#anxiety induced rage

[midnightcaptions]

Am I still allowed to ship my childhood ships as an adult I don't know :'((((

oh, the dilemma of morals being imposed on silly fictional nonsense

[fictionalcreator]

RIGHT I CAN UPDATE HTTDG TODAY

[demarogue]

Gettin' Through the Holidays Mental Health Tricks

If y'all are anything like me, this time of year is triggering AF. Here are some small, very easy grounding exercises that I was taught by my therapist, basically in order of how much I like them for this rage-inducing season. You make like them in a different order, depending on your rage-to-despair ratio.

Push a wall: literally go up to a wall and try to push it over. Really try. I promise you won't push it over, but give it your best shot. Try to hold it as long as you can, and then take a breather and assess whether you need to repeat. Why it works: This is a quick, physical expulsion of the fight-or-flight feeling. It's a bit like punching a wall, but without the potential to hurt yourself/look scary/damage things. You can even do it in front of people and say you're stretching, they'll never know (unless the wall actually falls down, but this will not happen, I assure you).

Shake like a dog: Animals shake to release stress, and you are also an animal. Setting aside time to just shake it out, as vigorously as you can, arms and legs, face, stick your tongue out, pretend you're shaking like a wet dog. You can dance instead, if that feels better, and you can do this to music, but basically the more unhinged you can be, the better. If you are in a place you can scream, scream too! Why it works: like the above, this is a release of pent-up stress and anxiety. Especially if your rage-to-woe ratio is high, some kind of physical exertion is often the best way to burn through the cortisol and adrenaline you're building up.

Bilateral Tapping: Cross your arms over your chest so that your fingertips are at your shoulders, and slowly tap, one hand at a time, back and forth, for about a minute. Breathe slowly. Why it works: This is weird as hell, but because this engages both sides of your brain, it helps override the activity of the amygdala, which is the part of your brain that Makes The Fear. If you're being literally triggered in a situation, i.e. you're having a trauma response, or reliving some family trauma, this is a good one.

Box Breathing: From a comfortable position (can really be seated, laying down or standing), inhale slowly for a count of 4, hold for a count of 4, exhale for a count of 4, hold for a count of 4, then repeat. You can do it for shorter counts or longer counts, but if you vary the counts make sure the exhale is longer than the inhale. You can close your eyes or leave them open. Why it works: This exercise helps you move from a sympathetic (activated) nervous system response to a parasympathetic (balanced) response. I do this one every day, and it's a good gateway to meditation. Especially helpful in anxious or tense situations, but I find if I'm very triggered I need one of the other ones first, or it can make anxiety worse. Breathwork is amazing but not usually as a first exercise if you're very activated, or have been activated a long time.

Ice: Lots of ways to do this one – hands in cold water for 30 seconds, ice pack on the back of your neck, dip your entire face into a bowl of ice water (this one's the most effective). Why it works: I kinda think this is hilarious, but this activates your mammalian dive reflex. It immediately slows your heart-rate, so if you are feeling your blood pressure and heart rate rising, this one is very good. The only reason this one's at the bottom of my list is because I hate being cold.

I wish you all a very get-through-the-holidays-without-hurting-yourself. Take time alone if you need it.

[jinxedshapeshifter]

Protip: for the love of god don’t tell your mentally ill 19 year old patient that their chronic lifelong disability will fucking kill them in their sleep if they’re not medicated

[alexjcrowley]

Watching Punch-Drunk Love and I'll be honest Adam Sandler should be able to never ever get to see his sisters again

[hayatheauthor]

Creating Fear in Your Characters: A Writers Guide

Creating authentic emotions is vital for immersive storytelling, which is why I decided to make this series on how to write different emotions. After exploring rage, and sadness it's now time to delve into fear!

Fear is a powerful emotion that can manifest in various ways, from subtle apprehension to paralyzing terror. Here's a guide on how to write fear effectively, covering different aspects of your characters' behavior and reactions.

Facial Expressions

Fear often manifests first in facial expressions, conveying the initial shock or unease. Describe these expressions to immerse readers in your character's emotional state:

Widened Eyes and Dilated Pupils: Show the eyes widening in response to a sudden threat, with dilated pupils indicating heightened alertness.

Tense Jaw and Clenched Teeth: Mention the clenching of jaw muscles or teeth, signaling internalized stress or anxiety.

Furrowed Brow and Raised Eyebrows: Describe the furrowing of the forehead and raised eyebrows, revealing worry or confusion.

Quivering Lips or Lip Biting: Note subtle lip movements like quivering or biting, reflecting nervousness or fear.

Frozen or Stiff Facial Muscles: Highlight moments of fear-induced immobility, where facial muscles become tense and rigid.

Body Language and Gestures

Fear can also be expressed through body language and gestures, showcasing your character's instinctual responses to danger or threat:

Backing Away or Recoiling: Describe your character instinctively moving backward or recoiling from the source of fear, signaling a desire to retreat.

Raised Shoulders and Tensed Posture: Show how fear causes the shoulders to rise and the body to tense up, indicating readiness for fight or flight.

Trembling Hands or Shaking Limbs: Mention the trembling of hands or shaking of limbs, reflecting nervousness or anxiety.

Covering Vulnerable Areas: Describe your character instinctively covering vulnerable areas like their neck or torso, symbolizing a protective gesture.

Fidgeting or Restlessness: Note any fidgeting or restlessness, such as tapping feet or wringing hands, as signs of inner turmoil and fear.

Vocal Cues and Dialogue

Fear can alter vocal cues and dialogue, affecting how your character speaks and communicates their emotions:

Quavering Voice or Shaky Speech: Describe the voice quivering or becoming shaky, indicating nervousness or fear.

Rapid Breathing and Gasping: Mention rapid breathing or gasping for air, showcasing the physical impact of fear on the respiratory system.

Stammering or Hesitant Speech: Note any stammering or hesitant speech patterns, reflecting the character's struggle to articulate their thoughts coherently.

Sudden Silence or Lack of Verbal Response: Show moments of sudden silence or the inability to respond verbally, highlighting the overwhelming nature of fear.

Repetitive Phrases or Vocalizations: Describe repetitive phrases or vocalizations, such as muttering prayers or chanting reassurances, as coping mechanisms in fearful situations.

Reactions and Physical Responses

Fear triggers various physical responses in your characters, showcasing the body's instinctual reactions to perceived threats:

Increased Heart Rate and Sweating: Mention the character's heart rate increasing and sweating profusely, reflecting heightened physiological arousal.

Dilated Pupils and Heightened Senses: Describe dilated pupils and heightened sensory perception, as the character's senses become more attuned to potential dangers.

Muscle Tension and Rigidity: Note muscle tension and rigidity, as the body prepares for action or defense in response to fear.

Nausea or Stomach Churning: Show how fear can lead to feelings of nausea or stomach churning, as the body's stress response impacts digestive functions.

Fight, Flight, or Freeze Response: Highlight the character's instinctual response to fear, whether it's a readiness to fight, a desire to flee, or a state of frozen immobility.

Types of Fear and Emotional Depth

Different types of fear can evoke varying emotional responses in your characters, adding depth to their portrayal and the narrative:

Startle Fear: Describe the sudden, reflexive fear triggered by unexpected events or loud noises, leading to a quick, intense reaction.

Apprehensive Fear: Show the lingering sense of unease or dread that accompanies anticipated threats or impending danger, heightening tension over time.

Terror: Depict the overwhelming, paralyzing fear that arises from extreme danger or horrifying experiences, impacting the character's ability to think or act rationally.

Phobias: Explore specific phobias that trigger irrational and intense fear responses, shaping how your character navigates their environment and interactions.

Trauma-Induced Fear: Address fear resulting from past traumas or experiences, influencing the character's behavior and emotional resilience in present situations.

Verbs and Adjectives for Writing Fear

Here's a list of verbs and adjectives to help you convey fear effectively in your writing:

Verbs: tremble, cower, gasp, quiver, shrink, freeze, recoil, sweat, pant, gulp, shudder

Adjectives: terrified, anxious, alarmed, horrified, shaken, jittery, panicked, petrified

[twoflowers]

Best Behavior- Sanji x Reader (Explicit)

Here's my contribution to InfixOP's One Piece x Reader fic exchange. This is for @mere-mortifer, who I hope enjoys it and forgives me for the late posting date. I don't know why or how this is so long, but I loved writing it.

Prompt: Forced proximity when sleeping due to extremely cold weather outside leads to cuddling, which leads to kissing, which leads to sex. Bonus points if Reader has to almost beg Sanji to share a sleeping bag/bed/whatever with them because Sanji doesn't want to make them uncomfortable while trying to sleep, meanwhile he's the one freezing in the open air. Even more bonus points if they have to be very careful and quiet while having sex cause someone else might hear them.

Description: Sanji has been more reserved in his affection recently. Being stranded in the cold and forced to share a sleeping bag may be just the remedy.

Rating: Explicit

Tags: sub!Sanji, virgin!Sanji, gentle femdom, first time, getting together, forced proximity, biting, (attempted) oral sex, worship, praise kink. Reader is described as a cis woman but there are no other references to her appearance.

Read on AO3.

Word Count: 9k+

Best Behavior

It takes a fifteen mile hike up a steep, cliffside trail in weather so cold your fingertips turn blue to realize that your sleeping bag and tent have been replaced with several large beef shanks.

It’s a miserable night. You’re separated from most of your crew, and all of your crewmates with a functioning sense of direction. Rain has soaked through your shoes to make your socks squelch with every step, and your coat is doing little to stave off the chill. Both of your coats, actually, because Sanji has long abandoned his suit jacket to drape it over your shoulders. You let him do it solely because he looked more miserable with it than without it; you look at him now, swearing and shivering pitifully as he attempts to start a campfire in the clearing that the four of you have decided to camp out in, and feel a pang of guilt. He looks back up at you with a smile so beatific you almost forget that you were about to commit murder. 

“Luffy,” you breathe. You keep breathing, loudly: you’ve figured out breathing exercises for just about every form of Luffy-induced rage or anxiety imaginable. “Luffy, what is this?”

Luffy is standing on the opposite side of the clearing with Zoro, who is searching for sake amidst the myriad bags he insisted on carrying up the mountain as training. Luffy leans towards you with wide-eyed curiosity, which quickly turns into wide-eyed joy as he sees your bag.

“Oh, meat! That’s where you went!” He beams, throwing an arm to hook onto a tree behind you. It twangs cartoonishly like an overstretched rubber band; Luffy hurdles towards you at top speed, whooping like a maniac - and lands directly into Sanji’s outstretched foot.

“You idiot!” Sanji scolds Luffy, now laying on the floor and nursing a large bump on his head. “How dare you take her sleeping bag? She’s freezing! Apologize!”

“Sorry…” Luffy whines petulantly, still rubbing his head. 

“Now give her yours!”

“Eh? I didn’t bring mine.”

“You didn’t-” Sanji stops, rubs his temple, and turns to you. “It’s okay, angel, I’m sure the marimo can spare his. If you can stand the body odor, that is.”

“Huh?” Zoro is in the middle of getting situated, sword carriers arranged carefully against a rock, wet haramaki loosened. “Why don’t you give her yours, shit cook?”

“I need to avoid frostbite or you’ll die within a day when Luffy cleans out the food stores.”

Zoro scoffs. “Nobody wants to touch your sleeping bag anyways. Who knows what you’ve done to the thing.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Sanji and Zoro dissolve into a blur of motion lines. Over the kicks and grunts and shouted insults you hear the smacking of lips and look down to see Luffy eating meat out of your bag with the desperation of a starving street dog. You glare at him for good measure; he doesn’t seem to notice.

You take the opportunity to sneak to Zoro’s area to continue the search for that sake. It’s freezing and you need something to warm you, if there isn’t fire or dry clothing or a sleeping bag. The first bag you check is suspiciously heavy, and you open it to find… rocks. 

The second bag is also full of rocks, and so is the third. You take a very deep breath before stomping over to the fight to clock both Zoro and Sanji over the skull, a skill you’ve been developing for months under Nami’s careful tutelage. (It really is difficult to estimate where their heads are at any given point, but it’s really more of a gut feeling than anything.)

“Stop fighting!” You shout down at them. Sanji immediately apologizes, looking very honored to have been hit by you. You pretend that it doesn't send a shockwave of pure want through you and continue on, scowling down at Zoro.

“What the fuck did you do with the supplies?” 

“Huh?” Zoro glares up at you. “The cook brought them.”

“Mine! I brought mine!” Sanji pokes a finger right into Zoro’s forehead. “And my precious angel’s, but someone decided to replace her things with food!” 

He wheels around to Luffy, who’s shoved an entire bone into his mouth to suck on, cheeks stretched absurdly to accommodate it. Blankly, he spits out the bone, and it shoots over to hit Sanji square in the nose, and Sanj springs up to slug him again.

You love the boys, really, but moments like these are why you rely on Nami and Robin to keep you semi-sane. Every man on the crew is somehow a complete idiot, even Sanji. Woefully, this is a huge part of the appeal. He’s a complete fool and you adore him for it, drooling, nosebleeds, and all. 

The fighting winds down just as your shivering reaches an intolerable level. Your teeth are bashing against each other and nicking your lips. Distantly, you’re counting down the minutes until you inevitably get hypothermia, and the boys don’t look like they’re faring much better. Luffy sees you shivering and you watch in real-time as his neurons fire just enough for him to realize that it is, in fact, incredibly cold outside. He immediately shrieks and wraps his arms around himself like a weird, rubbery coat.

Besides the rocks and food, Sanji is the only person who managed to bring actual supplies. Between the four of you, there are two tents, one sleeping bag, and four packaged emergency blankets.

“Okay,” you huff. “Okay.” Your arm spasms with cold as you point to the tents. “How do we want to do this?”

“Of course, angel, you get the sleeping bag,” Sanji assures you, smacking Luffy as he tries to protest. 

“Men to one tent, woman to the other?” You suggest, knowing that Sanji will take issue with it.

“But angel, there could be wolves!” Sanji looks profoundly worried. His bangs are windswept back, and you get the full effect of his pout with both eyes visible. “You need someone to stand guard. I can-”

“Sanji, it’s practically sub-zero. You need to be inside a tent, and all of us need to get our clothes off as soon as possible.”

Sanji gulps, wind-chapped cheeks somehow flushing even redder. His gaze traces down your body and turns dazed: you aren’t sure how, given that you’re drenched and wearing a shapeless jacket. Ugh, what a sweetheart. The abstract concept of you taking your clothes off in a separate tent is getting him all hot and bothered.

It’s a relief. 

Recently, Sanji has been downright distant, by his standards. Still doting, of course; still appearing every few hours with a special drink and snack for you. Still overusing pet names and offering to be your knight and making sure you and the other women get the best of the best of everything.

But the opportunistic touches to the lower back have vanished. His eyes barely linger when you wear a low-cut shirt. You haven’t even seen him have a nosebleed in a while. 

You wonder idly how your love-life got to the point of you eagerly awaiting being perved on, but one glance at Sanji vanishes those thoughts. You know exactly how you got here: you thrilled at meeting this tall man with his lovely long legs and thin waist and broad shoulders, his large, careful hands, tapered chin and well-kempt facial hair and slight youthful roundness clinging stubbornly to his cheeks despite his manly man act. You were completely gone after learning that he essentially devoted his life to the pleasure of women, called you miss and blushed when pushed around and followed pretty girls blindly like a lost puppy, and all without an ounce of irony or malicious intent. The Straw Hats- all of them- are so sincere that it still blindsides you sometimes.

And after two years apart, seeing him mature… Muscles and jawline more defined, a bit more hardened, a bit more world-weary but still as kind and giving and genuine and lovely as ever… His reaction to seeing you essentially topless after that time apart was very charmingly him, even if it snowballed into recurrent bleeding episodes necessitating a well-stocked blood bank aboard the ship. 

As bad as it sounds, you miss the attention. You like encouraging that side of Sanji.

You look around you at the pathetic campsite and measly supplies and think that maybe fate has blessed you with a good hand indeed.

“Luffy and I could share a tent, but then you and Zoro would be together…” You say it like you haven’t already done the mental math and gotten the exact result you want, like you aren’t already internally whooping in victory. “I don’t want to break up any more fights.”

Sanji glances rapidly between you and the other men.

“And now that you mention it, I’m not sure if anybody should be left alone tonight. We should pair off for safety. Like you said, there might be wolves.” You look up, pursing your lips in thought. “Zoro and I could share.”

Sanji sputters immediately, stepping forward to cast a protective arm between you and Zoro. “No! No way! There’s no telling what that animal might try! My angel, n-n- undressed in front of that brute-!”

The two men are forehead to forehead at this point, and you quickly grab Sanji by the collar of his rain-soaked shirt and haul him backwards. He goes willingly, but his glare remains fixed on Zoro… until you stroke the back of his neck with your thumb and he flushes and slumps towards you, deactivated.

“Or you and I could share, Sanji.” 

He looks at you like you’ve just said something incomprehensible. His eyes slowly drift to your neck, then snap quickly back up. You flutter your lashes and Sanji goes scarlet. 

“Would that work? I’ll just get changed in the sleeping bag.”

“Abababa-” Sanji babbles. 

“And you can protect me?”

“Hahh-” Sanji makes a punched out sound and looks upwards as if imploring some deity for help. He clears his throat and pushes his bangs back. When he looks back at you the flush comes back full-force, and he has to look to the ground before he nods, twice.

