly, the sound warm and low, and he presses a kiss to your forehead. “Wouldn’t be any fun if it was easy, mon amour.”

You let out a breathy laugh, the sound weak but real, and you close your eyes, leaning into him, letting the comfort of his presence wash over you. Your body is still recovering, still trembling slightly, but you’re safe here, in his arms. You’re okay.

Charles shifts again, settling back into the pillows with you still wrapped in his arms, his hand never leaving your skin, always touching, always grounding you. He holds you like that for a long time, the silence between you filled only with the sound of your breathing, the quiet intimacy of two people who understand each other on a level that words can’t reach.

And as you lie there, cocooned in his warmth, his arms around you like a shield, you hope he finally realizes that there’s nowhere else you’d rather be.

[lumiambrose]

✰ reflections of desire

kinktober 24 - day fifteen

featuring: michael kaiser x f!bartender!reader

summary: the infamous bunny night attracts many new customers to the eclipse, including the famed bastard münchen. serving the team seemed to fall on your hands for the night, attracting the attention of michael kaiser.

tags: smut, mirror sex, bunny suits, praise, p in v, breeding, kaiser is a slutty man, petnames (bunny), @/o-sachi cameo <3, kaiser is referred to as 'mihya'

wc: 2.6k

it’s the infamous bunny night at the eclipse royale. entertainers and staff alike are clad in bunny accessories and outfits, the estate is revamped to match.

“darling, can you serve table 20?” your colleague, chimi, calls out to you from across the bar, her tray piled high with empty glasses.

“give me a sec,” you answer, adjusting your headpiece and glancing over your shoulder at booth 20. it’s the busiest table of the night—bastard münchen’s under-20 team. the vibe around them is intoxicating—a mix of arrogance, power, and adrenaline. definitely celebrating a win.

you make your way over, weaving through drunken patrons as you approach the table with a smile. to be honest, you’re not even sure how to catch their attention over the noise, but luckily for you, a smooth voice cuts through the banter. a blonde man, lounging casually among his teammates, clears his throat. instantly, the chatter quiets down.

his presence is magnetic. he hasn’t even opened his mouth yet, but his gaze is tugging at your confidence. amusement dances in his expression as his eyes do a one-over on you, eyes sharp and calculating as he takes in your appearance.

“you’re here to take our order?” he asks, his voice dripping with arrogance that has his teammates chuckling.

“yeah,” you respond, trying your best to hold your own. “what’ll it be?”

instead of answering straight away, his eyes linger on your name tag as he leans forward, as if he couldn’t make it more obvious, a smirk playing on his lips. you attempt to divert your attention to his teammates, who are currently ordering. you scribble down their drinks, doing your best to ignore the heat that’s creeping up your cheeks. while the young athletes are all rowdy and loud, it’s the blonde who commands the space, every word laced with something more that you can’t quite put your finger on. although you’re sure that his focus never seems to leave you, even as you return to the bar.

but that’s not the last you’ll see of him tonight.

hours go by, and the night, which once started busy, has now thinned out. most guests either leaving the building or crashing for the night in their respective hotel rooms. you’re wiping down the bar when you hear chimi again, her voice carrying a hint of mischief. “room service is calling. a bottle of champagne, and they’re specifically requesting you to bring it.” she slides the bottle across the bar surface towards you. “room 702, wonder who the lucky man is.” she gives you a wink, and you roll your eyes in retaliation.

“get your mind out of the gutter, chimi.” you laugh, grabbing the bottle and preparing it in an ice bucket to take up. despite it being a common service for your job, you can’t help but feel a little excitement knowing somebody specifically asked you to serve them.

curiosity gets the better of you, and before you know it, you’re in front of room 702, bucket in hand, taking one more deep breath as you knock on the door. your pulse is anything but calm. before you could even process the sound of your knock, the door swings open, revealing the infamous blonde man from earlier.

he’s ditched the blazer and slacks he was once wearing, now replaced by the hotel's bathrobe that somehow manages to look expensive on him. his hair is slightly messy, but it only adds to his charm. his eyes flicker over you, from the bunny ears resting on your head to the bucket in your hands, his smirk returning in full force.

“room service,” you say. trying to maintain some semblance of professionalism.

“come in,” he says, stepping aside to let you pass. there’s something in his voice that makes you feel like his invitation is for more than just delivering a bottle of champagne.

you enter the room, taking in its luxury. it’s donned with velvety curtains, a lavish sofa, and mirrors adorning the walls and ceiling. despite working at the eclipse for a while now, your work has never expanded to inside the hotel. as much as you would like to enjoy the lavish suite and gorgeous view, you set the bucket down on the sleek coffee table, eager to finish up, and head back downstairs.

“champagne for one,” you quip, trying to ease the atmosphere. “strange, most people don’t drink alone after a win.”

“who said i’m drinking?” the teasing lilt in his voice unmistakable as you suck in a breath.

you blink, confused. “you’re not drinking?”

he shakes his head, that devilish grin still playing at the edges of his mouth. “i ordered it for you.” his words hang in the air.

you laugh nervously, shaking your head. “oh no, I can’t, i’m still working. can’t exactly be drinking on the job.” you try to sound professional, but the way he’s looking at you makes it hard to keep your composure.

he steps closer, now just a few feet from you. the space between you feeling charged, the air thick with something you just can’t quite put your finger on. “i don’t care,” he says, his tone playful yet firm. “i just wanted to see my favourite bunny again.”

your breath catches in your throat. again? your suspicions now confirmed. he’s been watching you all night.

