#((and probably rip you to shreds as he does it))

[hanzajesthanza]

don’t let me reread because i saw this

and an image of reynevan pleading innocent like the crying cat meme flashed across my mind

[whrenches]

tw: dubcon, alcohol, mild stalking

landlord! simon who lives below you on the ground floor, who has a direct view of the building entrance and sees you leave and return everyday. you usually greet him when you pass him in the hallways, but lately you've been avoiding him because you're a few months late on rent. it's flight for you when you chance upon him, and he has to hold back the predatory instinct to chase you down when you flee like a bunny rabbit.

landlord! simon who attempts to practice patience; he understands you're a busy, busy girl with her college degree, and money isn't easy to get by nowadays. he notices you return home late one night, dressed in pantyhose and a skimpy skirt, stumbling around in heels as you struggle to enter the building. he's never seen you drunk before- in fact it's probably the first time you've ever partied- you've always been more of a homebody, after all.

landlord! simon who inhales shakily when you bend over to pick up the keys you dropped, unconsciously teasing the growing hard-on behind his jeans. you're not wearing any panties, and he wonders if you're doing this on purpose...

landlord! simon knocks on your door– unsure if it's because of his lust or concern– and asks for you to open up. you obey, like the good tenant you are, and look up at him with hazy eyes.

landlord! simon whom you invite into your apartment (because you're oh so kind, can't leave your landlord waiting outside, right?). but somehow it leads to you on your knees, his leaking cock stuffed down your throat as you try to take him all, his fingers curled in your hair.

landlord! simon who pushes you against the kitchen counter, holding your waist as you bend your ass over for him so prettily, still leaking through your pantyhose as you stand on tippy toes. he has to crouch over you, hands on your inner thighs as he teases your slit, the pantyhose a barrier preventing his finger from pushing into you entirely. still, it elicits a sweet whimper that has his hair standing on end.

landlord! simon who rips the thin black material apart to access your leaking pussy, muttering 'bout how he'll replace anything he shreds, like those lace panties you just got (you don't question how he knows about your new purchase.) the older man stuffs you full, just right, and easily lifts you up by the waist to pound into you as you whimper and moan so sweetly for him, taking it all. your feet are levitating off the floor, toes curling as your hands push plates and bottles off the counter. you're creaming around him, sound of skin on skin filling the apartment.

landlord! simon whom you drag into your bedroom, who folds your knees to your chest, pressing his thumbs into the pit of the back of your knees. eats you out enthusiastically as you squeal and shake, singing his name but doesn't let you finish on his tongue, no, his sweet tenant deserves better. your landlord reminds you that he owns this building and owns you while his face is buried in your neck.

landlord! simon nips and bites your skin, laughing at how you won't be able to go outside because of these marks, showing the neighbours who you belong to. you're clamping down so hard on him as he sucks on your nipple, your eyes fixed on each other even when you breathlessly kiss each other, pupils dilated with lust. you're crying his name so loudly the other tenants in the building certainly can hear it all, but when you're stuffed so full and deeply it doesn't matter, does it?

landlord! simon who murmurs how he's close breathily in your ear, overstimulating you with the harsh rhythm he set from the start. you brokenly beg for him to breed your pussy, and he grunts and moans deeply as you ramble desperately, needing it, wanting it, to please please please empty everything into you. and who is he to deny his bunny's sweet request..?

content ⓒ whrenches. do not reproduce, use for ai bots, edit, reupload, plagiarise or share to third party sites. all rights reserved.

[bokutosbiceps]

don't be afraid to catch feels

eustass kid/monkey d luffy/roronoa zoro/trafalgar d water law/usopp/vinsmoke sanji  x gn!reader | fluff | ~2k words

warnings: some suggestive/18+ themes but nothing explicit

a/n: idk i just really wanted to write so THIS was born !!! how some of the one piece boys realize they have feelings for ya !!  might do this for other fandoms too…actually yeah i will LOL probably if i don’t forget

NOTE: i end them after their confession on PURPOSE so you can choose your own adventure 😆 also there’s more dialogue for luffy’s + usopp’s so they’re a bit longer !!

18+ MDNI | under the cut for length

eustass kid is angry. he's angry that he developed a crush on you. it's so stupid, he thinks. so outta character.

everyone on the victoria punk knows it, including you. and much to kid’s dismay, so does killer. killer talks to him about it everyday, trying to coax a confession out of him in the most gentle yet firm way he can. he wants his captain to be happy, and he knows that you can make him happy, because you already do without knowing it.

kid is completely docile in your presence, and protective. he’s more quiet, because he wants to hear what you have to say. he’s around more, because he wants to keep an eye on you. and maybe because he likes being in your presence.

kid tells (threatens) the rest of his crew that, even though they’re like brothers to him, they’ll be ripped to shreds if any of them so much as glance at you the wrong way.

luckily for you and unluckily for him, you’d heard his very public threat to the kid pirates, save for you. 

you ask kid what the hell all that was about and he simply shrugs, rolling his eyes and trying but failing to keep his cool. you scoff and chuckle at his indignance. you continue to press him till he finally gets annoyed and locks eyes with you, his pupils dilated and his lips spread out into a crazy grin.

“jus’ claiming what’s mine.”

monkey d luffy is seeking out the smartest person he knows, and once he sees her, he’s barreling toward her at lightning speed. hands appear, arising from the wood of the sunny’s deck and forming a net right in front of robin, effectively catching luffy and recoiling him flat onto his butt.

“robin! what was that for?” luffy whines, adjusting his straw hat and tilting it back so that he can look at robin.

“i’d prefer to not be crashed into, captain.” robin shuts her book and gives luffy a gentle, almost maternal smile. ��now, what has you so excited?”

luffy is thoughtful as he opts to lay back down on the deck, tilting his straw hat over his face to shield his eyes from the sun. he’s not excited, kinda confused, actually. 

he’s good with his feelings, because he knows his feelings. he's familiar with them. but these feelings—the ones he's been feeling for the past couple of weeks or so—are new. he doesn’t know them, but he wants to learn about them. so here he is, ready to learn with the smartest person he knows.

“well…i wouldn’t call it excited, ya know?” luffy stretches his arms overhead before folding them behind his head. robin chuckles quietly, already aware of luffy’s feelings before he'd even realized them himself.

“what would you call it then?” robin asks patiently.

“like…i dunno! it’s different! it’s different with ‘em…” luffy trails off, sinking back into his thoughts.

“different with who?”

“y/n!” luffy chirps, feeling himself smile at the mention of your name. “i’m really happy they’ve joined the crew!”

“happy like…you’re happy that i joined the crew?” 

“nuh uh, like…i always wanna be near ‘em. i like when they laugh, when they’re happy. their smile’s real nice, too.” luffy pauses. “it’s a lot of fun to be alone with ‘em! makes me feel good…”

robin takes her time explaining what these feelings mean, that that bubbly, queasy feeling in his stomach was not, in fact, indigestion. once robin’s words seep into luffy’s thick, rubber skull, he jumps up off the deck and wraps robin in a tight hug, grinning the whole time and whisper yelling i gotta go tell ‘em!

luffy finds you instantly, almost like his body contains a homing device that always leads to you. you notice way too late that you are in the direct path of the tornado that is luffy, and he tackles you, causing you to fall back. luffy is quick to catch you, stretching an arm around your waist and bringing you to his chest, looking at your face with such intensity you can’t keep your face from heating up.

you’re breathless. due to the adrenaline from almost cracking your skull against the wood of the ship, and from the i’ve got feelings for ya! robin says they're love feelings! do you feel the same? that rushed out of luffy’s mouth.

roronoa zoro is confused. honestly, more confused than he’s ever been in his life. then he’s annoyed. why did he have to develop feelings for a crewmate, let alone you? it would just get in the way of everything. he wants to focus on his dream, on luffy’s dream, and sometimes even on sanji’s dream.

he doesn’t consider himself a particularly selfish person, but he wanted to focus on himself first. 

but then he sees you smile. he hears you laugh. he watches you work and hone your craft, a look of ecstatic determination on your face and the tip of your tongue peeking out between your pursed lips as you focus. suddenly, he realizes it’s really not about him anymore. it’s about you.

he starts to avoid you like the plague—he figures that if he can’t see you, you can’t see him. but he’s oh so wrong. 

when you decide you've had enough of this, you stop zoro, your hand gripping his shoulder and pulling as hard as you can. zoro raises an eyebrow at you and turns around, crossing his arms and waiting for you to explain yourself.

“you’ve been avoiding me.” you state, leaving no room for disagreement or excuses.

“says who?” zoro is very good at playing dumb.

“says me. and luffy.” you huff a bit as you remember your encounter with your captain. how his lips had twisted to the side and how his eyes had shot up to the sky when you’d asked what zoro’s problem was.

“luffy doesn’t know—”

“know why you’ve been avoiding me?” you step closer to zoro, your eyes locked on his and staring into his soul, searching for answers. “i’m sure we’d both love to know.”

zoro scoffs and rolls his eyes, taking a step back from you and turning his face to the sea. the cool ocean breeze feels nice against his burning face. he grimaces as he turns back to you, figuring he might as well get this over with.

“ilikeyou.” zoro mumbles, the words rushing out of his mouth and stopping quickly as they had started.

you shake your head and lean closer to zoro, turning your head to the side so his lips are inches away from your cheek. 

“can you repeat that, please, roronoa?”

“i like you.” zoro says the three, short, quipped words. he’s frowning and his arms are crossed and pulled tightly against his chest, in hopes to dampen the hammering of his heart.

trafalgar d water law is no stranger to stuffing his feelings deep inside of his chest and leaving them there to rot. so he’s wondering why in the fresh hell these annoying feelings for you keep resurfacing. they crawl up his esophagus and reflux into his mouth, leaving a bitter taste behind and making him scowl every time he feels them. 

and to you, it seems as though every time the two of you lock cross paths, he narrows his eyes at you and stalks away. he rarely talks to you anymore, although the conversations you'd shared before were usually very short, yet somehow still meaningful.

you decide to confront him about it, byway of bepo, who happened to know exactly why law was seemingly scarce around you. 

“c-captain? our captain?” bepo stutters, bringing his paw up to his mouth and feigning surprise. “wow! i have no clue why he’d do something like that!”

you frown at bepo. it’s painfully obvious he knows everything about the answer to your question. “spill it, bepo.”

bepo starts to make gestures with his hands and little struggle noises with his mouth. he has no clue how to get out of this one. so he does, indeed, spill it. 

a few minutes later, after bepo was done with his rambling and law’s confession, you approach law with a smug smile on your face.

it doesn’t take a genius to be able to tell why you’re smirking like that, and law immediately pinches the bridge of his nose and tilts his head down.

“that damn bear…”

usopp is sweaty. he’s sweaty, he’s wringing his hands, twirling his hair around his fingers, readjusting his goggles on top of his head. he can’t sit still. he’s been thinking about how on earth to deal with his feelings: does he just shove 'em deep down inside or does he shout 'em from the crow’s nest? he hasn’t had romantic feelings for anyone since he left kaya, and he simply cannot deal. 

“usopp…” nami says softly, touching usopp on the shoulder. he jumps, then flinches at his overreaction to his best friend’s simple and gentle gesture. “can you just tell them, please?”

“n-no! why should i?” usopp frowns at nami and furrows his eyebrows, knowing full well that it’d be best for his health and the crew’s sanity to just come out and tell you.

“if you don’t…” nami grins at him, slowly and mischievously, “i’ll tell them myself.”

usopp immediately springs up from his chosen sulking location and mutters an okay, okay! behind him as he leaves nami. he’s back to sweating, wringing his hands, playing with his hair, and fidgeting with his goggles.

you notice usopp looking particularly dreadful and wait for him to get closer to your position on the deck. you reach out and catch his hand, giving it a light tug so that he’s moving closer to you. he seems so deep in thought that he doesn’t even notice.

“usopp?” you tug on his hand twice, trying to get his attention. usopp meets your gaze and stares at you blankly before shaking his head and becoming aware of the situation. he tries to withdraw his hand from your grip but you’re holding on tightly, and he realizes he’s trapped.

“y/n! fancy seeing you here!” usopp laughs loudly, trying to mask the way that he’s absolutely crumbling and melting.

“what’s on your mind, usopp?”