“Perfect.” You clap your hands together. “Please tell me one of you knows how to set up a tent. Not Luffy.” 

Despite the biting cold, despite the numb fingers that can barely function to hold the pegs that secure the tents to the ground, you are a very happy camper. Sanji is moving with a manic efficiency that you hope is a good sign. He alternates between staring at you unblinkingly and pretending not to look at you while shooting desperate, furtive glances. This is your favorite Sanji, the one who’s wrecked by the mere idea of a woman being anything resembling familiar with him. Roping him into close quarters may be the perfect solution to the recent distance.

Or, you think with a frown, he might be put off by the whole situation. If asked two years ago you would have declared Sanji incredibly easy to read; recently, you’re not so sure what he’s thinking.

Still, your mind is flooded with all sorts of delicious images: Sanji furtively touching himself in the tent next to you, blanket stuffed into his mouth to stifle his whines, or Sanji accidentally finding a pair of your used underwear in his sleeping area and being unable to resist temptation. There’s an idea you go back to again and again, inspired by one time months ago that Sanji visibly licked his lips when you mentioned needing to wash your intimates.

The rain slows just as the tents are set up. Sanji finally manages to start a small fire in the clearing, and everyone strips their top layers to dry on logs overnight. You distribute the emergency blankets and watch Luffy’s eyes dazzle in wonder at their metallic sheen. You can’t help but smile softly at him: of course near death by hypothermia is just another big adventure to him.

You warm up to the best of your ability by the fire before taking Sanji’s sleeping bag and scrambling into the tent before the cold catches you. Your shorts, underwear, and tank top are soaked completely through and you’re so cold and exhausted that you don’t have an hour to spare to get dry by the measly fire. 

You can’t help but think about Zoro’s earlier words as you unzip the sleeping bag and line it with a blanket. Who knows what he’s done to the thing… Your shivering reaches new heights and you quickly strip to your underwear, crawl into the bag, and zip it up, wiggling to get comfortable and listening to the blanket make awkward crinkling noises around you.

You lie in the dark waiting for Sanji, listening to Luffy loudly get ready for bedtime and recount the story of today to Zoro, who grunts in return. They’re on the opposite side of the fire from your tent, but Luffy’s laughter rings throughout the clearing. If there are wolves, you think, they’ll probably be scared away.

You sit up after about fifteen minutes. You can see Sanji’s shadow through the tent, sitting in front of the fire with his knees drawn to his chest. You wriggle to the entrance and unzip it slightly, peeking out at Sanji as he huddles miserably in his wet undershirt and boxers. 

“Sanji, come here. You need to get out of those clothes and into a blanket.”

Sanji turns to you, nodding absently. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.” He turns back to the fire and takes a few deep, steady breaths, as though preparing himself. Paired with the sparks flying up into the clear, starry night he almost looks like he’s performing some kind of spell. His hands clench into fists and unclench, and then he stands up to enter the tent. 

You scoot backwards to give him room, but the action inadvertently makes the sleeping bag slip down. Sanji lets out an eep and covers his eyes with a hand, the other thrown out in front of him like a shield.

“Angel, your modesty!” He squeaks, waving his hand around helplessly. “I’m sorry!”

Is Sanji passing up an opportunity to swoon over a naked woman? 

“Sanji, it’s no big deal. It was an accident.” You get back into a lying position while Sanji stutters and tries to find his blanket with a hand shielding his eyes. “Modesty doesn’t count for much when the alternative is hypothermia.” 

“Ah- but, but-” He trips over your pile of clothes and peeks between his fingers to see your bra dangling from his foot, then squeaks and shakes it free. “But it’s-” He looks up and sees that you’re fully covered, and takes his hand from his face. 

“But it’s improper.” 

His lip is quivering in misery. His wet hair seems to sag even further down his forehead. You notice that at some point he’s put an unlit cigarette between his teeth, and he gnaws at it viciously as his eyes nearly well with tears.

You’re not sure whether to laugh or cry along with him. “Sanji, you’ve seen me naked before. In the shower? When the lock broke? Remember?”

He nods, the spitting image of a puppy watching his bag of treats sink to the bottom of the ocean.

“And you got a nosebleed and told me I had the most beautiful body in the world? Ringing any bells?”

Sanji’s lip quivers harder, and he shakes his head, then nods. “But I-” 

“So what’s with the sudden change of heart, huh?” Your eyes soften as you look at Sanji… Soggy, pitiful, desperate Sanji. “You’re shaking. Get your shirt off.” 

Sanji gulps. You admire his Adam’s apple and his sculpted neck. How is it fair that a man this beautiful is also the sweetest man in the world?

You roll over to give Sanji some privacy, and hear him peeling his wet shirt from his body. You let yourself lick your lips because you’re feeling quite self-indulgent now that you’re out of the freezing cold and marginally warmed by the fire, blanket, and sleeping bag. When you hear Sanji unfolding his blanket, you clear your throat.

“Can I turn back over?”

“Ah. Yes. You’re okay now, angel.” 

You roll back over and grin at the sight of Sanji’s head peeking out from above his foil blanket. His shirt is folded and placed at a respectful distance from your things; presumably, he’s still wearing wet boxers. 

“Warm?”

“Warmer,” he smiles, and leans towards you to appraise your sleeping situation. “And you? Are you warm enough? If not, I can give you my blanket and sit back by the fire.” 

“I’ve already taken your sleeping bag, Sanji. I don’t want you to actually die here.”

Sanji’s smile melts across his face, soft and sweet and wobbly. “Ah, my angel cares about me!” 

“Of course I do.” You smile up at him from your bundle, and he tucks a hand under his chin to better gaze at you adoringly.

“You look so snug, all tucked in…” 

For some reason, this makes you shiver with desire. You’ll never get enough of being fussed over and cooed at like a baby duckling. Sanji has seen you stumble into the kitchen, hungover and in last night’s makeup and has reacted by pressing a hand over his heart like he was ready to melt through the floor. He makes you feel unconditionally adored; more than that, he seems to adore you even more under what you think are the worst possible conditions.

A companionable silence ensues. You can hear the sporadic popping of the fire outside and the whistling of Luffy snoring. You drift off a bit; Sanji puts up a valiant fight, but when you wake up to hear the rain starting up again, he’s asleep. 

You see the fire die out and huddle your blanket closer to you. Sanji shivers. 

“Sanji?” 

His blanket crumples as he stirs. “Hm?” 

“You’re cold, huh?”

You can faintly see him shake his head. “No, angel. Don’t worry about me.” 

“I do worry about you. I worry about you a lot.”

There’s a beat. “...Thank you. I’m honored.”

You glance over and blink a few times, eyes adjusting to the darkness and allowing you to make out Sanji’s trembling outline.

“Sanji, come over here.”

He audibly swallows, but obeys, scooting close and leaning down enough that the fog of his breath is visible. 

“Come in here with me.”

His breath disappears for a few long seconds. You can see enough of his face to get the impression that his eyes are darting rapidly from you to the sleeping bag and back again, and you reach your hand out into the night air and slip it under his jaw. He makes a sound like a deflating tire.

“I- you mean-” He reflexively reaches up to his lips; not finding a cigarette, he places his hand briefly over yours and then flinches away like it burns. “Come in where?” 

“Sanji, you’re cold. There’s space, really.” You scoot backwards to demonstrate, grabbing his hand and slipping it into the sleeping bag. “See?” 

“But the-th-” he chokes, feeling around in the empty space beside you. “Not much space, there’s- really, there’s hardly any space, and-” He shivers, head to toe.

“Please,” you whisper. “I’m cold, too… Really cold, and I need you to help.”

Sanji gasps, hand reaching out past the empty space to connect with your shoulder. “Is that true, angel? Is that true? You need me?” 

“Yes, I really do. Could you-?” You reach out to gently tug his arm. He doesn’t resist at all- you don’t think Sanji could ever resist being manhandled by a woman- but he’s stiff and emanates hesitance as he’s pulled towards you.

“Angel, I’m not decent.” 

For a moment you think he’s being self-deprecating, but you quickly remember that neither of you are wearing anything but underwear. The thought makes your stomach clench. All that skin against skin, the possibility of feeling the warmth of Sanji’s body tucked right against yours... 

“Neither am I.”

Sanji draws in a harsh breath. He brings a hand to his nose to check for blood. It comes back clear, and he exhales shakily and gently places his hand on your head. His fingers twitch as they settle into your hair.

“And I’m so happy that you trust me enough to allow me near you when you’re vulnerable,” he says with great effort. “But I don’t want to do anything to make you uncomfortable. I don’t want to… react in a way that makes you uncomfortable.”

Heat blossoms between your legs, radiates to your belly and chest until you’re almost dizzy with it. But once the initial burn subsides, his comment gives you pause.

It’s not that Sanji hasn’t cared about your comfort in the past: of course he has. He cares very much about you being well-fed and relaxed. He’s offered to clean your room, do all of your laundry, carry you any time you seem even slightly tired. But he’s also, on multiple occasions, coyly lifted his blanket to invite you to snuggle on the couch, eyelashes fluttering. He’s assured you his bunk is always available to share after you have a night of poor sleep. He’s offered massages and manicures and haircuts and baths together, always with earnest eagerness to please and enough puppy dog desperation to make it toothless. 

It does sting a bit that he isn’t immediately jumping into bed with you.

Sanji’s hand is still in your hair and you can feel that it is shaking from a combination of cold and nerves. You wish you could see his face. You’re sure whatever expression of profound shame he’s making is very charming. 

You decide you need to do something. If Sanji is going to dial down his advances, you need to dial yours up until you reach equilibrium. 

“You mean you think you’ll get aroused?” 

His hand jerks away from your head; he jolts back with a squeak. “Angel-! That’s- That’s such a crude word-!”

“But it’s true, isn’t it? You’re worried about how you’ll react if we sleep together?”

Sanji is breathing like he’s overheating. He nods shamefully. “I’m sorry! I know it’s wrong of me. I just… I can’t control it sometimes. Especially around beautiful ladies. And you’re not…” He gulps. “You’re not wearing anything right now, and… We would be touching.”

“We would be,” you agree. “But skin-to-skin contact is very effective for warming up. Sanji, if you’d rather I send you to cuddle with Zoro, I will. I want you to warm up. Just because you could spend the night shivering in a blanket in only wet underwear doesn’t mean you should have to. We’re nakama. I want you to be cozy. With me.” 

“Cozy…?” He repeats vaguely. He shifts closer, close enough that his knee knocks into yours. “With you?”

“With me.” 

You sit up, making sure to pull the sleeping bag with you so your breasts are covered, and unzip the side. “Now get in here. I’m freezing my ass off and I know you are, too. We can lay back to back or something.”

“Princess…” He says helplessly, but his legs are already slipping into the sleeping bag. 

You make room for him. He keeps the blanket wrapped around him and you’re feeling frustrated, sexually and emotionally; you’re cold and nervous and desperate for reassurance that he also wants to touch you. 

“Can you put the blanket on top of me, too?” You reach out to Sanji, who’s halfway into the sleeping back, and tug lightly on the little cocoon he’s made around himself. “That way we can both have two blankets and be skin-to-skin. For minimal heat loss.”

You smile when Sanji practically rips the blanket off of himself and tuck it over you, then slips quickly next to you to get out of the cold. 

You’re side to side now. Sanji’s entire bare arm is against your bare arm. You hope you aren’t breathing too loudly, but even if you are, Sanji is surely drowning you out: he’s practically huffing. 

“Can you zip us up?” You turn your back to Sanji. He seems to be having a hard enough time already, and jumping straight into cuddling while practically naked might spook him.

“Yeah… yeah.” He turns so that he’s on his side, a slight gap between your backs, and zips up the sleeping bag. 

It feels so final, like he’s closing the boundary between the outside world and the place where the two of you are lying, and you can feel the heat between your legs ramping up in intensity. The space between your back and his feels charged with potential. 

You lie in silence for a few moments. Sanji asks if you’re comfortable and you tell him that you are. A few times you attempt to subtly press your back into Sanji’s, but he’s apparently migrated as far to the other side of the sleeping bag as possible. 

“Sanji?”

“Yes?”

“Can I ask you something?” 

“Of course,” he says, but sounds unsure. You worry your thumb over your lips.

“You’ve been distant lately. Touching me less, being less… Well, eager, I guess. Normally, I would have expected you to be very excited about a girl inviting you to share a sleeping bag. Is everything okay between us?”

“Yes! Yes, of course everything’s okay! I promise, if there was any problem, I’d fix it right away!” Sanji shifts to the best of his ability so he’s lying on his back, speaking right into your ear. “I’m trying to be better…”

“Better?”

“I know I can be a bit much. Sometimes I get so excited about being around you ladies that I can forget my manners, and it’s… Unbecoming of a gentleman. And you deserve a gentleman. You deserve nothing less than the best.”

You can’t help but laugh. You’d been so worried that Sanji was pulling away, or that his recent behavior was how Sanji acted around a girl he wasn’t romantically interested in. You realize that you’re so used to Sanji’s love sonnets and borderline ogling and gentle touches to the small of your back that normal behavior, or anything closer to normal behavior from him, puts you on high alert. Anything less than over the top feels like a rejection.

“Sanji, that’s it? Really? You’re not-” You turn so that you’re on your side, hands crossed over your breasts to avoid getting too close too fast. “You’re not… I don’t know, disinterested?”

“Disinterested?” Sanji sounds horrified. “My princess, I could never be! Have I been making you feel neglected? Please tell me I haven’t!”

“I mean, a little bit? I know you’ve probably gotten negative feedback, but with me… I like it when you’re yourself. You don’t need to tone it down.”

Sanji seems to realize that the front of your body is pressed flush against his side. He gasps an exhale but doesn’t pull away, and you let yourself even closer, gently hooking a foot between his legs. 

“You can’t mean that,” Sanji mutters. “Can you?”

“You’re not too much for me,” you say, and it’s such an understatement. You adore Sanji, completely, but aren’t sure how to verbalize it (I love you, I want to keep you, I need to hold your hand constantly and play with your hair, I want you to beg for a taste of me and then slobber all over my pussy-?). “I like the attention.”

“You really do?” He leans closer. You can feel his breath on your lips. “I can give you more attention. So much more, if you’ll let me. Please. I want to make you happy.” 

“You do make me happy. But right now, what would make me even happier is if you let me cuddle you.” 

“Hah- are you-? Cuddle? As in-?”

“I want you to be warm.”

“Angel, I’m very warm right now. That’s the problem.” 

And you can’t control yourself, because really, the way he sounds tortured is so delicious, and his breath is so hot and he smells like cigarettes and rain and his arm is pressing right against you, elbow to your ribs. You lean forward and kiss him.

Sanji is stock-still. You don’t relent. You slip a hand up to cup his jaw, move your lips against his: they’re so soft you can’t help but lick at them, and Sanji lets out a noise halfway between a moan and a cry of distress. 

You pull away and feel Sanji’s breathing start up again after a few seconds.

“Am I dreaming?” He mutters. “Do I have hypothermia? The cold is getting to me and I’m dreaming, right?” 

His hand cups your shoulder like he’s trying to convince himself that you’re solid, actually there. His fingers move to stroke wondrously down your arm. Those big, careful hands that you’ve admired for years are every bit as gentle as you’ve always imagined.

“Do you dream about me often?” You aim for teasing but end up choking the words out, because his hand is getting dangerously low.

“Yes. God, yes…” Sanji rolls to face you, and your chest presses right against his, and you feel him jolt like he was electrocuted. “God, oh my god, angel, is this okay? Is this-” He cups your cheek and strokes your face from eyebrow to chin and leans forward so he’s breathing right into your mouth. 

“It’s okay.” You lean into his touch to encourage him. 

“It’s okay,” he repeats, sounding awed. “Can I-? May I-?” 

He leans forward and tentatively brushes his lips against yours. He gasps into your lips, pulling slightly away before placing a series of small smooches around your mouth. It’s so achingly sweet and shy and lovely and you respond by stroking your foot up his calf. You can feel his leg hair and are so inexplicably endeared by him that you chase down his lips again and kiss him long and slow. 

Sanji seems inexperienced but is a quick study: he lets you lead. Your hand settles comfortably on his face and you take the opportunity to stroke his goatee. You refuse to squander this opportunity to explore by touch as much of him as possible. He makes a pleased little humming sound and it makes your heart jump in your chest. You need to get more noises out of him, need him falling apart in your arms in this sleeping bag on this mountain right now.

You lick at the seam of his lips and he opens his mouth immediately, a bit too widely. You’re dizzy with affection and then with pure lust as he presses his tongue against yours. It’s wet and messy and he groans into your mouth and you love it. 

You’re struck with the need to find out how Sanji will behave if given free rein. You bury your hand into his hair and allow your lips to go pliable against his. He licks into your mouth exploratorily, humming in pure pleasure at every new angle he tries kissing you from. You scratch his scalp and he redoubles his efforts, rolling over to slot a knee between your legs so he’s hovering slightly above you. His hard cock presses against your hip and you nearly black out. 

You pull away to catch your breath, and Sanji collapses to bury his face into your neck. 

“Was that good? Is this okay? I want to- I’ve been trying to- to be good for you.” He huffs the words into your neck, his warm breath on your skin. His facial hair is scratching you and you adore it, need so much more of it, are secretly hoping it leaves marks.

