#do snails crawl?

[mochibiscuit]

he's safe now

[cressthebest]

sometimes i wonder who i got my autism from, and then my dad sends the family group chat four different videos of a snail he found.

[jayparked]

highschool nsfw aus are crazy and i hate that there are so many on enhablr it makes my eye twitch everytime i see them … it gives euphoria vibes to me 😭 like how hard is it to put these boys in college or as your coworker at a shitty ice cream parlor or something . and why are they fantasizing about the boys being 18????? just so strange and off putting

yeeeaaahhh i get some stories starting out in that era if it's for the plot like childhood friends to lovers au etc but keeping the whole story in high school???? 😭and just because the idols/characters are a legal age...idk it just still doesn't sit right with me. also aging up/aging down idols for the sake of smut is...why...just why...

[5tupidusrnam3]

Fear

thing I made in the middle of the night some days ago

What the text says under the read more thing

hello I am a worm bucket

hello

(AAAAAAAAAAAA) ok I’m not welcome I’m leaving (AAAAAAA)

I also have scoleciphobia

[lethargiccryptid]

Touch Starved Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Equally Touch Starved Reader♥︎ Just Some Silly Lil Thoughs [mdni]

The first time Simon settles between your thighs, he's like a man starved.

Large hands gripping into the tender flesh of your thighs, parting them to make room for his considerable bulk. Amber hued eyes locked on the ultimate target- the dampness on the center of your panties, teasing him with the promise of more.

Finally, more. To say your relationship with Simon Riley has moved at a snail's pace would be putting it mildly. Not that he's complaining, sometimes there are advantages to being with someone as touch starved as you are. There's always been this… sense between you. A gravity if you will. Every touch, every fleeting moment of intimacy heightened by the knowledge that for both of you, this is new territory.

Before you, intimacy hadn't really been an issue for Simon. He'd made do with his fist more often than not, sure he preferred the warmth and softness afforded by pussy, but he'd never appreciated the talking and cuddling that most birds wanted. With you…it was different. He wants that depth. When you finally fuck…he wants to be there to wrap you in his arms. He wants to murmur all that soppy shit in your ears he thinks you want to hear.

Someday. But not today. Today he's an explorer breaking new ground.

“Like what you see?” Your murmured words snap him out of his daze and his eyes flick to yours as his fingers deftly hook into the waistband of your panties. Feeling the air hit your sensitive parts, you flop back, unwilling to see his reactions.

Silence. Then a beat passes and you sense rather than see the tension building in his body.

“Si?” Propping yourself up on your elbows you're met with a rare sight- Simon Riley staring you down pupils blown wide, wolfish open mouthed grin playing on his features. A flush crawls up your heated skin at the scrutiny and you fumble for something smart to say in hopes of easing the tension. “Like my…colonies?” Your tone sounds strained to even your ears.

“Colonies?” Simon's eyes crackle with amusement as he shifts between your legs, eyes lingering on your exposed folds. “You wanna know what I'm ‘finkin’, Yank?” His tone rumbles low, accent thickening as his voice dips. Any sense of amusement at the back and forth fizzles as he sucks his thumb lewdly into his mouth and presses it to your pebbled clit.

When your only response is a sharp intake of breath, his eyes dart up to yours, searing you into the mattress. “I'm ‘finkin’ the colonies got the prettiest fuckin’ pussy I ever seen.”

[innerfare]

I Love You - Part 1

Summary: Who says I love you first? How do you say it?

