#alongside art direction

[gamerism]

honestly fuck the "does the story or gameplay matter more" question the truth is the tone matters more than anything else. vampire the masquerade bloodlines has completely shite combat & is honestly not as in-depth as it presents itself story/sidequest-wise but absolutely MASTERS it's grim & gritty 90s tone thru art direction & music which skyrockets it up into my top games easily despite its myriad flaws

[fourfuckinghorsemen]

Maybe I should join a martial arts class.

[yzzart]

── ★｡𖦹°‧ KENJI SATO SEEING THE SCRATCHES ON HIS BACK .ᐟ

୭˚. ᵎᵎ content warnings: mention of sex, oral, back scratching, sexual content.

⭑.ᐟ Everything happened, properly, while Kenji was getting ready to mark his presence, alongside the team, heading to the arena for the match later on. — Coach Shimura ordered him to appear early, something that bothered the player. — Sato didn't need this, it was something dispensable, and he was forced to agree.

⤷ Due to the fact that he was unfortunately removed from your side; unable to cling to your body, cling to your touch or worship, lasciviously. — Longing to feel you once again; even though he had done this moments ago, he was still insatiated by you. — God, just by clicking his tongue, your taste reached his palate.

⭑.ᐟ Getting up from the bed, half-heartedly and with little enthusiasm, and admiring your serene and moderate image as you rested, Kenji fought the urge to ignore the order and lie down next to you; unfortunately and evidently, the sense of responsibility spoke louder.

⤷ And, knowing you like the back of his hand, Kenji knew you would disapprove of him if he did that. — Like a good boyfriend, he wouldn't make you upset.

⭑.ᐟ On his walk to the bathroom, assuming that he could put an end to the indolence that coursed through his body, Sato did not fail to feel some burning pains, small discomforts in his back, awkwardly running his hand around the area. — Ignoring, for now, the mental questions and went to the mirror.

⭑.ᐟ Kenji could already imagine the coach's voice echoing, unbearably, in his ears, scolding him for arriving at least a few minutes later than expected; and he was already reasoning out the most understandable excuse in his mind. — Or he would just say "don't worry, it won't hinder our competence", no, better not; but deep down he would like to say that.

⭑.ᐟ In front of the mirror, which showed his hair, in pure disarray and mess and his discouraged face, feeling bored, but, enigmatically, seductive, Kenji is worried, once again, about the discomforts of his back. — While uttering incoherent mumbles and swear words and directing his hand towards his skin for the second time, Sato allowed himself to turn towards the reflective glass, wanting to know what was bothering him so much.

⤷ And that's how he came across your art.

⭑.ᐟ Kenji's eyes examined, in fact, venerated with prudence and eccentric attention the marks, made by your nails, prominent and so protruding and, at the same time, deliciously burning exposed on his back; expressing an exotic, inconceivable and voluptuous sexual countenance. — The red lines, which blended into the tone of his skin, burned him both physically and mentally.

⤷ He couldn't imagine — oh, this cynical, shameless man believed it — that there was a small, furtive possessive streak coursing through your blood as you yearned, longed, to mark him.

⭑.ᐟ His fingers moved, still in disbelief, over a part of the skin he could reach, and he felt the current protuberances there and Kenji's lips couldn't stop themselves from forming a slutty, depraved smile. — He fucking loved what he was seeing, maybe more than he should have.

⤷ The moans, whimpers, and murmurs, that begged with desire for more, that came out of your beautiful mouth cried out in Kenji's mind; remembering, again, them like a song lyric he had memorized. — Sato began to identify a pulse, a throbbing in his dick and a wave of excitement flood his chest.

⭑.ᐟ Your boyfriend didn't care how fast he had to get to the arena, he would miss the time anyway, and then he contemplated what was captivated about him. — Showing off his corpulent, athletic back, wanting to see the marks better and not wanting them to disappear from view. — Kenji would beg for more of them later, he was sure of it.

⤷ Well, you better pray your nails don't break.

[maximoff-pan]

the ultimate deception | benedict bridgerton (part one)

summary: you are a well known artist who paints under a pseudonym. What happens when Lady Whistledown comes to know of your identity? How will your relationship with Benedict evolve?

pairing: benedict bridgerton x fem!(artist)reader

word count: 4k

warning(s): poor writing and dialogue (sue me, I'm rusty lol), very unedited so if there are mistakes, I apologize, misogyny, penelope aka Lady Whistledown's biggest defender

a/n: this is definitely going to be more than one part, but I wanted to post something after so many months. Let me know how you like it (or don't like it haha)...comments and feedback are much appreciated <3

• • • • • •

“I wish I possessed merely an ounce of your talent.” 

Benedict’s gaze seems to be wholly absorbing your latest painting, a depiction of the botanical wonders of London’s Royal Kew Gardens. 

You puff out a breath, blowing on the feathery end of one of your writing quills. In your haste, it had gotten loose, tickling your face irritatingly. Tucking it back behind your ear, you wave him off. “You have much more talent than you give yourself credit for.” You admit through squinted eyes, scanning your work. “You simply lack conviction. And you worry far too much about what others think of you.”

Benedict smiles, receiving your words as the highest of praise. He reaches out to take a better look at the piece of art before him. “You flatter me.” He mumbles in awe. “But I suppose there’s a chance you could be right.”

Chuckling at his words, you grin knowingly. You’re right. It’s more than a chance…you just are. He knows it too. 

You both continue to steadily eye the painting, you out of critical evaluation of your work, and him in sheer admiration of it. 

Benedict’s favourite part remains the beautifully bloomed magnolias that are scattered across the canvas. He’d been sure to tell you numerous times of their elegance while you’d been working on it, eagerly awaiting the finished product. As you’ve come to realize, Benedict loves watching you work. It’s one of the prices you’ve had to pay for his allowance of your workstation being at Bridgerton House, if you could even call it that.  

You are grateful, truly. You wouldn’t be able to make your own living without his kindness. And you certainly wouldn’t be able to keep to yourself in the way you prefer to. 

“When will Augustus Leighton be displaying his latest work of perfection?” Benedict’s question reminds you of your fate as an artist. 

Augustus Leighton is the pseudonym you paint under. Using his name, you have become a well known artist among the ton, even going so far as to have a painting hung at Buckingham Palace. It’s difficult, you must admit, pretending to be someone else. But it’s a necessary evil.

Painting as a woman would get you nowhere. Especially as a woman with no money (particularly at the time you began), no status, and no husband. 

Your mother is a seamstress with little to her name and your father was a servant to Violet and Edmund Bridgerton, before his heart became too weak. He passed away when you were thirteen, only a few years after the Bridgerton children had lost their own father. You’d grown up with little money, but Violet had been kind to both you and your mother, seeing how close you’d become with her children. 

You were raised alongside them, Benedict and Eloise becoming your closest of friends. At three and twenty, there are five years between you and the two siblings in either direction, with Eloise being freshly eighteen, and Benedict having turned twenty eight. To this day, they remain two of only three people who know of your true identity, outside of Penelope Featherington. 

You hadn’t exactly meant for Eloise or Penelope to find out about it, but once they had, it became comforting to have more than just Benedict to speak to about your predicament. Especially considering, although Benedict has been wonderfully supportive, he could never understand the struggle a woman must endure in a male dominated world.  

“Likely never. This one is a gift for Lady Danbury.” You answer Benedict’s inquiry after a bout of silence. “She’s spoken about her love of these gardens quite regularly, so I thought, why not have Mr. Leighton recreate it for her?” 

“How will you get it to her?” He questions. 

A smile pulls at the corners of your lips. “I have my ways, lest you worry about it.”

• ж • ж • ж • ж •

The next few days are interesting to say the least. You’d somehow managed to get the painting delivered to Lady Danbury, and as far as Violet had been willing to speak of her latest visit with the formidable aforementioned woman, you have been made aware that she adores it. 

You’d also heard more about it from Benedict, who’d mentioned something about her being at a loss for words, an ultimate shock to both him and his mother. They’d never seen her look so bewildered. 

According to Eloise, Lady Danbury had been surprised to receive such a gift, especially of something so near and dear to her heart. She’d said it reminded her of her time with the Queen, telling the young Bridgerton woman about the months just after her husband had passed, when a new independent lifestyle began to bloom for her. 

The painting itself reminded her that women like her could be free, and one day, they would be. That sort of metaphorical mindset had definitely appealed to Eloise’s sense of social justice. She’d been more than excited to tell you about the older woman’s reaction to your art, claiming it to be a wonderful revelation. 

Today though, as you sit in the Bridgerton’s common living room, the opposite representation of said female autonomy rests in your hands. The paper feels rough against your skin as you pass it to Eloise who’s propped excitedly to the left of you. You’ve never been a fan of Lady Whistledown’s gossip column, although you can admire her unabashed confidence. But despite her strong will as an author, which could be seen as an inherently empowering trait, you are of the impression that she goes about it in an entirely backward way. 

Women don’t need to put each other down to build themselves up. It accomplishes nothing, consequently acting as a source of nourishment for the patriarchy you find yourself trapped in. 

“You’re not going to read it?” Eloise asks as she takes the pamphlet from you. 

“I never do.” Is your instant reply. 

Penelope perks up at the mention of the column, eyes trained curiously on you. If you had known better, you’d say she was a little too interested. 

But at this moment you shrug it off, listening with no suspicion as she asks a simple, “Why?”

You don’t have the hindsight to understand why your stomach turns at her question, but you respond anyway. “I tend to think of Lady Whistledown as a poison.” It’s the first time you’ve voiced such an opinion. 

Penelope and Eloise turn to you in surprise. “Come again?” Penelope’s soft voice cuts through. 

“She is a poison.” You repeat before explaining yourself. “Do not get me wrong, I hold admiration for her bravado, but her words, the things she writes, they cause nothing but pain and conflict for those she chooses to sink her teeth into.”

“But she’s an independent woman.” Eloise interjects. “One who is doing more than any of us could dream of. She is making a name for herself!”

You try to think about your next words carefully, but your mouth makes quick work of a reply. “A name which she hides behind, casting stones through the guise and safety of anonymity.” 

Penelope lets out a scoff from beside you. She’s always been one to defend the infamous gossip columnist. “At least she does not hide herself behind the mask of a man.” That feels like a shot. “The people know full well of her gender, despite her true identity remaining a secret.”

You hear the implication on her tongue. The same cannot be said for you. 

And she’s not wrong. You do hide yourself behind the mask of a man. You’d never once denied that.

You sigh. “I know you must think of me as a hypocrite.” 

Eloise agrees hesitantly. “Only a little.” She admits. “It’s just that you do the same as Mr. Leighton.”

You soften at her honesty. Truthfully, you understand where she’s coming from, but you can’t help the urge you feel to defend yourself.

“I disguise myself as Augutus because I know that no artist or art critic alike will take me seriously as I am. I want to share my work with the world, that is simply all I want. It’s all I have ever wanted.”

“Does that not make you a coward?” Penelope inquires, although it feels less like a question and more like an opinion. This is what she believes. And she's entitled to that. 

“Perhaps.” You nod in acknowledgment. “But it has also made me uniquely successful. And I take great pride knowing that my work is highly regarded, in spite of the fact that I have to be someone else to succeed.” 

“Does that ever bother you?” Eloise persists. “Knowing that no one will know you for the work you have done?”

Before you can respond, Penelope chimes in with a query of her own. “Does it ever make you feel guilty, lying as you do?” This feels like a challenge. 

You turn to Eloise, answering her first. “No, I feel quite unbothered. I like the privacy it provides me.” Your gaze flicks between the two girls, a fire in your eyes as you speak. 

You answer Penelope’s question next. “Guilt is one of the last feelings to cross my mind.” You feel content with it. “Because of Augustus, I have my own money, my own independence. I do not need a man to survive or to be happy. I have choices. And that's a facet of my life I never dreamed could have existed. If there is anything more empowering for a woman than that, I cannot think of it.”

Eloise listens to your words carefully, absorbing them, reveling in them. She hadn’t thought of it like that, but you’re right. Independence is a sign of true equality. And you have that. Not because of the name you hide behind, but because you’d used the insecurities of men to your advantage. You’d played the game and won. 

“I suppose I have been quite short sighted.” There’s much less arrogance in her tone. Eloise sounds humbled. “You’ve given me a new perspective to think about.”

Penelope does not enjoy the direction this conversation has headed. “Surely you cannot think yourself above someone such as Lady Whistledown.”

Your face scrunches in thought. “Above?” You stipulate. “I do not think myself above anyone, gender aside. But I do think I have a much higher sense of self respect than she does.”

“And how could that possibly be?” Penelope has to bite her tongue. She wants to say more, defend herself more. But she cannot. 

Eloise cuts in. “Lady Whistledown has the utmost confidence in herself. I dare say more than all the women in London combined. As much as I have come to see your side, I cannot agree with that.”

“One’s high level of confidence is of little concern here.” You deliver. “Often, in matters regarding the human condition, such as these, it can act as a detriment.” Your eyes narrow as you speak. “Self respect and self confidence can coincide, but they are not the same.”

Eloise laughs out of confusion. She’s not used to being this clueless. “I don’t understand.” She says.

“Ah,” you decide to stop tiptoeing around the subject. “I merely think that no self-respecting woman would use the pain and suffering of other women, or any other person for that matter, for their own profit and entertainment.” 

Eloise’s smile drops. “Oh.” Again, she hadn’t thought of it that way. But what resonates with her most is that you’re not wrong. 

“Is that what you truly think of Lady Whistledown?” Penelope’s voice is calm and collected for the first time this afternoon. It almost scares you. 