“It’s good. Sanji, it’s so good, you’re being so good for me.” You stroke his hair and he responds with a bitten off moan and a kiss to the crook of your neck. “Such a good boy for me.” 

Sanji’s hips jerk unbidden, and he lets out a small, embarrassed whimper as his cock grinds into you. Before you can praise that noise and try to get more out of him, he pushes himself up and away from you, supporting himself on shaking arms. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” He mutters. His voice is trembling; he sounds completely destroyed. “Inappropriate of me, I… I should’ve controlled myself…” 

“Sanji!” You’re incredulous. “You’re apologizing for being turned on?”

“I don’t want to take advantage-”

“I’d be offended if you didn’t get a boner from making out with me!” You reach up and put your hands on his sides and yes, yes, he feels just as incredible as you’ve always dreamed. Soft skin, hardened planes of muscle, a dappling of goosebumps that spread as you run your hands up to his chest and stroke from his breastbone across his pecs. “Your nipples are hard, too…”

“Angel, please–!”

You run a thumb around his left nipple and he trembles like his arms are about to give out. 

“You don’t like when I tease you?” You coo. Since when do you coo? That’s a special tone, one reserved for fantasies of how exactly you’d treat Sanji. 

Your heart slams in your chest as the totality of this moment settles in. This is like one of your fantasies, exactly like one of your fantasies, and you intend to live it out to its fullest.

“I like it-!” His hips buck, erection grazing your stomach. “I really like it, please– Please, I can’t– I’m trying to be good! I haven’t even–” A delicious whimper. “-Even taken you on a date yet, and I wanted to–”

Your hand stills. Sanji sighs in relief, or disappointment, or both. 

“Do you not want to do this right now?” You ask. “You can say no and I won’t be mad at all, Sanji. I don’t want to pressure you.” 

“Pressure me?” He repeats in a sort of hysterical whisper. “I’m worried about pressuring you! You were so cold earlier, and scared, and I’m supposed to be protecting you! Not–” He swallows. 

“Not having sex with me?”

“Having–?” He gasps, and apparently gives up on supporting himself entirely, sinking down so his elbows meet the floor. It inadvertently presses his hard cock snug against you, but you decide to politely wait for him to process this turn of events before doing something stupid like grabbing his ass and dragging his hips against yours. You knew that if you ever did propose sex to Sanji it would at the very most kill him and at the very least render him inoperable for a while.

“I–I– my beloved, my goddess, please forgive me,” he breathes into your neck. “I must have misheard you.”

“I said ‘having sex with me,’” you repeat, gently patting his back to help him through this trying time. “That’s not what you expected tonight, huh?”

“No!” He shakes his head vigorously. “No! Having– making love to you would be the greatest honor, my angel! But I don’t have ulterior motives, I promise!” 

You don’t mention that he’s laying flush against you with his boner pressing inches from your soaking wet pussy. 

“Tell me to leave and I will!” He sobs. “I can go back outside and guard your tent from there. If the wolves come, they can take me! They don’t deserve meat as pure as yours…” 

“Sanji!” You can’t keep the smile out of your voice. “Sanji, what the hell? What’s wrong with you? Nobody’s asking you to be self-sacrificial! We’re literally just camping.”

He peeks up at you, and you can feel his pout spiritually despite the darkness.

“Should I ignore that you just compared me to meat?”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean–!”

“And you’re not the only one capable of having ulterior motives.” 

“...Huh?”

“Sanji, I wasn’t scared of the wolves. And I don’t actually need you protecting me. I wouldn’t be on the crew if I couldn’t fend for myself- uh,uh-!” You reach up and put a hand over his mouth as he starts to protest.  “I know you don’t want me to have to. I know that, Sanji! But I wouldn’t die if I slept in a tent ten feet away from yours. I said those things because I wanted to share a tent with you. I wanted to be intimate with you. I’ve wanted it for a really long time.”

Hand still clamped over Sanji’s mouth, you can feel his breath stop. If he was still when you kissed him, he’s a statue now, hovering motionless above you. You take your hand away in case you’re suffocating him, and it works: he starts panting like he’s letting off heat. 

“Darling, you mean that? You mean it?” 

“Yes, of course I mean it. Sanji, you’re the sweetest person I know, and I really care about you. And you drive me completely insane, I mean…” You stroke his cheek with your thumb, up and down. “The pet names and the declarations of devotion and all that. It’s not every day an incredibly attractive man treats me like a queen.” 

Sanji gasps and turns his face to kiss the palm of your hand again and again. “You deserve nothing less. You deserve the world– A-Attractive–? You really think so?”

“Very attractive. Such a cute boy…”

Sanji’s head falls down to your shoulder, and he kisses at your neck with a desperation that surprises you, sweet, chaste pecks quickly turning into long, wet drags of his lips. “Thank you,” he gasps. “You’re so beautiful, you’re so good to me–” 

“Oh, Sanji…” You moan, and Sanji moans with you, right into your neck. His hot breath against your neck makes your pussy throb; your thighs clench involuntarily and you know that Sanji feels it, because he stills for a moment before wetly kissing your collarbone.

“Did that feel good? I’m making you feel good?” 

“Sanji, you’re incredible, you’re doing perfectly–” You bury your hand in his hair and pull his head insistently to your jaw, and he yields immediately, allowing himself to be manhandled with a small, happy whine.

“My princess, my love, let me worship you…” He kisses a line under your jaw, then moves down the column of your neck. The damp patches he leaves cool almost immediately, and the chill makes you want more of his warm, bare body against you. You loop your hands around his back and tug him into you, chest to chest.

“Keep me warm,” you murmur. “Need to feel your skin against mine.” 

“Oh…” He sounds reverent. “I’ll keep you warm. I’ll take care of you. What do you need? Please tell me. You can order me around or– or pull me like you did. I want you to take what you need from me.”

“God, Sanji, you’re incredible… Can you bite my neck?”

“Bite you?” His hands settle uncertainly on your shoulders. “Angel, I don’t want to hurt you.”

“No, no, it’s not about hurting. It feels good for me. Just light bites, Sanji. You won’t hurt me, I promise.”

“Gentle? I can be gentle?”

“Yes, yes, that’s a good start– oh–” You’re cut off by the first exploratory nibble to the base of your neck. You tangle your fingers into his hair, tugging, and he hums and bites again, slightly harder.

“Oh, god–” You gasp, abandoning any effort at holding back. Sanji responds like a man starved at any reaction he can get out of you, lavishing your neck in attention and readjusting to target sensitive areas. 

“I’m not hurting you?” He barely manages to ask it, he’s so breathless.

“No, no, keep going– You can touch me.” You grab his hands and guide them away from your shoulders.

“God– please, please–” He palms your sides, just below your breasts, and you can feel that his hands are sweaty, shaking. “I want to be good. Can I touch you here? Please? I need to be a good boy for you.” 

“You can touch me anywhere, please…” You nearly forget to breathe as his hands skate up to settle under your breasts. The way he’s panting, begging, makes you feel so hot and feral, and you reach down to find the waistband of his boxers.

His hips snap forward and he lets out a trembling moan. 

“So sensitive for me…” You mutter, slipping your hand down to cup him through his boxers.

“Angel, my angel–” He nearly collapses, his kisses devolving into needy licks at your neck, living up to the image of the desperate puppy you’ve always known him to be. “Please, please, let me pleasure you first. I’m not going to last if you keep touching me–!”

He whines as you move your other hand to squeeze his ass. 

“I’m barely touching you. So desperate for me…”

“Yes, yes! I’m desperate, I’ll do anything. Please, please let me take care of you.” 

“Already begging and I didn’t even ask…” 

“Oh, god! You’re perfect, you’re truly an angel– no, a goddess–” He grinds into your hand and licks down your chest until he finds a nipple to lap at greedily. 

“Fuck!” You squeeze his cock through his boxers and he noses between your tits, pressing wet kisses to your sternum. You can hear him sniffing you, feel him tilting his head back and forth, and you laugh in affection and disbelief as you realize this is probably Sanji’s heaven: his face in a woman’s tits as she palms his erection. 

“You’re so hard for me…” You trace his erection and swipe a thumb over where the head must be. He whines into your tits. 

“You did this to me…” His voice is muffled. “Please, please, I’m about to cum. Let me take care of you first! I’m here to serve you, just call me your dog…” 

“Fuck, fuck, I’m going to go insane if you don’t touch my pussy right now–” 

Sanji whines, lifting his head up to look into your eyes. His hands scramble downwards, squeezing your tits once as if to say goodbye and then pushing desperately at your hips. You take your hands off of him and push your panties down. 

“Feel how wet I am, all for you…” 

“For me?” He huffs. “You really are? You’re wet, just for me?” 

You guide his hand between your legs and he trembles, shaking fingers brushing your folds. He carefully strokes down and gasps, gathering slick on his fingers and drawing them in a circle around your entrance. 

“You’re so warm… God, you’re so wet and hot here. Is this really for me?”

“I’m wet because of you, Sanji. You make me so wet.” You guide his fingers upwards and groan as his middle finger brushes your clit. “Right there, that’s the spot–”

“Oh…” He gasps in pure wonder, gently swirling his fingers around it. “Oh, that’s it… Is this good for you? Please, I’ve never– Never touched anyone here before…” 

You nearly come just hearing that you’re his first. He’s so excited, so nervous and eager to please, so careful in his exploration of your body, and you can’t resist pulling him down to kiss him, open-mouthed and hungry.

You break away and kiss the corner of his mouth, feeling his fingers slide wetly against you. 

“I’ll show you,” you mutter against his lips. “I can teach you.” 

You guide his fingers gently over your clit, showing him how to circle it, the right amount of pressure, the right tempo. He nods his head at each new scrap of feedback, immediately adopting your preferred method.

“You have– mm– you're very talented with your hands.”

He sighs in pure bliss, sounding every bit like he's just stretched out in a lawn chair in the sun. “It comes with the job. All this time, I thought I was training to improve my culinary skills… I know now it was all for you, to help you feel good.”

You laugh at his dramatics, then melt into a deep exhale as he strokes you just right. He picks up on the cue effortlessly, and keeps doing exactly what you like, fingers at just the right angle and pressure to draw more noises out of you. His fingers briefly dip down to gather more slick and your entire body tenses, toes curling at his fingers teasing your entrance.

“Beautiful, beautiful,” he chants. “You're so warm. Can I put my fingers inside of you? Please?”

“Yesss–” you hiss, hips rolling up into his waiting hand. “God, yes, please-”

He very gently inserts the tip of his middle finger, checking that you're okay. Frustrated, you buck forward so that his finger slips all the way in, and Sanji lets out a noise so awed you'd think he just found the All Blue.

“You're even hotter in here, and wetter–” He shivers as you clench around his finger. It's equal parts endearing and torturous when he begins thrusting his finger into and back out of you; you still his hand by taking his wrist.

“Am I doing it wrong?” He murmurs. You stroke the tender skin of his lower arm and he gasps out a delirious little laugh, like he can't believe his luck. “Please, mellorine, show me…”

“Hook your finger towards yourself, like–” you let out a squeak- “Like that–! Fuck, Sanji, right there- right there, right there, good boy–”

“F-faster? Or is this good?”

“Give me another, I'm ready– Please, I'm so wet for you I'm dripping–”

Sanji whines and quickly fumbles to add another finger, which sinks into you with a squelch that makes your jaw clench in pleasure. 

“You're so perfect,” Sanji babbles. “I can't believe this is happening, You're so beautiful, such a beautiful angel. Thank you for letting me touch you. Thank you, thank you!”

“Harder, harder, right there!”

Sanji hesitates for only a moment before giving into your demands and thrusting against your inner wall until you're near sobbing. He lets out noises of awe and words of praise at every clench around his fingers.

“Sanji, Sanji—” You keen as he finds the perfect tempo, back arching off the sleeping bag. “My clit, too – use your thumb!”

Sanji finds your clit after a moment of effort and rubs it in time to the thrusts of his fingers, remembering the amount of pressure you need, changing speeds until your breath is hitching and your hands are clamped to his shoulders. 

“Is this good for you? Are you close?” Sanji moves to kiss your ear, your throat, your chest.

“Yes, yes, it’s good– you’re such a sweet boy for me–” 

Sanji finds a nipple and begins sucking on it in earnest, face pressed insistently into your breast. His fingers curl into you again and again, his tongue swirls your nipple before he gently nibbles it, and that’s all you can take– you come with a stifled yell and shaking legs.

“Oh angel…” Sanji’s hand stills. “You just had an orgasm, didn’t you? I made you feel that good?” His voice is distant, awed, and he moves to kiss your lips as if in a daze. His mouth is wet and so is his chin, and as you come down from your high you realize your tits are soaked: he was drooling all over you. 

You cup his cheeks and pull his mouth into yours, possessed by some strange urge to lick the saliva off of him, and are met with the taste of iron. You pull away with an amused huff.

“You’re bleeding.” 

“Ah-” One hand shoots up to his nose, and he reaches out of the sleeping bag and into the cold night air to grab his shirt and wipe his face off with it. The action makes his cock graze you and you feel heat ripple through your belly, searing even hotter than before. 

“Get back in here.” You tug Sanji back to you by his shoulders and he happily complies. “Obedient boy. You’re like a little puppy dog, huh?” 

Sanji makes the happiest sound you’ve ever heard as he slumps back down into you, apparently on a new plane of bliss after successfully making you come. He scoops an arm under you and pulls you to his side, slotting a thigh between your legs and threading a hand into your hair. 

“I was good for you, wasn’t I?”

“You were excellent. And such a fast study.” You ruffle his hair and your cunt clenches as he gives a happy little moan in response. “Are you up for round two? I still have another one in me. Or more.”

“Really?” He perks up immediately: it’s action time. “Oh, mellorine, you need me again? Can I taste you?” 

“Holy fucking shit,” you gasp, closing your eyes as you feel an intense wave of pleasure crash over you. You pull his thigh closer to your core and barely resist humping him shamelessly until you’re coming all over his bare skin. “Yes, yes-”

Sanji scrambles into the sleeping bag with such urgency that it’s pulled down with him, exposing you to the biting chill of the air. 

“Sanji, Sanji–!” You grab him by the shoulders. “This isn’t working. I’m going to freeze to death!”

Sanji quickly comes back up and fusses like the sweet mother hen that he is, tucking you both back into the blankets and holding you to him. He smooths his hands up and down your arms to warm you back up.

“Is this better, sweet princess? I can’t have my beloved turning into an icicle.” 

God, he’s so sickeningly sweet it makes you need to see him made a mess of. You ponder the logistics of fucking in the sleeping bag, but decide it’s both implausible and also probably not the romantic and atmospheric way that Sanji would want to lose his virginity to you. He seems like more of a rose petals and candles type of man, and you’re happy to play along. 

“Give me your thigh.”

He presses his leg back to your core and you hiss in delight as his firm muscle puts delicious pressure on your clit and entrance. 

“Angel, you’re so wet! Please, please, can I–?” His fingers slip greedily down, and he strokes an affectionate circle over your vulva, waiting for permission.

Thinking he’s going to touch your clit again, you nod rapidly, but instead he dips his fingers into your pussy to gather slick and bring it to his mouth. He moans loudly, shivering in ecstasy as he gets a taste of you.

“You’re perfect, you’re perfect–!” He gasps into your ear, pressing his thigh upwards to give you more pressure. “You taste perfect! I always knew you were an angel. Thank you, thank you–” 

He licks every last drop from his fingers, slurping loudly and unabashedly and humming in contentment, and it drives you so insane that you thrust yourself into his thigh until you’re coming again. 

You feel your slick wetting his leg, dampening his hair (now there’s a thought that makes your already spent pussy throb, the idea that it’ll be dried by tomorrow); you waste no time in reaching down to grip him through his boxers.

“Angel– My goddess–!” He moves his hips immediately, chasing the friction you’re giving him. “You don’t have to–!” He protests, but makes no move to pull away.

“Fuck, Sanji, you’re incredible. My good boy, all for me. I want you on your knees as soon as you get back to the Sunny. Will you do that?”

“Yes! Yes, please, yes!” He sobs.

“Everyone’s going to hear how loud you’re being,” you tut, beginning to jerk him off. “They’ll know how desperate you are.”

Sanji whimpers pitifully, lips bitten to prevent the noise from carrying. Realistically, you know that if Zoro and Luffy were going to hear it, they’ve probably already heard about twenty minutes of noises they’ll want to forget by morning. 

“You’re all wet already for me, huh?” You tease, and slip your hand into his boxers to test your theory. You were absolutely right: he’s soaked in precum and achingly hard. “Did you like touching me? Did you like tasting your goddess?”

Sanji buries his face into your shoulder to stifle a shout, and comes hotly against your hand. His cum spills onto your wrist and drips down your hand, and you love it, love the physical reminder of how insane you managed to drive him: just a few strokes and he became a trembling mess.

Sanji recovers slowly, breathing hot and slow on your neck and trailing lazy kisses over your collarbone. You gently clean him and yourself with his boxers and he mumbles a thank you, kicking them off and to the bottom of the sleeping bag once you’re done. 

And then he just… gathers you in his arms and holds you. He cradles you to him like you’re the most precious thing in the world, squeezing you to his chest and threading your legs together. He presses kisses to your hairline and you let yourself melt into his chest, sticky and warm and sated.

