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louebel · 2 years ago

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— [ 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐅𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 . . . 𝟐 .ᐟ ]

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: sanji, zoro, mihawk, buggy × gn!reader 𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐨/𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: not proofread and rushed,, it's not as wholesome as the first and more calm + horny my bad, lowercase, gets a bit explicit with sanji and buggy at the end... i am deeply sorry not. rest is sfw, fluff, and... fluff. usage of "baby, sweetness, honey, good boy" (and... others? i forgot) in all of them except zoro's, lots of caresses and kisses! these are rather short,, anddd dripping divider by @ benkeibear :) 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: you couldn't help but share the sudden warmth you felt with them, resulting in... a lot of kisses! ... and more. part one is here!! though idk should i repost it? since it's in my archived blog— eh idk maybe not.

— 𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐌𝐎𝐊𝐄 𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐉𝐈, wc. 699

"sanji... honey..."

a very pleasant smell engulfed the kitchen. sweet and homely, a dish that piqued your appetite. seagulls could be heard outside the sunny, the sun rising slowly to greet all those who continued their lives.

and then there were you two, already awake. sanji always got up earlier, and so you did too, wanting to keep him company at such early hours. you could still hear sanji's wails and the rivers of tears plopping onto the wood at your kind gestures, and you swore you saw the sunny sweatdrop that day. (you were definitely not imagining things...)

"hmm? yes, love?"

his voice was your greatest weakness. freshly awake, groggy with sleep... if only you could both rest right now — what you'd do to feel him tend to your scalp, brushing his treasured fingers upon you, perhaps humming a tune in your ears. you remembered his words: "because my love for you is so profound, i can't contain it" and now, every time he murmurs, you melt a little more, thinking of what he said. of course, not all the time, sometimes he just does it.

sadly, however, you couldn't go back to sleep. he had to cook, and he was going to treat you with the most delicious, mouthwatering breakfast ever, but you'd still be disappointed since what you wanted was... something else. you were so spoiled...

"i think i could get something else for breakfast... it's fine, right?"

now, you know sanji despised wasting food. it wouldn't really be a problem considering luffy, but... why didn't you say anything?

he glanced at you from his shoulder, a bit perplexed. he felt his heart flutter as you approached him, wrapping your arms around his waist, pressing your face on his tender nape.

"sweetness?"

"... those are definitely sweet," you pointed at the pancakes, already smiling, "but i think you're sweeter."

it was only morning, damnit. and yet here he was, already blushing, cheeks tinted a lovely shade of pink. a small chuckle rumbled from his chest, the cook lowering the heat as the first batch was ready, before turning to you and pressing a tender kiss upon your forehead.

"you do, love?"

"mhm. and, you know, i'd really like if you gave me some of your love right now. i think that's the most sweet... 'm thinking about just sitting here and kissing you all over while telling you "i love you, i love you, i love you" ," you brought his hand to your chest, smiling at how his visible eye softened. "feels really warm right here, just thinking 'bout it..." you were so wonderful that sanji might just die on the spot.

"oh, love... you can't just say those things so early..."

"hmm? and why not?"

"... m—might faint."

fainting in your arms didn't sound so bad though, he thought dreamily.

"ppff... if you faint, i won't shower you with kisses."

"i won't faint."

you giggled at his suddenly determined tone. tenderly brushing your lips around the side of his neck, you nudged his jaw, sliding your hands under his shirt, feeling him tense beneath your skimming fingers. his flesh felt firmer to the touch, lineaments of his abdomen and torso defined with each part you mapped.

"hmm... i love you so much, sanji. really love you, hon."

"... a—ah, getting handsy, aren't you?"

you loved how he got so flustered with just a couple of touches. he shuddered as you placed your hand on the crook of his neck, pulse quickening beneath your thumb. he was rather sensitive, there, too...

"you— you know, i, hnngh, think you're the sweetest..." he whimpered, his slender fingers finding your tantalizing ones.

"hmmm? is that so, honey?"

"y—yes — ohh... love..."

you were gliding dangerously lower...

"mmm... you're so hard, sanji." oh... "i think you should relax a bit before cooking..." oh my... "it's so early... you need proper rest." ba-dump.

"... i—i do, don't i? heh... hehe..."

"yeah, you do. come on... i'll show you just how sweet i am. will give you all my love. you want that, baby?"

"oh, ooh please... goodness, don't—don't hold back, mon ange..."

"mhm... good boy. relax..."

and soft moans soon filled the piquant kitchen — followed by smooches, wet sounds, and declarations of love from both ends.

you truly were the sweetest in his eyes.

— 𝐑𝐎𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐎𝐀 𝐙𝐎𝐑𝐎, wc. 388

"zoro... your face looks pretty kissable today."

sometimes, zoro had no idea what went through your head. you've both been sitting on the deck, zoro against the mast and you lying your head on his lap. he was going to take a nap but it seemed you were feeling chatty, so he decided to entertain you for a little while before he dozed off.

he had no idea what you were thinking, but he liked it.

"does it?" he mumbled, gazing down at you to see you shift in his lap, eyebrow raising as you got up and cuddled to his side, chin on his shoulder. he tilted his head slightly, seeing your pupils dilating at the sight of him; already quite big as the sun was setting. he smirked, though the expression on your face only made his heart beat faster.

you looked completely smitten.

"yep. very."

"hmm..."

smooch. smooch. smooch.

"oi..."

and he probably did, too, in his own way. he couldn't see it, but you did. how he relaxed, how he so softly sighed. you smiled, realizing just how much he laid himself bare to you. it wasn't the same trust he shared with luffy, no. it was something more intimate. something... sweeter. and with each osculate to his neck and jaw, zoro loosened just a bit further, his consciousness slowly slipping away.

"hm. thought you said my face." yet, he still taunted you, with that stupid smug grin on his lips. you rolled your eyes, continuing to pamper him with love.

"shut up. mm..."

smooch.

"love you, zoro. so much."

you slowly pushed him down on the floor, the swordsman tensing a little before following your silent command. you lay on his body, his arms splayed on the wood, eye closed as you kissed his eyelid, brow, and nose. a reddish hue colored his cheeks, chuckling as your tiny, adoring pecks tickled his skin.

so lovely.

" 'that so..?"

"yeah."

your eyes mitigated further, noting the corners of his mouth curve up more. you were lucky...

"mhh... y'know, i think you look pretty kissable today, too."

he'll rearrange his naps, just for you. with a kiss to your lips, he sealed the unspoken "i love you" with his tender actions — his heart all yours.

and he'd care for your own... like one of his swords.

— 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐔𝐋𝐄 𝐌𝐈𝐇𝐀𝐖𝐊, wc. 338

perona was speechless. she knew, she knew. she knew that you were dracule's lover...

"miiiiihaaawk... will you look at me?"

but what she witnessed was as surprising as the first time you told her that.

you grinned at the sighing warlord, shutting his book as you've been pestering him for minutes. arms wrapped around him, kisses to his neck — he wasn't a man easily swayed, even by you. the armchair leaned back as he finally eased, your form against his soft.

"... do you have nothing to do?" he huffed, rather tired of your games. interrupting him was almost sin; perona had no idea how you lived. were these the privileges of being dracule mihawk's partner? he treated you so differently... how could you even fall for someone as brooding as him? every time she did something nice, like give him pastries or clean the castle as she had nothing to do, he'd ignore her completely. (though he appreciated it.)

"i do. i'm loving you." yet here he was, letting you speak and do as you wished with a faint smile on his face. he looked like a big cat.

"something other than that."

"hmm... no. i wanna love you right now."

the longer she watched from her little corner, the more her mind crumbled.

"... you're impossible."

"but you love me too. like how i love you. i love you a lot."

you were so... mushy. something that did not connect to mihawk at all — unless you were around. his actions conveyed what he felt, even if they were scarce at the moment.

"you..."

"like, a looot. you know? a lot. i really do."

but... no words would topple from his mouth, perona was sure of that.

"i reciprocate." incredibly sure.

"c'mon, say it." there was no way.

"... i love you too."

"there you go. good boy."

he could only sigh at your antics — though inside he felt as warm as a star. after that, perona left her hiding spot and dragged her jaw that sat on the floor.

— 𝐁𝐔𝐆𝐆𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐍, wc. 426

buggy was not happy.

he was not happy you gave him a kiss, in front of his whole crew, completely unbothered as you pretty much established he was yours. he did not like it. at all.

"just..! what do you think you're doing?! kissing me out of nowhere? they have no idea we're together! what if someone took a photo!—"

"did i tell you?"

"—tell me what?"

you chuckled while he blinked. it was always funny how simple it was to make him stop; one word and he'd immediately listen to you. it was as if his own temporarily had no weight, just to hear your own thoughts, only to slander them later or actually agree with them.

most of the time, he ended up stuttering. you loved how much he hated you teasing him; it became your favorite pastime.

"you look incredibly cute." your grin always meant trouble.

"my nose looks redder than usual??"

your chuckle the last sound he heard,

"no. you, look, cute. cute. adorable. precious." and your words forever his downfall.

you could see his cheeks gaining color, a pretty rouge that matched his lipstick and nose, mirth decorating your face at the view. he was just so, so so cute. but when he snorted and flailed his hands around with parts of his body floating at the use of his devil fruit... that's when he got even cuter.

"y—you say that all the time!" he squeaked and pointed at you, stomping closer to you to somehow look "threatening". in reality, he was just a cub. you kept on smiling, looking at him with an adoring gaze that managed to make his poor heart stop — your affection a treat he relished.

"i mean it." plus, when your voice had that adoring tone... he could do nothing but take what you said. maybe he was just making a big deal out of things...

"w—well! of course you mean it, hahaha! i'm... buggy the... aah..."

his eyes almost popped out of his sockets as you got closer to him; wrapping your arms around his waist, teeth nibbling his neck. a tiny, soft moan that made you shudder left buggy's lips, already trembling.

oh...

"... mm... love you so much, baby. 'm sure they don't mind the kiss... come here."

he could barely get a word in, before his squeals and whimpers reached even those outside, as all of his skin got caressed by your lips. soon, he was screaming "i love you too!" and your stunt was the last thing he thought about.

#one piece x reader #op x reader #one piece imagine #one piece scenario #one piece x you #sanji x reader #sanji x y/n #vinsmoke sanji x reader #zoro x reader #zoro x y/n #roronoa zoro x reader #mihawk x reader #mihawk x y/n #mihawk x you #buggy x reader #buggy x y/n

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alexanderwales · 6 months ago

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It might not surprise you to know that I've made mustard before. It's one of the easiest things to make, because it's just crushed up mustard seeds and some kind of liquid, then salt and vinegar for taste and preservation. This is difficult to get right though, for reasons of chemistry.

Like a lot of delicious things, what gives the mustard its pungency is a defense mechanism. The chemical is allyl isothiocyanate, but this is harmful to the plant, so it's stored in the precursor allyl glucosinolate and activated by the enzyme myrosinase. So the theory goes that an herbivore comes along, starts munching, releases the harmless glucosinolate and the enzyme, and together they make an explosion of searing pain to the sinuses.

So if you're making mustard at home, you're controlling this reaction. You grind up the mustard seeds, then add in some kind of liquid, and the nature of the liquid you add is going to determine how much of the glucosinolate gets converted to isothiocyanate. In other words, add cold water for spicy mustard, add hot water for mild mustard.

This is some alchemy shit right here. Mustard is one of the oldest condiments, and I have to imagine some mustard-maker explaining to her apprentice "alright, cold water for spicy, hot water for mild, you would think that it depends on the mustard crop and not the temperature of the water, and you would think hot for spicy and cold for mild, but nope, that's just how it is".

And then there's more alchemy, because the mustard compounds you get are volatile and fade away, except you can add in vinegar to keep it strong, but if you add the vinegar right away, shortly after crushing, it'll slow the reaction, making it less spicy.

So our hypothetical mustard-maker has to explain "vinegar makes it not spicy, but also keeps it spicy, so for the spiciest mustard you need to use the cold water, then wait for it to get spicy, then add in the vinegar only when it's as spicy as you want it to be, after which it'll stay that spicy".

I'm not sure how much evidence there is for them actually knowing all this, but I have to imagine that even thousands of years before the scientific method they would realize that the results were sometimes different, especially if an apprentice wasn't told a step that turned out to be crucial.

Anyway, this is all a long way of saying that my favorite mustard tastes different now, and I'm upset about it, so might have to go back to the incredibly varied world of home mustard making.

#cooking #alchemy #mustard

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vicaly · 19 days ago

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The long awaited Adrien Agreste Redesign AND WITH MY MANY MANY THOUGHTS

I had been scratching at the walls of my internet corner some time ago when I stumbled upon the gold mine that is Adrien concept art with a cane. Then boom ideas, so many delicious ideas.

I provided him with an arc, and a better understanding of his motives since he's always seem so forgotten despite literally having one of the two most powerful Kwami that's supposed to compliment each other.