“you.” usopp covers his mouth with his free hand immediately after the words come out of his mouth. what was he thinking, being so forward? he quickly looks away from you, directing his eyes to the clouds above. “i mean, nami was talking about you earlier. that’s why i’m thinking about you. no other reason!”

a small smile spreads across your lips. “oh, yeah. she told me something super interesting about you earlier today…” you say, drawing out the last few syllables and relishing in the way usopp looks at you in utter horror.

“nami told you that i like you?” he breathes.

“no, but you just did.”

vinsmoke sanji is aware that he actually likes you. that you're not just another pretty face he admires. he’s always known you were gorgeous, the apple of his eye, the object of his affection. you never noticed that it different, though. thinking back on it, you’re glad that you didn’t notice, because you might’ve thought it meant something bad. quite the contrary, in fact.

sanji knows he loves you when he feels calm in your presence. when he’s not acting like a fan boy and when he spends hours talking with you while he cooks or does the dishes or plans the crew's next meal. you’re always around, and yet, he’s never nervous. 

when he really realizes it, though, it’s when he catches a glimpse of nami’s naked silhouette through the crack in the bathroom door and he doesn’t even flinch. not a tingle, not a single palpitation. it’s not you, and his heart knows it, so he’s calm. this is when he knows he has to confess.

“y/n…darling…” sanji says, grasping your hands in his own and looking you in the eyes. “i have to tell you something—something i’ve never told anyone before.”

you look at him, an eyebrow raised in skeptical curiosity. sanji looks worried, and he almost never looks worried. your mind is going a mile a minute, your brain flipping through pages and pages of things he could possibly say to you within the next minute. because of this, you miss the way sanji squeezes your hands, and the way he sucks in a deep breath.

“i’m in love with you.”

taglist: @usoppsstar (i literally can’t remember anyone else rn lolol, i just knew i wanted to surprise ya coco) | @kingofthe-egirls | @pileofmush | @anemptypuddingcup

[aratedfreyjablog]

Squishmallow HC Kings ver.

When they find you hugging a gigantic squishmallow in your sleep. Reader/MC gender neutral!

Satan 

Violence is going to be only thing in his mind when he sees you sleeping while holding a squishmallow

He’s going to be glaring  and grinding his teeth at the squishmallow, regarding it as an angel incarnated from the heavens itself and imagining all the ways he can torture it in the worst and most terrible ways (most of them involving shredding and stuffing flying every where)

When not thinking about tormenting the squismallow, he would be trying to figure out what exactly it’s supposed to be. Like, he can tell it resembles some sort of animal on Earth but its head and body aren’t even separated! Hell, he would’ve felt a tiny bit better if its head and body were separated so he could rip it into two cleanly like he does with other stuffed animals! But what is that supposed to be!?

The only that’s stopping him from doing exactly everything he’s wanting to do was the fact knowing it was one of your precious keepsakes back on Earth and has been giving you comfort during your stay in Hell

That and he finds the image cute of you hugging some sort of stuffed animal in your sleep

Don’t get him wrong though, the minute he finds an opportunity, it’s gone. Dead. Done.

He’s going to remember what it had done to him and have it pay the price once he gets a chance. 

In the meantime, he opts to leaving you to sleep and climb into your bed

He hugs you from the back, pulling you closer to himself and snuggling his face into your head as if rubbing his scent on you will assert his dominance over the thing and show you were his

He’s petty enough to give you a hard time over the whole thing the next morning by making you incapable of walking out of bed for breakfast

Beezelbub 

Sort of shows a similar reaction as Satan where it starts off with him either dragging his cigarette longer and harder compared to normal if having one or being devoid of expression with arms crossed as he simply stares at the scene of you hugging the squishmallow in your sleep

He does feel puzzled by it and tilts his head side to side to try to figure out what it is while taking a quick picture because, even he admits, the scene is 100% cute and blackmail material

But this whole thing doesn’t last long, probably 2 minutes at best

Remember, once he puts his mind into something, he’s going to be sticking to it. And that thing stole the spot that’s reserved for him and only him. As if he’s going to leave it alone and let it stay in his spot

There isn’t any hesitation when he walks closer to you and casually yet quietly rips the squishmallow out of your arms before he quickly slides into your arms without waking you up

It does satisfy him a bit when the squishmallow hits the wall across from your bed before falling face-down on the floor

He holds you tightly and calms himself down by smelling your scent from the top of your head

He may even choose to secretly mark you in a couple of places along your upper body since if he went any lower, it'll definitely wake you up

Now there’s two options he can choose from: 

If he chooses to stay the whole night, he’s going give you a hard time in the morning by “reminding” you who exactly is yours

If not, he’s going to take the squishmallow with him as he leaves to give it a special disposable treatment or draw bunch of doodles all over its face and body to make it ugly and no longer charming in your eyes without guilt

Leviathan

Oh boy, you better prepare yourself because if you thought Beel and Satan were bad, this demon takes the whole cake

He will know whether or not someone or something other himself was in your arms and he will not react well to it

And that’s exactly what is happening when he catches you hugging some sort of abomination in your sleep

There’s none of the whole contemplation or staring - The second he sees it and at where it is, he yanks the squishmallow out of your arms without caring whether it tears or not and hangs it by its nonexistent neck tightly to the point it looks it’ll burst

He doesn’t even care if he wakes you up when he does it as his jealousy consumes him from the mere sight of something other than himself in your embrace

Because of this, this, too, has two options this can go:

If you don’t end up waking up from it, he’s going to contemplate whether or not to wake you only to choose to hold some restraint and let you sleep by yourself. But he does plan on giving you one of the worst mornings involving pain from mostly your spine all the way to your legs, that’s for sure

But if you wake up from the feeling of missing something while he’s still in your room,  he’s not planning to let you go back to sleep and leave you alone until he calms down and feel that he’s marked you or you marked him enough so that you won’t ever look or touch anyone or anything other than himself 

No matter which option you choose, say goodbye to the squishmallow because he does take it with him and utterly destroys it no matter if it’s precious to you or not. 

Mammon

He’s the only one amongst the four that decides peace was an option and doesn’t show a visceral reaction over the squishmallow

Because he was the one that gave the idea to humans to create  the stuffed toy, despite not knowing what it is, he thinks he’s the one that gave it permission to be graced for the night while sleeping in your arms. Though, he does think he could’ve given you something better…

But if it gives you comfort during your stay in Hell, that’s fine. That's a free service that he’s willing to offer as a means to persuade you into becoming a permanent resident. 

Despite finding the image of you hugging such a massive squishmallow endearing as it reminds him of how you hug him in your sleep, he does feel disgruntled over the fact he got replaced

No matter though, he’s bigger than the squishmallow in every single way. That works to his advantage along him being a living being that pleases you in all aspects including pleasure. So, there’s no competition whatsoever

It doesn’t mean he won’t join you in bed. He climbs in and pulls you into his chest from the front, squishing the squishmallow to the point one might pitifully think it’s suffocating

In fact, when you wake up the next morning, you’re the one feeling jealous seeing that you missed out to being the one that gets squished 

Of course this leads to morning playtime once he senses this as you throw the squishmallow out of the bed and dive straight to something that’s much softer and squishier

[freesidexjunkie]

So back on my durgetash bullshit but. The prayer for forgiveness is on Gortash's workbench in the mindflayer colony. Obviously. Someone else has also written something kinda shitty on it, but it ends up on his workbench. And I really like imagining how it got there.

Orin kills you, takes over, dumps your body in a ditch. You get experimented on for weeks in your half alive state, but Kressa was hiding that (she wasn't allowed to have toys Balthazar didn't approve of) til she got caught. But im imagining Orin coming in and saying that she is the new chosen of Bhaal, she'll be taking over. Her jealous ass probably moved into Durge's quarters and threw all of their stuff out. Someone finds the diary of the overthrown bhaalspawn, not so scary now ripped to shreds, and they're making fun of you in your own diary after you're too far gone to stop them.

Imagining Gortash finding a group of cultists snickering over a book one day and then he recognizes the handwriting. He gets angry, snatches it, says something about "don't you have any respect?" But he's seething because how dare they forget your place so quickly? While he's still reeling to come to terms with it?

Imagining that he doesn't mean to snoop, he can respect your privacy even if others can't, but eventually it gets the better of him. The last part of you he has left, the last new words you might ever speak to him, even if they weren't meant for him. He can't resist, he has to read it. And he does. Maybe he keeps the whole thing elsewhere, maybe he throws it out. But im imagining him tearing this page out, keeping the "Orin was right about her kin" comment. Keeping it on his desk. You did care about him. People knew it, too. It was real. And now you're gone, and he's left clutching onto scraps of you.

Anyways. Just normal thoughts.

[acid-ixx]

I’m new, I just read your fic about neglect reader. I haven’t read through your blog yet but I am so excited after reading this fic. I am an emotional wreck right now and my curiosity is eating me alive with this question “Does reader know about Jason? Will they ever met? Ever have a platonic relationship together? Will Jason be more of a brother to reader?”

I’m sorry I speed through the fic and tears are in my eyes I couldn’t think straight BUT I notice that Jason is hardly there so I’m curious. Please this is such a brain rot, it’s way past midnight after I read this cause I keep stopping to cry.

major (?) spoilers below.

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

hello anon !! im so happy ppl are getting more exposed to the content i have written so far. anyways, i can't believe i also got others to cry bec i did too when i was writing 😭

anyways, to answer ur question: yes! the reader will meet jason and he would actually be the first sibling you would meet after you have left the manor. the way he would turn yandere for you is a different approach to how the others would be because in the prequel, it has been stated that you had your fair share of encounters with him.

"will they ever have a platonic relationship with him/see him as a brother?" maybe, maybe not. because your meeting with him would all be a blur to you, and jason's obsession would stem from the trauma he had experienced, causing him to be more protective of you.

you're not in your best mindset and you're vulnerable walking through the streets of gotham and all alone? oh god, only a dumbass would do that— but once the red hood recognizes your face and the way you carry yourself so pitiably, he immediately tries to take you in his arms just as he should.

but the moment you push him away? tell him to fuck off despite your drunken state? the moment you cry and tell him you could deal with everything yourself without his help or anybody else's? you just remind him of himself and that triggers his first spiral into yandere-ism.

it's the way you share trauma, the way you both feel immense anger. he should've noticed sooner because you two would've been as close as peas in a pod. and yet he failed you by being a hypocrite. you were literally taken into the manor right after his death and discarded like you were mere trash. he should've taken you away when he had the opportunity to but he was too caught up in his feat of revenge.

yet the worst part was that he had taken notice of tim before he did you, and jason had momentarily hated you too because he thought bruce had replaced him. if he had looked through that veil of contempt that he had for you, and saw just how neglected and in need of attention you are, then he would've taken you under his wing.

but he didn't, and he had done the same thing to you as most did.

so take it as you will when i say you're more or less going to be closer (albeit unwillingly) to jason than anybody else because unlike his other siblings who are bound by their vigilante duties, your big brother jason wouldn't mind shooting any creeps who think they could touch his precious angel.

and he gets it, too, angel— you hate him, you hate them all and that's valid. but you can't just walk out in the streets alone and expect to be home in one piece; so leave it to him to scout your apartment alright? leave it to your big brother jason to intimidate the goons who try to stalk you when you're not looking. even if you don't want him near you, you'll always find warm food by your table and a note reminding you to take care of yourself more often.

it hurts when you rip the paper to shreds but it breaks his heart even more if you refuse to touch the meal he would leave for you, because that probably means you saw him as danger more than anything else. and he doesn't know it, but you're already planning to make a run for it now that you're under red hood's radar.

it's obvious that you have no experience when it comes to living by yourself, so please don't fucking push him away and let him protect you from any harm. your self destructive habits only causes him to become more protective of you and it only lets him stalk you more often to ensure nobody would touch his precious angel.

just like dick, you'll be treated more like a child than that of a young adult, but at least jason has the concept of personal space compared to your eldest brother. but still, jason wishes to hold you in his arms.

heaven forbid if the joker ever got his crummy fingers on you. jason would go berserk.

little does he know, little does your family know just how much they had lost the opportunity to keep you in wraps inside the manor.

they should've never let you out in the first place.

[stolasdearest]

is it okay if I ask for Alastor x Reader who is like angel dusts sibling and reader goes to Angel dust you talk about their lasting crush on Alastor?

Alastor x Reader ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

EVERYONE SHUT UP! YES I LOVE WINGMAN ANGEL

Not proofread + 4:30 Lilly so writing might differ

Reader is Gender neutral!