“Did you really mean it?” He mutters into your hair.

“Mm?”

“When you said you don’t want me to tone it down. Did you mean it?”

“Of course I meant it. You know, I’m hesitant to say something in case it eggs you on too much, but I like how insane you are about women. Especially when it’s about me. You know, I might leave the bathroom door unlocked next time I bathe.”

“You– angel, you wouldn’t–!”

“I would. And you’d have to get there first before one of the other men did… I have my purity to protect, right? You wouldn’t want Zoro seeing me naked.”

“You’re teasing me.”

“Maybe a little. But seriously, Sanji. I’m crazy about you and I want you to feel free to be crazy about me, too. I mean, I’ve never been more flattered in my life than I was at how quickly you tried to eat me out. When we’re back at sea, I’m all yours. I want to see you eat me out like you’re starved.”

He gasps, cupping your cheeks and kissing your nose. “I am starved, I am…” 

“I know, baby boy.” 

Those last words break him. He squeaks and then starts to babble, and you let him process tonight’s events as you tuck the blankets in around the both of you and settle into a comfortable position. 

At some point Sanji snaps out of it and scooches towards you to be snuggled. You wrap your arms around him and pull him to your chest, and he rests his face in your breasts and instantly falls asleep.

“Idiot,” you smile widely, looking down at his head of fluffy hair rising and falling with every breath you take. 

The rain patters against the tent’s roof, and Sanji’s breath whistles while he sleeps against you, and it takes no time to drift off yourself.

[rowdyluv]

needed you - qh43

summary: y/n has an intense fear of storms, particularly the incessantly loud rumbling thunder.

word count: 3.4k

notes: @sweetestdesire request for a a quinny fic. “You’re really scared of some thunder? C’mere.” turned out to be angsty but soft quinn

warnings: use of y/n, tense, angst, may induce stress, soft quinn,

"See ya, guys! Thanks for the fun night in," Y/n called out to her friends as they filed out the door, their laughter and chatter echoing down the hallway. She waved goodbye, feeling a bit relieved that the party had wound down. The quiet was a welcome change from the earlier clamor of games and gossip. The apartment was left in a gentle mess, but the warm glow of friendship lingered in the air.

Y/n stretched while she yawned and began to clean up, her mind wandering to Quinn. She knew he was out with the team, but she had hoped he'd be home sooner. The thought of his strong arms around her, calming her raging thoughts through the impending storm, brought a smile to her face and a bit of ease to the sickness winding in her stomach. As she packed away the last of the snacks, she glanced out the window. The night was still, the moon casting a serene light over the cityscape. She couldn't wait to crawl into bed and cuddle up with him, sharing stories about their respective evenings.

Meanwhile, at the bar, Quinn sat in the middle of a booth between Brock and Petey, his shoulders slumped and his eyes glazed over from the beers. The laughter of his teammates washed over him, but he couldn't find the energy to join in. He checked his phone again, noticing it was already 12:30 AM. He had promised Y/n he'd be home early tonight, but the guys had talked him into a few more drinks. He felt a twinge of guilt, but he never truly goes out so maybe just this once it should be okay to be selfish.

“Huggy put your phone down! We’re here to have fun.” Garland slurs from the other end of the table.

Quinn nodded and slid his phone into his pocket. He knew he had to stop checking it every few minutes. It was getting late and Y/n was probably worried, but he didn’t want to dampen the mood with his own anxieties. He took a deep breath and tried to push the feeling aside, focusing instead on the raucous laughter around him. The bass of the music pounded through the bar, making the floor vibrate beneath his feet. It was the kind of music that demanded you to either get up and dance or get lost in the rhythm, and for a brief moment, he let it consume him.

Back at the apartment, Y/n stood in their kitchen with shaking hands, the weather gradually getting worse was setting her nerves on edge. The wind had picked up outside, whipping against the windows like a crazed lover. Rain had started to patter down, a prelude to the storm that had her heart racing. She took a deep breath and tried to convince herself that Quinn was just stuck in traffic or had lost track of time. He'd be home soon, she thought, trying to reassure herself. But the silence of his unanswered texts and calls was deafening.

Her eyes darted around the room, searching for something to do, anything to distract her from the storm brewing outside and the one building inside her chest. She settled on making a cup of tea, her hands trembling as she filled the kettle and placed it on the stove. The gentle hiss of the gas flame igniting filled the room, but it did little to calm her nerves. As the water heated, she checked her phone again, willing it to buzz with a message from Quinn. Nothing. The wind howled, and the rain grew heavier, now pounding against the windows.

“Maybe if I call him?” She thought out loud. The clock read 1:10 AM as she dialed the number she knew by heart.

“Hey, you’ve reached Quinn, leave a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can!” His voice, though much younger and recorded, brought a bit of comfort, but not enough to ease the two storms brewing. The one in her and the one outside. She took a deep breath and began to leave a voicemail, her voice shaky but steady.

“Hey, Quinny, it’s me. Hope you’re having fun with the guys. Uhm just wanted to let you know that the storm is starting to get pretty intense out there... I’m sure you guys are fine and just having a good time. Call me when you get this, okay? I…just mi—want to know you’re okay. I love you, bye!” She hung up before she could say anything else that might betray her fear.

1:30 AM.

The bar was getting louder, the air thick with the scent of stale beer and sweat. Quinn leaned back in the booth, his arms folded tightly across his chest. The music was a cacophony of beats and shouts that didn't quite drown out the thunderous pounding of his own thoughts. His eyes scanned the table, finding his teammates passed out, their heads resting in a pool of spilled drinks and crumbs. He had never felt more out of place, yet he stayed to make sure these morons made it home.

If Quinn knew anything in that moment it was for sure that he’d be getting them back at practice this week.

Back at the apartment, Y/n's trembling grew more pronounced with each passing minute. She couldn't ignore the storm anymore. It had started as a gentle whisper, a hint of rain against the windows, but had escalated into a full-blown symphony of thunder and lightning. Her heart hammered in her chest, each peal of thunder sending shockwaves through her body. She curled up on Quinn's side of the bed, her phone clutched tightly in her hand, the cold screen a stark contrast to her clammy palms. The scent of his cologne still lingered on the pillow, faint but comforting. She buried her face in it, breathing him in, willing him to appear through the door.

‘One more call? No that’s to creepy clingy girlfriendy.. But he likes clingy girlfriendy y/n..’

Her thoughts swirled in a tornado of doubt and fear. Finally, she gave in, hitting the call button with trembling fingers. The line rang once, twice, three times, before she heard his voice, a recorded message that didn’t ease the ache in her chest this time. She took a deep breath, trying to keep the panic from seeping into her voice.

“Quinn, it’s me again. The storm is really bad out here. The lights are flickering, and I’m so scared. I know you’re busy, but I need you. I know you said you’d be home early, and I trusted you. Please, come home soon. I’m not okay without you here with me, especially when it’s like this. I love you so much, and I just want to be safe with you. Call me, text me, anything. I need to know you’re okay. I’m just—I’m really scared, Quinn. I’m sorry, I know I sound desperate, but I can’t help it. I need you right now. Please come home soon. Uhm bye,” she whispered into the void, the weight of her words hanging in the silent apartment like the eye of the storm.

The phone remained eerily silent, the screen a cold, unyielding barrier to the warmth she craved. She sent one more text, a simple heart emoji, and hoped that somehow, it would be enough to break through the barrier holding him hostage from his phone.

With each flash of lightning, the shadows from the windows grew more menacing, reaching in like skeletal fingers to pluck at her already frazzled nerves. Y/n couldn't take it anymore. She grabbed her fleece blanket and bolted from the bedroom, her bare feet slapping against the cool hardwood floor, and dashed into the ensuite bathroom. The only room in the apartment that didn't have windows and hopefully wouldn’t make her feel claustrophobic. The bathroom was a small sanctuary of porcelain and tile, the scent of mint and the hum of the extractor fan a stark contrast to the tempest outside. She locked the door behind her, creating a barrier between her and the storm, but it didn't help. She could still hear the thunder rumbling like a displeased giant, each boom echoing through the walls and reverberating the foundation of the building.

Her phone, now a silent sentinel of her fear, remained in her hand. She checked it again, hoping against hope that she had missed a call or a text. The screen remained dark, cold, and unchanged. Her heart sank, the weight of loneliness pressing down on her chest like a lead blanket. 'Why isn’t he answering?' Her thoughts screamed. She knew he wasn’t the type to ignore her, especially when she was scared. Maybe his phone died, or maybe he was too busy, but the doubt was eating her alive.

Quinn's head snapped up, the sound of his ringtone piercing through the buzz of the bar dwindling down. He fumbled in his pocket, pulling out his phone to see Y/n's name flashing on the screen. He had missed a couple calls and quite a few texts from her, each one more frantic than the last. His heart sank as he saw the time, 2 AM. He quickly stood up, knocking over Petey, who fell into Dak, in his haste. Which worked out in his favor as he had to walk over them. The room filled with fuzzy stars for a moment, a reminder of the drinks he too had consumed. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. He wasn’t driving, so he ordered up an Uber home.

As he waited, Quinn felt his stomach twist into knots. He knew how much Y/n hated storms and here he was, leaving her alone to face it. He had promised to be there for her, and now she was probably terrified out of her mind. He scrolled through the texts, each one a silent plea for him to come home. He read the last one, her voice echoing in his mind. "I'm really scared, Quinn." He cringed, feeling like a complete asshole for not being there for her.

The Uber pulled up, and Quinn practically threw himself into the backseat, slamming the door shut behind him. The driver looked at him in the rearview mirror, the concern clear in his eyes. "You okay, buddy?"

Quinn nodded, trying to ignore the guilt that clawed at him. He fumbled with his phone, finally managing to play the voicemails. Y/n's voice filled his ear, each word a dagger to his heart. "The storm is really bad out here," she whispered, and he could almost feel the tremble in her voice. "The lights are flickering, and I’m so scared." The sound of her sobs grew louder, the thunder outside seeming to sync with her cries. Quinn wasn’t afraid of much, so he didn’t quite understand his girlfriend’s fear over storms. It could be because she didn’t care to say why she’s scared, and he wasn’t going to press her. It’s evident they bother her, and it’s enough for him to be the support she needs.

Until he’s not.

The bathroom door rattled in its frame as the storm outside reached a crescendo. Lightning flashing under the space between the door and the floor. Y/n had never thought that lightning was the scary part of storms, it has always been the thunder that had driven her to seek refuge in someone, something, someplace. She wasn’t quite sure why the deep, resonating booms always managed to succeed in getting her so worked up.

Maybe when she was younger it was because she had always associated them with crawling in bed with her parents or if the power went out they would gather in the living room to play games in the candle light. Until the day every thing just up and changed. No one was there to help her weather the storm, figuratively or literally.

Maybe now it’s because she has grown accustomed to associating thunderstorms with Quinn's soothing touch and whispers, telling her that everything would be okay. That with him, he would never let anything happen to her. He, who had become her anchor in the storm, was nowhere to be found.

The Uber ride home was a blur of neon lights and puddles reflecting the chaos of the storm. Quinn's mind was racing, his thoughts tangled with guilt and fear for Y/n. He had never been the one to break a promise, especially not one so important to her. He had to get home, had to hold her and tell her it was okay, even if he didn’t believe it himself.

The car pulled up to the apartment complex, and Quinn dashed out into the rain. The cold droplets stung his skin, sobering him up as he sprinted towards the building. The lights in the hallway flickered as he panted up the stairs, the thunder now a constant drumroll in his ears. His hand shook as he inserted the key into the lock, the sound of the tumblers clicking into place echoing through the empty corridor.

He burst into the apartment, the door slamming against the wall. "Y/n!" he called out, his voice strained with worry. The living room was dark, except for the TV screen flickering with a muted news broadcast. Rainwater dripped from his hair, tracing a path down his forehead and into his eyes. He wiped it away, his heart racing as if he had just played a full hockey game. Quinn let out a heavy breath before he hurried upstairs towards their bedroom.

Reaching the bedroom door, he carefully pushed it open. The sight that greeted him was not what he expected. The bed, usually a bastion of order and comfort, was a writhing mess of blankets and pillows. It was clear she had been restless, her fear probably keeping her from finding any semblance of peace. But she wasn’t there. The room was empty except for the ghosts of his guilt and her fear. He flipped on the lights, the sudden brightness piercing the gloom, revealing the chaos of his side of their now empty bed.

Quinn's eyes searched the room, looking for any clue as to where she could be. That’s when he heard it. A muffled sound, faint but unmistakable. Sniffles, coming from the bathroom. He approached the closed door, the thunder outside giving way to the quiet that follows, as if the storm was holding its breath. He placed his hand on the cool wood, feeling the vibration of the storm's power through it. "Y/n?" he called out as softly as possible.

The sniffles grew quieter, almost as if she was trying to control her cries. She stepped out of her place of refuge enough to unlock the door, she then quickly retreated back to her previous position. She was curled up in the bathtub, her knees to her chest, her chin perched on her knees, her eyes red and puffy from crying.

Quinn’s heart broke when he saw her like this. He had never seen her so scared, so vulnerable. He approached her slowly, not wanting to startle her further. "Hey," he said softly, reaching out a hand to touch her shoulder. But she jerked away from his touch, her body stiff and face showing no emotion.

He dropped to his knees, the one desperate for her attention now.

"Y/n, baby, I'm so sorry," he whispered, his voice filled with genuine concern. "I had no idea it was this bad." He took a step closer, the scent of rain and alcohol mingling with the faint minty scent of their bathroom. He wished he could take away her fear, absorb it into himself so she didn't have to feel it anymore.

"You promised me," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "You promised me, I would never be alone again with no warning, no explanation beforehand. You promised you’d be home early." She choked back a cry on the last part, her eyes glued to the faucet, watching the droplets of water fall into the tub. Quinn shattered into a trillion pieces. He had promised all of that. No apology will be enough to make any of this better, he accepted that, but he had to at least try.

"I know," he began, his voice thick with regret. "I fucked up, Y/n. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to scare you, I didn't mean to leave you like this." He paused, willing her to look at him, to see the pain in his eyes that mirrored hers. "You're my entire world, you're everything to me. I'd never want to cause you pain, especially not when you're already scared." He tried reaching for her again, this time to push her hair back and combing his fingers through her hair. He left his hand cradling her head.

"Garland told me to put my phone away," he murmured, his voice low and tight. "And before I knew it, Brock was pretty drunk and Petey was extremely wasted. I had a few myself. The music was so loud that the bass kept me from feeling the vibrations of my phone, and I lost track of time. With them so wasted, I felt I needed to make sure they got home okay, but when I finally checked my phone.” Quinn paused swallowing down the knot in his throat “and I discovered your calls and all the messages I left." His words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of his guilt. "I know it doesn’t account for the fact I should have checked my phone way before, I should have come home earlier like I had promised."

Y/n felt the anger and fear melt away with each of his words. She knew the guys could be a handful. What group of hockey players weren’t a handful? She didn’t want to add anymore to his burden of guilt. She leaned into his hand, the warmth of his touch sending waves of comfort through her. "Can we go cuddle now?" She asked him shyly, her voice still shaky. The storm outside was slowly calming down, but the tempest in her chest raged on. She needed him, needed his warmth and his words of comfort to soothe her. Quinn quickly wiped the shocked look from his that was slapped on the moment cuddle now fell from her lips.

“C’mere pretty girl.” Quinn grins as he lifts her from her bathtub refuge. “I will never pass up an opportunity to cuddle with you.” He softly places her down on her side of the bed, walking to his dresser to grab himself a set of dry clothes, finally. “I’ll be right back to you.”

Y/n nods into his chest, watching him retreat back into the bathroom. She takes a deep breath, the fear of losing him subsiding more and more with his touch. She grabs the first t-shirt she can find from his drawer, pulls it over her head and wraps it around herself like a cocoon. She crawls into bed, able to relax this time around when lying down.

When Quinn returns, freshly changed into a dry shirt and sweatpants, the sight of her in his shirt brings a warm smile to his face. He slides into bed next to her, pulling her close so that they are face to face. Fitting together as if they were made for each other. She feels the warmth of his body seep into hers, the steady thump of his heart beneath her palm as she lays her hand flat on his chest. The rhythm of it soothing her like a lullaby.

"I could feel and listen to your heart all day, just to know you’re okay," she mumbles into the fabric of his shirt, her voice muffled but clear enough for him to hear. He pulls her in tighter, a silent acknowledgement. A low rumble of thunder in the distance happens and he rubs his hand soothingly over the back of her head.

Quinn whispers, "I’m making you a new promise, pretty girl. I promise from here on out I will not be going out when storms are predicted. Only exceptions of course are those to do with work. Unless it’s just the guys wanting to go out, that is not work related.” Y/n didn’t speak, to exhausted to form words just nodded her head in acknowledgment before dozing off.

He watched her for a few minutes, grateful to be holding her in his arms. The thought of her curled up in the tub, terrified, was a knife in his chest. He had never meant to cause her this much pain. He kissed the top of her head reveling in her soft breaths as she slept before whispering what’s been on his mind since his shower to her sleeping form. “I noticed you didn’t end your second voicemail with an ‘i love you’ or now before falling asleep…we’ve always made a point to make sure the other knows, regardless of how bad the argument was. I know you aren’t hearing this because you’re asleep but it’s easier to say it now than looking in your eyes tomorrow and watching tonight all over. I just really hope you know how much I love you.”

