#cause ya know shit self esteem

[fuxking-witchy]

BEAUTIFUL PERSON AWARD! Once you are given this award you’re supposed to paste it in the asks of eight people who deserve it. If you break the chain nothing happens, but it's sweet to know someone thinks you’re beautiful inside and out! 💙

Omg hiii 🙈🥰💞 thank you!!!! This made me so happy. I really appreciate it!!! I don’t know if the blue heart is part of the copy/paste or just you, but it’s the little emoji I’m putting with you! So, thank you, my little blue heart! 🥰💙

[comatosebunny09]

misunderstanding | sylus

summary: it was all because the shopkeep got a little handsy. a little too comfortable, purring his name like that. he shrugged her off; did you not see that part? genre(s): romance, angst warning(s): alcohol, drunk reader, self-esteem issues, insecurities, language, short and sweet notes: inspired by that one scene from fifty shades of grey.

Imagine calling Sylus while you’re drunk off your ass.

When you’ve thrown back one too many long islands, and while your friends are all inside, shacked up with their significant others and happy. You toddle outside for some fresh air and a break from your own head.

His voice breaks through the static, all heavy with sleep. But he answers so quickly because you’ve been giving him the cold shoulder. Been brief with your texts, ignoring his phone calls, and going out of your way to avoid running into him. He’s given you your space—minus Mephisto perched outside your window each night, watching you like a hawk.

“Hello?” Sylus husks, bed sheets rustling in the background as he maneuvers himself to sit up.

Somewhere far off, you feel bad for waking him. He already sleeps like shit. But you have liquid encouragement on your side, so you shove that guilt down, down, down in favor of poking the proverbial bear.

Your words are all blurred together, and you can barely keep your eyes open as you prop yourself up on a safety bollard, holding your phone to your ear with two hands.

“Why don’t you like me?”

“I—What?”

You swallow thick. Feel the world swirling and your body teetering, but you press on.

“Why don’t you like me, Sylus? Am I not your type? Is it ‘cause I’m not rich? Not skinny?”

He laughs, all incredulous on the other end. You imagine him pinching the bridge of his nose in the stillness of his bedroom, disbelieving of the shit spilling from your mouth. And so early in the evening, too.

“What on earth are you talking about?”

“Me. I mean, am I annoying?  I kinda am. I talk a lot. But that lady—the one from before. That shopkeeper chick. She was really hot. Like, supermodel hot.”

Your name comes out in an exasperated sigh. “That’s what this is about?”

You confirmed his suspicions. Why you’ve been playing keep-away. Ever since you accompanied him a few weeks back to gather some intel from a verified source, you’ve been acting distant. All because the shopkeep got a little handsy. A little too comfortable, purring his name like that. He shrugged her off. Wordlessly put her in her place. Did you not see that part?

Sylus doesn’t know whether to laugh or scream.

“No, no, wait. Lemme finish. She seemed more your type. Like the kinda chick you’d be into, ya know? You two’d be like Mr. and Mrs. Smith.”

He groans, and this time, you picture him hanging his head low. His long fingers splayed over his face in exhaustion.

“Where are you? Have you been drinking?”

“Mind your business,” you say around a hiccup.

And you’re catching yourself on the bollard, giggling stupidly at how pathetic you must look. Trying to catch your footing like a baby fawn.

“Only had one or two. Maybe three or six. I’m a big girl. A big, un-pretty girl, according to Mr. Sylus.”

A car honks in the distance. You barely stir from it, eyes shuttering as your head falls onto your arm roosted on the bollard.

“Where are you?” Sylus prods again.

There’s a little more urgency this time. A little more concern lurking beneath the tenor of his voice, and the sleep’s almost completely vanished from it.

“Out.”

You burn hot. Sway as the alcohol thickens in your veins. Something of a smile twitches your lips. For a second, you’re convinced he actually gives a shit about you.

“Sweetie, please. I don’t have the patience to entertain your mind games today. And stop putting words into my mouth. Not once have I ever referred to you as ‘un-pretty.’”

You snort. Stumble away from the bollard to lean against a brick wall. It’s cold and raw against your bare back. The world’s a pretty bokeh of light around. Maybe you did have a little too much to drink.

His voice drops an octave. Skates between sincerity and something dulcet; doting.

“You’re anything but. You’re gorgeous. Breathtaking. Incredibly resourceful and infuriatingly kind. You’re tough. And you don’t talk too much. In fact, I wish you would spend more time talking about yourself.”

Your lips crook with a smile. Your eyes begin to water. Your cheeks are warmer now, and you’re not sure if it’s from the alcohol or the words spuming so effortlessly from the other end of your phone.

You hear fabric rustling. Hear his mattress creaking and things being jostled about in the background. Drawers. Clothes. Shoes clicking against marbled tiles.

“Tell me where you are,” he asserts. “I’m coming to get you.”

“No, no, no!”

You wave your hand dismissively like he can see. You feel bad enough having dragged him down with you. Having dredged up your insecurities and projected them onto him like that. No reason to make him leave the sanctity of his bed to entertain your foolishness.

“It’s cool, Syl. I’ll catch a cab.”

“I’m not asking,” he clips in a tone that leaves no room for argument.

You swallow, suddenly feeling cold sobriety creep in. Metal jangles through the static. Keys. Car keys. A door shuts, followed by an engine stuttering and drawing a breath in. He taps a few buttons on his console. Releases a sigh.

“I’m on my way. Stay where you are. Don’t go running off with any strangers, alright, sweetheart?”

Something warm spills into your tummy. You slide down the wall onto your ass, holding your head in your hands with your phone propped to your ear using your shoulder.

“Sylus, really. You don’t have to do that. I’ll be good—”

“I want to,” he insists. Already peeling out of his driveway and zooming through the streets of the N109 Zone. “Stay on the line. Don’t hang up. I’ll be there soon. Promise.”

You sigh at your own stupidity. At your own pitifulness. Making him come play knight in shining armor like that. All because you couldn’t hold your liquor. Your tongue. Though, you can’t stifle the tiny ping of hope resounding in your head.

“Okay. I’ll wait. But can we get ice cream when you get here?”

He chuckles, the sound of it brassy yet comforting through the drunken slurry of your brain.

“Sure, sweetheart. Whatever you want.”

masterlist

[uwooyoungs2]

//

[thedevilspearl]

prone to bone — all brothers

author’s note ʚɞ i’ve been seeing prone bone floating around recently and also can’t get the brothers out of my head so here is my take on how the brothers feel about the position. spoiler alert: they fucking love it.

tags ʚɞ female reader x lucifer, mammon (filming during the act), leviathan, satan (power play), asmodeus (crying), beelzebub (size kink) + belphegor. explicit smut, minors do not interact!

𝐋𝐔𝐂𝐈𝐅𝐄𝐑 feels an immense surge of control when he towers over you, his thighs on either side of you resting just enough weight on you to trap you underneath him, but not enough to hurt you. he doesn’t need to trap you; he knows you’d never try to move away from him when his cock is filling you up so well. but there’s something about you not having the choice to that adds to his total control over you. his hands rub up and down your back, taking a moment to grope your ass while he slowly drives his cock in and out of your pussy, grinding his cock to the hilt and ascending to a higher realm when he hears your lustful cries muffled by pillows. “my sweet darling,” he pulls away the pillows with a deep rut, causing you to yelp. “don’t hide your voice. i want to hear how dirty you are.”

𝐌𝐀𝐌𝐌𝐎𝐍 one hundred per cent records you in this position every single time. it’s the same position but each occasion that calls for it is a whole new experience. he just loves when the base of his cock presses against your perky ass. he loves the way your ass cheeks jiggle when he speeds up his pace, when they mould into his hands while he grabs them roughly. but most of all, he loves the strangled cries sounding from the body beneath him. oh, he knows he’s fucking you good; so deep and intimate is the way his cock buries itself in your pussy, dragging against all the right places. he can go round after round in this position, filming it on his ddd so he can watch it on repeat when you’re not around. “fucking hell,” he grunts, chuckling while holding handfuls of your ass. “ya look so pretty for me, don’t think i’m stopping any time soon.”

𝐋𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍 loves the prone bone. it’s one of the positions where his confidence and self–esteem rockets sky high. he usually gets a bit shy being on top but he appreciates having your face hidden in the cushions while he does all the work, blushing the entire time; and it’s a relatively easy position, not too strenuous for him and his debatably poor stamina. but god, he just loves when you wear his shirt in this position, completely naked underneath but every thrust has him losing himself in the sight of your body as his shirt inches its way up your back. and along with his fingers interlacing with yours as they push down into the mattress and your ass bouncing up into him as he fucks you deep, it’s enough to make him finish in seconds. “i’m cumming!” levi cries, body collapsing on yours but he doesn’t stop fucking you with his twitching cock. “holy shit, it feels so good.”

𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐀𝐍 leans over you with his hands latched on each of your wrists, burying them in the bed sheets and with his thighs holding your lower body in place, there’s no way you can move. you desperately want to writhe and twitch in pleasure but he holds you perfectly still. your body shakes in the ripples of pleasure shooting through your body, a bliss only satan can bring to you as every grind of his hips is precise and perfect hitting your sweet spots again and again. it’s almost torture when he treats you like a toy, putting you in the perfect position for his greedy cock to fuck. you lay flat but your ass tilts upwards just the slightest bit, giving him the perfect angle to drive you both to insanity. “fuck! shit!” satan growls, so close to cumming but you defiantly fidgeted and disrupted his rhythm. “stay fucking still if you want to cum.”

𝐀𝐒𝐌𝐎𝐃𝐄𝐔𝐒 has a particular taking to this position because it’s so easy to fuck you into oblivion and back without draining too much stamina from either of you. but that doesn’t mean you won’t end up with tears dripping down your face and drool spilling from your lips. it’s the way you scream his name extra loud as he ploughs into you from behind. his hands grip your ass tight while your head hangs off the bed, bouncing with each thrust. asmo loves fucking you in the collapsed doggy style, and as you squeeze the bed sheets for dear life while your body lays flat and twitching, asmo continues fucking you from behind and he can’t find it in him to stop. the position turns him into an insatiable devil “aww sweetie, i know you’re tired,” he whispers gently in your ears as your body wracks with sobs. “but you can take a little more, can’t you?”

𝐁𝐄𝐄𝐋𝐙𝐄𝐁𝐔𝐁 loves putting his big body to the test, especially when he’s fucking you dumb on his huge cock. every position is a reminder of how huge he is compared to you, so it would be blasphemy to talk about beelzebub and the prone bone without mentioning his raging size kink. his fat balls rub against the back of your thighs while his thick cock stretches you open. it lays heavy in your pussy as he slowly grinds it back and forth, grunting each and every time. the way your pussy engulfs a beast like him, coating his cock in your arousal, it’s a marvel to him. his breath is hot and heavy, a signal that he’s extremely turned on. whether he’s towering above you or leaning over your shaking frame, he feels so fucking huge and that’s enough for him to want to fuck you in the position forever. “fuck, mc....you’re so tight, ‘s driving me crazy.”

𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐏𝐇𝐄𝐆𝐎𝐑 is a lazy git who prefers positions where you do most of the work. however, prone boning you is a compromise. he’ll put in the work while you melt into the bedsheets, but it’s also a relatively low effort position that doesn’t tire him out, and that means he can last longer. and he loves lasting long in this position because the view of your ass between his thighs and the expanse of your back on display for him is addictive. for once, he loves that you’re the one squirming underneath him, crying out his name only to be muffled by the blanket tugged between your teeth because his cock is fucking you so deeply. “fuck baby,” he grunts rutting his hips quicker and harder as the minutes pass. belphie loses his mind when you quivers around his cock. “gonna make me cum so hard.”