“Yes.” You say, before voicing, “However, I mean no offense to either of you. I know how much you girls adore her column. I just want more for you than what she does. A life of gossip is dangerous, and you deserve so much more.”

If you had known you’d been talking to Lady Whistledown herself, maybe you would have kept those opinions to yourself. But little did you know how much your life was about to change, how dangerously you’d walked the line, and how much vengeance rests in Penelope Featherington’s soul.

Future note to self, do not play with fire if one does not wish to get burnt.  

• ж • ж • ж • ж •

“(Y/n), I think you need to see this.” Benedict holds up the newest edition of London’s famous gossip column. 

Your heart sinks at the look in his eyes. I’m sorry they seem to say. 

You haven’t even read it and you already know it’s bad. Handing it to you, Benedict looks hesitant, almost in preparation of what's to come. As you take it from him, you glance down at the ink on the paper, her handwriting etched in your brain. 

You swallow the lump in your throat as you begin to read:

Dearest Gentle Reader,

It has come to this author’s attention that a certain individual is playing an unforgivable game of deception within the world of classical art that this ton so highly regards. This artisan has gone to great lengths to keep their true identity from you, painting under a well recognized pseudonym. 

By now you may have guessed, this artist is a woman. One who has tricked you and lied to you by passing her work off as that of a man’s. What a horrid crime it is to keep such a secret from you, and a desperate one, I must admit. A woman so foul as to seek such attention for her art, far too greedy to be content with the life so many of the wonderful women of the ton lead. Instead, she parades around disguising herself so she can live a life she feels entitled to. 

This author asks you to consider the arrogance of it all. But the question remains, as I am sure you are desperate to uncover: who is the serpent who remains among us?

And so it is with great sorrow that I announce the once beloved Augustus Leighton is a fraud. A man never seen in the public setting, has given us a reason why. He is a woman.

And her name, ladies and gentleman of London, is (Y/n) (L/n). 

As I am sure you, gentle reader, are shocked at this revelation, I will take a moment to address the woman this particular entry concerns.

May I remind you Miss (L/n), I have ears and eyes everywhere. Or did you forget? It would do you a world of good to remember that the next time you think about besmirching me. And, as I write this, I must say, this warning goes for all. Heed it, live by it, breathe by it. I am not a woman you want to cross. 

Yours truly,

Lady Whistledown

Panic crawls through your body. You want to cry, scream, maybe even simply die from the anxiety you’re feeling. 

“What am I going to do?” 

Your voice cracks, it sounds like glass breaking. Shattered, ragged, and tired, and Benedict can do nothing but hold you. 

Again, as your body shakes and caves into the pressure you think, what am I going to do?

• ж • ж • ж • ж •

The moment Eloise enters the room with Anthony at her side, your mind is sent ablaze. Only three people had known about Augustus. Only three people could have possibly let it slip, and you know for a fact it wasn’t Benedict.

As much as you want to believe Eloise would never do something like that to you, you can’t help but feel like she might have offhandedly mentioned it to someone. Her mouth had always worked much faster than her brain.  

Benedict’s gaze meets yours in understanding. He hopes his sister hasn’t done this; he’ll be furious if she has. 

You’re about to say something when a certain eldest Bridgerton catches you off guard. Anthony smiles when he sees you, eyes twinkling uncharacteristically so. 

“I had no idea you could paint like that.” He says. “I must admit, I’m quite proud of you.”

You blink rapidly in confusion. Proud? In all the years you’ve known Anthony, he’s never told you he’s proud of you. 

“So you’ve read the column then?” Your head hangs in shame. Everyone in London has probably read it by now. 

“Everyone has.” Eloise pipes in timidly, confirming your suspicions. 

She’s nervous, understandably so, fingers fiddling with the hem of her dress. You assume when you finally catch her gaze that she’ll avert it quickly, but instead, she holds it well. 

We need to talk. 

Benedict, reading the room perfectly, coughs in apprehension. “Brother, how about we let these ladies be for a moment? I’m certain they have some things to discuss.”

“Of course.” Anthony nods with a smile, not before reminding you how proud he is of you.

If anything good can come of this, it might just be that. 

Once alone, Eloise is eager to assure you of her innocence. “I spoke to no one.” She promises. “Blood be forgotten, you’re my sister (Y/n). I would never betray you like that.”

The look on her face is one of pure panic; she needs you to believe her. And despite everything, you do. It almost makes you feel guilty that you questioned her. 

“It’s alright.” You assure her. “I know you wouldn’t.”

But that only leaves one person…

“I think Penelope is Lady Whistledown.” You're taken aback by Eloise’s words, like a stab to the chest. Twisting the knife in further, she corrects, “I know she is.”

Moments of silence pass before you can collect your thoughts. “How long have you known?”

This is where Eloise loses her composure. Pure shame is etched upon her features. “I caught her a few weeks ago.”

A few weeks. A few weeks… A FEW WEEKS?

“Oh.” Your murmur is dejected and weak.

Eloise had known you’d been slandering Lady Whistledown in front of Lady Whistledown, and she’d done nothing to stop you, except defend her best friend’s honour. No wonder she’d been so reluctant to agree with you. 

“I wanted to say something.” Eloise stammers. “But I couldn’t. Penelope doesn’t know that I know.”

You inhale a staggered breath of air, face falling to your palms. “I’ve been such a fool. How could I have been so stupid?”

“You have not.” The girl beside you opposes before continuing, “Trust me, I am furious with Penelope. The things she’s done and said about me, about the people I care about, I’m not sure I can forgive her for it.”

You scoff lightly. Trust her? How are you supposed to do that?

Sure, Eloise has certainly been burned by Lady Whistledown before, but she’s always had her name to fall back on. “You have no idea what it’s like, Eloise.”

“I’m sorry.” She slumps in apology, shrinking in on herself. Eloise likes to think she can understand where you’re coming from. She’s a woman, same as you, one who has the same struggles against the patriarchy, and yet, hers are much different.  

“Don’t.” You dismiss her apology in frustration. It feels harsh but necessary. “You always speak about feminism and the difficulties of being a woman. How it is impossible for you to hold title and rank, or to be recognized for your accomplishments. But you are a Bridgerton Eloise, and that comes with more privilege, more title, more rank, and more acknowledgment in society than you seem to understand.”

Eloise’s brow furrows. “More often than not, that name is a burden, something you could not possibly grasp.”

“And I should not have to.” Your lips pull into a thin line. This isn’t a competition, but you feel it necessary to defend your point wholly. “I am the daughter of a servant and a seamstress. I have no money, no control, and no future if I am not to marry. Since the day I was born, I belonged to someone else. You talk of struggle, but you have no idea what it truly means.”

Eloise doesn’t like what you’re implying. “You think I live a life of luxury? That I am a stranger to the adversities life has to offer? I can assure you, I know much more about the struggles of which you speak. My mother has prepared me for the purpose of my future; finding a husband is imperative.”

“You plan to remain unmarried, correct?” You ask her seriously.

“With every fiber in my being.” Is her scathing reply. And it only serves to prove your point. But you can see her side of things too. 

“El, you defy your mother with your distaste for society. And while I applaud your determination to fight for equality, your fault remains in your failure to recognize the entitlement that has been bestowed upon you simply by having that choice. Unlike so many women, you can choose to live your life as a spinster. For you, those options exist. For me, I have not one choice besides finding a well suited, at best, middle class husband, because that is all I am suited for.”

In this moment, her heart shatters for you. Is that really what you think of yourself? “You cannot possibly mean that.” 

“It’s how it has to be.” You affirm. 

“It’s not.” She disagrees. “There’s so much more for you than a husband.”

Both your defenses are down, walls have collapsed, and you’re starting to get through to each other. She’s starting to grasp the gravity of what this means for you. Your career is more than likely over, as is the steady source of income you’d managed to build. Except where before you’d had less than no money to your name, you now had a healthy dowry (that you’d earned no less) to find a more comfortable suitor. 

Eloise sees it now. What Penelope has done is monumentally life changing. 

However, as emotional as this circumstance is, you still feel the need to reach out. She’s your sister after all. 

“Eloise,” your eyes search hers. They tread in a sea of empathy. “I never meant to imply you have lived a life without misfortunes. I’m not trying to diminish your hurt. But I thought if you heard my side, you might come to understand mine.”

She softens at your admission, having gotten carried away in defending herself. Nodding, she smiles gently. “I do.” She says. “And while you may not bear the Bridgerton surname, you do have us. Every Bridgerton will stand behind you, always.”

Against every fibre in your being, you believe her. Somehow you’ll always have this little family of yours, somehow you hope you’ll be okay…

[luffington]

fur & feathers ♡

✧.* art credit!

➤ summary: You tried your hardest to stay out of their way this time. Unsurprisingly, you ended up sandwiched between them instead. (18+)

➤ pairing: sir crocodile x afab!reader x donquixote doflamingo, crocodile x doflamingo

➤ word count: 4.2k

➤ warnings: sub!reader, mean dom!croc & meaner dom!doffy, double penetration, anal sex, size kink, belly bulge, oral (m receiving), creampie, breeding kink, degradation, objectification, power play, she/her & 'girl' used

➤ notes: purely self-indulgent filth..... i am not seeing heaven's gates

NSFW under the break! minors dni thank uuu

Being Sir Crocodile’s personal secretary obviously had its benefits. Traveling to all sorts of conferences alongside him, meeting important and influential people, and always feeling protected. You lived a more lavish life than the vast majority of Alabastans, and all it took was looking the other way when documents with a winged Jolly Roger appeared on his desk. But it had some major downfalls, too, like putting up with whatever the hell was going on between your boss and that blonde feathery freak. 

You tried your hardest to stay out of their way this time. Unsurprisingly, you ended up sandwiched between them instead. 

Fragrant and flashy perfume clashed with the thick and heady scent of an expensive cigar, overwhelming your senses and making you dizzy. Crocodile’s lengthy cock was buried deep in your throat. You choked and sputtered around it, trying your hardest to use your mouth well and please your boss. Doflamingo’s harsh thrusts into your pussy from behind were making it difficult.

Your wrists had long lost their strength to support you, so you were positioned on your knees and elbows. The dark-haired man comfortably reclined on a stack of plush pillows, his ring-covered hand resting on the crown of your head. Doflamingo gripped your hips hard and repeatedly slammed his enormous dick inside you, practically penetrating your womb. You didn’t have to see him to know that he was maniacally grinning. 

You were fully naked and on display for the two men (to be fair, the blonde was already half-naked when he entered the room). Their perfectly sculpted and scarred bodies were also completely bare, but somehow they both still had their coats on. You would have laughed at the absurdity if it didn’t remind you of their high status and how far below them you were. Or maybe it just was an unspoken challenge between them – first one to take theirs off loses.

They had already made you cum three times before they even got their dicks out. Under the guise of being a gracious host, Crocodile had allowed Doflamingo the honor of your first orgasm of the night. He had made you straddle his thigh and get yourself off by rubbing your bare cunt on his leather pants, bouncing his leg up and down and cackling sadistically at your humiliated expression. Then Crocodile had eaten you out as the other man fondled your tits, and then Doflamingo had strung you up until you couldn’t move an inch while they worked together to torture your pussy. They were each menaces on their own, but somehow sharing your body like this didn’t make their egos clash – they cooperated. It was only a matter of time until they figured out something kinky to do with Crocodile’s sand powers, and then you’d be truly fucked.

You were losing yourself in the salty taste of Crocodile’s cock, the thickness of it stretching your mouth almost painfully while your nose repeatedly brushed against his neatly groomed pubes. Slowly forcing your head up and down, never giving you more than a second to breathe. He was barely sweating, looking down at you with cold eyes as he puffed at the cigar hanging from his lips. A direct contrast to Doflamingo bullying your poor cunt and shoving your body forwards onto the other man’s lap with every thrust. 

A dry finger suddenly prodded at your asshole, causing you to choke around your boss’s cock. Crocodile clicked his tongue. “Two holes at once? You’re being greedy, Doffy.” His words were teasing, a wicked smirk on his scarred face while he continued ignoring your obvious protests. 

“You get to use her whenever you want. I think that’s pretty greedy.” The blonde frowned, continuing to insistently circle his fingertip around your rim. “Besides, I’m trying to do something nice for you. You can have her pussy, so I’ll take her ass.”

The dark-haired man exhaled a cloud of smoke. Without his hand holding you down, you pulled off of his dick with a lewd wet noise and spun your head to face Doflamingo. “W-wait… both… at the, ahh, same ti-ime…?” Your muddled mind tried to express your fear, knowing full well that neither of them would care. “C-can’t fit…”

“You don’t know that until you try,” Doflamingo replied with a twisted grin. Actually, he wasn’t sure why the three of you hadn’t tried it yet. Perhaps it had something to do with your size difference. Both men were unnaturally tall – the blonde often made fun of Crocodile for only being 8’4 – and their cocks were more than proportional. Each was longer than your forearm and practically matched the thickness. Your stomach felt close to bursting from just one. 

Looking to your boss for help, you silently pleaded for some hint of kindness inside the man. His cold glare and cruel smile granted you none.

At first, you had assumed Crocodile was the nicer of the two, that he felt some kind of sympathy and held regard for human life. You quickly realized in horror that they were two sides of the same sadistic coin. The same need for dominance, longing for powerful positions, and lack of hesitation to step on anyone below them for their own benefit. Sure, Doflamingo used his strings very inappropriately in the bedroom. But Crocodile had never taken off his hook during sex, resulting in a few ‘accidental’ fading cuts on your back and thighs. Doflamingo was very open about his madness, while the other kept it neatly buttoned up under silk dress shirts.