“come on, bunny,” he continues, grabbing the champagne from the bucket, his fingers brushing against yours as he leans over. “we have to celebrate, no? one drink. for me.”

you open your mouth to protest, but the words fall short when he pops the cork open with ease, pouring the sparkling liquid into a glass before handing it to you. his eyes never leaving yours, not at the casino, not at the door, and certainly not now.

you take a small sip, though to your misfortune, the cool champagne does nothing to calm the heat in your cheeks. he watches you profusely, his eyes darkening slightly as you lower the glass.

“good girl,” he murmurs, his voice sending shivers down your spine.

your heart races as you set the glass down, trying to regain yourself, but he’s already closing the distance between you. before you can react, his hand is at your waist, fingers curling around your hip, and he’s guiding you backwards until the back of your legs hit the bed.

“i— i don’t even know your name,” you stammer, your voice shaky. you should be gone by now, out the door and back to the bar, but the way he’s looking at you, the heat in his eyes, keeps you in place.

“mihya, bunny,” he whispers. “call me mihya,” his other hand brushing a stray strand of hair from your face.

to your surprise, his touch is gentle, a stark contrast to the hunger is his eyes. “you’ve been working hard all night, haven’t you? let me take care of you tonight.”

your trembling, no doubt about it. but whether it’s from nerves or something else entirely is a mystery to you. mihya leans in closer, his breath hot against your skin, and before you know it, he’s pressing you down onto the bed, his body hovering over yours.

“you’re quite cute like this,” he teases. “so nervous, and i’ve barely even touched you,” his lips inches from yours.

“i’m not—” you begin, but the words catch in your throat as his mouth unexpectedly meets yours, forcing it open to deepen the kiss while his hand slips under your waist, grazing the fabric of your bunny suit.

“don’t worry, bunny,” he pulls back, his voice sending a thrill through you. “i’ll be gentle.”

he leans back in, capturing your mouth once again. his free hand tangling gently in your hair while your hands dig into his shoulders, leaving crescent marks in place of your fingers. the champagne you sipped earlier now seemingly coursing through your veins, giving you the confidence you need to carry on. you let out a soft moan, body arching into his as you continue to sloppily make out. your newfound boldness makes you wrap your arms around his neck, tugging him closer.

mihya broke the kiss, his voice hitching in between a low chuckle. “feisty bunny,” he coos, lips trailing down your neck, leaving wet kisses and sloppy hickeys that make you quiver. “how cute.”

the room is filled with the sound of your heavy breathing, the air quickly thickens with lust. the hand which was once laced with your hair, made its way to the bottom of your suit, brushing against your crotch before hooking his fingers through, teasing the area underneath.

“no panties? my my, what a naughty little bunny, walking around with nothing underneath, i bet you planned this from the start.” he teases, his breath inches away from your chest.

“don’t be afraid, bunny,” he whispered, sensing your hesitation. “i’ll take such good care of you. tonight, you’re mine.” with that, you felt something sharp graze your chest. his teeth biting into the hem of your suit, pulling it down to reveal your bear chest to him.

he starts to suck and bite on the exposed skin like a starved man, playing with your nipples and eliciting angelic moans from you while the hand that was once grazing your core lightly is now playing with your folds.

you can only hold out for so long before the pleasure gets to you, moans getting louder as you grind yourself on his fingers. your hands trailing down his back, only to dig scratch the bare skin when he hits that one spot that feels like pure bliss.

that made something click in him, immediately tearing the thin fabric of your bunny suit before untying his robe, leaving you both naked before one another. he picks you up and sits you down on the massive bed, facing one of the many floor-length mirrors decorated throughout the suite.

"don't look away," he commands, gripping your chin and forcing you to face your reflection. mihya sits behind you, his body enveloping yours, granting him full access. "i want you to see how beautiful you look with my fingers deep inside you."

his eyes roam over your body, entranced by the way you look, caged in front of him. he pulls you closer, feeling his erection press against your back as he traces his fingers down your neck. they ultimately land on your breasts, giving your nipples a gentle pinch. his eyes locked onto yours the entire time.

he continues to play with your breasts with one hand while the other slides down to tease your entrance, his fingers once again slick with arousal. “you’re so wet for me, bunny,” he murmurs, his voice thick with lust.

he slides first one finger, then two inside you, while his thumb rubs circles around your clit. you gasp, eyes rolling back as pleasure courses through your body. his fingers moving in and out of you at a painfully slow pace.

he leans in, whispering, “look at yourself, bunny. watch as I pleasure you.” you hesitate, unsure at first, but the way his voice rolls off his tongue is enough to turn your head.

watching yourself in the mirror feels almost surreal. eyes half closed, mouth slightly parted, and your chest heaving with each breath while the cocky man pleasures you. his fingers continue their work, and you eventually feel your body tightening—the rush of an orgasm building.

he senses it too, as his fingers speed up, his thumb increasing the pressure on your clit while his fingers piston in and out of you rapidly. the room full of your moans and the slapping of skin on skin as he works your body.

“yes, bunny,” he encourages, “come for me.”

that was all it took to send you over the edge. you grind back into him as your orgasm crashes over you. you cry out in pleasure as your vision blurs, the pleasure hitting your entire body. mihya doesn’t stop though. he continues to work you, his relentless fingers milking every last drop of your release.

once you come down from your high, mihya helps you up and almost forcefully pushes you against the mirror, holding your body still with your arms locked behind your back. you yelp at his sudden movements, the cold glass hitting your bare chest like ice, making you shiver.

his free hand holds onto your hips, giving you a firm squeeze before guiding his cock to your entrance.

“look at me, bunny,” he commands. you can barely see him from the angle you’re locked in, but you can sense the intensity in his gaze.

you meet his gaze and he pushes into you harshly, stretching you out completely with his girth. he sighs as he finally bottoms out inside of you, pausing for a short moment, giving you time to adjust to his size.