Characters: Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Ace, Sabo, Law, Kid

Genre: Fluff

CW: None // SFW

——— 

Luffy: He showed it first, asking you to join his crew, making sure you had a safe and healthy place to be yourself, fighting anyone who stands between you and your dreams, saving his funniest jokes until you're around to hear and giggle at them, even going so far as to share a little (really, only a little) bit of his meal with you, but you were the only who actually said it first. He gets severely injured after a nasty fight, and you stay by his side while he sleeps it off like he normally does, though it takes him longer than usual to wake up. When he does finally wake up looking for you and something to eat, you fling yourself on him and tell him how much you love him. You didn’t intend on confessing, but you were so worried about him and the words fell from your lips as soon as you knew he was okay. Your brows are still furrowed, and when Luffy asks why, you voice your insecurity that he doesn't feel the same way. Luffy just laughs at that and ruffles your hair. “Of course I do.” With that, he crawls out of bed in search of food. He quickly falls into the habit of telling you in the morning when you wake up, and it fills you with so much joy, it’s like he’s giving you a happy vitamin to start your day. And saying those words bring him so much joy that saying them is like he's taking a happy vitamin, too.

Zoro: To your surprise, it was Zoro who said it first. Though Zoro seems the type to bottle up his emotions, he’s actually not, he just doesn’t seem emotional because he’s really good at dealing with his shit. And he knows all too well how temporary arrangements can be, how quickly life can be snuffed out, how easily the people he loves and cares about can be taken away from him. So one late night when he’s alone in the shower, washing his hair (using Nami's expensive shampoo and conditioner because she left it in the shower and Zoro just uses whatever's within his reach) and thinking about you, he realizes how he feels, and he doesn’t even consider not telling you. He climbs into bed afterward in just his boxer briefs, his hair still damp and smelling extra good, shakes you awake, kisses you a few times, and mutters that he loves you in your ear before passing out, not even waiting for you to say it back. He doesn’t say it often after that because he doesn’t thinks actions matter more than words, but he always says it when one of you is injured or after an argument. 

Sanji: Sanji technically confesses first, but you’re the one who actually says those three words. He’s holding your hand in both of his, clutching it close to his racing heart, as he looks down at you, telling you all the ways you make his life better, all the things he’s looking forward to doing with you, all the energy he’s going to put into keeping you happy, healthy, and safe. And the words just sort of fall from your lips. He stops mid sentence, eyes wide and mouth open. The seconds drag on in silence before he’s pulling your lips to his. Both of you are very generous with these three words, saying them often and in public. If you ever hang up the transponder snail without telling him you love him, he’s calling you right back to make sure everything is alright. (Also, not really relevant, might do a separate post about this, but Sanji is definitely a heart-shaped jewelry sort of guy. He just is. Certified lover boy.) 

Ace: Your first, more implicit confession came one night before you two were ever in a relationship. You noticed he was a little off and saw him slip away from the crew as they were drinking the night away. You found him sulking by the water and sensed he was hurting, especially when you asked to say and he told you he’d rather be alone. Before you leave, you tell him, “I just wanted you to know that I’m happy you’re alive.” You had no idea that it would strike a nerve, just got the feeling he needed to hear it, and this was confirmed by him grabbing you by the wrist as you walk away and pulling you into his arms. You continue finding implicit ways to tell him you love him such as, “I think the world is a better place with you in it,” and, “I’m so glad you were born,” and Ace is never really sure how to respond, but he soaks your words up like they’re sunlight and he’s a plant. This culminates in him blurting those three words out one day when you’re sitting in a tree together, Ace avoiding your eyes for fear you’ll reject him. When you lean in and kiss his cheek, instead, he almost cries (and he does when he’s alone later on, your love the purest thing he’s ever known). 

Sabo: Sabo is always taking risks. He lives a dangerous lifestyle as the Chief of Staff of the Revolutionary Army, and on top of being one of the most wanted criminals in the world, he is an incredibly reckless individual who thrives when his life his threatened. He does not, however, thrive when your life is threatened. So accustomed to being the one others are fretting over, so used to Koala telling him off for taking this risk or making that dumb decision, he is completely blindsided by the anxiety he experiences when he finds out you’ve been captured. Naturally he launches a rescue attempt, and when it succeeds, he wraps you in his arms and tells you how much he loves you. He always makes sure to say it after that, telling you in the morning when you wake up and at night when you go to bed together, the memory of not having you there to hear it all too fresh. 

