#but at least you can draw pants easier

[tooni-the-demon-gal]

drew a bunch of boardwalk empire characters bc somehow i've only been able to draw al and charlie consistently despite being hyperfixated on the show for at least a year. i still have room on the page so i'll probably draw ralph n frank later. i'm also open to recommendations so if there's a character you want drawn hit me up. i'm planning on drawing a bunch of kaiju next so stay turned for that too.

[nyatbinary-81]

@vulpixisananimal sifstem art jumpscare!! more specifically i got bored and decided to mess around with sif and mal's outfits.

[defmaybe]

mirrorball

IVE’s Jang Wonyoung x Male Reader

1.4k words

Inspired by Taylor Swift's mirrorball

A/N: This Wonyoung really makes me go :dentt:. Also, thanks to a half of @k-dgn for beta-reading!!! Thanks for reading y'all! Oh, and this one doesn't have pegging (or mentions of it) lmao.

—

Taylor Swift’s mirrorball echoes through the locker room. It’s quiet, except from where two souls are struggling to tear each other’s clothes off. Your hearts are beating fast, and they’re killing you.

“Why the fuck–ugh–is this dress so tight, Wonyoung?”

“It’s prom, baby–mmph. I can’t just go with a tee with jeans and call it a day.”

“That’s not the question.”

“And I don’t give a–mmph–fuck,” Wonyoung says, peppering pecks on your neck. You keep jolting and jolting in response. Her hands are a tangled mess on your buttons.

You’ve been trying for a few minutes now, but her zipper just won’t come off. She pauses her kisses to chuckle now and then, watching you embroiled in the predicament. Still, even with her looking down on you like this, she’s still drop dead gorgeous.

“Let me?” Wonyoung finally asks. You’re panting in exhaustion. Fuck, why is this so hard?

“Yeah, I–I’ll just–fuck–take off my clothes.” You take a step back, throwing the jacket away to god knows where, before unbuttoning your waistcoat hastily, hands trembling. Wonyoung is also reaching for her back, unlocking the otherworldly strong zipper—too bad you aren’t going to see her in this beautiful white dress for a while, at least until you finish with her. Still, there are those pretty eyes and those pouty lips to compensate for the lack of an ethereal garment.

And you realize that you’ve been looking at her for a little too long.

“Hey.”

You’re snapped out of her hypnosis.

“Are we fucking or not?” Wonyoung asks, chuckling as you’ve been gawking at her.

“Y–Yeah, it’s just–uh–”

“Thanks,” she replies with a smile, a genuine one. “I’m more than just face, of course, but thanks.”

You smile back, before returning to unbuttoning your coat. It comes off much easier. You can feel your heartbeat decelerating. Wonyoung’s dress is also coming off, revealing her firm chest beneath it. Her long, slender legs come into view, and you just can’t help but stare at them.

“Fuck,” you utter in awe of her body. That hourglass shape. Those curves. Those contours. Fuck is the right word.

“You’re quite a catch too, you know?” she playfully points at your bulge, still pants and a shirt away to be naked.

You chuckle. “T–Thanks.”

A few more garments are down and you’re now bare in front of this goddess. She’s left with her panties, her small breasts resting on her chest. 

“God, I just wanna–”

“Eat me? Devour me? I’ve heard all of that, baby. Now if you’d just fuck me with that cock,” Wonyoung says, licking her lips.

Bloody hell. “Come on, Wonyoung.”

A giggle escapes her lips.

You take a step towards her. Your faces are just a hot breath away from each other. You can feel your heartbeat accelerating again. You’re lost in each other’s eyes.

Without a word, Wonyoung pulls you into a burning kiss, legs tangled to remove her panties for you. You feel her pouty lips resting on yours. Her tongue invades your mouth ever so masterfully, drawing breathless moans out of you. Her hands grip onto the back of your neck tightly, not wanting to let you leave her in the dark with Taylor Swift alone. She moans and moans into your mouth. Your hands move towards her firm breasts, kneading them, squeezing them, and both of you let out a satisfied hum at the touch.

“Shit,” she says, muffled by the kiss.

You don’t want to let this moment go—bare, kissing under the faint moonlight from the outside. Your hands are wandering around each other’s body. Your moans are sealed within the searing kiss. You pin Wonyoung against the locker, not wanting to let her leave you in the dark with Taylor Swift alone.

It feels like an eternity before she pulls herself back from your lips—flushed. Her breaths come out as pants.

“That–That felt great,” Wonyoung says, breathlessly.

“I know.”

Suddenly, Wonyoung flips the position between you two. You’re now the one pinned on the locker doors, locked within her embrace. She’s looking at you predatorily—determined, eager, lustful.

“Ready?” she asks, tilting her head a little.

You nod.

She steps back, before settling herself on the bench behind her. She gestures her finger as a signal.

“Fuck me.”

You take a step towards her body, lining up your cock with her wet slit.

“Ready?”

She nods.

And you push yourself into her cunt. She welcomes you with her tightness, as both of you moan on the entry. You watch your cock slowly disappearing, inch by inch, into her. Wonyoung’s deep moans are nothing short of angelic. You can just listen to this all day long.

“You’re so tight, Wonyoung,” you grunt, lost in the throes of pleasure she’s giving you.

“T–Thanks, y–you’re big too, you know? Ha–Hah.”

Her wet cunt grips you tightly. The insides of her are hugging you so well. She’s blushing uncontrollably, and so do you. You’re absolutely trembling with excitement right now, as her tightness grips you like a vice. You hear her breaths come out shallowly. Her hands are gripping onto the bench tightly.

You push yourself to the limit that your cock can give, before languidly pulling out of her wetness. She feels so damn good, and you wish that you can just do this forever.

Slowly, you find your rhythm with her. The movement becomes more mechanical, like a clockwork. You’re setting a pace in sliding in and out of her cunt now. She feels even better like this. You’re drawing moans and moans out of her lips. Her hand starts to rub her sensitive clit now—so eager to cum with you.

You cannot fathom the feeling you’re experiencing right now. Her pussy feels too good to be true. She’s smiling as your shaft slides in and out of her, happy to be stuffed with a cock. Her breasts heave with the movement.

Her eyes stare into yours with unbridled need. 

“W–Wonyoung.”

“Hmm, y–yes?”

“C–Can I cum on your face?”

Wonyoung bursts out a laugh. “Only if you kiss me after. I wanna kiss you so fucking bad.”

You then seal your lips with hers, invading her wanting mouth with your tongue. You bite her bottom lip softly, drawing out a moan out of her. She bites your bottom lip back ever so softly, matching your gentleness. Below, you’re still giving the same roughness she craves, thrusting into her wanton cunt with no abandon.

After an eternity, you two both come up for the much-needed breath outside of the kiss. You see her face becomes all flushed after the kiss, bringing out a chuckle from you.

You pull your cock out of her wanton cunt, using your hand to relieve the pent-up pressure. Wonyoung kneels, sticking her tongue out lewdly, making a sound, while her hand is rubbing her swollen clit furiously. What a sight.

“Come on, paint my face. Think of it as a canvas or something,” she says.

You can feel it, that all-so-familiar feeling building up in your lower stomach. Your thighs tense up, ready to blow the load on her gorgeous face. The wave is coming. It’s going to crash into you, and you’re so fucking ready to welcome it.

“Do you need encouragement, baby boy?”

And with that word, you give in. Your cock shoots spurts of cum onto her face. Your vision turns white. Wonyoung moans as her orgasm hits at the same time, eyes fluttering in ecstasy. Her whole body jerks and shakes with you. Fuck, you’re going to remember this forever.

Your cum lands on her forehead, between the plump lips inside her mouth, on her perfectly sculpted nose, on her rosy cheeks. Some even land on her tits. She’s happy to take it all.

“Good boy, good fucking boy,” says Wonyoung with her cum-smeared face. She picks up a portion of it from her reddened cheeks with her slender fingers, before having a taste.

“Yum.”

She then stands up before staring into your eyes. She looks so damn breathtaking like this.

“D–Do you need anything else, Wonyoung?” you stammer out.

“I was promised a kiss, pretty boy, after you painted me like your goddamn canvas,” Wonyoung says.

Again, her tongue invades your mouth relentlessly. Her pouty lips rest on yours, and the wet sounds of kissing rings in your ear. Your hands move onto her pert breasts. Her grip on your neck becomes tighter.

“So good,” says Wonyoung, muffled.

She then breaks off the searing kiss, blushing, breaths coming in ragged.

“We’re going to have to do this again.”

“Definitely, or maybe.”

“What do you mean, maybe?”

You laugh, before sealing her lips again with a kiss.

—

[marvelstoriesepic]

Whumpcember (day 15)

Pairing: Avenger!Bucky x Avenger!Reader

Prompt: Broken glass

Word Count: 5.4k

Warnings: slight mentions of panic attacks; crying; Bucky being a sweetheart because I love him so much

Author’s note: This got unnecessarily long somehow. Again, this was meant to be a shorty. Also, I was in my feels when I wrote this. Anyway, thank you for reading!

Masterlist | Whumpcember Masterlist

The final box of Christmas decorations thuds to the ground as you let it down with a heavy huff. You straighten up your back with a grimace, rolling your shoulders.

You might think as an Avenger, carrying a few boxes, would be an easy task. After all, you are trained to thrive under the most punishing conditions, with sharp skills and boundless stamina. But after hauling all those cartons stuffed with tinsel, garlands, and ornaments up from the storage room to the towering Christmas tree in the compound’s common area, you are left panting like you’ve just run a marathon.

It’s almost laughable. Thankfully, you are alone for now. Sam would have a field day, smug grin plastered across his face at the state you’re in.

Wanda, Natasha, and Clint meant to help you with this but they were all still glued to the desk, writing reports, but Bucky is supposed to be back from his latest mission any minute now and you wanted to do this nice thing for him at least. He did sound a little worn out on the phone earlier when he called you to tell you they were on their way back.

So perhaps decorating the Christmas tree would lift his spirit a tiny bit. It’s the first step in what you hope will be a cozy and inviting scene - something Bucky might walk into and, for once, not feel like a soldier returning from a war zone but a man coming home.

The tree is a statement, of course. Tony insisted on it. It’s so tall, it might even brush the high ceiling of the room and there is no way you’ll get some ornaments all the way up without risking your life. And Bucky would definitely not brighten up if you tried it out.

So you’ll absolutely be needing Wanda’s help sooner or later. With a flick of her wrist, she could make this whole thing a hell of a lot easier but you don’t have the time to wait until she is done writing her report.

You let your eyes roam over the many ornaments lying neatly in the box before you and one of them immediately sparks your attention. Your fingers brush against the delicate surface of the red ornament placed almost carefully beside the others.

Its glass is smooth and cool, the color a deep crimson so much more in depth than all the others. You hold it up to the light, turning it slowly, marveling at how the glow from the tree’s string lights catches on its curves and the unique and detailed pattern all across.

It’s heavier than expected, the weight surprising for something so fragile. The gold clasp at the top gleams faintly, tarnished just a little with age. A thin ribbon dangles from it, curling at the end like it has been tied and untied countless times.

There is something about it, some intangible quality that draws you in - a sense of history, of significance.

And then it happens.

The ribbon slips from your grasp, too quick for your fingers to snatch it back. If you weren’t so enamored with the beautiful piece, you would have gotten access to your reflexes a little earlier.

It’s too late now though, and you can only watch in stunned silence as the ornament tumbles to the ground, the crimson surface catching flashes of light as it falls.

It hits the hardwood floor with a sound that is both sharp and final - a crack, then a splintering.

Disappointed in yourself, you crouch down to the shattered remains. Tiny shards of glass fan out like a constellation, glinting under the glow of the tree. The ornament is no longer whole, splintered into different-sized fragments.

Annoyed that you were so stupid and careless to let this special ornament fall to its devastation, you begin to pick up the many red pieces into your palm.

It really was unique. It would have looked great on the tree-

Your movements freeze. Your heart leaps to your throat. A rush of panic claws at your chest and rises up to your ears where it floods and pounds tremendously.

Rebecca B.

It’s a name ingrained into the largest surviving piece of the glass - a faint, looping scrawl. Clearly written by hand.

Rebecca Barnes. The realization makes you weak in the knees and you fall back onto your heels, your ass hitting the floor with a thump.

This isn’t just some random ornament. This isn’t another piece of holiday cheer to hang on a tree and forget about for the rest of the year after packing it back into boxes to store it in a corner of the storage room.

This ornament belonged to Rebecca Barnes. Bucky’s sister. Something Bucky kept all these years, hidden among the other decorations like a relic of a life he’d lost long before his own had been ripped apart.

The air around you feels heavy. The smell of pine from the tree now stings in your nose. Your heart might actually have fallen along with the ornament because it too is shattered in pieces.

The shards tremble in your palm and you stare at them along with the rest still lying helplessly on the ground, as if there is actually something you can do right now to go back in time and not pick it up ever again, just to make sure.

But there is nothing you can do.

Your heart breaks even further at the thought that Bucky might have put it here deliberately. Maybe it was an attempt to move forward, to share the memory of his sister. Maybe he thought the ornament didn’t belong in some dusty package hidden away, but out in the open, a part of the holiday warmth he’s been so hesitant to feel. Maybe it was his thought of remembering her with someone else this time, instead of alone.

This would be such a huge step for him. And you would feel so proud if you weren’t on the verge of a panic attack.

Because it’s broken, divided into so many pieces. You just dropped something so carelessly that probably meant the world to Bucky. And, god, did he deserve the world. But you took it. You contorted the precious memories of his little sister. Unwillingly, of course. But that doesn’t make you feel any better right now.

You have known Bucky for a few years now. Though knowing him feels like a word too shallow for what you share. You never labeled it, both of you walking the fine line, and never crossing it.

But you see that Bucky trusts you - the kind of trust he doesn’t hand out freely. And for good reason, after all. In fact, you’re not even sure he’s ever given it to anyone else in quite the same way, not even Steve. And that’s saying something.

You see it in the small things, in the way his guarded demeanor softens when it’s just the two of you, the soft smiles that seem to be reserved for you. It’s the kind of friendship where silence doesn’t have to be filled, and words don’t have to be spoken to be understood.

He lets you sit with him on the couch in the living room on nights when his past pulls him under and doesn’t allow for him to get some shut-eye. You are usually awake yourself, sometimes just running on adrenaline after coming home from a mission and accompanying him silently. He always seems to linger out here when you are away on a mission anyway, so you usually meet him here after getting home, watching his shoulders slowly droop and his back rest more comfortably against the back of the couch.

You are the first at his bedside when his nightmares claw at his mind. You’ve seen him at his most vulnerable - shirt clinging to his sweat-soaked chest, hair plastered to his face, his breaths coming in uneven gasps as you help him fight to pull himself out of his memories.