“Good gracious, you forget and he gets all sappy. Yes Quinny I love you. I love you. I love you.” In between each ‘I love you’ was a peck on the lips.

Quinn couldn’t help but laugh, the sound low and warm, like a quiet summer night. He pulled her closer, the storm outside now just a faint memory, the rain had turned to a gentle pitter-patter. He kissed her forehead, the tip of her nose and finally her lips, feeling the tension of the night slip away with each touch.

"You know you're going to have to repeat that when I’m fully awake, right?" She mumbled falling right back asleep.

“That is perfectly fine, I’ll be right here next to you whenever you’re ready.” Quinn closed his eyes and was soon asleep as well.

A night of two tales, Quinn is lucky it worked out for him and happy he’s able to keep his girl.

[xanasaurusrex]

comforting clarisse after breaking her spear

clarisse la rue x reader (any godly parent) a/n: i promise this was supposed to be a drabble but i got carried away (:

clarisse was stomping through the camp after capture the flag. everyone was practically jumping out of her way, no one wanting to face her very clear wrath.

by now, everyone knew what had happened right before the blue team won capture the flag. percy, the new kid, and clarisse had been in a pretty heated fight. the ares kids that usually followed clarisse around had backed off, realizing that the fight was a little bit more heated than they anticipated.

percy and clarisse both had a hold on the spear, and when clarisse threw him over her shoulder, the spear had snapped in two.

nobody had seen clarisse this angry in a really long time.

clarisse knew that she hadn't been this angry in a long time. honestly, she couldn't remember the last time she had wanted to rip the world apart half as much as she did right now.

clarisse had spent enough time being forced into therapy by her mother to know that being this angry wasn't good. she was determined, even in her rage-induced haze, to not approach percy jackson right now, because she would only make things worse. yes, she hated the kid more than anything right now, and yes, if the opportunity arose, she would twist his arms right off his body, but again, that would only make things worse.

there was only one person right now who clarisse knew could calm her down enough so that she wouldn't go on a killing spree.

y/n.

clarisse didn't know exactly where she was, but she had a pretty good idea. if y/n wasn't there already, she would be soon.

clarisse completely bypassed all of the cabins and headed straight for the woods. a few people looked at her in curiosity, but a quick sneer from clarisse got them to mind their own business.

the second clarisse had passed the initial wall of trees into the woods, she took a second to take a deep breath of the pine-scented air. just taking a break from practically stomping through the camp, she felt a lot of the tension in her body relaxed. she was here, she was away from the prying eyes and nosiness of the other campers, and most importantly, she was away from percy jackson.

that was a big step in the right direction.

she looked up and to her right, and caught sight of the first tree. it had a circle carved into it. she walked past it, and a few feet later saw another tree with a circle carved into it.

she followed the trail of circle-carved trees into a clearing that she'd found during her first summer here at camp.

originally, clarisse never planned on sharing this area with anyone. it was only hers. it was her safe place from the world, from all the stresses and anxieties that plagued her day and night, an escape from camp.

the clearing was mostly used as her calm down spot, where she came when she was so angry all she could see was red.

like right now.

but then she met y/n, and at the end of their first summer together, clarisse took her here, and showed it to her. and so now, whenever they needed to, they met up here. to just... be for a few hours.

together.

when clarisse finally pushed past the tall grass that was closing off the clearing, and she stepped foot on the grass that clarisse cut every once in a while, she finally caught sight of y/n.

just seeing her made everything feel as if it was going to be okay.

clarisse felt her muscles relax completely, and all the angry thoughts were quieted as thoughts of her girlfriend climbed into her mind, took root there, and made themselves comfortable.

clarisse was okay with that, because thinking about y/n was much more pleasant than thinking about that punk percy jackson.

clarisse stood there for a few more seconds, admiring y/n. the way the sun shone on her hair. the rings that glittered on her finger, every single one of them gifted to her by clarisse. seeing y/n wear them always made her happy, made her feel like she could climb a mountain and barely break a sweat.

she was sure that she had never loved anyone as much as she loved y/n.

it was at that moment that y/n turned around. at first, there was a slight look of alarm on her face, but it calmed as soon as she realized it was clarisse.

"clarisse," y/n murmured, and just that one utterance of her name felt like a siren's song for clarisse, immediately drawing her to her.

y/n was sitting on one of the large boulders in the clearing, a thin blanket already spread out over the surface of it so she could safely sit on the rock without burning her legs.

y/n stood up, and walked towards clarisse. clarisse took a step closer to her, and then they were right in front of each other, faces just a few inches apart.

"hi," clarisse muttered.

"hi," y/n smiled.

the two looked at each other for a few more seconds, before y/n opened her arms, and clarisse immediately fell into them. clarisse's face buried itself in y/n's neck, and y/n didn't hesitate to start stroking clarisse's hair in the way that she knew she loved. the way her mother had always done when she would get overwhelmed as a kid.

clarisse let out a heavy breath, one that y/n suspected she had been holding for quite some time.

"do you wanna talk about it?" y/n asked quietly.

clarisse shook her head harshly, and then hugged her arms tighter around y/n's waist. "not yet."

"okay." y/n responded.

the two stood there hugging for a few minutes, clarisse's tight hold on y/n never wavering. clarisse's breathing was labored and heavy, and y/n knew it was because she was holding back tears.

clarisse was the kind of person who didn't like to cry. even though y/n knew that there were probably tears glistening in her eyes, clarisse was going to refuse to let them fall, because clarisse was determined to be as tough as possible.

y/n couldn't even begin to imagine the pain clarisse was feeling right now. her spear, the one gift clarisse had from her father, was now snapped in half and unusable. that spear had been clarisse's prized possession, the thing she regarded with utmost love and care, and never allowed anybody but her touch.

there had been one time that clarisse had allowed y/n to hold it for a few minutes, but even then clarisse was anxious at the idea of not being in complete control of it, even for a small amount of time.

y/n had heard clarisse's scream as her and the rest of red team chased after luke with the flag. she had been so close, ever so close, and had run even faster when she heard the scream clarisse let out.

when she stumbled onto the beach and saw the snapped spear, she immediately knew what happened.

y/n didn't stay to find out what happened after that, she just saw the way clarisse stomped off in anger, and she immediately rushed away to get to the clearing, knowing that clarisse would need to be calmed down.

and now the two of you were here, standing in the middle of your clearing, holding each other.

finally, after a long time of just standing there in an embrace, clarisse whispers, "that was the only thing i ever got from my dad,"

y/n pulled away to look at clarisse, and felt the small patch of wetness that clarisse had left behind on her shoulder. "i know, honey," she whispered. she took hold of clarisse's hand and pulled her towards the boulder that she had been sitting on previously.

once the two were sitting, y/n directed clarisse to lay her head in her lap. she began stroking her hair again, and occasionally stroking her cheek.

"i'm so sorry this happened," y/n whispered in clarisse's ear. "i love you,"

"i love you too," clarisse whispered back.

clarisse closed her eyes, wanting to block out the visuals of the world, and focus only on the way y/n's hand felt when it was stroking her hair and her cheek, and the comfort she felt whenever she was in y/n's presence.

she loved this. she loved that she had a person who she knew she was safe with, safe to tell anything to.

clarisse was sure that she had never loved anyone as much as she loved y/n.

[brittle-doughie]

Hello Brittle. This will most likely be my final request from you for a while. So, I may have asked for something similar to this a while ago when I was grieving, but your stories bring a warmth to my heart, especially this one, and for that, I thank you. ❤️

Anyways, here is the request: How would other Cookies (more particularly The Three Sisters) react & say if us (the reader) is seen extremely anxious/scared, shaking with fear and on the verge of having a panic attack? This request was once again inspired on a true story. Just today, huge storms were raging across the Leander/Cedar Park area, where I live and go to school. And oh boy, were those storms fear-inducing. It looked like we were inside a hurricane, and the skies were a darkest gray. Rain was coming down like it could fill a swimming pool. We were lucky that the power didn't go out, though it nearly did. My anxiety went through the roof, and I was, without exaggeration, on the brink of having a panic attack. The storms were just making me EXTREMELY anxious and scared.

Please, Pudding á la Mode Cookie. Please give me a hug. I need it. Thank you, Brittle, and keep up the good work.

-Akbrain

Again, it seemed like Choco Drizzle knew exactly what needed to be done during a time like this where you feel like you’re on the brink of losing yourself. She took you somewhere quieter, away from the loud noises where you won’t be able to stress out further.

If it helps, you can hold PALM Cookie if you wish to. It can tough to calm down on your own for some, so having support in the form of others around you can be of help! It’s really the first thing she can think of that her processes can give her.

Green Tea Mousse will try to take cues from her eldest sister and advise something like steadying your breathing. It was something she learned to do in combat to focus herself, but it can help here to slow your breathing and try to calm down.

They know you can make it through this. They believe in you.

[werewolveswithdiaries]

fear of abandonment is not always intense fits of rage and spells of uncontrollable crying at the thought that someone will leave you

it also is

the paralysing anxiety and just swallowing your tears while staring into the screen until your eyes hurt because they haven't texted back

is stupidly testing everyone's loyalty and your heart pounds at the idea that they will make the tiniest mistake and it means they never cared in the first place

is isolating months on end because self induced loneliness became strangely more bearable that constantly awaiting the loneliness because you cannot trust that anyone will stay

is having your heart dropping in your chest when they hang out with someone else and all your bones ache because of course, it must mean they prefer anyone else over you

is asking yourself over and over again if it would be less painful for you to be their second choice or not a choice at all

is feeling shame for craving intimacy and privacy because you feel unworthy of it all, and and unworthy person will not matter for anyone right?

is having every emotion, thought, move, plan consumed by your favourite person and this obsession cuts deeper than anything else could ever do. they become your entire world, they are your solace, your existence is not present outside them

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Called to Duty 4

Warnings: non/dubcon, pregnancy, abandonment, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Captain Syverson

Summary: You struggle to move on from the biggest mistake of your life but find it hard to forget among the whispers of a small town.

Part of the Backwoods AU

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

The bank is as ever anxiety inducing. On pay day, you go down to cash your check then give most of it right back, parsing it out for your various expenses. At the end of it, you have even less than the month before. You don't get it. Thing's only seem to get worse; not just money, but your body. Every day you wake up, you feel even more crummy than the last. 

Your hopes of a treat at the cafe are dashed. You give a longing look as you walk by and peer through the window. You can smell cinnamon and coffee. You're strict non-caffeinated, doctor's orders, but a decaf would be amazing with one of those cinnamon buns. Ugh, damn, why are you torturing yourself? 

You turn to continue down the street but barely dodge out of the way of another pedestrian. He makes sure you can't pass as he mirrors you, sidestepping to block your way. You sigh as you step back and look Sy in the face. For a big man, he sure can sneak up on you. 

"Hey," he flips up his dark sunglasses, "how're you feeling?" 

You stare up at him defiantly, not quite bold enough to glare. He hasn't done anything wrong, he's just persistent. It isn't his fault he reminds you of that spoiled deadbeat. Or that your emotions are volatile, one moment teary eyed, the next blazing hot with rage. 

"Fine, thanks for asking," you shrug, "Sy, I gotta--" 

"I owe you a cookie," he points to the cafe window at his shoulder. 

You blink. You remember the cracked shortbread. You forgot about that. The mention of the sugary treat makes your stomach growl and your mouth water. 

"No, you don't--" 

"I do," he insists, "I don't like to carry 'round debts. Let me buy you one." 

"I got it free," you say, "it's not a big deal." 

"It is to me," he counters, "I was heading in anyway." 

You stare at him. You really don't get this man. You're no longer so sure that Thor sent him to check up on you, not since your last interaction. In fact, the wingman seemed more spiteful of him than you. You look across the steeet to the pharmacy then back at him. The aromas wafting out with each swing of the door have you ravenous.  

"I can't stay long, I gotta work," you say. 

His cheeks twitch, as if he tamps back a smile before it can bloom, "after you." 

He gesture behind you to the door. You turn and lead the way. He reaches past you to open the door before you can and you enter ahead of him. The din within is lively and the air is warm from the crowd and the employees steaming out orders behind the counter. 

"Wanna find a seat?" He suggests, "you should rest." 

You open your mouth to argue but think better of it. You'd rather not stand in the clustered line. You nod and head off to claim the table by the window. There isn't much left. 

You pull out the chair and brace your back as you sit with a sigh. You glance over and find Sy watching you as he stands in the queue. His gaze makes you want to wilt, instead you turn your attention out the window. 

Not even Thor looked at you like that. Don't be silly. Sy is just being a dutiful guy, helping out the town slut in her time of need. You won't be duped. Not when you can hear your name being twisted on tongues at that very moment. 

You sit and wait, wring the strap of your small purse. You watch the street. If it wasn't for the people, Hammer Ford would be serene. 

A plate clinks in front of you and a porcelain mug as well. It isn't a cookie and you can smell the herbal tea's rosy flavour. You peer up at Sy as he gives an apologetic look. 

"Cookies are still baking so I got you a cinnamon bun," he says. 

"And tea?" You add. 

"Can't have one without the other," he says, "no coffee for you." 

"Yeah, I... I know." 

You could laugh. He suggested before he's been reading things about pregnancy. You just can't picture him with a copy of What To Expect When You're Expecting.  

"Thank you," you smile as best you can. 

"Gotta get mine, be back," he excuses himself and marches back to the counter. 

You look down at the gooey iced draped spiral. You really shouldn't. Not only accept his misspent generosity but indulge in the excess sugar. Yet your hormones won't let you resist. You can at least wait until he's sitting down. 

He returns with a black coffee and a rather colourful donut. They don't match. Bitter and sweet all at once. He sits and takes off his hat and sunglasses. 

You put your purse to the edge of the table and rest your hand on your stomach, doing your best to resist the animalistic need to tear apart the dessert. His eyes follow the movement and you quickly drop your arm. You don't even think when you do it, it's just a habit. 

"You-" he begins. 

"Wh--" you find your voice at the same time. 

You both stop, hesitant. He nods and gestures to you, lifting his cup as he watches you intently. That's new too. Thor never listened much, only talked a lot. Besides, you weren't exactly together for the conversation. 

"Sy," you clear your throat and sit forward as much as you can, "why are you following me around?" 

His brows form a vee, "I'm... it's not... I'm tryna help." 

"Okay, but why?" 

His eyes flick up to the ceiling and his cheek ticks as he gives the question genuine thought. When he looks at you again, his face is set, "because I want to." 

"You want to?" 

"Yes, I'd like to take care of you. And the little one, if you'll let me." 

You can't help your snort, "we hardly know each other." 

"Isn't for lack of trying," he taps his fingers on his mug. "Aren't ya gonna try the bun?" 

"I will," you assure him. He's trying to distract you and it's close to working. The cinnamon is driving you mad. "A baby is a lot of work and... I'm not your responsibility. I know Thor is your friend." 

"Was," he interjects.  

"Sure," you accept his decisive declaration, "but that doesn't mean you have to worry about his mistakes." 

"Mistakes? I don't think so," he says. 

"Well, it's not exactly planned," you scoff, "Sy, really I don't feel right about you doing so much." 

"Wouldn't feel right not doing it," he shrugs his burly shoulders. 

“But why?” You nearly exclaim. You just want to know why he cares so much, about you? 

He leans forward, elbows on the table, “they talk about me too, ya know? Since I got back from... serving. They say I’m f—crazy, or whatever. It wasn’t easy or nothin’ over there but I’m not nuts. Not like they say. Just like you’re not some slut, forgive me for saying it out loud.” 

You look down at the table and exhale. So he hears as much as anyone else about you. At least he’s honest. At least he isn’t joining them. You purse your lips and reach for the cinnamon bun, unable to restrain yourself any longer. 

“For what it’s worth,” you raise your eyes to meet his, “I never thought you were... unwell, or whatever they say.” 

His cheeks pinch, another suppressed smile, and he tilts his head, “I’m only happy to hear you think of me.” 

[katnisspeetaprim]

Broad Day Light

Min Yoongi/Reader

Im so sorry if this is bad. i haven't had time to properly edit this. I've been sick again recently, but I wanted to get at least something out for you guys!

Warnings: Injury, crowds, anxiety, established relationship, idol!au

Word Count: 1203 M.list

Walking down a busy street in the middle of the day shouldn’t have been an anxiety inducing task, but here you are. That’s all it’s felt like these days.

You and Yoongi went public a few years ago and paparazzi and sasaeng’s had mostly started to leave you alone after a few months, just the odd personal space invader here and there, but you learnt to live with the new found attention.

Fast forwards to 2023 and Yoongi’s solo tour was well under way. With a world tour came massive media attention, and with media attention, came paparazzi.

You weren’t famous, so having people run up to you with cameras was a surreal experience.

You tried your best to shield your face, but it was to no avail as the group of photographers bolted towards you from across the road.

‘Y/N! Over here!’

‘Are you going to any of the shows!?’

The group of men had effectively blocked your path, not allowing you to leave.

‘Please let me through. I have somewhere to be...’ You mumbled and wrapped your arms round yourself as you kept your head down and away from the cameras. You started forcing your way forwards.