Law: Law is pretty bad with words, and, for lack of a better term, he sort of lacks a bedside manner. Needless to say, this carries over into other aspects of his life, including his love life (or lack thereof; Law has little to no experience in this arena). One afternoon, though, the two of you are fighting because you want to accompany Law somewhere and he insists it’s too dangerous despite all of your qualifications and skills as a fighter. You keep pressing and pressing, demanding to know why he won’t let you go when you are perfectly capable, until finally he blurts it out. “I love you! Alright? And I won’t lose you.” You aren’t even in any sort of relationship at that point, the two of you just sort of stewing in unresolved tension. His irate confession is the tipping point, and you become an item after that. When you hear it from him after that, it’s always in private, usually in the late hours of the night when he slips into bed and buries his face in your neck. Other times, it’s when you two pass each other in the hallway aboard the Polar Tang and he catches your hand in his, placing a warm kiss on your knuckles, muttering the words, and moving along quickly for fear someone might see despite the entire crew knowing about your relationship. 

Kid: You say it first. You say it a couple of times, actually, before you ever hear it back. You’re sitting in his workshop watching him build something, and you just sort of blurt the words out. You swear Kid hesitates before picking up the next piece of metal, but he gives no real acknowledgment you uttered those three words. Knowing exactly the sort of man he is and not expecting to receive anything in return, just wanting him to know how you feel in the moment, you aren’t actually offended, but you are wondering if he didn’t hear you. So, the next day in his workshop, you say it again, once more receiving no response. The third time you say it to him, catching him while he’s painting his nails, you receive a grunt in response (Kid is a man of grunts, not a man of words). Only in the heat of battle do you hear it back. He catches you around the waist and picks you up, and you fight thinking it’s an enemy, only for him to say, “I love you,” in your ear before deflecting a canon ball headed straight for the two of you and then setting you on your feet like nothing happened. From that point forward, he’ll say it, but only at inopportune times.  

———

Hope you enjoyed it! If you want more, you can check out my masterlist here!

[jellyfiishbones]

“30 days of portraits changed my style” “i drew in my sketchbook every day for a year” ok. fuck you

[diminuel]

So, I was reading a pregnant Ace fic last night and it got me thinking about ultrasounds in the One Piece universe. The fic in question just had an inaccurate our world version of it, but like all their photography and communications tech is snail based. So now I have this picture in my mind of pregnant Crocodile (or Ace or Xebec or Buggy or Zoro or whoever) getting an ultrasound via having snails crawling all over them.

Iva made him do it because Crocodile had no idea he was pregnant for months and there is no data of Logia type devil fruit users being pregnant/ having children. It stands to reason that it's not possible but here they are.

Getting a snail ultrasound also has the added bonus of bringing out Dragon's crybaby tendencies.

I have no idea how this would work but hell, why not! X'D (Technically since there are submarines in OP they most likely have some sort of sonar system which is basically the same technology, right...? But the issue with OP seems to be a lack of energy sources. So relying on snails - living organisms - for these things seems to be the easiest route to take.)

(Pregnant Ace fic you say? *eyes emoji*)

[dragon-ascent]

Wouldn't it be fun to be vengefully pursued by Zhongli, who's out to catch and punish you because you broke a contract?

You propose the idea to your husband, explaining the appeal of the "thrill of the chase," so to speak. Now, you're a bit of a wuss, so you don't actually break any kind of contract; Zhongli, more than willing to humor you, agrees to pretend you have broken one nevertheless.

"Oh noooo," you repeat for the umpteenth time, making your way across the bridge leading home, "whatever will I doooo? Spare me!"

"I'm afraid is there no escape for you, my dearest," answers Zhongli, stalking over to you with all the deadly speed and malice of a snail. Then again, even you're not running away either, your gait more akin to a slow dance without contact.

Waltzing away, you shoot back with zero verve, "I'm downright terrified. I'm, like, so scared for my life right now." In the midst of your chase, you nearly step on a puddle - oh no, you can't ruin your new shoes, and the puddle's too wide to sidestep.