Those nights, you never push him to talk. You don’t ask him to explain or tell you what he saw. Without a word, you would hand him a glass of water and wait while he drinks, his hands trembling so slightly it makes your stomach feel heavy every time. Sometimes you tell him to breathe with you, in and out, until the panic subsided and his shoulders stopped shaking.

You were never sure how much touch he needs in those moments so you usually stay at a small distance from him, but it seems your presence alone does wonders.

When he would be ready, he always searched your face so long and intensely, before croaking out a heavy but meaningful “Thank you.”

And his small acts of kindness always fill you with a jittery feeling that makes your knees weak and unfortunately doesn’t help at all when fighting against Natasha in the ring.

Just a few weeks ago, Bucky spent an entire Saturday afternoon fixing the squeaky hinge on your bedroom door because he heard you muttering to Wanda about how annoying it was.

He never even told you he was going to do it. You just came back to your room later that evening to find the door silent as a ghost. It took a whole week for you to find out how this happened. And it wasn’t him, who told you. It was Clint, who saw him walk around with a toolbox and a satisfied smile on his face that Clint, as he told you found a little terrifying.

Additionally, he always seems to know when you need a break during training sessions, tossing you a water bottle before you even realize how tired you are. Or he would plant himself wordlessly between you and your opponent for the day, with his arms crossed and a chastising glance at you when you’ve been fighting for hours without acknowledging the way your movements already grew sluggish and wobbly.

You are always aware when his hands linger on your shoulder a second longer after a sparring match, his metal fingers cold but careful, as if he’s memorizing the feel of you there. Or the way your stomach twists when he catches your eye across the room, and for just a moment, it’s like the rest of the world falls away. And the way he talks to you, even when people are around, his voice lower, softer, words chosen with an almost uncharacteristic care, makes you feel like you’re the only person he truly is interested in talking to. You also love the nights he shows up at your door with takeout, wordlessly handing you your favorite meal, and striding into your room to settle at the foot of your bed with a contented sigh.

Through it all, however, was always this persistent question you had. The one that molded into an ache inside your chest. Because what if? What if you took one step closer and stopped holding back? What if you risk everything you have with him now for something more?

But right now you feel like those questions don’t hold the same energy anymore. The same weight. No, they just got weightless. Pointless. Because you just ruined everything without even risking it.

You just destroyed something that can’t be fixed with glue and an apology. It can’t be fixed with you sitting with him and comforting him in the dark while his mind goes to the same cruel place like many times before.

This feels like you’ve crossed a line you can’t uncross.

The wrong line.

Shaking hands pick up the largest fragment, the soft loops of her name still visible through the fractures. The sharp ends bite into your palm like the memory of something sacred that’s been lost. You don’t feel the sting. You don’t feel the sensation of the few droplets of blood sliding over your palm where the ends nicked your skin.

The only thing you register is that this foolish mistake might actually unravel everything you’ve built with him.

He let you in, further than anyone, but that doesn’t mean he won’t push you back out if you give him a reason. And this definitely feels like a reason.

Your mind presents you with his reaction when he comes walking in here and sees what happened.

At first, there’d be nothing - just the stoic silence he uses to sink into, the kind that makes it impossible to tell what he’s thinking. But you’d see it in the smallest of things - the way his jaw tightens just enough to be noticeable, the flicker in his eyes that he’ll try to hide but won’t be able to, the stiffening of his shoulders. And then the desolation, like a tide pulling back just before it crashes. You wonder if he would say anything at all, or if the silence would hang heavy.

You swallow hard, begin to feel the sting behind your eyes, and try to force the lump in your throat down.

You’ve worked so hard to be someone he could rely on, someone he could trust in ways he hasn’t trusted anyone else in decades. You’ve sat with him, listened to him, stayed silent with him. Learned to know him so well, you even memorized the subtle shifts in his expressions, the things he won’t say but still lets you feel.

And now, here you are with broken glass in your hands and a painful feeling in your chest, terrified that this could be the moment that shatters the thing between you.

He might pull away, retreat behind those walls he’s spent years building. What if he doesn’t let you sit with him anymore. Or what if he does, but his shoulder would only grow more tense. What if he starts holding back, measuring his words, locking the parts of himself away that he once entrusted to you?

The idea of losing him - not just losing him, but losing this connection, this unspoken, almost-more-than-friendship thing that you’ve both been too afraid to name - makes your breath catch and something rise in your chest that might be bile.

A sob comes out instead.

It comes out like a wound ripped open before it could begin to heal. You press a quivering hand to your mouth, in hopes of muffling the sound, but it’s no use. More broken sobs come anyway.

You try to pull yourself together, to force the tears back, but your body feels so weak under the guilt and shame.

More parts of the broken ornament bite into your skin, red droplets welling up and sliding down your skin, pooling at the curve of your wrist, before falling soundlessly to the floor.

Pain should ground you. It should pull you out of this spiral, force you to snap back to some semblance of control. But it doesn’t. It doesn’t do anything at all.

Instinctively, your hand gives way, the pieces tumbling from your fingers and scattering across the hardwood once more.

You only sit there, frozen, your breath hitching and catching in your throat as tears streak down your face, warm and unwelcome. You can’t stop them.

You’re not supposed to be this weak. You’re not supposed to break down like this, over something so small. And yet that makes the sobs only harder to contain. Because this isn’t small - not to Bucky. And that’s the part that leaves you as shattered as the crimson glass. Perhaps as shattered as your relationship with the person you fell for as hard as the ornament fell to the ground.

It’s Rebecca. His sister. His past. His grief. It’s a tiny piece of his life that he trusted enough to bring out of hiding, to put here with the rest of the world, in the open where it could be seen. Where it could be touched. And you touched it, only to let it fall. Only to ruin it.

Shame knocks down on you so hard, you draw your knees up to your chest, curling into yourself as though you could make yourself smaller, invisible, anything but this.

You don’t even know what to do with your blood-streaked palm, only letting it hover in the air, the shallow cuts glistening under the still-glowing lights of the tree. It’s a mess. You are a mess. Curling your fingers into a fist, you wince in pain at the stinging of the cuts but you leave it like that.

Perhaps you are overreacting, sitting here on the floor in the common area of the compound with a bleeding hand and the shattered remains of Rebecca Barnes's memory, but you feel so helpless and remorseful, you can’t really think straight at the moment.

The sound of the elevator is faint, but it’s enough to reach your ears. You freeze. You just sit there, knees drawn to your chest, blood smeared across your palm, the shattered glass of the ornament glittering like broken stars on the floor.

You are tear-streaked, trembling, your chest still hitching with uneven breaths and Bucky just got home.

Those approaching footsteps are so familiar to you, you would always recognize his gate. Usually, it’s comforting, grounding to know he got home and would leave you with relief in your chest.

But there is no place for relief in your chest right now.

His footsteps sound normal, steady, perhaps a little hurried but he hasn’t reached this room yet.

You don’t look up. Instead, you bite your lip to stop the sob that threatens to escape. The shame is too sharp, cutting deeper than any piece of the ornament and making your heart bleed as well.

Maybe if you stay still, if you stay quiet, he’ll miss you somehow.

But then his steps come to an abrupt halt and you know you are screwed.

Burning tears spike once more and the sob breaks free.

“Woah, hey-” he calls out, so urgent, so worried.

Bucky is across the room in a heartbeat, dropping to his knees in front of you with a speed that catches you off guard.

“Sweetheart, hey.” It falls from his lips so softly, so worried, it nearly breaks you all over again.

Tears fall more freely at the kind of tenderness in his tone and suddenly his hand is cupping your face, thumb, and knuckles brushing the streaks of wetness from your cheeks.

But they keep coming.

“Look at me, please! Doll, look at me,” he murmurs, his voice impossibly gentle, but dripping with so much concern. His metal hand is on your face as well and he tilts it upward, guiding your gaze toward his.

His brows are drawn so deeply, lips parting slightly as he studies your face - the tear tracks, the desolation in your eyes, the shame and guilt, the trembling of your shoulders.

You can’t look at him. Can’t bear to see it. So you squeeze your eyes shut, hoping you’ll ever be able to forget that look on his face. Not when you know what’s coming. Not when you know what you have caused.

Just wait until he sees it, you think. That look will change.

“No,” he whispers, his voice so soft again, but there is a firmness in it. The pad of his flesh thumb smooths gently across your cheek again, while his metal fingers move to your hair. “Hey, no, don’t do that. It’s okay. Y/n, it’s okay!”

You shake your head quickly and try to say something, anything, but all that comes out is a choked sound, half-sob, half-breath. He doesn’t understand. He doesn’t know what he’s saying. He doesn’t know what this is about.

You want to stay hidden behind the veil of your closed eyes, safe from not seeing what you know will be there in perhaps seconds when he figures it out - disappointment, maybe anger, the grief of what you’ve broken.

“Open your eyes, sweetheart, please.”

There is something in his voice you can’t ignore. It sounds unshakable and steady, yet fragile and thick.

Slowly, reluctantly, your eyes flutter open to meet his, but when you do, you freeze.

Because he already knows.

He looks at you. Just looks, but you see he already put the pieces together. He saw the shards scattering around your knees. His expression is softer than you’ve ever seen it but he looks at you with an intensity that is new to you. There is that understanding in his eyes. But it’s so soft. So gentle.

There is no anger, no frustration, no disappointment.

There is nothing of the reaction you had feared for.

Yes, there is pain in his eyes as well. It’s unmistakable, flickering in the soft blue of his irises. But it’s not the pain you expected.

It’s not for the ornament. It’s not for what it meant.

It’s for you.

You can see it in the way his brows crease, the frown that tugs at his mouth. And the way he never once lets his gaze stray to the shards on the floor. All he looks at is you.

Bucky keeps his hands on your face, continuing to swipe over your cheeks like he’s afraid you’ll crumble if he lets go. Then, his thumbs still, resting against your cheekbones, his touch so achingly gentle that it only makes more tears fall.

“Sweetheart,” he says again, and the word cracks, quiet and uneven. He still doesn’t look angry. He still doesn’t look disappointed. He looks devastated - not for what you’ve done, but for what it’s done to you.

Your lips tremble, barely able to form words.

“It’s okay, baby. It’s okay. Come here.”

Baby definitely is a new one. It’s something he’s never called you before. But there is no time to linger on it, no chance to unpack the flutter it sparks in your stomach because he’s already pulling you toward him.

His flesh arm wraps around your body, tugging you against his chest, while his metal hand finds its place at the back of your head, cold but reassuring fingers threading through your hair.

He lets you cry against his chest. Cradles you so tightly to him, you might actually get worried about your ribs, but it feels so good. His chest rises and falls beneath your cheek, his heart is pounding. The fabric of his tactical suit presses against your skin, rough and worn from the mission he just came back from, but it grounds you to some extent.

“It’s okay. Just breathe, alright? Breathe,” he keeps whispering, exaggerating his breaths against your body to invite you to follow his lead. You try.

“I’m so sorry,” you sob, the words spilling out in a choked, broken rush as you bury your face in his chest. The tears won’t stop, soaking into the dark fabric of his suit.

“Shh,” he keeps on with his soft voice. His arm around you tightens, holding you closer, while his metal hand stays solidly at the back of your head. His fingers brush through your hair in slow, soothing motions. “Don’t be. Don’t you dare be.”

He continues murmuring to you when you try to apologize again, his voice low and warm. He talks so calmly and sure, you feel something inside of you churn.

Bucky tilts his head slightly, resting his cheek against your hair, and you feel the warmth of his breath as he talks to you.

And yet, biting guilt gnaws its way through your ribs. You feel terrible - worse than terrible - because it should be you comforting him, not the other way around.

It’s him who lost something precious, something you had broken. And here he is, holding you, brushing tears from your face, whispering words meant to stitch you back together.

But somehow, he doesn’t even seem to care. He holds you like you are the only thing that matters right now.

Remorse burrows deep, heavy, and shaming, until it pulls you back to yourself - slowly, shakily, but enough to loosen the sobs caught in your throat.

You sniff and take a breath, a real one this time, ragged but yours.

Then, you shift in his arms, gently pressing against his chest to put space between you. His hold loosens, slowly, with a hesitation that tugs at something in you. As if he is reluctant to let you go. Still, he relents.

His flesh hand slides away first, but his metal one lingers, brushing through your hair one last time before settling on your shoulder. He keeps you close, his thumb brushing absentminded sweeps across your sweater.

His gaze never strays and it’s heavy. You can’t meet his eyes for long. They’re too full of that care you don’t deserve, the care he shows you in so many small gestures all the time.

So your gaze falls to the floor, but then you freeze again.

The broken shards that had glinted so mockingly against the floor just moments ago are gone. Instead, settled carefully on the coffee table as though it had never fallen at all, is the ornament.

Whole.

It takes you a moment to process it, to trust what you’re seeing. The cracks are gone, smoothed over seamlessly. The gleaming red glass catches the light of the Christmas tree, its golden little details shining like something out of a memory, timeless and unbroken. As beautiful and aesthetic as before.

For a moment, you even wonder if your eyes are playing tricks on you, but then you notice Wanda standing at the far side of the room. Her hands lower slowly, the telltale red glow of her magic fading from her fingertips.

She doesn’t say anything, doesn’t step closer - just tilts her head slightly, offering you the faintest, knowing smile. Her eyes are warm.

God, of course. You should have thought of that. It even makes you feel a little ridiculous. You live together with people who possess supernatural abilities, powers beyond comprehension. You should have thought of Wanda. How her hands could have mended it back together in seconds.

A choked breath stumbles out of you, somewhere between relief and disbelief. Bucky follows your gaze, his brows furrowing, only to soften when he sees the ornament resting perfectly intact on the table. He stares at it for a moment.

But then he looks back at you and his sweet smile could melt any ice this winter has to offer.

His flesh hand moves a few strands of hair out of your face and tugs them tenderly behind your ear. His hand stays on your cheek. “Told you it’s okay.”

You let out a shaky breath. “I still broke it,” you say, words slipping out quietly, somberly. Your gaze remains fixed on it. Wanda seems to have slipped out again.

“Stop,” Bucky cuts in, his voice more firm than before but still gentle as always. He shakes his head, moving closer to you again, gaze fixed on you.

You feel his hand brush against yours, but then his shoulders stiffen up. He stops. His eyes catch on something and his expression shifts in an instant.

“Jesus-” His frown deepens, something like a shadow crosses his eyes. Sharp eyes lock onto the red streaks lining your palm, the cuts where the shattered glass had broken your skin.

You hadn’t even realized you were still holding onto the pain - too caught up in everything else to notice the dull throb of your hand or the sting of the scratches.

“You’re bleeding. Why didn’t you say anything?” The words are a quiet exhale, soft but weighted. There is no reprimand in his voice, no anger - only concern coloring every syllable.

His thumb ghosts over your wrist, careful not to brush against the cuts. His intense gaze flickers from your injured hand to your face, searching your expression.

“It’s not a big deal-”

“Don’t.”