“do you feel me, bunny?” he asks, “i’m so deep inside of you,” his tone low and seductive.

“ah~ i do,” you manage to get out along with a whiny moan, your voice breathy and shaky.

he begins to move, thrusting deep inside of you at a slow pace, getting used to your cunt sucking him dry. you feel every inch of him inside of you, as you do your best to accommodate his size. he slowly speeds up, still gripping your hips and keeping you locked under his body. his eyes never leaving yours through the reflection of the mirror.

the mirror reflects your entwined forms, your bodies slick with sweat as he fills you. every movement is powerful. each thrust driving you further into the glassy wall. your moans grow louder, your body arching to meet his every thrust.

“fuck bunny, you’re so tight. you going to let me breed this pretty cunt of yours?” he growls between thrusts, his hot breath lingering over your ears.

you nod, your breath catching in your throat as you struggle to respond. every thrust hits you deeper and deeper. he’s taking you to new heights, your body responding in kind.

“you close, bunny? can feel you milking me dry, gonna fill you up so well.” his grip on you tightens, and you cry out in agreement, on the verge of your orgasm. mihya’s thrusts grow more urgent and powerful, pounding into you with a hunger matching yours. the sight of your bodies reflected in the mirror only egging you on. the mirror in front of you shaking with each forceful thrust.

“fuck—yes, bunny” mihya groans. “cum for me.”

your orgasm hits you fast and hard. your body convulses as waves of pleasure wash over you, blurring your vision as you cry out mihya’s name. mihya continues to abuse your cunt through your orgasm, his own nearing as he gets more desperate, one of his hands snaking up to your neck, gripping the delicate skin.

“going to breed you so well, bunny. this tight cunt is mine, mine only.” he growls, rutting into you roughly before reaching his own climax, releasing his seed deep inside you.

waves of hot cum fill you up, marking and claiming you as his. as he slows down, the room is much quieter, only the sounds of your heavy breathing filling the room.

mihya pulls out and lifts you towards the bed, letting you recover from the intense orgasm. as you lie down, you look up, spotting another large mirror covering the ceiling above you. reflected in the mirror is your fucked-out state, hair dishevelled, and eyes watery.

you’re so distracted by your state that you don’t notice the blonde man creeping up towards the end of the bed, stopping at your now-spread legs.

“you see this, bunny?” he begins, teasing his already hard cock against your entrance. “i’m going to breed you again and again like a bitch in heat, and you’re going to watch every second of it from that mirror, understood?”

before you can reply, he enters you once again. filling you up for the second time of many to come tonight.

taglist: @ryescapades @iamjellyfish @143-ilyuu @maruflix @pixelcafe-network @strawchocoberry

©lumis kinktober 24' ─ do not translate, repost, copy any of my works

[blondwhxrewrites]

This is the longest thing I've written in years

Bob jumped as the door to his room was slammed open by John, who seemed more or less agitated, but that was nothing new. The man held up a tablet towards Bob, as if he expected Bob to be able to see the screen from across the room.

Well he could, but he was lazy.

"Okay, what am I supposed to be looking at exactly?" Bob leaned forward and squinted as he tried to decipher what was on the screen. Was that a live feed of the lobby?

"There's a woman in the lobby claiming to be your fiancée," John stated, and threw the tablet on Bob's lap.

Bob's eyes grew wide, and he perked up. Without a second thought, he scrambled out of bed and passed John. The tablet clattered to the ground, and John sighed. Well, there went that tablet. It didn't even last a day; at least it wasn't Alexei who'd broken it this time.

"I knew she would come for me!" Bob's voice rang through the hall as he scurried towards the elevator, almost tripping in the process.

He slammed his finger against the first-floor button, impatiently waiting for the door to close. Wait, he looked down. Yep, he'd forgotten to put on socks. He shrugged to himself. That wasn't important, at least not now.

Finally, the elevator door slid open, and Bob's shoulders slumped as he was met with the sight of you calmly talking to Yelena. In fact, you seemed to be in the middle of showing her your engagement ring.

Oh, how he missed you.

"Babe!"

You turned to Bob, and your eyes narrowed as your once calm expression turned dark.

"Sunshine you are so fucking dead—"

Bob launched out of the elevator, and in the blink of an eye, he was right in front of you. You opened your mouth fully prepared to rain hellfire down upon him, but he shushed you and cupped your face with his hands. "I'm sober." He breathed out, staring down at you as if you were the most precious thing in the world—you were.

You stilled. "You're sober?"

He nodded. "I'm sober."

Slowly, the anger melted away from your being, replaced by a happiness that could light up a thousand rooms. "Oh my god, Bob!" You lunged forward and hugged him, laughing as you tried to contain the tears that now threatened to spill.

"I knew you could do it." You whispered, your voice muffled by the fact that you'd practically smashed your face into Bob's chest.

Bob didn't hesitate to wrap his arms around you, pulling you even closer to him—if that was even possible.

Wordlessly, Yelena backed away. This was clearly a heartfelt moment that she didn't need to be a part of. She could take the hint.

Bon pulled back from the hug after a few moments, his eyes obviously misty with tears. "We can finally get married now!"

"Woah, Sunshine, one step at a time. You still have a lot of explaining to do, like how a so-called 'spiritual retreat' ended up as a six-month-long stay in Malaysia. Oh, and don't forget how you just disappeared, and the next thing I know, you're on the news being announced as part of the new Avengers."

Bob's expression fell. Seemed like the heartfelt moment was officially over. "I'm in trouble aren't I?" Honestly, he should've seen this this coming.

You rested your hands on your hips and nodded. "You're screwed, Robert—whatever your middle name is—Reynolds."