“Don’t worry,” Crocodile rubbed your cheek, feigning gentleness, before saying, “We’ll make them fit.”

You gulped, feeling very much like prey caught in a fatal trap.

Doflamingo stopped his thrusts with his cock deep inside you and sucked his pointer and middle fingers in his mouth, coating them with enough spit to not rip your hole. He would never be generous enough to use actual lube. 

He snickered when he caught Crocodile watching his movements and swirled his tongue teasingly around his digits. “Enjoying the view, baby?”

“I’m enjoying a break from that ridiculous smile of yours.” The other man replied smoothly. “Maybe I’ll use my fingers to shut you up the next time you say something irritating.”

“Your fingers are too rough,” the blonde pouted and shoved a long finger inside your asshole in one go, making you cry out and clench your fists. Neither man acknowledged your pained reaction, though you felt Doflamingo’s cock twitch excitedly inside you. “My mouth feels all sandy afterwards.”

Crocodile smirked to himself — he controlled every grain of sand in his body, so any bits left behind in Doflamingo’s mouth (or in his clothes, or the crevices of his body) was intentional. His gaze flickered down to you, grasping the base of his cock and timidly licking at his tip. “You can do better than that, slut.” You instantly swallowed it halfway, not daring to upset your boss.

The dark haired man let out a content sigh as he watched the beautiful scene in front of him. Your back glistened with a thin sheen of sweat and a giant red Doffy-shaped handprint still burned on your ass. The blonde’s pace had slowed down slightly so he could focus on preparing your asshole with no gentleness whatsoever. He used two digits to spread your hole wide, then spat directly inside it. You whimpered at the filthy feeling, sending pleasant vibrations through Crocodile’s cock. 

“Fuck, that’s hot.” Doflamingo swore, watching his saliva disappear inside you. “What a good little whore.” You unconsciously wiggled your hips at his praise. 

The more he pushed and prodded deep inside you, the harder it was to focus on pleasuring the cock in your mouth. Wordlessly, Crocodile placed his hook on the back of your neck, the sharp edge dangerously close to your throat. The message was clear – you immediately got to work, cheeks hollowing and sloppily drooling around his dick. 

Doflamingo nodded his chin at the heavy gold object. “You ever finger anyone with that glorified fish hook?” 

Your entire body went cold. Hopefully that wasn’t a suggestion.

“No, but you can be the first to try it out.” 

“Aww, Croc, you’re making me blush.” He didn’t seem even a tiny bit flustered.

Ignoring you was part of their sick game. Making you feel so incredibly small and unimportant. Nothing but a fleshlight for two of the most powerful men in the world to share while they bickered among themselves. 

Trying to regain their focus, you clenched your holes and moaned loudly. “Shh, darling,” Crocodile cooed mockingly. “The adults are talking.”

You hated how much that humiliation turned you on and made your core ache with need. 

“Well, she seems about ready.” Doflamingo chuckled, unceremoniously pulling out of your swollen pussy, his cock angry and red and shining with your juices. You fought to keep your lower half from collapsing to the bed. “How do you wanna do this?”

You looked up at Crocodile questioningly, not daring to take his dick out of your mouth yet. Your boss gently tugged at your hair and you raised your head, coughing and sputtering for air. You suddenly felt a shameful sense of emptiness – you missed having your holes stuffed full.

He stroked the back of your head as if you were his pet. “Any ideas, doll?”

It was the first time all night that they asked for your opinion, that you weren’t passively taking every bit of pleasure and pain that they graciously gave you. You gulped nervously, looking between both men. Doflamingo seemed especially excited to hear you pick your poison. 

“M-maybe… I could… sit in your laps?” You replied timidly, unsure if your input even mattered. 

“Is that a question or an answer?” Crocodile raised an eyebrow.

As calm and collected as both men seemed, you could tell they were growing impatient. Their cocks dripped precum and subtly twitched with need. You were desperate for stimulation, too, so you steeled your hazy mind and nodded resolutely. “I want to sit in your laps. Feel you both so deep inside me. I… I might go crazy if you don’t fuck me.” You turned to Doflamingo, batted your eyes innocently, and added, “I’ll be good for you, I promise.”

The blonde threw his head back and moaned exaggeratedly. “Fuck, baby, you’re straight out of my wet dreams. Why don’t you visit Dressrosa sometime?”

“Don’t get any ideas,” Crocodile gave the man a hard glare, helping your shaky body into a sitting position. “She’s mine. The best secretary I’ve had in years.”

Doflamingo cackled. “I forgot she’s your fucking employee! There’s no way you two actually get any work done. I bet I can open any file cabinet in your office and find cum stains on those papers.”

“Open anything in my office and I’ll throw you in my Sea Prism Stone cell.”

You rolled your eyes as you maneuvered yourself into Crocodile’s lap, using his shoulders for support as you straddled his slightly spread thighs. Their twisted flirting was seemingly endless. Couldn’t they have picked a better time?

“Don’t get bratty, darling,” he snickered and quickly slapped your breast, making you yelp in surprise. “Unless you can’t survive another minute without our dicks inside you.”

You nodded and bit your lip, feeling your juices trickle out of your hole and drop down your leg. “Please, sir, I need you. Need you both.” Crocodile hummed in satisfaction – he had trained you so well. He pressed an intoxicating open-mouthed kiss to your jaw and simultaneously twisted your nipple. 

“Starting without me isn’t fair.” Doflamingo grumbled petulantly as he shuffled into place behind you. It took a few tries until he found a way to comfortably tangle his hairy legs around Crocodile’s, their pelvises almost pressed together and his massive cock smacking against your spine. The blonde bit your earlobe and laughed when you flinched.

Your fists clenched onto Crocodile’s smooth fur jacket, breasts flush against his muscular pecs, while soft and wispy feathers grazed your back and sent ticklish shivers down your spine. The air felt electric with anticipation and excitement and pure unadulterated lust. Your body might hate you the next morning for this — no, you’d feel the aftermath of their desire for at least a few days. But at that moment, you needed your holes stuffed full more than you needed oxygen. 

With a shaky breath, you stood on your knees, their long cocks still barely fitting underneath you. Doflamingo tapped the crown of his dick against your rim before holding it steady. They waited with bated breath for you to sink down.

Two Warlords were inside you.

You felt like your body was ripping in half. And yet the pain made you even wetter, a debauched moan spilling from your lips and eyes rolling back into your skull. Both men simultaneously groaned in satisfaction, an angelic choir of devils singing your praise. Being on top gave you a refreshing sense of control… one that didn’t last very long.

Crocodile’s hand settled on your hip to gently coax you down, while Doflamingo pressed hard on your shoulders. When it was finally too much and your body refused to take any more – not even halfway down their massive lengths – tight strings wound around your thighs and forced you down the rest of the way. You cried out in anguish, speared on their massive cocks.

Thankfully, the two men let you adjust once you had their entire lengths inside you and rested in their laps. You shuddered in their hold, trying your best to calm your rapid heartbeat. Perhaps there was a hint of kindness in their decision, but it was more likely for their own benefit. A broken toy was no fun to play with and they weren’t even close to being done with you. 

Crocodile reclined against the bed’s headboard and let out a low whistle. “Fuck,” he swore in a gravelly voice, eyes half-lidded and seemingly hypnotized. “You are so fucking full.” 

You looked down in perverted fascination to see your stomach bulging unnaturally, almost making you appear pregnant. He ran his hand over the well-defined outline of his cock and you felt it twitch inside you excitedly.

“What? No fair, you’re hogging the view. Let me see.” Doflamingo pouted, leaning over your shoulder. He giggled ferociously at the sight. “Oh, that’s sexy as hell.” The hand that wasn’t manipulating his strings joined Crocodile’s to rub over your bulging belly, applying pressure to your womb and making you keen. “That feels good, huh? You like when we force our way inside your tight little holes and rearrange your guts?”

Your face burned red at his filthy words but you nodded rapidly. Your boss frowned and pinched your clit, causing wetness to pool in your eyes. “I thought I taught you to use your words.”

“Y-Yes, sir, I love it.” Doflamingo’s long tongue snaked out to lap away the single teardrop running down your cheek. 

“So obedient.” He nuzzled into your neck almost affectionately. “So good for us.”

Moments like this made you question what your relationship with them was. Sure, you were definitely more of a prized possession than a romantic partner, but maybe you possessed them in a different way. You would never voice that thought aloud, but it’s what prevented you from quitting your job, getting the hell out of Alabasta, and finding an actual partner and decent life somewhere else. They could have anyone in the world they desired, but Crocodile hadn’t been with anyone besides Doflamingo and you since the first time he fucked you on his office desk, much too horny to try to seduce you back to his bedroom.

And while you didn’t know what the other Warlord got up to in his own kingdom, at the very least, he always came back for more. Doflamingo could tell vicious lies dripping with sugar like no one else, but part of you hoped there was some truth in calling you gorgeous and perfect and his good little whore. 

You knew you were probably deluding yourself, but Doflamingo’s warm mouth sucking marks into your throat and Crocodile’s palm rubbing over your stomach soothingly made your heart ache and veins burn.

“Alright, enough. Let’s get started.” The blonde used his powers to raise your body slowly, revealing their cocks glistening with your juices. 

“No strings,” Crocodile interrupted, but added with a smirk, “Yet. Let her do it herself for now.”

Doflamingo licked his lips and leaned back on his hands leisurely. His strings loosened but didn’t disappear. “Show me what you’ve got, puppet.” 

This was a test. There would be hell to pay if you failed, though you weren’t sure if passing was humanly possible. You continued to rise up at the pace Doflamingo’s strings had set, inch by delicious inch rubbing against your walls until only the tips were inside you. “You’re both so big,” you bit your lip seductively. “I feel so empty without your dicks.”

Then you quickly sank back down to the base, knocking the air out of your lungs. Head flying back to rest on the blonde man’s feather-coated shoulder. Crocodile’s cock kissed your cervix as Doflamingo’s bullied its way inside your asshole deeper than anything was meant to go. 

You repeated the motion again and again, doing your best to clench your holes tight and take their entire lengths every time. 

“This is getting boring,” the blonde rolled his eyes impatiently. A subtle twitch of his fingers forced you onto your knees then slammed you back down to their laps, their balls slapping against your sensitive skin. You were too overwhelmed to even comprehend what happened, but the man continued to manipulate your body at a brutal pace. 

“Much better.” Crocodile agreed, taking in your blank expression and glazed-over eyes. Your mind completely shut off, focused on receiving every bit of carnal pleasure that the two Warlords graciously gave you. You were completely under their control and at their mercy. Your boss cooed at you mockingly. “Poor girl. There’s not a thought in that pretty little head of yours, huh, doll?”

Your silence answered his question so perfectly that he didn’t even punish you for not responding. 

“She fucking loves it. Look at her drool.” Doflamingo grabbed your chin and forced you to face him. He delighted in your debauched expression, tongue lolling out of your mouth, before leaning back and slapping your ass. Your body spasmed around their cocks. 

The blonde used his strings to hold you down as far as possible, admiring the bulge in your stomach again with a sick grin. You hardly noticed it — you hardly noticed anything at this point. Then he ripped Crocodile’s lit cigar from the corner of his mouth and haphazardly threw it across the room. Miraculously, nothing caught on fire. 

“That was expensive.” Crocodile snarled. 

“I don’t care about your fucking tobacco.” Doflamingo grabbed the other man’s slicked-back hair and slammed their lips together in a hungry kiss that was all teeth and tongue. You watched dazedly as they licked at each other’s mouths like feral animals. Matching each other’s intensity and fighting to maintain their dominance. With his free hand, the blonde groped your breast, squeezing it in his large palm before rolling your nipple between his fingers. 

The men pulled away, panting heavily from the intense kiss. A thick string of saliva kept their lips connected. Doflamingo broke it by swiping his tongue across Crocodile’s reddened bottom lip. 

“Let’s get her pregnant, Croc. I want her tits swollen with milk so I can suck them dry.” You felt a shiver run through your entire body. What a terrifying, deranged, yet tempting thought. You didn’t dare voice your thoughts, but the blonde still felt your ass clench around his cock. He cackled and roughly tugged at your nipple. “I think our little girl likes that idea.”

Crocodile’s dark eyes turned to you. “Consider yourself lucky that he’s not in your pussy.” As if he was wearing a condom himself. As if he even owned condoms. 

Doflamingo suddenly leaned forward and knocked you down with his weight, causing you and Crocodile to fall like dominos. The dark-haired man was almost flat on his back and you were crushed between their bodies, breasts uncomfortably squished against your boss’s fleshy chest. A cloud of pink feathers suddenly encompassed you, hanging loosely from the blonde’s shoulders and fully caging you in. Now that he was on top, he released the strings from around your thighs. Doflamingo gave a particularly harsh thrust forward and you yelped, the change in angle hitting an extra sensitive part of you. Crocodile’s cock insistently pressed against your g-spot.

The blonde placed his hand softly on Crocodile’s cheek, caressing the sharp line of his jaw. Very out of place, very unlike Doffy. But when he pulled away, a single thin thread followed his fingertip like a spider weaving a web. 

“Get this fucking thing off of me.” The dark-haired man growled, grabbing at where it attached to his jaw in vain. Panic raced through your mind — you didn’t want to literally be in the middle of their fight. But Crocodile didn’t seem truly angry, more annoyed that this happened again. 

“I’ll be nice,” he chuckled menacingly. He slowly moved his pointer finger in a come-hither motion and Crocodile’s hips followed the same upwards path, pushing his cock even further inside you. “See? Just wanted to take the lead.”