[karlachismylife]

Wrote the intro the day I started this work and decided to leave it since it reflects the shitstorm in my head quite well, eh.

Okay Idk what it is with me today (I actually do know, I'm having a bad fucking night as a consequence of my own actions but I prefer not to think about it), but I just thought about task force 141 and reader that has such a bad withdrawal after their orgasm that they actually cry and not in a fun way (cue my lack of understanding how crying in bed can ever be fun, but i'm not here to kinkshame)

CW: NSFW (so minors and ageless blogs DNI, I'll block you), but there's barely any sex, hurt/comfort, body image issues, low self-esteem, chubby/fat!reader, written with afab!reader in mind (but most parts can be read as gn), potential mental health issues (?), thoughts of selfloathing and selfharm, smoking mentioned once at the end. Very self-indulgent and I'm definitely unwell, so yeah. It's also more focused on reader's inner shitstorm than the guys in many places so idk if this even really is enjoyable...

Starts as a single piece, then splits into individual blurbs/drabbles/oneshots + some polyamory cuz I'm spoiling myself today having done nothing to deserve it, lol.

They vary in size and tone since I've been writing them through several ups and downs in my own mental state, so please don't take this as a sign of which characher/combo is my favourite. I'm greedy, I like everything.

This is unfair.

Like, you just had wonderful sex, probably came more than once in a short period of time, ears stuffed with cotton, limbs weak, head spinning... and it keeps spinning, sweet tingling on the skin turning into nasty rushes of cold, muscles too tense, but it's not a cramp.

You feel like shit, every possible hormonal and neuromediator crash downing on you, a hollow, depressing weight in your chest instead of a sweet afterglow. Sweat and cum feel disgusting on you skin, your skin feels disgusting, strangling, your whole body seems revolting, too heavy, too sluggish. A sticky, suffocating heatwave on your nape, but your chest is cold and covered in goosebumps, a feverish feeling clogging every pore. Nausea wrenches into your stomach and stops just before you can relievingly barf and get rid of this parasite inside.

You simply want to dig your nails into your own shoulders instead of his and rip the skin and meat off, free yourself from this burden (you're the burden). Each second as he stays blissfully unaware, holding you tightly with his big hands and panting into the crook of your neck, drags on like a hundred hours of pure torture - the torture of being yourself.

Throwing up feels like an appropriate reaction to how unappealing and ugly you feel.

You're spiraling. You couldn't fucking keep your own messed up emotional outburst - completely unreasonable and unprovoked, by the way - to yourself, and now it's going to be noticed. You'll ruin someone else's fun. Make it all about yourself when you've already been nothing but doted on, cared and provided for. Fucked so good that your body is still clenching around that magnificent cock deep inside you.

And you're fucking crying, like an ungrateful, egotistical brat. Never having enough, unable to provide something as simple as a hole to make someone else happy without fucking it up.

Ghost notices immediately. There's nothing that can escape this man, and definitely not his love's distress. He's not reacting immediately for a sole reason: he's frozen in fear, horrified that he made you cry. How - he's not sure, he always takes great care to stay within limits, never allows himself to push you further than you both agree on. But what if he slipped up? What if he got carried away? Did he cause pain? Did he say something hurtful in the heat of the moment?

"Fuck. Hey, hey, lovie... look at me... wha's wrong? Did I... did I hurt ya?" Good thing you're hiding your face and your red eyes so desperately that you can't see how distressed and downright terrified Simon looks, lost at the sight of your tears. When you shake your head and attempt to push him away to hide your pathetic sobbing, he somewhat calms down and brings his big calloused hands to cradle your face, gently prying your own palms away and holding your puffy cheeks tenderly. His thumbs brush your tears away as he holds you, holds you through the growing rage fit of touch aversion, through the shudders and actual wailing. At some point he moves his palm to cover your eyes, a dry, dark blinder to keep the world around you shut out, help you concentrate on his voice.

He's not talking, just humming, a familiar, deep, grumbling noise that soothes all the flashes of anger, hate and disgust in your brain. You're tired now, like you're always are after such an intense outburst, and as you go limp, he finally pulls away, only to pick you up - barely a strain, a direct spit in the face of your own insecurity - and bring you to the bathroom. A warm shower evens your distorted body temperature out, his hands running over your body and cleaning all the stickiness away bring back peace with your own skin. After a quick rinse Simon holds you, your head cradled against his chest, until you make a weak attempt to help him wash too - he lets you trace his body, that perfection you adore with all its old wounds, sores and scars, for a bit, and then finishes himelf.

Gives you fresh cotton underwear and his hige T-shirt, still holding you around your shoulders and keeping the comfortable pressure even while he changes the bedsheets, kissing your temple as you find it in yourself to help.

It's only after you settle on top of him, nice, clean comforter protecting your back against the world, head on his chest right next to his heart beating in a steady rythm, he finally breaks silence.

"Need anything else, lovie?" Just like that. No prying, no occusations, nothing that would put you on the spot. You can ask him to bring you the moon soaked in unicorn's milk, and he'll just nod, kiss your hand and start dressing up, already calling Johnny to ask where the fuck did Scots hide their last horned horse and if he happens to know where they enlist astronauts.

"Just you."

His grip on the small of your back tightens and you feel his uneven, scarred lips graze the top of your head.

"Ya've got me. Always."

Soap is running hot like a furnace, still shivering and panting after what he considers the best sex he has ever had (every time with you is). He lifts his face, buried into the crease of your neck previously, and starts peppering you with slightly sloppy, grateful kisses - your neck, your jaw, your lips, your...

When he tastes your tears and opens his unbelievably blue eyes to see your expression contorted in disgust, he panics. Pulls away immediately, hands both itching to grab you and shake a reason for that look on your face out of you and too scared to touch you in case this hatred is directed at him.

"Whit's wrong, leannan? Are ye a'right? Ye didnae lik' it? Shite, lass, Ah'm so sorry, Ah didnae mean tae-" He stops yapping only when he notices the way your lips tremble as you try to plead with him, sobbing that it's not his fault.

"'M sorry, I ruined it... I'm so sorry, sushine, I just... fuck I wish I wasn't so bloody sick in the head and ugly..." Speaking out loud only worsens your anger, directed solely at yourself, and you try to wipe your eyes furiously. As the tears keep rolling, your frustration only grows - maybe if you yanked your own hair really good or slapped the disgusting pudgy cheek you've despised ever since chidhood as everyone kept pointing out how big they were...

"Ye didnae just call the love of mah fucking life ugly." Johnny's voice is a mix of a harsh order to cut your bullshit and pure disbelief. His huge paws wrap themselves around your wrists, stopping you both from harming yourself and covering your face. You're forced to look at him, and as you do, you see his handsome face flushed with a passionate anger at the intrusive thoughts in your head, heavy frown in his thick eyebrows and the sea in his eyes dark and deep enough to drown a whole fleet. You'd be scared if it wasn't obvious how hurt he is underneath it all - like a kid whose favourite plushie just got mocked by his classmates.

"It's just a toy," adults would say, and they would be bloody wrong.

"Tis not a toy, tis mah friend."

You're his friend. His love. His heart, his soul, his everything - he whispers that frantically, kissing you over and over, hot palms running over your body, wiping the cold, the stickiness, the goosebumps away. You don't have time to think, to spiral again, you're drowning in that exact sea that's spilling from his eyes, staring at you with pure devotion - a sea of affection, admiration, love, love, love.

Johnny nuzzles up to you like an animal seeking comfort, hides into your chest, right after he kisses your sweaty double chin, breathes in deeply, lets go of your soft shoulders only to grab two handfuls of your tummy, kneading it, warming up the stale blood, squeezing your big thighs between his and getting lost in the frenzy - he honestly doesn't even remember already that he was comforting you, he's fully in the worshipping mode, leaving you no chance to dip even a single toe into the self-conscious thoughts again.

You'll just have to stay there, every single tear lapped up from your face, and accept every greedy touch and word of a man utterly in love with you. Even the messed up parts.

Gaz keeps his cool despite how distraught even the thought of your sadness makes him. First of all he moves aside to give you space, makes sure you're not hurt, asking in his usual kind - unbelievably kind, so much that you burst into tears again, feeling undeserving of such unapologetically soft treatement, tone.

"Shh, shush, gorgeous, you're not hurt, are you? It's okay, c'mere, jus-st like tha', very good, love," praises keep spilling from his tender lips as he carefully helps you sit up, simply dragging you away from the damp from sweat and everything else spot on the sheets. He ends up balancing half his bare ass off the edge of the bed, but it doesn't bother him in the slightest as he feels you already coming back from that hopeless place as soon as your body gets stuck between clean, dry and a bit cool sheet and Kyle's firm lean body of a litearal god - or a prince, at least.

His deft fingers are already at work, massaging your scalp, chasing the tension away, but the second he feels you grow uncomfortable with the repetitive movement, he stops and retreats to simply holding you in a steady, reliant embrace. You know he's good with his words, that's how he got you, swept off your feet completely and made you swoon with sweet compliments, hilarious snark and smart talk.

You just don't expect him to do it all over again in the face of your burdened mind crumbling in the paradise.

"Talk to me, angel. Let me inside that pretty head, hm?"

It takes this sweettalker just a couple of words to coax whatever that ugly, slimy knot in your throat is, out. You sob, retelling Kyle every single thought that has been stuck in that coagulated mess in your head, spill the bile that has been burning your retching throat, out in the open, for him to see the disgusting ugliness of your insides - matching your outside.

Somehow throughout your choking trade his soft, careful hand never leaves your back, rubbing circles of different radius and intensity into your skin to keep the aggression at monotonous touch at bay.

"Must've been some terrible person to overbear your spirit and plant all those lies in your mind, angel." You don't catch the meaning of his words at first, glancing at him confused and whoozy after you exploded with self-deprication. Those dark, calm eyes look at you no different than before: quiet, calm reverence and determination. A thread of spider's silk, thin as a hair, but stronger than steel, his love does not waver. Were you in the right state to actually pay attention, you would've seen it only grow.

"Well, beautiful, this isn't how I planned to start writing poetry, but since you insisted... maybe I can think of a diss track about you."

"A diss track?.." Poor you, so upset that you can't catch onto the mischievous glint in his eyes and that silly smooth sarcasm slipping into his words. You're actually half a step away from believing he would diss you, destroying that already non-existent self-esteem once and for all.

"Yup. Gotta diss-tract you from all that bullshit in your head for good. Unless you'd rather me fuck it out of you instead?"

You cannot not smile at that, even if it's a weak, timid smile. Kyle's face still lights up as if he sees an actual angel, bringing the good grace or whatever.

"There ya go. First step of the mission? Success. Permission to continue? I repeat, permission to continue?"

"You spend too much time with Simon. Permission granted..."

Price undrstands what's going on before he even hears your first sob, the tension in your body and the change in your breath telling him all he needs to know. There's enough experience in this man for the both of you, he has learnt to read people and immediately accomodate them in a way that serves a common goal so long ago that it's a secong nature already.

Your comfort is that common goal.

With a grunt, he rolls you over, planting you firmly on top of his warm, burly body. Untucking your head from his hairy chest, he holds your face and does not let you concentrate on anything but his stern, focued gaze under those bushy eyebrows - but there's still that undeniable tenderness in his eyes that's always there whenever John looks at you.