Zhongli takes notice, scooping you up and plopping you down on the other side. "Here we are, dear."

"Thanks! Ahem, now...eeeeek! He's gaining on meeee." You continue your half-hearted trudge away from him as he resumes his thrilling pursuit of you.

"Just wait until I get my hands on you. I shall show you no mercy." He's walking as though it's a casual evening promenade.

"That sounds excit- I mean, horrible! Horrible, yes." Reaching your doorstep, you make to unlock the door. "Gotta get to safety and protect myself!"

Like a true gentleman, the god waits patiently while you fiddle with the key.

"Pssst, Zhongli, could you get it for me real quick? I think it's stuck."

"Oh, of course." He unlocks the door and holds it open for you.

It's time to get on all fours. "Oh no! He got inside!" you wail, crawling your way to the bedroom while your husband leisurely follows behind, watching as you clamber onto the bed.

"Nooooo! All my clothes are flying off!" you exclaim, sloppily yanking your garments off and tossing them aside. "This must be the wrath of the God of Contracts..."

Your dear Zhongli, barely able to contain his amusement, gracefully climbs into bed and props himself over you. "Indeed it is."

"He's got to me! What will you do to meeeee..."

"I shall, er...sheathe my spear in you. Repeatedly."

Peals of laughter ensue.

[kikidoul]

── NERD AND CUTE.

ヾ(´︶`♡)ﾉ 이희승 x fem! reader content established relationship heeseung's kinda a nerd here ᥫ᭡ warning not proofread explicit sexual content sub! hee cock sucking blow jobs kissing . . .!? 780 — mlist. req

note. i was supposed to write them fucking but i got lazy so this is all you're getting, sorry! taglist. @tfwbluu @heesimps

You were laying on your boyfriend’s bed in his dorm, your laptop perched on your lap while he was working on his project. Both of you have been working in silence for the past thirty minutes, both focused on your current tasks when Heeseung broke the silence. 

“Baby, did you know that a cloud weighs around a million tonnes?” He asks, not looking at you, eyes practically glued to his laptop screen. 

“Really? I thought it’ll weigh really light or almost nothing,” you answered, humoring him although your response and tone was genuine. 

This time, Heeseung stopped whatever he was doing and turned his chair to face you, a grin on his face. “Yeah, and did you know…” 

He started rambling, telling you more facts that you weren’t listening to. How could you when he was dressed in a simple, black tank top, showing off his collarbones and broad shoulders. Heeseung had started going to the gym for two months now and you were able to see the results of his hard work. You found yourself shamelessly staring at him, fingers twitching—itching to kiss him. 

And that’s what you did. You shut down your work after ensuring your work is saved, placing it on his desk and getting off his bed. Heeseung squeaked when you plopped down on his lap, his hands instinctively resting on your waist to steady you. His eyes widened, his thinly-framed glasses resting on the bridge of his nose. 

“Bab—!?” 

He didn’t get to finish his sentence, getting interrupted by you ducking your head to kiss him. Heeseung whined, returning the kiss and you smiled, wrapping your arms around his neck as you brushed your hand through his hair. The kiss gradually grew intense with every second passing and you broke the kiss, chuckling at the disappointed sound of protest. You had to lean back when he tried to chase after you, stopping him with one hand resting on his chest. 

“Shh, it’s alright. Let me take care of you, hm?” You purred, making your way down his neck until you forced him to remove his tank top, revealing his honey-skin, slightly toned chest. 

Heeseung shivered as the cool air from the air-conditioner grazed against his skin. He watched with bated breath as you crawled off his lap, getting to your knees. He raised his hips, making your job of removing his pants and boxers easier. He whined, hips jerking forward the moment you wrapped your long fingers around his hardened cock. He tossed his head back when you thumbed the silt, causing precum to form. 