Anyways, in civilian form Adrien uses his cane for a chronic disability he got in the same accident he 'lost' his mother to. It results in his father working tirelessly to provide Adrien with everything he wants while being extremely over protective and yet nearly a ghost in physical presence- due to his father not wanting to be reminded of the damage he's trying to fix by getting that Wish. The result? Adrien just wanting his father to look at him. Until then Adrien remains feeling inadequate and needing to prove he's enough while internalizing every little thing he can't do better. Despite maintaining a huge amount of success in both his relationships, hobbies, and his fame as a model. (one that's widely looked up to)

Then comes a Kwami that snuck out (just like in the movie) and gets attached to this teen he sees himself in. Cut to Plagg using his abilities to take a physical form as a cat. Offering Adrien comfort as a companion in a lonely mansion when not transformed, and the perfect freedom Adrien had missed when he is. As Chat Noir, Adrien is limitless, his cane becoming his staff, his pain magicked away for a temporary time, it's freeing. It's intoxicating. It becomes a painfully obsessive addiction at Adrien's worse to want to be Chat Noir at all times before finally he realizes he is enough with the helpful push of his partner Ladybug. Who she herself has trouble giving too much, but for a different reason.

Thus Adrien's arc is completed and his sense of self is cemented in self-assurance before taking on the big bad. Ta da!

Did I use my dark desire to sometimes sleep the day away because I dream in sight that I've long since lost to reflect how Adrien wants to be Chat Noir all the time despite it being a temporary high? Yes, yes I did. :)

#art #my art #miraculous ladybug fanart #miraculous ladybug #adrien agreste #chat noir #redesign #plagg

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f1byjessie · 1 year ago

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SUGAR, SPICE, AND EVERYTHING NICE ━━ FA14.

being the wife to a formula one driver is hard, especially when they're far away.

( fernando alonso x wife!reader )

━━ one shot.

When you were ten, you baked with your grandmother for the first time and fell in love. With the flour up to your elbows, an apron two sizes too big looped twice around your waist, and your grandmother's sweet voice crooning along to Sergio Endrigo, she taught you the differences between a teaspoon and a tablespoon, that a pinch sometimes means two, and when it comes to cinnamon you can never have too much.

“My angioletto,” she called you, her little angel, “it doesn’t have to look pretty when it’s done. When I was younger, I made my husband, your nonno, the ugliest cookies you could imagine. But I put my love in it, and he loved me very much, and he ate every single one and for the rest of his years claimed they were the best cookies I ever made for him.”

She’d lifted you onto the stool at the counter, so you could peer down at the mangled mess of cinnamon rolls. “It may look odd on the outside, but it is just as delicious as the others, and you know what? It’s even more special because it was made by my granddaughter.”

She’d wrapped you up in her arms then, pressing a kiss to your forehead and laughing loudly and warmly when you tried to squirm out of her arms with a giggle of your own.

“One day, my angioletto, you will find someone who loves you with their entire heart, and it won’t matter how pretty your baking is, because they will eat it, and to them it will taste like heaven.” She’d pulled apart the cinnamon roll, looked you in the eye, and smiled— “Until that someone gets here, I will stand in.”

You ate the whole pan together, and neither of you cared that it ruined your appetite for supper or gave you a stomach ache a little while later.

She’d driven you home that night after the sun had set, and when you got to the little shop on the corner of the market square, a little storefront overgrown with ivy, she’d slowed to a cruise and pointed out where the old sign used to be— where there was just an off-color splotch where the walls around it had been bleached by the sun.

She had regaled you with another story of her time as a girl in the kitchen baking bread with the owner, as she did every morning before school in exchange for a few dollars a month, and then she told you, as she always did, that one day she’d buy it for herself and turn it back into the best bakery Italy had ever seen.

When you were twenty— a law school dropout, struggling to find your place in a world that didn’t seem to have any room for you— you bought the small shop on the corner of the market square, turned it into a bakery, and named it after your grandmother.

It was all on a whim, a result of what you're pretty sure was some quarter-life crisis brought on by feeling as lost as you were. Still, you were living out the lingering ghost of a pipe dream from your teenage years that your father's harsh words and mother's disapproval had shattered to pieces, and following in the footsteps of the woman who inspired your passion for creation.

You’re nearly thirty now, and you still don’t regret buying the bakery. It’s your home away from home now— your home when your heart is halfway around the world and waking up as you go to bed. You love what you do, and you feel grateful that you’ve lucked out in being able to spend your days doing something that makes you so genuinely happy.

But that doesn’t mean that every day is easy.

Today is one of those hard days. Valentine’s Day is just a week away which means orders are coming in like crazy, and on top of the hecticness it’s also the thirteenth anniversary of your grandmother’s passing. Even though you’ve made it these thirteen years without her, the reminder of her legacy— her dream, which you now live for her— is no easier to deal with now than it was all those years ago when you’d just lost her.

The smell of fresh bread from the kitchen and the deep lull of Sergio Endrigo over the bakery’s speakers do nothing but remind you of her and the afternoons you spent in her kitchen, kneading dough and icing cookies. You feel like a little girl again, laughing over old stories of your mother and flushing bright red when she’d bump her hip against yours and ask if there were any boys at school that had caught your eye.

You’d give anything to hear her talk about her days at the bakery one more time, have her guide you through another recipe, or listen to her sing along to old Italian classics.

“Are you okay, Y/N?” Beatrice asks. She’s a young American woman you met a few years back when she was studying abroad. She hadn’t known much Italian back then, and you were the first person she’d met who could speak English, so she’d asked you for directions to the nearest bus station and you had walked her there to make sure she wouldn’t get lost, which had led to you both talking, trading contact information, and eventually you offering her a job at the bakery when she announced to you months later after continued talking that she’d be staying for the foreseeable future.

You wipe your hands against your apron and offer her a smile. It doesn’t come as easily as it normally does, and you feel like it shows. “Just being a bit nostalgic today,” you admit, turning your gaze to the picture of your grandmother that hangs on the wall across from the display case.

There are other pictures hung up with her— you in front of the bakery on the day you bought it, the bakery back when your grandmother still worked there nearly sixty years ago, you and your husband the day you got married, and Beatrice with her three dogs to list a few, all things and places and people you love and want to remember.

“My grandmother, who I named this place after, have I ever told you about her?”

Beatrice hums, thinking back to the many conversations you have both shared you imagine. As she does so, she reaches for a cloth to start wiping down the front of the display case. “I don’t think so,” she finally answers, rounding the counter to the glass front. “I knew the bakery was named after her, and that she taught you to bake, but not much else. You don’t really talk about her much.”

You frown, “I guess I don’t.”

“But it’s okay,” Beatrice adds quickly. “I know family can be a touchy topic. If you’d rather not talk about her, I understand. I’m not very fond of talking about my brother, to be honest.”

The only time Beatrice does talk about her brother is when she’s drunk, which she usually tends to be when the two of you sit down over a bottle of wine and gossip about the happenings of your lives. You’ve heard plenty of stories about him, and thinking back to the most recent one in particular startles a laugh out of you.

Beatrice seems relieved when you glance back over to her with a soft smile.

“My grandmother was the greatest woman I ever knew,” you start. “Do you mind if I talk about her?”

Your employee— your friend— smiles gently at you and continues polishing away the smudges on the display case. “I would love it if you talked about her.

“She used to call me her little angel…”

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yourusername i’ll leave a piece just for you, nonna.

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user that looks delicious!!

user it’s actually my dream to visit y/n’s bakery 😍

↳ user no cuz literally same, idk anyone else who makes smth as simple as bread look so amazing

↳ user it’s like how irl some foods don’t look that good but somehow in cartoons they make it look like it’s the most appetizing thing in the entire world i would actually cut off my own arm and leg just to get to try a single bite

user così carino!! ❤️❤️

user how is it possible to make food look heavenly 😳

user every time she posts food it makes me want to marry a husband that can bake bc there’s no way i could ever do this myself but i do in fact want to live a life like this so very badly

↳ user FELT THIS OMG

user what a beautiful way to remember someone 🫶

user she’s gorgeous aND SHE CAN BAKE???

↳ user she’s really the most wag of all wags 😩

↳ user fell down a rabbit hole of wag interactions throughout the years and y/n’s introduction into the group is so iconic bc she baked them all cookies and brought them when she first met them all

↳ user i read that in an interview that she knows all their favourites and tries to make them all throughout the season when she goes to races

↳ user she’s actually such a sweetheart irl too, i visited the bakery before i ever knew who she was or what f1 is and if i hadn’t already seen that ring on her finger i would’ve shot my shot no joke 😔😔

↳ user what’s alonso’s secret??? where can i find me a wifey like that???

user this is gorgeous

user using food to celebrate a loved one is one of the most loving things a person can do in my opinion. so much love goes into food, but especially baked goods which take time and patience and practice. this is a really touching and beautiful way to honor someone, and i hope she’s watching down on you and thinking the same thing ❤️

↳ user didn’t think i was gonna be crying today but here we are ig 😭

fernandoalo_oficial mi vida, she would be so proud of you 💛

↳ yourusername i hope so, i am who i am because of her 💛

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tagged: fernandoalo_oficial

yourusername arrivederci 💛

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fernandoalo_oficial and may it be soon, mi vida 💛

user obsessed with the way fernando is obsessed with his wife

↳ user the fact that he calls her mi vida every time he addresses her has me walking into oncoming traffic 🙃

↳ user “my life” in spanish 😭😭 i literally fucking can’t when is it my turn to get a man that loves and cherishes me like this

↳ user honestly i think it’s just time to accept we’ll be alone forever cuz if he don’t treat me the way fernando treats his wife then i don’t want him

user for the ppl asking, arrivederci means until we meet again in italian, it’s a pretty common way to say goodbye in italy

↳ user AND FERNANDO SAID AND MAY IT BE SOON OH I AM ILL

user when will he return from the war…

↳ user it’s only february the season hasn’t even started yet so why isn’t he with her??

↳ user aston martin’s hq is in the uk and fernando has to be there for the car reveal, testing/sims, training, promo content, etc. it’s the logistical pr side of formula 1 that makes the season start a lot earlier than what ppl might think

↳ user AND OVER VALENTINE’S DAY TOO??? 😭😭😭😭

user mama y papa

user i want to grow old with someone and have pictures of our vacations to look back on and remember and i don’t think that’s too much to ask for

user she’s posting like he’s dead or smth 💀

↳ user i mean i would be too if my husband was missing valentines day bc of work tbf 🤷‍♀️

user i can’t believe fernando alonso bagged a baddie who ain’t even 30 yet

↳ user i can have you SEEN fernando alonso?? 👀👀👀

↳ user have you SEEN y/n?? 👀👀👀

↳ user two baddies bagged each other guys there’s not a lot to try and comprehend

Fernando being gone has never really mattered to you much. You miss him, of course. He’s your husband and ideally, you would be able to travel the world with him on a whim without needing to worry about who’s in charge of the bakery, but despite how perfect your life seems with Fernando by your side, there are a lot of things that don’t go according to plan and Fernando’s hectic work schedule is one of them.

The constant traveling across the season is exhausting for both of you, even though you’re not the one doing the majority of it. You attend his races when you can— usually when Beatrice forces you to, which is more and more recently as of late, with the logic that you should get the chance to see the world while you’re still young and while Fernando is still racing— but even when you’re home in Naples, the worry that you feel for Fernando as he flies around the world and races in a dangerous car takes its toll.

You wouldn’t even think of ever asking him to give it up, but not being by his side is hard and you cannot afford— for the sake of the bakery— to follow him wherever his sport takes him. So for now, you will always worry and stress about the toll it all takes on him as well.

You honestly hadn’t given much thought that he’d be missing Valentine’s Day this year, but it occurs to you now as you scroll through the comments on your post.

It’s by far the first time he’ll be gone for the holiday, but something about this year just feels different. Maybe it’s the stress of the extra workload you’ve taken on at the bakery to make up for the extra orders this year and the employees that have had to call out, or maybe the anniversary of your grandmother’s passing is hitting you harder this time than it has in the past, but whatever it is, the idea of Fernando not being here to celebrate with you has your eyes filling with tears as you sit curled up in bed.

Alone.

As you have been for the last few weeks now.

Fernando is in Silverstone, preparing for the launch of the new car and getting back into the swing of things before the new season starts, and this is part of the job you understand. You’ve been his wife for many years now. The racing may start in March, but the real season begins much sooner, and to a certain degree it never truly ends.

There’s always a push to be staying in shape, eating healthy, and staying up to date with all the up-and-coming news. Fernando has worked hard to try and find the middle ground, to enjoy his break while he has it, and take a step back from the Formula One world if only to de-stress from the sport’s particular brand of pressure.

And you’ve worked hard to accept that he will always be thinking like a race car driver.

Nonetheless, though you have enjoyed the interview clips and photographs of him being posted around on social media, and you love even more the pictures your husband’s teammate has been sending you and you alone, you can’t help but want to be selfish. You want to have him with you, in your home, cuddled up beside you instead of 1700 kilometers away in another country.

But that’s the way of things.