His voice sounds usual too: a calm, commanding, but not harsh tone, not a loud bark any of his subordinates would hear, yet still an order. "Look at me, darling. Tha's right, look at me, look at your John. You shut whatever's going through that troubled mind of yours out and let me take care of the rest, a'right? Can you do that for me, darling? I know you can. I'll do all the thinking for ya, eh?"

Giving control over to him feels natural at any other moment, but right now you're too deep in the trenches of the war with your own mind, hissing at you with pure disgust for being so selfish. Really, now? Had to use this sweet, caring man for your own needs, and now you're dumping all your perverted, fucked up baggage on him too?

"Nuh-huh, ya're still thinking. Told ya to cut if off. You know that's not you thinking right now, dontcha? You're a smart one, love, ya know shit like this happens. And when shit happens, who are you going to to deal with it, huh?" His deep voice rumbles in his chest, seeps into your clogged ears, fills your skull with the unyielding determination and leaves no room for your own dark thoughts.

When you hesitate to answer, John slides his rough palms over your back, tracing your soft rolls and landing onto the pudge of your hips, squeezing lightly to remind you who's in charge and what your task is. "Who is there for ya to deal with shit that happens, hm, darling? Need ya to tell me."

You want to hide, escape his demand for an answer, but he keeps you firmly in his embrace, a gaze of steel unmoving from you. It almost makes you tear up again, almost feels mean of him to put you on the spot, when all you want to do is curl up in a dark corner and stay there for all eternity. But the love you have for this man overpowers even the seething hatred you bear for yourself, so you give up and murmur meekly: "You..."

"Tha's right, darling, it's your John. I'm here to deal with everything that bothers ya. Everything, ya hear? Tha's me job. Your job is to stay wit' me 'n' not overthink, eh? Especially not when it's just hormons making ya feel bad." You have nothing else left to do, other than sniffle into his chest and melt under a warm kiss he plants on your crown. "How about a cuppa, eh, darling? And something just as sweet as ya for a bite. Ya'll feel better in no time, I promise."

Ghost and Soap cancel each other's panicking out. As soon as both you and Simon slip out of the sweet afterglow, falling backwards each into your own pit of self-doubt and spiraling, Johnny starts babbling, terrified at the thought of both his beloved people feeling worse after being with him. His slurred, panting words and frantic kisses help Simon shake of his own horror - in return, he squeezes Johnny's shoulder to slow the worried mutt down and redirect his energy into helping you. Soap tenses up under the firm touch of his Lieutenant, then relaxes again, leaning into him for a moment to collect himself - they charge from each other, mere seconds of feeding off each other's energies in the middle of a time-limited mission with the highest stakes: your well-being.

They exchange glances, no words needed after the way their work together almost makes them mindreaders to each other, and turn back to you as you lay there, face painfully contorted in an attempt to keep the black foamy bile you feel rising in your throat from spilling. Slow, sticky, angry tears run down your flabby cheeks, and with each millimetre they go, your scalding wish to gouge your eyes out with your bare hands grows, just to punish yourself for being ungrateful after two perfect men spent so much of their time making you feel good.

"Dinnae cry, bonnie. Ye're a'right, ye're 'ere, wit' us. Right, LT? We're nae gonnae let ye marinate in whitevur got ye so upset." The pressure from inside your body that threatened to burst you open into a messy explosion of bile and rot, gets evened out from outside by Johnny's tight hug. He squeezes you up to the painful point, cradling against his broad chest, holding the fort while Simon leaves the bed, but not without kissing both your palms and holding them against his lips until he feels the cold leave your fingertips.

"Oi, Johnny. Help lovie get in 'ere," he calls out several minutes later out of the bathroom. Soap, who has been holding you and allowing you to sob against his heart this whole time, stroking your sweaty hair and murmuring every word of love he knows, scoops you up immediately. He pads over with you in his arms to where a warm bath is already filled thanks to Simon, and when you react to the temperature with another wave of tears, they both reach out to the tap simultaneously.

"Is tha' a'right, bonnie?" You make a strangled noise as Johnny finally sets you down into much cooler now water. It soothes you, makes you feel instantly cleaner, smaller, lighter. Breathing gets easier, that swollen blob of anger and disgust shrinking down in your chest and allowing you to inhale bathroom's damp air normally. You open your mouth to apologize and get cut off before even a single syllable leaves your mouth.

"Don't," Simon's voice sounds gruff, but even his murky reflection in the rippling water looks genuinely soft towards you. They're both perched on the cold bath edge, naked and seemingly not caring about that at all. "Jus' let us take care of you, yeah, love? Tha's what we're here for. Tha's what we want to do."

"Well, actually, there's one more thing," Johnny interjects, causing you to finally lift your sullenly lowered head and look at him, Simon's big palm using this moment of distraction to press onto your back in silent support. "Can Ah make ye a foam beard? Please, bonnie? Ye jus' 'ave the prettiest sweetest cheeks fur tha'."

Soap and Gaz feel like their world is sinking into a whirlwind of stormy clouds, the kind that sucks all light out of sky in mere seconds and can't be cut through even by blinding flashes of lightnings. There is no sun in their skies if you're not smiling, and the sound of your muffled sniffles hits their eardrums harder than thunder or explosions. The frowns distorting their faces only make you more self-aware of the fact that you ruined things between you - the initial hysteria starts rapidly flowing into complete shutdown, threatening to turn you into an emotionless shell for unknown period of time, when several warm, big hands intervene and cut the depressing trajectory down at its root.

"Damn, we did a shit job fucking all your thoughts out, didn't we, angel?" Kyle's joke sounds soft, teasing, but empathetic, ready to be met with sobs or silence instead of the usual laughter that flashes your teeth at him and makes his own smile grow brighter.

"Aye, we did. If anythin', Ah think we put more thoughts intae 'ere instead," Johnny scratches his head dramatically, and then you feel his big, hot palm on you sweaty forehead, as if he's trying to get a feel of the thoughts inside your skull. It doesn't linger there for long, though, rough fidgety fingers digging into your hair and tugging at the roots. This makes the hot-and-cold collar around your nape unclench, uncouth and chaotic massage confidently pulling every ounce of anger out of your brain. From time to time his calloused palm slips lower, squeezing your scruff, wiping the cool sweat away and taking control over what seems to have escaped your own.

"How does it feel to be the first person to get knocked up mentally, love? Having any cravings yet? Feeling your brainworms kick yet?" Dry cotton comforter suddenly covers your exposed to be looked at with disdain body, and before you can choke out a protest and something about you being sweaty and sticky and disgusting, Kyle grips your shoulders firmly, rubbing up and down as he slowly helps you sit up a bit.

"Ye eejit, how dae ye think thay can kick? They're brainworms, thay dinnae hae any legs!" The sheer passion in Johnny's heated counterarguement does the impossible - makes the corners of your deeply upset mouth twitch against all the weight the sadness put on them. Your knights in shining (from all the sweat your lovemaking covered them with) armor of their own warm skin seem to not notice the slightest twitch of your lips - there's no excessive attention drawn to you, none of them puts you on the spot. Their touch isn't going anywhere, but it almost seems mindless, simply their need to have something soft and pleasant to squeeze in their restless hands. "'N' wasnae Mary th' first lassie tae get up th' duff through th' heid?"

"That wasn't mentally, that was spiritually, read your books, Soap," scoffs Kyle, as if it was the most obvious thing, and ducks just in time to avoid a pillow thrown at him with sniper's precision.

"Oi, ye sayin' Ah cannae read now?!" Whatever snarky retort Kyle was ready to shoot, gets wiped out as Johnny tackles him, barely avoiding pushing all three of you off the bed. Their scuffle consists of chokeholds and sneaky kisses, legs getting caught in the sheets and somehow tangling you into the mess too.

Until you laugh, finding yourself squished into Johnny's hairy chest with Kyle in a gently headlock somewhere under your arm.

"Hey, hey, careful, mate, our lovie's expecting, we can't just throw 'em around!" However obvious that deflection is, Johnny reacts as if you were actually with child and grabs your face, boring his eyes into yours, slowly widening his two blue lochs in pretend horror.

"Och naw! Ah think we lost 'em, Ah cannae see nothin' there now!" Flushed after the playfight, you avert your gaze, still a trace of self-consciousness about yout outburst somewhere deep inside, but none of the "brainworms" that clogged your insides in sight indeed. Johnny's little drama earns him a soft nip on his thumb from you, and he smiles at you, clearly satisfied with the effect their little scheme had.

"Aw, damn, and here I was, ready to hear the pitter-patter of 'em little feet," Kyle's warm lips somehow find their way to kiss your temple, eliciting another shy giggle.

A pillow crashes onto both of you with the force of a small bombshell.

"THAY DINNAE HAE FEET, GARRICK, THAY'RE WORMS!"

Price and Gaz fall into their usual ways seamlessly, responsibilities and tasks split between the two seemingly without even any verbal communication. Clearing out the space around you with the same quick efficiency they clear out enemies with, they prop you up on some pillows, assess your condition in case they got carried away and hurt you, and finally settle on both sides of you, warm hands on your knees squeezing softly.

"Are ya gonna talk to us now, lovie? Or will we have to use interrogation tactics to learn what made our love so upset?" John's voice bears no trace of threat, but it still makes you cower and try to take up even less space that your curled up body already has, which earns you a sigh from the Captain. "I see. Take over from here, Sergeant. I expect results once I return."

The matress sighs with relief a Price's weight leaves it, bare feet padding a few steps before he reaches his slippers and leaves the room. The pit that the sound of your bedroom's door closing opens in your chest is crushing your ribcage with the iron fist of vacum. You can't blame John for not willing to deal with your bullshit, but the hearbreak only reenforces the choking smog in your head that's rasping in a hundred different voices that the only thing you deserve is pure repulsion.

Kyle's soft thumb pads wipe the tears teetering on the arrows of your lashes, and in a smooth movement you find your face cupped and pulled close to his shoulder. His smooth skin sticks to your wet cheek and you find yourself crying like a little kid, the unbearable pain of the revolting dark knots inside somehow replaced with surprisingly more bearable grief over what you consider an ending reltionship. Perhaps John leaving our bed finally shattered your heart, letting the ungodly pressure out and allowing it to beat - and bleed - again.

"We'd really like if ya talked to us, angel. Don't think Captain can stand there bare-ass naked much longer, might catch rheumatism at this point, he's not getting younger, you know..."

"I hope you know I can hear you perfecrly clear, Garrick." You stop mid-sniffle, eyes snapping to the closed door. You can finally see the shadow of a man standing just outside, and the air slowly feels with some flavour you can't distinguish through all the snot yet, but seem to like a lot...

"Good, so your hearing's still intact, sir. You're in good shape," Kyle's cheeky remark must've broken John's famous patience and restraint, because the bedroom door finally opens, and you see him there. With a tray with a whole bunch of tea mugs and little plates of treats balanced in his hands.

"Still not talking? Well, we'll try another method then, lovie. Sandwich for your thoughts, eh?"

His cheeks are round with a kind smile, confusing your tortured mind even further - Kyle uses your stupor to fetch John's big, slightly scratchy bathrobe, successfully wrapping you into a cocoon of grounding stimulation all over your feverish skin. With a huff and a grumble about staying butt-naked a bit longer, John puts a pleasantly warm mug into your hands and looks at you, arms crossed and tucked into his armpits now that he got rid of the tray.

Expecting an answer.

"'M sorry..." seems appropriate right up to the moment when a little finger-sandwich gets shoved into your mouth. The bread is soft, nice, salty ham and crunchy cucumber filling your senses and cracking a bit fat line of light right in the middle of the dense cloud in your thoughts.