Leaning forward, you took him into your mouth without warning, relaxing your jaw as you moved forward until you felt him reaching the back of your throat. Heeseung’s mind spun at how wet, warm and tight your mouth felt. He gripped onto the armrests of his chair, curling his toes at the heavenly sensation of your tongue tracing the veins protruding from the side. It was comical with how he was fighting his instincts to grab you by the hair, tugging you forward so you could take the remaining length into your mouth. 

“Ngh, f-fuck,” he breathed out as you harshly sucked on his cock. 

Determined to see Heeseung fall apart, you bobbed your head, moving back and forth at a snail’s pace. You mentally counted to five, eyes focused on his tightly shut eyes. You could hear how his breathing grew erratic, fingers twitching and knuckles turning white with how tight he was gripping onto the armrests. 

“B-Baby, go—gonna cum,” he sobbed, arching his back off the chair when you hummed—the sensation provides just enough stimulation to push him over the edge. 

You made a noise when he cum in your mouth in hot, thick spurts but you didn’t pull away. Instead, you swallowed them and released his cock, coughing to catch your breath. Heeseung got off the chair, concern written all over his face. 

“Shit, I’m sorry, are you alright?” He asks, one hand resting on your shoulder while the other brushes a few strands of hair away from your face. 

“I’m fine,” you replied, flashing him a grateful smile before it was replaced with a coy grin—a grin that had your boyfriend gulping. “Now it’s your turn to get to work. You do know what happens if you don’t do well, do you?” 

Heeseung nodded, throat drying up as you straddled his lap. He fought back the whine when the fabric of your shorts brushed against his sensitive cock. 

Still grinning, you tipped his chin up with your left index finger, forcing him to meet your eyes. “Good, then I hope you don’t disappoint me, or else.”

[aurumalatus]

𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞 [𝟓]

pairing. kinich x fem!reader

word count. 3.1k

genre/warnings. childhood friends to lovers, slow burn, fluff and angst, drabble collection, reader is mentioned to be wearing a dress, descriptions of blood and injury

summary.

in which kinich learns the value of all things: lives, friendship, and, of course, you. or, in which kinich realizes that you are the only priceless thing in this world.

author's note. the slow burn is burning... kinich is a little slow to the punch though LOL. this chapter talks about turnfire night, i took a lot of ~artistic liberty~ with the banquet and such so don't hate on me pls. there's a bit of angst in the next few chapters, i'm sorry HAHAHA. pls lmk what you guys think, it's very motivating! i hope you enjoy <3 reblogs/interaction highly appreciated!

↢ 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 | 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 ↣

𝗦𝗜𝗟𝗘𝗡𝗖𝗘 𝗜𝗡 𝗧𝗛𝗜𝗦 𝗥𝗢𝗢𝗠 (𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗗𝗘𝗔𝗧𝗛 𝗢𝗙 𝗠𝗘)

At some point, the flowers start to speak your name.

Kinich isn’t sure when the idea took root in his mind—it had been slow for sure, a snail crawling over a branch. Living together makes you a perpetual presence in his life, a certainty like the rise of the sun and the glint of the stars. He finds comfort in that knowledge, but rarely thinks on it more than that.

The day he realizes it, the sun is a bright yolk in the sky, honey-yellow and shining dutifully upon his back. A layer of sweat plasters itself to his forehead, and he scrubs it away with his wrist, panting. For as many years as he’s been a farmer, the work hardly gets easier; it still leaves him sore and aching every day.

Across the field, the front door of your home swings open—it’s you that peeks out, waving. Kinich nods back in reply, gathering the vegetables in his basket and jogging back over to you. He frowns when he notices a dark spot on one of his carrots, vaguely noting that he should toss that one out later.

“I ran you a bath,” you offer, leaning halfway out the doorway. Kinich extends a half-smile in gratitude.

“Thanks,” he replies, holding the harvest out to you. You take the basket with a small ‘thank you’, placing it down on your feet. Usually, you would take the vegetables inside right away to wash and cut them, but today, you’re lingering—there’s something on your mind.

But Kinich is nothing if not patient, so he merely waits, arching a brow.