Doflamingo immediately resumed his inhuman pace, pistoning in and out and making your ass cheeks jiggle from the impact. One hand mimicked marionette motions as he manipulated Crocodile into mirroring his speed and ferocity, and the other held your hip firmly in place. He perfectly timed their thrusts so they pulled out and pushed in at the same exact time, knocking the air out of your lungs and setting your core on fire.

As godly as both men appeared, they were still very much human and rapidly approaching their orgasms. Your boss’s chest heaved underneath you, eyelids fluttering shut and pink dusting his cheeks. Doflamingo panted like a wild beast, letting out breathy, excited giggles at the sight of his two pretty puppets. A few stray feathers had fallen off his coat which landed in Crocodile’s messy hair and clung to your sticky skin. The overwhelming need to possess and consume both of you made the blonde’s head spin. 

You raised your head from where it was buried in your Crocodile’s chest, now covered in a puddle of your drool. “Please, s-sirs, I need-“ You were interrupted by Doflamingo deftly rubbing your neglected clit in tight circles. You choked on your words, looking at your boss pleadingly. 

“You may cum, darling.” Crocodile offered you a merciful smile. 

Stars flashed before your eyes and you swore you ascended to heaven, every nerve in your body tingling and toes curling tightly as you cried out the names of your saviors, before you came crashing down to earth with an unabashed and sinful drawn-out moan. Moments after that bright white light washed over you, thick white cum exploded in both of your holes as the Warlords cried out simultaneously. Doflamingo kept Crocodile’s hips flush against your body as his heavy balls stuffed you full and only lowered them when he had let out his final spurts. 

“Fuck.” The blonde’s breath caught in his throat as he watched his cum spill out around his length, dripping out of your ass onto Crocodile’s dick underneath. You had never felt so used, so filthy, and fuck did it feel incredible. 

The dark-haired man felt your heart beating rapidly against him and noticed you slowly slip into darkness, your consciousness fading. “Stay with us, doll.” He stroked your hair and ran his rough thumb over your cheek. 

You smiled, dazed and dopey. “Th… thank you…”

“Taking everything we give you and thanking us after… absolutely fucking perfect.” Doflamingo breathed heavily. You wailed from sensitivity as he pulled his cock out of your abused hole and the man beneath you followed suit. More globs of cum dripped out of your pussy and ass and spilled onto Crocodile’s fur coat sprawled out beneath him. Doflamingo giggled in delight. “Better wash that for him tomorrow, little girl.”

“She’s a secretary, not a servant.” Crocodile rolled his eyes, knowing that anyone in a position lower than Doffy’s was interchangeable to him. He swiped two fingers down the cleft of your ass, collecting sticky strings of cum and making your oversensitive body jolt. “But good girls clean up their messes, right?”

You obediently sucked his fingers clean, swirling your tongue around his digits and moaning like a whore at the salty taste of their mixed semen. 

Doflamingo untangled his body from yours and reclined back with a satisfied sigh. “When’s round two?”

Your eyes nearly popped out of your skull, but Crocodile spoke before you could protest — his words held more weight than yours, after all. “That was round four for her. It’s a miracle that your dick hasn’t killed someone yet.”

“Fine, I’ll wait.” He pouted like a spoiled child. “But don’t go soft on me, Croc. You’re the only one who’s fun enough to share toys with.”

Crocodile rolled you off of his chest none too gently, but thankfully, you had a plush blanket and padded mattress to land upon. “If we’re both ready to go, why not do a round without her?” His predatory gaze met yours. “I’m sure she would love to watch.”

[kittymizuki]

still in disbelief about how mizu5 genuinely captures the subtleties of transmisogyny so accurately like nothing else i've seen before especially with the nuances with which mizuki's story is told … all it takes is a single sentence, a few words … i love that the classmates saying that shit don't even … realize how cruel they are, bc that's how it /is/ and bc "oh no, we said something weird to a Normal Girl, that makes us look bad" - transmisogyny is just a punchline to a joke for them, that's how detached they are from their own cruelty and it's really not any different from the 'average' misogyny and how that tends to be a joke amongst boys. what ena ended up being exposed to is really just the classmates' 'boy's locker room talk' leaking out, so to speak? ena's probably heard jokes from people about how unfeminine her behavior is in the past and she quickly spits out "that's not funny" bc ena and mizuki are both "pretty girls" who like fashion and dolling themselves up, and hearing them talk about how mizuki's cute in this way … i'm sure it reminds her of her own experiences with being an 'influencer' - people like her when she shuts up and makes herself cute and appealing and ena must've absolutely received her fair share of comments and messages from weirdos for posting selfies of herself online, but i think what drives this home to me as such a fantastic narrative is the way that they call mizuki "attractive as long as she's not making any trouble and being a pain" bc it really speaks to how trans girls are objectified and only deemed 'acceptable' as long as they make themselves into limpless dolls who are acceptable targets for any form of abuse and misogyny instead of trying to claim their own subjectivity as women, so there's so much crossover in how mizuki's experiences work alongside ena's? but also mizuki faces so much more constant and direct criticism, all her actions and choices so closely under scrutiny.

mizuki loves and appreciates the attention of girls and when she first met ena she saw herself in the art that ena made - ena draws a girl in pain and mizuki goes "she's me". in the scene where mizuki gets outed, ena is speechless not bc she thinks mizuki is "gross" or bc she's mad mizuki "tricked" her? she's just horrified that she just got degendered /by association/ and then had to listen to these boys speak about the girl she's in love with in this /aggressively/ violent way, especially since mizuki has a meltdown, knowing, apologizing for hurting, even as ena would absolutely say "no, i'm sorry, im sorry, please don't hate vourself" bc mizuki feels like she's the one at fault for feeling like ena would assume the worst of her, but mizuki also feels like she doesn't have the right to be angry at people … this is the first time we get to see mizuki's rage and it's so palpable … i love so much that she hates the idea of niigo's kindness being born out of her 'abnormality' as a trans girl … she hates everything about this. she hates the idea of coming out, she hates the idea of having a question attached to her girlhood..

mizuki logically knows that niigo are going to accept her bc they've also gone through so much turmoil themselves and understand what it's like to be on the fringes of society, but she still can't shake off all those intrusive thoughts about how they might only accept her out of pity or consideration bc they feel too bad for her rather than a genuine understanding and the idea that things might change between them bc of that is too terrifying to embrace… such patronizing 'kindness' burns too much for mizuki to accept, so she'd rather run away and shut herself out completely… for mizuki it's like being stuck on a bridge where the only two ways out are ones where nothing changes and this hurts in its own way bc she can't tell how much of it would be genuine and how much would be an act and the other way is them /trying too hard/ to be considerate and this can easily become alienating bc mizuki truly just wants to be "one of the girls" in the most natural sense? she doesn't want to be made to feel like she's being accommodated, but there's also all the guilt that she's been internalizing for being "deceptive" and not saying the truth sooner that further complicates things and makes her feel like she's undeserving of any kindness that she may be offered… even though she genuinely was going to tell ena the truth herself, it doesn't matter anymore bc someone else told her before she even got the chance to do so herself and that's something she actually wished would happen in the past, so is there anyone to blame but herself? mizuki's entire thing is that until now she's been "writing" a fictionalized cis girl version of herself when she's with niigo and obscuring her own transness bc she doesn't want to be treated as an Other or have an asterisk attached to her girlhood bc she just wants to be treated as one of them instead of having to explain herself or prove anything but she has her facade violently stripped away from her in the most traumatic way imaginable and now she's entrapped within dysphoria induced suicidal ideation...

[meanbossart]

Pin!

Hi, I'm RJ (Male, 27 years old) I'm a -usually- horror oriented artist and collaborator alongside my partner and better-half @barbatusart, though I'm currently on a Baldur's Gate 3/DnD streak with both my art and writing, specifically centered around the Dark Urge I created for my campaign and his antics, so that's most of what you will find here!

I want to leave a warning right here that I occasionally venture into delicate topics in regards to character lore and history - though none of it strays too far from what the game already delves into and I try to give a heads-up ahead of time whenever I feel like something might catch someone off-guard otherwise.

PATREON WHERE I POST WIPS, SKETCHES, UNRELEASED ART, ALL OF MY NSFW CONTENT, ETC : patreon.com/meanbossart/

BLUESKY WHERE I PUT UP FULL VERSIONS OF *SOME* OF THE NSFW THAT I CAN'T POST HERE: bsky.app/profile/meanbossart.bsky.social

TWITCH WHERE I STREAM SOMETIMES: twitch.tv/meanboss14

PSA: I get a lot of asks and I'm slow to go through them, please don't take it personally :U

Anyway, here's the guy of the hour:

🚨FAQ BELOW🚨

Q: Does your Durge have a name? A: Nope! I named him "drow" when I played the game because I didn't feel like thinking up anything special. His lack of a name has become part of the character's lore and you will find him to always be tagged with "DU drow", or referred to as The Drow or just Drow.

Q: Where can I read your BG3 fan-fiction? And what is it about? A: Right here! The main plot follows DU Drow, Astarion, and Shadowheart on a new adventure that fractures into a couple of different directions, but mainly focuses on the aftermath of the spawn that Astarion has released and the personal development of the main cast, alongside a number of original characters that get involved in the narrative. My goal was to create a kind of "DLC" experience, so you can expect a lot of themes that parallel the main game.

Q: Can I draw one of your characters, a scene from your story, or any of your characters interacting with mine/other characters? And can it be NSFW in nature? A: YOU ABSOLUTELY CAN, AND I'LL BE DELIGHTED TO SEE IT IF YOU CARE TO SHARE. I'm equally fine with NSFW as long as everyone involved (in the art and otherwise) is an adult.

Q: What drawing software/tablet/brushes do you use? A: I draw on a Wacom Cintiq 22, using Clip Studio Pro. I switch around brushes quite often but most of what I use comes from the DAUB super-bundle by Paolo Limoncelli.

Q: Where can I find more of your work? A: You can find mine and my partner's comics here, but please bear in mind that most of it is highly violent stuff and you should read the content warnings on the store page carefully before making any purchases - if in doubt of whether or not any of it could be detrimental to your mental health, DON'T BUY IT. Stay safe!

Q: Do you take commissions? A: I am not currently taking any new commission inquiries, sorry!

[markrosewater]

"Yes, people are likely to think of it because it’s a famous example of it." Yes, and also because the card is very clearly intentionally referencing it. Please tell me you realise there's a difference between using a trope in your own work (what most of the cards on the list you gave are doing) and pointing to a specific instance of it in another work? Arguments can be made over whether the blunt references are good or bad, but pretending that those are the same thing is simply disingenuous.

I’m not ignoring the blunt reference. (I was just focused on the original subject of the naming using direct terms). We do references on cards, and have for a long, long time.

For example, here’s s a card from Odyssey back in 2001:

It’s a vampire, in a long coat, who was a vicious killer, but turned good and then started offing other Vampires.

His illustration was part of a larger piece of art which showed a blonde with a stake who works alongside him also offing Vampires.

This is nothing new.

I talk all the time about resonance. Sometimes it’s fun to play in the pop culture zeitgeist. Players generally enjoy it. So we do it from time to time.

[chuwenjie]

Spider-Man: Across the Spiderverse comes out later today so I wanted to write a post reflecting on my journey and experience working on this movie. So many people have supported me through this and I am so thankful to each and every one of you!

Text version of this post under the cut:

Spiderman: Across the Spiderverse comes out tonight. It feels really weird to be typing that out right now. I worked on the movie as a visdev artist for the last 2.5 years, from 2020 to 2023. Long post incoming.

There are a lot of reasons why I'd consider this film to be one of the most ambitious animated films to ever be made. As artists, we were asked to push ourselves far beyond our comfort zones and do things that had never been done before in animation.

Every time we reached a point where most people would say "this must possibly be as creative and weird as it gets," our entire team of artists and animators would smash right through the ceiling. The driving direction for the visuals of the film was to push the limits of every single frame; to challenge audience expectations and make something truly original.

The best thing about this film was that there wasn't a single boring day working on this movie. The hardest thing about this film was also that there wasn't a single boring day working on this movie.

There were times while working on this where the imposter syndrome hit me hard. This was my first big movie, and what a hell of a first movie to get thrust into.

I came in only a few years out of school with absolutely no idea what the hell I was doing. I constantly feared that someone had made a mistake in bringing me onto this film, and I was going to let everyone down. There was a solid chunk of those 2.5 years where I wasn't sure if animation was the right path for me.

If there's anything I could tell my past self it would be this: there are so many people who love you and believe in you. There will be a time when you get to stand on the other side of it, look back on everything and see how far you came.

I'm still working on self-acceptance every day (it will be a lifelong struggle, I'm sure), but I'm glad I didn't give up on myself. I'm proud of myself and my contributions to this film, and I'm certain that this movie will continue to change and shape the animation landscape just as the first one did. That's truly a special feeling to have been a part of. I am so incredibly grateful to every single person who helped me along this journey.

Here come the thanks:

To the ENTIRE visdev & art crew- it's been an honor getting to work alongside each and every one of you. My jaw is literally still on the floor from seeing your incredible talent day after day.

I want to thank Tiffany and Felicia especially for being there for me through tough times- I admire and respect you both so much as artists, and even better than that, my life is greatly enriched for being able to call you my friends.

Thank you Patrick and Dean for taking chances on me, teaching me so much about art and what I'm capable of, and encouraging me along the way. To Aymeric, your art is one of the reasons I initially became interested in animation and you have been one of the kindest & most empathetic mentors I could ever have asked for.