"Try again, love," Kyle gives a hint and wipes a crumb off your lips, licking it off his thumb. "We don't need an apology, we just want to know what's troubling ya. John, tell 'em."

"Already did," grumbles Price in response and clears his throat, sitting back down on the creaking bed. "Food's working though. Eat up, darling, get your energy. Then we'll talk properly, a'right?"

You chew slowly, still stiff in your own body, but regaining control gradually. Yes. Then you'll talk.

Ghost and Price exchange a single glance over your from, choking on the self-destructive rage, and John shakes his head so slightly that one can barely notice, but it's clear enough to stop Simon from tumbling down the traumatic spiral staircase of his own. Grounded by his Captain's presence, he shrugs his broad shoulders, shaking off the creeping up feeling of his own monsterous nature, and rolls onto his back, pulling you out of the miserable wet ball of wrinkled sheets and onto his firm lap, sideways, his big palms resting comfortably around your hips; he's not squeezing or digging his fingers into the fat like he usually does, but it's a secure hug you can't really escape.

Exposed held too far away from his chest you could hide on, you shrink, rising your shoulders protectively and trying to cover up your soft belly, spilling over your pelvis in a shapless manner - that's when John's arms come from behind, catching yours and instead of pulling away forcefully, simply repeating your own safety cocoon, hiding your body from your distorted sight and keeping you warm.

"You're not thinking straight right now, darling," every phrase he murmurs gently, calmly, convincingly into your ear is accompanied by a little kiss, beard tickling and burning your already irritated by tears skin. "So good for us, so kind. Can you spare some of that kindness for yourself?"

Even though it doesn't sound like a rhethorical question, Simon cups your cheek and shushes you tenderly, pressing his thumb to your lips, allowing John to continue with his little speech aimed to dispel the storm coagulated in your chest.

"'Cos if not, it's a'right, love. We know it's hard, and ya're doing good already. Ya 'ave us, eh? To love ya, to cherish ya. No need to overthink, jus' let us hold you, a'right?"

He finally pushes you onto Simon's chest, his big heart stuttering with worry as you seek shelter among his many scars that paint a horrifying picture once you put all the fragments together.

"How'd you do that, sir?" Simon's voice sounds vulnerable - so much that it strikes through all the layers of your egocentric self-hatred and shifts you almost immeditely into a completely different mindset; one where you throw your whole self into loving your scarred and battle-worn men in such abundance that it's ought to compensate for all the unfairness they've gone through.

There's no need for it now, you realize a little too late: Price is there, keeping Simon away from the darkness. They're fine. Better than ever. It's a distraction, a trick, a play to make your bleeding heart stop the internal self-destruction and turn to healing.

A sly little switch you're not sure they were planning to flip, but it worked.

"Hm?" As if emerging from the depths of his thoughts in response to Simon's question, John caresses your cheek as gently as his rough thumb can and then smiles, maybe catching onto the change in your mood or simply remembering all the times he pulled Ghost out of the same gloom and darkness. "Jus' taking care of me own, Simon. Tha's what a Captain does, no? Now, love, how about a shower? I reckon we can squeeze in all together and papmer you really good, what do ya say, eh?"

Ghost and Gaz manage to keep their cool. Kyle's confident and gentle presence serves to reassure any doubts Simon has about hurting you, he shoots a single glance at his sergeant and recieves support immediately. Two pair of hands cradle you with all the tenderness two soldiers are capable of, which is always enough to drown you in fully. It's a tight hug, a hot mess of limbs, too much skin on skin contact that makes your brain flare with undirected rage, but as seconds trickle by and you're still trapped between two firm bodies, you have no choice but to slip into the exhaustion phase of your outburst.

It's not pleasant, nor could you say you feel calm; if anything, you just petrify, a permanent frown on your face and blindly staring forward glass eyes. You're tired, you'd still rather be anywhere but inside your own body that still feels like a useless deformed bag that should be gutted and emptied to lighten up, inner layer of your skin scrubbed with a knife to peel off the suffocating thickness of fat trapping this heated rage inside...

Instead, you get a kiss.

It's Kyle, soft, full lips touching your wet with tears cheekbone, then again - your temple, your cheek, the overheated spot behind your ear. They're light, soft kisses, too gentle to be playful or arousing. Calming. They do not demand anything in return - he allows you to stay in your inner world where you feel secure, even pauses to kiss Simon the same way right in front of your eyes. A silent demonstrationg of the love and reverence these pecks carry, Simon's hooded eyes fluttering shut as if his own compartmentalized demons get exorcised by Garrick's touch.

"Wanna talk about it, angel?" Kyle's voice rumbles at a nice, grounding, smooth timbre, and your still-too-slow mind struggles to grasp how is it possible that he's talking and you're still getting kisses - until you recognize the uneven texture of Simon's scarred lips, trailing along your skin tenderly. "Whenever you're ready, love. But we would love to know what's going through your head right now."

It feels strange to say it out lound when you're held and caressed like this, but their kisses and solid embrace cleared your windpipe enough of the mental gunk for you to be able to speak.

"I hate myself... 'M disgusting, and-" A displeased grumbling kiss from Simon interrupts you, and even Kyle pushes his huge shoulder to reprimand his own Lieutenant for the interference. Kisses his temple immediately to make amends, though, and turns back to you, prompting you to continue.

"Wot? Don't like when someone talks shit 'bout mine," grumbles Simon like a dog that got flicked on the nose for growling at welcome guests.

"Let 'em talk, mate, it's good to get things off your chest." At least their little bickering coaxes a tiniest hint of smile out of you, and Simon, noticing it immediately, stares back at Kyle with such pride, as if he just did something great.

The thing is, in the way his arms squeeze you a tad bit tighter, pressing into his firm body, you can read that for him - your smile is the greatest achievement.

"Don't tell me you prefer his silent treatement, angel, I'm trying to be the attentive boyfriend here, and for what?" Your smile grows a little braver. A little brighter. You would've kept talking if you could remember what it was that hurt so fucking much in your chest.

"Shower. Then a cuppa. Then we have the talk." No one dares to argue with the Ghost and his gruff commands. You feel the sheet sticking to your skin as he lifts you up, Kyle already sneaking off to prepare towels and clean clothes for you three. He'll stay with you and help you wash the remaints of the mind attack off. Simon will make fresh tea.

You're going to be alright.

Price and Soap take quite an intense approach the second they notice your distress. You feel Johnny's weight disappear from you after the first strangled sob that escapes you, and if you could open your eyes glued shut by the hot, messy tears, you would see John practically dragging the poor Sergeant away by his scruff. It's easy to suspect that Johnny couldn't contain himself and went too hard, too rough on you - with no malice, but pure passion that's spilling from his big, hot heart every time he gets to be close to you.

But it's not Johnny's fault, neither is it John's. It's all you, a useless, pathetic thing, good for nothing and holding two gorgeous men to yourself like a greedy glutton hoarding delicious food.

"Ah'm sorry, bonnie- ow, Ah got it, Ah got it, Ah'm not touchin'!"

"Did we hurt ya, love? Was Johnny boy too rough wit' ya? Wha's wrong?"

You feel big warm hands gliding over your skin, quick assessment of your state in search of potential harm caused. This immediate care only makes you feel worse, every cold sweaty patch of your disgusting hide shivering and twitching under Captain's careful touch. You struggle against your own spiraling anger, fight it with what's left of your exhausted resilience - and lose, curling up with another burst of tears, shoving the loving hands away and dusting the lingering warmth off your body.

After all, you do not deserve to be treated with such kindness after the fit you just threw.

"No, no, no, it's not his fault, it's not Johnny's... it's me, it's my fault, it's all my fault, I ruin everything, I'm- I'm disgusting!"

The silence that follows you blowing up on them is heavy. Just as bad as the knot in your chest.

"Johnny."

When you open your eyes to find a way out, run away, scatter and hide in the furthest corner of the apartment until everyone who tried caring for you leaves again, you're met with Johnny's bright blue eyes, glistening with unshed tears.

It's a shocking sight, pushing you out of the muffled misery into an alerted worry - his face is red with unexplainable pained anger, fists clenched as John holds him tightly by hunched shouders, seemingly trying to prevent a violent outburst.

"Ah wanntae ken names of th' bastarts who made ye feelin' tis wa'. Ah swear Ah will mak' thaim fuckin' choke oan thair ain tongues, Ah'll rip thair spines oot 'n' shove thaim up thair-" - "Enough, Johnny. Stand down. This won't solve anythin'. Ya calm down and help our lovie feel better, a'right?"

Still a bit shells-hocked, you stir on the bedsheets and push yourself up to sit upright, stretching your arms hesitantly to the men in a weak attempt to remedy whatever shitstorm you caused in their minds.

"Don't get mad, please," you whisper sheepishly, and the shy sound of your still choked voice seems to wash Johnny's explosive anger away better than the firm grip of his handler's (Price's) hands. With a look of a beaten dog, Johnny huffs loudly, cuddlng up to you and hiding his face in your lap. His heavy jaw sinks in the plush of your thighs, accomodated nicely with the softness of your body.

"'M nae mad at ye, leannan. Jus' dinnae say tha' again, a'right, bonnie? If ye need me tae prove ye-"

"No..." your hand finds it place in his damp mohawk and brushes through, while you glance at John. His eyes are shimmering with love and love only as he looks at you and Johnny, and you feel a wave of shyness - the good, giddy, warm kind - replacing the paralyzing shame. "I'm fine already. With you."

"Maybe we should 'ave a little chat 'bout it, love," John's hand meets yours on the sad mutt's head in your lap, intertwinig fingers with you through Johnny's soft hair. "When ya feel better. Jus' so we know what we're dealing with, eh?"

"Yeah. A bit later. Thank you."

All four of your men get frozen witnessing your reaction, struck with a horrifying sense of helplessness - it feels like the biggest failure among many unsuccessful missions, operations where lives were lost and enemies missed, to have you curling up and crying in misery between all the love they've been pouring onto you just mere seconds ago. As if everything they touch is bound to go up in flames, drown in blood and rot, be it on the outside or from the inside.

They're lost, and as always, they turn to the Captain, giving themselves up for him to direct, trusting that he knows better what use they can be of.

And, frankly, he does.

They're barely talking, but the commotion around you is decipherable even through the red mind fog and closed eyes - it honestly only makes you feel worse, unsafe, exposed, despite that simply being Soap, sent off to fill a bath ("Ye want it hot or a tad bit cool, bonnie?" - Silence. Your nails dig into your scalp, the soud of someone simply breathing, even more so talking to you, sending you into a new fit of rage. "Make it warm, Johnny, we'll adjust later."), and Simon, leaving for tea duty - silently, your favourite way to have it attentively observed in the first two weeks you've been together and memorized ever since.

It's Kyle whose voice, murmuring into your ear sweet, reassuring nothings as he keeps you caged in a tight embrace, your back pressed against his warm chest, forces you out of the highly irritable state. You have no choice between his short, chaste kisses on the crown of your overloaded head, and John's calloused hands massaging your calves, soft flesh dipping under the firm pressure.

"Ya jus' focus on fighting tha' storm off, a'right, darling? We'll take care of th' rest. It happens, we know it does, 's not your fault. Jus' a funny lil' thing your mind does, eh? Yeah, love, we know wha' it's like when your mind does funny things. Don't we, Kyle?"