You’re about to turn off the lamp and, maybe, cry yourself to sleep while ignoring the very cold and very empty other half of a bed that’s too big for one— a bed you haven’t slept in the middle of since before you ever met Fernando, too used to occupying one side and finding another body on the other— when your phone lights up with an incoming call and his contact image flashes across your screen.

It’s late in Italy, nearing midnight now, and the UK isn’t too far behind. With the strictness of his daily schedule and the importance of a full night of rest, he should already be in bed by now. He should’ve already been in bed hours ago, if you remember correctly from past seasons.

“Fernando?”

“My love,” he greets, soft and sweet and sounding like just hearing you say his name has left him breathless. You can practically hear the smile in his voice. “I am sorry that it’s so late. I hope I did not wake you up, but I am calling because I simply could not bear to fall asleep without hearing you.”

You sniffle, wiping away at the tears in your eyes, but the quiet noise must’ve been enough for him to hear because he makes an inquisitive sound.

“Mi vida,” he calls to you, concern seeping into his words. “What is wrong? Are you okay?”

“Mhm,” you hum back to him, shifting around in bed to face the window and the scenic view that lies beyond. You can see the ocean from your home— the dark water pulling in and pushing out and glittering with the reflected light of the moon, and the boats docked at the marina, still, silent, asleep. The moon’s glow paints the cityscape in an ethereal haze, like something from a fairytale. “I’m okay. Just a bad few days. I miss you, Fernando.”

“I know, my love,” he coos. “But we will be together soon. Do you remember what I told you when I left?”

As if you could possibly forget. The morning he left, a fog had rolled in from the sea and you’d swathed yourself in a shawl to chase away the early, damp chill as you stood on the stoep to see him off.

Fernando had wrapped you up in his arms, an embrace so warm and safe that the feeling had lingered for hours afterward still, and he’d whispered in your ear that he would move mountain and sea to get back to you if you ever needed him.

“But I always need you,” you’d teased. He’d chuckled and pressed a gentle kiss to your lips, a promise, and then pulled you in even closer, tucking your head beneath his chin and letting his fingers run through your hair and comb through the remaining bedhead tangles.

You would similarly move earth and sky to be with him again now, just to feel his arms around you, or in the bed beside you.

“I meant what I said,” he says over the phone, drawing your attention back.

You hum again, “I know. But sweetheart, you have a job to do. It’s a very important job, too.” You curl the blankets around you tighter. “Pay no mind to my musings, okay? It’s just been a rocky start. The bakery has lots of orders to get through for Valentine’s Day, and I am short-staffed now.”

“What has happened?”

“What hasn’t?” You joke, heaving a sigh. “Rodrigo broke his hand in a biking accident this past Sunday, and the doctor says he’ll be out for a month at least. I can have him work the register and do minor cleaning chores, but we really need him in the kitchen because Andrea hasn’t yet been trained to use the equipment. I am trying to have Beatrice help with that, but it will take time we don’t have. On top of that, Samuel’s wife is having her baby so he has taken paternity leave, and Gemma has gone back to France for her mother’s birthday.”

Fernando makes a noise of understanding. “You are so stressed, mi vida. I wish there was more I could do. I am sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. You have no reason to. In fact, I should be thanking you because I’m feeling so much better just hearing your voice,” you answer. Feeling the tears dissipate as your husband’s joyous laughter trickles into your ear from the phone’s speaker.

“And I am better just hearing yours,” he says. “But I will leave you to sleep now. It’s too late for you to be awake. Te amo, mi esposa.”

“Ti amo, marito mio.”

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lance_stroll i’m really only here to take pictures for his wife

view all 4,964 comments

fernandoalo_oficial the heart is for her only

yourusername and i appreciate you very much for it lancino 🫶

↳ lance_stroll at least someone cares about the work i put in 😔

astonmartinf1 Breaking News: Aston Martin’s Lance Stroll challenges Aston Martin’s social media admin for their job

↳ lance_stroll thanks but i think i’ll stick to driving fast cars. it’s less stress.

user FERNANDO MAKING FINGER HEARTS FOR HIS WIFE 😭😭😭

user if you look closely you can actually see me about to jump off the roof in that last picture 🫠

↳ user real

user why is the first one so cute??

user lance is really just fernando and y/n’s kid at this point, he’s the disgruntled son who reluctantly takes pictures of his dad to send to his mom, and he complains about it, but he secretly loves doing it

↳ user i mean have you SEEN what y/n does for his birthday each year??

↳ user no????

↳ user she specifically learned how to make bannock and a bunch of other traditionally canadian desserts and baked goods for him

↳ user i bet lance’s trainer hates that lmao 😂😂

↳ user you all are talking about them like y/n isn’t just a few years older than lance himself is 💀

↳ user leave fernando and his controversially young wife alone

↳ user guys?? he’s literally only 42?? y/n is almost in her 30s, it could definitely be worse. at least they’re both well into adulthood

user nobody talk to me for the rest of the day this is all i can think about now

user HE MAKES LANCE TAKE PICTURES TO SEND TO HIS WIFE PLS OH MY DAYS

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fernandoalo_oficial throwback thursday, as they say, except it isn’t thursday and i just wanted a reason to post my beautiful wife. te amo 💛.

view all 1,165 comments

yourusername i love you more mio carissimo 💛

↳ fernandoalo_oficial impossible, i love you the most

user adding “posts me just bc he can” to my list of standards for men

user SCREAMING CRYING SOBBING

user “just wanted a reason to post my beautiful wife” oh my god fernando alonso the man that you are… 😩😩

user guys he’s the blueprint

↳ user she’s so lucky

user WHEN IS IT MY TURN???? CAN I NOT BE HAPPY TOO????

user she’s actually so beautiful omg 😳😳😳

↳ user they’re such a power couple

↳ user super excited for y/n to be back in the paddock this year (fingers crossed it happens more) cuz she’s actually so stunning and her outfits are always very classy and fun to look at

↳ user is there a reason she doesn’t go to many races?? they don’t have kids iirc, so idk why she wouldn’t be able to attend more 🤔

↳ user she owns and runs a small bakery in italy, which means she can’t just travel for 9 months out of the year. she shows up when she’s able to, don’t get me wrong, but it’s definitely less frequently than some of the other wags

user gen imagine being fernando alonso’s wife

↳ user i think i would cease to exist

user cuando es mi turno 😭

Valentine’s Day arrives and with it comes the added stress of knowing you’ll be stuck in the bakery all day helping last-minute patrons sort through pastries and treats for their partners. This in and of itself is not a problem, you’ve always liked helping people and baking is your passion after all, but the idea of rising before the sun and being on your feet until long after it sets is not the most appealing, and even worse, your usual happiness is still overshadowed by the cloud of gloom that’s been following you since last week.

Ever since his first late-night call, Fernando has been good about making sure to ring you in the morning before he heads into the factory, and at night when he leaves. It’s helped, certainly, but nothing ever compares to the real thing and that thought makes you feel guiltier every day that you think it.

He has a job to do, a job that he loves. Neither of you should be forced to give up your passions, and that just means needing to make a few sacrifices every once in a while.

He doesn’t call you that morning, however, and though you hide it behind as much of a cheery grin as you can manage, it stings and you’re disappointed.

But throwing yourself into your work is always something you’ve been good at, so you focus instead on kneading dough, mixing pastry filling, and icing cupcakes.

Beatrice finds you back in the kitchen an hour before the bakery is scheduled to open, and the look on her face tells you she knew it’s where you would be.

“You shouldn’t be working today,” she says in lieu of a greeting.

You shrug, sliding a pan of bread from the oven. “We are too short-staffed for me to not be working today. Plus, what would I do anyway? Sit at home alone pretending that I’m not? At least in the bakery, I can put myself to use and be distracted.”

All she does is sigh.

The morning goes well. There’s a bit of a rush when you first open, the most notable of customers is a disgruntled older gentleman who you consider to be a monthly regular. He explains a long-winded story about his daughter’s boyfriend breaking up with her over text last night, and needing something to help cheer her up. He leaves with a box of cannoli, and an extra loaf of bread you threw in for him on the house.

Near the afternoon is when it starts to pick up, but in a lull between customers just after lunchtime, Beatrice corners you in the back. Her arms are crossed over her chest, her eyebrows are furrowed, and her mouth is set in a line.

“Go home,” she orders.

You huff. “Beatrice, I am the boss. Not you.”

She raises an eyebrow.

“I am not going home! The rush will get busier later this evening and we are short-staffed—”

“Rodrigo’s coming in to work register in—” she checks the watch on her wrist, “—fifteen minutes. I ran Andrea through kitchen duty the other day and I’ll be supervising her the entire time, and Marco and Silvia both said they could pick up a shift. I also have a text from Samuel’s wife saying if we need even more help she would gladly get her husband out of the house if it means he’ll stop hovering over her, and I’m prepared to take her up on that offer should the need arise.”

You blink at her. There’s a reason she’s the one you leave in charge when you travel, but whenever you’re reminded of just how good she is at managing the bakery you’re always left a little shocked. She orchestrated everything in the span of a morning and you didn’t even notice.

“Why do you want me to go home so badly?” You ask her, shoving your hands down into your apron’s pockets. “Nothing is waiting for me there anyway. Even if we weren’t short-handed, I would’ve still been here.”

“You sure about that?” Is all she says before turning on her heel and exiting back into the front of the bakery.

You don’t pretend to understand what she’s talking about as you hang your apron up and head for home. Beatrice shoots you a wink as you wave goodbye, and it feels like some sort of foreshadowing for whatever awaits you.

Nothing, however, looks any different than it had when you left. You park your car in the empty driveway, collect the newspaper from the stoep, and unlock the door.

Your keys and the newspaper are both tossed onto the counter just inside the kitchen as you toe off your shoes. You hang up your jacket on the dining room chair as you make your way into the living room, and then you pause.

There, resting on the couch is a stuffed toy bear and a bouquet of your favorite flowers. In the bear’s arms is a little sign, and the handwriting is already enough to have your eyes filling with tears.

“Fernando?” You call out to the silent house.

You check the ground floor and find no other sign of him, so you take to the stairs and begin the ascent up to the next, continuing to call out the many different pet names you have given to him throughout the years.

You peek into the bedroom, “Mia vita?”

Stood in the center of the room, a big grin on his face, is your husband. Fernando looks mighty proud of himself, a glint in his eyes that tells you he’s had this planned for a while and he’s smug that he’s managed to keep a secret from you. He opens his arms wide when you just continue to stand in the doorway, and like a flip has been switched, you rush into him when a sob of happiness.

He wraps himself around you, and the feeling of his arms holding you so firmly in his embrace is warm and comforting, and everything you had missed in the weeks he was gone. Your face is pressed into the crook of his neck, and the smell of his cologne has you sagging even further against him, sinking as far as you can into his hold.

He presses a kiss to your head and sways the both of you back and forth.

“Mi vida,” he murmurs. “I’m here, my love. I’m here.”

“I didn’t know you were coming home,” you cry against him, voice muffled from where your face is still pressed against him.

He runs a hand through your hair, scratching his nails against your scalp in the way that always calms you down, and hums. You feel it in the vibration of his chest more than you hear it. “I wanted to surprise you after you told me how stressed you were. I told you, no? I would move mountains and seas to be with you whenever you need me.”

“Ti amo,” you whisper against his skin.

“Te amo,” he whispers into your hair.

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yourusername to the luce dei miei occhi, i love you more than life itself 💛

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fernandoalo_oficial mi vida i'll love you in this life and the next, until the very end of time itself 💛

↳ yourusername ti amo mia vita

user LUCE DEI MIEI OCCHI = LIGHT OF MY EYES

↳ user oh my days 🫢

↳ user i’m actually ill that is too cute

user they ARE that couple and they have every right to be

user WAR IS OVER

user i need them to adopt me right tf now it’s not a want it’s a need

user GUYS HE WAS JUST IN SILVERSTONE LIKE A DAY AGO??? FOR THE CAR LAUNCH??? THAT MEANS HE FLEW ALL THE WAY TO ITALY LAST MINUTE JUST TO SEE HIS WIFE FOR VALENTINES DAY

↳ user fernando alonso once again proving why he’s the best husband on the grid

↳ user i’m obsessed with them a totally normal amount

lance_stroll every time i saw him he was talking to someone about how he had plans to surprise his wife, i’m so surprised he didn’t end up ruining the secret somehow

↳ fernandoalo_oficial have more faith in your padre

↳ lance_stroll well i’ve seen my “padre” make the most cartoon heart eyes at a picture of baked goods so i don’t think faith is really gonna cut it. you’re whipped man 🤷‍♂️

↳ yourusername lancino you must put up with so much from this old man

↳ lance_stroll you know what? i really do

━━ tags: @maih23 @urfavnoirette @casperlikej @pear-1206

━━ a/n: this is the longest fic i've ever written, coming in at a whopping 5.4k words! and it's also the first request i've written for! so, cheers to that. this is my little valentine's day story, because i'm actually a big sap and i really do love good fluffy romances, so writing this distracted me from the fact that i'm actually very alone at the present haha! anyways, hope you all enjoyed! i also wrote this in under 24 hours, and it's a lot, so if there's any editing mistakes please ignore them, i genuinely could not bring myself to re-read all of this looking for every single mistake.