‘Y/N! Yoongi and Halsey have been acting close! Did something happen between them!? Is that why you aren’t on tour with him?’ You know you shouldn’t dignify these people with a response, but the gall of implying that Yoongi would cheat on you with someone that had become a good friend to the both of you... It was enough to make you rage.

‘Of course not! They are good friends, now let me through- Ah!’ As you forcefully pushed your way through the crowd, you didn’t realise how close you were to the curb.  Your ankle rolled, causing you to topple over into the road.

Your hands, arms and knees were all scratched up, along with a twisted ankle. At least no cars were coming so you wouldn’t get run over. Though that seemed like a more preferable situation than the one you were currently in.

‘AH!’ You shakily sat up and grabbed your ankle, causing you to hiss out in pain.

‘Please just leave me alone!’ You screamed out and swiped out at the paparazzi circling round you.

‘Hey that’s assault! She just tried to hit me!’ One of the men shouted out, trying to garner sympathy with his fellow low lives.

You were all but breaking down into a full blown panic attack, when all of a sudden you felt a wave of hope flow through you when you heard the shouts of police officers approaching the scene.

‘Hey! What’s going on here? Out of the way!’ They pushed through the crowd and one knelt next to you, whilst the other two pushed back the group, ultimately threatening arrests if they didn’t dispurse.

‘Miss? Are you ok? Are you hurt?’

‘My ankle- I think it’s twisted!’ You whimpered, trying to hold back your tears.

‘Don’t worry. We’ll get you to the hospital.’

Hours later and you were finally able to go home. With a lot of help from your best friend, you were now sat in your living room, feeling sorry for yourself with your poor ankle all wrapped up.

The scraped that littered your limbs weren’t too bad, just a little sore. Stories had hit the web pretty much immediately, along with plenty of videos of the incident, filmed by multiple people.

With any luck, Yoongi would be too busy to even think about going online...

-Incoming video call from Yoongles-

Ah well. There goes that idea.

After a slight hesitation, you pushed the green answer button.

Yoongi suddenly appeared on screen. He’d clearly changed out of his concert gear and was now clad in comfy sweat pants and a jumper.

And he looked pissed.

‘Hey Yoongi...’ You trailed off, trying to sound normal.

‘Seriously? You going to pretend nothing happened?’ He stared at you in disbelief.

‘You should have called me when it happened!’ He continued on, raising his voice ever slightly.

You looked away from the screen, feeling guilty that you tried to keep it from him. Of course he would see the articles, so it was pointless to even try.

‘I’m sorry...’

Yoongi  took in your defeated appearance and groaned internally for adding more upset to your already stressful day.

‘No, I’m sorry for shouting. When I saw what happened, I just got so angry.’ He paused for a moment before shaking his head. ‘You got hurt because of me...’

‘Yoongi no!’ You sat up straighter, trying to reassure him. ‘This isn’t your fault. At all!’

He nodded slowly, but you could tell by the look in his eyes that he didn’t believe you.

‘I’m going to send you the number for one of our bodyguards. If you need to go somewhere, get him to drive you.

Yoongi suddenly moved the phone in his hands. He was clearly texting you.

You couldn’t help but smile at your boyfriend.

‘Yoongi! I’m sure they have better things to do than look after me!’ His message however, had already pinged on your phone.

‘You got attacked in broad daylight Y/N. Seems pretty serious to me.’ Yoongi deadpanned as he stared you right in the eyes.

The smile fell from your face. You couldn’t argue with the fact that you would feel a lot safer with someone escorting you...

‘I won’t be going anywhere for a while. My ankle is all screwed up.’ You joked, trying to lighten the mood a little.

You didn’t get to see Yoongi often these days, given how in demand he was. The last thing you wanted to do with your precious time together was be miserable.

Yoongi smirked mischievously.

‘Maybe you’ll stay out of trouble then.’ You drew back in mock offense.

‘Excuse me!?’ Where has the compassion gone to?’

‘I’m sure you’ll survive.’ He said, trying to hold back his smirk.

You couldn’t hold back and began to laugh for the first time that day.

‘I wish I could be there for you’ Yoongi suddenly spoke over your laughter. You immediately went quiet, knowing that Yoongi was still upset by the days events.

‘It’s ok. This is enough, for now.’ You smiled gently and gestured towards the phone screen separating the two of you.

‘Remind me again why you couldn’t come with me?’ Yoongi groaned and slumped back in his chair.

‘You know why. I couldn’t get off work.’ You giggled as you also snuggled down into your chair.

He frowned before once again beginning to type on his phone.

‘What’s wrong?’ You enquired curiously.

‘I’m not there, but Tae will be close by tomorrow. I’m sending him to check on you.’

‘Oh my god!’ You exclaimed with a laugh. ‘I can’t convince you I’m fine can I?’

‘Definitely not.’

You and Yoongi spent a long time on call together that night, making the most of every moment.

It was only after ending the call for the night, did you notice Taehyung had sent you a message.

Hey noona! Hope you are ready for a home spa day tomorrow!

P.S, Please tell Yoongi-hyung I made you happy... He’ll kill me if I fail!

[fanaticsnail]

Chapter 7

Masterlist Here, Moodboard Here

Sapsorrow Masterlist

Word Count: 8,800+

The Storyteller - Sapsorrow"Whom so ever fits the ring becomes wed to the warlord who owns it"Themes: enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, forced proximity, lord and subordinate, one bed trope, apprehension, mutual pining, obligation, slow burn, eventual love, protective, "where is my wife" trope.

(Image Source)

Tag List: @maybe-a-bi-witch @fuzzyfestcat @sordidmusings @writingmysanity @gingernut1314 @since-im-already-here @feral-artistry @be-good-please @little-bunnybabe @sukilovesyou @buggyenjoyer @thesailus @under-kitty @acehyacinth @andriannag @one17 @canthebest1 @khaleesihavilliard @quirkyrascal @hungrhay @sentieence @lebanese-afg-ya @captaincupio @szired @sexc-snail @alphaash99 @mfreedomstuff @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @mrs-wolfwood

Notes: Thank you to @i-am-vita for her banner! Thank you for your patience, I had this chapter beta-read twice. Thank you to @since-im-already-here and @vespidphoenix for their kindness in volunteering to do that for me! Such love and appreciation for you both.

Song Suggestions: Casper's Lullaby,

Their Wedding Serendade: Turning Page - Sleeping At Last

“I will not marry him.” 

Her voice held such sorrow, but her cries fell on deaf ears as her governess began to tug her hair into place with the rough scrape of a bone comb. Thrown onto her hands, pale gloves thrust up to her elbows by the hands of her ladies maids; her shoulder straps readjusted to float down her forearms like beams of radiant moonlight. 

“He has heard your demands, and seen them done. You are his princess...”—her governess’ voice paused while she shook her head to rid her eyes of her own tears—“...and now you are his bride. You bound yourself to him the moment you placed that damned band over your unity finger.” The small quiver in her tone had the princess’ eyes spilling over with a fresh stream of hot tears. 

Immediately springing to her feet and snatching her hair out of the firm grip of her ladies maid, she flung herself against the corner of the room. Her face was littered with tears, her eyes swollen and lip bruised from the force of her teeth clamping on them. 

“My princess,” the governess spoke, her hands quivering as they reached out in an anxiety induced panic, “You have been training your whole life to marry royalty. This was a title you were born to bear. You are to be queen of your lands, ruler of your home country. With your union to the king-.”

“-I will not marry him!” She beat her gloved hands against the wall, her enclosed fists almost shattering her bones atop the cobblestone walls. Sobs rocked her shoulders, her wails echoing throughout the hallway and flooded the ceremony space with her grief. Attendees held a similar somber expression, along with royal subjects celebrating with glee at the prospect of a new queen. 

“My lady,” the governess’ voice shook as she stepped closer to the shaking princess and placed her hand over her shaking shoulder, “My lady, please.” 

The bloodshot eyes of the royal princess snapped up to her with a cold and frightening stare. 

“What would you have me do, my governess? Wed this man who is more than twice my age? Dine with this man, consummate a union with this man? A man who already rules over these lands as king? A man who i-is-...” 

Her eyes fluttered closed as a fresh surge of tears fell from her darkened orbs. 

“A man who is my father?” 

The princess rounded on her ladies in waiting, her eyes now incandescent with helpless rage. “What would you do?” she continued. “What would any of you do, were you in my place? The law of the land binds me to this ring. I have become plagued by an unnatural and grotesque curse-.”  Her voice halted in her throat, plagued by her own revelation. 

That is exactly what this was. This was a curse. 

A curse on her soul to bind her in matrimony to her own flesh and blood. Where other children dreamed of fairytale romance, being spirited away into the arms of a lover, she was bound by fate to this ring. 

The princess’s gaze landed on a pot of water hanging in the fireplace. As she walked in that direction, her eyes never leaving it, the water went from simmering to bubbling to boiling over. Hardening her resolve, she grasped the iron handle and removed it from its place above the fire. 

“My lady! What are you-,” the calls of her ladies in waiting were silenced by a single look from  the governess. 

The princess’ sobs began to crack and cackle into maniacal and sinister laughter. 

“I will curse you. I will curse all of you,” she booms, casting the glove from her left hand to reveal a violet ring encrusted with an array of several stones bound within a thick band. Nine stones of unique colors danced within the light, their forms melded into a large central stone in the middle. The green hue of moss overshadowed the radiance of the smaller stones, the thick band dwarfing her unity finger. 

“If you are thinking of casting it into the fire, my lady,” the governess stepped closer, her hands held with palms facing outwards in defense, “The damage is already done. You are bound to marry him, there is nothing you can do.” 

The princess flung the band from her finger and threw the object into the iron pot. 

“In that hopelessness, I shall thee bind,” she intones in a hundred voices, at once of the deepest bass and highest soprano. The attendees within her chambers stepped back, some thrust onto their knees under the powerful boom of her voice. 

“Whosoever shall find, claim or attune to these crafts, their souls shall be cursed under the plague of unity,” she continued, her hair shifting in colors and tones to several shades closer to death, “May their suffering feed my heart with gladness and life, as my suffering brings gladness onto thee.” 

“-My lady,” the governess spoke, her eyes widening in fear as she witnessed the princess wither beneath her curses, “My lady, please-.”

“-And as my yearning for a love true and just shall never be quenched,” the princess’ voice hitched, her own tone dominant within the vocal strands of external forces, “I will allow the wearer to place a plague of conditions on their heart the moment the craft is thrust upon them.” 

Her hair whipped in the unnatural wind, the ring now smelting down into a lava of molten gold. The gems began dancing within the pale light as smoke poured from them in hues darker than night.

“Should their conditions never be completed,” the princess continued, her heart swelling with vicious rage, “I will claim their souls and bind them to my own in eternal suffering a year from the day it begins.” She ripped a fistful of her vibrant hair, placing it within the concoction alongside her tears. 

The ladies in waiting, the maids, and the governess clutched their hearts and covered their screams with their hands as the clouds of smoke spread through the chambers. 

“My lady!” The governess shrieked, “Princess, please! You do not know what it is you are making. This unnatural phylactery has no place in the lands of the living. My princess-.”

“Your Queen,” her voice boomed, her pupil-less gaze snapping over to her governess. Her face contorted into an unnatural and cool gray tone, her vibrant hair lifeless in hue while whipping around her face within waves of spectral ocean. 

“My queen,” the governess repeated, bowing her head to the royal witch. Her hue returned to her, the gold simmering down as she poured the liquid onto the coals below the surface. An unnatural steam rose within the flames, the vapors smelling of metallic blood mixed with the sweetness of honey. 

“I-I just-...” the princess wailed in defeat, her shoulders slouched, “-I just wanted to find love, governess. I wanted so desperately to find peace with a spouse of my own choosing. I wanted a partner to court me; to woo me, to cherish me. I never wanted-.”

“Sapsorrow, your king awaits you,” A voice called from behind the door, interrupting the unnatural scene within. As the ladies glanced nervously between the princess and  the door, the final words of the princess’ confession bound all but one stone within nine rings, leaving the central moss agate laying dormant, as if awaiting a final command. 

“I just wanted a love that was truly mine.”

- 

The echo of those final words plagued your mind, dancing as the concept of time began to mould from the past and spring you into your future. The repetition of ‘truly mine’ rotated and stirred within your slumber, breaking the peace you had once found for yourself beneath your bedsheets. You catapulted from your huddled pile of blankets into an upright position; your damp hair clung to your brow and sweat stuck your nightdress to your body. Your plagued slumber left you with more questions than answers. 

Had the spectre wanted you to see that image? Did she have control over your mind, did your attunement to the moss agate ring bind to you? Drawing your right hand up to your face, you rotated your thumb and index finger over your temples to rid yourself of the nightmare that seemed to persist each time you lay down to slumber. 

A light rap at your door had you jolting from your thoughts, snapping your head towards the wall and hastily making your way over to the interruption. 

“Governess!” A hushed feminine whisper called to you, “Governess, can I come in?” Perona continued her polite rapping, the drum of her knuckles gathering up rapidity against the wood in an anxious thump. You sighed, shaking your head and allowing a small smile to dance over your features. 

Collecting the iron handle beneath your hands, you open the door and immediately become overwhelmed by the embrace of your pink-haired pupil. She squealed into your ear, bouncing happily on the balls of her feet as she attempted to twirl you. 

“You are getting married to Mihawk today!” Her voice squeaked with high-pitched enthusiasm, “Have you tried on your dresses? Have you written your vows? Did you read his letter yet? Have you thought about your perfume? How are you doing your hair? Are you doing it in three different styles for the three different outfits?” 

The sheer rapidity of her questions had you unable to find an anchor to hold them. You fluttered your eyelashes shut, shaking your head hastily and attempting to wrap your mind around her flurry of words.

“Of course you haven’t read his letter yet, I still have it! I am scatterbrained today, my lady. I can barely contain all of the excitement!” She continued, breaking away her contact from you and thrusting a wax-sealed envelope into your hands. 

“Perona-?” You began, your voice halting as she danced past you into your chambers and staring at the two mannequins in the corner of your bedroom beside your changing shield. Her voice caught in her throat, all air relinquished from ballooning her lungs. You turned to face her, holding the envelope close to your chest as a warmer smile drew itself to your features. 

“O-Oh-... Oh m-my-...” Perona’s words found no harbour against her lips, all thoughts became silenced within her mind as she hovered over to the dresses. You allowed a warm giggle to rise within your throat at her fawning over the objects. 

“Do you like them?” You asked her, cocking your head over to the right hand side to find a better angle to read her face. 

“They are beautiful, my lady,” she whispered, reaching her hand towards the sleeve of Sir Crocodile’s creation and halting before her digits found purchase, “Can I touch them-?”

“-Don’t you dare, Perona,” A gruff, masculine voice called from the corner of the room. You snapped your face over to the doorway, noticing Zoro donned in lengthy tan sleeping trousers and a dark yukata hanging limply at the front. 

“Zoro!” You gasped, drawing your chemise closer to contain your form from his eyes, “It is one thing having Perona in my personal suite, but another to have a young gentleman while I’m clad in my nightdress.” Zoro shook his head, his wolfy grin taunting you beneath his down tilted head. 

“Would you change your tune if I said I have wine?” Zoro’s brow quirked up, revealing a green bottle from behind his back with a small, nonchalant shrug. You huffed out a laugh, shaking your head and removing your arms from concealing your chemise from vision. 

“Have you got a saber tucked somewhere on your person, Zoro?” You quirked your own brow up in question. Zoro laughed, turning away from his lean to reveal three swords clinging limply against his hip. 

“You can take your pick, my lady,” he shrugged, his hand lying on the hilt of his favoured blade. You opened your arms to him, gesturing for him to enter your suite with an elaborate flurry of motions. 

“Then by all means, my green-haired pupil,” you mixed your tone somewhere balanced between absolute sarcasm and unwithheld appreciation, “Welcome to my humble abode. Shall we begin by getting ourselves ready for the ceremony, or having a drink before breakfast?” 

Zoro answered wordlessly with a small smirk. Withdrawing the white blade from within its scabbard to claim the cork from the top of the wine bottle, and unlatching the wax by severing the rim with his sword. He reached towards your small dining table, upturning three of the four teacups from their place atop their saucers and pouring the amber liquid to the brim. 

“You gonna open your letter?” he asked, nodding to the envelope clutched within your hands and reminding you of its presence, “We’ll do a small cheers and give you a bit of privacy to read it.”

“I hope you are both planning on giving Mihawk a similar wake-up call,” you laughed, reaching forward and claiming a teacup from Zoro’s outstretched grasp. Zoro chuckled, shaking his head as he raised his own teacup to clash the rim with your own.

“Oh, he’s been up for hours,” Zoro confessed, Perona giggling as he handed her her own teacup, “He’s been brooding in the ceremony space: hovering over the decor and pacing, last time I checked.” Perona struck the corner of her teacup against Zoro’s before meeting the edge with your own. Your brows furrowed, glancing from the corner of your eye outside your bedroom window to seek out the elevation of the sun. 

“How many hours remain between now and the ceremony?” you asked Perona with a partial anxious quiver depicted within. Perona stepped forward, brushing her shoulder against yours in a small gesture of comfort. 

“You’ve got two hours, my lady,” she whispered, prompting your heart to nearly stop beating and your breath to halt in your lungs, “That’s why I thought to wake you-.”