“It’s Turnfire Night,” you finally admit, hands clasped behind your back. “Elder Leik invited us to the banquet, if you’re keen on going.”

Surprised, Kinich glances over his crops. He’s just about done here for the day, and he doesn’t have anything on the to-do list for tonight anyway.

“Do you want to?”

You’re hesitating, likely out of shyness—he watches you rock back and forth on your heels.

“I think it’d be nice,” you reply, short. 

You’re trying not to force him, he realizes. You know how much he hates crowded things like that. And usually, you would be right, but he thinks back on the last time he’d visited the village. It’s been long enough, he decides, and one day wouldn’t kill him.

“Sure, we can go.”

Your disposition brightens instantly, nearly ascending with joy. 

“Really?” you squeak, hands drawing to your chest. He smiles and nods, shaking his head with amusement when you disappear back inside, cheering. You’re easy to please in a lot of ways.

Kinich takes you up on your offer of a warm bath, then prepares one for you as well. Gone are the days that the two of you washed up in the river—a nicer bathtub had been one of your earlier investments, and Kinich had grown to appreciate the blessings of a warm place to wash at the end of a long day. It does wonders for his aching muscles.

Over the years, Kinich’s house had slowly grown into a home, right under his nose. Your presence had been a driving force in that process.

While his hair dries, he’s in the kitchen organizing a few of the cupboards when you emerge from your bath, footsteps quietly padding against the floor. You call his name, voice thin and uncertain. When he turns, his heart squeezes.

You’re wearing a lovely dress, a forest green with golden accents—he briefly notes that it matches his eyes, then wonders if you had chosen that on purpose. The thought leaves his head foggy.

“What do you think?” you ask shyly, giving a small twirl. Kinich’s gaze follows the flow of your skirt, the liveliness of it. He’s never seen you dressed up like this in all his years of knowing you, and the sight makes something take root in his chest. “I bought it at the market a while ago, just in case.”

There’s a beat of silence, but it doesn’t sit for long.

“It looks nice,” is all that crawls from his throat, thick. The words sound awkward from his lips, he thinks harshly. A heated flush surges up his neck, curling around his ears and resting there. You practically glow at his response, clapping to yourself. 

“I got something for you too,” you sing, disappearing into the bedroom. Kinich waits patiently until you return, gesturing for him to close his eyes. He indulges you, and it’s a few seconds before something soft brushes at his forehead, pushing his bangs aside.

A bandana.

When his vision returns, you’re standing inches away from his face—his breath hitches at the proximity. Your gaze is searching as it meets his, your lip twitching at the edge. The excitement nearly pours off of you in waves. 

You’re staring.

Kinich’s fingers brush his own cheek, self-conscious. “What is it?”

You lean impossibly closer.

“Nothing,” you hum, happy as a clam. “I just think it makes your eyes look even prettier.” 

You’ve always told him how much you love his eyes, the starburst of jade and gold. You have a tendency to notice things about him that no one else does.

“Does it look nice?” he asks quietly, thumbing at the cloth. He would recognize a product of your weaving anywhere—you must’ve been working on this for a while now. He wonders when you found the time, or even how you managed to do it without him noticing.

You nod, a fond smile gracing your face. “You look really handsome.”

Kinich feels a touch of jealousy at the ease with which the words seem to fall from your lips. Sometimes, he wishes he could speak his mind the way you do. He doesn’t usually hold back in his words—most people he interacts with can attest to that—but when it comes to you, his tongue grows heavy in his mouth.

Still, the idea that you think he looks handsome is…nice.

“Thank you,” he breathes.

You turn and skip back into the bedroom, calling over your shoulder about how the two of you should leave soon. He watches you leave, the dress flowing like silk over your form. He swallows.

It’s really, really nice.

Later on, Kinich holds you close as the two of you grapple toward the village, mountains and trees racing past you. Your giggles are warm against his ear; you love traveling like this, the adrenaline that pulses through your veins. Winking dots of light are already visible in the distance, a rousing cheer reaching your ears—the festivities have already started.