#formula 1 #formula one #f1 #formula 1 imagine #f1 imagine #formula one imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #formula one x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #social media au #fernando alonso #fernando alonso x reader #fernando alonso imagine #fa14 #lance stroll

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ghcstpyre · 8 months ago

Text

john wick x f!reader

cw: cis female reader, slight dom/sub dynamics, soft dom!jw, sub!reader, unprotected p in v, creampie, squirting, praise kink. MINORS BEGONE!

word count: 1.4k

a/n: i am in a Mood™️ and was inspired to try and write a quick piece. also yes I am procrastinating everything because of animal crossing so this is also to try and get back into the swing of writing lol. enjoy!

Your cheek squished against the flat, cool surface of the rich mahogany desk. Sometime after settling down in John's private library with your usual dark fantasy romance and John following not long after to have a nosey at what you'd been reading, you'd ended up bent over the nearest desk with your skirt yanked up and bunched around your waist and your panties pulled to the side. Thick fingers dug into the soft flesh of your hips, keeping your willing body right where he needed it. You were doing your best to be quiet, as per his orders, but it was becoming increasingly difficult with each delicious inch he pushed inside you.

“John…” You whined, wiggling your hips under his iron hold in an attempt to coax his cock further inside you.

This only had John doubling his grip on you. The fingers that held your hips dug in further, hard enough to bruise and leave little crimson crescent moons in your skin. The pain didn't deter you though. It only had that unsatisfied ache pulsing within your centre flaring up tenfold.

“Shush, baby,” John's voice was low and gravelly and sent a thrill rushing down your spine. Really, it was almost pathetic how much of an effect just his voice had on you. “I told you to be quiet. You sure you can do that for me?”

He leaned over, pressing his muscled slab of a body against your back to nip at your earlobe. You bit your lip in an attempt to stifle a whimper of need, just barely succeeding, and nodded.

“Good girl.”

John’s stubble grazed you and his long, dark hair tickled your skin as he pressed a tender kiss to your cheek and the weight of him lifted off of you. Whether it was out of mercy or pity - or both - John pushed the full length of his cock inside you in one swift motion. It took everything you had to not cry out in pleasure and pain as his tip kissed your cervix, filling you completely.

He watched as you struggled to keep any noises from escaping, his gaze heavy enough that you could practically feel it pinning you down to the desk just as effectively as his meaty hands. Seeing you in such a state of utter need while also being desperate to obey had his length throbbing inside you.

John set an unbearably slow pace, slow enough that it had you practically crawling out of your own skin. You so desperately wanted - no, needed him to to just fuck you, but instead it seemed he was determined to make sure you felt every vein and every inch, right up to the ridge where his swollen pink head met his shaft.

“Mmm, that's it, thaaaat's it.”

All you could do was lay there and take it without protest, however he wanted to give it to you. Your hands white knuckled the edge of the desk in front of you, serving as your anchor as you fought tooth and nail to keep any sounds of pleasure trapped behind your teeth. You knew that disobedience would result in punishment and you didn't really feel like being punished and degraded right now.

Right now, you wanted to be showered with praise. You wanted to be adored.

“You're being such a good girl for me. You want more?” He asked, relinquishing the vice grip he had on your hips in favour of smoothing those large, rough palms over the meat of your ass.

You didn't get a chance to nod. John was already parting your cheeks and chuckling deeply at the sight of his shaft, half buried in your soaking cunt and glistening with your slick arousal while the rest of it slowly dripped down your thighs.

“Look how wet you are for me. Of course you want more; you've already soaked my cock.”

With one hand he gripped one of your cheeks, while the other snaked up your spine to tangle in your hair. He pulled on the strands, forcing you to lift your head up and prop your upper body up on your elbows and forearms as his hips finally, finally picked up the pace.

If you weren't struggling to stay quiet before, you sure as hell were now. John knew how you liked to be rocked, what the perfect angle was to hit that sweet spot inside you that made you see stars.

Tasting the tang of iron on your tongue you stopped biting your lip. You'd been so focused on keeping any noise at bay you hadn't even registered how hard your teeth were clamping down on the soft flesh while John pumped his huge cock in and out of you.

“You're doing so well for me baby, so well. Just a bit more and I'll - ngh - let you cum. I want to enjoy this sweet pussy a little longer.”

God, if his dick didn't push you over the edge then his words might just do it. Knowing that such a sweet, gentle man had the capacity to groan out words so filthy made that sick little part of you sing with glee.

The sounds of your rapid breaths mixed with his grunts of pleasure and skin slapping against skin bounced off the walls and echoed through the rows of bookcases filling John's library. Your legs began to shake as that familiar heat began coiling low in your abdomen. Sensing your building need, John let go of your hair and ass cheek to lean that glorious weight over you once again, propped up on one thick forearm while his other hand moved between your trembling legs to rub your neglected clit.

You keened into his heavenly touch and you couldn't stop a strangled little cry from escaping. You were quick to cut it off however, dropping your head to press your treacherous mouth into the inside of your elbow to muffle the noise.

“That's my girl. You've been so good, do you want to cum? You want to cum for me? You want to be loud?” John's voice was practically dripping with honey as he whispered in your ear.

All you could do was lift your head again, look at him over your shoulder and nod pathetically while you rocked your hips back against him, meeting his thrusts.

“Cum.” He ordered, slamming into you with his fingers working relentlessly on your clit beneath you. “Cum on my cock baby. Scream for me.”

That was all the encouragement you needed.

Your cries and sobs of pleasure drowned out anything else as you came, your pussy gushing over his length and thighs and the wooden floor beneath your feet while you rode out the waves of your orgasm. John wasn't too far behind, pressing his chest flush against your back to suck a dark bruise into the crook of your neck while he thrusted into you one, two, three more times, and then filled you with his seed with a loud, long groan.

Both of you stayed like that for a short while, catching your breath and begging to sober up from the lust-addled haze you were in just moments ago. Eventually, John lifted his weight from you and pulled out, letting his cum leak from your entrance. He took a few moments to run his hands up and down your back, soothing you as you came down from the high.

“You okay?” He asked, his voice returning to its usual deep, gentle lilt.

Somehow you managed to stand up and turn around to face him on your shaky legs. John was quick to wrap his arms around you to keep you steady. You were all too grateful, immediately leaning your weight against him and letting out a content sigh.

“Yeah. More than okay, I feel amazing.” You smiled up at him, cheeks rosy with happiness, and then nuzzled your face into his broad chest.

John chuckled, the baritone sound rumbling from within. “Good.” With a swift motion he scooped you up into his arms to carry you bridal style towards the door to the library. “Because I've not quite had my fill of you just yet.”

divider by @/strangergraphics

#john wick #john wick x reader #john wick x you #john wick smut #amazing what a bad day at work does for your libido. if only my actual fiance hadnt just bought space marines 2 lol #anyway. i am embarrassed so imma drop this and run. BYE #c: john wick.#w: drabble.#not fully proof read bc im tired and lazy

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ltwilliammowett · 9 months ago

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Cooking like a Sailor- Frisian teatime

Today it's going to be a bit Friesian again and this time the delicious treats come mainly from the North Sea islands and Halligen, where they usually originated before they floated ashore and were eaten or drunk there.

Now that we are approaching autumn with great strides, there are such delicacies. This was the time when many of the seafaring men returned home, which meant a rich harvest of specialities from foreign countries and often also the weddings were hold which were arranged the year before.

But let's start with the drink: tea punch, just the thing for the wet and cold season when it's stormy and raining outside.

Ingredients: Black tea, köm and kluntjes (brown sugar candy).

But even more important than the right ingredients are the way it is prepared and consumed. If you are in a hurry, you have no place at the tea punch table!

The tea punch is served as follows: The teapot is placed on the teapot warmer and the pre-heated bottle of Köm is placed on the table. Don't be surprised: the tea punch cups are tiny. This has nothing to do with stinginess, but with cosiness. And this is how it works: Pour tea into the cup, add a dash of köm and sugar to taste. Listen to the Kluntjes crack, stir and drink hot. Have a chat and then top up again.

This drink has existed on the islands since 1735, when a ship with tea chests stranded off Amrum at Theeknobs, although at the beginning there was no knowledge of how to prepare the tea leaves. As a result, the tea was drunk quite thinly, which was also due to the fact that tea was something special that was not always available, just like schnapps. Köm is a spirit similar to aquavit with caraway seeds. The yellow (geele) Köm is particularly common in the North Frisian region. This is a spirit, usually made with grain, which is mixed with caraway and sometimes with a hint of aniseed.

The tea punch was of course also known on ships, but here the köm was swapped for rum and the punch was used to warm up rather than for chatting. Sailors preferred to do this on land.

What do you serve with tea? Hallig Knorken or Friesenwaffeln are best. This wafer-thin delicacy has been around since the 16th century thanks to the Dutch who settled in northern Germany. They were light waffles that were made with rum and then served with plum jam and cream. Again, these delicacies were either brought by the men or had to be bartered or bought on the land, as the islands and Halligen did not have huge areas of land available for agriculture and so there was a lot of trade with the delicacies from the sea.

Ingredients for 4 people (this is the modern recipe) 4 eggs 200g sugar 250g butter 300g flour 3-4 tsp. cornflour 50ml rum 1 packet of vanilla sugar 1 pinch of salt

Bake the waffles in an iron and then serve hot with plum jam and cream.

Now we come to the highlight of every festive table - the Friesentorte. This magnificent cake is truly a precious piece. Because it requires valuable ingredients that were not always available back then and were therefore more likely to be found on festive tables. It is not known when it has been around, but probably since the 19th century, thanks to the sailors who brought many recipes with them from other countries. Like puff pastry, for example.

Today's variations also work with shortcrust pastry, but are not the original recipe

Recipe

Bake two puff pastry bases (you can use ready-made pastry) Brush one of the bases (the top) with egg yolk and sprinkle with caster sugar Leave the second (base) plain After baking, spread the base generously with plum jam Spread not too little whipped cream on the plum jam base Cut the top into 12 even pieces and then arrange the pieces on top.

The wealthier the family the more the cake would consist of several layers. Which made eating even more complicated, because how do you eat this monster without smearing cream all over your face? Well, you take the lid off, eat the inside and nibble the lid separately.

So there you have it and I wish you a delicious tea time of a different kind. Enjoy your tea and your tasty treats like real Frisians.

#naval history #frisian tea time #tea waffels and cake #16th - today #age of sail #age of steam #modern #cooking like a sailor

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eringobragh420 · 3 months ago

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ᥫ᭡ DAMIAN PRIEST dating headcanons ᥫ᭡

➔ Pairing — Damian Priest ❤︎ f!Reader ➔ Word Count — 1k ➔ Warnings — NSFW. Mention of breeding/size kink, dirty talk 18+ ➔ Taglist — If you'd like to be added, please click here! ➔ Shoutout — @caramara3 Thanks for this idea and the encouragement! ➔ Support — Buy me a coffee! ☕ ➔ MASTERLIST

°˖➴ Damian is a drunk kisser. Wet, smacking. Loud. Devouring. Sometimes too much tongue, but easily remedied by a playful bite to the tip. Deep, feral moans. Pausing only to watch your lips swell with each nip of his teeth.

°˖➴ Damian always drops a heavy, possessive, tattooed, muscular arm around your shoulders. He knows you like the weight. The blatant display of ownership. A constant. Summer heat, sweat, anger, fatigue. Always.

°˖➴ Damian outed your relationship without asking. On the red carpet of a movie premiere, no less. Maybe it wasn’t an accident that you’d run into him at that specific moment. You know, the one where he pulled you to him for a photo opportunity, only to wrap his arm around you, dip you, the slit in your dress opening so your bare leg could wrap around his waist, and you would never deny him a kiss, but then after the kiss, how could you be angry with him for not asking? Flashbulbs. But his smile was brighter.

°˖➴ Damian is a grab-ass. If he’s not staring at your ass, he’s got it in at least one of his hands. And if he can’t do either of those, he’s looking at pictures of you on his phone. Sleeping in just your panties, one leg bent on the mattress. Gratuitous, zoomed in bathing suit shots. And of course the all-nude ones—some you know about, some you don’t. Spanking has become his very favorite hobby. The way your cheeks jiggle, the rising heat from your angry skin. The fucking sound.

°˖➴ Damian’s family is loud, and big, and just as protective over him as he is over you. But when you middle-name him. Loudly. In front of everyone. For taking the last piece of his mother’s delicious dessert without even offering it to you. You are instantly accepted as one of their own.

°˖➴ Damian took notes in the beginning. When you told him your favorite color, he opened the Notes app on his phone and typed it in. Same with your favorite movies, music, clothing brands, makeup products. And if you ever mention the words bucket list, he adds that to a special list he plans on helping you to complete. He no longer needs the favorites list, but he can’t bring himself to delete it.