"Oh shit, he got the full name," Yelena mumbled, and for the sake of her being, she slipped into the elevator. Yeah, she was not dealing with whatever situation that was.

"Good luck!" She called out, waving goodbye to Bob as the doors of the elevators slid closed. "Yeah, he's dead."

This wasn't edited so sorry for any mistakes

[kisapmta]

between us | c. sturniolo

masterlist

summary: you and chris go meet matt's newborn baby

pairing: christopher sturniolo x fem!reader

warnings: none just fluff<33

notes: i really need to be studying but i just haaad to write this first

word count: 1k

—

The hospital room is still. A steady rhythm beeps quietly from one of the machines, interrupted only by the hushed conversations between Matt and his girlfriend. The morning sunrise filters gently through the curtains. It outlines the couple sitting on the bed with golden rays, completely wrapping them in their new little world.  

Exhaustion is heavy in Matt’s features, but it’s soothed by something peaceful and soft. His girlfriend leans against him, her eyes half-lidded with a tired but content smile on her lips. And in his arms, held with the utmost care, is a tiny bundle wrapped snugly in a blanket, barely stirring except for the occasional sleepy wiggle. 

Chris hasn’t taken his eyes off the baby since you walked in.

He’s been up all night, eagerly waiting since Matt texted at the early hours of 2am that ‘we’re in labour!!!!!’ to get the okay to come visit. But now that you’re actually here, he’s gone completely still beside you. Hands fidgeting at his sides, his earlier excitement is now replaced by quiet admiration.

Matt glances up, sending his brother a knowing grin. “You wanna hold her?”

The question pulls Chris from his thoughts and he hesitates, his gaze flickering to you for some sort of reassurance. You place a hand on the small of his back and nod, offering an encouraging smile. “Yeah, baby, go hold her.”

He looks back at his brother and lets out a shaky exhale before stepping forward. He carefully stretches out his arms, his usual confidence softened by a new uncertainty as Matt gently transfers her into his hold. For a second, Chris stands completely frozen, holding his breath. He’s afraid to move too fast or do something wrong.

But then as the baby lets out the softest little sigh and nestles further into his chest, his heart becomes hers.

“She’s so small,” Chris whispers. His voice is barely audible as he glances at his brother, and with a smile, Matt gives him a reassuring nod. Chris shifts naturally, adjusting his hold, his fingers tracing light, absentminded circles over the baby’s back. You can see the way his throat bobs and his lips part as if he wants to say something else, but no words come out. His eyes glaze over just slightly, and when he lets out a breathy laugh, your chest tightens.

You’ve never seen him like this before.

He's always been loving—caring in ways that go unnoticed, selfless and gentle towards everyone around him. But the pure adoration in his eyes as he stares at his niece is entirely different. It’s deeper and more profound and it stirs a warm feeling in your chest. You don’t think you’ve ever loved him more than in this moment.

Matt slings an arm around Chris’s shoulders, pulling him in as they watch the baby together. For a moment, neither of them speaks, just taking in the surreal moment.

Chris shakes his head. “I can’t believe you’re a dad.” His voice is full of disbelief, still trying to process his brother’s new title.

Matt chuckles, his gaze never leaving his daughter. “I know, dude, it’s insane.”

Just then, like she knows they’re talking about her, the baby stirs in her swaddle, her tiny fingers twitching as she shifts against the blanket. She cranes her neck ever so slightly before letting out a slow, sleepy yawn, her little mouth opening wide, her nose scrunching just a bit. The sight is almost too precious, and their reaction is immediate. An identical “aww” slips from their lips in perfect unison.

Chris leans in slightly, studying her sweet features. “You literally do that too with your nose when you yawn.” He smiles at the realization.

“Isn’t it so cute?” Matt replies genuinely, his voice laced with pride and awe at his baby’s simple existence.

But Chris doesn’t hesitate. “Only when she does it.”

Matt scoffs, shaking his head with a smile. He doesn’t argue, but giggles softly instead. Chris is already grinning as well when his own laughter bubbles up. And just like that, the’ve fallen into the fit of giggles that’s been second nature to them since they were also babies.

You watch them closely, and suddenly, your own eyes fill with tears. Their triplet bond has always been something you’ve deeply admired. And now, with this tiny new life between them, you can see it’s only growing impossibly stronger.

“___, do you wanna hold her?” Matt’s girlfriend asks, her voice gentle, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

All eyes shift to you, and when Chris’s gaze meets yours, a soft smile spreads across his face. His eyes flicker with understanding as he notices the tears welling up in yours. You let out a quiet laugh, feeling a little embarrassed by the surge of your emotions, and quickly wipe at your eyes. You nod with a smile, and he gently places the baby into your hold.

The moment her weight settles into your arms, cradled gently between you and Chris, it feels as though you two have also slipped into your own little world.

Without a word, he steps behind you and gently rests his chin on your shoulder, his arm snaking around your waist. His body presses against yours, warm and solid, the closeness both grounding and instinctive, like he needs to be close—to share this moment with you.

You glance up at him, expecting to find him still focused on the baby. But his eyes are on you instead, so full of quiet devotion, full of love, and it pulls the air straight from your lungs.

In the softest voice, just loud enough for you to hear, he whispers, “I can’t wait ‘til we have our own.”

Your heart stutters, unsure if you heard him right. You turn toward him, searching his face, but he’s already looking at you like he means it with every fiber of his being. The words urge a new wave of tears to fill your eyes, and for a second, you forget to breathe.

A slow smile tugs at your lips. You glance back down at the baby in your arms, swaying slightly like it’s second nature. “Me neither.”