“-And why I thought to bring you booze,” Zoro added, throwing back his teacup and downing the contents in one heaping gulp, “Just to take the edge off.” Your hands stuttered, taking a small sip of the wine within your cup before setting it back down. 

“I thank you both for your thoughtfulness, my dears,” you gave them a small downturned smile, your brows triangulating in the center of your forehead, “I have thoroughly enjoyed my time getting to know you as my pupils-.” 

“You’re going to be our lady now, my lady,” Perona added to your thoughts, “No longer just our governess, but something akin to an adoptive mother beside Mihawk as our apprehensive father.” Your breath caught in your throat, hitching at the thought of becoming unified not only to a spouse today, but upholding a promise to chaperone the two wards at a place of higher standing.

“Don’t think too hard about it, my lady,” Zoro reassured, his brow furrowing down. Placing his mug down on the table, he reached his hands up to clasp your shoulders beneath his heavy-handed grip, “You’ve already got so much goin’ on in your head, just know-,'' his breath caught in his throat as you looked up at him through your eyelashes. He was bewitched by the charm of your melancholy and apprehensive expression, your doubts begin to spiral behind your eyes. 

‘You are not good enough for this role. This is not your place. This is not a role you were born to play. This was a role that always belonged to someone of higher standing; someone of higher class-.’

“-Know we would be proud to have you as our lady, not just a governess hired to serve a role,” Zoro continued, collecting your chin beneath his fingertips to hold your gaze with his own. Perona stepped her body closer to you, weaving her arms around your waist and hastily drawing her cheek to press against your back. 

“I can hear her too, my lady,” Perona whispered into your back, prompting you to break your eyes away from Zoros to glance over your shoulder. Perona’s large, dark eyes looked up at you with sorrow and understanding held within her orbs, promises of empathy propelling her utterances, “And any words she brings onto you harbouring doubt, I will smother you in nothing but kindness and love to reassure you.”

Heart swelling at her utterances, your eyes began to pool over with gladness. The mist of your eyes clouded your vision as Perona continued to sing her praises into you. 

“I love you, my lady,” Perona hushed, her eyes beginning to dance with her own emotion. Her lip quivered, looking up into your eyes with true adoration and love at you, “We both do, don’t we Zoro?” At the sound of his name, Zoro’s breath caught itself within his mouth for the second time. 

You trailed your eyes back over to his, breaking away from your contact with Perona, and meeting his hazelnut orbs with your own once more. No whisper of a word, nor utterance fled his lips; all emotion depicted in the slight shudder of his eye and quirk up of his lips. Sighing out, you drew your arms around Zoro’s waist, turning your head to feel his heartbeat below his warm chest. Perona continued to nuzzle against your back as Zoro’s hands on your shoulders snaked over your back and pulled you both closer to him. 

“I am so glad to have met you both, dears,” you whispered, scrunching your eyes shut and deeply inhaling your insecurities, exhaling your worries into the air as they held you firmly. 

“Zoro, you need a bath. You stink, and I can smell you from here,” Perona called over your shoulder, “I pity your proximity, my lady. He’s probably spilling that musky smell onto you, meaning we’ll have to bath you too- My lady! We’re running out of time!” Perona immediately broke away from the embrace, tugging at your hips to break from Zoro’s grip and leading you to the changing shield.

“You: bath,” Perona ordered, pointing her finger at Zoro, “And you,” she snapped her eyes over to you, “Moon-dress first, right?” You sighed, nodding your dismissal of Zoro with a light smile. Zoro grunted a cough, adjusting his waistband around his yukata, and nodded in return before exiting your chambers. He halted at the table, collecting the half-drunk wine bottle by the neck, before heading through the door and latching it again with a small click.

“My lady, the moon first?” Perona asked once more, taking your attention from the door to gaze into her eyes. You nodded in confirmation, prompting her to shove you behind your changing screen to rid your body of its night chemise. You folded the chemise over the door of the screen, as the variety of items presented themselves to you in order from lesser to grander. 

“Perona, sweetheart,” you called to her, your voice holding an anxious laugh, “There is far too much material here for me to continue thrusting this onto my body.” Perona laughed in response, walking over to the screen and peeking over the top of the wooden frame. She inhaled deeply, a small squeak propelling her inhale. Her brows rose in excitement, her eyes upturning in glee at the first part of the assembly of the moon dress. 

The bodice of the dress clung to your breasts, an ovular shape wisping in layers of tulle and smoothed satin to draw over the midpoint of your shoulders. Trailing down from its seamless layers, your back was joined with an elaborate assortment of ridges and latches. Upon investigating it initially, you were unsure of why such items were joined in bands of silver, onyx and gold to its back until it hit you.

This was truly the moon. 

The silvery hue of the beams, the mystery of fluttered blues and pale whites cascading from end to end; all bound by circular divots of darkened onyx and quartz to resemble faces and craters atop the lunar surface. The many layers of skirts laid a train ending in the same ovular shape as the neckline atop your chest. 

“O-Oh, my g-goodness,” Perona’s voice managed to stutter out, her soul mirrored within her expression of youthful adoration and excitement, “You look so beautiful, my lady. As luminescent and radiant as the moon in peak of nightful.” You sighed with your smile, brows upturning and weight falling away from your shoulders. 

You gave Perona a small twirl, the material pooling and drifting as effortlessly as warm mercury over cool stone. She gave you a small applause and a small jittery cry of joy before ushering you over to sit at your vanity. Glancing up at your features, the illumination of the dress mixed perfectly with the tone of your skin and hair.The task had been executed flawlessly. 

“Now then, my lady,” she said, shaking her head and clapping her hands, “I am going to leave you to get yourself primed, painted and dressed with the jewellery-,” Her eyes widened, “-Jewellery, my lady! I have to get the jewellery!” She hastily turned back around and fled to the door, flinging it wide and immediately cowering away from a large, balled fist descending to where wood once was. 

You recognised the scent first, the smell of cigar tobacco and ashen smoke wafting into your chambers mixing with the expensive and earthy cologne of the hulking and boorish-.

“-Sir Crocodile,” you uttered as you began to rise from your vanity. Turning to face him, the intimidating aura of the hulking man hung behind the threshold of your door. 

“My lady,” he nodded his head in response, his head ducking below the frame to meet the purple hue of his eyes with your own, “May I enter your space?” Perona sucked in a breath, darting her eyes between the man at the door and you in your bridal dress in a small panic. Without turning his head, Sir Crocodile’s eyes met with Perona’s through the corner of his narrowed gaze.

“I harbour no ill intent with your mistress, little mouse,” Perona pouted at his words, prompting the twitch of his smirk to pull at the corner of his lips. He cleared his voice, removing the cigar from his lips and extinguishing the flame atop the stone wall beside the door frame; an action prompting your lips to curl in a small snarl. 

“As I were the means to provide you with such a dress,” his sinister smirk drew up to his cheeks, the huff of cigar smoke pooling from his lips, “I desired to be the first to see you in your radiancy. How are you enjoying your daw' alqamar-,” he shook his head in reprimand for his verbal linguistic slip, “-Your moonlight, my lady?” 

Several thoughts lingered in your mind: a reprimand for using your wall to douse the burnt end of his cigar, asking him to leave your space to continue dressing yourself for your wedding, thanking him for the skill that designed and crafted the garment over your body. Elevating to your feet and walking over to the door frame with precision and grace, you halted your movement and dipped into a low stooped curtsey.

“Sir Crocodile,” you spoke in a low and stern tone, “I would offer my praises and my gratitude to you presently,” your tone twitched in subtle agitation as you rose to your feet, “But I am a bride, and my groom is awaiting me.” Crocodile hummed through his nose, his smirk continuing to hold against his lips as he stared down at you. He took a moment to stare at your bodice, his brow twitching as he cocked his head.

After taking a moment's pause, his eyes softened to a point almost unavailable to an untrained eye. 

“You look beautiful, my lady,” he offered in a hushed whisper, “That dress was made for you by my means,” he stooped lower, remaining outside the threshold but hovering closer to you in proximity, “And you wear it as it you were born to don such a garment.”

At those final words, both Perona and Sir Crocodile left you in your solace to prepare yourself for your wedding ceremony. As you applied the final stroke of paint to dance atop your lips, from the corner of your eye; you spotted the parchment paper sealed with a wax stamp not dissimilar to the letter of summons from Mihawk those months ago. 

Placing down your lip-paint brush, you reached for the letter and unfolded the crease and snapping the small seal holding it closed. Immediately, your eyes widened at its contents:

“My Beloved Wife,

In light of harbouring no such secrets between us; I have written the vows I desired to forge with you, and present them to you before we meet for the first time as husband and wife.” 

You halted your reading, the swell of emotion elevating your heart to a risen drumbeat of both adoration and anticipation. Quickly reading through the customs he wished to claim over the ceremony, your smile broke your sorrow as you truly witnessed how much thought he placed into each declaration and decree. So many elements, so many customs you were learning held meaning for your husband to be; you found yourself awestruck.

“I have no such means for communication with you before we meet to truly know if you agree with the terms. 

But know this, 

I appreciated you for your skill as a governess to our wards, I found myself smiling at your playfulness as my Lost-Lady, and I am looking forward to the future that we will find ourselves forging; unified as one. 

My darling, I do

I will.

And I will always love you. 

Dracule Mihawk ~ Your Devoted Husband.”

A small drop soaked the page, swelling the signature lovingly scrolled ink into the bottom of the page, smudging its words. Shocked, you rose your hand to your cheek to find a damp trail of tears falling against your cheeks; completely unaware of when you had begun to cry. A small laugh flung from your lips, prompting you to sniff and shake your head before setting to the task of reapplying your paints and perfumes to the highest quality. 

The final step was placing the cascading veil atop your hair and covering your eyes, sheer in material appearing to illuminate pale blue under the lights. In your hand, you clutched your bouquet of lilies, roses, and baubles of babies’ breath. Nestled into the arrangement peered throughout were small wisps of blue forget-me-nots, a small nod to your prior filterless encounter with your Farm-Hand and you as his Lost-Lady. 

The halls were littered with similar flowers, illuminating the area with bulbs of roses, flurries of jasmines and hiding within the scattered arrangements: the same innocent and small forget-me-nots in clusters joined with twine. Although walking alone, you felt the presence of all guests loitering within the ceremonial space of Castle Kuraigana to propel you. 

Murmurs of hushed voices, small conversations resonated within the halls and beyond had your heart beating with irregular jumps in anticipation for what awaits you behind the large, closed doors. You sucked in a breath, the trail of your moonlight dress dancing along the lengthy hallway for each movement of your feet. 

‘You are truly going through with this, are you? Joining yourself to a role that you have no place in unifying with-.’

“-Sapsorrow,” your hushed voice rang into the air, the atmosphere cooling at the immediate utterance of her name. Whispers and hushed hums alerted you of her presence standing beside you in her spectral regality. 

“You dare speak my name, Governess?” the voice to your side answered you, your spine and follicles standing in tingles at her tone. You rolled your neck on your shoulders, twitching your hands by your side to rid it of your anxiety as you turned to face the spirit haunting you.

Her hollowed eyes framing her pupil-less gaze found your face, her sinister smile resting comfortably against her lips. Hair swiping in a wind not present as she moved, her dress pooling at her feet like a flag within water. She was a horror to behold, but there was a deep melancholy reflected in her eyes. 

“Queen Sapsorrow,” you stooped low, bowing yourself almost to the floor with your humility, “I express my gratitude to you.” You heard her spectral voice hitch in her unnatural throat, her animosity fleeing from her in the wake of curiosity. Before she opened her mouth to speak her taunts to you, you spoke once more as you rose to your feet. 

“I have no parents; no father, nor mother,” you confessed to her, your eyes depicting your honesty through each word spoken, “No family to call my own, until this very moment.” You stepped closer to her, reaching out your hand to bare your right palm to her. 

“I was alone in this world, drifting from place to place and finding purpose as a governess - an excellent governess,” you corrected yourself with a smile. Her uneasy and cautious expression unwavering for each parting moment you held her hostage with your words. 

“You are the reason I am here, and I will forever be grateful to the future you had bound to me,” She clicked her tongue at you, scrunching her nose to reveal her snarl at you. You hardened your resolve and continued, “Two wards: a man akin to a roguish son, alongside a beautiful and delightful daughter. In this unity: I have found a love that is truly mine,” you concluded, a warmer smile drawing up to reveal your teeth to her in a kind smile. 

Sapsorrow’s eyes widened, her unbeaten heart fluttering and reigniting within her chest at hearing her own words reflected from the lips of another.

“Would you care to join me as I take the walk?” you offered her, stepping closer to her and continuing to hold your hand elevated to the front of you.

“Excuse me?” Her spectral voice called, her tone somewhere between offended and bewildered at such an offering. 

“Would you care to join me as I take the walk, Sapsorrow?” you again offered, gesturing to her spectral hand with your forehead, “From what I know of your history in the tale once told to me, you deserve your own happy ending. Walk with me, and I will be glad to share mine.” 

“You think my curse ends with just you?” Her form faded from vision, her voice reverberating in the hall outside of the ceremony with you, “Oh, I have eight more curses to awaken, you arrogant woman-.” Her voice held source from all corners of the hallway, “-Nine if you account for the clause that stupid tall blonde placed upon the band lying around that inked doctor’s neck!” 

Her sinister cackle broke her sentence, unnerving you more than the words she was speaking,“I shall start with those who aided you in completing your conditions; the easiest of the three to ensnare will be the Crocodile, for I know where his ring lay-.” 

Your breath hitched at her confession, her own words halting as she attempted to stuff them back into her undead lips. A rough spectral sigh drifted within the walls, her face once again revealed to your eyes. She looked softer, almost human now. Her hair was less wild, her face less horrifying, and her eyes soft and baring pupils within them behind her thick and lengthy eyelashes. The was truly beautiful, her sorrow depicted alongside an unfamiliar warmth in her undeath. 

“I will allow your happiness to lie only with you, Lady of Kuraigana. You deserve peace today,” she confessed, a warm smile rising to her lips as she leant forward to take your hand, “Enjoy the time you have with your love.” She stepped forward, pressing her left hand against your offered right, a tingle dancing against your skin at the contact. 

“This is where I leave you,” she confessed, floating backwards slowly towards the high ceilings, “But I will be watching your future closely.”

“Thank you, Sapsorrow,” you offered your gratuity by slinking down to another low bow. Halting her final exit by the upper window, she turned once more and glanced at the corner of her eye at you and smirked through the left hand corner of her lips. 

“The Sun-Dress is my favourite, my lady,” her small laugh propelled one of your own to dance alongside hers, “If I had a heart, I would even show mercy on Red-Hair for such a fine craft. But alas,” her beauty once again faded into the horrifying spectre you had initially seen her as, “I do not.”

Her spectral body disappeared from the window, a swell in orchestral melody commencing as soon as she departed from the space. You were once again drawn to this single moment, your heart beating now in anxiety of what your future held for you. 

You were to become Lady of Kuraigana, bound to one of the former warlords of the seas. The World’s Greatest Swordsman as your beau, the Lord of this land you were now to call home. As you began to step towards the threshold of the door, the wooden barriers were pulled back by members of staff to reveal the attendees within. At the end of the ornately decorated row, your gaze immediately found linked with the honeyed hue of your beloved. 

Flowers lined the pews within the large room, candles alight with warm flames to illuminate the shadowy row. All eyes snapped to you, gasps fleeing from their lips as they took in your incredible beauty dressed in an arrangement as radiant as the moon. You could audibly hear the smirk from the hulking Sir Crocodile, as praises of your dress were flung into the air with their comments and sighs. 

The music swelled, a small smile drawing up to your face as you propelled yourself forward while clutching your bouquet close to your naval. You thanked your veil from shielding your nerves from prying eyes, a small blush dusting your cheeks as you shamelessly raked your eyes over the body of your intended.

His shirt was dipped into a deep ‘V’, tasteful frills decorating the hemline against his collarbone and neck. His overcoat lay open black in colour with the softest shade of mauve within the inner shield. Dark, leather pants were clasped by a golden buckle decorating his waist, the outer frame of his thighs supporting embellished embroidery in the similar mauve decorating his overcoat. Atop his head, his signature hat with his puffed, white feather dancing behind the broad brim and shielding his curled locks beneath it. 

In all your time spent with Dracule Mihawk, you could safely assume you had a grasp on how to read the subtle changes in his stoic face. His lips were barely parted, his eyes only slightly widened and his face only a single shade away from his regular hue with the dusting of the palest pink. Once again, the thought hit you like a puff of cautious wind: you were to wed Lord Dracule Mihawk, become his wife and he your husband. 

If his words to you were left unread and unwritten, you would have no doubt plaguing your mind at this very moment of one thing. Lord Dracule Mihawk was hopelessly, truly and deeply in love with you. 

As you approached the final steps towards him, you slowly turned to view Perona standing to the side of the aisle, noticing Zoro standing beside your intended: both holding similar expressions mirroring your own. You had all been awaiting this moment with the greatest anticipation: from the moment your accidental hands toyed with the moss agate ring, to the knowledge the curse bound you now by fate. 

Mihawk opened his mouth, watching as you slowly placed your bouquet he had affectionately crafted for you within Perona’s outstretched and awaiting hands. The officiant gave you a soft smile, turning to address the large number of attendees scattered amongst the pews in their most formal attire. 