I want to thank my wonderful parents for believing in me always and raising me into the person I am today: everything I do in life is to make you proud. To my brother Andrew who is perpetually awake at 3 AM when I need someone to talk to- thank you for always picking up the phone and making me laugh.

And finally to my partner Luke for making me grilled cheeses on all of the difficult days, for never getting sick of me even when all I would ever talk about was work, and for patiently and steadfastly loving me throughout this entire thing. I don't think I could've done it without you.

Starting tomorrow I will begin posting and sharing some of the art I made for this movie; I'm looking forward to sharing some of my personal favorites with you. I hope each and every one of you enjoys Spiderman: Across the Spiderverse when it hits theaters later today!

[mylight-png]

I have thoughts in regards to That Photo of Shani Louk receiving an award.

But first, I'd like to address something I've seen in our community about how the situation has been handled.

Many people I've seen have been sharing their anger and pain in regards to the photo and the award, rightfully so. However, many of these people have shared those thoughts alongside That Photo. While I understand the intent of this, I'd like to just ask for people to not do that.

Do not distribute That Photo in any way, please.

Shani Louk's family has asked for that photo not to be shared. Her family has asked for her to be remembered for her life, not her death.

Instead, I encourage you to share your views alongside a photo of Shani from her life. Share her as she lived, not as she died.

Let Shani's memory be who she was, not what was done to her.

Now, I know there's little I can say about the photo and award that hadn't already been said. I'd like to talk about it anyway.

First and foremost, receiving an award for photographing a woman being subjected to the worst a person can endure is disgusting. That award was given for taking a picture of a woman who has been raped and killed, and of her body continuing to be violated and paraded around. Not for protecting her, not for intervening, not for doing anything to help anyone.

Additionally, as I mentioned before, Shani's family has asked for that photo not to be spread around, and the resurgence in publicity that this photo is getting as a result is a direct blow to the family's wishes.

In that photo, for the purpose of that photo, Shani is used as little more than a prop. It is dehumanizing and violating. It is beyond that, but I cannot even come up with words to articulate how horrible it is.

I'm sure we've all heard the phrase, "people love dead Jews" at this point. This photo receiving a major award is simply confirmation of this. This photo, a photo of a dead Jewish woman, receiving such a highly esteemed award, proves this. I am sick to my stomach just writing about it.

There is nothing about that photo that would merit an award and it tramples upon Shani's memory and dehumanizes her even further than she already has been.

In protest of that award, I encourage you to share photos of her that aren't of her lowest moment.

Share photos of her life, share photos of her art. Do not share photos of her death.

Here are some photos I am choosing to share:

You can find these photos online, there's a whole Instagram account dedicated to sharing photos of her life. The first and last photos are from an article about her art being put up in an exhibition. These photos are out there, just find and share them please.

May her memory be a blessing and may it be protected from further desecration.

[sshannonauthor]

‘The night we met, I saw your face and knew that you could be the end of me. This night, I fear the same.’

-

I’m beyond delighted to reveal the cover of The Dark Mirror, the fifth book in the Bone Season series, designed by Carmen R. Balit and illustrated by Ivan Belikov, with art direction by David Mann. 

I couldn’t love this cover more – it fits perfectly alongside the other books while also having a fresh, nocturnal palette for this brand-new instalment of the series. I can’t even imagine how gorgeous it’s going to look when it’s foiled. Endless thanks to Ivan, as always, for his exquisite illustrations.

The Dark Mirror will be published in hardback, ebook and audio format on 25 February 2025. Signed copies are available to pre-order now from Waterstones and Barnes & Noble; more special editions to be announced.

Pre-order links here.

[ramblingoak]

To Tease a Cardinal

Cardinal Copia x f!reader

This was a direct result from art done by @ghuleh-recs here, @writingjourney here and @blacktie-whitenoise here. The expressions they gave Copia just made me think of how upset and wound up he'd be if you teased him while he was gone on tour. Thank you for the writing fuel guys!

Warnings: biting, hair pulling, fingering, cunnilingus, p in v sex, a little spanking, copia is kinda mean but also kinda sweet, nsfw 18+ only mdni, 3k words (thank you to @gothdaddyissues for the dividers and @foxybouquet for your Italian guides!)

You had maybe gone a little too far.

“Is this what you wanted, demonietta?”  He punctuated his question with a particularly vicious thrust and you bit down on the pillow to keep from wailing.  You heard him clicking his tongue right before he gripped a handful of your hair to pull your head up.  “Ah ah, I want to hear you.  I want everyone to hear you.”

“Cardinal, I’m sorry–ah!”

There was no way the entire wing didn’t hear your scream right then.  The bed banging against the wall could maybe have been explained away as something else but the desperate sounds now spilling from your mouth?  It was clear what you and Cardinal Copia were up to.  He released his grip on your hair but instead of letting you drop back down his arm wrapped around your middle so he could pull you against his chest.

“Sorry for what?  For distracting your Cardinal?  For teasing him day after day for weeks?”  He growled the last word out before lowering his face to your neck.  Your mouth fell open as he began to attack the sensitive skin there, nipping and biting at it.  Leaving marks that would not be fading anytime soon.  “Tell me how sorry you are.”

“I’m s-sorry for teasing you.”  He bit down roughly and you jerked in his grip, trying desperately to get away.  “Copia!  Please…” 

“No, no demonietta.  Right now I am Cardinal.”  Your breath caught in your throat when he adjusted his grip on you, a gloved hand now sliding down your front until he could rub across your clit roughly.  “Now, why are you sorry?  Be specific.”

“I-I’m sorry I sent you those pictures.”

Copia hummed into your ear, his fingers not slowing down at all.  You couldn’t help but start to move your hips but a nip at your earlobe had you stopping.  It was practically impossible to be still with his cock hot and throbbing inside of you and now the warm leather rubbing you just right.  

“Ah sì, those pictures.  The ones of you naked and wet in my bed.”  He moved his hand away from your clit, sliding further down through your wet flesh to where you were stretched tight around him.  “The ones where your fingers were buried deep inside of you.  Are those the ones you are sorry for?”

“Y-yes, Cardinal.”

“Did it feel good to fuck yourself on them while you were alone in my bed?”  You nodded, your sweaty cheek rubbing against his.  “Tell me.”

“It did!  It felt good.”

“Not as good as my cock though, eh demonietta?”  

“No, never.”

“Of course not.  Nothing will ever be as good as my cock, will it?”  You shook your head frantically, your mouth falling open when he pressed against the edge of your stretched opening.  When a finger threatened to push in alongside his cock you dropped a hand onto his, whimpering and pulling at it.  “What’s wrong, ragazza?”

“Too much!  It’s too much, Cardinal I can’t.”  

“I think you can and I think you will.”  To your relief he pulled his fingers away, moving them back to your clit to rub your wetness over it.  “But you still have much to apologize for before I reward you like that, don’t you?”

“Yes, Cardinal.”  He whispered a few encouraging words in your ear, biting your earlobe when he was done to spur you into answering.  “I’m sorry I called you while you were performing.”

“But they were more than just phone calls, weren’t they?  Hmm?”  

Your head was spinning, the feel of his hot length inside of you and his fingers rubbing your clit just right was making it impossible to think.  All you could focus on was him and how he was making you feel.  How he always made you feel.  Copia said something, his voice dark and commanding, but you couldn’t focus on his words.  Your orgasm was fast approaching and you so desperately needed to come, you just needed a little bit more.

With a snarl Copia removed his fingers from your swollen clit and let go of the hold he had around your waist.  Without him holding you up your shuddering body fell forward, his cock pulling out of you roughly when you hit the bed.  You cried out at the loss, letting a sob out when your cunt spasmed around nothing.  His hands grabbed at your shoulders to roughly turn you on your back and when you saw how twisted in anger his handsome face was you began to cry even more.

“C-Cardinal, please!  Please, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”  

Through your tears you saw him grin, a cruel smile that had you squeezing your eyes shut so you didn’t see it.  Satanas, what you would do to take all of it back.  How different would your reunion have been?  Would you be getting sweet smiles and sweet touches instead of what you were getting now?  You heard fabric rustle and then felt his mouth on your belly, his tongue dipping into your belly button before he kissed his way to your breasts.

“Why do you cry, demonietta?  Shouldn’t you be happy you’re getting what you wanted?  That you’re getting fucked by your Cardinal in his bed?”  All you could do was nod, still unable to look at his handsome face.  His mustache tickled the sensitive skin of your breasts while he kissed them.  When you felt his teeth close around a nipple your eyes finally snapped to his and you were surprised to see a teasing look on his face briefly before he pulled off of it.  “Well?”  

“I-I’m scared.”

“Impaurito?  Of me?”  

You opened your mouth to answer him but his lips were back on your nipple, suckling at it and teasing it lightly with his tongue.  Instead of the ‘Yes, I’m scared of you’ that you were going to say you let out a low moan.  A sound full of so much yearning and desire it was embarrassing.  Tentatively you moved your hands to his head, your shaking fingers slipping into his hair.  The gray strands mixing in with the brown shone in the light of the lamps and like always you felt the urge to kiss every single one of them.

“I missed you, Cardinal.  My Cardinal.”  He grunted around your breast but didn’t stop giving it attention.  As he continued to worship your flesh you felt gloved fingers move down your belly towards your still aching clit.  You shimmied under him, your body begging for him to touch you there again.  With a trembling voice you continued, practically babbling as you spoke again.  “All I could think about was you, all I wanted was you.”

“And did you think I didn’t?”  He had pulled off your nipple with a pop, his lips swollen and shining with saliva.  The black paint on his top lip now smeared onto your skin.  You tried to answer but he had finally started rubbing your clit again, warm leather easily sliding over your wet nub.  “Did you think I wouldn’t rather be here with you?  Fucking you and filling you over and over?”

“I-I oh yes, yes!”  

He chuckled, dropping a nip on the inside of your breast before trailing kisses down towards where his fingers were.  You kept one hand in his hair, lightly gripping it while you gripped his sheets with the other.  By the time his hot breath brushed across your clit you were panting and shaking with anticipation.

“Did you think I wasn’t missing how you tasted on my tongue?”  His fingers were gone then but his mouth immediately replaced them.  Copia stroked across your nub with his tongue, applying just the right amount of pressure on each stroke.  He groaned as your taste spread over his tongue, the fingers that had been rubbing you now drifting down to circle your still aching entrance.  You began to squirm more, your legs trembling and kicking against the bed.  “Stay still, demonietta.  Can you do that?”

“Yes, Cardinal.”  

He went back to sucking your clit but his eyes were looking up at you, the contact intense and searching.  You couldn’t look away, enraptured by how his eyes rolled back as he continued to taste you.  When two of his fingers easily slid inside your opening your own did the same, your head tilting back and your body arching up to meet both his mouth and fingers.  You were waiting for him to stop and reprimand you but instead he laughed, the sound vibrating against your cunt.

“I suppose I should take it as a compliment, eh?”  He started fucking you harder with his fingers, adding a third to spread you open wider.  “That I make you lose control.  Is that what it is?  Do I make you forget yourself?”

“Always, my Cardinal.”  You managed to look down, nearly crying when you saw the fond look on his face.  His eyes fluttered while you scratched at his scalp, slowly moving your hand so you could cup his cheek.  “I’m sorry about the voicemails.”

He let out a bark of laughter you couldn’t help but echo although it turned into a moan when the fingers inside of you curled to rub along your walls.  

“I listened to those every night, demonietta.”  He pulled your clit into his mouth, sucking hard before letting go.  “Every night while I fucked my hand.  Imagining it was your wet, needy cunt.”

“C-Copia…”

You winced when you used his name but he didn’t seem to have heard you, so focused on pumping his fingers in and out of you.

“Listening to your pretty voice moan my name, my title, over and over.  È stato delizioso.”

“Copia!”  You tried to grab his hair again but he shook your hand off, abruptly raising onto his knees and pulling his fingers out.  “No!  No, no please don’t, I nee-”

“Quiet.”  His voice held that sharp, angry tone from earlier and you bit your lip to stop your begging.  As you watched him with pleading eyes he lifted his hand to his mouth and began to suck your juices off of his gloves, the lewd sounds of it filling the air around you.  Your legs moved on their own, spreading wider to try and entice him.  His nostrils flared briefly before he pulled his fingers from his mouth and lowered them to grip your thighs.  “What do you need?”       

“You.  It’s always you, I need you so much.”

“Do you want me to fuck you now, demonietta?  Do you want my cock inside of your cunt?”  He moved closer as he spoke, one hand moving from your leg to grip his cock.  When the tip touched your entrance you cried out, your desire for him to be inside you making you feel crazy.  The both of you let out desperate groans as he slowly pushed in.  His thick cock felt perfect, stretching you still despite the work his fingers had done.  Copia dropped his head, mumbled to himself in Italian as he pressed all the way inside.  “Perfetto, sei perfetto.”

As he began to fuck you harder neither one of you was able to speak.  Needy and loud moans echoed around you, his sometimes louder than yours.  The both of you were desperate, your fingers gripping and digging into each other's flesh.  You’d wear the bruises proudly just like you would the bite marks that were stinging as sweat ran across them.  

You felt like crying when your peak began to rush towards you.  Too soon, too soon, but it wasn’t surprising.  Weeks of teasing him meant teasing yourself.  And the second he had arrived back at the ministry he had dragged you to his quarters to teach you a lesson.  A lesson that you seemed to have gone on for hours now.  You honestly had no idea what time it was.  All you could focus on was Copia and how much you had missed him. 

And how good it felt to have him inside of you. 

“Are you close, demonietta?”  