"That we do." Maybe it's just your own depressive state rubbing off on them or distorting your perception, but Kyle's voice sounds almost solemn. You would turn to look into the smoky quartz of his eyes, but either he holds you too tight, or you have barely any strength left in your upset body - you simply can't.

Maybe it's alright. Maybe tonight they don't need you ripping your heart out to tend to their restless minds, and you can just allow them to take care of you.

Allow Kyle to carry you to the bathroom.

Allow John to stay there and help you wash yourself with a nice, scrubby loofah.

Allow Johnny to bring in his huge, baggy loungewear that doesn't hug your curves too snugly and allows you to simply forget what you were so angry about for a while.

Allow Simon to serve you perfect temperature tea in your favourite mug and keep you quiet company on the balcony, night air cooling your wet and clean now skin and hair further and blowing all thoughts out of your troubled head away.

As you share a cigarette with rich clove aftertaste, breathing ironically becomes easier. Behind your back the bedsheets are being changed, proper meal is being cooked, a good movie you won't be upset falling asleep to is being chosen.

"Simon." - "Hm." - "You sure you're okay with me being like that?" - "Standin' in the wind with your hair wet, tryin' to catch a cold?"

You grunt, not appreciating him taking the piss while you're tryig to be vulnerable, but allow him to pull the hood of Johnny's hoodie onto your head.

"No. I mean, fucked up in the head?"

You don't actually know what answer you expect. With an unreadable expression, Simon turns his head, looking through the glass door at the men crowded in the living room and waiting for you, and then stares back at you with a smirk, a permanent scowl carved into it by someone's cruel hand.

"Nah. Tha's how I like 'em."

He throws the cigarette butt away and chuckles, cupping the back of your head and pulling you inside, into the warmth of home.

"Oi, bonnie! C'mere, As saved ye a spot." There is no spot as you look at the two-story cuddle pile on the sofa and the blanket nest in front of it, unless of course... ah, yes, Johnny's patting his lap. "Ah promise Ah'll behave. Mostly."

And as his warmth envelops you through a big hug, his hands clenched humbly on your belly and behaving indeed, you feel stupidly happy.

Because you're enjoying touch again.

[lawsvalentine]

Your writing is so good, Bless you for existing🙏❤️ I hope you're doing well :] Can I please request Sanji and his girlfriend? (I'm totally projecting here with this) she has shit self-esteem and is always putting herself down? Like, she'll laugh and make fun of herself like it's no big deal, but deep down she just feels ugly and stupid? How would Sanji go about this with her? Sorry this is kind of depressing haha

Flaws and All • Sanji x Fem!reader •

(Fluff)

CW: established relationship, use of pet names(mon amour, my love, darling, etc), reader is a bit insecure, reader makes self-deprecating jokes,

Cee’s Note: Aw thank you! This was so sweet 😙 I’m doing well thanks for asking. This is such a cute idea 🤭 hope you enjoy

Song Cred: Flaws and all- Beyonce

“And for you, mon amour?”

You two were currently in the kitchen where Sanji began prepping for lunch. He already had a meal planned out for the rest of the crew, but for you, he always asked you specifically what you wanted.

When you’re the chef’s girlfriend, you can expect these special privileges.

You gave him a request of your favorite food and he wasted no time getting to work. You two made small chat in the meantime while he cooked.

“Here you go, my darling” he smiled lovingly at you.

You took your first bite, and you let out a satisfied hum at the flavors eliciting your tastebuds. Sanji’s eyes warmed at the sight of you enjoying his food.

“Amazing as always,” you say as you finish your last bite.

Sanji chuckles, “Thank you my dear, would you like some more?”

“Oh I really shouldn’t,” you shake your head.

“I’ll make as much as you want, just say the word,” Sanji winks at you.

“Your food is dangerous, ya know ” you chuckle, “Imma wind up fatter than I already am if I don’t have some self control.”

Sanji’s smile faded at your words and an awkward silence fell over you two when you realized you were the only one laughing.

You shifted in your seat uncomfortably, unable to read your boyfriend’s expression.

‘Is he upset with me? ‘

‘Did I offend him by not accepting his offer for more food?’

‘God I’m so stupid’

“Y/N,” Sanji said softly, breaking the silence and taking you out of your thoughts.

“Yes?”

“Why do you say such mean things about yourself?” Sanji said concernedly.

Your eyes widened at his words. You wanted to say that it was just a joke and that it didn’t mean anything. But you would be lying, not only to Sanji but yourself if you were to say that.

Sanji had noticed your sly jabs at yourself throughout the conversations you two have shared and every time you did it, you would laugh it off almost like you were poking fun at yourself.

“I-I don’t-“ you fiddled with your fingers, avoiding eye contact with Sanji.

Suddenly you felt the tip of his fingertips at your chin as he lifts your head to meet his eyes.

“Please tell me why,” Sanji said, you could see the sadness in his eyes and you hated that you were the cause of that.

Your eyes shifted, struggling to look him in the eyes as you confess, “I don’t know what you see in me”

Sanji’s head cocked to side slightly, a confused look on his face.

“I’m not pretty like Nami or as intelligent as Robin. I’m not special in any way. I don’t get why you’re even with me,” you could feel your eyes brim with tears as you finally let out what you’ve been holding in for so long.

You suddenly felt yourself against your lover’s lean chest and his toned arms wrapped around you.

“I wish you could see yourself the way I do,” Sanji whispered in your ear.

You could feel the tears stream down your cheeks as you quietly sob in his chest.

“I’ll tell you what I see,” Sanji says, once again lifting your head to meet his loving gaze, “I see a beautiful girl, inside and out, who has completely stolen my heart.”

The thumb of his hand caressed your tear-stained cheek, “ When I’m with you I feel love-“ he pauses to peck your cheek.

“Lust,” he whispers, his lips grazing your ear down to your jawline, a sigh leaving your lips at the subtle contact.

“I feel like the luckiest man in the world, to get to hold you and kiss you like this,” he says, inches away from your face.

Looking in his eyes, you felt every emotion he was feeling and you started to think if someone like him could love you like this, maybe what he was saying wasn’t so hard to believe.

“I love you, Sanji,” you say, bringing your arms to wrap around his neck.

“I love you more, mon amour” he smiles about to lean in before you press a finger to his lips, stopping him in his tracks.

“Flaws and all?” You say with a cocked eyebrow.

“What flaws?” Sanji says cheekily, before capturing your lips in a kiss.

[obx-archives]

Can I get one with Jj, one where the reader has a skin condition like eczema. And they are at a pool party and the reader is having an Eczema flare up, and they practically drag her to the pool not knowing she has eczema?

no matter what - jj maybank

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

warning: mention of self esteem but other than none i think? lemme know if i miss something.

pairing(s): jj maybank x fem!reader

word count: 0.6k

author's notes: just like jj said: you look smokin' hot. to all my eczema people, love y'all be safe and don't let a skin condition stop you to feel beautiful and have fun.

masterlist

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Sarah Cameron knew how to throw a pool party, everybody knows that, so when you refuse to go, your friends and boyfriend practically carry you to her place.It was incredibly hard to get away, almost everyday they came up with something and most of the time, out when the sun is peaking.

It was frustrating living in a place aka an island, where summer lasts forever. You were almost running out of excuses, a pool party filled with the tourons and young mean people was not what you needed right now. Avoiding the questions was your best way out so you agreed on going.

You stared at yourself in the mirror, seeing if there was any missing spot, the sunscreen and moisturizer was applied at every bump on your skin, you couldn’t help thinking about your look, our brain loves to trick us but no matter how much you tried to avoid being mean to yourself, the comparison and embarrassment always seems to be there.

It was always “easy” to cover the rashes but recently, due to the extremely hot weather plus stress of your work, it was impossible to not wear something covering your body. You left the house covered in moisturizer, you had your hat, sunglasses and a long sleeve cover up on, you walked to Sarah’s house overthinking all your decisions.

I glanced over at JJ, who was totally in his element, having a blast with our friends by the pool. He looked carefree, all smiles, and I really didn't want to throw a wrench into his day. Truth is, I'd been dodging the pool like it was hot lava, making up lame excuses about not feeling like swimming or not wanting to get wet. But the real deal was that I was trying to keep my eczema under wraps.

JJ, being the observant dude he is, picked up on my hesitation and came over with a concerned look on his face. "Hey, ma’am, why aren't you taking a dip? It's hotter than Hades out here," he said, giving my shoulder a friendly slap.

I nibbled on my lip, trying to play it cool. "Ah, you know, I'm just not feeling the whole swimming thing today," I replied, hoping my voice sounded casual enough.

JJ raised an eyebrow, clearly smelling the bullshit. He lifted my chin, forcing me to make eye contact. "Y/N, what's the deal? You're usually the first one to suggest late night swims. C’mon, cut the crap."

“JJ…” I heaved a sigh, feeling a lump in my throat. "It's my skin k?," I admitted, barely louder than a whisper. "My eczema is acting up, It used to be like nothing and my whole fracking body is covered and I did not want people talking about it."

JJ's face softened as he absorbed my confession. "Babe, you don't have to put on an act for me or anyone else. We're all friends here, and they'll get it." JJ said, reaching for your hand. "C’mon, you look smokin' hot, just like always. It's gonna be really tough to change that, y'know?" 

I probably did not look convinced enough cause JJ was analyzing my face before pulling me to a hug. It felt like a weight off my chest, having JJ in my corner. "I just didn't want to make a big fuss or become the star of the show," I admitted.

"You don’t need to worry about that, I got ya. Your comfort is numero uno. We can head inside, whip out some drinks or chill far from the sun, and you don't have to swim if you don't want to, but you sure oughta be havin' some fun. Don’t let this shit stop you now,”

He was right, hiding my eczema had only given me unnecessary stress, it felt good to see that in another's perspective and realize that all that overthinking was useless. JJ's understanding and support were like gold, and I knew I hit the jackpot with him.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

© obx-archives 2023 — no one has permission to copy or translate any of my works, if you see any of my work being reproduced in another platform please contact me! :)

[marcskywalker]

merthur au/prompts I can't stop thinking about (@ fic writers)

arthur being magic positive and hiding it from merlin. I spoke more about it here and @neupulman wrote this amazing fic based on it but omg this idea lives in my head RENT FUCKING FREE and I'd love as many fics written on it as possible

merlin being cursed (or wtv) and temporarily loses his magic. He grows insanely controlling of arthur cause he feels like he can no longer protect arthur from danger if he doesn't have magic and is constantly trying is order him around. no, you're not allowed to go there, no you can't say that, no you're not allowed to accept food from him. and arthur is just ?????? tf is wrong with my best friend?? but doesn't read much into it because it's merlin and merlin's always been a little weird and bossy. merlin keeps getting into so much more trouble (cause again, his usual way of staying out of trouble is magic) so arthur's put in position to protect him more often and both of them are ???????? "why THE FUCK ARE you putting yourself in danger for me??" and "WHY ARE YOU getting into so much trouble??" until they figure out that "oh you're in love with me and can't bare to see any harm come to me" and "oh you have magic and someone already hurt you by taking it away"

Arthur meeting Merlin's family for the first time and being accepted. Idk how clear I can make this but I hate Arthur's family and how is he is treated by them (except you ygraine, you're dead and lovely) so ya someone give that boy loving affirmations