Being Angels sibling wasn't easy, at least within in the hotel..or outside of it for that matter; but in the hotel it was definitely better, at least everyone didn't try and talk to you about your brother and instead talk to you.

You however had your eyes on someone very specific, a person not many people would have their eyes on..well, Maybe your brother in a— joking fucking around type of way; but your eyes were looking at the Tall Red demon in a very different way; a fond way you weren't all that used to.

Thing is you were the youngest in your family, that didn't rid you of your family's habits and mannerisms, So you weren't surprised when you ended up in hell alongside most of your family but your brother had kept you away from many scenes, that included partners; so your new found feelings for the Demon were overwhelming, suffocatingly so and you had no idea where to go with it, that lead you to go to the only person you trust in this newly found shit hole

"Anthony?"

"what's up, sweet cheeks?"

Angel was still not used to being called by his real name, But it was allowed in private from prying ears; he set fat nuggets down and sat up on the side of the bed; patting a spot next to him gesturing you to sit with him, a familiar smile on his face while you scooted next to him

"what's on your mind?"

"Alastor."

"oh—"

Angel laughed as you covered your face with your hands, His name bluntly slipping past your lips as you cringed at yourself

"he's like the Boogeyman, don't say his name too loud or he'll appearrr"

You smacked his arm and laughed, watching Angel make "scary" gestures as you both giggled amongst one another, before you patted your thighs and dramatically inhaled and sighed

"yeah yeah.. Boy troubles aye? Been there"

"yeah so help me"

"with him, Sweetie I can pray that's it"

"Anthony!!"

"sorry sorry!!"

Your big brother kneeled over laughing as you scoffed at him, crossing your arms with a pout as you cleared Your throat

"ANYWAY, I need help, I have no idea how to approach him— if at all!"

It took the spider demon a bit to compose himself Before he ran his fingers through his hair before looking at you, a sincere genuine look on his face, his voice soft and gentle; just like you remembered

"I don't know mister cheeky Alastor that much, but he does seem to like you, so I'd say go slow; test the waters or he might rip you to shreds"

You tensed, he was right and you were playing a dangerous game trying to woo the radio demon and you knew that but what'd you have to lose?..oh right your life yeah yeah

Falling flat on the soft bed you groaned; Alastor was tricky especially for someone who'd never flirted in their life so this was uncharted territory and you weren't exactly starting on beginner mode, you skipped straight to expert. Angel soon joined you in laying on the bed, him to staring at the ceiling as you pondered and wondered, He was probably zoning out but whatever, but after moments of silence Anthony soon realized this was a heavy topic on your heart so he turned on his side, pulling you to his side; one of his hands ruffling your hair

"worry about that tomorrow will you? You need your beauty sleep; Alastor won't date a slob"

"what won't I do?"

"AAAAHHHHH"

Authors note: Sorry for the ending Im starting to get a headache😭😭

[mrsparrasblog]

POLY 141: How They React to Someone Else Flirting with Them

I don't think they would be mean in a normal situation, like someone coming up and saying "you're cute," and they respond with "Thank you, but I'm more than happy with my wonderful wife."

But let's spice ✨ this situation up a bit, like you're at the pub with them and you go to the toilet, and someone approaches them, knowing exactly that you're their girl. It's over for Miss Girl. They are really nice people, just not when someone disrespects their misses.

Ghost: He would just give them a death stare through his mask. "Go," he huffs, annoyed by the whole situation, and he just leaves her alone. He doesn't even give anyone between you and your pretty three other boyfriends any attention, so why bother even looking at her?

Price: If you're married, he just taps on his ring, and even if you're not married, he is like, "I'm married to the most beautiful girl in the world."

"One time won't hurt."

"If you're not gone in 5 seconds, my wife will probably rip you apart."

You will.

Kyle: Our sweet Kyle, do you really think he is still sweet? Oh no, he is the worst of all of them. I have this headcanon of him that he is the most attentive and obsessed boyfriend of all of them; he just loves you unconditionally. And when someone approaches him with,

"Don't you want someone more in your league, pretty boy?" she said while he touched his crotch. It's over - first of all, no one dares to tell him that you aren't a literal goddess of beauty, and second, only you can call him this, and Price when you have a threesome but no one else.

"Last time I checked, you're not even half as hot, funny, or intelligent as my girl, so piss off and stop touching me."

"Stop lying to me."

And then that guy just casually holds a picture on his phone of you against her and looks. "Nah, you're ugly."

You return, and he tells you not to worry your pretty head over this slag.

Johnny: Oh, he would be petty. You know he loves showing you off and kissing you in front of all the guys who want you, even in front of Price, Gaz, and Ghost, even though you're POLY. Boy is possessive. So why not show everyone he is yours? He pulls you onto his lap and kisses your neck, his hands grabbing your hips and everything in front of her. "Mhm, going to fuck you hen," and he does in the bathroom stall of the pub. And now, don't you dare to be quiet while he shows his claim.

Bonus: You, who reach that girl looking at her while using your most innocent smile. "If you don't leave my men, I'm going to kill you, shred you into many pieces, and send your parents a piece every year so they can puzzle you back up." The girl runs away thinking you're mental. John and Kyle are 100% sure that you got this sentence from Ghost, but it was actually Johnny who taught you this, since Ghost explained to you for 3 hours straight why this wouldn't work - Buzzkill.

[rockstvrdotcom]

⪼ 10.01 KINKTOBER DAY 1, MIGUEL O'HARA X FEM READER

power play, dumbification, unintentionally slutty reader, dubcon

click link for kinktober mlist c: not proofread!!!

miguel hated you for some reason unknown to anybody. every time you even walked pass him he would shoot you a glare.

maybe because he was against jessicas idea to bring you into hq and have you become part of the spider society.. or maybe it was because the first mission you had you fucked it up. hard.

nobody really knows. but it's probably because of the way you prance around in your skimpy spider suit, acting oblivious to the wide eyes and open jaws as you passed by the other spiders. probably because of the way you add a bit more sway to your hips as you walk past o'hara.

clearly you were teasing him on purpose. so you can't blame him when he gets fed up with your antics, blasting over the speakers that they needed to find you stat.

barely a minute later you were shoved into his office by another spider, a confused expression on your face as you stared up at him with those same doe eyes you always look at him with— those same doe eyes that make his dick throb.

"i know you're doing it on purpose." he says, eyes narrowed as he tapped his foot. he watched your face contort into an even more lost expression, your lashes fluttering each time you blinked.

"i don't know what you mean, boss." you said innocently. there you go again, putting up that same ol' innocent act. his eyebrows furrowed together, a scowl on his face.

"don't act oblivious, y/n," he spat, taking a step closer and closing the distance— now you had to crane your neck up to look at him. "walking around and swaying your hips like some.. some slut."

you were taken aback. how could miguel possibly think that about you? you've been on your best behavior, never referring to him as anything less than boss or sir. you were quick to bite back, scoffing and cursing him out.

you both bickered back and forth, an angry expression etched onto both of your faces. yet the way he glared down at you— calling you all of these degrading names somehow sparked an unfamiliar feeling in your core; hidden deep beneath the humiliation you felt.

halfway through scolding him for being a 'perverted asshole', you blinked and he had you wrenched over his shoulder, a look of confusion on your face and a look of pride on his.

"put me down, miguel!" you demanded like a child stubbornly pleading for candy; thrashing and scratching at his back until he placed you on his desk. pens and documents scattered and tipped off the table, cluttering on the floor as miguel glared down at you.

"alguien tiene que enseñarte una lección puta." he mumbled beneath his breath, shaking his head. his hand snaked up your thigh as he watched your expression contort from anger to arousal, blush creeping onto your face as he squeezed the fat of your thighs.

you muttered his name quietly. a triumphant smirk formed on miguel's face, his fangs poking out from his lips. he took your wrists between his large hand and pinned them above your head.

his freehand trailed down your body, exploring it and making sure every curve and contour was engraved into his brain. talons extending simply for the purpose to rip your spidersuit to shreds.

you complained and whined about how that was your only one. "this is what you wanted it, isn't it?" he shushed you with a claw up to your neck, eyeing you hungrily like a wolf and it's prey.

you yelped when he flipped you onto your stomach harshly, your lacy panties and the clasp of your bra on display for him. his hand ran up the curve of your back before getting rid of your bra, tossing it to the side.

he pressed his bulge against your clothed, sopping pussy, grinding slightly as he leaned down to leave kisses and bites on your neck.

you grinded your hips against his only to be stopped harshly by calloused hands. you turned around and began to complain until he shushed you. "beg, mi vida." he demanded, leaving no room for refusal.

"w- wha?.." you stuttered, cheeks lit up with humiliation and lust. you immediately shook your head, the thought sending shivers of embarassment down your spine.

he tch'd, before ripping off your panties in one swift motion. his nanotech suit slowly dissipated away; leaving him only in his boxers. and good lord, he was fucking fit, chiseled abs and veins running along his arms.

but the thing that really caught your eye was the tuft of brown hair peeking out of the waistband and the large bulge.

he made you turn your head around, not facing him. you felt a heavy weight on your cunt, his tip prodding at your entrance. there was no foreplay except for the fact that you were soaking wet, "w- wait. miguel—"

he was ramming into you before you could even finish your sentence, broken and choked out moans being punched out of you with each thrust.

you revelled in pleasure and a sting of pain as you adjusted to his size. "fu.. fuck! miguel, s- ah! slow down-" you managed to let out in between whimpers, eyes rolling back as the sound of his hips slapping against yours filled the room yet his pace didnt falter.

the way his balls slapped against your clit with each thrust was fucking divine, making you grip the edges of the table as he fucked you raw.

groans from him and moans from you echoed off the walls, the smell of sex filling your senses, "m- miguel.. s' too hard~.." you complained, biting your lip.

but the second his tip thrusted into that spot that made your mind go numb you forgot whatever you were begging for; all logical thoughts blocked out by pleasure as you gripped anything for purchase; trying to prevent the loud moan that eventually escaped and bounced off the walls, clenching around him tightly and making him groan.

"c- calláte.. making too much fucking noise." he grunted out, wrapping a hand around your throat as he continously thrusted up into your gspot, your eyes rolling back and tongue lolling out.

raspy whimpers and pleads for him to keep hitting that spot barely made it out with his large hand around your throat. black spots littered your vision as your breaths became shallow, yet he still continued to thrust.

you felt the knot in your stomach snap as you cried out in pleasure, squeezing around him as he let go of your neck; his thrusts becoming sloppy. your vision went blank, only miguel and the shape of his cock on your mind as your orgasm washed over you in waves.

your release left a ring of cream at the base of his cock. you could tell miguel was close too, his pace erratic before he burried himself deep inside of you, tip nestled comfortably in your cervix.

"c- cum in me please.." you begged pathetically, eyes rolling back in satisfaction as he emptied his load inside of you.

after what felt like hours with his dick balls deep in you, he pulled out, your clit twitching and your hole aching as some of his cum leaked out and onto his desk. you could hear him tut in disapproval.

"perra dejó un desastre en mi escritorio.." he scoffed before spitting on your pussy, admiring the mess he made of you before turning his suit back on.

"clean yourself and my desk up, ¿comprende?"

[weclassygirl]

scheme

⋆˙⟡ sauron x fem!elf!reader (witch) ⟡˙⋆

summary: reader meets her shadow in the flesh as two riders enter Eregion

warnings: some blood (fake wound)

word count: 2,8k

author’s note: he's finally here! might take a moment before i update (i need to rewatch season 2 for him), but the next chapter.... ugh i can't wait to post it. enjoy! (previous part -> deception)

He doesn’t, for weeks he doesn’t reach out, does not even give you a sign he’s alive. You wish you could rip him to shreds once you see him again even if his very essence would slip through your fingers.

Celebrimbor notices you’ve become distracted, your work becomes sloppy, where once was attention to details and strive for perfection now lay curses under your breath when another piece of work is ruined. 

He comes to your side and places a hand on your shoulder. “Rest.” 

You turn to face him, the hammer still in your hand as well as the chisel. “I have to finish—“ he places your tools down, you don’t protest.

“You’ve been working yourself to the bone and your mind is not where it’s supposed to be.” you sigh, he’s right even he does not know the true reason. You take off your apron and put it on the stool before leaving the forge. 

You wander to the gardens and around Eregion trying to clear your head. You try to see past the trees, behind the horizon, maybe he’s out there. Wishful thinking. 