Bucky shakes his head. His jaw tightens and he exhales sharply through his nose. It’s not frustration - not with you, anyway. It’s something deeper, something that seems to pain him in his chest as he studies the scratches like they’re a personal failing.

“Bucky,” you say while trying to pull your hand back from his grasp when he tilts it more toward the light to get a better look. As if he hasn’t the eyesight of a super soldier.

“Doll. Let me see.” His lips press into a thin line, the faintest hint of exasperation ghosting across his face.

The sigh you let out drags down your chest and you don’t resist when Bucky keeps cradling your bleeding hand and studies the scratches. His brow is furrowed in concentration that feels too much for something so small.

You want to tell him it’s fine, that this is nothing, but the words die before they reach your tongue.

“Let’s get you fixed up,” he says tightly, the tone of his voice all business and leaving no room for argument.

But you shake your head. It’s your fault the ornament broke in the first place. You’re aware it’s whole again, but it was in shambles just moments earlier and you cut yourself thanks to your own stupidity.

“Bucky, you just got back from a mission-” you protest, your voice quieter than you’d like.

“Not too worried about myself right now, doll,” he interrupts, his voice insistent but warm. The hint of steel beneath his words not directed at you but at the way your guilt is still in control, trying to downplay yourself.

“Come on.” He says it softer now, but before you can argue any further, he’s already moving.

Without so much as a pause, Bucky stands and scoops you up into his arms as though it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You barely have a second to process the shift, before you’re pressed securely against his chest.

“Bucky!” you exclaim, startled, your uninjured hand reaching for his shoulder to steady yourself.

“Relax, doll. I’ve got you,” he murmurs, his voice low and almost amused, though his expression remains calm, focused.

You sigh again, but there is a laugh on your breath. “Buck, I can walk. You don’t have to-”

“Not hearing it,” he says simply, almost flatly. He just continues striding along the halls with you in his arms. His steps are heavier, but you know it’s not because of your weight. He holds you like you weigh nothing at all. “You’re hurt.”

That doesn’t sound like a plausible explanation to you, since you’ve come home with way worse injuries from missions over the last months alone. But the gruffness of his voice, the one that always accompanies him when you’re injured, no matter how small - the seriousness, the concern - it shuts you up for the time being.

You let your head rest against his shoulder. He smells a little like gunpowder and dust, but you only latch onto the parts that are him and breathe them in.

“I didn’t mean to break it, Bucky,” to whisper, gaze dropping to the tightly pressed ball that is your bloody fist. “I’m so sorry.”

You feel the intake of Bucky’s breath against your body and his eyes warmly falling down on you. You don’t meet his gaze.

“You didn’t break anything, sweetheart.” His voice is like velvet, brushing so softly against your skin. So reassuringly. So profoundly gentle. “You’re okay, doll. We’re okay. I promise.” His hands curl tighter around you.

You blink, your head tilting to glance up at him, and your breath catches when you meet his gaze.

It is intense. His brows are pulled together - not with anger, but with concern. Like the only things he cares about right now are the tears that linger in your eyes and the way you’re still trying to curl in on yourself, still letting your body slightly shake with the guilt that he refuses to let you carry.

Something stirs in your belly. Something flutters, as if thousands of tiny wings brush against the walls of you, demanding to be seen. To be felt.

Because you let your mind spiral so much earlier, bracing yourself for a reaction of disappointment, frustration - that flicker of something unnameable that might pull the two of you apart.

But it still isn’t there.

Not even close.

It’s the opposite, really.

[randomshyperson]

Heart Drawing - Wanda Maximoff Oneshots

Summary: Dinner with Mr. Heart takes a different turn. Or, what anyone who wasn't a synthezoid would have done at the sight of Wanda in that dress.

Warnings: (+18), purely smut, bottom!Wanda (bratty), rough smut, creampie, strap-on, fingering and oral (w rec),  Westview setting, established relationship, kinda semi-public (?), almost getting caught but Wanda keeps doing magic tricks | Words: 1.169k

A/N-> I can't believe I finally wrote this, it's a fixing of the scene from WandaVision because I always thought it was unbelievable. If Wanda prepared a romantic dinner for me, especially wearing that, there would be no dinner at all. A good Wandavision anniversary for all of us btw <3

General Masterlist | Wattpad | AO3

-&-

Although it was one of the skills she developed first, mental control could be very difficult. Especially if Wanda was experiencing some other strong emotion, such as stress, anger, or sadness. 

Or physical exertion, like a fight with an alien or lifting machines or the like. 

Or just being so close to cumming in the middle of the kitchen.

And you, well, you weren't making it any easier for her. Your hips never faltered in their brutal rhythm against her and every time the fake cock attached to your waist slid between her tight walls, Wanda had the impression that even the magic around the house was failing. 

Her eyes were still red, though - Wanda is still surprised that she has any control when you slide your fingers down to tug at her neglected clit and she's forced to muffle her whimper with a bite on your shoulder.

She's sure she won't be able to keep the two guests static in the kitchen if you keep this up. But the soft protest is little more than a choke; "S-slow down, detka" she gasps directly into your ear.

You adjust the angle, and your hips slow down, but god, you thrust hard enough for the kitchen counter to crack. The dress she called a surprise barely hanging on her body is pushed down even further with the rough motions and Wanda won't be surprised if the the magic fails her once and for all with the reach of her orgasm.

She wasn't complaining, after all, this was the whole point of the night. A misunderstanding about a heart drawn on the calendar had led her to believe that tonight would be an anniversary (of which, she and Agnes came to no conclusion, and Wanda preferred to pretend it was supposed to be a wedding one). She got chocolate fruit and a dress that made you ignore your boss in the other room and force her against the counter as soon as you caught the first glimpse of her cleavage.

Wanda tried to be the voice of reason, even if her voice was hoarse and not very determined. She asked you; "What about them?" but all you did was give her a dirty little smile as you unbuttoned your pants.

"Play your tricks, my lovely little witch." That's what you whispered before sliding into her in probably the only gentle thrust of the night, and well, we're back to the beginning.

Wanda being fucked roughly on the counter in the kitchen while trying to keep the two guests in the living room.

She doesn't know, or think she doesn't know, at least not consciously about how that toy ended up inside your pants. She doesn't think about it, nor about when your hips start to buck and how when you come first, she can feel something hot squirting inside her. She can only mew in arousal, feeling your weight fall on her as you return your movements, faster than before making it impossible for her to hold back any longer. Your mouth finds hers again, and you swallow every dirty moan she lets out as she finally reaches her climax a moment later.

The kitchen, perhaps the whole city, shakes with the force of this orgasm. Wanda doesn't notice, but you're kind of mesmerized by the whole thing. She doesn't even realize she has lost control, still panting and soft under your body but you hear footsteps approaching.

It's your powers that keep the kitchen door tightly shut, and Wanda blinks exhaustedly at the knocks.

"I'll tell them dinner's canceled." You murmur, kissing her cheek before pulling out, the act drawing a gasp from the other. Wanda forces her body to react when you make mention of moving away, her legs hooking behind your knees while she gestures in the air with her fingers glowing red.

"They'll find their way on their own." That's what she says before pressing her mouth to yours again. You smiled into the kiss, saving a mental note to comment that you'd probably lose your job for this. But those were problems for later; right now, you were focused on your darling wife moaning on your tongue.

Your kisses descended to her collarbone, marking the skin gently as Wanda struggled to breathe. Your body soon followed the lead, and you ended up on your knees on the kitchen floor with your face between her legs, taking a moment just to admire the image of Wanda's pussy leaking your mixed cum. 

Your breathing against her was driving her crazy, she moved her hips forward, one of her hands grabbing a handful of your hair and trying to pull you in, but you fought back. Wanda meowed in protest.

"Please." It didn't sound much like begging, and you raised your eyes to her. Wanda blushed heavily at the image but tried to bait you by moving her free fingers to her own pussy, spreading the wetness before sinking a finger in. She whimpered before teasing; "Come on baby, I know you want a taste."

You bite your tongue, but you can't contain the shuddering of your body and Wanda smiles at you, a finger teasing its way in. You try not to fall for it but she mewls as she pushes her finger further inside and you curse quietly before you take action. Your hand pushes hers away, and you sink your face into her pussy before Wanda can complain; she chokes on a moan, her back arching on the counter as you eat her out in hungry determination. Your hands grip her thighs wide open and Wanda struggles to control the sounds, trying to find some ground as she clutches your hair, but all it serves for is to keep your head in place as she grinds harshly against your face.

She is almost robbed of her orgasm the next moment when there is a knock at the back door. It's she who is startled, failing in her movements towards your face, but you groan in frustration at the interruption and instead of stopping the whole thing, the vibration takes Wanda over the edge, and she has to cover her mouth with her hand to avoid the sound that escapes her as the climax washes over her.

She's still trembling on the counter when you stand up, a mess of cum running down your chin that you wipe off with the back of your hand, which Wanda watches with exhausted eyes as you lick it clean a moment later.

"I'll send her away." You mutter, evidently against your will to get off her. When Wanda mentions protesting, you offer her a wink, your hands busy hiding the toy back in your pants. " We'll carry on upstairs."

She tries to stand up on shaky legs while you answer the back door to the nosy neighbor. By now, Wanda's mind is so dizzy from a good fuck that she doesn't even care if Agnes was able to hear anything.

[allfearstofallto]

Illusion

Yandere! Lyney x Fem,Dancer! Reader

Word Count: 2.8k

A/N: if this story seems similar to "I wonder if you look both ways..." It's cause this is the original. I scrapped it, but when reading it again I realized that I was very stupid to do that cause I like it. They're sisters, but not twins, they both can be enjoyed.

A magician's job is to lie. To convince you that there are wonders of the world that the human eye can't decipher. To entertain and entrance an audience of people, all while they stare in awe. Their eyes having a look of simultaneous confusion and scrutiny, they'd try to pick the trick apart, only to fail and be even more impressed by their inability to solve the puzzle. The job of a magician is to endure all of that inspection from prying eyes, but still make it look captivating.

Your job was to draw attention. That's what Lyney told you the day you were hired. They were set to perform at the opera house again, the biggest stage in Fontaine, but this time it would be an even more grand performance, this time, there would be no issues. With an area so large, they needed to maximize as much space as possible, there didn't need to be a moment of time where the audience had to question what was coming next. That's where you came in.

When the music came to a crescendo, cymbals crashing and violins singing at their loudest harmony, you'd be dancing, leaping all over. Graceful as a swan, but with enthusiasm that made your moves look more playful. Hopefully that would be enough to keep the eyes on you as Lyney rushed to the other side of the stage to complete the performance in an escalation.

You'd never done something like this before. Actually, you'd never danced professionally. Not yet at least. This would be your first real show. A fresh face right out of ballet school with nothing to your name, but a few school performances, none of which you were granted the leading role for. Who would give you a chance? Who else, but Lyney and Lynette who needed a dancer on rather short notice.

Lyney, who said your dancing was mesmerizing. But not in his usual, eccentric voice that would draw the crowd. He was talking quietly, in a breathless whisper as he spoke. Mesmerizing. His eyes glued onto your form as you panted after your audition, wide and entranced. You gave them a nervous bow and a heartfelt appreciation before exiting stage left. What you felt like was a mediocre performance where you messed up too much, was what landed you your first real gig.

Your choreo was simple, most of it you came up with yourself, with the twins giving minor input here and there. Raise your leg here, jump there, when you twirl, go in this direction. It was much easier than the strict, uptight teachings of school, where your instructors insisted that the real world would be harsher than they were. You weren't needed for a good majority of the performance, so nothing especially skillful was required until the very end.

“I'd like to see an addition to our set,” Lyney announced. His hands on his hips, he spoke proudly, but while sneaking quick glances towards you, “I feel like we're not utilizing our new resident dancer enough. I think we need to add a slight change to the choreography.”

There was no issue with this, they were your employers after all. You did your best to make it known to them that you were flexible in every aspect. It was their show. Anything they needed to be done, you'd do your best to accommodate.

The move the blond added was simple. As you stood on your toes on one foot, your other leg would be out straight behind you. Lyney would step forward to take your hand, then he would walk around you, turning you both in a slow circle while addressing the audience to prepare them for his next illusion. Like a ballerina trapped in a music box, you spun to the creeping swell of the music alongside him.

The addition was not even close to difficult, a move you'd done a million times before and would probably do a million more in the future. But this was the first time that you'd touched Lyney. The separation between you two gave you no reason to do so. His hands were cold, yet clammy and it was only when you were this close to him, that you noticed he smelled of plums. You could feel his heart beating in his fingertips and even see a little sweat on his forehead, you chalked it up to nerves though. Even those who have performed a thousand times before can fall victim to tension.

“Would you mind if I put my hand on your waist when we did that move,” he asked you one day between practices. He was hesitating, but still playing up his confident attitude.

A hand on your waist was nothing. You'd had to be close to other dancers plenty of times, and the turn did look a bit awkward with Lyney just having his hand at his side, but you thought that that would be the ample time for him to do a quick card trick or sleight of hands to spice things up, “That would be alright.”

The turn was practiced with the change. To you it felt no different, like an average day back at the academy. The real difference was Lyney himself. With that gentle hand on your waist, so soft it felt like he was hovering his hand over your body and not touching you at all. His cheeks had reddened, the first time you'd ever seen the great magician Lyney blush and you could feel him trembling, but just barely, like he was shivering from cold.

Eye contact with your partner is good when you're dancing a duet. It gives the appearance of chemistry, but eye contact with a crowd is mandatory when engaging with them. Despite this, for the entire duration of the turn, Lyney’s vibrant purple eyes would be locked with yours, not looking away for a second, not until the spin was complete and it was time for your solo.

Even you couldn't bring yourself to hold his gaze, not with the strange way he was smirking. Midway through the spin, when your back was facing the audience, you'd look down to not have to be staring at him anymore, a move that made him squeeze your hand to the point of causing pain. You held back a yelp to keep from causing a scene, it was an accident, it had to have been. He wasn't realizing his own strength.

When he let go, you began your energetic dance, twirling around the floor while music vibrated at your feet. You could hear the sound of Lyney's prop going off, the signal that the song would end in a triumphant climax and the show was over. You dropped from your ending pose and turned to see the remnants of the ending. Realization hitting you that the confetti had fired, but Lyney wasn't there.

Rather, he was still close to you, having only taken two steps back and seemingly frozen in place right there. Lyney had missed his cue. He was a perfectionist. Even though he knew things would and could go wrong, and he was a bit of a stickler when it came to things like this. It was the big moments, the parts where the audience would be in the most awe. With flashes, pops, and bangs to draw their attention, then he'd be there to take the brunt of the cheers. These moments were some of the most important.

The way he stood there behind you, eyes on you like you'd put a spell on him. Barely moving, barely blinking, like he was trying to drink in every piece for your form. He shook himself from this trance rather quickly, giving an embarrassed smile, “It appears that I've fallen for the distraction,” he laughed rather brazenly, “Well at least we know she's good at taking the attention! Let's take a break and start from the top again, yeah?”