You managed only a nod, your teeth buried in your bottom lip to try to stifle your cries.  Copia pulled one of your legs up and pressed down on your thigh, spreading it wide so you opened up to him more.  It let him change the angle of his thrusting and when his cock hit you even deeper you wailed, a piercing cry that had him laughing.  

His thrusts were quickly becoming more frantic, a wild grunt leaving him at each thrust.  Sweat and paint was dripping off his face and into your chest, painting you just like his cum would soon paint your insides.  You scrabbled at the sheets when he brought a thumb down to your abused clit, roughly rubbing it but providing the final piece you needed for you to climax. 

“Copia!” 

You screamed his name like a prayer, over and over as your orgasm rushed through you.  In return he said yours, his chest heaving as he panted through his own release.  His hips were grinded against yours as his cock kicked and pulsed inside of you, filling you like he had promised.  Finally with one last grunt he collapsed on top of you, quickly turning onto his back and taking you with him so you were cradled against his side.  

Your hand settled over his tattoo, at first so you could feel his heart settle beneath your palm.  But as he relaxed and his breathing slowed you found yourself tracing the lines of the numbers with your fingers.  His skin was warm and moist with sweat, his chest hair damp and plastered to his skin.  You couldn’t help but turn your head to kiss his skin, enjoying the tastes of his sweat on your lips.  When your lips found his nipple it hardened quickly under your touch and you grinned against it. 

“You are insatiable, what am I to do with you, hmm?”  You turned your head to smile up at him, trying to look innocent but his devilish grin was hard not to copy.  Copia looked a mess, his hair sticking all over and his paint mostly gone but he still was as handsome as ever.  “Was I too rough with you?”

You shyly shook your head, hiding your smile now against his chest.  He had been rough, his frustration over what you had done controlling his passions, but it was what you had expected.  What you had secretly hoped for upon your reunion with him.  You had wanted him to feel as out of control with love and lust as you did with him gone.  You wanted him to be desperate for you, like you were the only thing he needed in this world.  

“You were perfect, my love.”  

He hummed, his chest vibrating under your ear slightly with the sound.  You began to tease your fingers down his chest, running them through his hair.  His stomach jumped when you traced around his belly button but he stayed quiet.  It wasn’t until your hand wrapped around his soft cock that he spoke.

“What did I say?  Insatiable.”  He was still wet, his release mixing with yours along his shaft.  As you began to stroke him, your touch light and teasing, he began to harden once more.  Slowly of course, because even his intense lust had to contend with his age.  It made no difference to you, you were patient.  After all, working him up was something you had become very, very good at.  You couldn’t help but laugh at that thought, laughing even when a hand gripped your hair to tilt your head up towards his own.  “Is something funny, demonietta?”

There was an edge of hurt in his eyes so you shushed him, kissing your way back up his chest until you could reach his lips.  You continued to tease his cock while you kissed him, enjoying the feel of it pulsing in your hand.  The thought of having him inside you again made your sore cunt ache and you flung a leg across him so you could grind against his thick thigh.  While growling low in his throat he deepened the kiss, sweeping his tongue through your mouth before yanking your head away.  He stayed silent, his mismatched eyes searching for an answer to his question.

“I wasn’t laughing at you, Cardinal.”  

His tight grip on your hair lessened enough so you could reach his mouth again.  You kissed him once, twice and a third time, your smile growing after each one.  He didn’t let you give him a fourth kiss, instead you found yourself once more on your back, breathless and staring up at him.

“Tell me.”  When you stayed quiet he lowered a knee between your legs, pressing it hard against your core.  You mewled and began to squirm against it, desperate for friction but he placed a hand on your stomach and held you still.  “Demonietta, you will tell me why you were laughing.”

“Or what, my Cardinal?  Will you punish me some more?”

Copia smiled, his eyes twinkling with a mixture of mirth and love.  He removed his hand from your stomach, pushing it up your chest slowly.  You whined when he avoided your breasts and gasped when he let it rest on your neck very briefly before gripping your chin so you couldn’t look away.

“Tell me.”  

“I was just thinking, my lovely Cardinal, that it was a good thing I never sent you any of the videos I made.”

The look on his face had you laughing again and you continued to laugh when he pulled away and roughly turned you onto your hands and knees.  You even laughed when he swatted your ass, enjoying the sting far more than you should have.  It wasn’t until he had entered you again, stretching and claiming you once more that your laughter turned into moans.  Those turned into a yelp when he gripped your hair, turning your face roughly so he could glare down at you.

“Later.  You will show me those later, sì?” 

“Even better, my love.”  He was pounding into you roughly, one hand remaining in your hair while the other was squeezing the mark he had left on your ass.  You grinned up at him before continuing, your answer making him collapse against your back, trying and failing to stifle his laughter into your skin,  “I’ll demonstrate.”

If you'd like to be added/removed from the tag list (or if I accidentally left your name off) of this fic or any of my others please leave a comment or send me a dm! Thank you 💙

My Masterlist ~ My Archive of our Own ~ My Ko-Fi Tip Jar

[fanaticsnail]

An Affectionate Embrace

Masterlist Here

Characters: Buggy, Mihawk, Crocodile, Shanks, Beckman (Art found on Pinterest)

Word Count: 650-900 per gentleman. 

Synopsis: It was a simple reaction, an impulse you felt organic and out of your control. Their cheek was right there, and the swell in your chest and spike of adrenaline prompted you to lunge forward and capture their cheek beneath your lips. How do they react to such a soft touch? Do they shy away, or do they respond in kind?

Notes: Since completing the "Kiss Their Cheek" for both the monster and supernova trios, I had to get a little kiss on the sea-dilfs. Considering they’re a little older and more experienced (and less easy to fluster), there’s a little more depth to their reactions. 

Themes: cheek kisses, feelings, unrequited love, confessions of love, no prior romantic relationship, gn!reader, pure fluff, lil bit angsty, small bit of fear, bittersweet emotions. 

Tag List: @sordidmusings @since-im-already-here @feral-artistry @writingmysanity @gingernut1314 @i-am-vita @cinnbar-bun @carrotsunshine

Buggy

“Captain, you’re back!” you cried with glee, eagerly rising to your feet alongside the devoted crew. Each member rushed over to greet him, cheers and enthusiastic cries of joy sprang forth from the lips and throats of your comrades in arms. 

Buggy D Clown had been away for a while, wandering throughout the seas and attempting to get back to his loyal and faithful crew. You had been searching for him for weeks, and finally at the umpteenth hour, his heavy boots found the deck of the Big Top once again. 

As the first member of the crew to reach him, you flung yourself into his arms and littered his face in a flurry of rapid kisses. You adored your captain. All of the crew did. Considering the massive swell and release of emotions, you could barely contain your incessant need to wrap yourself around him and continue laying into him with peppered pecks atop his cheeks, chin, forehead and stubbled jaw. 

The rest of the crew joined you in your embrace, each member attempting to get as close as they could to kiss, claw, bow and nuzzle against the captain. Giggling along with them in cheer, you felt Buggy’s expression change from joy and pride into a deep and heavy frown.

“Alright, that’s enough,” Buggy’s low tone attempted to break the crew away from their embrace. None could hear his direction over their own desire to worship their captain with their lips, arms and knees. Kneeling before him and reaching up their grabby hands, uttering “we missed you,” and “we love you, captain,” repetitively, Buggy’s body began to vibrate as his rage ignited. 

“That’s enough,” he tried again, the crew not responding to his commands and continuing to mumble, babble and cry for him. You hastily withdrew yourself from his arms, adjusting your clothes and turning to your crew.

“Oi, you lot! Captain said it’s enough!” you called, booming your voice to halt the crew of their incessant repetition. “Hoist the colors, unsheath the sails, weigh anchor: prepare to make waves!” 

“Aye,” the crew responded, hastily snapping out of their prior hypnosis and scrambling to follow your commands. Although you were not the first-mate, you were excellent at barking orders to the unruly crew. Turning to glance at the blushed, painted face of your captain, you smiled up and him and clapped a supportive hand over his shoulder. 

“It’s good to have you back, sir,” you confessed briefly, turning away to begin your duties to set sail, “Do we have a heading, Sir- Mmfmph!” Buggy’s index finger and thumb collected your chin, hoisting you closer to him as he drew his face closer to meet with yours. 

Closing the gap, your captain’s lips collided with your own, his red paint smeared over your lips and cheeks as he pressed a heavy and intentional kisses against your mouth. His hand withdrew from your chin, raking his gloved hand through your hair to draw you into himself. 

“S-Sorry, Doll,” he stuttered upon his withdrawal, “It’s been a little while, and I missed you too.” Your eyes held a momentary confusion, your head shaking with a broad rise in your smile.

“You gonna kiss all the crew, Captain?” you laughed joyfully and in good humor, “Am I the lucky number one to receive a kiss from you? You want me to line them up for you, Sir?” 

Where you expected to find a loud outrageous cackle at your joke, akin to one that you were always greeted with when you verbally played with your captain, what you found in it’s wake was something different. Buggy’s hands sought out your hips, drawing you closer and pressing his forehead against your shoulder. 

“No,” he whispered in a voice so silent you could barely hear it, “Just you.” Reactionary, you wrapped your arms around his neck and soothed over his hair and shoulders with several soothing touches. You felt his anxiety release and his tension depart from him with a shaken movement on his shoulders. The longer he remained nuzzled against you, the more he realized he never wanted to be apart from you again. 

Mihawk

The cool steel of metal clashed together, a cross-shaped window crafted between your blades as you bore your eyes into his honey-hue. Mihawk had been training you in the art of the sword, desperate for you to be a well-rounded fighter. You were no swordsperson, only minimal prior skill with a blade meant for single combat. 

But Mihawk, the owner of castle Kuraigana and your superior, was a determined teacher.

“This maneuver is called ‘the talking window’,” he informed you, clicking the blade against the sharpened edge of your sword. You nodded as he continued to educate you, “This is where many a swordsman may converse, or threaten their opponent with verbal intimidation.” 

Humming in response, he tested the grip on your steel with a firm shove: breaking you from contact against his blade. He lunged forward with his training sword, thrusting it out and prompting you to parry the blow. 

“Try again, and see if you can disarm me with a threat while in there,” his authoritative tone almost caught you off guard. “Think on your feet. I’ll grant you a single moment there to test your words. Your job is to have me stumble enough verbally to lose my momentum in combat.” 

Picking up your stance, you tapped your sword against his while you allowed your mind to produce witty and original retort. Kicking up your feet and swirling in place, your blade's edge was once again drawn against Mihawk’s as he awaited your verbal disarm. 

But there was something about the way he was looking at you. His eyes held encouragement with his usual abrasiveness, a combination you were yet to find in its equal. The hue of amber decorated his honey-irises with the soft swell of the uncharted and unfamiliar. Disarmed yourself by the emergence of new emotions, your body moved against your will and pressed through the window of crossed-blades.

You sprung forward, your lips immediately finding purchase against his whiskered cheek. This small act of pure instinct stunned Mihawk in his stance, his fingers loosening around the hilt of his blade and softening against your sword. 

Considering the hastiness of your own actions, you withdrew as quickly as your lips found his cheek. Your own cheeks flooded with warmth, your lips tingling with the lingering glow of the kiss, as you slunk back in your stance. After a few rapid blinks, Mihawk thrust his blade against your own, easily circling his wrist to rid your grasp over the hilt of your sword and dropping it to the ground.

“I-I’m sorry, I just-,” you began, halted by Mihawk casting his own blade down beside yours and lunging forward. He closed the distance, his hands grasping at your hips and drawing your body flush against his own. Pelvises touching, lips within distance, he circled his chin as a snake would mesmerize their unwitting and unsuspecting prey. 

“-If you’re going to disarm me with something as bold as a kiss,” Mihawk purred down at you, his gaze holding you hostage under its sultry hypnotism, “Then at least do it properly, for both our sakes.” 

“For both our-?” your words halted in your throat as your lips became eclipsed under the soft touch of Dracule Mihawk’s lips against your own. Your eyes widened, his lips opening and molding against yours to find a kiss as deep enough - as passionate enough - to grant you the insight to all of his pent up emotions. 

Brows furrowed and hands roaming, he cradled your form against himself, succumbing to the feeling of bliss against your lips as each moment flooded into the next. Finally allowing himself the luxury of opening himself up to this genre of touch, he would never let you go. You were his, and he was yours. 

Crocodile

“I have set out three towels, lotions and soaps, alongside an assortment of your usual clothes should you desire them over your current ensemble,” you nodded, gesturing to the broad chest, arms and legs of the once respectable Sir Crocodile. 

His hair was greasy, his eyes were sunken, and his shoulders carried a foreign weight you had not expected to find anchoring your former boss to the floor. As Sir Crocodile’s personal assistant, you were privy to witnessing every state he found himself in. All aside from this one. 

He was defeated. His spirit was broken alongside the reflective gold of his left hook. The object was littered in scratches and scuff marks, his body fairing not so different under the longevity he served in Impel Down. His eyes followed your gesture, glaring at the assortment of clothes atop the vanity cabinet before floating his eyes up to meet with his reflection within the broad mirror. 

Although he was yet to utter a single word to you, his silence depicted the raw emotions swelling within the heart, spirit and soul of Sir Crocodile. 

He was not who he once was. 

A man broken, clawing and desperate to be freed from the confines of a torturous prison - to battle and grind through the smog of battle to once again be shepherded into your awaiting embrace. His employee, his confidant, his friend - his love. A love he was yet to express due to the nature of your occupation.