You’ve heard of the attacks on the Southlands, men fighting against orcs and the destruction it placed over the land. They call it under a different name now. Out of the corner of your eye you see horses, a rider clad in armor and a man. A messenger, probably. Eregion always had news to answer and these days it seemed more than ever. 

You come back to the forge after a while despite Celebrimbor’s refusal. You needed to occupy your mind, the blade you’ve been working on was nearly finished. You’ve been mixing metals to try and combine them into a nearly ethereal glow, mithril was far out of your reach. You’ve helped with the construction of the tower, not like the might of the Dwarves but your work has been appreciated. 

Elrond came before spring to help Celebrimbor and he secured it when Prince Durin sent his for forces to Eregion. The secrecy has been languid, you knew what Celebrimbor was hiding, he knew of mithril, knew that the very light of the Elves was fading, yours included. You felt it, more than the others, you considered Sauron’s offer to bound yourself to him completely but called yourself a fool for such thought. This is not the time you spoke of, you know it, see it as behind a mist, the future of Eregion and all Middle-Earth. Glimpses that always end with fire and blood.

A guard comes into the forge and calls out your name. Your head whips around as you look at him. 

“Your assistance is needed in the healer's quarters.” he informs you. 

“What of the Warden?” you ask, surely the master of healers would accommodate to the unexpected guests who arrived through the gate, should one of them be injured.

“Busy with other matters.”

You sigh but put away your tools once again. “Very well.” you say and follow the guard. 

You didn’t mind healing others but sometimes the injured or ill irritated you to the point your started to regret you were acknowledged as a healer in the first place. People came to you with the smallest cut or barely a cold, a proper herb and warm water would do most of the work.

When you arrive in the healer’s quarters your feet feel stuck to the ground at the sight of the person in front of you. 

“Galadriel?” you couldn’t believe it. “I thought you left for Valinor.” 

She’s clad in armor, her face dirty and sweaty from the journey. If she stayed in Middle-Earth you hoped she only heard the good things you’ve done while in Eregion, you do not wish to have her as an enemy.

“Fate decided I stay here.” she responds. She looks you up and down, the scars visible from your days under Morgoth, however no black fingertips. The darkness hasn’t consumed you or so she thinks. “I’ve heard of your progress here.” 

You feign flattery. “Yes, I owe it to Lord Celebrimbor.” 

“It’s impressive how much you swayed from darkness, not many can.” 

You chuckle slightly, oh if she only knew. 

“Yes, well, my punishment here proved to bear fruits.” you respond and you remind yourself why you’re here. You look her over. “Are you injured? I’ve been summoned as a healer rather than a smith.” 

“My friend is, if you could tend to him.” she starts walking down the hall and when you enter the room you see him, his face so familiar to his but you don’t want to make false assumptions. 

She tells him who he is and you turn to her with a question on your face. “King of the Southlands? How is it your path crossed with his?” you come closer to the man on the table and lift up the bloodied piece of clothing, he grunts as the dried blood tears away with the fabric. When you look to Galadriel her eyes tell you everything you need to know. Her task in Middle-Earth was not yet complete. 

You inspect the wound and Halbrand watches you carefully, you dare not to speak. Is it him? After all this time? Should you voice your thoughts? The questions plague your mind. 

“I’ll leave you to it.” she says as Elrond comes closer, you’ve conversed with him while he remained in Eregion and helped Celebrimbor in securing the work force to assemble the Great Forge. He’s been travelling constantly between Eregion and Khazad-dûm, the High King deceived him of his purpose here at first but the alliance between Dwarves and Elves grew. 

When they are out of your sight you look to Halbrand. An interesting name he has chosen, so many meanings, every single one fitting his image. Admirable, shadowed, exalted. You nearly laugh under your breath.

“Is my state that amusing to you?” he asks and the corner of your lips rises. 

“Forgive me, Your Majesty.” you’re still unsure if you can speak freely in front of him, he may just be a face that he saw once, that felt suitable for him to wear when appearing in your visions. You tear the fabric that laid on his wound, you discard it and grab a cloth with warm water. “What has happened?”

“Enemy lance, six days ago.” he responds and grunts as the cloth makes contact with the wound. You wonder if he truly sustained the hit or it was another illusion. You were certain the red blood was.

“Is it truly like they say? Turned to dust and ashes?” you ask, curious as ever.

“The Southlands?” you nod. He watches as you tend to him, grabbing a bit of Elvish herbs, athelas and mixing them in a mortar. The paste thickens with each turn and you put it aside to grab other herbs needed. After a while, he gives you the answer. “Yes.”

You grab an herb and bring it up to his mouth. “Chew on it.” you tell him.

“What is it?” he eyes it warily before taking it. 

“It will replace the taste of iron from the blood in your mouth.” you don’t answer his question directly but he listens. As you smear the paste you mixed up he smiles under his nose, the sight doesn’t go unnoticed by you. 

“Most people would be in pain and yet you react as if it’s a common cold.”

You’ve seen people wither in anguish from a single touch of Elvish medicine before it took its desired effect, it’s strange for a common man to not react to it. Perhaps he wants to show that he’s stronger than many. You go to the table to gather a clean dressing when you hear his response, so silent but makes you freeze in your steps. “Now I’m the first to give myself to you at my deathbed.” 

Was it him or your persistent shadow speaking? Could you distinguish the two now? The voice so familiar but not muffled like many times you’ve heard it, this was real, raw.

You turn to him but his sight is already set upon you. Any evidence of pain gone from his face as you step closer to the bed with a bandage in your hands. You search his face for any sign of falsehood and he awaits your reaction. You smack the piece of cloth you were holding onto him when he grabs your wrist and pulls you closer. You lock eyes but yours slip down to his lips, he notices and smirks. It feels as if he’s drawing down to him, if he did you could just…

“Violence goes against what you should stand for.” he taunts and lets you go. You glare at him, you told yourself you would rip him to shreds the next time you see him. 

“I should let you bleed out.” you retort, he looks down and gathers some of the red blood from the wound.

“So it’s a convincing illusion, I take it?” he smears it on his fingers and it turns pitch black. You huff in annoyance. 

“You’re insufferable.” you clean your hands in the basin, leftover herbs floating in the water as you dry your hands. You hear him shift on the bed.

“Are you not glad?” he begins to get up and stalk closer to you. 

When you turn he’s met with your brows raised and laugh on your lips. “Glad? I believed you to be dead.” you deadpan.

“Did you mourn?” he asks.

“Would you care?” you bite back.

It takes a moment before he responds, his voice soft. “Yes.” he stands right in front of you and takes your hand. The illusion you cast is perfect, leaving not a speck of dark that would have peeked from it. He inspects it, so much power that could come from them. “Don’t hide it.”

Your anger starts to disappear as he holds your hand. You never thought that you would see the day where he’s in the same room as you, in the flesh and not a black mass. “Defeats the point if I don’t.” you look up at him with question. “Why Eregion?”

“You’ve gained his trust, I intend to use it.”

“For what?”

He smiles. “Everlasting peace over all Middle Earth.”

You pull away from his touch. 

“Under your rule.”

His answer comes quickly with no hesitation as if his mind is already set upon it.

“And yours.” you’re confused. He bound you to him, not completely but alas, you did not expect that answer. He looks to the entrance, listening if anyone comes by before looking down at you. ”Our paths are already intertwined, tangled whether you wish to cut them. I do not intend to let your talents go to waste after I’m done.”

His words compel you, a malicious intent behind them and yet you fall for them like the stars from the sky. 

“A power over flesh?”

He nods. “I owe it to you, this idea, this scheme.” 

You don’t have the time to respond when you hear someone walking down the halls, as the master of the healers enters, you step away from Halbrand or rather Sauron to you. 

“Your Majesty, you should be resting.” he says as he sees him standing next to you, the blood on his fingers red.

“I needed to test my strength.” he lies swiftly and goes back to the bed. The Warden nods at you and tells you that he will take over. You bid Halbrand goodbye and glance at him one last time before leaving. 

Not a day passes when you hear him talking with Celebrimbor. The workshop was quiet in the morning and you needed to gather your notes. The High King ordered every Elf to be moved to Lindon, one last gathering before your time passes.

You did not expect for Sauron to take actions so quickly but it does not surprise you. 

“Might there not be some alloy to amplify the qualities of your ore?” he asks Celebrimbor as he hands him the piece of mithril.

“Well, that is… an intriguing suggestion.” you remark as you enter. You nod in greeting towards both of them and walk closer. Halbrand takes his eyes off of you. 

“Call it… a gift.” Celebrimbor inspect the mithril in his hand before you stride to your work bench. Notes scattered, splashes of ink spilled on the table. 

“You should be packing for Lindon.” he tells you and you gather whatever you can, some of the ink making it’s way onto your hand. 

“I needed to grab my notes, shame to let them go to waste.”

Would any Men take them after you have passed to the Undying Lands? Would they appreciate them?

“You’re leaving?” Halbrand asks you, surprise in his voice. 

You look between the two men. “High King’s orders, as much as I would like to stay. I have no choice but to obey.”

It pains you to say it, a witch following orders of a King, but the ruse must hold. Celebrimbor’s mind seems to be at work, Halbrand’s words resonating with him. It is then he remembers that you may not know who he is. 

“This is Lord Halbrand, King of—”

“The Southlands, yes we’ve met.” you interrupt. “Galadriel sent for a healer at hand and I was the only one available at the time.” you look to Halbrand. “You should be resting.”

“No use if I’m bedridden when your people need aid.”

You arch an eyebrow. “You wish to help?”

“If you allow me.” he directs these words to Celebrimbor and he smiles as he looks between you two.

“I believe we can work something out.” 

The three of you part your ways when he caughts up with you. The halls are empty, occasional guard posted but nothing more, the vines flow down the vast architecture surrounding you.

“I never realized you’ve made quite a name for yourself here.” he expressed as he started walking next to you. You nod occasionally at the guards as you pass through, some other smiths you work with. 

When out of their sight you speak. “It was demanded.” you stop in your tracks, both of you now standing on the parapet connecting two buildings. “Would you let an Elven Witch roam around your kingdom so freely? Her darkness poisoning the very air you’re breathing?” your voice low should anyone listen to your conversation. He studies you closely, eyes softening in his low-man form.

“You, yes. Another I might consider throwing over the walls.” he remembers why he joined you. He has an occasion to properly talk to you, no visions to hold him back now. He goes back to his first statement. “People talk.”

You look down at the few Elves roaming in the courtyard, Fëanor’s statue illuminated by the soft light of the morning. “And what have they said of me?”

He leans against the balustrade. “An Elf once cast out by her people, called Morgoth’s servant despite doing it to survive and when fled chained once again by her own kind. Fulfilled her punishment here in Eregion and started to move away from darkness within her, became a trusted Elven smith and a healer where her work only blossomed.” he looks down to the ring on your finger, worn out by time however you never corrected it, the broken stone still held. He says it like reading a passage from a book, you don’t turn to look at him. Your voice barely above a whisper.

“They trust you so easily.” you’re almost jealous and he knows. 

“They have not come to know me like they did you.” he reassures you. Once they do they will cower in fear.

You turn to face him, you sense the scheme within him. “You plan to use mithril. For what kind of weapon?”

“Not a weapon, it shouldn’t be too obvious. Something far more precious.” he looks down at you and smiles. “You’ll see, I believe it will be to your liking.”

“You think that Celebrimbor will let you into his workshop, a low-man?”

“Why wouldn’t he? I suppose I left a good impression.”

“Ah, of course.” you shake your head and smile under your nose.

The silence weighs between the two of you, some guards pass you by and the morning sky shines mercilessly. You start walking away from the parapet and into the streets, the small crowds surround you as you go by the merchant stalls, tall towers and small courts. 

“It’s refreshing. Seeing you here, feeling your presence, it’s… stronger.”

“Few hundred years had made their mark.” you respond and stop by a fountain, the water hums in your ears. 

“So did I.”

You look up at him and try not to roll your eyes. You admit he gave you tremendous help but the years you’ve spent in Eregion fell upon your shoulders. You knew you had to endure your stay a little longer, for his sake and yours. 

“Thank you.” you find yourself whispering. He knows you well enough to give you a small nod in exchange.

“Do not think that I will release you of the practice over your craft.”