°˖➴ Damian prefers it when you do his hair. Whether it’s simply brushing it and applying leave-in conditioner. Or pulling it into a sleek ponytail. He lets you flat iron it, even though it’s not his favorite, but he knows it’s yours. He likes it when you tie in his braids before a show, watching you in the mirror as you giggle with nearby talent, hardly needing to look to make them perfect. Your touch gentle, precise, confident.

°˖➴ Damian feels honored when you ask him to teach you Spanish. You’re his apt pupil, soaking up every lesson, the perfect student. Especially during tests. Every right answer resulted in the removal of an article of clothing. You became a fast learner indeed for Professor Priest, fluent in less than a year.

°˖➴ Damian has a size kink. The top of your head barely reaches his pecs, and you fit like a puzzle piece under his arm. Looking at pictures of the two of you standing together makes his cock twitch. He knows he’s capable of breaking you when he’s pounding away between your spread legs, and that thought’s made him cum on more than one occasion. People stare at the two of you when you’re out for your nightly walks around the neighborhood, and one time you heard a woman whisper to her husband do you think she needs help?

°˖➴ Damian winks at the camera whenever he feels the need to tell you he loves you. It doesn’t happen during every match, sometimes it happens more than once. It’s a peculiar sensation that washes over him, a sudden urge to confess his love to the woman of his dreams. And there are times he does it during interviews or promos. Same thing, same sensation. He doesn’t know if you see all of them. Doesn’t even really care.

°˖➴ Damian has night terrors. After nearly drowning as a child, he’s been plagued by nightmares he doesn’t remember. Waking up in the middle of the night screaming, thrashing, sweating. His pupils even dilate sometimes. And every bit of it petrifies you, but you stay beside him. You protect him from harming himself on nearby furniture. You whisper in his ear as he squirms how much you love him, you’re here, you’re not going anywhere, he’s safe. He doesn’t remember any of it. Ever. Just falls back asleep in your arms, and you cuddle up next to him, wishing you could take it all away.

°˖➴ Damian has a breeding kink. His favorite is when you tell him not to cum inside you because you forgot to take your birth control. All part of your many role playing scenes. But the both of you get so into it, sometimes he has to hold your arms down to keep from fighting him. And sometimes you beg him with terrified eyes to please pull out. And he tells you it’s okay, angelita, you’re gonna be so fucking pretty pregnant with my baby. Everybody’s gonna know how good you take my cum.

°˖➴ Damian loves taking selfies. When you’re at a concert, backstage at a show, on a plane, on the beach. If you’re not under his arm, you’re kissing his cheek, or he’s kissing your temple, or your lips are connected. Never any space between you.

°˖➴ Damian is a blanket stealer. He’s large, a lot of area to cover, so you couldn’t be upset when you woke up shivering in the middle of the night. Though that never stopped you from slapping him awake and yanking the covers over yourself. This was an every night occurrence until you purchased separate blankets. And the first night with the separate blankets? Yours ended up on the floor and you’d cuddled under Damian’s blanket and around Damian’s body, neither of you thieving a blanket ever again.

Part II

TAGLIST: @southerngirl41 @femdisa @riverina69 @rollinssection @paramedicnerd004 @mandmilovehim @brianochka @yourmommyagone22 @sweetmoonlove0214 @partypoison00 @missbmc94 @lils2795 @aureliacorvina @magicalbuttertarts @madimcg14 @thealliasylum @lov3rla03 @plaidpajamallama @princesstiti14 @pittieprincess22 @cyberdejos2 @brideofinfamy @rainbowdreams-x @headcaseproductions1 @bearbutlikeprincessbear @terrortwinunicorn @dontcrykeepyourheaduphigh @loki69zowens @fearlesschimera @rockerfairy93 @misslackey @nichole1989 @hc-geralt-23 @miss-kuki-nz @damianpriestfangirl82 @elaineoneill570 @infamousvampcx @rheasfingerpuppet

#wwe #damian priest #wwe fanfiction #wwe imagine #wwe x reader #damian priest x reader #damian priest fluff #damian priest fanfic #damian priest smut #wwe smut #wwe fic #wwe fandom

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tenderbeck · 1 month ago

Text

We found each other (we weren’t even looking)

── ❦・⸝⸝ pairing: fiend!sylus x fem!vampire!reader

── ❦・⸝⸝ genre: porn with a lot of plot actually, so MDNI

── ❦・⸝⸝ word count: 7.2k

── ❦・⸝⸝ tags: explicit, blood, blood drinking, bites, vampire au, fiend sylus, vampire reader, desperation, they’re desperate for each other fr fr, teasing, A LOT of teasing, i mean it’s sylusmc so ofc there’s teasing, dry humping at the beginning of the smut, oral sex, sylus eating mc out, vaginal sex, size kink, creampie, sylus has two dragon dicks, so double the fun ig, double penetration, in one hole omg, dw she’s fine she’s a strong girlie, belly bulge, knot, begging, oh did I say begging sylus?, because that’s what you’ll get here, my sweet sweet pathetic fiend begging for pussy, sweet aftercare

── ❦・⸝⸝ links: ao3, x thread

── ❦・⸝⸝ summary: You weren’t used to this.

The craving.

It consumed you like a fire, burning everything in its path, without the slightest thought for the damage that could be done if you gave into the temptation, if you let it consume you. If you caved in and tasted that sweet, sweet syrup that will surely be your demise.

The distinct metallic flavour of blood already filling your senses, a familiar taste, as if you had already tasted it in centuries of your life.

One where you were free from the shackles you imposed upon yourself.

But, as you slowly let the fire consume you, you understood that it wasn’t of a destructive nature, oh no: it was more similar to that of a phoenix. The last flicker of life was gnawing at your ribcage, asking, demanding to be felt, just to leave your body soon after and never return.

But, as a phoenix’s fire, it meant rebirth. And what was Sylus to you, if not rebirth?

this is my only lads account, i'll only post my writings here, on ao3 and x NOT IN ANY OTHER BLOGS / ACCOUNTS

── ❦・⸝⸝ author's note: hi babes!! here’s more on my vampire au to understand it better: vampires can feed from any creature, human and non-human, sometimes other vampires but it’s rare. they can smell the scent of blood, and each of them has their preferences and compatibility, so if someone is compatible their blood will smell delicious, if they’re not compatible it will smell awful and it will make the feeding excessively difficult to endure, moreover the taste will be as awful as the smell. hunting for food can lead to sex for diverse motives: to have better access to major pulse points (neck, thighs, wrists, arms, etc) and to soothe the pain that comes with the bite. all magical creatures are accepted in this world, but humans are still wary of them, so that’s why mc doesn’t want too many people to discover she’s a vampire.

to become a vampire, you have to want to be turned by someone or be born as one, mc here was born a vampire so she only knew this life. to turn someone, both people (vampire and human) need to want this, if not the poison exuded from the vampire’s fangs won’t work, since it’s magical and it works with desire.

can’t say more or I’ll spoil the fic, I’ll add something else in the end notes so now enjoy it dolls and let me know what you think about it and remember: english is not my first language <3

You were hungry. You’ve been hungry for days.

Finding unsuspecting preys was becoming more difficult, and searching for willing ones was nearly impossible. You hated this situation: hunger made you impulsive and you didn’t want to make rash decisions, lest your nature be discovered by too many people.

That’s how you found yourself in this underground bar late at night, totally not the result of your reckless thoughts that you totally weren’t regretting.

You tapped the rim of the glass you were drinking from with your index, the brown liquid still unlike your growing annoyance. This bar was buzzing with mortals already satisfying their sins with one another, none for you to sink your fangs in. You took a sip of your whiskey, carefully looking around again, using your enhanced sense of smell to search for something that was closer to a pleasant scent instead of rotting corpses. Being a vampire had its perks, sure, but being such a selective eater was a nightmare: couldn’t even drink from anyone that didn’t have a compatible blood type because of that awful smell and taste you had to endure if they weren’t. What a joke for an immortal being such as yourself.

As you rolled your eyes at your thoughts, you sensed someone put a drink on the counter and sit one chair away from you, and suddenly their scent invaded your nostrils, making your pupils dilatate and your fangs elongate a bit. This person smelt like leather, cigar smoke, cherries and something you couldn’t quite put your finger on, a unique fragrance that was almost floral to your senses. It was a scent that you salivated for: you never experienced this reaction with your previous preys, their blood must’ve been deliciously compatible.

Facing forward and sipping on your drink, you let your gaze shift to the stranger, not wanting to be caught. You had a reputation to uphold after all.

And oh my if they didn’t look almost better than they smelt: this man had ash grey hair in a wolfcut, crooked nose and such perfect lips, crimson eyes looking everywhere but your direction. He was dressed in a black shirt with specks of red and a big coat engulfed his figure. His posture emanated such a refined and classy energy that made you almost feel underdressed in front of him, even if you were wearing your favourite black gown.

“You know, kitten, staring might be considered rude,” a deep voice interrupted your thoughts and made you pause your every movement. How could he sense your gaze on him?

The man smirked at your reaction and led the glass to his lips, taking a sip. “Are you enjoying yourself?” he said, still facing forward.

You were astonished. How could he be so nonchalant in talking with you?

“You know, talking to a refined lady like me without stating your name first might be considered rude,” you replied, finally turning your head in his direction, feigning a disinterested expression when you were all but that. That’s how you discovered that he turned and now you were looking him straight in the eyes, and it was a mistake. You found yourself pulled by a magnetic force, as if those rubies were calling for your gaze.

As if they were desperate to have you look at them.

“Oh, you’re right, where are my manners” the man smirked again, putting down his glass.

“Asshole,” you thought, “So full of himself. He’ll be a delicious meal at least.”

“I’m Sylus,” he took your gloved hand and kissed it delicately while holding your gaze, “and your name is?”

It was your turn to smirk now, “Oh sweetheart, you need to earn the right to know my name,” you said calmly, “And it’s no easy feat.” You retracted your hand and returned to sip your whiskey, still looking at him. This hunt was becoming fun.

The man – Sylus – shook his head while letting out a little laugh, and you found yourself a little weak hearing it. It was as if every fibre of your being was pulled in his direction, following every action he did, every sound he made and every word he spoke. This was dangerous, you’ve never felt this way.

“And what feats do I have to accomplish to deserve hearing your precious voice saying mine, kitten?” he said, leaning on the counter and looking at you with those ruby eyes that screamed danger, his smile ever-present as if he was mocking you.

You swirled your drink in your hand, the almost finished liquid sloshing inside, and you pondered for a bit the innuendo in his statement. It had passed quite some time since you had an intercourse with someone, and this was the easiest way to gain access to his neck and finally, finally, eat.

But there was also something strange in his request. In his expression. In his whole body-language.

You felt, for the first time in your life, like you were the one being preyed on. Like you had something that he needed. And you didn’t like it. At all.

Even then, you really, really, really wanted to whisper his name in the dead of the night, bodies tangled between satin sheets. Or, who knows, maybe you wanted him to scream yours if he was fortunate enough to hear it spoken from your lips.

“Telling you would spoil all the fun in seeing you try though,” you retorted, finishing your drink. “Don’t you agree?” You flashed him a sardonic smile as you put your glass on the napkin on the counter.

As soon as you finished speaking, something shifted in his gaze and in his smirk. You swore his eyes glowed for a fraction of a second, as if following his change in attitude towards you.

He stood up and sat on the chair next to yours, putting an elbow on the counter and facing you. His posture demanded space, but you didn’t want to give it to him, it would’ve been too easy. He was going all out in his hunt, and you figured two could play this game. You liked a little bit of fun, you just had to let him try, make him think he failed and then go away, change bar and search for a victim that didn’t make you crave the taste of their blood to the point you weren’t even sure if you could stop yourself once you started drinking. In the end you were the real prize here, couldn’t let him think otherwise and let his ego grow more than it already had.

You eyed the green liquor in his glass and slid your middle finger on its rim, thinking of a strategy to make him feel at least flustered in your presence, and not the other way around.

“Since you’re so fond of names, tell me how’s this drink called,” you said, looking up to his face.

He still had that smirk on his lips and a part of you wanted to kiss it away. What a fool you were becoming, letting your thoughts be invaded by this stranger. You needed to concentrate more.

“It’s a green apple liquor made by the bar’s owner,” he said, then his features shifted, morphing into an expression that resembled someone who just had an idea. He took the glass and offered it to you, “Do you want a taste, my lady?”

You quickly seized the opportunity that was presented in front of you, “My, my, what a gentleman you are, Mister Sylus.” You took the glass from his hand, your fingers almost touching, and slowly led it to your lips, taking a sip. The liquid deliciously burned in your throat, and you found yourself actually enjoying it, the sour taste being a nice treat to your tastebuds.

As you put down the glass and were about to say something, he brought his thumb just below your lips and wiped away a droplet of liquor that had escaped your mouth. He then brought it to his lips and licked it away, eyeing you as if he was tasting your essence instead of the liquid.