He focussed on his sinking eyes, not recognising the figure glancing back at him. His body was marked with the white and black stripes of imprisonment, his mind laying heavily on the way his body was weakened under the sea stone walls, floors and shackles. He couldn’t find his former self amongst the remains of the man he saw in the silvery reflection. Each crease of his crows feet, each silvered hair on his head, each purple circle beneath his eye was a stranger glaring back at him.

“If I may, Sir,” you began, stepping forward and hovering your hands over his shoulders in the reflection. Deciding against your better judgment, you placed your hands firmly upon his shoulders, soothing over the flesh with your thumbs. You felt him sigh into your touch, but not conform, nor fully embrace, your affectionate touch.

“You are strong,” you uttered into his ear, watching his eyes for any indication of discomfort or apprehension. Finding none in its wake, you continued uttering assurances while you caressed his flesh. He sighed into your touch, leaning into each ministration your hands provided him above his prison uniform. 

“You have carved your destiny out by tooth and nail, Sir,” you assured him, paying attention to the scruff of his neck: circling your hands to relieve the stress and tension from his rapidly troubled mind, “You are the man you have always been, Sir Crocodile.”

“And who am I, Rouhi?” he whispered through his exhale, lulling his head back to lean into your palms. His eyes were shut, his forehead plagued by the trials he endured at the violent hands of the marines.

You couldn’t help yourself, your heartstrings tugging and pulling you down to press your lips against his cheek. The silvery scar cutting his eyes away from his nose,jaw and lips feeling rough beneath your lips. You allowed yourself a moment to hold him beneath your lips, feeling the tension rapidly leave him the longer you pressed this affectionate expression against his skin.

“You are Sir Crocodile,” you whispered after tearing your lips away from his cheek, “You are an influential threat that can have the world fall to their knees under your power.” Glancing into his eyes, you saw the world within their purple hue. His eyes swelled beneath their heavy torment, searching your own for more than your words had spoken.

“Is that all I am?” he whispered, his heart weighing heavy in his chest as he looked up at you, “Am I nothing more?” 

“You are everything to me, Sir,” you confessed, your heart feeling lighter while the adrenaline pumped to flush your cheeks with a darkening heat, “You can take from that confession what you truly desire to make from it. For now: your clothes have been pressed, your towels have been fluffed, and your home has been made ready to receive you-.”

Lips found yours, his affectionate and apprehensive touch hungrily calling for you with each passing moment. He held his lips against you as if it was the only tether holding his form to this earth, his anchor within the harbor of an unknown land of unrestrained affection. Right hand lacing into your hair, his whimpered groan departed his lips and cried lowly into your own. 

He was anew. The broken man he once was no longer found purchase within his chest. Whichever destiny he carved for himself, he would have you by his side to hold him accountable and support him in claiming his fate.

Shanks

The air was light, the jovial melodies thrust into the air at the hands of skilled minstrels. You had been dancing all night with your crew, the momentum finally catching up with you as you all found your seats for a momentary reprieve. 

A laugh fled your throat as you twirled your body once more as the music decrecendoed. Applauding the talent produced at the hands and lips of the musicians, you turned to face your crew: their bodies claiming each of the empty surfaces deemed appropriate for the body to recline against. No stool, chair, sofa nor benchtop remained unoccupied as the crew found their reprieve from lengthy dancing. 

“Why don’t you sit on my lap, love?” your captain chuckled at you, prompting a rise in laughter among the remainder of the crew, including yourself. “I’m far more comfortable than the chairs around here, anyway.”

“How considerate of you, Captain,” you feigned your appreciation, holding your hand to your heart and drawing out each intentional step towards his lap, “Will you wrap your arms-... -pardon, sir. Arm around me as I take my rightful place atop your mighty throne?”

Always playful and light were the interactions you had with your captain. No matter the years that passed in your longevity in servitude aboard the Red-Force, the playful rapport between Shanks and yourself was something ever present. 

“I will put my arm wherever you like, love,” he chuckled, his hazelnut eyes beckoning you in as you drew yourself ever closer, “I’ll keep you safe, so long as you feed me my ale and tell me I’m pretty.”

“So pretty, sir,” you laughed down at him, sinking atop his knee while caressing your hand over his cheek, “The prettiest man that ever did live.” As you cooed into his face, you leant down and pressed a lengthy and extravagant kiss atop his cheek, feigning enthusiasm with a vocal moan while smiling. 

The crew burst into a large, communal laugh that resonated within the chest of your captain. The teetered chuckles died down as the men found their drinks, your hand clasping around the hilt of Shanks’ ale and elevating it to his lips. 

His eyes never left you for a single moment.

Feeling small beneath his gaze, you placed his tankard down against the table and turned to face him with your brows knit into a gruff frown.

“What, Captain?” you asked him, the anxiety elevating in your chest for each moment that continued to pass between you.

“You missed, love,” he chuckled darkly. You were puzzled, searching for a moment in your servitude that you ever missed a single target - falling short in your memories. Before you had an opportunity to ask him a follow up question, you were silenced by Shanks’ right index finger raking along your jaw and collecting your chin within the hooked digit. 

“If you’re going to kiss me,” his smirk carried his dangerously playful tone, “Make sure you hit the right target.” He allowed himself to dwell in that moment of teasing, feeling you slink back atop his lap while his eyes held nothing but unbridled affirmation within their hue.

“Now give us a proper kiss, love,” he uttered before dragging your head towards him, his lips meeting your own. The room uproared into a momentary chaos: cheers, hollers and whistles rose amongst the crew the longer you held your lips against Shanks’. He chuckled against your lips, turning his head and humming against your opening mouth.

“There ‘ya go,” Shanks laughed after pulling away, “Lead with that next time, love. Makes it all less confusing for the lot of us.” 

But you were left more confused than the moment you kissed his cheek. Did he like you? Did he want more? Did you want more? You would need to discuss this when the both of you find yourselves in an air of sobriety, that was for certain. 

Beckman

The storm scattered your face with a flurry of ice-splinters of frozen rain.The Red-Force was stampeding throughout the waves to find refuge in the eye of the storm, your task was to release the sails to have the natural wind pull you toward the calming center of the flurry. 

On the last knot set to release the canvas, the sail snagged on the rope against the top-mast: prompting you to sprint towards the ropes to clamber up amongst the havoc. Your feet caught in the ropes, your heart springing to your throat as you readjusted yourself and stabilized your body within your climb. 

“Careful up there!” the barked call of the first mate of the Red-Haired crew called to you over the wild and unruly wind. You could barely make out his words, let alone formulate an answer over the swell of rainfall. 

Anchoring yourself amongst the ropes, you began desperately tugging at the knot to loosen. Your eyes became misted by the rapid downpour of water, your hands and fingers desperately clawing at the joint fibers of the rope to loosen. As you finally released the last loop of rope amongst the canvas, your feet slipped and your fingers barely brushed with the ropes to hold yourself steady before you began to fall. 

The air was cool, the clouds above shepherded you into the lull of calm before you deduced your body would meet firmly against the deck and break your neck on impact. There was no way you would survive such a drop: no Devil-Fruit abilities to caress your fall, nor Haki present to catch you on impact. 

Little did you know, the moment Benn Beckman barked his orders: he ensured his body was intentionally beneath yours to collect you in his arms should you fall. Although first mate to captain Shanks of the Red-Hair pirates, you were special to him. He needed to ensure your safety, regardless of his own orders to remain at his post. 

As you fell through the air and readied your soul to flee from your body to welcome death with a warm embrace, the only embrace you felt was a warm chest, two steady and firm arms, and an angry reprimand falling from the lips of the gray-haired first mate.

“I told you to be careful!” he barked at you, his eyes wild and frantic as his brow deepened in a low frown. Your breath hitched in your throat, watching as his passionate scolding ignited behind his eyes. “You need to be careful, to be wise. I don’t care what Shanks told you to do, nor how stupid a command it is. You need to be more careful. Hitch a rope around your belt or somethin’, or between each loop to stop you from falling. I can’t lose you to something so stupid as a storm.” 

You could barely comprehend his words, each syllable sounding heavenly against your ears as you appreciated each breath you were granted. You expected to die there, to fall from the ropes and have your neck snap upon impact against the deck - littering your skin with splinters from the wood and choirs serenading you into the life thereafter. In its stead, you were met with a grumpy bark and a cool reprimand that had your heart swelling and eyes misting with the rise of emotions.

Without thinking, you lunged forwards in his arms, your lips making contact against his stubbled cheek. You whimpered against his flesh, arms hooking over his neck and brows upturning in appreciation for his care for you. Your emotions spilled over: thanking whichever deity that was watching over you for the opportunity to live to not only serve this crew, but to feel the touch of Benn Beckman beneath your lips while your body remained chaperoned and cradled within his broad arms. 

At a small sob escaping from your lips, Beckman’s heart softened. He cradled you against himself further, huffing out a small laugh and allowing you to remain in his arms a moment longer. He had desired this touch from you for some time, but refused to act on it due to your proximity and place amongst the crew should the relationship sour. 

“A-Alright, Darlin’. Easy now,” he chuckled, feeling the small quake in your shoulders at the adjustment of your near demise, “Don’t let me get a big head.” 

“You just saved my life, Benn Beckman,” you reiterated, tearing yourself away from him to stare up into his silvery eyes, “A kiss on the cheek is hardly a just reward for such a feat.” Holding his eyes against yours, the rain began to settle as the clouds departed in the eye of the storm. The sun's rays flittered down and cascaded over your bodies, the storm finally finding solace and breaking its tyrannical attack against the Red-Force.

After the storm settled, the soothing swell of waves held you in a momentary calm as your head reclined against Benn Beckman’s broad shoulder. Sitting on the damp deck, with a plush blanket wrapped around your shoulders, Beckman’s lips found your forehead as your eyes grew heavy with want and soothed within the proximity against your valiant savior.  

You could not stop staring at him: this burly man with the grumpy twinkle in his eye. You would offer him the world should he ask it of you, grant him every desire his heart would swell for. You had no idea that the desire itself was you until he made that fact abundantly clear upon your wake in the morning. 

[seivsite]

BRUSHSTROKES OF MAGIC.

includes: lyney x fem!reader. painter!reader, fluff, may be ooc lyney, painter and her magician muse — wc: 591

You had finally secured tickets to Lyney and Lynette’s captivating Magic Show.

After putting in hard work through small art commissions and assisting others, your perseverance paid off. Luckily, you found yourself seated in the second row, enjoying a perfect view of the entire stage. As the lights dimmed, a spotlight illuminated the enchanting magicians.

“Welcome to Lyney and Lynette’s Magic Show!” Lyney exclaimed, his arms wide open in a welcoming gesture.

The performance unfolded before your eyes, blurring the line between reality and fantasy.

The show concluded with a burst of applause, whistles, and amazed cheers filling the room. Lyney and Lynette took their bows, expressing gratitude to the audience before exiting the stage.

While others started to leave the theatre, you remained lost in your thoughts, unable to tear yourself away.

You noticed Lyney’s occasional glances in your direction, but you brushed them off, assuming he was merely engaging with the audience. Your hands moved instinctively, retrieving a small paper and a worn pencil that you carried everywhere. Swiftly, you sketched the scene, capturing the magicians as the focal point.

Unaware of another presence, you snapped out of your trance when a red rose materialised before you.

Your eyes widened at the sight, then lifted to meet the culprit—a mischievous grin adorning his face.

“Well, M’lady, perhaps we should step outside before we find ourselves locked in here,” he suggested, tucking the flower gently into your hair. Extending his hand, he invited you to join him.

You accepted his hand, and he turned to his sister, who stood waiting.

“Took you quite a while,” she remarked, her expression unchanging.

“Apologies, Lynette. It seems M’lady was deeply absorbed in thought,” he responded.

“Please stop addressing me like that,” you murmured, your cheeks tinged with a blush.

“Apologies again! I haven’t had the pleasure of knowing your name. I’m Lyney. This is my sister, Lynette, and you are...?” He walked alongside you as the three of you departed the theatre.

“(Name), pleased to make your acquaintance,” you replied.

From that day forward, your bond with Lyney grew remarkably strong, much to Lynette’s amusement as she shook her head at her brother’s persistent attempts to win you over.

In a meadow bursting with vibrant blooms, Lyney stood amidst the flowers, becoming both your muse and a devoted spectator. As your brush danced gracefully across the canvas, each stroke seemed to weave a rich tapestry of emotions.

“Are you almost finished, M’lady?” Lyney’s voice broke the tranquil air as he noticed your momentary pause.

“Hmm, just a few more minutes,” you replied, urging him to remain where he stood.

When the art piece finally took shape, it radiated colours and beauty that surpassed mere brushwork. Lyney was thoroughly impressed, unable to contain himself as he pressed a kiss to your cheek, prompting a delightful blush from you.

“Thank you for immortalising me in your art, M’lady. I shall treasure it,” Lyney expressed, his tone sincere.

“It’s no big deal,” you replied with a smile. Lyney settled beside the portrayal of yourself, gazing at you with unwavering attention.

“Is something wrong?” you questioned, perplexed by his sudden change in demeanour.

“No, it’s just that something has been occupying my thoughts,” he confessed, his fond gaze fixed on you.

Your head tilted in curiosity, awaiting an explanation.

“Despite my belief in the wonder of my magic tricks, they pale in comparison to your beauty and talent. I’m afraid, M’lady, that you’ve stolen my heart. So, will you do me the honour of accepting this responsibility?”

NOTES. he’s cute i like the idea of painter!reader w lyney whos a magician, also my second genshin work weee. kinda rushed this so whatever plot i have is a bit wonky, maybe.