Chris tightens his hold around your waist, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple, his breath warm against your skin. And although in this moment you don’t know exactly what the future holds, it’s clear and without doubt that when the time comes, Chris is going to be the best dad.

—

a/n: thank you always for reading<3 ily guys<3 so much<3

[witchesverse]

house wife

pairing: dark!50swanda x fem!reader

summary: after wanda meets you in her hex, she decides that she wants to keep you as her own.

content: noncon, heavy manipulation, degradation, mention of murder, crying, cheating (kinda??), nipple touching, fingering, clit rubbing, spitting, face slapping, mention of training.

a/n: half way writing this i realised wanda didn't have her children in the 50s so just pretend she did so i don't need to rewrite it :(

masterlist

The moment she met you, she was hooked. Everything about you drew her in. It made her heart flutter at how you genuinely cared for others and that beautiful, shy smile that would spread across your face at one of her compliments.

And it made her stomach flip at how utterly perfect your body was.

When she created the hex, it was out of grief and the yearning for a family with her dead husband, Vision. But once she met you, that idea was disregarded, and then her children and Vision disappeared.

She didn't care for her family's disappearance. She was too focused on the fact that she could finally have you.

The real you.

"Oh, hiya, Wanda!" Your cheerful voice brought a smile to her face.

You stood at your front door, holding a cookie tray with an apron wrapped around your waist. Wanda thought you looked adorable.

"Oh no, I hope I'm not intruding on your baking time, sweetheart." Wanda's voice was laced with faux concern.

You immediately shook your head, seemingly baffled by the question Wanda had asked. "Of course not! Your presence would never intrude on my time. In fact, why don't you come and sit whilst I finish baking?"

"Are you sure? I don't-"

"I insist."

Wanda bit her tongue, holding herself back from snapping at you and spanking your arse over her thigh. How dare you cut her off.

You stepped back, letting Wanda enter your house.

Your house was big for one person; it makes Wanda think someone else lived here before the hex.

"Make yourself at home!" You gestured to the living room, "I'll just pop these in the oven."

Instead of sitting on the couch, Wanda followed you to the kitchen and watched you. She held back a moan at how perfect your arse looked as you bent down to place the cookies in the oven.

She wanted to be slow and give you time to warm up to her, but you looked too perfect to resist, especially with how your dress revealed your panties to her.

"Come here," Wanda spoke with such authority that you immediately obeyed.

She softly grabbed you by the chin, forcing you to look at her. She smiled at how easily you complied.

Such a dumb, pretty thing.

She dragged her thumb over your lips and your mouth dropped slightly. Her chuckle brought you back into 'reality'.

"Um," You cleared your throat and stepped away from her. Wanda hid the anger in her face.

She stepped forward, sandwiching you between herself and the kitchen counter. She placed one hand on the counter and the other on your temple.

She lifted the spell.

Your eyes widened and your sweet, soft look was replaced by pure fear. You tried to run, but Wanda prepared for that and her magic kept you in place.

"Y-You did this," You whimpered "Please, let me go. I'll do anything, please."

Wanda smiled innocently, "Anything?"

"My wife-" You gasped, "Is she here? God, I haven't seen her in weeks. Please let her go if she's here. I promise-"

Wanda covered your mouth with her hand. She didn't want to hear about your wife. She wished she trapped your stupid wife in her hex so she could kill her.

"If you comply, I promise I won't hurt her." It was a simple lie, but you believed it.

She used her thumb to wipe your tears away. She couldn't have you crying already.

"Strip for me."

She watched with an amused grin as your brain struggled to process her request, but when it did, heat rose to your cheeks. With shaky hands, you removed your clothing until you were bare and on complete display for Wanda.

Wanda's fingers brushed against your erect nipples and her other hand wrapped around your throat, pushing you onto the counter. You whimpered as your back hit the cold counter.

"So perfect," Wanda muttered, more to herself than you.

Her fingers dragged down your stomach, goosebumps rising, until she stopped at your cunt. She lightly circled your clit and you whimpered in response.

Then, her fingers went lower. She tsked, shaking her head and brought her fingers up. They were drenched.

“I’m not…” You swallowed, unable to finish your sentence.

“You’re not what? Enjoying this?” Wanda rolled her eyes “Don’t give me that bullshit because you’re drenched.”

You looked away, tears filling your eyes. You were embarrassed.

Wanda sighed. She had a lot of behavioural corrections to do.

She grabbed your chin, turning you to face her. You watched with teary eyes as Wanda spat on your cunt, spreading her spit with her fingers.

One of her fingers slowly entered, curling upwards and pulling out. She kept a steady pace, figuring out what made you scream. It was understimulating.

"More,"

Your demand was whispered and weak, but Wanda heard it.

"Say it with manners."

"Please, can I have more?"

You nearly cried. The guilt of begging another woman to fuck you ate you up, yet you couldn't stop yourself.

Wanda rewarded you with another finger, stretching you out. Your hips desperately rutted into her palm, chasing the pleasure. It was brain-numbing how good her fingers felt.

She slipped a third finger inside. It was embarrassing how drenched you were. You could feel your slick dripping down your ass and were positive it was dripping down Wanda's arm.

Your orgasm hit you suddenly. Your back was arched and your toes curled. Your eyes fluttered closed and your mouth dropped open, letting out the sluttiest moan.

Wanda captured your lips with hers, muffling your moans.

"Can't have people knowing what a whore you are." She mumbled.

You shuddered, wanting to say something snarky in reply but words fell dumb on your tongue.

"My wife-"

Wanda pulled back, anger evident on her face and her palm met your cheek. It wasn't a hard slap, but it made your heart drop and tears fill your eyes.

"So much training is needed."