One of them is brainwashed/mind controlled/possessed and beats the shit out of the other person who refuses to fight back. I LOVE this trope. It slaps all the time. Look at destiel. Look at stucky. ALL THE TIME

another au that I've spoke about before AND I'LL SPEAK ABOUT IT AGAIN: I took that scene where Arthur says "I'll give up my crown just see her smile again" or something like that about morgana, and ran with it. There is only so many assassination attempts a brother can go through before he wilts and does another to have his sister back. In Arthur's case: he willingly hands over the throne for a chance at having a chance at his pesty, loving, older sister (I AM A YOUNGER BROTHER ARTHUR TRUTHER) look at him with something other than endless hate. what I Love about this prompt is that it could go so so many different ways. @mobycotton was lovely enough to write this amazing fic for me that I LOVED. In my head, Arthur is really shaken up by another one of Morgana's attempts at killing him. He doesn't know what's saved him and at this point he wishes whatever it is would stop. He goes down a spiral thinking of his family; the mother that he killed, the father that he let down, the uncle he betrayed and the sister he never deserved. What good could he be for Camelot when he wasn't even good enough for his flesh and blood. So he announces his truce; gives it over to morgana and leaves Camelot and everyone he knows behind. The knights and merlin have to eventually hunt him down and convince him otherwise (and he meets random people along the way who are stans of King Arthur just like me and he gets some sort of self esteem back)

Protective BAMF merlin. Basically merlin overhears someone talking shit about his prince and starts a fist fight. Arthur finds out

Mid s1 merthur where Arthur knows he's in love with Merlin and he shoves it DEEP inside, sticks to pining after his manservant like the pathetic (lovingly) puppy he is. All Merlin knows is that, for whatever reason, he would rather eat his own feet than let anything happen to Arthur. Which is why when brave, stupid arthur walks towards a stranger light source in the forest; he follows without hesitation, only to see...... arthur and himself snogging against a tree? Basically a pining, repressed prince Arthur and Merlin I don't know what this weird feeling in my tummy when I see him is Emrys accidentally walks through a portal into an alternatively universe where they know how to communicate well and have been disgustingly in love. The four of them have to work together to get Arthur and Merlin back where they belong.

Merlin makes a deal with his king cenred: for protection of his village, he will infiltrate Camelot's castle and bring them down. He just wishes someone had told him that prince charming of Camelot would make him fall in love with his pouty lips and gooey eyes. I don't know if yáll have noticed this but Arthur pouts A LOT. I can't take him seriously smh

[thr-333]

In other news- because tbh this other au holds more meaning in my heart (just cuz of how I relate to Donnie the most out of all of the aus), I genuinely am craving for angst with hurt/comfort for Leo Jr au.

sooo time for THOUGHTS I really am longing for moments with Leo Jr and Donnie, because...hnk- Donnie actually receiving comfort, care, patient understanding and acceptance instead of being told to suck it up or being ridiculed/treated like a ticking time bomb???? Means the world to me????? Idk- I guess my soul just aches for this version of Donnie who didn't get that safe space Leonardo's Donnie did. (i get the au is mainly Leo-centric, but for some reason this version of Don-tron ya created has somehow wormed his way into my heart and he is truly my favorite iteration in terms of aus???)

When I tell you that I felt my heart break over the silly comic where Leonardo says that Leo Jr and Casey Jr are twins, solely due to what that implies to the overall story. In a sense, Leo Jr gets to have variations of the life he would have if he hadn't been kidnapped (by all technicalities Leo Jr IS a victim of kidnapping no matter how wholesome it turned out to be). He gets to know the joys of having a twin, of being able to goof around and laugh, being understood/accepted, being able to make friends and be a kid! Meanwhile...Donnie (the one who was MEANT to have Leo as his twin) didn't get any of that. It hit hard that, even if it wasn't intentional by any means, Don was "easily replaced." (which idk if it's intentional or not, but that seems to be a reoccurring theme for the spiny softshell in this au). He'll never really have that close knit bond, not know what it's like, even if Leo Jr and him do grow close during their teenage years. Because in this reality, the "Disaster Twins" exist, Donnie's just not apart of it. Which is just another way that shows how much of a stranger the kid is to everyone who is supposed to be his family; his father, two brothers, and even the one who was at one point meant to be his twin.

That thought is sorta what led me down the rabbit hole of Leo Jr AU! Don brainrot. The kid's reality is one of neglect, extreme isolation, fear and...probably a deep well of self-hatred, loneliness, non existent self-worth, etc. (we saw how he struggled with in Rise Canon, so i can only imagine it is so much worse in this au). I can only imagine that this also impacts his ninpo and mystics later on, which probably is going to make his self-esteem take a nosedive.

Ngl if Leonardo's twin (who I'm gonna call Tello) is actually watching over his past self, it makes me wonder what he's thinking. His pov would be intriguing consider he'd be witnessing how much pain his twin's actions caused. Idk- I just- when I look at everything from this particular au, it makes me hope that Donnie is allowed to feel his big feelings without people trying to rush him. He should be allowed to be terrified, hurt, angry, etc towards Splinter and Leonardo. Neither of them deserve his forgiveness, because shit- both of them fucked up big time. They both caused complex trauma...and like- really need to face consequences. (apart of me sorta hopes Donnie DOESN'T forgive them) dakjsfsadfas sorry for rambling, not sure if any of that made sense, but I just- I have so many feelings about Donnie in the Leo Jr au, and really want to see more of him!

The sewers were a gross place to live if you asked Junior but Splinter refused to move to the hidden city. Luckily he had his portals meaning he could step into the already cleaned portion they called a home.

“Leo!” Mikey was the first to notice him. Dropping the plates on the table he was setting them vaulting over it, “You came!”

“It’s still Junior,” He reminded for the umpteenth time, “And yeah I said I would,”

Mikey collided into him for a hug. Junior gave a small wave to Raph- or Red, probably Red as the snapper wasn’t meeting his eyes while trying to hide his scowl. Splinter was setting the table in Mikeys stead, making wayyy too much eye contact as he kept staring at Junior. He was placing the plates down carelessly. The one in front of Donnie was placed down with a crack, only Junior caught his flinch.

“Great, he’s here, I saw him,” Donnie pushed away from the table in a frenzied movement, “Can I please leave now,”

“Purple your brother is here, that is more important than some computer,” Splinter snapped. No one took note of the way both Donnie and Junior cringed. 

“Nah he’s just tryna get out of showing me his lab since he promised last time,” Junior stepped forward and away from Mikey.

“I did no such thing,” Donnie scowled at him as Junior came around to his side,

“No use backing out now Dee,” Junior grinned, shuffling towards Donnie so the softshell backed away. Kind of like herding a very liable to bite sheep, “I’m expecting the grand tour, don't wait up everyone! “

But dinner…” Junior pretended he didn’t hear Mikey as he walked Donnie towards his room office lab space.

It was empty, with sections obviously organized out to put things there but with not enough actual stuff to do it. Donnie held himself like a tightly drawn string as they walked in. Not looking at Junior as the red slider circled around to the other's bed.

“What did you want to see?” Donnie asked tiredly as Junior came up behind him, “Most of my stuff is at the old place, or the other old place, or-”

Donnie was cut off by the blanket being draped over his head like a tablecloth.

“Nothing much,” Junior shrugged stepping away as Donnie went very still under the blanket, “Just had to get out of there, think I might sit quietly against a wall for the next half hour, not say anything, not do anything, you know how it is,”

Junior slid down the wall. He would have to go back eventually, or the others would break down the door and pull them both back to dinner. He estimated he had about thirty six minutes before that happened and that he could convince them to leave Donnie be. He’d say he asked if the softshell could make something for him. Something big so Donnie would have an excuse to disappear for the next week or so. They tended not to bother the other turtle as much if they thought he was doing stuff for the yokai.

The blanket shuffled, bunching up on the ground as Donnie sat near him. Only just within arms reach. He was covered head to toe, curled up and completely silent. Junior occupied himself trying to come up with a believable project. Maybe a new mask? That way he could wear his old one and the others would never know, it’s not like Splinter ever let them follow Junior to the battle nexus.

The blanket shifted but Donnie didn’t emerge. A hand poked out the bottom, listing up the cloth and bunching it up while still keeping the soft shell hidden. Junior reached his hand out halfway. Donnie couldn't see it but paused when his searching hand brushed up against it. Junior kept still, waiting, not minding one way or the other.

Donnie held his fingers, squeezing lightly. Junior squeezed back, not taking Donnie’s whole hand but meeting him where he was. It was pleasant, it was quiet. The noise from the others blocked off. A little bubble away from everything where they could just be. 

Junior thought growing up in the sewers may have not been all bad… if he got to do it with Donnie.

[princess-of-the-corner]

Ranma 1/2 If I Was Writing It

In no particular order

 .. I thought Ranma’s Soul of Ice was leading to a thing where we find out the transformations were the result of changes in Ki, and were just triggered by hot or cold water at first. But like, if you trained enough, you could trigger the transformations yourself, no water required. So Ranma goes on a quest (probs with Ryoga) about mastering this technique, initially with the idea of locking their Ki in “hot” so they won’t transform anymore. Like, with the thought of “Finally, I can stop transforming all the time!” Genma is really on the “Fianlly, My Son is a MAN”. Only, they get to wherever, and Ranma seems to be struggling HARD with mastering this technique. Wise Mentor, who’s teaching these kids, has to have a heart to heart with Ranma about the reason the guy is struggling is he doesn’t actually WANT to master this specific technique, he doesn’t WANT to be stuck as a guy all the time, and how that’s cool, it’s ok to be comfy as both a guy and a girl. So, Wise Mentor shows them a different technique that lets you switch back and forth at will, and Ranma does that one. Ryoga, though, he wants his tiny pig form gone, so he sticks out the other one. Then, There’d be a big fight at the end where Ranma has to switch rapidly between their faster, lighter girl form, and their heavier, stronger guy form. They get it to a point where they perfectly balance their Ki, and end up with an androgynous form that is both male and female at the same time. 

.. Oh, also, Ryoga’s pig form gets excised later via weird ghost-spirit powers. Like, keeping your Ki “heated” all the time is bad for you, so things go fucky during the Big Fight with Ranma, and we have to “draw out” the Inner Boar. Make it represent all the shitty things Ryoga’s done or something, the “pig” behaviour. Or have it represent Ryoga’s shitty self-esteem and depression. Ryoga has to fight it and defeat it to properly stop transforming.

.. Ryoga would have a bit more of a character arc. I think I’d focus on his terrible sense of direction. Make it a family curse he has to overcome. Then, during the journey, focus on how his life has sucked, how he doesn’t really have “friends”, or how he’s kind of depressed, or whatever. Whatever character you wanna write for him. After his direction curse is broken, the reverse joke is that it is now IMPOSSIBLE for Ryoga to get lost. Ever. At all. And he can find ANYTHING.

.. Also. Ryoga finally comes clean to Akane about P-chan. Ya know what, this is where we can have trans!fem Ryoga. Ryoga never thought it was weird because she never saw herself as a guy. Cue crisis.

.. Shampoo eventually confesses to Ranma that she does care about them, but is a pretty strict lesbian, and is only pursuing them because her tribe says so. Something something “strong blood, strong offspring” something “enemy or ally” mentality. Somehow, Ranma eventually proposes that he’s cool with Shampoo having his kid at some point, but they don’t want to marry her. Cologne is surprisingly chill with this.

.. Akane eventually figures out she’s pansexual. It’s around the time Ranma and Shampoo sort things out, and Akane has to come to terms with the fact all her intense emotions about Shampoo are actually attraction, not just anger or annoyance. Shampoo and Akane somehow end up on a date, where they beat the shit out of some douchebags. They make out. Soun is cool with this. Genma is not.