“Valued and adored guests here gathered,” she began, her arms gesturing outwards in a warm embellished wave, “On behalf of the Lord and Lady to be of Kuraigana, I would bid thee welcome to witness the unification of two souls in matrimony.” Mihawk had yet to tear his eyes off you, paying attention to all words spoken by the woman in front of you, but hypnotised by your presence at his side. 

“There are a few elements to witness performed here. We are to leave no stone unturned nor phrase unuttered in their bonds forming,” she continued, turning away and gathering a larger twin candles within her hands and holding them to the side of her body, “Lord Dracule, you may reveal your wife from beneath her shroud, so we may witness her declarations departing from her lips.” 

Mihawk rose his hands to your collar bones, his fingertips pinching the sheer material within his thumb, index and tall finger and hastily withdrawing the shield from your face. He allowed himself the luxury of the backs of his hands brushing with your cheeks as he flung the sheer fabric over your hair, a shaken breath escaping your lips at his tender touch. 

As your eyes met without filter between you, his expression finally revealed more to you than a subtle tick and twitch. The air was sucked from his lungs, his eyes softening as he found his body drawing closer to you almost against his will. You smiled up at him, adoring this new and unrefined experience of adoration dancing over his face. 

“I present you with two candles,” the attendee informed you, placing them out in a gesture for you to take them from her hands, “I shall alight the wick of Lord Dracule's, and he will speak his actions and their meaning aloud.” She lit his wick, gesturing for you to turn to face one another with your candles extended in the middle of your bodies.

“With this flame,” Mihawk uttered in full clarity, “I vow to light your way through all darkness that plagues you.” He extended the flamed tip to ignite your candle in front of you. 

“Under its light,” you uttered with a small bow to him, “I trust you to guide me.” A small sniff from Perona, attempting as she would to halt her emotions from expressing themselves, had a similar experience rising in Zoro behind Mihawk. The two wards witnessing their Lord and Lady now unifying themselves in matrimony finally began to find harbour within their hearts in each passing moment and gesture. 

Taking the candles from you and placing them within their designated dishes on the table and elevating a silver goblet and accompanying decanter. She poured the crimson liquid within the spherical container, offering to place the cool stem within your fingertips. 

“Your cup may never empty,” you expressed, offering to your swordsman the container, rotating the object twice within your hands first and bowing your head low, “For I will be the wine that fills it.” His fingers brushed over yours, grasping them and taking them with him as he elevated the wine to his lips. He continued holding his hands over yours as he offered the goblet up to your own lips. 

“May I be the wine that fills your cup,” his smile twitched at the corner as he added, “And may you always be satisfied with the contents that replenishes you.” A small blush rose to your cheeks as your eyes never broke from Mihawks. He elevated the wine to your lips, allowing for a small sip to pass from your lips. The celebrant reclaimed the goblet from your hands and placed it beside the lit candles, rising now a tray with two cubes of sticky honeycomb atop the surface. 

“This may get a little messy, bear with us everyone,” the attendee expressed, drawing a small teetered chuckle and rise of giggle from your guests. Mihawk allowed the softness to be depicted in his face at the small giggle that fell from your lips, both claiming the sticky cubic piece of honeycomb into your fingers. 

“I shall serve you in all the ways you require,” you both spoke in unison, “And may the honeycomb taste sweeter coming from my hand.” You both placed the sticky cubes within each other’s awaiting mouths, both laughing at the mess atop your fingertips. Without hesitation, Mihawk clasped your wrist, holding your hand in place as his tongue danced around your fingertips to skillfully rid them from the honey. Your shocked expression was shrouded by the presence of Mihawk’s thumb within your own lips, prompting you to perform a similar action to suck the sticky substance to rid its presence from his digits. 

Small whistles and flirtatious commentary fell from the lips of the Red-Hair pirates, hooting and hollering in their support of such an unbridled expression of lust within the ceremony. Another rise of laughter occurred between you as you retracted your fingertips from each other’s mouths. The attendee placed the tray beside the goblet and returned with two thin sheets of material and offered them to Zoro and Perona. 

Perona reached forward and gathered the material within her hands, Zoro apprehensively doing the same with no frame of reference as to why he was doing so. 

“The two wards under the care of Dracule Mihawk will present the ties to bind you, solidifying their positions in upholding you within your commitment to one another as your chosen witnesses,” Mihawk turned away from you, as you did him, to gather the material within the hands of the wards behind you. 

“May our bond continue to grow all the years you choose to remain with us in unity, Perona,” you whispered to her, prompting her to smile through her tears that began to fall as soon as your vows commenced.

“I will stay as long as you’ll have me, my lady,” she confessed in a similar tone, offering the sash for you to take into your arms. 

Although you both were too wrapped to hear the conversation occurring behind you, Zoro and Mihawk had a similar moment parting between them.

“Although you are destined to earn my title as ‘World’s Greatest Swordsman’ in single combat, I am proud to call you a son under my familial name, Zoro,” He uttered with a small twitched smirk and narrowed eyes. 

“I will hold both such titles with honour, Lord Mihawk,” he reached forward, his arms containing the sash and prompting both Mihawk and you to return in facing one another. 

“May this knot you tie demonstrate to those present here the symbol of your unity,” the attendee uttered to you, prompting a skillful dance of fingertips brushing and hands clasping one another to tie the two sheets into a single knot in the centre. You and Mihawk both presented the unified material to the celebrant, who collected it from you by the knot in the centre. She placed the knot beside the dish containing the small syrupy honeycomb remnants, raising a box containing two bands of gold within. 

“My lady, you may raise your hand to place the ring atop your beau’s unity finger and relay your vows onto him,” she gestured for you to claim the larger band within the box, elevating it to his left hand and hovering it over his fingertip.

“My beloved,” you began, glancing from his hand to dart your focus between his two honey-coloured eyes, “These are the vows of promise I swear unto you, unifying us in marriage.” He awaited expectantly his breath hitching once more as you relayed your confession of love onto him.

“I will never possess you, for you belong to none but yourself,” you smiled at him, beginning the descent of his ring slowly over his finger, “I cannot command you, for you are free.” Shimmying the object over his first knuckle, you continued to relay your vows.

“I pledge to you that your name be the one I cry into the night,” your smile cracked at the corner of your face at a small stifled squeak from Perona, “And may mine be the smile that greets you the morning after.” You slid the ring over his final knuckle, securing it to the base of his finger before interweaving your fingertips with his. 

“May this ring be a symbol of my devotion to you, unifying us as one to all those who view it,” you concluded. Finally meeting his eyes once more, his glazed over eyes held such softness for you it felt too intimate for his public persona. He firmly squeezed your right hand within his left before unweaving his fingertips from yours and collecting your ring from the box presented by the attendant. 

“My beloved,” he began, clasping your left hand with his right, and elevating his left hand to hover the golden band above your left finger; his own new band catching your eyes as it danced in the light, “These are the promises I swear onto you through my vows of devotion.” He slid the ring slowly over your fingertip, his eyes never breaking away from your own as he presented his words.

“I will never command nor possess you,” he ushered the ring over your first knuckle, “For your will belongs to you alone.” Sliding the ring over your second knuckle, he continued to relay his vows slowly onto you. 

“I pledge your name to be cried from my lips in the night, and my smile-...” his right hand gently squeezed your fingertips as his smile drew up onto his face, “-be what greets you on the morrow beside you.” Perona stifled another squeal behind her unoccupied hand clapping over her lips, prompting a smile to break over your own lips. 

“May this band unify us in matrimony, and be a beacon of my promise to all who view it,” Mihawk concluded, immediately stooping his lips to press a chaste kiss atop your knuckles, much to the detest of the celebrant. She clicked her tongue to reprimand him, shaking her head with a smile of her own. 

“Given your lips can’t hold their restraint, my lord,” her warning tone playfully reprimanded him, “I will now allow for the lord and lady to solidify their unity in the sharing of their first kiss as husband and wife. You may both collect each other and seal your covenant with words left unspoken. You may now share your lips with one another.” 

Mihawk immediately began his descent, cradling your jaw beneath his left hand and shepherding you towards him with his lips parted in anticipation. You hastily drew your own left hand up to his right cheek, your right hand finding purchase on his waist and anchoring yourself to him as he finally pressed his lips onto your own. 

His lips were slow in movement, savouring the sweet taste of sugary honeycomb mixing with the bitter wine presented to each other earlier. He gasped into your mouth, opening it to deepen the unity between you by presenting a small flick of his tongue into you. His nose brushed with your own, his hand on your jaw fell immediately to your waist and clutched you firmly against his waist. Brows furrowed in unbridled passion, the world around you fled from memory at each press of his lips against your own. 

You slid your hand up to clasp his shoulder, a small squeak fleeing from your mouth into his as he turned your body in a low dip towards the guests in their seats in the pew. This action drew you away from your lustful hypnosis, the applause and cheers of your guests gleefully erupting into the air. He hastily drew your body back upwards with the flitter of your luxurious dress pooling behind you. 

“I am now delighted to pronounce, through this seal of unity,” the celebrant concluded her presentation, “The Lord and Lady Dracule of Kuraigana. Celebrate and uphold them, and may jovial celebrations continue into the night with merriment.” Mihawk clasped your hand and placed it into the crook of his left elbow, beginning his ushering of you to flee with him from the ceremony space to continue into your reception. 

Several of your guests greeted you both with their offerings of congratulations and affirmations, Red-Hair Shanks prying your husband away from your arms with his arm hooking over his shoulders and ushering him into a warm embrace. You made eye contact with the first mate of the Red-Hair pirates, who offered you a polite smile and the nod of his head; both of which you returned with actions mirroring his own. 

However, as soon as you became distracted by the embraces falling to your now husband, your elevated mood of joy was immediately halted as a floating and severed gloved hand clapped over your lips. You could not offer a hum of protest, nor a scream as your body was pried away from Mihawk’s and into the hallway outside of the ceremony space. 

“All part of the plan, Starlight,” a soft, nasally voice reaffirmed you in your ear. You turned your head to meet with the face of the flashy-fool himself, his face painted to the highest quality. His hand rejoined his forearm with a small suctioned ‘pop’.

“I’m gonna take my hand away from your face now, alright? You gotta be quiet and listen to what I’m ‘bout to tell you,” He nodded, his eyes serious with no room for joking. You nodded in return, prompting a smile to rise to his lips. 

“I’ve done some reading,” Buggy informed you, his tone apprehensive and nervous, “And there’s a custom in Kuraigana regarding weddings that sounds way too fun to be left out of ol’ Hawkie’s.” 

“And what may that be, sir Buggy D Clown?” Your frown deepened the longer Buggy kept you away from your new husband. He chuckled at your apprehension, a sly smile now developing further in elevation. 

“You are to be dressed in a new gown, no longer a bride but a wife under his name,” he confirmed with a nod, your understanding reflected in your own nod. “As your new dress is placed onto your body, you’re a new woman. And as a new woman,” his eyes twinkled with mischief, “Your groom has to woo you to win back your favor.” 

“What are you saying, sir?” you narrowed your eyes, and threw him an accusatory and pointed look. 

“What I’m saying, Starlight,” he continued, linking his arms with yours and beginning to shepherd you further away from your celebration, “Is that I’m going to kidnap you and dress you in your starlight gown,” he grimaced a small grin, “I may have had a couple of my crew break in and steal the mannequin earlier,” he quickly uttered before waving his hand in front of him to halt your protests, “And he has to humble himself and perform a skill worthy enough to win your favour.” 

Your bewilderment was pictured over your face, looking from his eyes and apprehensively allowing him to draw you to the peer. 

“What type of skill, Buggy?” you asked him, your curiosity peaked the longer the clown explained himself.

“Could be anything, Starlight,” he shrugged, his playful smirk pulling wider. His eyes twinkled, the paint falling within the crows feet beneath the blue and white hues, “He could dance, sing, recite poetry, he could even juggle. It truly doesn’t matter as long as you’re impressed and successfully wooed.”

You took the moment to study him. From his painted face, to his beautiful assortment of a red and yellow diamond patterned vest, to his tanned leather pants, and all the way back up to his hair braided and styled away from falling in front of his eyes. He threw his best grin at you, his lips curling in an apprehensive and crooked smile. You shook your head, stepping closer to him. 

“Does Mihawk know about this?” You uttered quietly, your dress shifting behind you in your haste. He sighed out a shuddered laugh of dark glee.

“Oh, I’m certain Red-Hair is filling him in right about-...” he trailed off, thinking long and hard about his answer. As soon as your feet found the wood of Buggy’s ship, the anchor rising and sails drawn down by his crew, he gestured to the doors of Castle Kuraigana in the distance.

“-Now.”

[theshadowrealmitself]

“What the fuck, Mr. Osborn?!”

Norman had stood there, frozen, hand still curled into a fist. Curled up on the ground by his feet holding a bloody nose was his son’s best friend.

His son’s kind, nerdy, weak best friend who was still mourning his father figure’s passing.

And he had just stormed up to him and assaulted him.

What was the serum doing to him?

—

Norman thinks about that day pretty often. He thinks about the awful crunching noise Peter’s nose made when he broke it that had originally felt so satisfying in the moment, he thinks about the blood that had to be wiped off the ground later, how it took awhile for Peter’s nose to heal.

How it never quite healed right.

But more than anything, he thinks about how Peter had flinched from him afterwards.

He liked likes his son’s best friend, who has kept Harry on a decent path, who understands all his science talk, who’s so polite that he still called him “Mr. Osborn” when he broke his nose. He’d almost come to see Peter as a son, and yet he attacked him, under some serum-induced delusion that Peter was secretly an arachnid themed vigilante out to ruin Oscorp.

A delusion he feared he still suffers under.

Sure, there were some coincidences. Peter and Spider-Man being the same height. Peter and Spider-Man have never been seen in the same room, despite Peter always photographing the costumed individual. Peter acting so oddly when people point that previous fact out- he needs to stop thinking about it.

But it’s too late, the same anxiety and anger is coming out. The thought that his company is being targeted by some mutant pretending to be his son’s friend. It fills him with a rage, one that keeps boiling. Boiling. Boiling. Boiling. Boili-

“Oh, hey, Mr. Osborn!” Peter, the real Peter, not the taunting costumed vision that haunts him, is in front of him.

Norman stays zeroed in on his face and gestures upstairs to where his son is. He doesn’t hear what the young man says, but there’s not a single doubt that he came here to see his friend.

Peter waves and rushes up the stairs, more energetic than he used to be, more athletic than he used to be, but Norman shoves down that thought. He shoves it all down, the anxiety, the anger, the suspicion. All that’s left is the churning feeling of guilt as he thinks about Peter’s face with the crooked nose that

Never

Quite

Healed

Right.

[gloomwitchwrites]

Not a request I just would really love to know how you come up with your ideas? You put out a lot of content and it always unique! How do you do it??

Oh my gosh! Hi! Yes! Of course! I'd love to answer this question.

Ha. Okay. This is going to take some explaining, so hang in there as I ramble (because I will ramble.)

If you were to crack open my skull and peer inside, you'd find a nest of noise. It's loud in my head (it's anxiety and likely something undiagnosed) and I am thinking about anything and everything all at once. Really, I should be medicated, but since I'm not, I channel all that energy into being productive because I literally cannot be alone with my thoughts. I require constant distraction.

Writing is that distraction for me. It's very soothing for my brain when I take all that noise and focus it on something I really love, and it always produces productivity and creativity as a result.

My best friend is always like "how the fuck do you write so much??" and it's because it's a coping mechanism. It's a bit like therapy in a way.

When it comes to the What If & Imagines series, I cannot take all the credit. All except a handful of prompts have come directly from reader requests. While those specifically don't come from my head, they do act as a great starting point. I think about possible angles by considering how I believe the characters would act in those scenarios. I start small, and then expand if I think I need to. I also go into them knowing that I do not want to rehash the same thing four times, and I go out of my way to make sure each is different.

But beyond that, I'm always thinking and questioning and considering how I can turn something on its head. And I don't mean that just for my CoD work. I take that mentality with all the fandoms I write for. I carry a little notebook with me, my iphone's notes app is a literal jungle, the Google Docs app on my phone is also abused, and I write down anything that I'm like "I need to keep that." Sometimes if all I can grab is a sticky note, I'll use that and then shove it in my purse. And if I'm in the car, I'll dictate my thoughts through Siri to add them into my notes app or send an email to myself (through Bluetooth y'all; don't text and drive.)

I also schedule time to write, and I make a to-do list of what I want to accomplish during that writing session. It helps focus my brain.

I also stay heavily organized. Like heavily organized. I have lots of spreadsheets that are color-coded, and I purposefully assign "due dates" because it tricks my brain into thinking "you must get this done because it is assigned" and WHAM, I'm plugging away at the keyboard.

When I get stuck, I only ever reach out to my bestie. Sometimes I just need a fresh pair of eyes when I'm rolling ideas around in my head but something is missing and I have no idea what it might be. She's great about throwing a few suggestions my way that has me looking at the story differently, or considering a prompt from another angle.

But it's important to note that what works for me isn't going to work for everyone. I'm sure one of you reading this right now is thinking "Poppy, you need to fucking chill." And friend, I wholeheartedly agree. But if I'm not being productive through managing my anxiety-induced head noise, then I'm running on pure rage and spite.

Anyway! I hope that answered your question! Thank you so much for sending it in, and also kudos to y'all who read through all that. <3

~ Poppy