He lands neatly on one of the wooden walkways, taking in the scenery. The village is decorated with bright streamers and vases of blooming flowers, crowds of people maneuvering around the party. You maintain your grip on Kinich’s hand, unwilling to lose him in the crowd.

Two taller figures emerge from the swathe of people, greeting you by name. 

“Have you two been taking care?” Elder Leik asks warmly, Chief Wayna smiling at his side. The elders are concerned for the two of you, Kinich knows; they’ve tried many times to convince you to move back to the village. Their efforts slowly ceased as the two of you grew older—you’ve always been steadfast in your independence.

You nod enthusiastically. “We’ve been doing really well! Everyone’s seeking out Kinich’s work.”

Your compliment makes him feel a bit embarrassed—he feels an urge to deny it, but the elders only laugh and congratulate him, ruffling at his hair. He does feel a bit satisfied that they recognize his strength.

“That’s great,” Chief Wayna replies, genuine. “Just remember you can always come to us if you ever need anything. But also make sure you enjoy the party!”

He leaves the two of you with a wink, fading into the crowd, and you take the opportunity to grasp at Kinich’s hand, pulling him along. You’re the most excited person there, truly in awe of everything.

Kinich indulges in some of the food, laughing at the gusto with which you scarf down your own—he chuckles as he wipes crumbs away from your cheeks. Everyone’s spirits are high; the music is loud and roaring, an electrifying song that Kinich can feel in his veins. You perk up at the sound.

“Kin, can we dance?” you beg, eyes bright and lips pouted. 

He glances around. Really, he doesn’t want to, especially not in front of all of these people. But the music is slowing, and Kinich can never say no to you, so he sighs, pulling you close and placing a cursory hand at your waist.

“Is this good?” he asks, a murmur. You hum in content, resting your head at his shoulder.

“It’s great.”

A permanent grin seems to have plastered itself over your lips. Kinich absently thinks that it makes you look so much more beautiful—a flower in bloom.

“You’re really happy today,” he comments.

Your eyes flutter shut, delighted.

“I’m happy you wanted to come with me. And I was happy that you liked my dress, and that you liked the headband I wove for you. I’m just happy.”

A deep yearning fills Kinich’s chest at the feather-softness of your voice—he feels an urge to hide you away. Somehow, he wants this side of you to only be for him.

“I did really like it,” he confirms. “The headband, and…everything else.”

He likes spending time with you, he likes your dress, and he likes the warmth that permeates his body when you hold him like this. Everything else seems to fade into nothingness.

For a while, the two of you talk about nothing and everything. It’s a truly peaceful existence. Kinich tries to remember if he’s ever been to a Turnfire Night like this before; the last time he’d attended, he’d likely been too young to even remember the event. You just have a way of replacing his darker memories with pleasant ones.

The beat of the music picks up again, and Kinich feels an instant chill when you lift your head from his shoulder. Still, he sways to the music with you, smiling when you start to sing along to the energetic song.

“You’re a good dancer,” you observe, in awe. Kinich shrugs, smoothly spinning you again.

“It’s not that hard.”

Dancing with you is actually fun, he realizes despite his initial hesitation. Your laughter fades with the passing wind, dissipating into the night, and he can’t help but stare at the way the torchlight glimmers against your skin.

The two of you celebrate until the music dies to silence, until people start to yawn and retire to bed. By this time, the sun is already peeking in the distance, barely a whisper of light reaching you. 

Kinich carries you home, soft snores echoing from your place on his back—he decides he won’t tease you about it later.

Instead, he promises himself that he’ll keep taking you to Turnfire Night every year after.

(Then, he promises himself that he’ll always protect your smile.)

/

By the time he cries for the first time, Kinich is fifteen.

He feels that he knows the way the world works now—those with strength, with value, survive. It’s not that he has any interest in being one of the rich ones with towering houses that line the cliffside. Really, all he needs to be satisfied is a comfortable life with you at the foot of the mountain. And his needs—things like clothes and food—come with Mora, so he makes Mora. It’s a simple existence.