.. Mousse starts getting attracted to Ryoga, which confuses him, as he’s never been attracted to a man. Then Ryoga comes out as trans, and Mousse is like “ah! Ok!” You know what, they get together eventually. Why not?

.. Ukyo starts feeling like “ha! I won!” Cause all the other fiancées are “dropping out” of the running, but Ranma’s like “uh, sorry, you’re more like a sister to me???” Gonna be honest, not real sure where we go with these two, but Ukyo eventually comes to terms with the fact her attraction to Ranma is rooted in trying to prove her own femininity, and they stay as friends. Ukyo ends up dating Konatsu (the trans ninja).

.. Happosai:

dies at sea

Gets torn apart by demons

Suffers a heart attack

Swallowed by a monster

Falls into “Spring of Drowned Celibate”, then hit with that dumb ladle that freezes transformations

Eats a poisoned mushroom.

Murdered by mobsters

Falls into “Spring of Drowned Algae”, floats to the bottom

Dies of liver failure

Becomes the indentured servant of a demonic force

Gets isekai’d into [insert favourite piece of media here] and promptly crushed - by rocks or consequences

.. Ranma decides they don’t want to marry anyone. They have plenty of affection for their various friends and loved ones, but no real desire for marriage or sex. Actually, yeah, I’d make Ranma nonbinary/gender non-conforming, asexual, aromantic. They have plenty of love for people, much of it intense, but it’s all platonic, they just didn’t know that. I know I said before, possibly an eventual polyship with Akane and Shampoo, but nah. Ranma would have plenty of Queer Platonic relationships, where they stay with friends and cuddle and be very domestic, but Ranma has no burning desire for sex or romance.

.. Genma is, of course, not cool with his kid not marrying someone and getting the money to pay off all his debts. Genma tries to do something dumb. As Ranma has technically “married” Shampoo at this point (Amazons apparently have a version of marriage that’s “this guy fathered my kid, but we aren’t otherwise together”, who knew?), they are an Amazon, and attacking Ranma means the Amazons show up to beat his ass. He is forced to work for them.

.. Nabiki gets therapy, and STOPS TAKING PICTURES OF RANMA AND AKANE TO SELL TO PEOPLE.

-

Perfect beautiful I love it.

[yaknowlikenyah]

how would you go about telling your partner youre into something that youve seen them kinkshaming

cuz like its not a relationship i want to leave nor do i want to keep secrets from them but i also dont want them to a. take it as a joke or b. do that thing where people just stop listening to you and start reacting based off of their bias

thanks big bro 👍

So this is one of those things where the longer you leave it to rot, the more it's going to fester until it becomes a major problem. The last thing you want is to become resentful. Ya know? And the reason that shit happens is because it hurts.

Going into a communication like this there's a couple things you're going to have to keep in mind.

1. Set expectations for reactions.

Set the tone. You don't want them to make fun of you or call you gross or anything, obviously, but you have to communicate what is/isn't expected. Set the discussion up for compassion and make it clear that being teased or ridiculed would make you uncomfortable.

2. State how the thing influences you.

This is the devil. Absolutely the fucking devil, but you have to express what the action in question is doing to you. Yes it hurts you, but "hurt" is abstract and makes it hard for the other person to understand exactly how their actions are influencing you. Does it lower your self esteem? Is what they're doing influencing your thought patterns or making obsessive thoughts worse? Giving you body image issues? If you specify the cause and effect rather than just stating the feeling, communication will be clearer.

3. State a reasonable outcome for resolution

You know the thing and how it hurts you, and now you have to give a suggestion for how you want to fix it. It keeps your S/O (or whoever else) jumping to conclusions on what you want and helps to assuage any rejection sensitive dysphoria or guilt they may have.

So your ending communication will look something like:

"Hey babe, can we talk about something seriously for a second? I want you to hear me out about something that's been making me feel uncomfortable and I'd like if you wouldn't make fun of me for it, but I have that [insert here] kink you've been making fun of. You don't have to like it yourself or do it with me, but I'd appreciate it if you could stop making fun of it around me because it's making me feel gross about kinks I can't control."

The not fun bit of this is that if they react badly, if they make fun of you and double down, you have to think about if you want to be with someone who would make fun of other people like that in the first place and who would double down instead of reacting with compassion. It doesn't have to be a deal breaker, but don't tolerate making yourself more and more palatable just to keep what you think is a good relationship. That's the high speed train to waking up one day and realizing you're miserable trying to be someone else.

[angrytreemartensmain]

I’m Starting a Thing

Specifically a fanfic

Specifically Mafiafell!Gaster X My version of the reader

Specifically the reader is a constantly exhausted, constantly drinking coffee, constantly bored, permanent RBF, unamused, loner, bitchy, smartass, and scruffy yet also kind, simple, unjudging, slow-paced, caring, funny, protective, animal loving, oddly smart, wise but doesn’t show it, and a weirdo

Specifically the reader is a legal age to drink (this is more important to the story than you might think)

Specifically this will be an interactive fic

Specifically that means it will run on comments

Spe- Im gonna stop that bit now. What I mean is comments will influence the story

No matter what they are about

Say if you commented “imagine if Y/N just said ‘I don’t take shit from nobody’ when he tried to give them his number”, I would find a way to put that in the story

If you committed something like “their ‘’friendship’’ is the epitome of ‘’Do you take constructive criticism? I only take cash or credit.’’ lol” I would find a way to put that in the story

If you commented something like “Not Y/N making fun of G for being noseless” I would find a way to put that in the story

If you commented something like “I’m confused what theF is happening” I would find a way to put that in the story

Alrightie

Let’s begin

It had been a long day, and Gaster just wanted a drink. As usual, everyone in Grillby’s left quickly at the sight of him. He sat down on a stool next to a drunk who looked to have fallen asleep, and not noticed him.

Gaster POV

I pulled out a cigarette. I reached into my coat pocket only to find a few stitches had come undone and left a hole the perfect size for my lighter to fall out. I grumbled. I noticed a purple glow in front of me.

“Grillby-“

I felt something tap my shoulder. I looked over to see the drunk was handing a lighter to me.

“Don’t bother him. You’re already causing enough damage by scaring off his patronage.”

I was taken aback. Did they know who I was? Even if they didn’t, they should sense the murderous aura my magic was giving, even as a human.

“Tsk. Thanks for the light.”

I lit the cigarette and took a deep breath in. It took me a few moments to notice the human had their chin propped up on their fist, and was staring at me. I turned my head slightly in their direction.

“See something you like?”

The human snorted.

“You fucking wish, ya dirty-minded asshat.”

I chuckled.

“Certainly taking some liberties, assuming I would want you of all people.”

“I think highly of myself. It’s nice having self-esteem. But I guess, you would know best.”

“I would, wouldn’t I? And as you have seen, many others think so as well. As soon as I came in, they knew to leave, else they disrupt my mood, and land themselves a one-way ticket to the pearly gates.”

“I doubt anyone at Grillby’s other than Grillby himself are gonna see heaven.”

Grillby’s flames went wild for a second. I noticed the place where his cheeks would be started glowing a light pink. Interesting. It seems the human made him flustered.

“If you knew Grilby as I did, you wouldn’t assume he’d go to heaven either.”

Grillby nodded.

“I’m no saint.”

“Neither is this asshole.”

The human gestured to me. I took another drag of my cigarette.

“You know, the only reason why I haven’t killed you, is because you gave me a light. But I could easily overlook that.”

The human smiled. It was an oddly pleasant smile. One that made me feel a bit better about everything.

“The only request I have if you do, is for you to kill me in an ally far away from Grillby’s. I’d hate for my favorite monster to lose business just because I couldn’t die anywhere else.”

I sat there, staring at them. I burst into laughter. Once I managed to calm myself into chuckling, I looked back at them.

“You amuse me, human. Consider that something to be proud of. It’s very rare I laugh like that.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[smol-tired-binch-blog]

Hello :) Welcome back to another episode of Smol Copy-Pastes A Ramble/Rant From Discord And Calls It A Tumblr Post. This week, we’ll be looking at one of my Crying Over Nishiki sessions which ALSO became a full on rant against Kazama! Whoo! Here we go, gonna be another ‘read more’ cause a) spoilers, and b) reeeeally long unhinged ranting about fictional men :D

“LOOK I COULDVE FIXED HIM, EVEN AFTER HE SLAPPED REINA, I'D HAVE BEEN LIKE 'LISTEN BBY I LOVE U IM HERE FOR U BUT GET YOUR ASS BACK OVER THERE RIGHT NOW AND APOLOGISE TO REINA!!!!!'

BUT NOOOOOO EVERYONE JUST HAD TO DECIDE TO BE A HUGE BITCH TO HIM AND BECAUSE THE DUMBASS LASHED OUT AT ONE OF THE ONLY PEOPLE HE HAD LEFT AND PROBABLY FELT LIKE HE COULDNT GO BACK AND APOLOGISE CAUSE I THINK HIS SELF ESTEEM IS ALREADY LOW ENOUGH BY THEN TO NOT EVEN THINK HE DESERVES HER FORGIVENESS AND THEN YUKO FUCKING DIES BECAUSE KAZAMA IS A FUCKING SHIT DAD AND EVERYONE IS A DICK TO HIM UNPROMPTED AND AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

point is i want to rip Kazama's spine out with my bare hands

hate how the game acts like he's so cool and good when he's really not he failed his kids so so badly ACTUALLY NO THEYRE NOT HIS KIDS HE'S THE ENTIRE REASON THEYRE ORPHANS”

(at this point I moved to the spoilers channel to continue my Unending Kazama Hatred)

OKAY SO TIME TO SCREAM ABOUT THAT MOTHERFUCKER KAZAMA AND HOW THE GAME SUCKS HIS DICK do you have ANY idea how much i hated when they go to Tojo HQ so Tachibana can pay em to leave his sugar baby alone and the old fucker who weve never seen before is like 'u know i'd have paid a billion yen for Kazama when he was ur age. are u worth that much? are u as good as him?' LISTEN HERE CUNT HE IS A BETTER MAN THAN KAZAMA EVER WAS AND EVER WILL BE!!!!!!!

WHICH IS SAYING SOMETHIN SEEING AS HE'S REALLY ANNOYING IN THIS GAME like okay i get it Kazama is a yakuza and ex-hitman i EXPECT him to have done bad shit and it's very nice he set up the orphanage n all but it also isnt cause like bro you murdered these kids parents!!! and idk anythin about their life in the orphanage i'll admit but as an active yakuza i cannot imagine him being the most hands-on, tender, loving parent ever, yknow? ALSO ALSO like i know he tried to stop Kiryu and Nishiki becomin yakuza im just saying YA COULDVE TRIED HARDER MATE!!!! THEY WERE SEVENTEEN YEARS OLD, THEY WERE CHILDREN FOR GOD'S SAKE. KIRYU WAS LIKE 'WHY WONT U LET US BE LIKE U YOURE A YAKUZA U GET A COOL CAR AND PEOPLE RESPECT U LET US TRY AND HAVE THAT' YOURE LETTING HIM SELL HIS SOUL TO A LIFE OF CRIME BECAUSE HE WANTS A FUCKING CAR?????? I DONT CARE HOW STRONG THEY WERE IN THAT FIGHT YA FUCKIN SIT THEM DOWN AND GET RID OF THE ILLUSION OF GLAMOUR!!!!! TELL THEM THEYRE WORTH MORE THAN JUST GRUNTS WHO ARE GOOD WITH THEIR FISTS AND NOT MUCH ELSE, ONE FIGHT IN THE RAIN AND YOURE LETTING THEM JOIN, ABSOLUTELY FUCK RIGHT OFF WITH THAT 

AND THEN HE'S SHOVING THEM OFF TO ANOTHER FAMILY BECAUSE OF SOME POLITICAL BULLSHIT IDK BUT FINE FAIR ENOUGH YA DONT WANNA PLAY FAVOURITES BUT I FUCKING HATE THIS WHOLE 'OH SEEMS DISTANT AND UNCARING BUT ACTUALLY HE THOUGHT OF EVERYTHING AND HAS THEIR WELLBEING IN MIND' I JUST- JUST FUCK OFF!!!!!! 