There was a unanimous choir of groans that filled the room while Lyney chuckled. You were rather grateful for the break. You needed a moment to breathe and collect yourself. Most importantly, to think of what had just happened. The rational part of your brain wanted to tell you that you were overthinking, that Lyney wasn't acting strange at all, but the paranoid part of you couldn't help, but notice the way he stared. Not just when you were dancing, but whenever he got the chance to.

You'd look over and see bright purple eyes on you, seemingly unblinking. If you caught him in the act he'd give you a smile and a wave, making you feel as if you'd misunderstood. But that didn't stop the sinking feeling in your chest, he was acting normal, but intuition was telling you that something was off.

Almost as if he knew you were thinking of him, Lyney appeared. He stood a little too close to you, that gentle smile on his face. “Sorry for messing up back there,” he whined a little, then rested his head on your shoulder.

You flinched from his touch and tried to step away from him, but his arm snaked itself around your waist before you could. And Lyney was much much stronger than he looked. A nervous chuckle left your lips.

“It's alright, it's just practice after all,” you assured him.

“You're right,” he sighed. It felt like his hand was sinking, lowering to your hip while he continued the casual conversation, “I just want to impress you.”

Words got caught in your throat as you tried to choke up a response. What were you supposed to say? What could you say? A part of you wanted to brush this off as flirting, maybe you'd given him the wrong impression with something you'd said or done, but you couldn't even open your mouth to tell him otherwise.

“I have something for you,” Lyney gave a signature grin, lifting his hat from his head. Almost immediately a few cards fluttered down onto the floor around him while he gave them a confused, almost embarrassed stare, “Well that's not right,” he joked. He was performing. Right in front of you, Lyney was putting on a little show to charm you. Reaching into his pockets and pulling out much too large objects, only to magically put them back while cursing comically.

“There we go!” He cheered while holding a single rose that he'd managed to yank from his sleeve. He reached it out to you, waiting for you to grab it. The bud was surprisingly real, usually this trick was performed with fake flowers, the real ones would die too quickly. When you went to take it, he flicked the flower, making that singular rose turn into a bouquet. So close to the magic, but your mind couldn't decipher how he'd done it, even you were dumbfounded, “One isn't enough for you.”

You held the bouquet in awe as Lyney walked away proudly. He stepped backwards the whole time, not taking his eye off of you for a second until practice was set to start again, but this practice was different. He was finding more and more ways to sneak glances at you and more ways to brush up against and touch you.

The day of the performance was one that was considered nice in Fontaine. There was rain, but it was a light drizzle, light tears from the hydro dragon. It was believed that a good performance on this day would cheer him up.

And a good performance Lyney was set to give. You were backstage in a costume so tight it practically corrected your already good posture, and with so many sparkles, you were convinced that if the lights hit you the wrong way it'd blind the audience. He was most impressed with what he'd chosen for you to wear, stealing glances at you as you went through the choreo once more.

The lights felt hot. That's all you focus on as the show began. The acclaim of the crowd blended in with the vibrant music and the only thing you could think about were how hot the lights were. But you still performed. Your simple moves first. Light spins and little jumps, placeholders as Lyney and Lynette mesmerized the audience.

You did your best to keep up, they seemed to be performing even stronger now that there was focus on them. Your heart was pounding as the time came closer and closer to your solo, the idea of messing up suddenly grazed your mind. But before your solo, there was Lyney.

He stepped up to you, not looking away for a second. His chest was rising and falling rather quickly, he was tiring himself out, but his actions were still fluid. You reached your hand out for him to take and he did, just as you'd practiced.

Only this time before the turn began, he lifted your hand to his lips, placing a kiss against it. The urge to snatch your hand away was crushing. Confusion and fear filled your head. This wasn't a part of the show. This was never practiced before. Had something changed without being announced to you?

“Everyone! Thank you for coming tonight,” Lyney called to the audience followed by a round of applause for him, “The next trick will be my last and I'm so sorry to leave such a gorgeous crowd, but I want everyone to give a round of applause to my ma chérie! Thank her for being here as well!”

Your eyes danced around in confusion, trying to find who he was talking about as the crowd erupted into a symphony of cheers, only to realize that he was looking at you. To pour more salt into the wound and reiterate that he was talking about you, he lifted the hand he was holding, an action you could only let him do as bewilderment set in.

With those vibrant eyes still on you, he faced you, still smirking. He grabbed you by the waist then pulled you towards him, leaning down to place a kiss upon your lips. You couldn't hear anything over the cheers and screams of the audience, couldn't even hear your own heartbeat. But you felt it. Felt that heavy pounding as Lyney stroked your cheek in a romantic gesture before marching off to complete the set.

The music. As your head swirled and your eyes lost focus, you tried to pay attention to the music. It was time for your solo. You danced. Danced like hell, danced the choreo you created as the music swelled. But it wasn't really you dancing, more muscle memory than thought. And then it was over. Lyney appeared on the other side of the room, confetti was fired, and there was a standing ovation from the crowd. Everything was perfect.

Everything except your fearful face. The tears your eyes. Your look of worry as you looked back at your fellow members, then taking their bows as the curtain fell. They seemed so normal about what happened.

“What the hell was that?” You managed to ask, but instead you were only met with confused looks.

“What ever could you mean, ma chérie?” Lyney had taken your hand, but you pulled it back quickly, the watchful eyes of the audience no longer swaying you.

“This!” You gasped. You felt crazy trying to motion to everything around you, everything that was wrong, “All of this! You kissed me out there!”

“What's the problem with that?” It was Lynette talking now, her usual calm demeanor not seeming to be perturbed by your hysteria, “A kiss was always in the script.”

You gulped down saliva, trying to stop your beating heart and shallow breathing. Everyone was so calm and collected. Yet here you were, confused and practically causing a scene.

“Are you alright, ma chérie,” Lyney asked, stroking your cheek again. There was a look of genuine worry on his face, but all you could think about was that name. That fucking name. Has he always called you that? “You seem rather upset? What bothers you?”

“None of this is making sense,” you muttered. But you weren't really talking to him, more trying to calm yourself. Being surrounded by people who insisted upon lying to you was making doubt swirl in your mind. Had you misunderstood something? Were you truly the one confused? In your heart of hearts, you knew the truth, yet here you were, still being told otherwise.

Around you everyone was doing as normal. The stage hands had already begun packing up, with you standing there dumbfounded. You're sure you would've stood there until the end of time, had Lyney not taken your hand and begun to pull you out of the opera house.

The air of fontaine still had that salty smell to it, but the light drizzle had stopped. Your performance had pleased the hydro dragon, you supposed, yet you now were the one with tears in your eyes.

“I was thinking, ma chérie, how about you join our troupe permanently,” Lyney’s voice sounded like he was underwater in your ears, yet you somehow understood him perfectly. His question was just giving you the illusion of choice as you knew the answer he was going to make you take. A magician’s job is to lie, after all.

[merbear25]

A place to sneak away to

You'd think being away together on a mission would make everything easier, but as you've come to understand, it has it's fair share of drawbacks. Seeing him in battle was casting a spell of lust over you; the swift motions and the ruthlessness of his attacks were making your heart flutter. As inconvenient as it was, you needed him now.

CW: NSFW, MDNI, gn!reader, public sex, established relationship

Sanji, Zoro, Law

Sanji: public restroom. Sanji was in the same boat as you in terms of his delusions of how wonderful it would be to spend each moment right beside you on a mission. Being there to protect you, your knight in shinning armor, having you swoon over him: all of which were shattered by the rude awakening of reality. He still loved being able to protect you yet had hoped there would've been more chances for cheeky kisses and passionate embraces.

The last fight caught the both of you off guard. You and him were on the same wave length, however, and managed to fend off the attackers. Taking a moment to get his bearings, he shifted his attention to you. He'd be lying if he wasn't taken by surprise at least a little bit by the desire looming behind your eyes.

When you rushed towards him, he instinctively held out his arms to catch you. Your kiss met him with such force that it nearly made him stumble backwards. Gripping his collar, you let him in on your intentions. Hearing how much you needed him just as much as he needed you made this man yank you into the closest building so quickly that you could barely comprehend what was happening.

He managed to immediately scout out the restrooms and practically dragged you to them. After promptly locking the door, the fire that'd been building between the two of you was finally being given the chance to burn hot and bright. The embers from it were heating your bodies, leaving your cheeks flushed.

Despite him being a rather gentle lover, he was pawing at you in despiration as he squeezed your hips and ass tightly. He tugged your pants down and you returned his eagerness. A few strokes from you was enough to edge him; he'd already been waiting far too long and would not stand to wait a moment longer. Easing you up on the sink, he shoves himself as deep as he can within you, being sure to catch the moans seeping out of you with a loving kiss.

Zoro: alleyway. He's determined to complete the mission, which means his mind hasn't been wandering like yours. The both of you had been fending off enemies left and right, but you were making rookie mistakes―leaving yourself open to attack being the most potentially fatal. Your imagination was starting to hinder your abilites in combat, drawing his attention to you in a much less favorable way than you'd wanted.

Expressing his annoyance with you, the shouting was underlined with a tone of concern. He was, of course, very protective of you, and what would that mean for him if you got injured and he couldn't save you? No, he wasn't having any of that. He demanded to know what'd gotten into you.

Knowing that you'd caused him distress for your safety, you felt slightly embarrassed by your lude thoughts. You leaned in closer and told him in a hushed voice what'd been causing your slip-ups. He snapped back and scoffed, thinking how you could possibly let something so trivial impede your survival in battle.

Taking a moment to process your confession, he then scanned the area and settled on an alleyway. He led you there, forcing you to quicken your pace so that you wouldn't be dragged by him.

It was still broad daylight and plenty of people were still out on the streets, though he figured if you were reckless enough to endanger yourself, you'd be reckless for just about anything.

He pinned you firmly against the brick wall and wasted no time in unleashing his already stiffened length. Without needing instruction, you followed his lead. However, you were met with a low grunt and a swift slap of your hand when you attempted to touch him. Forcing you to turn around, he dragged you both closer to the ground, hiding your indecency behind the dumpster. "If you want to act like a dirty whore, then I'll treat you like one," he hissed in your ear and ruthlessly forced his way into you.

Law: cave. These urges of yours could not have come at a more troublesome time. Not only did you feel forced to suppress them because you knew Law would outright reject the idea of doing anything sexual in the jungle, but your mission involved gathering information from the nearby navy base. Such misfortune was leaving you in a mental fog and in need of an outlet for release. You started making careless mistakes, which then earned you a spiteful glare from him.

Cornering you after narrowly escaping being captured by the marines, he pressed you for answers as to why you were acting like such a fool. Feeling more on edge from the confrontation, you suddenly blurted out the honest reason.

Despite his scowl burrowing into the depths of your soul, a faint hue appeared on his face. He clentched his fists and let out an exasperated sigh. As you watched him turn away from you, you worried if you'd been acting too out of turn for his liking. However, just as you were starting to berate yourself, you heard his stern command for you to follow him.

He was still avoiding direct eye contact and wearing a frown, even though the redness on his cheeks had deepened. Pointing at a nearby cave, he motioned for you to follow. You were trailing behind and upon reaching the entrance, he hastily pulled you inside.

Although he was getting more and more noticeably worked up, he made it known that this was only to shut you up, "If this is the only thing that will make you focus on our mission, so be it."

Your body was finally getting the touch it'd been craving, causing you to be too noisy given the circumstances. He clasped his hand over your mouth and bit down on your neck in an attempt to silence you, "Shut up," he warned. Then after promptly folding you into a mating press, he harshly bucked himself inside you.

[isatartdump]

You draw them all so cool!!! And awesome!! But is that top surgery scars on loop 👀 (sorry I’m also curious were you thinking about anything specific when you drew them in casual clothes cause they all fit the characters So Well) sorry for bothering you I love your art

YES! I think Siffrin, Loop and Isa have top scars (CAN!! Do a stretch and say Odile has them too but I am not ready to think about it, I think she'll get more butch lesbian than she already is)… Lemme talk about them and hope I don't accidentally spoil the game HA

Loop's are more like how people usually draw top surgery scars? Mostly because I draw them by joining stars up, so it KINDA looks like stars blowing up!

I believe Isa left some really small scars just for the simbolism of finally being his authentic self or something… Since in vaugarde they transition (or honestly just find new ways to become themselves both physically and mentally) by using craft so I kinda headcanon it to be like… Treating your own body like it's made out of clay, people can just opt to have no scars whatsoever. Way easier than it is IRL, haha. I wish… Also I believe he'd put some tattoos on there to be stylish and handsome and pretty but I also don't know what kind of tattoo Isa would choose to get. If I do a modern AU I might think about it…

And Siffrin I'm. I'm working on it… I don't draw them shirtless often enough to think about it… But I see them as little lines that end on a small explosion at the end. Simple but gets a point across- More so a thing to remind him of how far they've gone rather than a thing that will be seen by other people but to fair isn't this what top scars are for us sometimes? Little reminders that things get better and how far we've come?

Now that the top scar ramble is over!!!!! Onto the thinking abotu something while drawing them casual... I was mostly thinking about clothes that would fit them in a sense of like. Fitting their body shape and just generally looked like they belong in their wardrobe. It's mostly about comfort and feeling like "Yeah they went to the store and bought that pair of pants". At least in my brain.

Making them look confident and comfortable in clothes that either fit their personality or what they usually wear kinda gets the overall feeling of "Yes of course Odile would wear that" methinks :) I'd say Loop is kinda the hardest one to dress in a way that... They would dress? Since they're. Nakey nakey the entire game but then you just work with what you think this sassy motherfucker (/aff) would wear. They have an absurd amount of personality that I think would be hard to not go into how they wear clothes

Loop my beloved. Was gonna gatekeep this last one but you guys can have it :) Also you don't bother! Thank you so much for liking my little thingies <3

[the-universal-sun]

On what age range does Stan regress? And also what type of agree gear does be use? Just politely asking as a fren :3

Yes! Thank you friend for the ask! There’s going to be more coming this way because I’ll have entirely too much time on my hands in the next few days! So please enjoy this too!

Can you guys tell what book I apparently really like?

I don’t think there’s a solid age he regresses down to, like consistently, I think it’s around the 2-5 mark, unless something happens or he’s feeling extremely distressed, then he regresses down younger. Which, in that case, means he HAS to have someone take care of him. Which is probably going to be Ford, he’s the only one he can really trust to care for him in the way he needs when he feels that young.

As for gear, it depends.