You instinctively licked your lips, ruining a bit your burgundy lipstick. How could a simple gesture make your core clench and your fangs ache to bite?

“Wouldn’t want to dirty your pretty face, kitten,” he said as he brushed your knee with a hand sending electricity throughout your body and, as if he sensed it, he added, “At least, not in this way.” A smirk.

Oh, you were so done. You couldn’t resist the call for his blood anymore. The call for his body. You had to leave or…

“Care to accompany me somewhere?” he abruptly asked, standing up and offering his hand for you to take. “I have a mansion just outside the city,” he spoke while shifting his gaze up and down your form, “I think you would fit perfectly with the aesthetics. Out of all the buildings I own, that one is my favourite.”

You were a bit taken aback by this sudden request. Where was it coming from?

Before answering you looked at him and, since you could sense something was different in his demeanour, with the aid of your enhanced senses you noticed that his breath was accelerated, his palms were sweating, and he looked almost… impatient? He looked like he couldn’t restrain himself anymore and that amused you, were you perhaps successful in your deed? He was really good at hiding it, though. Only a creature like you could notice this changes.

He was still expectantly looking at you, searching for an answer in your features. Still, you thought of declining his offer, because tonight wasn’t the night for rash decisions, right?

Or so you thought.

You, once again, were wondering what poor life choices led to this moment. Probably letting Sylus, a stranger, take you to his house – no, his mansion - was the one you should be blaming.

As you entered the building you noticed that he didn’t lie when he said you would look good with its aesthetics. It was a grand mansion with red and black furniture, styled impeccably.

The gloomy atmosphere suited your vampiric nature so well that you felt at home here, as if it was made to cater to your most hidden desires.

“You think so?” Sylus’ voice interrupted you.

“Shit,” you thought “I must’ve said it out loud.”

Regaining your composure and your (fake) nonchalant demeanour, you answered, “it is quite classy indeed.” You started to roam around the room you were escorted to and noticed there was a big burgundy leather couch with a glass coffee table just in front of it. On top of the coffee table was a vase with some red flowers, and you suddenly recognised the scent. You slowly approached it and leaned down to smell the flowers.

“Here it is,” you thought, “The flowery scent I smelt on him.”

“Do you like them, my dear?”

You let out a gasp and almost jumped from the unexpected closeness. Sylus was behind you, so, so close, whispering in your ear. How could you not notice him approaching? Were your senses dulling down?

It was true, though, that this house was filled with his perfume. It was coming from everywhere; it surrounded you like a blanket, lulling you into a vulnerable state and you couldn’t let this happen. You still had to eat, and you were letting your guard down so much that you were wondering if revealing your nature would be a wise choice. A fleeting thought almost convinced you that he would’ve enjoyed the process of you biting his flesh and sucking him dry, drinking all the sweet, sweet syrup oozing from his wound.

“They’re called daturas,” he spoke again and approached the flowers, taking one from the vase.

“They symbolise power.”

“And they’re poisonous if ingested,” you added, nearing him and looking up to meet his gaze. “They do suit you, Mister Sylus,” you said as you gently caressed the flower’s petals.

“I think they’d suit you better, kitten,” he retorted, his gaze almost softening. He put the flower behind your ear and got closer to it, whispering, “Will you, too, be poisonous if ingested?”

You could sense his breath caressing your neck, your heart beating faster than it should. Why were you feeling like the prey? He was your prey. Your meal that was waiting to be consumed.

You turned your head towards his, smelling the delicious scent emanating from his neck.

He turned too, putting a hand on your lower back and trying to move you closer, but you didn’t want him to have it easy, so you quickly escaped his grip and started to look around the room some more, giving him a sultry look from behind your shoulder.

Your aimless roaming finally came to an end when you noticed a record player, and you thought of a fantastic way to continue this little hunt game you two had going on. Obviously, you were going to come out victorious.

You approached the record player and started looking at the vinyls near it.

You glanced back and noticed Sylus was staring at you, studying your every move with his arms crossed, as if he was restraining himself from going there and finally, finally touch you. How cute.

You found a vinyl you enjoyed and carefully put it on. It was a limited edition and, even if you were sure you weren’t going to see this man ever again, you didn’t want to ruin his prized possessions.

When the music started to play you put the flower that rested in your hair in the cabinet near the record player and turned around, offering him a hand, “Care for a dance?”

He slowly approached you and took your hand; that smirk adorning his face was almost amused,

“How could I refuse such a gorgeous woman?”

He positioned his hand on your lower back and started to lead the dance. He was a good dancer, you had to admit it, but you couldn’t let him get the upper hand, no?

You started to change the pace, taking the lead. The sensual movements of your bodies together made you almost feverish: this closeness allowed you to smell his scent to a level you weren’t able to before. You were so close that you could hear the fast flow of blood in his veins, his quickened heartbeat and his breath, that was caressing you so tenderly. You almost started to salivate at the sensations engulfing you, your fangs starting to elongate. You were feeling too much too quickly, and it almost made you dizzy.

You had to eat from him.

And you had to do it now.

You pressed yourself against Sylus and whispered in his hear, “Would you like to take this somewhere else?”

You felt him stiffen and you swore you heard him swallow. “Do you know what you’re asking for, kitten?” he brushed his nose against your cheek, “you’re tempting me so much, I don’t know if I can stop myself once I’ve had a taste,” his voice was breathy and needy, his words holding a hidden meaning you couldn’t quite understand. But, nonetheless, your hunt was being successful, and you were so excited to finally, finally consume him.

You nodded and let out a surprised gasp as he picked you up and took you to the upper floor, entering what you thought was the master bedroom. His bedroom.

He gently put you down and you observed better the surroundings: the aesthetic was the same as the rest of the house, dark red and black in everything you saw. In the centre stood a four-poster bed; the red curtains, made of a delicate cloth, flowed gently with the faintest movements.

You turned around and looked sultrily at Sylus, his eyes glowing with desire for you.

“Sit down,” you instructed, and he did exactly that, without asking anything. He took off his shoes and climbed onto the bed, sitting against the pillows and waiting for you.

You took off your heels and started to walk slowly, oh so slowly, towards him, his eyes hungrily following your every movement.

You climbed onto the bed and crawled your way onto his lap, straddling him and putting your hands on his shoulders. You could sense his breath hitching and his eyes becoming hazy, “Already this aroused, baby?” you let out a small laugh as you moved closer to his ear, “I haven’t even started yet.” This was becoming so, so fun.

“It’s difficult to not be, kitten” he gently put his hands on your waist. They just rested there, as if he was afraid that he’d scare you away if he tried to do anything else. He tilted his head to almost meet your face and whispered, “When the object of my desires is here, above me, could I have ever had any other reaction?”

You smiled and leisurely ground on his lap and he let out a breathy moan. You felt his member starting to harden under you and that made you so elated, it was the sign that he was slowly falling into the depths of pleasure, and it was all thanks to your ministrations.

His grip on your waist tightened a little as you started to give open mouthed kissed to his neck. The scent of his blood was so strong here and it made it difficult to concentrate. You licked his pulse point, savouring the taste of sweat and a flavour that was so distinctly him that drove you mad. Thoughts of finally biting him and sucking his blood were plaguing your mind so much that you subconsciously opened your mouth and let your fangs graze his skin, the fear of your nature being discovered thrown out of the window as your arousal was steadily growing, feeling your juices wet your lingerie.

You couldn’t wait any more, his blood was calling for you and you were desperate to answer, so you did the only reasonable thing there was to do: you put your hands behind his neck, tightening your grip on his hair and you opened your mouth, saliva escaping it and falling onto his skin, fangs ready and craving to pierce flesh. So, you bit.

Sylus let out a gasp and his hands tightened around you, but then you felt something prickling your waist. Claws?

However, you were too preoccupied with the blood filling your mouth to perceive his form shifting. It tasted as good as you imagined, if not better. The metallic taste dulled out by the flavours you were savouring; his blood was sweet and then sour, it was hot and then cold, a myriad of facets that resembled the man under you. Unpredictable but yet so familiar.

Many sensations traversed your body as you drank, but they came to a halt when the man took your hair and pulled you away, making you face him.

You were a mess, eyes clouded by desire, blood spilling from your plump lips and your tongue hastily licking it, not wanting to waste a single drop.

But then you focused on Sylus and oh my if he wasn’t even more beautiful in this state than he has ever been before.

His whole body changed, no longer completely human, and you instantly recognised his species, “You’re a fiend,” you stated breathily. If your pupils could become heart shaped, they surely would’ve by now. “So that’s why I felt like a prey,” you thought, “I was a prey.”

His eyes were glowing red, long black horns had sprouted from his head and his hands were clawed, you could feel them on your waist and in your hair; his shirt was torn to shreds, the result of his body changing. He discarded the remnants with a swift movement and said, “Took you long enough to notice,” his voice was deeper but the neediness was still lingering there.

He licked his lips, “You don’t know how much I had to restrain myself from transforming earlier, kitten.” He got closer to you and licked your face, tasting his own blood, “Had I known sooner you were a vampire, things would’ve been easier,” he said, “Now I can fully taste your desire without being judged, since you’ve already helped yourself,” he smirked.

“S– sorry,” you breathed out, now wetter than before because your movements never really ceased, “It’s just that… I needed to eat, and your scent was so delicious I couldn’t stop myself.”

You’ve never felt this way. You were craving Sylus’ blood and body in ways you never knew were possible in all your centuries of life.

He let go of your hair, giving your scalp some relief. Then his hand travelled down, down, down… reaching under your gown and touching your clothed core.

“You’re so wet for me, kitten,” he said as he got closer to your ear, “No need to say sorry, in fact I quite enjoyed it.” He started to slowly stoke your pussy, and you had to steady yourself by laying your head on his shoulder, letting out breathy moans and hugging his neck.

“You can eat some more baby, I won’t wither,” said Sylus. His hand’s movements against your core and the sweet scent coming from his wound led you to latch on it again, savouring that sweet ambrosia, worthy to be the meal of a goddess.

Under you, you could sense Sylus’ dick getting bigger just like your growing desire, but you could feel something else there…

You stopped your feeding, licking your lips clean from blood, and moved your hand down to touch his bulge, whispering, “Is that what I think it is?”

He exhaled loudly in response to your touches, “Yes, my dear, I’ve got two,” the fiend smirked,

“Would you like to see them?”

High on his blood, you let out a moan just at the thought. One was good, but two? How much could they fill you? Would it even be possible?

“Please show me” you breathed out and moved yourself away to leave him space to take off his belt and what remained of his pants. You couldn’t look away, anticipation evident in your features.

“Would you like to help me?” he said, taking your hand and guiding it to his tight underwear. You could feel the two dicks twitching under your touch and decided to stroke them a bit. Even in this state, you still wanted to tease him.

“Damn, kitten, you know how to rile a fiend up,” breathed out Sylus, who started to buck his hips at your hand’s movements, “Touch me more.”

“You sure are a needy creature, aren’t you?” you smirked, and then decided to dip your hand in his underwear, feeling his cocks for the first time. They were girthy and had… ridges?

One was surely smaller than the other, so it would’ve been easier to fit inside your pussy which, you noticed, was now throbbing, aroused by everything you were seeing, smelling, touching, feeling.

You pulled his briefs lower and finally saw the two members in all their glory: they were one on top of the other, their base was pitch black and had red veins that reached the heads, which were red too. The longer bottom one was girthy and had ridges all over it, meanwhile the smaller top one was smoother and slimy. They were both already leaking precum, and you ached to taste it.

Maybe another time.

Because you were sure there would’ve been another time.

You started to touch the bigger one, beginning from the head and spreading precum all over its length, repeating the process a few times just to tease him. His breath was accelerated, and you felt his cock pulsating in your hands; in the meantime, he was gripping the sheets to restrain himself from touching you. What a pity you had other plans for him.

You stopped your ministrations and you heard him whine, then you helped him remove his underwear. You straddled him, positioning your wet clothed cunt over his cocks, and started to grind on him again.

“You know that we have yet to kiss?” you whispered, “I’ve tasted your blood, touched your cocks, but I have yet to feel your lips on mine.”

You didn’t have to repeat yourself because he hurriedly moved you closer, but he limited himself to just brush your lips with his.

“Do you know what fiends eat?” said Sylus, voice just above a whisper.

“Desire,” you replied and tried to kiss him, but he put a finger between your lips.

“And do you know how we feed?”

“No” you replied, “Is it important to know now? I think we’re pretty…” you ground a little harder on his cocks and his breath hitched, “Occupied. Maybe you can show me instead?” you tried kissing him again, but he stopped you.

“No, I need you to listen to me,” he pressed his forehead to yours and closed his eyes, “Restraining myself is becoming more difficult by the second; you’re so tempting kitten, I can taste your desire in the air.”

“Alright, tell me everything baby,” you replied, foreheads still close together. You then let your hand travel between you two, sliding it across his chest, stomach and then, finally, you reached his cocks and started to give them languid stokes, coaxing him to full hardness. No one was prohibiting you from doing this after all.