Her fingers touched your temples and you were put under her spell again. She stepped back and sucked her fingers clean, watching your reaction intently.

You cleared your throat and looked around, confusion written on your face. You ran your hands over your naked body and jumped when you noticed Wanda standing there.

"My goodness!" You picked your clothes off the floor, shielding yourself from Wanda. "Sorry, Wanda. I-I don't remember getting naked but give me three seconds to tidy myself up and I'll meet you in the living room!"

Wanda grinned as she watched you walk away.

Brainless little plaything.

[multi-fandom-imagine]

May I have more of fatherhood oneshot with Odysseus please? 🥺 this man really gave me baby fever

A/n: aha 🤣 same... (I love writing dad fics for him)

The sun had barely crested the cliffs of Ithaca, and the palace was just beginning to stir—except for Odysseus, who was already spiraling into his second existential crisis of the week.

His hair? A mess.

His tunic? Mismatched and inside out.

His eyes? Bloodshot and twitching.

His sandals? Probably on the wrong feet.

And his mood?

Unhinged.

He sprinted through the halls, arms flailing slightly, looking every inch a war-hardened general turned exhausted dad of toddlers.

“THEY’RE GONE AGAIN!” he bellowed.

He burst into the dining room, startling a very calm Telemachus, who was just trying to enjoy his olives.

“What’s gone?” the prince asked, mouth full.

“The twins! They vanished!” Odysseus shouted, patting himself down, checking under furniture, lifting up rugs. “I turned around for one second—ONE!—and poof! Gone like shadows! Curse the gods!”

Telemachus blinked. "...Father.”

Odysseus was now on his knees, looking under a fruit basket.

“Maybe they crawled into the grain stores again—they love grain. Or worse! What if they’re—”

“Father.”

“—in the stables again? Oh gods, the goats! One of them bit me last time—”

“FATHER!”

Odysseus froze.

Telemachus pointed. "Look down.”

Odysseus slowly looked at himself.

And there they were.

One twin strapped snugly to his chest, babbling happily and smacking his face with a sticky palm.

The other fast asleep, head tucked under his chin, drooling on his tunic like a little sponge with limbs.

”…Oh.”

He stared at them.

Then at his son.

Then back at them.

“They were on me the whole time?”

“Yes.”

Odysseus exhaled long and slow, then groaned and flopped face-first onto the floor, the twins giggling wildly at the ride.

Your voice echoed from the hallway“If you wake me up one more time, Odysseus, I will let the toddlers braid your beard while you sleep.” It was a thinly vail threat of someone who was pregnant that did not to be bothered.

Odysseus just lay there on the floor, two babies squirming on his chest, and muttered.

“I conquered Troy for this.”

One of the twins sneezed directly into his mouth.

“…And I’d do it again.”

•Moments Later•

The late afternoon sun slanted through the nursery windows, painting golden beams across the soft rugs and carved wooden toys scattered across the floor. Gentle harp music floated from somewhere down the hall, and in the middle of it all sat Odysseus, half-slumped in a rocking chair, his eyes glazed and one hand twitching as a half-finished lullaby slipped from his lips.

His tunic was stained with something sticky (possibly honey… or ink?), and one twin had managed to wedge themselves into his arm while the other gnawed triumphantly on a leather sandal.

Odysseus hadn’t blinked in ten minutes.

Enter Telemachus, calm, composed, and carrying a cloth bundle of warm bread and honeyed figs.

He took one look at his father, one look at the chaos, and sighed with fond exasperation.

“Father.”

Odysseus blinked slowly. “…Yes?”

“You haven’t slept in… four days.”

“That’s not true. I closed one eye last night.”

“You fell asleep face-first in the soup.”

“It was a tactical nap.”

Telemachus crouched in front of him, gently prying the chewing twin away from the sandal and replacing it with a soft rattle.

“Go sleep, Father. I’ll watch them.”

Odysseus blinked again, as if processing the words in slow motion. “You… you’ll what?”

“Watch the twins. Give you and Mother a break.”

Odysseus leaned forward dramatically, placing both hands on his son’s shoulders. “You… glorious boy. You brave, noble, reckless boy.”

Telemachus smirked. “I trained with Athena and survived the suitors. I think I can handle two half-naked goblins with sticky fingers.”

“They bite.”

“So do I.”

Odysseus laughed weakly, patted him on the cheek, then swayed to his feet like a war-weary general who had finally laid down his sword.

“I will be laying down next to your beautiful mother.”

“Please try to not create anymore children.”

As Odysseus staggered toward his chambers—muttering about “soft pillows” and “blessed silence”—Telemachus scooped both giggling twins into his arms, lifting them effortlessly.

He looked down at them, one drooling on his arm, the other reaching for his braid.

“Alright, you tiny beasts. Let’s find a storybook, some juice, and see who survives until sundown.”

The twins shrieked with joy.

And behind them, down the hall, a door softly closed…

The man finding the bed, And Odysseus, King of Ithaca, finally slept the moment he was in your arms.

[wordsofwhimsy]

𝙀𝙘𝙝𝙤𝙚𝙨 𝙤𝙛 𝙔𝙤𝙪 - Pt. 3

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

【Ａ/Ｎ】⦂ I hope I'm not putting these out too fast, my inspiration is just burnin' for this fic. Please give me feedback -- negative or positive! It's all constructive to me. (◡‿◡✿) Definitely still more parts to come so I really do hope it's being enjoyed by more than just me lmao

【ＰＡＩＲＩＮＧ】⦂ (Unspecified) Variant!Mark Grayson x Reader

【ＷＡＲＮＩＮＧＳ】⦂ Possessive behavior, talk of violence

【ＩＮＳＰＩＲＡＴＩＯＮ】⦂ None

→【Ｐａｒｔ　Ｏｎｅ】←

→【Ｐａｒｔ　Ｔｗｏ】←

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

The moment you stepped through the portal, everything shifted. The oppressive air of the warehouse, the tension between you, is replaced by a strange stillness. You blink, trying to adjust to the sudden change, and find yourself standing in the center of a sprawling courtyard. The scent of freshly cut grass and blooming flowers fills the air, and before you stands an opulent mansion—a palace of glass, stone, and marble, the kind that looks straight out of a dream, or perhaps a nightmare.