If Fiddleford is his caregiver (and even though this would be in the early 80s we are going to be anachronistic. This is fiction we can take liberties) then he’s getting at least one pacifier. Fidds probably made it for Stan so he doesn’t mess up his teeth even more, and he probably made it to have a cute little nickname spelled out. I like to think Fidds uses food/southern nicknames for Stanley when regressed, so think something like “Pumpkin” or “Junebug”. He does have his “Poindexter” plush that he’s had since he was 19, but Fidds does win him a really big Duck plush when the fair comes to Gravity Falls. He has some sippy cups because he has a tendency to tilt the cup all the way up and pour his drink all down his face and clothes. He really only has some footie pajamas for when it gets to be winter up there. It’s not easy to come by someone who will custom make clothes in gravity falls, especially nothing like the kind of clothes Stan wants. So he mostly settles for some softer clothing with fun designs and patterns. Nothing vibrant that’ll hurt his eyes. Sweats and grandma sweaters mostly. Fidds makes sure he has a lot of paper and coloring books with as many crayons and markers as he wants. He loves to color and draw. He also has some blocks, a lite brite for when the lights needs to be off so his eyes can rest, play doh, and fighting robots to name a few. He has a few story books that Fidds will read to him. Fidds wants to spoil him, but he knows that he can’t buy Stan everything he wants to, so he does what he can (for now…)

If Ford is his caregiver (we’re doing Grunkle Ford for now) then he is going to do his best to spoil Stan with all he wants as much as possible. From buying stuff online (the internet is marvelous!) to making/inventing it. Ford’s got Stan enough pacifiers stashed around the ship and later shack to have a different one every day. He’s getting Stan sippy cups of all kinds of patterns and designs. it’s easier than cups for him if he’s got dentures since he likes to take those out. He’s got one bottle for the times he’s feeling extra small. He’s got some nice and warm footie pajamas for when they’re in the Arctic, and some lighter ones for more general use-sometimes his brother just needs a lazy day where he can wear what’s basically pajamas. Those kinds of footies are going to be the kind that are animal themed with the ears and tails-Ford thinks they’re so cute. He’s also got some nautical themes pajama sets for the summers spent in Gravity Falls. That’s not even accounting for all the soft handmade sweaters Stan’s got from Mabel that he wears-his favorite having dinos on it-and the soft pants and shorts he feels more comfortable wearing now that his secrets out in the open. I’ve already mentioned Poindexter, that’s a staple for any kind of regressed Stanley, and I mentioned in a few posts Shanklin 2, the stuffed Opposum Ford gets Stan after finding out he’s barely got any Little stuff. He will give Stan all the toys he had back in Jersey and all the toys he’s ever wanted. Legos, blocks, slinkies, playdoh, etch n sketches, fighting robots, hard to break tea sets, coloring books, fancy crayons (This is art, it deserves the best!), anything Stan looks twice at really. He goes a bit overboard, but he’s just trying to make up for all the years he’s missed out on. Also Goodnight Moon, can’t forget that book. That’s Stan’s favorite out of the multitude of books Ford reads to him.

Now if it’s just Stan regressing by himself? He only allows himself the bare minimum. He has Poindexter, an old onesie he allowed himself to buy a few years beforehand, and old and worn pacifier, some crayons, coloring books, blank paper, Ford’s old coat that he likes to wrap around himself when he misses him, a sippy cup, and Goodnight Moon. He feels guilty letting himself indulge. He feels ashamed to be acting like that, a child, to be needing his paci and sippy cup, even in the privacy of his own home, even though he can’t help it. So without anyone there to tell him it’s okay, he doesn’t allow himself to indulge or to spoil himself like he is when he’s being taken care of.

[magicalbats]

Oh, Captain (Luffy x reader)

Rating: R-18+

Word Count: 5222

Warnings: Afab!reader, gendered language, noncon, physical coercion, outdoor sex, inappropriate use of 5th Gear

A/N: My second ever commission and the lovely donor was kind enough to give me permission to post it for everyone else to read. Thank you for a great experience, @avidbroswer!! 🩷🩷🩷

⭐

Let’s help Luffy, they’d said.  

We’re a crew, they’d said. Family. 

You don’t feel very much like family when you’re running for your life from the very captain you’d sworn loyalty to. Or at least, you’re pretty sure that the strange figure with white nimbus cloud hair is your captain. You’d watched it happen from a (questionably) safe distance, when he suddenly transformed in a surge of sparking static electricity that made your skin crawl like it was trying to escape from your bones but it’s still hard to believe that it was really him. Even having seen the reality of it with your own two eyes doesn’t make it any easier to accept. 

Luffy was supposed to be a dark haired, dark eyed youth in the prime of his life. Not this uncanny version of him that giddily laughs with boisterous amusement while he ping pongs about so violently within the craggy mess of scorched earth in the wake of his battle with Kaido that you can feel the massive chunks of rock slamming into the ground as much as you can hear it. One after another, from the left and then the right, they just keep falling in an almost continuous rain of rubble and ruin. The resulting shockwaves very nearly take you off your feet more than once but you force yourself to keep running even when your sore legs scream in protest, aching from the exertion. It was the only choice you really had at this point. 

And it’s not lost on you that this is technically your own fault for getting so close to the fight but you’d wanted to help. All that talk of family and crew, and unwavering allegiance to the Straw Hats had clearly infected your brain because you’d rushed straight into the danger zone despite knowing good and well that you were the only one close enough to make it in time. Now you were the one who needed help and it wasn’t going to arrive soon enough to do you any good. 

What an idyllic fool you’d been. 

“Ah!” You suddenly get tripped up in all the rocky debris laying across the ground and fall to your knees with a seething hiss. Your palms come back scraped where they’d shot out to catch you but you’ve managed to avoid taking the brunt of it to the face. Thank the stars for life’s smallest miracles. 

Panting heavily, you just sit there amongst the broken wreckage and detritus for a harrowingly long beat, trying to catch your breath. You can still hear the chaotic destruction of Luffy — or the man who had once been Luffy — bouncing around like a rubber ball behind you, completely unimpeded by the laws of gravity or common sense. It sounded like he was having a blast. 

Maybe that was good. Maybe he hadn’t even noticed you yet, so lost within the mess of demolished land and too tiny a speck to even draw his attention. You had a chance to escape then, if that was the case. 

Any such hopes quickly fizzle out when his uproarious hooting and hollering abruptly rushes towards you, getting louder and louder until your eardrums start to vibrate. You suck in a sharp, nauseated gasp and slap your hands over your ears as you twist around to look behind you. Just in time to watch Luffy sail overhead like a shooting white comet. The kickback from his high velocity speed hits you seconds later, tearing a shriek from your mouth when the wind hits you full force and as solid as any wall. 

Too busy ducking down with your head between your knees to protect yourself from the sting of flying rocks, you don’t get to see how he manages to pivot his momentum mid air and land a couple hundred yards away. You hear it though. You feel the shock of impact too, when it races through the ground to make the rubble underneath you tremble. It goes quiet then, and unnaturally still. Suddenly all you can hear are your own labored gasps. 

You hesitate to do it but, realizing you have no other option, you slowly lift your face to peer out over all the fallen debris. Standing at a distance, Luffy just looks at you with a fiercely manic edge in his now golden-yellow eyes that makes your veins ice up. You’re more certain than ever that this cannot be your captain. He should have been giving you the usual bright faced, happy go lucky grin he always did when he inexplicably came out on top against all the odds that were stacked against him. Not this — viscous leer of victory. 

But if this wasn’t Luffy then who in the seven seas was it? 

“Have you come to celebrate with me?” 

His voice isn’t quite the same either. More raspy, like the weight of immense power flowing through him was putting strain even on his vocal cords. You don’t think you like that any more than you like the way he’s eyeing you up as if you were a stuffed pig on a roasting spit. Even for his bottomless pit of an appetite, you’d never seen him look at another person quite like that. 

Cautiously slow, you straighten up out of your defensive huddle. Work to get your feet under you without taking your attention off him for even a moment and then stand so you can prepare to … what, run again? A lot of good that had clearly done you. 

“I don’t think it’s time to celebrate just yet.” You tell him softly. “We need to find the other Straw Hats. Make sure they’re all okay. You still remember them … don’t you, Luffy?” 

Your emotional plea only succeeds in giving him a momentary pause. “But I have so much energy left. I just want to dance and shout, and jump into the air! You’ll join me, won’t you?” 

He takes a step towards you, a rather aggressive one at that, and you quickly back up. Something told you if you didn’t agree to go along with this he was going to try and force you into joining in on whatever constituted his idea of merrymaking. Unfortunately you weren’t sure if you’d survive that, given the state of all the crumbled boulders littering the ground on this now desolate stretch of land. 

“No, Luffy. Not right now. We have to - -“ 

With an abrupt jerk, he lurches forward as if to launch himself at you. His rubbery legs momentarily struggle for traction on the ground, as if they couldn’t quite decide what consistency they wanted to be, but you don’t plan on sticking around long enough to find out. Feeling like you’ve forgotten how to breathe, you spin around and make a mad dash for it, barreling straight into a dead sprint. 

It’s a resounding effort in futility. 

You don’t even make it three whole steps before he slams into your back hard enough to take you right off your feet. 

There’s a split second moment of shock at how fast he’d managed to close the distance, and then the ground is rushing up at your face again. 

That dizzying blur of vertigo inducing free fall coupled with the way your vision tilts on its axis very nearly has you spewing your guts right then and there. But if Luffy picks up on the dire, sickened tinge coloring your wounded grunt he certainly doesn’t act it. He just flings his arms around your middle, alarming in their fleshy elasticity and yet still familiar to you, then hauls you up against his front before you can slam into the rocks. 

Everything happens much too fast for you to keep up with any of it. Your brain is reeling, still trying to recover from the impact of his body colliding with yours and the subsequent head rush that followed. So stunned you can’t even find the wherewithal to protest his treatment of you let alone try to fight your way free. Unable to do anything else, you simply allow your limbs to bonelessly flail when he takes a handful of eager steps forward with you in his arms. 

In the next moment Luffy spins you out away from him, snagging your wrist to stop your momentum and make you jerk to another abrupt standstill. The yank on your shoulder causes it to pop, splintering pain racing up your arm as you cry out. He doesn’t care though. He either doesn’t care or he doesn’t notice, because he just pulls you right back into him again, hard enough to make you collapse with a teeth rattling jolt against his chest. 

“Come on!” He laughs, loud and frenzied, his hold on you much too tight where it’s shackled around your wrist. “Dance with me! Aren’t you having fun?” 

Teeth gnashing to fight back the nausea, you bring your uncaptured hand up and brace it against his shuddering frame. You’re more than just a little surprised to find his heartbeat hammering out a sharp, almost violent staccato against his ribcage, so powerful you can feel it thrumming through his skin. It reminds you of an endless procession of war drums. Too many to count and impossibly loud, their ferocity equally intimidating and awe inspiring. 

What in the world had happened to him? 

You don’t have the privilege of lingering on that question for very long. Couldn’t afford to, as you try to get your tired legs situated under you again so you can stand on your own. “You’re hurting me, Luffy. We don’t have time for this right now. Just let me go. Please.” 

But he doesn’t even seem to register what you’re saying as a plea at all. 

A snickering, raspy laugh rattles up out of him, and you vehemently push at his narrow chest with your uncaptured hand. Shove him as hard as you can. He still doesn't budge though, simply reaching up to snag that wrist too so he can forcefully spin you around in his arms. You feel sick with the rush of motion coupled with the fatigue and throbbing pain in your body but there’s nothing you can do to stop it. He’s too strong, too wild, too lost in whatever manic high he’s slipped into after his fight with Kaido. 

Tightening his grip to lock you against his front, Luffy moulds himself to the line of your back with such an unnatural, rubbery motion that you find yourself fighting not to wretch even as his mouth finds your neck. He nuzzles at you for a brief moment, just brushing his lips over your jackhammering pulse before angling his nose towards the spot just behind your ear. The breath he draws is slow and savory, and he seems to hold it in his lungs for an unnecessarily long time. 

When he at last sighs out, displacing some of the loose flyaways in your hair, an unmistakable rumble low in his chest accompanies it. “Mmm, you smell good. Like victory.” 

What the hell was that supposed to mean? “Luffy, just listen to me … don’t do this. I - I don’t really understand what's happened to you but we can figure it out together. We’ll fix it. I promise. But you need to let me go or - -“

“Let you go? But we’re having so much fun. I want to have even more fun with you but you’re not a fighter, not like he was. And you don’t want to dance with me either.”

He sounds dangerously close to pouting when he says that last bit and you give a halfhearted twist in his hold, testing for any slack. It’s no good though. For as little effort as he seemed to be putting into it, his arms were like iron shackles where they’re criss crossed over your body. Dammit. 

“Why?” You seethe in frustration and fast mounting panic. “Why won’t you just go back to normal, Luffy? This isn’t like you!” 

His frame shakes behind you with the giggles that rise within him, making his whole body vibrate like a mercilessly shaken soda bottle. It quickly grows, rapidly multiplying and expanding until he at last throws his head back with a cackling peel of laughter aimed up at the sky. It’s much too close to your ear and deafeningly loud, reigniting your desperation to get away from him, but your wild thrashing just causes him to laugh even harder. Like he found it hilarious that you were scared and trapped against him. 

“I can’t!” He howls, belly laughing so ferociously it makes you jerk in his hold. “I can’t go back until I’ve used up all of this energy! It feels like I’m going crazy but it feels good too! Amazing even! I’ve never experienced anything like it before! I want to keep going but you can’t fight and you won’t dance with me … but there’s something else we can do together, isn’t there?” 

“What are you ta - -“

He releases you so suddenly you don’t even realize you’re crumpling to the ground until your butt has already hit the rocks, surprising a yelp out of you. Fresh pain immediately races up from your backside in a blinding starburst and you outright hiss as you gingerly start to angle yourself onto your hip in hopes of taking some of the pressure off of where it hurts the most. You don’t quite make it that far though. 

Luffy’s hands are suddenly on your shoulders, shoving you forward to sprawl out rather inelegantly on your front. He follows you down, pinning you to the destroyed ground with his body weight, and you immediately start to panic in earnest. Your captain didn’t look like much more than a lanky beanpole at first glance but he was so densely packed with muscle that he felt like a sack of bricks on top of you. It makes it hard to breathe and the quickened, gasping lungfuls of air you suck in don’t exactly help. Your chest constricts painfully tight as you struggle against him, forgetting all logic and reason in your blind desperation to get away from him. 

He doesn’t even seem to notice though, still just as unbudging sprawled out over top of you as he’d been when the two of you were standing. No amount of kicking your legs or bucking up underneath him even gives him pause, and his greedy hands fumble down to your waist where they squeeze tight enough to rip a hurt shriek from your throat. This doesn’t cut through the manic haze spurring him on either. He doesn’t even waver. 

“What are you — stop that! Have you lost your mind!” 

“I’m sorry.” He snickers, not sounding very sorry at all as he shoves his face into the crook of your neck again. Another deep, savory inhale. Another rumbling exhale right against your pulse. The faintest growl that trails afterward is new though and you go painfully still under him, hardly even daring the blink despite all the grimy dust kicked up in your desperate fight for freedom. 