TAG LIST. @yanqingisim

LIKES AND REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED! ‹3

[peachsukii]

₊✩‧₊◜ a kiribaku x reader scenario that’s lived in my head for awhile now! it’s not really a formalized…anything. just fleeting thoughts. ♡ ✿ tangled hearts modern au masterlist ✿ ｡‧˚ʚ wc; ~2.6k ɞ˚‧｡ next entry: delicate (isn’t it?)

Thinking about a modern day AU with Kirishima and Bakugo settling down in the countryside for a quiet life away from the hustle of the city. They’re in their early 30s, married and happily tucked away in their own little paradise - until they meet you.

Bakugo works with his parent’s fashion agency as the director of the design department, and is a designer himself. He went to the highest credible fashion institute in Tokyo and graduated top of his class - as expected.

Kirishima is a personal trainer and owner of the local gym. He took a few business classes after high school and general fitness courses to learn all about it. He loves getting to help people and knows almost every single person in town. He also volunteers with the local fire company.

It was the ideal place for them, not too big and not too cramped. Bakugo had his own garden that he cherished while Kirishima loved the backyard for home exercising. Their home was spaced out from their neighbors and gave them the perfect amount of privacy.

The town is only an hour and change outside the city, still remaining close for friends and family by train. Bakugo mostly worked from home and only went into the city office for important meetings and press conferences. He preferred to work in his own space while designing instead of in a buzzing office where anyone could bother him - especially his parents.

Their morning routine was simple: Bakugo would wake up anytime between 6 and 6:30am, rolling out of bed to start breakfast and coffee. By the time he’s done cooking, Kirishima stumbles into the kitchen with his eyes half closed, sleepily making his way over to kiss his husband good morning. They’d sit at the table together and casually talk about their plans for the day or in silence as they enjoyed each others company.

That was all disrupted the morning Kirishima spotted you outside the gym, waiting for it to open. He didn’t recognize you like he did everyone else in town - that immediately caught his attention. Once inside, you introduced yourself and told him how you moved from the city for a new job. The two of you got to talking longer than anticipated and ended up bonding over you being new to town. Kirishima signs you up for his yoga classes the following week, excited to see you mesh with his regulars.

Bakugo’s on his lunch break later in the day at the local market to pick up his usual fresh vegetables and fruits when he spots you browsing the aisle behind him. He peeks over his glasses to see his design logo on the small tag at the hem of your tshirt. He simply smiles to himself, proud to see a garment of his in the wild, and finishes his own shopping.

───

A few weeks go by of getting to know Kirishima as you attend his classes. You’d stop and talk with him afterwards each time, slowly developing a friendship. One day after class, he casually mentions to you that his husband is a great cook and how his food rivals any five star restaurant from the city. On a whim, he invites you to dinner with him and Bakugo at their home - you agree happily. You didn’t have any friends in the area, what’s the harm in meeting people?

You arrive at their cozy home and are greeted heartily by Kirishima at the door as he puts a hand on your back and welcomes you inside. Bakugo turns his attention from the stove to the door, nodding in your direction as he continues cooking. You can’t help but think he looks…familiar.

Their place is gorgeous, tidy and clean, yet homey. There were pictures of their family and friends hung up all over alongside some simple art pieces and knick knacks. You could already tell who decorated versus who didn’t - Kirishima is definitely not the type to decorate so eloquently.

You’re gazing at one of the pictures when the realization smacks you in the face.

He’s responsible for half the clothes in your closet.

Kirishima is married to the Katsuki Bakugo of the fashion world? And you’re in his house for dinner that he’s serving to you?!

The thought makes you dizzy as your face flushes, desperately trying to hide your sudden excitement. And you chose to wear one of the dresses he designed for a collaboration years ago. What are the chances? Kirishima never told you what his husband’s name was, just that he was married.

“Y/N, I want you to meet my husband, Katsuki!” Kirishima excitedly says as he’s walking you to the kitchen. “Kat, this is Y/N. She’s the one I told ya about from my yoga class!”

The two of you lock eyes for a moment before Bakugo looks you up and down, calculating his first impression of you. He wasn’t about to tell you that he’s seen you around town before, he had to play it cool and not make it seem like he already knew you existed.

“Nice ta meet ya,” he greets before returning his attention to the stove. “Dinners just about ready. Ei, can you set the table?”

You all sit down for dinner, and it’s absolutely delicious. Kirishima was not joking about Bakugo’s cooking, every single thing you ate was delightful. You honestly don’t know if you’ve had a better meal than his.

“This is absolutely amazing, Ba-”

“Jus’ call me Katsuki.”

Him cutting you off to correct his name before you even finished saying it made your heart skip a beat.

“Oh, sure. Katsuki, this is honestly one of the best meals I’ve ever had,” you repeat, picking at that last of your vegetables on your plate. “I saw a garden outside. Do you grow them yourself?”

Bakugo grins, glowing at your compliments. “Yep. Anythin’ not in season I grab from market.”

Kirishima watches the two of you interact, happy that he was right about the three of you getting along seamlessly.

You shuffle in your seat at the next pause in your conversation before deciding to ask the burning question on your mind.

“So, Katsuki…what do you do for work?”

He laughs, motioning to your sundress. “Ya don’t have to beat around the bush about it. I can spot my work from a mile away.”

That broke the ice and allowed you to relax, knowing he didn't think you were trying to impress him by wearing his own design. The night went on, way past dinner, where the three of you talked about any and everything. It felt as if they’d already known you their whole lives, the conversation never feeling forced and flowing naturally.

“Shit, I’m sorry for staying so late!” You exclaim while looking at your phone. “Didn’t mean to keep you guys up.”

“Don’t apologize, y/n! You’re welcome here anytime,” Kirishima assured, slinging his arm around Bakugo on the couch. “We’d love to have ya over for dinner again soon!”

You’re about to head out the door when Bakugo gets up from the couch and stops you. “It’s dark, lemme walk you back to your place.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” you insist, but he wasn’t having it. He was already changing out of his slippers and into a pair of sneakers. He held the door open for you as you waved to Kirishima, thanking him again for having you over and that you’ll see him for class in the morning.

You and Bakugo are walking down the dimly lit street toward your apartment complex, hands in his pockets, when he strikes up another conversation about your dress.

“You didn’t need to act so shy about the dress,” he comments. “Looks good on ya.”

You can feel your cheeks get hot again, praying he can't see your reaction in the street lights. "T-thanks! I love your work. I actually have a lot of the clothes you’ve designed…what are the odds?” You trail off at the end out of nervousness, playing with the fabric of the dress.

“Yeah? Good to know.”

The two of you approach your building and he says a simple ‘good night’ as he waves, turning to head home.

There’s a weird feeling in your chest, one that you haven’t felt in a long time. A warmth that floods your body with…you can’t pinpoint it. It makes you sweat, but comforts you at the same time.

Little did you know that the boys were feeling the exact same way.

───

Months go by as the three of you become inseparable - dinners, movie nights, shopping at the market, going into the city together, meeting their friends, walking around town at sunset, picnics in the park, you name it. Kirishima and Bakugo never knew they could feel so comfortable with someone so quickly - it was as if the three of you were meant to find each other.

While the two of them are lying in bed one night, Kirishima decides to open up about his feelings. He rolls over to face Bakugo, his usual pointy hair fluffed around his face against the pillow.

“Kats, I got a question for ya. It’s kinda…weird?” He starts, fiddling with the hem of the comforter. “Do you…uhh, shit. Do you have any feelings toward Y/N?”

Bakugo flips to his side to face him. “What do y’mean?”

“Oh don’t be like that. I think she’s…really cute,” he admits, his cheeks turning rosy. “I enjoy having her around.”

Bakugo grumbles in embarrassment, pulling the comforter up to cover his face. He feels like a high school boy all over again - he just didn’t want to admit it.

They’d both fallen for you simultaneously without even saying a word. Neither of them knew why, they’ve been together for over a decade now - since their college days. No one has ever made their hearts race in sync like you do.

“I’ll take that reaction as an agreement,” Kirishima teases, poking Bakugo’s forehead through the covers. He groans again as he throws the blanket off his face.

“It’s been confusin’ the shit outta me. I love you, Ei and that doesn’t change shit, but goddamn. She’s fuckin’ gorgeous,” Bakugo admits, face and ears burning hot.

“Aw, you’re so cute when you have a crush!” He scoots closer to Bakugo and kisses him on the forehead. “Haven’t seen that side of ya since college.”

Bakugo bats at him playfully, pushing him away as he whines, “Shut the fuck up!”

“So…what do we do about it?” Kirishima’s question hangs in the air between them, heavy…but alluring.

───

The next few times you hang out with the boys, you can tell that things feel a little more…intense? If that was the right word, the feeling was foreign. You found yourself becoming more physical with the two of them, and each time gave you butterflies. You weren’t quite sure what was going on until that fateful night.

It was a dreary night, the remnants of the storm passing through the town. The rain was no longer a torrential downpour and had tapered off into a sprinkle, enough to allow you to walk home safely. You’re heading for the door as Bakugo catches up to you, umbrella in hand.

“Y’know the drill, I’m not lettin’ ya walk home alone. Especially when it’s still raining.”

“Kat, you hate the rain, it’s fine,” you argue, but know it’s pointless. Bakugo waves at Kirishima and you notice Kirishima’s smile is extra wide tonight…and did he wink?

He closes the door behind the two of you and opens the umbrella on the porch, slinging an arm around your shoulders to huddle you under its protection.

The walk to your apartment is silent, an unknown tension lingering in the air. The subtle flexing of Bakugo’s fingers on your shoulder is driving you wild, a simple touch was enough to ignite the fire in your gut. Reaching your apartment complex, you stop to thank him for walking you home like always, but something else spills from your lips instead.

“Did I do something wrong?”

Bakugo’s taken aback by your question, confused where this has come from. “What? No, not at all. Why?”

“I…just don’t wanna make you two uncomfortable,” you whisper, eyes cast to the ground. “I really like you two…and don’t want to come between y-”

The umbrella clatters to the ground as Bakugo throws it to the side, letting the rain pelt against the both of you as one hand pulls you into him by the waist and the other under your chin.

“That’s right where we want ya,” he speaks against your lips. He hesitates, tilting his head back and looking directly in your eyes. “Tell me to back off, and I will. We can act like-”

This time, you cut him off by putting a hand on the back of his head and one on his chest, pulling him to meet your lips. The world stops around you as the rain trickles down your faces and vaguely into your kiss. You tangle your arms around each other’s bodies, illuminated by the soft street lights as your clothes become heavier with rainwater. After what feels like ages, you part, catching the breath you’ve stolen from each other’s lungs.

No words are spoken as Bakugo takes your hand, tugging you back down the road toward their place. You giggle and begin to run with excitement, skipping through the rain with him all the way back. Throwing open the front door, you both take a step inside, soaking wet from the rain. Kirishima glances over from the couch, shocked to see you return with Bakugo.

“Woah! What happened to you two?” he asks, concerned yet intrigued. He then notices you’re holding hands, and it clicks.

You’re stripping the wet clothes from your body faster than you can chicken out of doing so, letting them plop on the floor of the foyer until you’re left in your bra and underwear. Bakugo follows suit and trails behind you as you make your way over to Kirishima on the couch. You take a deep breath before placing a hand on each of his shoulders, sliding into his lap and wrapping your arms around his neck. He places his hands on your waist anxiously, scared you’ll shatter under his touch.

“It’s okay, Eiji,” you coo, leaning down to his ear. “You can touch me.”

You turn back to Bakugo as he’s sitting next the two of you on the couch, reaching a hand out to stroke his cheek. “Katsuki can, too.”

That’s all the permission they need to devour you all night long - over and over again like a drug they couldn’t get enough of. Brief naps in between, each time better than the last. Hands tangled in hair, lips kissing skin in sinful places, and noises only the three of you could orchestrate together.

That was the night their lives changed forever, thanks to you. Things were easy and simple between the three of you - you blended into their routines perfectly as the weeks progressed. Waking up between the two of them each morning was heavenly, especially when they fought over who got to cuddle you through the night. Bakugo usually won that fight until he would go make breakfast, then Kirishima would tuck you under his arm and hold you close.

Everything was so easy between you three, you were the missing puzzle piece in their lives that they didn’t know was absent.

You were theirs, and they were yours - simple as that. They wouldn’t trade their newfound goddess for the world.

i immediately think of @pastelbakugou & @kweenkatsuki-fics when it comes to kiribaku x reader, thank you for being my inspirations! 💜

[sizzlesouce]

Ah F I N A L L Y! I've been squeezing out every second I could out of my crazy busy schedule lately, to create this comic. Ironically the most ambitious one I've done yet. The painting took so much time. I'm so tired... but happy! I feel like I could handle the last page better, but it's ok. I just wanted this out already. THIS IS A PART 1. This is pre bg3 setting, when my Durge, (Ilvyra) meets Enver Gortash. I want to do a couple comics to establish their relationship. There definitely will be part 2, and we'll see from there. If people are interested, I'll keep going. I have many many and directions I want to take this. (but who am I kidding, I'll probably keep posting, even if no one's interested) P.S If the dream thing is a bit confusing, there's an entry, ( that I can't find on the internet right now, but I swear I saw it T_T ) where Gortash says that he was named Chosen of Bane alongside Dark urge ( who, obviously, was named Chosen of Bhaal) in a same dream. So I wanted to create my take on that. Hope you like it, and hopefully, I'll be able to create part 2, way faster. If you want to support a struggling artist, you can do on Ko-fi , I post high quality, unglazed art there. Thank you, if you for some reason read all this ~