The grass was trimmed so perfectly it looked almost unnatural, as if every inch had been sculpted to perfection. The fountains almost appeared frozen mid-splash, the crystal-clear water flowing so seamlessly back into the small pools below. Ornate statues lined the path to the front entrance. There were no sounds except for the occasional whisper of the wind, which felt too serene for a place like this.

Your eyes darted around, trying to take it all in.  Something felt... wrong. As you scanned the courtyard, you noticed movement. Groups of women dressed in barely-there garments were lounging in the shade, walking across the grounds, or tending to the plants. Their attire was revealing, their expressions vacant, as if they were simply there to fill space. It was a bizarre scene—too controlled, too orchestrated.

Your breath hitches as you realized the truth: these women didn’t look like they had any agency, like they weren’t there by choice. They looked... empty.

Your discomfort grew as you turned towards Mark, who has been silent this whole time. He was looking at the women with a frown, his jaw tight. It was then that you noticed his reaction: a barely concealed frustration, a shift in his posture. The smile he had when you’d first arrived faltered.

“Mark, what is this?” you asked, your voice coming out sharper than you intended.

He didn’t immediately answer, his eyes narrowing as they looked over the courtyard. The moment his gaze landed on you, his entire demeanor shifted—there was a flicker of realization in his eyes.

Before you could speak again Mark stepped forward, his hands up, his voice suddenly tight. “All of you, leave. Now.”

The women, though clearly startled, didn’t question him. They stood up in unison, their eyes dull, and began walking off in silence, heading toward the mansion’s entrance. You watched, stomach turning. You can’t help but notice how little resistance they showed, how obedient they were, like they’d been conditioned to follow orders without question.

Once they were all gone Mark turned back to you, his face flushed with a mixture of irritation and something else—something darker. His voice dropped low. “I wasn’t planning for this,” he muttered under his breath. “I didn’t think you’d see...”

You crossed your arms, your gaze sharp. “What is this, Mark? Who are they?”

He ran a hand through his hair, visibly struggling with his next words. “They’re... they’re nothing like you. I don’t want you to think... this is how it is with everyone.” He hesitated, his frustration seeping through. “Like I told you, in my universe I control everything. Everyone. I take what I want, when I want.”

You took a step back, processing what he was saying. You tried to understand, tried to separate the Mark in front of you from the twisted reality he’s created. “And them?” You gestured toward the now-empty courtyard. “Are they...?”

Mark’s jaw clenched, and for a second, he looked almost ashamed—something you hadn’t seen in him until now. “They’re... there’s no emotion there. Just power. Just control.”

He was quiet for a beat, his eyes darkening with a mix of frustration and self-control. “But you—you’re different.”

You watched him, waiting for him to explain. He swallowed, clearly trying to keep his emotions in check.

“I don’t want to treat you like that,” he said, the words coming out slow but still carrying an edge. “I want... I want this to be mutual. I don’t want to just take you like I do them.” He was visibly irritated with himself, as if the idea of holding back, of making an effort, was something foreign to him. “But it’s hard. It’s hard not to just take you... like I’ve always done.”

He was staring at you now, his eyes intense, as if he was daring you to understand, daring you to respond. The contrast between his actions with the women and his hesitation toward you was clear: He has been used to complete control, but with you, he was struggling to make it more than that. The desire was there, but he was at war with how to handle it. It felt almost like he didn’t know how to act in a situation where he couldn’t just dominate.

You stood rigid in the center of the lavish courtyard, your eyes wide as you surveyed the strange, unnerving beauty of the mansion and its grounds. The surreal stillness of the place made your stomach churn. You didn’t want to be here—not in this world, not in this twisted version of reality. Your heart was pounding, and the panic was beginning to rise in your chest.

“Mark, this—this isn’t real,” you said, your voice trembling with a mix of disbelief and rising frustration. “You can’t just take me to another universe and expect me to just… live here. Take me home. Now.”

Mark stood a few paces behind you, his arms crossed as he studied you with an unreadable expression. The silent tension between you felt unbearable. When he didn’t answer immediately, you turned to him, eyes flashing with urgency.

“I said take me home!” you demanded, stepping forward. “I don’t care how, but you need to fix this. I don’t belong here, Mark. This isn’t my world. I just—I want to go home.”

Mark’s jaw tightened, his gaze flickering momentarily with something you couldn’t place. “I can’t,” he said, his tone quieter but firm. “The only way back is through the portal, and I can’t open it. Only Angstrom can.”

Your frustration exploded. “Then find him! I don’t care what you have to do, but this is not my life! I need to go back to my world. To my town.”

Mark looked away, his eyes narrowing, seemingly uncomfortable with the raw intensity in your words. He exhaled sharply, then looked at you again, a hardness creeping into his expression. “I can’t. The Angstrom from this universe died a long time ago. You’re not going back.”

“You’re saying I’m trapped here?” Your voice wavered, but the anger in your words remained strong. “Mark, I don’t care what you’ve done or who you think you are now, you owe me this. You owe me my life back!”

Mark flinched at the words, but he remained silent for a moment, his face hardening once more. The guilt, the frustration, and that strange sadness in his eyes only made the situation more unbearable. He wasn’t giving you what you wanted.