MAYBE YA SHOULD PLAY FAVOURITES WHEN ONE OF YOUR CHARGES IS DYING VERY QUICKLY AND HER BROTHER HAS NO ONE FOR SUPPORT. INSTEAD OF FUCKIN LETTING THE GUY THEY APPARENTLY SEE AS BIG BROTHER FUCKING REPRIMANDING THE GUY CAUSE HE CANT GET CONTROL OF OR RESPECT FROM THE PEOPLE YOU ASSIGNED HIM AND SEEMINGLY KNEW THEYD BE DIFFICULT!!!!! HOW IS MY BOY MEANT TO ""PROVE HIMSELF"" WHEN HES DEALING WITH THE TRAUMA OF TAKING A LIFE (EVEN IF THE FUCKER HAD IT COMING), THE GUILT OF LETTING HIS BEST FRIEND TAKE THE FALL, AN ACT OF PURE KINDNEES IN CONTRAST TO HIS OWN BRUTAL IRREVERSIBLE ONE, THE STRESS OF TRYING TO SAVE HIS SISTER WHO IS DYING (MAYBE CONTRIBUTE SOME EXTRA CASH KAZAMA??? MAYBE???) AND DEALING THE AFOREMENTIONED DISRESPECTFUL FUCKERS AND LASHING OUT AND HURTING THE ONE PERSON HE HAS LEFT AND BURNING THAT BRIDGE, AND THE GIRL HE KILLED A MAN FOR HAS LOST HER MEMORY AND VANISHED (WHICH YOU HELPED WITH KAZAMA!!! YOU KNEW SHE WAS SAFE!!!!), 

AND THEN THE GRIEF OF LOSING HIS SISTER FOR NO. FUCKING. PURPOSE. HE SOLD OUT HIS REMANING MORALS, HIS PRIDE, ANY RESPECT OTHERS MAY HAVE HAD FOR HIM ALL TO SAVE HER AND IT FAILED. HE WENT THROUGH ALL OF THAT ALONE. YEAH I'D HAVE FUCKIN TURNED EVIL AS WELL!!!!!!!

im not sayin Nishiki is fully free of blame, obviously, he made his choices, and murdering Reina after using her love for him to further his own ends AND killing Shinji and ALL of the shit he pulls in Kiwami, yeah, completely fucked up, horrible, his choices, he did that shit. im just saying that i dont know, maybe if ya wanted to step in at any point in the last ten fucking years Kazama (preferably before that too), ya couldve and fuckin SHOULDVE”

I’ll be honest with ya lads, I stand by every word of this cfvgbhnjkgvbhnj

[draweronly]

doing this cause why not

Oria

nuh uh uhhh

december 18

sagittarius

green

idk man

yep, a dog

YEEEEEEEEHHHAAAAWWWWWWWW (us)

five foot flat....

8 us womens

like... 5

picking out what to wear to school

drawing, singing, playing piano

nah

at the moment: Apricot - Iyowa

my little pony equestria girls: legend of everfree

huggable

eh not really

hell to the no

no

well yeah multiple times but not for sickness (besides the one time I had pneumonia). only for primary care checkups and because my parents used to work in a hospital.

no

no

showers 100%

black, blue and gray

no ????

nope

rock, dissonant, breakcore

no

3

fetal position

medium sized

left overs from last night's dinner

no

Yep

balls

shit

21 hours

yeah

i don't think so???

yes

hell no

sorta ya

no

i don't have one

istj-t

bro idk

yep

innie

right

yes

machado

uhhh m-machado (it's foreign to the US ig)

messy ??? i think

"aw poo"

balls

10-15 minutes

high ego, low self esteem (it's not the same trust me)

suck until its a little bit left

hell yeah like 24/7

yell heah 24/7 like

i like to think so

being alone

sorta but mostly no

i don't really watch movies so i don't remember

short

fuck no

math or science

introvert

no

performances

not really

sometimes

yes

no

no

no

no

the smartest boy in the class (me being the other smartest boy)

1

absolutely

72 WPM

okayly

dark brown/black

dark brown/black (no I didn't mistake the question for the other)

dust :PPP

no

both my parents work as dialysis nurses

ehhhh

moodkillers

legal name? hell no.

no

idc

being flexible and versatile

idk man like having bias

legal name? from my father. chosen name? someone in my fifth grade class in which our only interaction was calling someone stupid by not knowing who boris from bendy was

heeelllll nooooo

yes

brown

white

Get To Know Me Uncomfortably Well

PLEASE DON’T LET THIS FLOP AHHHH

1. What is you middle name? 2. How old are you? 3. When is your birthday? 4. What is your zodiac sign? 5. What is your favorite color? 6. What’s your lucky number? 7. Do you have any pets? 8. Where are you from? 9. How tall are you? 10. What shoe size are you? 11. How many pairs of shoes do you own? 12. What was your last dream about? 13. What talents do you have? 14. Are you psychic in any way? 15. Favorite song? 16. Favorite movie? 17. Who would be your ideal partner? 18. Do you want children? 19. Do you want a church wedding? 20. Are you religious? 21. Have you ever been to the hospital? 22. Have you ever got in trouble with the law? 23. Have you ever met any celebrities? 24. Baths or showers? 25. What color socks are you wearing? 26. Have you ever been famous? 27. Would you like to be a big celebrity? 28. What type of music do you like? 29. Have you ever been skinny dipping? 30. How many pillows do you sleep with? 31. What position do you usually sleep in? 32. How big is your house? 33. What do you typically have for breakfast? 34. Have you ever fired a gun? 35. Have you ever tried archery? 36. Favorite clean word? 37. Favorite swear word? 38. What’s the longest you’ve ever gone without sleep? 39. Do you have any scars? 40. Have you ever had a secret admirer? 41. Are you a good liar? 42. Are you a good judge of character? 43. Can you do any other accents other than your own? 44. Do you have a strong accent? 45. What is your favorite accent? 46. What is your personality type? 47. What is your most expensive piece of clothing? 48. Can you curl your tongue? 49. Are you an innie or an outie? 50. Left or right handed? 51. Are you scared of spiders? 52. Favorite food? 53. Favorite foreign food? 54. Are you a clean or messy person? 55. Most used phrased? 56. Most used word? 57. How long does it take for you to get ready? 58. Do you have much of an ego? 59. Do you suck or bite lollipops? 60. Do you talk to yourself? 61. Do you sing to yourself? 62. Are you a good singer? 63. Biggest Fear? 64. Are you a gossip? 65. Best dramatic movie you’ve seen? 66. Do you like long or short hair? 67. Can you name all 50 states of America? 68. Favorite school subject? 69. Extrovert or Introvert? 70. Have you ever been scuba diving? 71. What makes you nervous? 72. Are you scared of the dark? 73. Do you correct people when they make mistakes? 74. Are you ticklish? 75. Have you ever started a rumor? 76. Have you ever been in a position of authority? 77. Have you ever drank underage? 78. Have you ever done drugs? 79. Who was your first real crush? 80. How many piercings do you have? 81. Can you roll your Rs?“ 82. How fast can you type? 83. How fast can you run? 84. What color is your hair? 85. What color is your eyes? 86. What are you allergic to? 87. Do you keep a journal? 88. What do your parents do? 89. Do you like your age? 90. What makes you angry? 91. Do you like your own name? 92. Have you already thought of baby names, and if so what are they? 93. Do you want a boy a girl for a child? 94. What are you strengths? 95. What are your weaknesses? 96. How did you get your name? 97. Were your ancestors royalty? 98. Do you have any scars? 99. Color of your bedspread? 100. Color of your room?

[randomcommentary]

Commentary on the Tubi movie: Rotten

-somebody had a shopping spree at hobby lobby with all these signs

-Sis wasn't lying about homie being a bum

-not engage to a homeless nigga

-is she face timing T-Pain??

-what's going on???

-nothing wrong with loving your mother from a distance especially when she's toxic

-how are you a hairstylist and your man look destitute

-not sleeping with married men???

-let love into her life??? Sir why are you preaching to your mistress

-your wife is your world every day except for Wednesdays

-I'm confused was she taking down the braids on putting them in

-apple petty but she ain't lying about her mama

-Issac needs to stay out of their business

-shit parents ALWAYS NEED AN ORGAN🤣🤣

-once again apple ain't shit but she doesn't have to give her kidney to a mother that doesn't acknowledge the pain she caused

-girl what money have you got when you giving it to your homeless and jobless boyfriend

-one thing a broke nigga go do is keep a plan b aka another home to squat in

-sir I can't take you seriously with these glasses

-not his baby mama!!! Girl you dumb as hell

-girl ya man is a bum!!!

-she out here dating T-Pain

-oh they all got relationship issues

-apple about you sleep with Isaac

-🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣 she a damn fool

-girl tell them where Deon's bum ass at

-Baby the self-esteem in this family is lower than the earth’s core

-not he’s our man now!!😂😂

-Isaac is NOT a good man Savannah

-he has a point apple🥴

-I wonder if Isaac is Apple daddy??

-Apple is hella grimy was made that way

-the adulterer is judging and preaching to his mistress again🙃

-not her pulling this grey’s anatomy choose me love me line😂

-self-esteem has officially dropped to the south pole

-he working hard for this kidney

-black Carlos needs to take this bum out

-he not trying! I have yet to see him on Indeed jobs

-self-esteem #2 following right behind the other one

-not him stealing her identity

-HUSBAND???

-not him running

-she still defending this muskrat

-I completely agree you are a loser with that wide-ass part in that wig

-I’m so tired of this TD Jakes nigga

-not her throwing her bills away😂

-aww she gave her a booth at the shop🥹

-I hope T-ache is real

-Tami crawled so Tokyo Toni could walk

-Baby this is too much

-I wonder who the Pappy is

-I'm getting dizzy with this camera circling

-Issac gotta be her daddy

-not the adulterer catching feelings

-the wife is slow as well I see

-Deon out here dress like Fabo

-call black Carlos!!

-TD Jakes dresses like a new edition member...this is too much

-Black Carlos!!!

-Tami just tell that girl who her daddy is

-😱😱 this is the work of Tyler Perry

-the whole bloodline is trash my lawd

-they look to the sky for big Mama when she at the bottom looking up at them just burning

-not the whole salon knowing about her meet-up with T-ache

-is that a birth certificate I see👀👀

-i hope this man ain't a serial killer

-OH NO!!!! 😱😱

-Lawd this is too much

-I KNEW IT!!! She having a hills have eyes baby!!

-not the cousin dead Jesus 😱

-be pro-choice🤷🏽‍♀️

-this man fashions🙃

-not Tami popping up on Isaac

-Yaass Tami🔫🔫

Too much was going on but at least the plot was decent

3/5 stars

[chaoticsilverwolf120]

Hi its the same anon here c: I really like your art and I was wondering if you did commissions at all?

Ohmygod.. thank you so much ;-; you're the first person to have ever asked me this question and I'm so sad that I can't say yes T -T