You smile, this is what you needed. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

next part -> bewitched

[minimujina]

wriothesley is an old lover, i think. he’s tough and strong and oh-so-ruggedly handsome; he’s a gentle handler, a slow mover. it takes knowing someone a long time before he can either fall in love with them or, if he happened to fall fast and hard, get the guts to do something about it.

when he does something about it, it’s so romantic and genuine and sweet that you’ll want to metaphorically throw up. in a time where things move so fast—technology makes strides every day, engineers are speeding along the progress of society, and people become daily entangled in small trysts of passion, leaving fragments of themselves scattered—wriothesley moves deliciously slow.

it makes you feel so special, the way he practically courts you. he’s so god damn respectful of everything about you, it’s disgusting. the simple ways he shows affection for you are so beautiful and veneratingly intimate that it almost feels vulgar. wriothesley naturally creates a space around himself that is so safe and so quiet, you melt into vulnerability before you can even think. he makes it easy to be relaxed, and that can be scary when you are used to being on guard.

he is patient, and he’s kind. he’s certainly not perfect, as no one can be—he has his flaws, and he recognizes his own shortcomings. though easy to talk to, easy to get along with, wriothesley does guard his heart carefully, masking himself and his intentions until he’s gauged the trustworthiness of a companion. it can sometimes be difficult to bring the defenses down, even in the most trusted presence; he is used to being fully performative, fully vigilant. he can struggle to communicate in this stage, because he is uncertain of himself and others and, frankly, everything all at once. but once the wall comes down, he’s all authentic, coming as he is without the pre-painted mask.

i feel as if it takes a lot of mutual comfort and reassurance in that stage of scary vulnerability. it is somewhat grotesque to be seen as you are and then to watch someone choose to see more of you over and over and over. you are dying and you are living and it’s mortifying and really very wonderful.

after the initial knowing, there comes the valley where it feels as if your souls begin to intertwine, and the knowing becomes so much more intimate than you might have prepared yourself for. wriothesley wants to hide, and you might too. there are probably some bumps where he puts off replying to letters, or perhaps you procrastinate scheduling visits to the fortress, and you both act very silly, and you misunderstand and squabble a bit and make up. the silliness, however, is not unwarranted, as you both are very aware of how scary it can be to like someone and to be liked. and to watch and feel as the liking turns to loving, and knowing turns to becoming, and suddenly your hands and hearts are glued like crafts and it would be a dire mistake to unravel the lovely work of two loving souls—but moving forward is still, perhaps, so very uncomfortable. but you will, you will do it.

wriothesley likes you so much that he feels himself fall apart. the entirety of the strength he has built up within himself wavers under your soft gaze; your eyes rip him to shreds, but gently, lovingly. you reduce him to nothing but a lovestruck schmuck.

the depths of his adoration for you are, in a sense, biblical. if you have no religious background, you could call his love something sacred, something reverent. he’d never anticipated feeling this way for someone; now that he’s become so deeply entrenched in everything about you, wriothesley feels a deep need to protect and to provide. he is unsure what the future could look like due to his position as the duke of meropide, but he is certain that everything will fall into place if it is meant to be. whatever the case, he’s an absolute schmuck, hanging off your every word and footstep. 100% would follow you around like a lost puppy were he not duty-bound to his work.

for you, it’s really the fact that you could sit in his presence for hours, safely and peacefully, without having spoken a word. there could be no sound in his office but the time-dusted record playing and tea-crusted pages turning, and all would still be well. no guessing, nothing under the rug for you to worry your silly head about—it is just he and you and his work and your books, and the music and his breathing and your humming and embroidery. nothing has transpired but the work that has been done and the record that has played a dozen times over. you may pick up where you left off with him, only with a lighter chest and clearer mind.

sigewinne would oft find the duke passed out in his big red chair, his sweet little lover over on the couch gone to dreamland all the same. it was picturesque. she sometimes wished she could call her friend mamere to paint it, to capture in art whatever it was she could not with words. sigewinne was still learning about humans—and she could glean a lot just from watching you and the duke. but sometimes, like this domestic scene, she would find herself puzzled, unable to describe the feelings that emerged from seeing two humans so safe and comfortable with each other in this particular manner. sigewinne would tip-toe back down the stairs and out of the duke’s office, much to ponder, and much to ask monsieur neuvillette.

very self indulgent, but i finally wrote something 😵‍💫 it just came out like blaarrggh

[hxney-lemcn]

not a request

guess who's back

again

I have so many thoughts.

OKAY BUT HOW THE FUCK DOES IDIA ACTUALLY EAT???? He's a cursed human with human digestive track but he has sharp teefies WHICH DEF DONT let him eat like he should!!!

CONSPIRICY THEROY OF THE DAY: Idia is a twig bc he legit just doesn't have the AP to deal with his special dietary needs.

I dont remember which one but there's a vignette that has him explainin he doesn't like apples with skin cuz they squeak! AND LIKE YEAH!!! UNDERSTANDABLE!!! sharp teefies are NOT designed for apple!!! They are designed for ripping, tearing and swallowing whole-- which is NOT a good thing on a normal human stomach!

Hes also confirmed to eat chocolates cuz melty, and noodles cuz slurpable. Idia shroud DO NOT be getting all of his proper nutrients!! GET THIS MAN SOME EATABLE FOOD STAT!!!!

Sometimes, when I'm bored, I'll think about how to go about making a diet for Idia. (Definitely a normal thing to do.) He'd have to have very tender and finely cut food, in order to get him proper nutrients. Soup would be a good one! Specially if it has EGREGIOUSLY TENDER, I'm talking like FALL APART IF TOUCHED TENDER meat.

PLEASE WHATEVER GOD CONTROLS THE UNIVERSE.

LET ME FEED THIS GUY.

IDIA IS SUFFERING FROM ANTI-FLAVOR TOWN.

SHAKJNG YOU VIOLENTLY

I DAYDREAM ABOUT BULLYING HIM JNTO LETTING ME STAY WITH HIM OVER SCHOOL BREAKS SO I CAN PROPERLY FEED HIM-

Ok, ngl, didn’t think this hard about it but it made me fall into a mini rabbit hole.

Cus like the only characters drawn with jagged teeth are Jade, Floyd and Idia. Jade and Floyd are from the ocean and idk how you cook underwater so they probably eat their food raw and that makes sense cus their eels.

Idia? He’s not a beastman or a merperson. He’s literally just some guy with sharp teeth. (Not to mention that the predator beastmen we see aren’t fully carnivores. They have molars and muscles that let them chew their food thoroughly).

Looking it up, carnivorous animals don’t actually chew, they use their sharp teeth to rip meat into smaller pieces that they can swallow. So on that wavelength, Idia would probs be similar, BUT! He’s not gonna eat raw meat. Ew. And cooked meat can be more tough. So, how do we fix this?

Soup. Tender meats (like wagyu). Shredded meats. Noodles. Dishes that you tend to swallow instead of chew.

There are so many vegetarian lentil soups you can make. They’re super healthy (cus lentils) and taste so good. Not to mention all the pasta dishes he could have (peanut noodles come to mind). Yum. There’s this slow cooker ramen recipe I wanna make and it had shredded beef. I feel like he’d go to town on that.

But yeah, he’s not gonna go out of his way to make or find recipes. So he sticks with his instant ramen.

Once you start cooking for him it’s over. I don’t think he could go back to the bland microwaveable food. Get him iron rich recipes and he’s gonna wonder why he doesn’t feel so lightheaded anymore 💀

In conclusion, you will become his personal chef and he will start to feel healthier. Especially when he realizes there are a ton of options for him, you just gotta look.

[writinginatree]

Breakfast Gone Wrong

Relationship(s): The lost boys & reader

Summary: You get hurt by what was supposed to be your victim, and your overprotective vampire brothers get overprotective.

Warnings: Canon-typical violence, injury, blood drinking, swearing, vampire!reader, written from David's point of view.

Requested by @mizgames way back in February. I'm so so sorry for taking so extremely long to get this done. It's also a little different from your exact request because I remembered it wrong and didn't read the request again before I started writing, but I hope you still like it anyway!

David knew it was a bad idea to let you hunt on your own. He fucking knew it. That's all he can think of as he rushes to your side, following your pained screams. He should have never let you out of his sight, but you were just so goddamn stubborn he hadn't been able to change your mind. In a fit of what he can only classify as teenage rebellion, and for absolutely no reason other than being a brat, you had suddenly decided that you're a big, grown-up vampire perfectly capable of hunting alone. And David, wrapped around your little finger as he is, had given in and agreed, despite knowing he shouldn't.

He told you not to go too far away from him and the others, to pick an easy victim, to call him if you needed help.

And now here you are, writhing in the sand with a wooden stake through your stomach. He left you unsupervised for five, ten minutes at most. This will definitely have been the last time he ever let you out of his sight. He'll be damned if he takes the risk of something like this ever happening again. Nope, you're grounded — for the rest of all eternity.

The asshole who did this is currently being torn apart by Paul and Marko, while Dwayne is already kneeling by your side, assessing the graveness of your injury. David joins him, since the feral blondes clearly don't need his help. He wordlessly holds you down as Dwayne pulls the wood from your body.

You cry out in pain, try to sit up and get away, but David is stronger and keeps you in place.

He's looking anywhere but at your face. If there's one thing he can't stand it's seeing you suffer. If he looks at your tearstained face for too long he might just start crying too.

Finally Dwayne has pulled the stake — which on closer inspection is just a branch that was probably meant to feed a bonfire — free, and your wails die down into soft sobs. He lifts your head onto his lap, stroking your hair, as David holds your hands and murmurs soothing words.

Paul and Marko drag what's left of your attacker over to you, letting his blood trickle directly into your mouth. You instinctively gulp it down, though David is pretty certain you don't even consciously notice anything going on around you through the pain clouding your mind.

You'll need a lot more blood than what's left in this guy to regain your strength. In their ripping him to shreds, Marko and Paul wasted a lot of the precious liquid, which now uselessly stains the sand a few feet beside your weak form. David decides it's only fair if they're the ones to have to go and find another victim to feed you with, while he and Dwayne watch over you.

For a moment he considers immediately taking you back to the cave, but dismisses the idea as quickly as it came. With how weak you are, David doesn't want to risk moving you just yet. Not until they've gotten some more blood into you.

The other two have only been gone a few minutes, but David can't take watching you like this any longer. He pushes back his sleeve and pierces his skin with his fangs, holding the wound to your lips. You instantly start sucking his blood, and he can almost watch as some semblance of life slowly returns to your face.

"Don't give them too much," Dwayne cautions. "You weakening yourself too is the last thing we need right now."

"I know."

"They'll be fine."

"I know," David repeats, and it's halfway true. The logically thinking part of him does know that. But there's also that other part, the part that can't watch you cry, the part that would go insane if he lost you. It's the same part of him that upon meeting you all those years ago instantly declared himself your older brother, a feeling that has only been amplified after being turned into vampires. He doesn't doubt the others feel the same. As the youngest of their group you have them all extremely protective over you, though David is aware he's the most protective of you by far. Maybe even a bit too much so, though he would never admit that. It's only natural, he thinks, after all he was the first to become your brother.

But Dwayne is right, he shouldn't let his feelings get the best of him. You're going to be okay. Paul and Marko should be back with a human blood donor for you soon, anyway. He just wanted to make sure you could hold out until then.

Now you almost look strong enough to drain a victim yourself if they hold it down for you, and after you feed you'll definitely be strong enough to sit on David's bike and let him take you back to the safety of the cave. He almost thinks you'll even be strong enough to be a brat and protest, but David will not let you change his mind about grounding you. Your safety comes first, your happiness second.

He pries his arm from your mouth and wipes a few stray drops of blood from your chin with his gloved hand.

You blink up at him, seemingly a lot more aware of your surroundings than just a couple minutes ago.

"How are you feeling, kitten?"

"Ouchie."

David chuckles despite himself. "Yeah, you could say that. What were you thinking?!"

"He looked like an easy victim..." Your voice is weak, hoarse with tears, but David is relieved you're already wearing your typical bratty pout again. "How was I supposed to know he'd try and gut me?!"

"People tend not to like it when you're trying to kill them."

"That's not a reason to stab someone!"

David thinks of all the times you came close to biting his or one of the other boys' fingers off for minor offences like wanting a bite of your food or wiping dirt from your face. Just last week you threatened to stab David with your ice cream cone because he said you couldn't stay at the boardwalk any longer if you wanted to be home at the cave before the sun came up.

"Uh-huh."

He shares a look with Dwayne, and knows he's thinking the same thing.