Sylus’ speech became breathy, finding it difficult to form full coherent sentences, “Kitten, I need you to know that I feed from every fluid your body releases,” he had to stop and bite his lips, trying to muffle a moan, “sweat, tears, blood, your sweet juices,” he continued as he took your hands and put them on his shoulder, then, he gripped your waist and started to move you over him. You could feel your pussy throbbing in anticipation as you heard his words.

“Kitten,” a moan, “I need you to explicitly say you want me to feed from you,” with one hand he gripped your ass from under your gown and squeezed it hard.

“Then ask me properly my dear,” you said, ever the teaser. It was exhilarating seeing Sylus, the big bad fiend, so desperate for you as you were for him. Now, though, your teasing was getting to you too; your folds were scorching hot, aching to be touched, and your sweet, sweet nectar was gushing out of you in copious amounts. What a pity your lingerie was ruined, it was your favourite pair.

Sylus let out a moan, his grip on your ass so strong you were sure it would leave bruises, “Kitten, let me eat you,” a pause, “I need you.” He opened his eyes, looking into yours, “Can I? Please?” he whined, and that made it for you.

How could you resist such a desperate request?

“Yes Sylus, consume me whole.”

As if hit by a magic spell, he used both his hands to pull you closer into a bruising kiss. One that screamed neediness, with clinking teeth and biting of lips. He then pushed his tongue inside your mouth, finally tasting your saliva, full of your desire.

He let out a moan that you didn’t hesitate to eat up, putting your hands in his long hair and pulling; you felt lightheaded, the arousal so uncontainable that you were starting to feel dizzy, your vision cloudy.

You pulled away from the kiss and he chased your lips, desperate to keep you connected, “Sylus, please, eat me out,” you finally voiced your thoughts in between kisses, “I want to feel your tongue inside me.”

You didn’t have to repeat yourself; he manhandled you into switching positions, now he was the one on top, “Take off your clothes,” he said, “everything.”

His gaze never ceased to admire your body as you did what he told you as quickly as possible, leaving on only your soaked panties for him to savour.

“You’re gorgeous,” Sylus said, mesmerised by your beauty. He opened your legs and put himself in the middle, kissing your neck.

He licked a fat stripe of skin and arrived at your breasts, palming one and kissing the other; your nipples were hardening under his touch, and you pushed your chest against him, seeking more. He put a nipple in his mouth and started to suck it, stopping to nibble and then resuming to lick as he played with the other, tugging and pinching it.

Your moans reverberated through the room, you didn’t know what to do: you were torn between bucking your hips, seeking some sort of friction to ease your aching core, and pushing your chest against his mouth.

Sylus made the decision for you, continuing to go down, kissing his way to your wet pussy. He put your legs over his shoulders and closed his eyes, sliding his nose over your clothed folds, smelling your delicious scent.

Your delicious desire.

“Sylus, please,” you whined, tired of all the teasing. You loved the slow game you two had going on, but now your arousal was so strong you couldn’t think straight, your only thought being filled by him. Tongue, fingers, cocks, anything you could take.

Without replying he licked you over the panties, tasting the juices that wet them, and you let out a moan and bucked your hips, sensing his smirk on your pussy.

“Now who’s the needy one?” said Sylus in a mocking tone, and he moved aside your lingerie, not bothering to take it off.

Finally, finally, he licked you, starting from your hole and arriving at your clit. The aching nub soon found some release as Sylus started to lick and suck it, caressing your folds underneath with his fingers. You were feeling overwhelmed, a lot of sensations going through your body.

You let your hands travel to his hair, trying to tug him away and then push his face against your cunt, unsure of what to do, of what to feel. His tongue was licking up all your sweet ambrosia, playing with your smaller labia and gently sucking on them. He put his hands on the back of your thighs and squeezed, then he lifted you up a bit, circling his tongue around your entrance.

You ached for him to enter you, to savour you from the inside and drink the nectar directly from the source. You were never this desperate during sex, but something about Sylus let all your inhibitions come loose, allowing you to feel everything that you were meant to be feeling. Desire, desperation, love.

Without a warning he entered you with his tongue, and you let out a moan so loud you’d be afraid of waking the neighbours up, if there were any.

He started to tongue fuck you, going in and out, in and out, in and out. The slow drag of his tongue inside your walls was making you impatient so you tried to hurry him by bucking up your hips and pushing his face onto your pussy.

Sylus let out a low growl and pinned your hips to the mattress, keeping you from moving more. He sped up his pace, though, and slurped your cunt like he was starving and you were the only meal he’s had in centuries.

And maybe you were.

The best meal he’s ever had.

While he was still fucking his tongue inside you, with one hand he started to stroke your clit, circling it, tugging it, playing with it. You felt your insides throbbing around his tongue, a telltale of you approaching orgasm.

You were oh so ready to tumble down that precipice, to ride his face and come, but he had other plans. When he sensed your state, he pulled his tongue out and moved away, not without giving your pussy a last stroke with his tongue, though.

You whined at the loss, feeling emptier than ever, “Sylus please,” you whined, “Why did you stop?”

Looking at his face, mouth glistening with your essence and eyes glowing red, you thought you kind of knew the answer.

He looked down and saw you still had your panties on, so he ripped them from your form, throwing them in an unknown part of the bedroom, almost angry at the piece of fabric for covering his sweet prize.

Now satisfied, he opened your legs and put them around his waist, preparing himself to enter you, “I can’t resist anymore kitten,” he breathed out, “I need to feel you around my cock,” he said, and then took your wrists in one hand, positioning them above your head.

You nodded eagerly, “Please Sylus, fuck me,” and just like that he started to push his hard length inside you, positioning his face in the crook of your neck, breathing you in.

You could feel the thickness spreading you open deliciously, the ridges caressing every sensitive part of your insides. You tightened the grip of your thighs on his waist and started to let out moan after moan, the stretch morphing pain into pure bliss.

As he bottomed out, he kissed your neck and then bit down, savouring your desire directly from your blood. You gasped at this, and he started to move, slowly at first but then picking up the pace, still sucking your neck.

The delicious drag of his cock in your walls made you clench around him, as if you were trying to keep him inside, not wanting this feeling of fullness to cease. His dick was really big, but nothing you couldn’t handle, if anything you wanted more, you wanted all of him inside you.

His thrusts were becoming faster, almost shifting you up and down the bed, and his smaller cock slid over your clit with every movement, adding to the pleasure he was giving you.

All these sensations, along with his feeding, made you feel lightheaded, as if he was sucking your very life force, leaving you a quivering mess in his hands.

“Sylus,” you said in a whisper, “you’re consuming me.”

You felt like it was the end. You let this creature feed from you and now it was backfiring, but the thing you were most surprised about was that you didn’t even mind it. Dying like this, in Sylus’ embrace.

He was holding you like you were something to be cherished. To be worshipped. Like you were the most valuable treasure in a fiend’s hoard, and he was taking his time enjoying it. Enjoying you. He stopped his feeding but didn’t move away from your neck, licking the wound he made.

He never stopped thrusting, though. He just slowed down, as if he wanted to listen to you but wasn’t able to fully bring himself to a halt, and you strangely found pride in that. You managed to make a fiend desperate for you.

For your desire.

For your blood

For your flesh.

For you.

Maybe you, too, were a sick and twisted creature like him.

“I feel like,” you let out a gasp, interrupting your speech. He started to caress your sides with the hand not holding your wrists to coax you into talking, and you took a deep breath to steady yourself, “I feel like I’m dying.”

“Oh kitten,” he said, raising his head from your neck. He wiped his mouth and then caressed your face, dirtying it with blood, “you know that, in French, another name for an orgasm is ‘la petite mort’?”

You were a little confused at this, but you were too aroused, your vision too hazy and your mind too cloudy to do anything but shaking your head “no”.

“Do you know what it means?”

You shook your head again.

“It means ‘the little death’.” He licked the blood off your face, steading it with a hand under your chin. “So, let’s die in each other’s arms tonight, my lady” he whispered, and you closed your eyes in bliss as he kissed you. You tasted your blood mixed with his saliva on his tongue and let out a moan. Your flavours mixing together were the most delicious meal you’ve ever had.

He resumed his thrusting, but now it felt more calculated, like he was searching for something–

“Ah!” you moaned out as soon as Sylus hit a precise spot inside you, your eyes rolling in the back of your head, “Do that again.”

“Do what exactly?” he smirked and hit that spot again. And again. And again.

You were a moaning mess, tears starting to spill from your eyes as he fucked you, smudging your make-up.

But this didn’t feel quite enough. You needed more.

“Sylus, please, give me more,” you said, throwing your head back at the pleasure you were feeling.

“Kitten, are you sure?” asked Sylus, face flushed and sweaty, “I’d love to fill you up, but I don’t want to overwhelm you” he whispered, his grip on your wrists never wavering.

“Just do it baby, I need it– ah!” you moaned as he hit that delicious spot inside you. You were already a mess, but the craving for his second cock was too strong to be ignored.

“As my lady commands,” and he pulled out completely.

You whined at the loss, the feeling of emptiness making you clench around nothing.

Sylus let got of your wrists and with one of his hands gripped your waist as the other was wrapped around his dicks, guiding them to your needy hole that was waiting to be filled.

“Hold onto me kitten,” he said, and you wrapped your hands around his neck, preparing yourself for the stretch that was coming.

He slowly entered you with both of his cocks, the smaller one was so wet and slimy that it made the penetration easier. You were gasping and panting in his ear and you knew that this made it difficult for Sylus to stay focused and not bottom out in one go.

In the end, he was just a fiend weak only for two things: desire and you.

“My dear you’re so tight around me,” he breathed out, voice raspy and strained, “I want to fill you up with my seed, see you full of everything I can give you.” You found yourself nodding at his words, desperation clinging into the very fabric of your being.

When he bottomed out you both released a really loud moan; at this point it became impossible to form any coherent thought, the only thing that mattered was that you were full and you needed him to “Move,” you demanded, not even fully knowing you said that. As he did so, you felt his hand press into your stomach and he gasped aloud, “Kitten, look at yourself.”

You looked down and oh my, his cocks were forming a bulge into your stomach. They were reaching impossibly deep inside you, caressing every part you weren’t even aware existed. You observed the movement of his dicks, the constant in and out fully visible and driving you crazy. Your body responded at the sight, copious amounts of slick gushing out of you and sliding onto the mattress.

“Kitten, I don’t think I’ll last long,” he said. His chest heaved with every breath, his thrusts becoming erratic and less calculated than before; his orgasm was approaching and yours was too.

The ridges of his bigger cock massaged your walls as the smaller one filled you with pre-cum and a slimy substance that acted as lubricant; you couldn’t do anything but throw your head back and moan, clenching in time with his thrusts as you were nearing the edge, pleasure consuming you like a fire.

Seeing you in this state, he took a hand to your clit and started to caress it, trying to make you come for him with him.

One hard and precise thrust, combined with his hand on your aching nub, made you topple, your orgasm hitting you like a train as you moaned a string of “Sylus, Sylus, Sylus!”, your insides milking his cocks as he continued to move, searching his own release all flushed and needy, craving that sweet, sweet sensation.

“Please my dear,” you said crying, tears of overstimulation filling your eyes and streaming down your face, “Fill me up,” you finally shouted.

You heard him curse and felt something catch in your hole, trying to enter, “What is–”

“It’s my knot,” he hurriedly replied, “Please kitten let me knot you,” he pleaded, kissing and licking your neck, “Please please please–”

You eagerly nodded and just like that, as if he was restraining himself and was waiting for your command, you felt hot liquid paint your insides, filling you so deliciously you were about to pass out. One last thrust made his knot enter you, locking you together.

He almost collapsed onto you but was quick enough to embrace you spent form and swap your positions, making you lay on top of him, head on his sweaty chest. Sylus’ heart was beating so fast you feared it was going to burst out, his breath still laboured but less than before.

You both laid there in silence, trying to recover from your orgasms. Tender caresses were shared, kisses were given and fucked-out smiles were hidden.

After he came down from his high, he took your chin and made you look at him, making sure not to move you too much since you were still locked by his knot.

“You know, now that I’ve had a taste,” he kissed your nose, “I don’t think can live without you.”

He caressed your face tenderly, touch as light as a feather. As he observed your features, his crimson eyes were filled with something so close to love that you couldn’t find any other word to describe it.

It made you feel warm.

It made you feel so, so happy knowing that someone in this godforsaken world cared for you.

“No baby,” you said, tracing his lips with your index, basking in the coziness of the moment, “It is me that can’t live without you.” You shared a chaste kiss with him, one that meant “I’m here to cherish you”.

Sylus at first smiled tenderly, a soft gesture that seemed so unusual in his fiendish features. Then he smirked and moved a hand down, gripping your buttock, “Is that so?”

You smiled amused and kissed him again, ��I can sense you have something in your mind.”

“I was about to ask you if this feat was enough,” he said as he playfully slapped your asscheek, making you gasp.

“Enough for what?” you asked, confused.

“For me to be worthy of knowing your name.”

You let out a laugh, a genuine one. You almost forgot that he still didn’t know your name.