You clenched your fists, the reality of it all sinking in. Your words came out in a breathless rush. “Take me home. Take me to my hometown, at least. It should be the same, right? This world’s supposed to be identical to mine. So take me there. I’ll—I'll try to figure it out. I'll make something work.”

Mark was silent for a moment, his eyes narrowed. His jaw clenched, as if he were mentally battling something. You could see him weighing your words, struggling with the idea of leaving the mansion behind. But after what felt like an eternity, he spoke with a reluctant sigh.

“Fine,” he said, his tone still clipped but edged with something almost weary. “I’ll take you.”

The journey to your hometown was strangely quiet, a tension hanging thick between you. Even with your aerial view you could see that the roads seemed unnaturally smooth, the scenery more pristine than you remembered. It was like something out of a dream—a version of the world you thought you knew, but with something unsettlingly off. Your chest tightened with every passing mile.

When you finally arrived, it was nothing like you’d imagined.

Your hometown lay before you, but it was a ruin—a barren wasteland. The streets were cracked and lifeless. Buildings were collapsed in on themselves, some reduced to rubble, others barely standing. The air was thick with ash and dust, and a distant, eerie silence loomed.

Your breath caught in your throat as you took a step back, your eyes roaming the destruction. What had happened here? It looked like the world had been torn apart, left to rot. Your legs wobbled, the ground beneath you feeling suddenly unstable.

“No…” You whispered, your voice a soft, broken sound. “No, no, no. This can't be real…”

Mark, standing beside you, was eerily still. His face remained hard, though his eyes flickered with something dark—guilt, maybe? You weren’t sure. It was as if he had been expecting this reaction, but it didn’t make the sight any easier to bear.

Your knees threatened to give way beneath you, but by some miracle you stayed standing. Your town was gone. The place you’d known, the life you’d built—it was all ruined. All the memories, the people you used to know—destroyed.

Tears stung at your eyes, but you bit them back. You would not let him see you break. You would not.

"Mark..." you whispered, almost pleading, though you didn’t know what you wanted from him. “How could you do this? How could your universe go so… wrong?”

Mark was silent for a long moment. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, strained, and oddly gentle. "Before you died, I never wanted this," he said, his words carefully measured. "But you did die, and this is my world now. Everything... is under my control."

You turned on him sharply, the fury rising in your chest. "This? This is what you’ve done with your control?!" You gestured toward the wasteland, your heart pounding in your throat. "You’ve ruined everything. For what? To conquer? To control—slums?!”

Mark’s gaze dropped, and for a brief moment, he almost looked… lost. The cold, distant ruler you’d seen earlier seemed to waver, replaced by someone who, for all his power, had no answers for the destruction he’d caused.

“I didn’t want it to be this way,” he said again, almost to himself. “I never wanted this. But…” He paused, his jaw tightening as he stared out at the destruction. “But if you stay, if you give me a chance, I’ll rebuild it for you. Your town… everything. It will be yours again. I swear it.”

You stared at him, feeling the sting of betrayal and confusion burn in your chest. He didn’t get it. He couldn’t get it. He thought he could fix it by rebuilding a broken world, by fixing the outside—but the destruction wasn’t just in the land. It was in the air. In the people he controlled. In what he had become.

“Why?” you asked, your voice trembling with emotion. “Why would you want to fix it for me when you’ve already ruined everything? You… you destroyed it all.”

Mark stepped closer, his hand outstretched, but you recoiled from him instinctively. The look in his eyes was so earnest, it almost felt like he could fix everything with a snap of his fingers, like the destruction meant nothing compared to what he could give you.

“I’ll fix it,” he repeated, the words desperate now. “I’ll fix it, [Name]. For you. Please, just stay with me. I… I’ll make it right.”

Your chest tightened, your head spinning. You wanted to shout at him, to tell him that no amount of fixing could ever make this right, but the words caught in your throat. You had no choice but to stay, at least for now. You were trapped in this world, and nothing was going to change that.

Your voice came out quiet but cutting, each word dripping with frustration. “I don’t have a choice, do I?” you snapped. “You can’t take me back. You won’t take me back. You’ve made sure of that. So now, I’m stuck here… with you.”

You looked him dead in the eye, your face hardening as you stepped back, trying to keep your emotions in check. “But don’t think for a second that just because I’m stuck here, I’m going to forget what you’ve done. You’ve destroyed everything. My town. My life. You don’t get to fix it just by waving your hand and rebuilding things like it's some damn game.”

“Aww, you can’t forget what I’ve done?” Mark responded in a mocking tone, suddenly seeming to revert back to the cruel jester-like version of himself who he had been just some short few moments earlier.  The abrupt shift in his personality stunned you, leaving you feeling more uneasy than angry. 

But then, as his eyes looked closely into yours, something in him faltered. The edge in his expression softened, his gaze flickering with something far less certain, far less cruel. He remembered the way you used to look at him—the way she used to love him. The realization hit him like a wave, crashing through the walls he'd built around himself.

His voice quieted, and he let out a soft sigh. “I know this isn’t what you wanted… but this can be good for you here. It can be. I’ll make sure of it. Things don’t have to be like… like you’re imagining. I’ll make sure you’re comfortable,” he said, his tone now surprisingly gentle. “I’ll make sure it’s better than anything you had before. You’re safe here, with me. I promise.”

The words felt almost foreign coming from him, but the sincerity was there—beneath the hardness of his exterior, beneath the monstrous ruler he’d become, the only human part of him left still loved you viciously. It was this part that he was desperate to find again, and the reason he could never let you go.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

→【Ｐａｒｔ　Ｆｏｕｒ】←