You’d never, ever heard such a sound come out of him before. It scares you perhaps most of all, and you’d seen many a frightening and unsettling thing since stepping foot into Onigashima. Somehow this just really took the cake though. 

“I’m sorry,” He says it again. Contradicting this, his callous worn fingers dip into the hem of your pants and start to tug at them, jostling you with each insistent pull. “I’m sorry, heheee. I just can’t help myself. If I can’t have you I don’t know what I’ll do. You’ll help me calm down, won’t you?” 

Your mind struggles to process that. He was asking you to help him? Not with words or medicine, or even the endless supply of food he would have otherwise asked for had he been in his right mind. He wanted your body. 

So that’s what it was then. What it all boiled down to. 

If he couldn’t fight you and you refused to dance with him then that left only one other option. He was going to fuck it out of his system. Anything to get rid of all the excess energy running through his body, making him vibrate like a lit fuse on top of you. It made a certain amount of sense, you supposed, but that didn’t mean you had to like it. 

Curling your hands into tight fists against the rocks, numb to the abrasive sting, you draw a rattling breath to center yourself. It doesn’t do much in the way of good. “Please don’t do this.” 

It’s like he doesn’t even hear you, a grunt of victory puffing out of him when he finally manages to get your pants tugged down over the curve of your ass. 

“Please.” You gasp, the sound wet and faltering. 

Completely ignoring you now, Luffy reaches further down to fumble with something lower while his opposite hand possessively curls around your hip to keep you in place. You hiccup rather sadly at the distant sound of rustling clothes, almost completely lost under the violent pounding of blood in your ears, but there’s no missing the fleshy nudge against the back of your thigh that soon follows. It leaves a sticky smear where it touches you, inspiring an eruption of horrified goosebumps in its wake. 

You don’t have to look to know what’s touching you. The innate knowledge of what’s happening and who is responsible for this paralyzing fear that grips your aching heart in a chokehold is horrible and suffocating all at once. Stinging tears spring up and well in the backs of your eyes but you clench your teeth to try and stifle the terrified wail threatening to claw its way up your throat, knowing it would only sound hysterical. 

On one hand you almost couldn’t believe this was really happening, even though the reality of the situation was staring you right in the face. It just seemed almost too implausibly awful to be real. 

But on the other, Luffy wasn’t exactly known for his self control or restraint. You knew this. Had even found it charming at one point or another, so you brace yourself for the worst. It just might be the only thing that ends up saving you. 

“Captain - -“

“I’m sorry.” 

He’s suddenly between your legs, pressing up into you from behind. You go ramrod stiff against him, your whole body clenching in genuine distress, but it does very little to stop him. Like he’s done it a million times before, or perhaps thanks to the instinctive muscle memory bestowed upon every man with a working cock, he pushes right in on your entrance until cunt slips start to part under the pressure. A thin, tremulous groan escapes him at the first kiss of your hot guts against the tip and then he just keeps pushing. Even when your muscles tense up and try to keep him out. Even when he meets a great deal of resistance as your body tries its best to reject him. If anything he almost seems to take it as a challenge the same way he would another combatant or a roadblock standing between him and his goals. 

In this case his goal is clearly to sink himself in you right down to the hilt, and he just puts more effort into his cause the more you try to fight it. Leans his weight into you until it feels like your poor cunt is taking the full brunt of his mass. The resulting stretch of your inner sleeve is painful and drawn out, taking much longer than it otherwise would have had you been even slightly prepped for this. 

Your mouth hinges open but nothing comes out for a prolonged moment as the tears break loose to streak down your face. It feels like he’s tearing you in half! Either he was much bigger than you’d assumed he’d be or by virtue of how tightly your interior walls were squeezing him — or even some terrible combination of the two —  it was like you were being split down the middle. You couldn’t even breathe through the choking discomfort of it and a threadbare, sobbing little mewl dislodges from your throat when he at last manages to shove himself past that first barrier. 

Full penetration is much easier for him to achieve after that but it’s no less painful, and you cry out when he snaps his hips forward once, twice, and finally lodges his length the rest of the way in on the third. A pleased huff slips out of him as he settles on top of you, a fresh wave of giggles quickly following suit. It was like he’d gone mad. So wrapped up in the raving power that had turned his hair white that he can only laugh about it even while he’s buried balls deep in your body. 

That short lived pause is all the respite you get though and Luffy is soon moving, rutting into you with quick, sharp little jabs up into your guts. You shriek at the top of your lungs, clawing at the ground while you kick out behind you, but he ignores this the same as everything else. Lying prone and trapped under him, all you can do is take it. 

“Waah — why are you doing this, Luffy? It hurts! If … if the others find out about this - -“ 

“I know, hahaaa. I know. I’m sorry, but I can’t stop. You feel … this feels amazing! Almost as good as fighting Kaido did!” 

You seethe at that, trying your damndest not to get caught up on it right now but that proves to be more than a little difficult. He really didn’t see any difference between fucking and fighting? Somehow that seemed so typically him, and you think you would have probably joined him in laughing about it under better circumstances. 

But better circumstances wouldn’t have found you being roughly jostled back and forth on the ground by his eager, jack rabbit thrusts. The motion of his hips lacks any and all refinement with no technique to speak of, and yet that doesn’t stop you from seeing stars every time his cock blindly rams into your upper wall. It punches the air from your lungs and materializes out of your mouth in the form of heaving, strained bleats of distress that quickly climb to a higher and higher pitch with each second that goes by. Not for the first time today, you feel like you really might throw up. 

“Ooh, that’s …” He suddenly gasps, lets out a half strangled groan, and drives himself into you even harder. Faster. The force of his pelvis slapping against your upturned ass rapidly grows to a steady, almost constant blur of stinging swats — plap, plap, plap, plap — and you shriek at the rapidly swelling pressure on your gut. “Ooh, that’s good. That’s good! It feels so good! I - I can’t - -“ 

Without warning, your pussy abruptly floods with wet, sticky warmth. He hadn’t even given you a chance to beg for him to pull out. 

Your eyes widen to the approximate size of dinner plates but he just keeps pistoning his hips even as the rest of his shuddering frame gives a series of little jerks to thoroughly empty his balls into you. He shows no signs of slowing down or tiring any time soon though, his limitless energy evidently far outpacing his obvious lack of experience. 

It’s a hard thing to wrap your reeling head around just how quickly everything has happened and yet there’s no mistaking it for what it is. The sensation is completely foreign to you but you innately understood it for what it represented, what it could potentially mean for your future. You’re not half as relieved to have it done and over with as you are terrified of what it meant. 

Even more confounding, however, is that it doesn’t so much as make Luffy slow down let alone stop now that he’s painted your inner sleeve a thick, creamy white. Not the orgasm itself which, considering how much he fills you up, should have thoroughly drained him for the time being, nor the possible repercussions of allowing himself to shoot off inside of you like that. He just keeps going without a care in the world, like it wasn’t his problem and he still had more than enough stamina to keep up the harried pace he’d settled into for the foreseeable future. The only sign of it burning up any of his energy at all is the slightly labored quality his breathing takes on, but that’s it. 

Realizing that this ordeal is still far from over, you give your body a twist and try to angle your cunt away from the constant attack of his cock. “H - hold on a minute, what … aagghhh, what are you doing, Luffy? You - - you can’t just cum inside like that, you idiot!” 

“Can’t stop! Heheehe, I can’t, I can’t, not when you keep squeezing me like that!” 

All but wheezing at the intense pleasure of thrusting into the sticky mess he’s made of you, Luffy presses himself flush against your sweaty back and circles his arms around your middle. You brace to shove him off, or at least try to, but you don’t quite make it that far. 

Catching you completely off guard, he yanks you up against him and practically throws himself back onto the ground. The sudden lurch lodges your stomach in your throat, and you let out a frazzled scream as you land on top of him. That he cushions the impact with his rubbery body only comes as a slight relief when you were struggling just to get your bearings straight, disoriented and stunned in the aftermath of his impulsive decision when you unexpectedly find yourself blinking up at the sky. 

You start to pull yourself upright, wincing, only to quickly realize he’s still got one arm looped around your waist to keep you held in place on top of him. The other is — you gasp when you glance down to see him already fisting his cock in hand, guiding it back to your entrance where it had slipped out in that rush of movement. It’s still achingly stiff and unrelenting, like he hadn’t already spilled his seed in you only moments ago, and your heart painfully wrenches with the fresh wave of dread that comes over you. 

“W - wait, please don’t - -“

The head of him finds your cunt, pressing back up into you again, and you outright sob when he mercilessly snaps his hips to impale you on that stiff length once more. You sway unsteadily at the fresh stretch, trying to decide if it’s better or worse in this position, but gravity soon proves itself your enemy when the weight of you on top of him firmly sinks his cock even further into you than before. It feels like he’s tickling at your ribcage like this, but all you can do is give a wounded little mewl and try to steady yourself. Undaunted, he reaches up to tug your pants the rest of the way off. 

“Luffy,” Sniffling sadly, you fight him as much as you can in your physically exhausted state but it’s no use. Your bottoms come off to leave you bare and exposed from the waist down, sitting upon his cock like a whore on her rightful throne. 

The tears quickly start up again, streaking hot tracks down your flushed, sweaty face while he gets himself situated underneath you. His hips lift, nudging you just a pinch higher so he can brace his feet underneath him while his hands come around to anchor around your love handles. Then, he’s moving again. 

Completely unconcerned by your crying, Luffy flexes his legs to thrust up into you and the same fleshy slap as before quickly rises loud in the air again. Plap, plap, plap, plap. The wet squelch of your seeded cunt sucking him in deep on every upward plunge joins in, adding to the obscene cacophony of noises even as you toss your head back to sob at the sky. You can hear him grunting underneath you, clearly enjoying himself quite a bit, but you couldn’t say the same. Your body was already a sore, achy mess of bruises and scrapes, and this certainly wasn’t helping. You were just getting more and more tired by the minute. 

“Nnghhnnn, please, captain. Please don’t cum inside again, I … I’m begging you!” 

The only response he gives is a low, rumbling groan that seems to bleed into you and reverberate endlessly inside your belly, making you squeeze your thighs together as if to block him out. But of course it doesn’t work. Given the way he stutters over a raspy hiss of your name he actually seems to like the way it makes your walls tighten around him, unintentionally though it may have been. There was really nothing you could have done to dissuade or stop him once he’d set his mind to something, and it seemed he very adamantly had his sights set on using your cunt until his energy reserves finally wore out. 

Distantly, you wonder how long that will actually take. 

“You’re mine, you’re mine, you’re mine,” He chants underneath you, again and again, even when his hands tighten around your hips to guide you into bouncing right along with him. Having no other choice, you snifflingly spread your legs wide and brace your feet on the ground, moving with him despite the throbbing ache in your muscles. “Mine, mine, mine. My prize. My treasure. My woman!” 

He viciously slams his pelvis up at the end, further punctuating his claim on you, and the sharp stab of his cock rips a wild shriek from your mouth. “N - no, captain, please! I can’t — I don’t want it! Not like this! You’re not … aaghnn, you’re not Luffy! You’re not!” 

The only response he gives is a deranged little laugh that makes his cock jump where it’s wedged inside you. That push on your upper wall makes the tension running through you double and then triple, your heaving gasps coming a little quicker now even as his hands travel up your body. You can’t stop him like this when your own were propped behind you along his flexing stomach to help you maintain your balance in this precarious position. It’s not hard to figure out what his intentions are though, and you screw your eyes shut so you don’t have to watch him grab hold of your top. 

A deafening riiiip tears through the air when he shreds it, the poor cotton helpless before his far greater strength. He leaves it hanging from your shoulders in tattered pieces as your tits bounce free, the stiffened tips already aching and strained long before he greedily palms at them like a starved man clutching at a lifeline. The blinding friction of his calloused palms and fingers on your teats makes your cunt spasm around him and you wail, screaming for someone, anyone to save you from your captain. 

Unfortunately for you, help was still a long ways off and Luffy wasn’t even close to running out of steam.

⭐

Crossposted: here

[pregobirthlvr]

Push! Push! PUSH! That’s all my body is saying to me. I’ve been in labor for over a day. The baby decided to take its sweet time coming out. And since I demanded an all natural home birth I had no choice but to ride out the hours of painful contractions.

I started in bed, laboring for hours. When that wasn’t working we moved me to walking circles in the backyard. It didn't last long before my screaming was getting too loud and was drawing the attention of neighbors. I waddled inside and into the birth pool set up in the living room. But with how much I was moving around, water ended up splashing everywhere proving this was not the right move. You suggested the bed again. That way I can at least try to get some rest too. I nodded, too out of it from the 16 hours of labor I’ve already gone through.

We don’t even attempt to put clothes back on me before we waddled me back to our bed. I have to stop on the way there to cry through a contraction. You let me lean on you and grip your shoulders as the pain reaches its climax.

Thankfully we made it to the bedroom before the next contraction. The mattress wasn’t as soft as it usually would be. A thick plastic cover was wrapped around it to protect it from any fluids that may come out of me. I lay down on the thin sheet covering the plastic.

You prop me up against the pillows right as the next contraction hits. I grab my belly and moan loudly. I collapse against the pillows as the contraction ends. I whine and pant as the pain subsides to a dull ache.

“No more…” I cry out. When the next contraction starts up.

“It’ll be done soon,” You reassure me.

That turns out to be only slightly untrue. I lay in bed for another 5 hours. I try to sleep between contractions which I learn is easier said than done. Just as I would be about to slip into sleep a sharp pin would jolt me awake. I decided to wake you up too.

“Help me up,” I weakly ask after I accept the fact I wasn’t going to get any sleep like this. “Let’s try walking again to get things moving along.”

You nod still half asleep yourself. You help shimmy my legs to the edge of the bed. You squat in front of me and gesture for me to place both of my hands on your shoulders. Right as my hands find purchase I’m squeezing your shoulders. A harsh contraction ripping through me. You help support me up and let me rest my head on your chest as I breathe through my contraction.

I whimper to you to signal the contraction ended and it was time to move.

“Ready?” You ask.

I nod yes. I start to stand as you help pull me up. You grunt as you lift my heavy frame off of the bed and onto my feet. I use you to balance myself before I’m able to adjust my footing to at least hold up my contracting body.

I could feel the baby’s head was now resting lower thanks to the help of gravity. I groan and start to waddle around the bedroom. The head resting on my cervix made my waddle significantly more exaggerated. I move my hands to one holding up my belly and one supporting my back. You follow me around to make sure I wasn’t going to fall over if a contraction suddenly hit.

I lead us to the living room. We started to do laps around the large birthing pool. Each step made my hips ache more and my legs shake. Suddenly, there was a gush of fluid between my thighs. I look up at you with a mix of relief and fear.

“My water just broke,” I squeak out before an intense contraction rips its way through me.

I lean on you for support as a moan and sway my hips through it. As the contraction fades I try to continue my walking. The weight on my cervix is much worse now that there isn't something to cushion the baby's head.