Just then Paul and Marko come back, a woman's limp body hanging between them. They dump her beside you. "Here, baby, we knocked her out for you."

For a moment you just stare, like you're not sure what you're supposed to do with her, or too exhausted to lean over and bite her. But then you move, sinking your teeth deep into her throat and David smells the blood when your teeth break the skin.

The boys sit around you in a protective circle and watch as you drink. They're hungry too, after all they barely had time to find victims of their own, let alone suck them dry, before your cry for help drew them away. But they hold back. They can wait.

Silently communicating they agree to bring you home, and then go out to feed in pairs, so there's always two of them with you. It's an unnecessary precaution, of course, but that doesn't bother them. It will bother you — or at least you'll say it does. You always pretend to be annoyed by their protectiveness, by being babied by them so much, as you like to phrase it. But the way you always hide under David's coat, make Paul give you piggyback rides and Dwayne read to you, and insist on Marko doing your hair for you says different. You might be pissed at David for grounding you, but he doesn't doubt you'll secretly love being the center of attention like that — even more so than usual.

Paul has curled up by your side now, arms wrapped around you and nuzzling his head against your shoulder. You briefly interrupt your feeding to hiss at him. David is glad to see it — the fact you're defending your food is a sure sign you're feeling better.

When you're done there's blood smeared all over your face. Dwayne wipes it away with his flag, making you whine and try to push away his hands. "I'm not a baby, Dwayne!"

Oh yes, you're definitely feeling better.

Still, you allow David to pick you up and carry you back to where the bikes are parked, snuggling against his chest and refusing to be put back down when you've reached the bikes. David sighs and climbs on his bike with you, sitting you in front of him and telling you to hold on tight to him, despite you already doing that.

Back at the cave you still refuse to let go, so David carries you inside and settles in your favorite spot — a sort of nest you've built in a small alcove going off the main cave, consisting of a mattress covered in a pile of countless fluffy blankets and pillows, with all the stuffed animals the boys have won for you at the boardwalk over the years strewn all over the place — with you on his lap.

Paul runs after him, and throws himself down beside the both you, cuddling close. Once he's done squirming around to get comfortable he's halfway laying on top of David, too, his face pressed so deep into your side he would probably suffocate if he were human.

It reminds David that he wasn't the only one worried about you, as he watches the tension seep from Paul's body now that you're in safety and he can hold you close. Since it's obvious Paul won't be letting go of you for a while, Marko and Dwayne head out to feed first, each pressing a kiss to your forehead before they go.

You're close to falling asleep, despite how early in the night it still is. No wonder after what you just went through.

David brushes his hand over your face, gently traces the bridge of your nose up to your forehead and back down in a soothing motion, watches your eyelids flutter as you fight to stay awake.

David well remembers a night much like this one, many years ago when you had all still been human, kids living on the streets. You'd been attacked then, too, by a man who'd caught you trying to steal from him. You still have the scar on your chin, where his knife grazed you before you got away. Then, like now, you'd clung to David for the rest of the night, hiding in the questionable safety of his arms.

He traces over the scar on your chin, wondering if today's injury will leave one, too. He supposes not. Vampires don't get scars as far as he's aware, but then again there's still so much he doesn't know about all this, even after decades of undead life.

"Sleep, kitten. You've got to rest."

An agreeing hum comes from Paul's direction, but you continue forcing your eyes to stay open.

"I'm not even tired."

He ignores the wornout lie and says, "You're hurt. The sooner you go to sleep, the sooner you'll feel better."

You seem to consider this for a moment, absentmindedly playing with Paul's hair and snuggling even closer to David, if that's even possible.

Finally you nod. "Fine. But you have to stay with me the whole time. I'll get nightmares if you make me sleep alone."

David hadn't expected anything else, and agrees. He doesn't mind going hungry in favor of watching over you, even if he knows you've never had a nightmare in your life.

He keeps stroking your face, slowly lulling you to sleep.

Paul, never one to keep still for long, starts fidgeting, and David throws him a glare. "Stay still or go do something else. You're keeping Y/N up."

"Sing us a lullaby then."

Before David can even think to tell Paul to fuck off, your eyes shoot wide open again, and you nod. "Yes, David, sing us a lullaby!"

With a heavy sigh David resigns to his fate. He really needs to learn how to say no to you, but of course that's never going to happen. And, seeing the content little smile on your face, he can't really bring himself to mind.

[guywrestlingaddiction]

Everything Great About a Match: Kayden Keller v Christian Taylor (bgeast.com)

Everything Great About a Match: +9

Kayden Keller v Christian Taylor (bgeast.com)

SPOILER ALERT: I highly recommend viewing this match in its entirety before reading this post.

So let's begin: 

+1: For the Kayden-Christian pairing.  I love it when two of the men I obsess over get together and make gay wrestling magic happen.  Is this a throw back? Maybe, but I'd like to think that somewhere out there is a young gay man "discovering" this match and sparking within him a love of gay wrestling.  If that's you out there then I envy the journey you're about to take!

Christian: Am I supposed to be intimidated by this? Kayden: You will be ...

+1: For Christian.  I've been a fan of the man since he started and this version is probably the hottest.  The man is upgrading hard to "Twunk" mode and it shows.  Those arms, that chest, those abs ... I'm not the only one that wants those, just check out the expression Kayden has in each scene; he's a fan too!  

Christian Upright

Christian on his back. 

+1: I love a ring match.  Full stop.  And as Kayden rightly points out, Christian has few of those lying around so to see our twunk in a ring/mat encounter is definitely worth a point.  There's just something sacred about the gay wrestling ring with two men using all parts of that space to grind down the other man.  

Christian: Welcome to the mat!

+1: For all the ab bashing. Those long, ripped abs are repeatedly destroyed.  You really can't blame anyone I mean, they make a beautiful tempting target just begging to be tested.  Surely something so perfect needs to be broken. 

+1: For the pec claws.  Kayden is taking those pecs for a test drive here.  This Twunk, buff, sinewy version of Christian is reduced to a groveling twink after Kayden has his way.  

+1: For Kayden tearing Christian to shreds.  Like all artists, the man loves what he does and you can sense the passion in his work.  Kayden uses every dirty trick to work Christian's strapping body from all angles revealing the sounds of groans, pink abused muscle, and the light tap of submissions to highlight his work.  This brings us to another lesson today - Heels don't need to cheat.  They cheat because they can.  

Heels cheat because they can.

+1:  The sexy signature move - Christian "The Kiss" Taylor.  As I mentioned earlier, Christian knows how to use that kiss to his advantage.  He may not be the biggest, baddest, wrestler out there but the man's kiss sure is powerful.  He's taken down heels with that lip lock before and even Kayden isn't immune to this.  

But wait there's more... this deserves a bonus point [+1] for turning the man's sexy signature move against him. Kayden is tempted but not swayed with lust, the guy's a true gay wrestling professional after all.  He's turned on but doesn't lose his head.  Can't say most of us would have that kind of will power.  

And there's still more ... You see if turning your opponent's signature move against him isn't sufficient to prove how much of heel you are, how about adding a muscle worship twist variation to this?  Definitely worth another bonus point [+1] for submitting your jobber with your bicep only to have him so turned on that he worships said muscles.  Kayden's manly musk is so over powering that Christian can't help but worship the superior man.  

------- Everything Great About this Match: +9

So there you have it.  I don't use this compliment lightly but this match embodies everything I LOVE about gay wrestling.  Now I'm sure we could all guess the outcome of this match from the start but the journey is what really sells this match.  From Kayden's brutal beating to the little noises Christian makes whenever he transitions from agony to ecstasy; Two physically matched studs enter the ring only for one to be utterly taken apart and left a sweaty, submissive mess.  In the end Christian was dominated and his opponent victoriously took what he wants.  

Kayden's devious grin says it all.  I. own. my. opponent. You see a victory isn't simply settled with a "pin" in this sport. No, the pin is just the beginning. A win in this sport is when you own the other man both physically and emotionally, and that my friends is the true heart of gay wrestling.  

[mercillery]

STRAWHATS AND WAXING…

WARNINGS: GENDER NOT SPECIFIED + NOT PROOFREAD

SUMMARY: Just hcs on how some of the strawhats are like during the waxing experience. You’re the one waxing them btw.

CHARACTERS: Luffy + Zoro + Nami

NOTES: I made this random mess because I got my face waxed for the first time a few days ago and they peeled a small part of my skin off. I wish I was joking.

When Luffy first hears about waxing, his initial reaction is pure confusion. He tilts his head, eyes wide, as if you've just told him about a new, mysterious kind of devil fruit. "Waxing? What’s that?" he'd ask, genuinely clueless, probably thinking it's some sort of bizarre new adventure or maybe even a weird dessert. In Luffy's world, anything unknown is either something to eat or something fun to do, so naturally, he'd assume waxing falls into one of those categories.

You’d have to break it down for him in the simplest terms possible: "It's a way to remove hair. Like, pulling it out so it’s not there anymore." He blinks a few times, processing this new information. "Remove hair? But why would anyone want to do that?" he’d ask, clearly baffled by the concept. For him, the idea of going out of your way to get rid of something as trivial as hair is as foreign as trying to understand why Sanji doesn’t just eat the ingredients instead of cooking them.

Once he finally gets it—or at least he thinks he does—his curiosity piques. But not for the reasons you'd expect. He might think the wax is some sort of edible goo (which, let's be honest, he'd probably try to eat). Or he might be intrigued because it sounds like a new kind of challenge. "Does it hurt? Is it like a fight?" he'd ask with an eager grin, already ready to face this 'hair-removal' challenge head-on. You can almost see the gears turning in his head as he imagines waxing to be some sort of mini-battle he has to win.

Now, Luffy isn’t exactly known for his patience or for thinking things through, so when you finally explain that it involves ripping hair out by the roots, he just shrugs it off. Pain? Discomfort? Those are small potatoes for the guy who’s taken down warlords and emperors. "Let’s do it!" he’d declare, without even a hint of hesitation. After all, in his mind, if it’s something new and weird, it’s got to be worth a shot.

Luffy, being the impulsive bundle of energy that he is, obviously doesn’t have a shred of patience—especially when it comes to something as boring as the prep work for waxing. The moment you start heating the wax, he’s already squirming in his seat, looking like he’s about to jump out of his skin. He watches you like a hawk, his eyes darting between the wax and your every movement. It feels like time has slowed down—that's how bored he is right now.

“Come on, just do it already!” he’ll exclaim, practically bouncing up and down with impatience. The waiting is torture for him, and you can tell he’s seconds away from grabbing the wax himself and slapping it on in whatever haphazard way he can manage.

It’s like trying to calm down a hyperactive kid who’s been told he has to wait five minutes before opening his birthday presents. Patience is not in his vocabulary, and the idea of sitting still while you carefully prepare everything is almost more than he can bear. And honestly, with Luffy, you know the clock’s ticking before he does something crazy, so you better hurry up.

 When the waxing process finally begins, Luffy is… well, to put it mildly, underwhelmed. He thought this whole thing was going to be a lot more exciting, maybe even a little dangerous—something worthy of a future Pirate King, you know? But instead, it's just you, applying warm wax and smoothing down strips with what seems like no end in sight. He starts fidgeting almost immediately, shifting around as if the chair is suddenly the most uncomfortable place in the world—it’s not, he’s just really bored. He might even start poking at the wax with a finger, trying to figure out what all the fuss is about.

“Can’t you go faster?” he’ll whine, looking at you with those big, expectant eyes that are practically begging for some kind of action. The boredom is killing him. Luffy’s the type who thrives on chaos and excitement, not sitting still while something as mundane as hair removal drags on. He’s clearly disappointed that this isn’t turning out to be the grand adventure he somehow imagined it might be.

However…

The moment that first strip is ripped off, everything changes. The look of boredom is instantly replaced by sheer shock as Luffy’s whole body jolts. His eyes go wide, and without missing a beat, he lets out a loud, explosive yell. “OW! WHAT WAS THAT?!” He practically leaps out of his seat, clutching the now-hairless spot as if he’s just been ambushed by an invisible enemy. It’s not that Luffy can’t handle pain—it’s the surprise of it all that really gets him.

Even though you carefully explained the whole process beforehand, he somehow managed to forget about that crucial detail. He was too focused on the idea of wax being some weird new eatable substance to pay attention to the part where you mentioned that it might, you know, hurt a bit. His reaction is pure Luffy: loud, dramatic, and completely honest. You can’t help but laugh a little as he rubs his arm, still looking at you like you’ve just pulled the ultimate prank of betrayal on him.