It was so strange.

Knowing next to nothing of a person yet feeling so strongly about them. People could call this love at first sight, but you both knew it was more than that. What you two shared was an unbreakable bond, one ebbed into every fibre of your bodies, one written in your souls, forever entwined with each other. It was built on desire and need and everything present in this universe.

It was nothing and it was everything at the same time.

You looked softly in his eyes and caressed his chest, then said, “You are right Mister Sylus, my name is– ”

── ❦・⸝⸝ author's note: surprise!! sylus was a fiend and was hunting her too, what a delicious turn of events. obv now that makes sense why I explained how people turn vampires, since mc feeds from sylus and he doesn’t turn or has any reaction.

i really hope you liked it, this fic is literally my magnum opus and i’m so fond of it, so kudos and comments are very appreciated ♡

p.s.: you can find me on twitter @/tenderbeck where i post lads related stuff!! love you all

── ❦・⸝⸝ click to find my masterlist

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jazzthatonewriterchick · 1 year ago

Text

DRABBLE: YOU SPEAK HIS NATIVE LANGUAGE TO HIM (18+) (One Piece) (for Fem!Readers)

Writer's Note: I had this idea after remembering that Luffy is Brazilian. Enjoy! And please, PLEASE let me know if any of the foreign phrases used are not correct or accurate. I did the research on Google. Thank you! -Jazz 🩷🩷

*********

LUFFY (PORTGUESE)

You always loved it when Luffy spoke in his native language.

He is from Brazil and though he hadn’t lived there in years since meeting Shanks and traveling among the Grand Line with the Strawhats crew, nothing and nobody could ever take the Brazilian out of him. It was in his blood.

He always made it known with the Brazilian recipes he would ask Sanji to make and the music he would blast across the ship. Usually, this resulted in him forcing you to dance him with and holding your hips as his his swayed and rolled in ways that often resulted in your knees going weak and every part of you becoming tingly and sensitive (including the places where Luffy usually had his mouth on).

He wouldn’t speak Portuguese often; only sometimes and at random moments, like when something exciting happened or when he was asleep. You would catch him mumbling words in his native tongue as he drooled on the pillow, making you giggle.

He would do it during sex too, usually when his tongue was buried deep in your pussy: “Você tem um gosto tão bom, mama. Deliciosa (You taste so good, mama. Delicious.),” he would mumble into your pussy while you whimpered and moaned.

Or when he had his cock buried deep inside of you as he hammered away at your insides, gripping and smacking your ass: “Tão bom! (So good!)” he’d moan into the bedroom. “C’mon, mama, cum with me! Goze comigo!”

His usual high-pitched voice would get deeper and raspier in his native tongue as each foreign words rolled and flipped on his tongue. It would make you combust every single time, cumming all over his cock at the same time as him bursting inside of you. He would then peck your forehead once you snuggled up together, his hat on your head. “Te amo,” he’d whisper, never telling you what it meant, but you had a feeling.

So after picking up on some of his lines and inflections, you decided to try out speaking his language one night. It was a boring night and Sanji was cooking, trying to get Luffy out of the kitchen as he groaned and complained about being hungry.

“Y/N, would you please come get him?” Sanji sighed. “He won’t leave and I’m not gonna have him sneaking the ingredients off of the counter to eat.”

“I’m not gonna do that!” Luffy protested. “I told you so, Sanji!”

You had giggled and walked to the stereo sitting on the table, playing one of Luffy's favorite songs that was popular in Brazil. The captain’s head immediately shot up from the table, his big eyes staring at you. You smiled and began to sway to the music, opening your arms for him.

With the biggest grin on his face, he shot up and went to you, immediately gathering you into his arms. You giggled as he pressed his face into the crook of your neck and held your hips as he began to sway with you, your senses invaded by nothing but him. He softly sang the lyrics to you, his voice raspy and soft, each word rolling off of the tongue. He sang has if the very song was written for you and you decided now was the perfect moment.

“Luffy?” you whispered. He pulled away to look down at you, looking like a confused puppy. You cupped his face in your hands and pressed a kiss to his lips before whispering, very low, “Te amo.”

Once those gears in his head started turning, you’ve never seen him look so happy. His smile grew about ten sizes before he gripped you to him and coated your face in kisses. “Hey, hey!” Sanji yelled. “Not while I’m cooking! Do that outside!”

ZORO (JAPANESE)

Compared to Luffy, Zoro barely spoke Japanese.

He would only mutter his native language in swears when he was stressed or angry. Other than that, you could never catch him doing it. He barely even spoke about Japan as a whole.

“Why you askin’ so many questions?” he would grumble, glaring at your curious gaze. “I haven’t been there since I was a baby. Go read up on it or somethin’.”

But when he did speak Japanese, and that was very rare, you loved it. His voice would get even deeper when he spoke the foreign swear words during a battle and it would make your heart skip several beats. You wanted to somehow coax him to speak it more or even be closer to him than you already were.

So you started teaching yourself Japanese. You collected as many language books as you could during your stops on islands when walking into town with Nami and Robin and began practicing. In two months, you began speaking in sentences though not professionally or fluently. However, you got each inflection down.

The first time you said something in Japanese to Zoro, he was busy working out one hot, boring day and you had wandered in, feeling extra bratty. “What?” he demanded, grunting as he did his bench presses, his muscles bulging and glistening in sweat.

“Just came to see if you broke up with your dumbbell yet,” you asked sarcastically. “I don’t know how the cuddling at night works, but to each its own.”

Zoro cut his forest green eyes your way before going back to his exercises, barely pausing. “Woman, if you’re gonna come in here with that shit, leave it at the door. You know I need to focus on my training.”

“But you’re already so strong, Zo!” you protested, padding farther into the room. “And a great fighter. You can spare one day without training.”

Though Zoro looked pleased with the praise, he still didn’t let up and continued to pump those sexy arms away at his presses. Pursing your lips, you walked over to him and kneeled down before him, just as he lifted the dumbbell up and put it back up on the rack behind his head.

You began to run your hands up his thick, tree trunk-like thighs in his green slacks, squeezing the muscles and digging your nails deliciously into them. He liked that. He tensed immediately at your touch, breathing heavily from the workout. “Stop that,” he growled. “I’m tryin’ to cool down.”

“Then let me help you,” you purred, sneaking your hand over his cock to give it a squeeze. You were pleased to find that he was already hard. He grunted at the contact and began to squirm under your touch. “I mean it, Y/N,” he panted. “Cut it out.”

You looked up at him then, staring boldly into his eyes. "Watashi o tsukuru (make me)”, you said in a low, breathy voice that often made your man go absolutely insane.

At the sound of his native language coming from your lips, the swordsman sat up straight and stared down at you, astounded and extremely aroused. His cock grew in your hand as a blush appeared on his cheeks.

“What did you say?” he questioned, his voice dangerously low. You just smiled and stood up, tearing your hand away from his cock.

“Now are you gonna spend time with me?” you questioned, a hand on your hip and arching a brow at him.

While this didn't get him out of the training room, it did help tear him away from his workout to instead work you out, your legs spread over his bench and his cock pummeling your insides as he whispered how good you felt in Japanese.

Mission accomplished.

SANJI (FRENCH)

Sanji always felt proud of his ethnicity and heritage, so he always made it a point to speak his native language.

Like Luffy, it would be at random moments. He could be cooking and would mutter to himself in French about instructions or maybe lyrics to a song.

Sometimes, he would swear if he nearly dropped a bottle of sauce or about the noise Luffy and Usopp would make outside the kitchen door. But always, when he served you and the crew, he would give you all a bright, proud smile and a “Bon appétit!”.

And always, always, he would speak French during sex. He would whisper in your ear about how good you felt and how sweet you tasted, his words like honey in your ears.

“Je me send is bien en too, princesse, (I feel so good inside you, princess)” he’d moan into the tense, sexed-up air of your bedroom, your ankles on his broad shoulders as his cock stroked your insides. “Tellement parfait. Si belle. (So perfect. So beautiful).”

He would kiss your foot before taking one of your toes into your mouth.

That would usually set you off like a rocket, making you cum all over the bed and his cock. And because he thought you were so pretty, he would always explode deep inside you, filling you to the brim. That’s part of why he always let his native tongue slip in the bedroom with you.

Other than the nasty shit, he would always tell you, “Je t’aime”. When he would kiss you; before you went to bed; when you’d separate for an expedition or when when you’d go to the other side of the ship. It was only right as the love chef. “Je t’aime,” he’d say, an adoring smile on his face and hearts in his eyes. It would make you tingle and feel warm all over you.

So you surprised him one night when he cooked dinner specifically for you before the crew even ate. “Sanji, baby, you didn’t have to make me a whole separate meal,” you giggled as you sat down in the chair he pulled out for you. “I would’ve eaten the lamb!”

“Nonsense,” he tutted, looking sexy in his apron dusted with flour and spices. “You said you didn’t like lamb too much. And believe me, honey: fixin’ grilled fish for you is nothing compared to what these hooligans want.” He then pressed a kiss to your cheek and whispered, “Bon appétit, my love” before hurrying back to the stove to check the yeast rolls in the oven.

You stared down at the dinner spread on your plate: grilled fish drizzled in lemon and garlic with a side of honey-glazed, oven-roasted carrots, kus kus, and steamed broccoli. You cut a piece of the fish and put it into your mouth, humming in pleasure at the taste. You turned to Sanji, his back to you, as you gushed over the food. “This food is delicious, Sanji!” you said. "C'est trés bon! (It's very good!)”

Sanji visibly paused before turning around to look at you, confused. Your smile grew and you lowered your fork. “Mes compliments au chef (My compliments to the chef),” you giggled. Before you could take a breath, Sanji was flying across the kitchen and planting kisses all over your face as you giggled. “Since when do you speak French, my love?” he laughed, giddy.

“I’ve been practicing,” you hummed, playing with the color of his shirt. “I wanted to impress you.” Hearts in his eyes, Sanji pressed his forehead against yours. “And impress me, you did, mon there,” he murmured. “Now finish that food so I can hear more of my native tongue coming out of those sweet lips.”

You did and while he had you bent over the kitchen counter while the crew ate in the other room, you repeated one word to him, over and over again, as he pummeled inside of you: “Je t’aime”.

LAW (GERMAN)

Law never spoke German. Or at least, not in front of you or the Hearts crew.

“What’s the need?” he asked when you asked him to teach you something in his native tongue. “I haven’t lived there in years. Why are you so interested in my language anyway?” You would tell him you were curious, but that wouldn’t make him budge.

You found it sad. Though he claimed he felt pride in his ethnicity and his native land, he barely mentioned his time there or taught you any phrases. So, in order to coax him into it, you fixed him a German dish. One day when the ship docked on a little island, you ran out to town to grab the ingredients for it and fixed it for him that night. It took a lot of preparation and stressing over whether or not he’d respond well to it, but that night, you sat the crew down for dinner.

“I made something special for y’all,” you giggled, smiling secretively at Law. He scowled in confusion and suspicion at you, not sure what you were up to, until the crew took the silver covers off of their plates to reveal their meal: slices of roasted pork shoulder glazed with a cumin sauce and sitting on a bed of roasted potatoes and peppers. “Ta-da!” you shouted. “Sh-wen-braten!”

At you mispronouncing the name, the corner of Law’s lips quirked a bit while his crew barely blinked. They were too busy drooling over and gobbling down their food. “Wow, Y/N!” Bepo growled. “This tastes amazing! I haven't tasted pork this good in so long!”

“Thank you,” you giggled, but your attention was still all on Law as he took a bite. You stood behind his chair, nervously ringing a dish towel around your hands. “How is it?” you asked, bending down to hear him better over the chatter.

He continued to chew and chew, leaving you in suspense, before he swallowed. “S’good,” he murmured and you sighed in relief. “Though you pronounced the dish wrong.” You made a face, pouting cutely in confusion at him. “It’s pronounced “schweinebraten,” he said, his deep voice rolling over the foreign word.

“Sch.” He paused, waiting for you to repeat it back to him. “Weine.” You parroted him, doing your best to keep from smiling out of giddiness. “Braten.”

“Braten,” you pronounced, earning a satisfied nod before he turned back around to finish his meal. But you weren't done. you leaned down to his ear, loving how he tensed at your touch and presence. “Between you and me, I already knew how to pronounce it,” you purred. “I just wanted to hear you say it. Guten appetit (Enjoy your meal).”

Something happened to Law in that moment hearing you speak in his language. His cock swoll in his pants and he nearly broke his fork as he sat rigid in his seat. You turned and walked away back to the stove, swaying your hips and biting back a grin as he watched, wanting to fuck you right there in front of his entire crew and make you say some very nasty words in his native tongue.

“Law, why are all red like that?!” Jean practically yelled across the table.

“Shut up!” Law growled as you laughed. He was gonna get you back for that later tonight.

#one piece #one piece drabble #my works #my fic shit #my drabbles #fem reader #fem!reader #one piece x reader #one piece x y/n #one piece x you

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