“Do you want to get in the pool?” You ask. “I can warm it up.”

I shake my head and moan out, “There’s no time.”

You go to ask me what I mean. But you get cut off when I’m crying out again and baring down. The head is moving down fast. I can feel it slip inch by inch into my birth canal. When the contraction finally ends, I fall to my knees. You help guide me so I don’t land very hard and hurt myself. You sneak around behind me to help hold me up and rub my back. I lean on you and try to remind myself to breathe.

After a bit I start to moan and push again. I lean back on my knees and into you. My belly constricts and contorts as I push hard with my contraction. This happens a few more times before I can feel the head start to stretch my opening up.

“It burns!” I cry out as I push again. The head is big. We knew that I would be. I was almost over due and we both came from big families. I cry out again as the head starts to appear. The skin around my opening strained to stretch around the head, forming the famous tear drop shape. The head slipped back in when my contraction ended and I stopped pushing.

“Please. Come out,” I beg between gulps of air.

You try to comfort me but your words fade away when I start to groan once again. I push again hard. The head starts to slowly slide forward. I scream and bare down harder. By the time the contraction ends the head is half way out of me. I pant and squirm through the painful minute between contractions.

Finally, a contraction starts up again. I take a deep breath and push. With a bit of grunting and moaning the head finally pops free. I collapsed back onto you. I take a moment to let the baby’s shoulders twist. Then I find myself pushing once again. With one last push the baby slid out of me. I reach between my legs and pull it up to my chest. I look up at you exhausted but smiling. “It’s finally here.”

[radio-fmm]

The bird’s call

Zoro x bird!reader

Warnings: fem reader, yes reader turns into a bird, pure fluff idiots in love and confessions

Word count: 2.2k

Summary: In which it finally dawns on Zoro that he loves you, whatever he shall do?

Notes: yes this is the same reader from my other writings that can turn into a bird can be read as a stand alone but recommend this one!

᠃ 𖡼᠂ 𖥧⚘ 𓅪 ⚘𖥧᠂ 𖡼᠃

“You’re sloppy” The swordsman blurted as he adjusted your position harshly, you rolled your eyes at the comment

“I am an archer I had never touched a sword in my life”

You were a mighty warrior, although a lot of people failed to see it, you were glad the ones that count did, between them happened to be Luffy who offered you a place in his crew, and surprisingly Zoro, having this unspoken respect and admiration

“If you can hit a far away target, you can draw a sword”

You both shared an amazing bond when it came to battle. When he was strong, aggressive and always acting on instinct, you were precise, agile and light on your feet. Together you were unstoppable, you were the hand that wilded Zoro’s sharp sword, as he would hit recklessly, you’ll guide it and made sure to hit targets that may approach at the long run. The chemistry you both exuded was something never seen before, it made battle feel like a vigorous dance, a fun sport.

Training together on the other hand… was tough, at least for you. The swordsman had practically begged for you to start sword training, you were hesitant as how good of a teacher he would be, and oh god he worked you to the bone, always stumbling back to your room muscles aching and ego deflated. Your styles as good as they worked together, they were completely opposites.

“First position” the green haired man ordered which made you move back immediately, losing your balance as you adjusted to the awkward stance

“Wrong again” He said as he kicked your leg slightly which made it shake “You’re a warrior, look the part”

You let out a loud sarcastic scoff “It would be easier if you stopped being so mean”

“I’d be nicer if you listened”

You had spend half your life burning yourself out to be seen, to make people notice you were capable, always working twice as hard as everyone else in your stupid island so they would even let you grasp a weapon.

To be a warrior and to be a woman, didn’t go hand in hand

That’s why you didn’t hesitate to join Luffys crew, you knew he valued your place but most importantly it didn’t matter who you were or how you looked. It was the perfect path for you to leave your island behind and finally allow yourself for grow at your own pace. Having Zoro hovering over you and correcting every move and breath wasn’t appealing, it reminded you to all those times you spend swallowing the disrespect from others, of course you knew your crew-mate was doing this in good heart, it almost felt like a favor, but it troubled you non the less

“This is stupid” you whispered between pants as you catch your breath

You knew if you kept going at this, it would eventually end on you harvesting a hatred for Zoro, which funnily enough it had happened before and it wasn’t quite nice, but maybe it was better than being blinded by the love you had for him and only him

“It is only if you allow it to be” he weirdly tries inviting you to continue as he fixes your stance, one hand steady yet soft on your arms other in your hip, you can feel the scars on them but it doesn’t bother you, it feels weirdly familiar. You glance at him as your heart jumps around threatening to escape at any given moment

What Zoro would never admit, not even to himself, is that this was the reason he wanted to train you. He did not care even a little that you didn’t knew anything about swords, or that your stances were always wrong.

This were the only moments he’d allow himself to indulge in the best pleasures life could offer, you

Zoro was not only strong in body but also in mind, always disciplined and forever only focus in achieving his dream, until you appeared. He didn’t understand why he couldn’t just be without you, he would catch himself staring, looking for you, attentive and basking in you, confused on why even tough his heart would pump crazily, felt unarmed and nervous, he had to be near you in any way possible

You were intoxicating as sake, addicted to every part of you, eager to know and trace all edges of your soul. A walking contradiction you were for him, the sword he pointed directly to his heart, finding himself dreaming, seeking and yearning for you

But he kept everything close to his heart, at least until he understood, until he could control it

Impossible, not even the greatest swordsman in the wide world could tame love

Zoro holds your stare as you study his features, even though he could feel every inch of him shaking, he could not look away. He drowns in your sent as his eyes travel to your lips wondering how soft would they be?

It had been long ago that you had come to terms with the torturous feelings you had for the swordsman, but you promised yourself to never instigate.

It would only bring you trouble because obviously he would never reciprocate, right? There was no space for you in his mind or heart, you were a distraction, just his crew-mate, a friend at most

Sure you wore your heart on your sleeve and it was painfully obvious how head over heels you were for that man, but you thanked whatever force in the universe had made him so oblivious. If only you knew he was too busy figuring you out to notice…

So you held yourself back even if everything in you screamed that you closed the tiny gap between you both and kissed, for your own sake

You take a step back, or you try before Zoro’s grip on your waist tightness afraid you’ll fly away, not wanting the moment to fade. Your eyes widen but before you can question him he clears his throat and lets go, hands running towards the grip of the sword

“Just uh… hold it up like this” he directs you red splattered all over his cheeks eyes adverting from yours

It finally dawns on him, he doesn’t just like you, he loves you, like romantically. Having you that close had left him wanting more, as vulnerable he had felt, he was obsessed with the feeling of your bodies at such proximity, the intimacy of your eyes meeting while rose tinted your faces, the revolution on his heart that you had started only by glancing at him. Maybe he despised the power you held, but at the same time he was glad it was you, you the kindest sweetest yet strongest person he had the honor of meeting, the perfect match, most suitable to hold his heart, to own him.

But what was he to do now?

Time slipped through his fingers as he drowned in questions and feelings, ending in just a back and fort of brushes, gazes and long talks that both of you enjoyed of course, but the unspoken feelings that hanged in the air left you both breathless and awake at night.

“Just tell her Zoro is not that hard” As his last resort, Zoro found himself seeking advice for Nami, but he started to regret his decision

“Easy for you to say”

The navigator rolled her eyes, this whole situation had her, no scratch that, everyone on the ship amused and annoyed. How could both of you be so blind to notice how far you had fallen for one another

“Ugh c’mon, you’re practically always together and if not you’re staring back at each other! You’re both ridiculous” the statement took Zoro aback, red creeping from his neck as he bickered back at Nami

“Thought you would’ve notice by now” she giggled still amused by his lack of expertise “All you gotta do is go and talk to her and be honest”

Zoro’s eyes wondered to where your laugh sprung, Luffy and Usopp were throwing grapes as far as they could for you to catch up in the air morphed into your bird form, sometimes indulging them in some flying tricks as you fly back down. As much as it pained him Nami was right, there was no way around it, for him to bottle up everything he felt would end up in nothing good and he would rather die of embarrassment than to hurt you. Still the thought of you liking someone as devilish as him haunted the swordsman, he had to trust the navigators words for this one which wasn’t ideal but at least he felt reassured.

Nami read the panic that settled on her friend’s features, which was comical to her considering how painfully obvious you were

“She likes you man, I promise, and I don’t go throwing that word around” the woman squished his shoulder as the last drop of motivation she could offer before leaving

Another laugh escaped your mouth that had Zoro fawning all over the deck. You were so lively, kind and driven, but also strong, how could you ever give your time of day to a man that spent his days doing nothing but working, sweating and drinking. Zoro was a man that had walked through this world with an iron will, while you also had to step your ground, you managed to remain soft and sweet which was deemed impossible to the swordsman but still, you were the living proof that there was a way to own the softness in your strength which always impressed him.

That evening as you finished your personal training which consisted of the longest cardio session Zoro had ever witnessed someone do, some yoga and target practice, he silently waited, sun sharing its last drops of sunlight as it disappeared behind the ocean

“Hey~” Zoro spoke as he saw you walking back to your quarters, which made you jump and thug at the dagger wrapped around your thigh, when your eyes met his, you let out the a breath as he snickered at your reaction

“Don’t do that again” a smiled formed in your lips as you heard Zoro’s laugh, it was a sound that you rarely got to listen but so loved to

“So jumpy” he joked before turning to the sea leaning his strong figure on the railing, you followed beside him, gaze fixed in the watercolors that painted the scenery. Usually whenever you and Zoro shared silence it was comfortable and inviting, but today you could sense tension and doubtfulness hanging around the green haired man, nevertheless you don’t break it

A shaky heavy hand travels from the railing to yours which makes you flinch, you turn to him, to find his grey eyes dissecting you completely, again, you don’t say anything you stay still as to not scare him away. His breath becomes uneven, all the words he had rehearsed washed away at your touch, melting in each other instantly

“Zoro?” You finally whisper after a long staring contest between you two, his face turns back at the ocean making his earrings chime together, your face looks for his once again, a hand holding his cheek coaxing him to speak up

The light kisses you just right, you look angelic in his eyes, hair falling perfectly framing your face and your skin soft like a pillow, how could he word any thought about you that has crossed his mind without tripping? He slowly removes the hand that rest on his cheek and with all the courage he could gather he kisses it, eyes closing drinking all of you he could take

You are the one at lost of breath now, heart drumming strong in both of your chests

“Be mine” as blunt and more of an statement than a question as it sounded, it was the first thing that he had found himself thinking of you since meeting, a giggle makes its way trough his ears as his eyes widen thinking you were making fun of him, before even registering anything else you pull yourself closer, noses lightly touching

“Please…” a whisper could be described as something louder compared on the way he plead for you, it melted you completely to see the strong stoic swordsman like this, guard down and honest

“I’ve always been yours”

You listen to your heart for once and kiss him, softly and tender just like he imagined. You held his neck to keep you closer as he finally realized whats happening and welcomes you instantly, holding your waist capturing you under his big figure. Nothing exists anymore, just you and him under the sunset lulled by the so familiar waves of the ocean that seemed to have softened just for the tow of you.

You let go as much as you could, not being able to step back as he held you strongly, catching both of your breaths as they mixed together

“Good, would’ve been awkward if you didn’t say yes” you roll your eyes and smile ear to ear as he follows your head to rest his forehead on yours

“I love you, Zoro”

᠃ 𖡼᠂ 𖥧⚘ 𓅪 ⚘𖥧᠂ 𖡼᠃

I love them sm *holds them close* I’ll be writing more about these two. Feel free to request and correct me, english is not my first language

[dddomenstarstwst1]

can i request a fic with rook and a sadistic amab reader fulfilling his masochistic fantasies? literally just them going ROUGH

Hi, of course! Hope you like, I'm not sadistic dom myself, more of a soft one, but I tries my best!

Hunt a Prey (ft.rook)

Warnings: sub!rook, dom!amab!reader, slight s/m dynamics, spanking, degradation, blowjob, deep throat, face fucking, riding, kinda clothed sex, biting, mentions of blood play(?) nothing too serious

a/n: character is depicted as 18+ y/o

A sharp sound resonated across the dark room. Your palm hurt from how much it made contact with Rook's skin. His ass was a mess, littered with red shapes of what once resembled your hand.

"Have you learned your lesson now? Or should I spank your filthy ass another twenty times?" You were met with nothing more than a broken whine that turned into chokes as you brought your hand to Rook's butt. Massaging sensitive cheeks, you tilted his head to look at you.

His eyes were hazy, glossed with lust, a dumb smile played on his lips. He was enjoying himself too much, it seems, "Goodness, what a dumb bitch you are! Can't even answer a simple 'yes or no' question. I'm disappointed."

Rook drops his gaze, before he slowly places a hand over your clothed crotch. His silent question is met with your nod of approval. Freeing your dick of its restraints, Rook lets his tongue slide from your base to the tip. His eyes close at the taste of precum, as his lips wrap around the head, bobbing a bit.

"Is that all you can give me? Really pathetic, y'know?" You say, before grabbing a handful of Rook's messy blond locks. His eyes widen and practically roll to the back of his skull, as you use his mouth as a fleshlight. He gags, hands flying up to grab your thighs, but you continue abusing his throat like there's no tomorrow.

"Don't make that face, I know you love it rough. You're a stupid whore after all," Rook feels tears build in his eyes, wetting his cheeks. His jaws went slack, drool spilling from the corners of his mouth. "Shit, slut! Your throat is so tight."

You can almost feel your climax already, – the feeling of cumming in Rook's mouth, making him gag and choke on your load, then watching him struggle as he swallows it all, and finishing it by kissing him, tasting yourself on your own tongue. You have to stop yourself from cumming just from your fantasies.

You tug Rook off of your cock, earning a choked whine. He pants, dumb expression on his face. You pull him on your lap, not giving him anytime to prepare as your dick enters him halfway in one go. Rook swears in French, at least you think it's French with how slurred the words come out.

"Ride me," He nods, lifting his weight off your length, before slamming it down to the base. Sounds of skin-to-skin fill your room, as Rook struggles to keep his pace even. What's worse is how you left him to do all the work himself.

Oh, how cruel you were.

"Why so slow? Can't go any faster, hm? Too dumb and useless to do even that?" You scoff and slam your hips against his, your hands already around his waist, as you pick up the pace. Thanks to position you had him in, it was easier to hit deeper.

Nails drag across your spine, teeth dig in your shoulder, breaking skin and drawing blood. You hiss at sudden pain, pulling his hair to make him look at you. His lips are covered in a thin layer of your blood.

"Fucker," You kiss him, licking blood from his bottom lip, before darting your tongue in his open mouth. Metallic taste spreads on your taste buds, drawing a groan from you. Your hips snap at his, hand still in his hair, you grip Rook's hip till it's bruised. One more addition to his already bruise littered body, something he'll cherish until they disappear and he asks for more.