But if you think the pain is going to make Luffy tap out, you’ve got another thing coming. The shock may have caught him off guard, but backing down? That’s not in his nature. Instead, Luffy’s all in—gritting his teeth and getting ready for the next round, like he’s about to face down a sea king. The pain with each wax strip is real, but it’s also the one thing keeping him from reaching that extreme level of boredom that was starting to gnaw at him earlier.

Every time you rip off another strip, his eyes widen for a split second, and you can see him visibly brace himself, but then he’s right back to his usual self, shaking off the pain with a grin. “Hah! That one wasn’t so bad!” he’d boast, even though you can tell from the way he’s rubbing the spot that he definitely felt it.

And in true Luffy fashion, he starts to get into it, almost like he’s made a game out of enduring the waxing. He’ll throw out little challenges, like daring you to rip the next one off faster or harder, because if he’s going to do this, he’s going to go all out. “Come on, hit me with your best shot!” he’d say, grinning even though you know he’s still feeling each pull.

 But as determined as Luffy is, eventually, the boredom creeps back in. He’s the type who needs constant action, and once the novelty of the pain wears off, there’s not much left to keep him entertained. After a few more strips, you notice he’s not reacting as much—his bravado is still there, but the excitement has clearly faded. He starts to tolerate the pain to the point where it’s just another thing happening to him, like getting rained on during a storm.

Before long, you hear the unmistakable sound of snoring. You glance over to see him slouched in the chair, completely conked out as if he’s taking a nap on the Sunny. His body is so used to pushing through discomfort that it just decided, “Why not catch some Z’s?”

You don’t even need to check if he’s okay—those snores are a clear enough sign. You work as quickly as you can, ripping off the strips one after another, half expecting him to wake up at any moment. But he just keeps snoring away, completely oblivious to the fact that he’s still in the middle of a waxing session.

When you finally finish and wake him up, Luffy blinks groggily, still half asleep as you tell him it’s all done. It takes a moment for the realization to sink in, but when it does, his eyes light up like you’ve just told him there’s a mountain of meat waiting for him. He immediately sits up and admires his newly smooth, hairless legs with the same enthusiasm he’d have for discovering a treasure chest.

“Whoa! My legs are so smooth!” he exclaims, rubbing his hands over his legs in amazement. He’s completely mesmerized by the feel of his skin, as if it’s the coolest thing in the world right now. You can already tell that any discomfort or redness is the last thing on his mind.

And before you can even suggest taking it easy, Luffy’s already up and bolting out of the room, eager to show off his fantastic new smooth legs to the rest of the crew. “Hey, guys! Check this out!” he shouts, practically bursting onto the deck with a wide grin plastered on his face. He’s flexing his legs, striking exaggerated poses like he’s just achieved something monumental.

“Look how smooth my legs are!” he brags, showing them off to anyone who will listen. He’s so caught up in his own excitement that he’s completely oblivious to the lingering redness or any stares of confusion from the crew. Even if they’re wondering why he’s so excited about hairless legs, Luffy doesn’t care—he’s just thrilled to have something new to show off.

 If someone asks him how it was, Luffy will flash that signature grin and say, “It was easy!”—completely forgetting that he’d screamed bloody murder when the first strip was ripped off. To him, the pain is already a distant memory, replaced by the thrill of showing off his new, smooth legs.

Meanwhile, the rest of the crew is left in a mix of surprise and confusion. They’re all quietly wondering how on earth you managed to get Luffy to sit still for so long without him bouncing around or possibly even eating the wax. The idea of Luffy sitting through the entire waxing process without causing total chaos is almost more shocking to them than the fact that he went through with it in the first place.

When the idea of waxing is first brought up, Zoro’s reaction is about as predictable as you’d expect. He barely gives it a second thought before letting out a low, uninterested grunt and going right back to whatever he was doing—probably napping or lifting absurdly heavy weights. Grooming beyond the basics just isn’t his thing. In Zoro’s mind, as long as he’s clean and his swords are sharp, there’s no need for anything extra, especially something as seemingly frivolous as waxing.

His first response would probably be a blunt, “No way,” with a look that says he’s already decided the conversation is over. You can tell that he’s genuinely baffled by the idea. Why on earth would he willingly let someone rip out his hair for no reason? The whole concept just doesn’t compute with him, especially when it’s not going to help him train or fight better.

If you push the idea a little further, maybe teasing him about how even the toughest swordsmen could benefit from smooth skin, he’d probably snap back with something like, “Why would I let someone rip my hair out for no reason?” There’s a hint of irritation in his voice, as if the whole suggestion is almost offensive to his sensibilities. Zoro’s the type who lives by practicality—if it doesn’t make him stronger or help him achieve his goals, it’s not worth his time.

 The only way you’re getting Zoro to agree to waxing is if he’s somehow backed into a corner with no other way out. Maybe he lost a bet after one too many drinks, or someone bribed him with a stash of rare alcohol. Or maybe, just maybe, he’s doing it to shut someone up—most likely Sanji, who’s probably been teasing him nonstop about being too scared to go through with it. Even in that case, though, Zoro would make it crystal clear that this isn’t his idea of fun.

When he finally agrees, it’s with an irritated sigh and a muttered, “This better be quick,” as if he’s about to endure some grueling, unnecessary challenge. You can almost feel the weight of his reluctance hanging in the air, and he’s definitely giving you a look that says he’s only doing this because he has no other choice. It’s a rare moment, almost like spotting an endangered species in the wild—Zoro, the one who faces down powerful enemies without flinching, is now about to endure the ultimate test of patience.

This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and you know it. Getting Zoro to sit still for something as non-essential as waxing is nothing short of a miracle, so you best not let it slip through your fingers. It’s clear that he’s mentally preparing himself, as if this is just another battle to get through—one that he’s determined to endure but not exactly thrilled about.

  Like Luffy, Zoro has zero patience when it comes to things that waste his time, and waxing is no exception. The moment the process begins, you can practically feel the impatience and irritation radiating off him. As soon as you start heating the wax or doing any kind of prep work, Zoro’s already showing signs of frustration. He’s tapping his foot, arms crossed tightly over his chest, and scowling as if the entire process is some sort of personal insult.

“Is this really necessary?” He’d grumble under his breath, casting a sharp glance your way as if daring you to say otherwise. Unlike Luffy, who would probably be whining and fidgeting, Zoro’s complaints are more subdued but no less pointed. He’s the type to internalize his frustration, letting it out in low, growly mutters and the occasional heavy sigh. The whole thing feels like an unnecessary distraction to him—one that’s taking way too long for his liking. Still, he’s not backing down.

Every minute that passes just adds to his annoyance. He’ll let out a groan every time you mention there’s another step or that the wax isn’t quite ready yet. The delay is clearly getting on his nerves, and you can tell that if it were up to him, he’d already be done and back to his training. But instead, he’s stuck here, enduring this tedious process with nothing but his grumbles and scowls to show for it.

 When the wax is finally applied, Zoro’s expression remains as stone-faced as ever. There’s no way he’d let anyone see that he’s uncomfortable, especially over something like this. He sits there with a cold, indifferent look, acting as if the warm wax is just another insignificant obstacle in his day.

He’s not scared—Zoro doesn’t do scared. He’s just getting himself ready for the moment you rip off that first strip. It’s like he’s preparing for a fight—not with an enemy, but with the sharp sting he knows is coming. His eyes narrow slightly as the wax hardens, and you can almost see the gears turning in his head, calculating the best way to endure this new form of discomfort.

When you finally rip off that first strip, Zoro doesn’t scream, flinch, or give you the satisfaction of seeing him react. He’s been through far worse than this, and he’s not about to let something as small as waxing get the better of him. The sting is sharp and sudden, but Zoro just grits his teeth, his jaw clenching ever so slightly as he breathes out in a slow, controlled manner. That’s the only sign you get that he even felt it.

As more strips are applied and ripped off, Zoro’s irritation steadily grows—not because of the pain but because of the sheer, mind-numbing repetition of it all. For someone who thrives on action and hates being idle, this process is torture in its own right. The longer he has to sit still, the more his patience wears thin. You can see it in the way his brow furrows and the slight twitch in his jaw as he tries to keep his frustration in check.

“How much longer is this going to take?” he finally asks, his tone laced with impatience. There’s no mistaking the edge in his voice; he’s clearly reaching the end of his rope. His gaze flickers down to his still very hairy legs, and you can practically feel the silent judgment radiating off of him. It’s as if he’s questioning every decision that led him to this moment, where he’s stuck sitting through what feels like an endless ordeal.

A long, loud silence hangs in the air as your eyes trace over the hair still covering his legs. This is obviously going to take a very long time. But as you glance back at Zoro, the last thing you want to do is push him over the edge. With a small, reassuring smile and eyes that do their best to hide the truth, you muster up your most convincing tone and say, “Not long.” You know you’re lying through your teeth, but hey, it’s for the sake of Zoro’s sanity.

 But despite the mounting irritation gnawing at him, Zoro wouldn’t back down or even think about asking to stop. Once he’s committed to something, no matter how trivial or annoying, he sees it through to the bitter end. His stubbornness is practically legendary, and there’s no way he’d let something as simple as waxing break his resolve. The idea of quitting? Not even on his radar. Zoro isn’t about to give anyone the satisfaction of thinking he can’t handle it.

Besides, he knows for a fact that if he even hinted at tapping out, Sanji would never let him live it down. The thought of that smug blonde cook mocking him is enough to keep Zoro going, his pride and stubbornness fueling him through every irritating strip. So he toughs it out with grit in his jaw and steel in his eyes.

 Once the waxing ordeal is finally over, Zoro will act as though it is no big deal. There wouldn’t be any complaints or mentions of pain—he’d simply brush it off with his usual nonchalance. “Done already?” he might say, as if the whole thing was just a minor inconvenience, nothing worth talking about.

Internally, though, Zoro would feel a wave of relief wash over him. He’d never say it out loud, but he’s glad it’s over. The thought of sitting through another round of that repetitive, irritating process? No, thank you. He’s more than ready to move on to something that actually matters—like getting in some serious training, polishing his swords, or finding the nearest sunny spot on the ship for a well-deserved nap.

 Even if his skin is red and irritated afterward, Zoro wouldn’t show the slightest sign of discomfort. He’d carry on with his day like nothing happened, even if the soreness lingers with every move he makes. To anyone who might notice the redness and dare to ask how he’s feeling, he’d give them a simple, “I’m fine,” in that gruff, no-nonsense tone that shuts down any further questioning.

Don’t even think about suggesting that he try it again. Zoro’s already made up his mind—this was a one-time thing, and there’s no chance he’s ever doing it again. Once was more than enough, and he doesn’t see any reason to put himself through that kind of hassle a second time. If you’re ever brave enough to suggest it in the future, you’ll be met with a hard glare and a flat, uncompromising “no.” There’s no room for negotiation in that tone.

From that moment on, Zoro will subtly avoid any situation where waxing could possibly come up again. If he hears the word “waxing” in passing conversation, he won’t even acknowledge it; he’ll just walk away without a word, his mind already moving on to more important matters. The crew might chuckle about it behind his back, but Zoro doesn’t care. As far as he’s concerned, this is one experience he’s leaving firmly in the past. He literally wants nothing to do with wax ever again.

My girl is a seasoned veteran when it comes to waxing. She’s practically a walking encyclopedia on the subject, knowing all the different types of waxes, which ones are best for specific skin types, and which methods give the smoothest results. She could probably run a beauty salon in her sleep if she wanted to, though she’d charge a hefty fee for it. With all that being said, when you bring up the idea of a waxing session, she’s more than ready to jump on board. She’s no stranger to grooming and self-care; in fact, it’s something she prioritizes.

When the waxing begins, Nami is completely relaxed. She’s no stranger to this, and her confidence shines through. She'll engage in casual conversation with you, keeping the atmosphere light and friendly. However, despite her composed demeanor, she can’t entirely shake the anticipation of the pain that’s about to come.

The thought of wax strips being ripped off makes her just a little bit edgy. To ease her nerves, she might ask, “You’ve done this before, right?” The question comes out half-joking, but there’s an underlying need for reassurance. Whether you decide to tease her or not is up to you, but be careful—you might end up on the receiving end of her temper for playing with her like that.