And you'll be glad to paint his skin purple, for as long as he begs for it.

[klausysworld]

Are request still open and if they are can you make a Klaus Mikaelson one shot the girl is Tyler Lockwood sister and she hates Klaus so she rejects him as her mate but at the end she accepts him so like fluff at the end

What are you doing to me?

Finding out your mated to the all powerful original hybrid who ruined your brothers like and forced him to become half vampire while also terrorising your childhood friends and what not isn’t exactly at the top of my bucket list.

Him being a willing participant when it came to the whole ‘soulmate’ arrangement was also not meant to be in the cards.

When I realised we were mates I was 99% sure he would immediately reject me as a mate. As strong as a soulmate makes you, it will also always be your greatest weakness. I would be able to kill him far easier than anyone else and I was certain he would want to kill me first.

So him leaving me expensive gifts was…unexpected to say the least.

Detailed drawings of wolves and the full moon in the sky with a poem hand written on the back had my heart fluttering in ways that I should not have enjoyed.

But he had destroyed my brothers and the people I consider my family’s lives.

And so, despite the utter agony I was inflicting on both him and myself, I rejected him as my mate.

It’s a rare thing for wolves to reject their one, the side affects are awful in a way to force your mind into reconsidering.

The crippling pain was emotionally tormenting and physically exhausting. After the initial rejection I was barely able to leave my bed, eat, drink, I barely spoke a word and each time I fell asleep I was haunted by a similar image of Klaus.

Damon had messaged me letting me know Klaus had been out of sight for nearly 3 weeks after.

The pain lingered, never truly gone but it had dimmed. Though a sharp pain would shoot through me when he was too close, when the bond knew I was purposely ignoring him, and i could always see him wince at the same time.

The few times I didn’t shove him away, well I felt much better. He brought peace to my wolfs inner battle between soulmate and family because in reality I knew that he was both. I was just too afraid to admit it fully.

Though I couldn’t help but occasionally step a tad bit closer to him, to feel the warm buzz that ran through my bloodstream.

He was a lot less subtle though.

Often, as soon as his wolf sensed mine approaching he was all over me. Hands would be rubbing up and down my arms, his lips on my neck in a desperate instinctual need to mark me. And what was worse was that my wolf was all the more compliant and for a few wonderful seconds I could indulge in the blissful sensations. My head back, hands firmly gripping his henley and moans leaving my lips, my wolf having the desire to present myself in a truly embarrassing fashion.

Though he would always push it a tad too far, a grope to my ass, his canines about to pierce my skin, and I would be pushing him away. My wolf panting as I nearly tripped over my own two feet to get away from him while ignoring the intense feeling of my heart being squeezed unpleasantly.

I always managed to just scrape past him.

Suffering alone in my room again at the recurring torture of rejecting a mate.

His continued flow of presents didn’t help either, only made me feel worse seeing effort put into paintings of me and my wolf. He hadn’t turned into a hybrid, not yet at least, he probably knew that would be my last straw and id maim him.

But I knew he had followed my wolf on the full moons, I always woke with brand new clothes beside me, lead on a cotton blanket with a pillow under head and the snapping of twigs in the distance as he walked away.

And even though I should have said absolutely not when he personally delivered an invitation to his family’s ball, with those stupid puppy dog eyes, I couldn’t bring myself to.

“Please love, just one dance and if you don’t like it…then I’ll leave you be and accept your decision” as soon as the words left his mouth, both our souls twisted in agony making my teeth grind.

“Fine, just one” I whispered and he nodded, pulling me into a quick hug to calm down both our pain. Which it did like water on a fire, entirely putting out the flames and leaving us calm and quiet.

And then the dress arrived at my door, with matching shoes and accessories and I realised I actually had to do this.

Walking into his house sent a chill down my spine, my body felt much warmer and my wolf was howling inside me.

A hand on my shoulder had me whimpering softly making an arm wrap around my waist and pull me aside to another room.

“Shh love, we don’t want the rest of the guests hearing such lovely sounds” klaus murmured into my ear and I pressed against him, a small moan leaving my lips.

“This is too much for you isn’t it my love?” He whispered, his hand tilting my head making me look up at him.

The entire house smelt like him, I had seen parts of it in the dreams of him when he was suffering from my rejection. Which now intensified my guilt, my emotions were running haywire. I was in his home; I was in the wolf’s den.

Without thinking my hands tugged at his blazer, pushing it down his arms before my fingers began to pull his shirt open

“Woah love, it’s alright” he muttered, his hands grabbed mine and before I could blink we were outside. The cold air cooled down my boiling skin as I panted and he stroked my hair away from my face

“There we go, it’s okay” he cooed, the back of his hand pressing against my forehead.

“I hate this stupid bond” I whispered, covering my face.

“I know love…we can have our dance another time, I’ll take you home” he uttered, his tone was sad and my heart ached again.

“Stop it” I whispered “please stop it”

“Stop what love? What’s wrong?”

“Make it stop fucking hurting! I rejected you weeks, months ago! Why does it still hurt!? What are you doing to me?” I whispered, tears filling my eyes and spilling over. I looked up at him to see him in a similar state though no tears had fallen from his eyes yet.

His hand moved to cup my face and I couldn’t help but lean into it.

“It will only stop hurting us when you truly reject me. Somewhere, inside you, you still haven’t truly given up on the idea. You either have to reject the bond once and for all or accept me” he explained softly

“I would’ve been able to reject you if you left me alone. You kept sending all those things and being so kind, you did this to me” I whimpered

“I wouldn’t have done that if I couldn’t feel your soul still reaching for mine” he uttered “I would never intentionally harm you”

I let out a quiet sob as my soul pleaded for his.

I leaned forward so my head could press against his chest, my eyes closing at the content feeling that rose in me. I could feel myself giving into the bond, our souls slowly binding together. His hand held the back of my head, I could hear his heart speeding up as mine mimicked it.

His other hand moved around my waist, pulling me to him. “Good girl” he whispered “you’ll feel so much better now” he reassured “I promise I’ll make it better now sweetheart”

He kissed my head softly, his hand rubbing my back “let the bond form my love” he encouraged.

I focused on the connection trying to relight the candle.

I could feel the second it happened, my knees growing too weak to stand making him chuckle quietly and wrap both arms around me. He lifted me so my face could be right infront of his, prompting me to lean forward and press our lips together.

Our souls entwined as we did so, endless amounts of passion poured into one act.

The silent appreciation that this was real and it was only just the beginning.

[gottawhump]

Coping

Carlisle

CW/TW: pet whump, BbU/WRU, dubcon, conditioned responses, sickness and death mentions.

“Being a Domestic isn’t a ‘pre-existing condition’”, Carlisle says, after ending the call with the insurance representative. “Dammit.”

He slumps down into a comfortable chair, closing his eyes. At least his parents had pet insurance for the household. It just didn’t go far enough. It would not cover what his sick people need now.

It would cover quick and merciful euthanasia.

He understands, now, why the faces in the household changed so often. Easier to just burn through lives and replace them.

He doesn’t want to do that. He wants to save them. If he can.

Someone brushes the back of his hand, before putting a hot cup in it. He smells the fresh coffee, and opens his eyes so he can guide it to his mouth and inhale a mouthful.

Diamanté smiles at him, and kneels gracefully at his feet. Blond haired, blue eyed Diamanté. Beautiful even in severely cut mourning black. His parents’ Romantic.

“You’re tense,” he says, almost purrs. “Let me make you feel better.”

He nearly chokes on his coffee when Dia undoes his pants and takes his cock into his mouth. Christ, it feels good for a minute. Then he recoils, this is his parents’ Romantic, this is wrong on so many levels.

“Dia, no. Stop.”

The Romantic draws back. “Am I doing something wrong? I can do better, I promise, yo-Master.”

Carlisle takes a moment to put his cock away. “You’re perfect, Dia. But I don’t want that from you. I will never want that from you. You don’t need to do that for me.”

Tears fill up the crystal blue eyes, spilling artfully down sculpted cheekbones. Pain just cracks the pure tenor voice. “You don’t want me? Then you’re going to return me for-for refurbishment?”

“No, no. You’re staying here. I’m trying not to break up the household, Dia, and that includes you. Just-not as my lover, my Romantic.”

He watches Diamanté work through this. The Romantic has lasted several years, he’s not stupid. This is just a new idea to process.

“Then-what do I do?”

Carlisle sips at the coffee, feeling it revive him, taking the edge off his nerves. “What do you want to do, Dia?’

“I want whatever my owner wants.”

“As your owner, I want you to have your own wants and desires outside of mine.” It’s a good counter to the conditioned response, he hopes. “Is there something you’ve always wanted to do?”

“Can I-could I learn to read?”

“Yes. I’ll ask Ellis to help you.”

“And may I massage your shoulders? Master, I need to touch someone. It’s been days.”

“All right.”

It’s a good first step, he thinks. For both of them.

Old Friends taglist: @painful-pooch @justplainwhump @redwingedwhump @maracujatangerine @honeycollectswhump @tragedyinblue

[justporo]

Hunger

When his lover is fully drenched with blood after a fight Astarion cannot resist to sate his hungers - all of them.

You can find the amazing artwork that inspired this piece here! Please also follow and support my wonderful friend and give her some love! <3

MASTERLIST | AO3

A/N: I am still on a quest it seems to write stuff for other's OCs (and I am enjoying it loads to be honest). This time I wrote something for my friend @raphaellearp and her beautiful tiefling paladin Hébée. We hung out late last night, I prompted her to draw Astarion licking blood of her girl, which in turn prompted me to write a little drabble... which led to both of us staying up a whole night, whoopsie.

Pairing: Astarion/Hébée Warnings: blood, light religious imagery, implied nsfw at the end Wordcount: 1,1k ~~~

There was blood.

A lot of it actually.

Fortunately though, it wasn’t Hébée’s and it wasn’t Astarion’s either. It was just that they both had gotten drenched in the Mindflayer colony and there was no easy way to get it off.

But then again, it would be a waste to just get rid of it as long as there was a vampire around, wouldn’t it?

Having dragged themselves back to the Last Light Inn, Hébée was wishing for nothing more but being able to take off her armour and soak herself in a tub. As soon as the tiefling had shut the door behind her and Astarion’s joint room at Last Light Inn she started ripping off bits and pieces of her plated armour. She desperately wished to leave this day behind her. It hadn’t been easy work defeating one of the Dead Three, for neither body nor mind. She wanted rest. And all this blood gone.

Pieces of metal and weapons clattered to the wooden floors as the paladin groaned and worked to get everything off of herself. It was all increasingly becoming too much. She needed to feel nothing but a whisper of fresh air on her strained body.

“So desperate to get your clothes off, my love?” Astarion teased while he watched her tear off armour and clothing.

Hébée simply scoffed while she removed another layer: “Not everything has to be a sultry joke, you know?”

“Oh, but it could be.”

Hébée turned around to her lover with annoyance in her eyes. He was observing her, gaze wandering over where blood was slowly drying on her skin. She noticed how his ruby eyes were flicking over her, tongue darting out to wet his lips.

She truly had been drenched in crimson.

“Don’t say you are this desperate to get some blood,” she snorted as she took off the last piece, leaving her in nothing but her undergarments now.

The look Astarion threw at her was partly offended, partly playful as she turned to him again. When she gazed at him, she also found that there was a tinge of pleading in the crimson of his eyes.

“Astarion,” Hébée said to the vampire, leaning her head to the side. Her tone was now a lot more consoling. “You could have asked at any point.”

His eyes darted away.

Despite everything, Astarion still wasn’t easily made to open up about vulnerabilities

At least now though, Hébée knew to read the signs and Astarion knew not to hide them. Still it was easier for him to express himself in those sultry jokes. Easy to brush it off, just in case.

So Hébée tried her best to make it easy for him. She drew up her shirt she’d been wearing beneath her armour, revealing her bare form beneath.

“I am serious, Astarion,” she murmured as she saw how his eyes were trained on the red wetly glistening splotches all over her skin.

“Take whatever you need,” the paladin continued and let herself fall down on the edge of the bed, opening up the laces of her pants as well now.

“Whatever I need,” Astarion parroted, following after her, too enchanted by her naked body, covered in blood.

Since they had entered the Shadowlands fresh, nurturing blood had been more than scarce. And with the vampire questioning what he really wanted from their relationship, dropping by Hébée just for a bite hadn’t been his top priority. But it had left him struggling, almost starving once more.

But now, as they had defeated Ketheric Thorm, had freed the Shadowlands - there was no real reason to not indulge again, was there? Especially not since it seemed there was already a meal laid out.

Hébée kicked off the last of her clothes, enjoying how the air was now finally brushing over her bare skin. She felt the ache of the past battles and exhaustion, soreness in every joint and muscle. But as she observed Astarion and the hunger in his eyes, she knew there was one more thing to do before she took a much needed rest.

“Please, Astarion, take your fill,” she offered as she observed Astarion also moving to free himself of armour and clothes. “Take anything you like.”

She couldn’t resist letting her hand wander over her naked breasts. Smearing some of the blood there across the chest with that.

“Hébée,” he whispered as he stepped close to her, finally as bare as her. She didn’t even answer anymore, just fixed him with her gaze.

And without another word he just went to his knees before her. Kneeling there like a simple believer ready for worship his red eyes seemed liquid by now.

She knew he was hungering for her in more ways than one. And she was willing to fulfil all of his needs.

Her clawed fingers wandered into his curls while he moved closer.

“Anything?” he whispered while he scooched to be between her parted legs, looking up at her, need, hunger and admiration mixing all into one. With parted lips and his gaze firmly on her, he leaned to her.

The tips of Hébée’s claws softly grazed his scalp - not hurting, only teasing - while she watched how his soft lips enveloped a spot right on her stomach.

She felt his wet mouth sucking on her skin, tongue lapping to catch the blood.

He felt her muscles tense under his touch and the sharp breath she took.

When he lightly began sucking on her warm skin and she could feel his fangs softly press into her abs, she couldn’t help herself. With a moan Hébée threw her head back and revelled in the feeling of her lover’s mouth on her bare skin. It was a soothing cure she didn’t know she had needed.

One of Astarion’s hands came up to wrap the small of her arching back when he moved to yet another bloodstained spot on her abdomen. His ruby eyes jumped up at her when she gasped, watching him lap up more blood from her skin.

“Really anything?” he repeated, tearing away from her only shortly. His breath was brushing over her, making her shudder, making her bite her lip.

“Anything, Astarion,” Hébée replied, almost absent-mindedly opening her legs further for him, arching more, willing him to see that she really meant it.

Astarion’s eyes wandered, from the traces of blood teasing him to yet another thing beckoning to him like a siren song. Right there, right within his reach.

Then they caught the tiefling’s gaze once more, burning, relaying an answer to a question he couldn’t fully put into words yet.

“Don’t mind if I do then, my love,” Astarion purred and moved to sate all of his hungers as Hébée gave into the joy of giving herself, fully.