She knows waxing isn’t exactly a painless experience, so she prepares herself mentally. When the first strip is pulled off, she might exhale sharply, but she won’t scream or cause a scene. Instead, she’ll bite her lip and maybe squint her eyes briefly before quickly regaining her composure. “That was nothing,” she’ll mutter, partly to herself, determined to get through the session with as little fuss as possible.

Throughout the waxing process, Nami would keep the atmosphere light and breezy, effortlessly weaving a stream of witty commentary to distract herself from the sting and keep things fun. “You know, I’ve had marines chasing me who were less painful than this,” she might say with a smirk, her voice steady despite the sharp tugs on her skin.

If Luffy or another crewmate happened to wander by during the session, Nami wouldn’t miss the chance to throw a playful jab their way. “Hey Luffy, I bet you’d cry like a baby if you tried this,” she’d tease, knowing full well that Luffy’s curiosity (and his competitive nature) would probably lead him to try it just to prove her wrong. Honestly, that might be how you got him to sit down for waxing in the first place.

But despite the jokes and banter, Nami wouldn’t let the conversation stray too far from the task at hand. She’s someone who can multitask like a pro, keeping up a lively chat while making sure you’re following the process correctly. “So have you ever tried sugaring? It’s less harsh on the skin,” she might ask casually, as if you’re both just having a normal conversation over tea rather than ripping hair out by the roots.

For the most part, though, the two of you would be chatting away like it was just another day. Nami’s not the type to let a little pain faze her, and she’d take the opportunity to catch up, swap stories, or maybe even get the latest gossip from you.

Once the waxing is done, Nami will pause to admire the results, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction as she runs her fingers over her freshly smooth skin. “Now this is what I’m talking about,” she’d say with a pleased smile, clearly impressed with how everything turned out. Any lingering redness or irritation wouldn’t phase her in the slightest; she’d already have some soothing lotion on hand, applying it with the practiced ease of someone who’s been through this routine many times before.

After making sure everything’s perfect, she’d flash you a grin. “You did a great job,” she’d say, a hint of genuine appreciation in her tone. And because she’s not one to keep something good to herself, she’d probably hold out her leg toward you with a mischievous glint in her eye. “Go ahead, feel how smooth they are,” she’d encourage, clearly eager to show off just how soft her skin is now.

 But just when you thought you were in the clear, happily basking in the relief that Nami enjoyed the waxing session despite the occasional sting, Nami gives you a smile—one of those sweet, too-innocent ones that immediately puts you on edge. Before you can even process what’s happening, Nami turns to you with that sweet, knowing smile of hers, holding up the waxing materials like a challenge. “Your turn!” she announces cheerfully, and it dawns on you that things are far from over.

ﾟ｡ ₍ ꙳⸌ ♡ BONUS ♡⸍ ꙳ ₎ ｡ﾟ

You blink, momentarily dumbfounded. “Wait, what? Nami, no, I’m good. Really. I’m totally fine.” But she’s not hearing any of it. “Come on, we’re going to have matching smooth legs! It’ll be fun!”

“Fun for who?” You protest, trying to back away as she advances with the wax strips. “Nami, seriously, I think I’ll pass. I’m more of a ‘keep my hair’ kind of person.”

“Oh, come on,” Nami insists, her smile widening as she edges closer. “It’s not that bad! We’re gonna match—smooth legs for everyone!”

You try to squirm out of it, but Nami’s determination is as solid as the Thousand Sunny itself. “Nami, please, we can talk about this! I’ll give you all my berries, or maybe I can wax someone else for you!”

“Not a chance,” she grins. “You’ve already committed. Now hold still!” Before you know it, she’s expertly applying the wax, and your protests turn into frantic pleas. “Nami, come on, let’s not do anything rash.”

“Too late!” she chirps as she preps the first strip. “You’re going to love this.”

“NAMI, WAIT—!”

With a swift motion, Nami rips off the first strip, and in that instant, you feel a jolt of fiery pain shoot through your leg. It’s like your soul has just been forcibly evicted from your body.

“AARRRRGHHHH!” The scream that escapes your lips is loud, raw, and absolutely blood-curdling. It echoes through the entire ship, startling birds from nearby trees and probably sending some poor marine scrambling for cover somewhere in the distance.

The rest of the crew pauses mid-task as they hear your shriek of horror.

“Sounds like someone’s having a rough time,” Zoro comments, raising an eyebrow but not moving from his spot.

“Are they… Are they torturing someone in there?” Usopp asks, wide-eyed.

But before anyone can even think of rushing to your aid, Nami’s calm, reassuring voice rings out, though it’s almost drowned out by your continued screams of agony. “It’s fine, it’s fine! Everything’s under control!” she calls, her tone as soothing as someone trying to calm a wild animal. “Just a little waxing!”

Inside the room, you’re practically convulsing, clutching your leg with a mix of horror and disbelief. “Nami…that was—ow—absolutely brutal! I think I’m dying!” Nami’s smile is as bright as ever as she pats your shoulder encouragingly. “Oh, don’t be so dramatic. It isn’t that bad, just a little sting!”

The second strip is suddenly torn off, and you let out another soul-piercing scream that echoes throughout the entire ship. The sound is so loud and terrifying that even the fish swimming under the Thousand Sunny probably stop dead in their tracks.

Meanwhile, outside, the crew is collectively wincing with every scream you let out. “Maybe we should just let them handle it,” Robin suggests with a small smile, knowing better than to get in Nami’s way.

“Yeah, good luck to them,” Franky adds, cringing as another scream reverberates through the air.

Luffy, who’s lounging nearby, tilts his head and grins. “Hey, maybe they’ll have smooth legs like me!”

Back in the room, you’re gripping the sides of your seat, your knuckles white as you endure yet another strip being pulled off. “Nami, this has to be illegal in at least ten countries!”

“Relax, you’re doing great!” Nami reassures you, her voice as chipper as ever, even as you let out another ear-splitting shriek. “Just a few more and we’ll be done!”

“Just a few more?!” you practically wail, but it’s no use.

The crew collectively decides that maybe it’s best not to check in on you just yet. After all, they know better than to interfere when Nami’s on a mission.

[candycandy00]

Forest Guide - A Toji x Reader Fanfic

Smut. 18+. Toji x Fem Reader. Rough sex. Virgin reader. Size difference. Breeding. Monster fucking. Non-con! Dividers by @benkeibear!

Part of CandyCandy’s 2k Followers Event! Any feedback whatsoever would be adored! For @idk1375.

When you heard the rumors of a werewolf stalking the woods in the next town over, you figured it would be a great topic for your supernatural themed podcast. So you packed up your gear and headed on over. You put a post on a local forum asking for a guide to take you into the forest, explaining that you were investigating the werewolf rumors, and a man named Toji volunteered. He didn’t even ask to be paid. 

So now you find yourself standing in front of the man as he introduces himself. The first thing you notice is that he’s huge, so much taller than you that you have to crane your neck to look up at his face. He’s ruggedly handsome, with dark hair and the kind of physique men spend years in the gym trying to obtain. All of this combined with his deep voice makes him the kind of man you want to call “Daddy”.

You follow him into the woods, thinking to yourself that he could probably fight off a werewolf with his bare hands. He makes friendly conversation along the way, telling you about some of the rumors you’ve heard, but seeming to have more information about each incident than you read online. Probably because he’s a local. 

He leads you so deeply into the forest that the sun is almost completely blotted out by the trees, making it seem much later and darker than it actually is. It looks like night has fallen, though you know it’s only the afternoon. 

Toji stops in a clearing, surrounded on all sides by towering trees, and turns to look at you. 

“This is the werewolf’s favorite spot to take his victims and feed,” he tells you, a lazy smile on his lips. 

Huh? How does he know that? Wait…

You turn to run back out the way you came, not wanting to wait and find out if your terrible assumption is correct. Either he’s a serial killer pretending to be a werewolf, or…

An ear splitting howl assaults your ears as you reach the tree line, and you hear the sound of fabric ripping. You can’t resist. Two years of running a podcast dedicated to exactly this sort of thing has made you too curious, so you find yourself looking back, even though the logical part of your brain is telling you not to. 

Charging straight for you is Toji, his shirt completely ripped off and his pants shredded. He’s at least nine feet tall now, and the outer edges of his body are covered in a thin layer of black shiny fur. His chest and abdomen, trailing down until his pants cover the rest, are bare, like the reverse of a normal hairy man. 

He catches you in an instant, forcing you to the forest floor on your back, the claws on his hands digging into your shoulders and drawing blood. He leans over you, and you can see that his face has remained nearly unchanged, except for glowing red eyes and a full set of razor sharp teeth.

“You were lookin’ for a werewolf,” he says, his voice even deeper than before, “well you found one, girlie!”

You shriek in terror, thrashing about wildly beneath him. But it’s no use. He’s far too big, too heavy, too strong, for you to budge even an inch. 

“Please don’t kill me!” you cry pitifully, tears streaming down your face as your body goes limp. 

He grins, showing off his teeth. “Now why would I do that to a cute little thing like you?”

With that, he rips off your T-shirt with one swipe, as if it’s made of tissue paper. Next go your shorts, and even your panties, leaving you stunned and completely exposed. 

You scream again, clamping your legs shut, a renewed vigor in your struggle as you realize what he intends to do. 

“I could smell it on you the moment we met,” he says, pinning your bare arms above your head. “You’re untouched by a man.”

You freeze, your eyes widening and your skin burning with embarrassment. He knows you’re a virgin, from scent alone?

He draws back slightly and lets his red eyes roam over your nude body, settling on the spot you’re trying to hard to protect with your pressed thighs. 

“I could smell something else too,” he adds, a low rumbling chuckle escaping his wide mouth. 

He leaves one large hand to hold your wrists together, and lets the other slide down, effortlessly parting your thighs despite your best efforts to keep them closed. You flinch as you feel a clawed finger glide up your slit, then he holds the finger up so that you can see the sticky, glistening fluid dripping off it. 

“I could smell this.”

You close your eyes and turn your face away, too humiliated and horrified to look at him. But he grips your face and turns it back to him. “Don’t go closin’ your eyes, girlie. You’ll wanna see what’s coming.”

You open your eyes and watch, petrified, as he rips the shredded remains of his pants off. And there, between his muscular, fur-covered legs, is a gigantic erection. You’ve heard the term “monster cock” before, but you never imagined even a real, literal monster cock would be this huge. You scream, trying again to close your legs, but he’s already positioned himself between them. 

“Please, no! That thing will kill me!”

He leans his face down close to yours. “I think you can take it,” he says. Then he closes his mouth over yours, plunging his tongue into you, just as he shoves his entire, giant cock into your virgin pussy. 

You scream into his mouth, the sound muffled by his lips, as your body jerks with pain. He gives a few deep, ripping thrusts before he breaks the kiss, grinning down at your sobbing face. “Don’t pass out,” he tells you as your vision starts to go fuzzy. He releases your wrists, knowing there’s nothing you can do regardless, and slowly rakes his claws down your chest. It’s not enough pressure to draw blood, but enough to make you snap to attention at the possibility. 

He fucks into you, so hard and deep that you have no idea how you’re still alive and not bleeding out. He watches your face, making sure you’re awake and aware, eventually moving one hand down to where your bodies meet. Again, you feel a clawed finger in your slick folds, but this time he finds your clit, stroking it and then gently scraping his claw across it. 

You jolt, the unexpected pleasure hitting you like a truck. And then his mouth is on yours again, absorbing the pitiful moans you can’t suppress. 

When you cum, even you are shocked, staring up at him with a stunned, tear-streaked face as your body trembles. 

He laughs again. “Look at you! Cummin’ on my cock even though it’s your first time gettin’ fucked! This little pussy feels so good, I might just put a pup in you!”

You shake your head frantically. “No no no!”

But it’s too late. He shoves in as deeply as he can, and you feel his thick, hot cum filling your womb all the way up. 

He stays that way, buried completely inside you, until he’s sure he’s emptied himself. Then he pulls out. You look down, see that his cock is covered in blood and cum, and you fall back against the ground, exhausted. 

He stands up, and as he does so, reverts to his handsome human form. “If you survive, I’m gonna make you my bride,” he says. You don’t have the energy to respond. He bends down and picks your sore, twitching body up from the ground. “But first, let me take you back to my place and lick your wounds.”

Heat floods your face at those words. You reflexively curl against his strong chest, wondering if you’re now living a nightmare, or a dream.