He spends more time with you. Slowly but surely, he starts to bring you on jobs and hunts with him. You’re eager to learn about the work he does, and even more excited to help—your medical knowledge does tend to make things go faster. Still, he feels extra layers of anxiety whenever he knows you’re coming along, his grip drawing tighter around his sword.

It comes on a day like any other.

At first, it doesn’t seem like a particularly difficult job—it’s a run-of-the-mill request, to subdue a Saurian that’s been attacking travelers near the village. Even still, Kinich is as thorough as always in the days leading up to the job, and you let him take the lead. He’s strict about these things when you come along, and you know better than to distract him.

The day of, the two of you encounter the Saurian in a clearing adjacent to the road. It’s sick, you mention quietly, hidden in the foliage nearby—it’s foaming at the mouth, erratic in its movements. Kinich mumbles back his agreement.

It starts to peck at the poisoned berries he’d left for it, movements slowing. He counts down the minutes—at this point, it should be incapacitated enough for the kill.

It’s only when Kinich creeps up behind it, greatsword in hand, that he realizes he’d been wrong. The Saurian seems to switch at the last second, beady eyes burning as it poises to strike. Kinich barely blocks the attack with the flat of his blade, teeth gritted.

“Kinich!” you cry out, running to his side. The Saurian perks up at the sound, tense.

Kinich’s eyes widen. “Wait, don’t come—”

It’s too late. The Saurian’s claw catches you in the stomach as it whips around, sending you flying.

A sickening crack echoes when your back smacks against a rock—you crumple to the dirt, hunched over. A cold breath hisses between Kinich’s teeth as he screams your name.

The Saurian doesn’t last much longer than that, not that he really remembers any of it. He swings his sword, cutting and slicing, sounds of battle piercing the air. It’s only when he sprints to your side that he returns to his senses.

A harsh gash is ripped through your shirt and the skin beneath, a pool of crimson already gathering on your stomach. The sight brings bile crawling up his throat.

“Kin…”

Your voice is weak, and Kinich hushes you quickly, an urge to save your strength. A striking fear has his blood freezing in his veins—he remembers his father’s corpse. Terror hovers over his body, leaving him breathless. He intertwines his fingers with yours, pressing the back of your hand to his lips. 

“That hurt,” you mumble, a touch of humor in your tone even now. “I’m tired.”

Your eyelids are heavy, stare unfocused. 

“Don’t close your eyes!” he demands. He palms at your cheek lightly, willing you to stay awake. It’s unlike him, the desperation in his voice. “Didn’t you say you’d always be by my side?”

You chuckle, a line of blood dripping down your chin. Kinich thumbs it away.

“I said that when we were kids, silly.”

He swallows, throat bobbing. Your eyes follow the motion unconsciously.

“We’re still kids.” 

His voice cracks as he says it, like his words can’t bear the brunt of their meaning. Your heart pulses, a burst of adrenaline coursing through you at his rare show of emotion. It’s only a moment, because the pain returns milliseconds later and a groan escapes your chest. 

Quickly, Kinich pulls his headband off, sliding it between his teeth to hold while he pulls the flask of water from his belt. He sets about cleaning your wound, gentle, but the stress is evident in his expression. His hands are shaking; you can feel the tremble against your skin as he eases your shirt up.

“It’ll be okay,” he breathes. Even he is unsure if he’s speaking to you or himself. You nod weakly.

“It’ll be okay, Kin.” You cough, and something in Kinich’s chest snaps when a spray of blood splatters over the hem of his shirt. A spray of your blood. “Don’t worry, okay?”

He can’t even really hear you anymore. He’s staring at the crimson mist, wondering how this had even happened. He’d assumed he was strong enough—strong enough to do this job, strong enough to protect you—and he had been wrong. There must’ve been an error in his calculations, or maybe he hadn’t prepared enough. 

He fastens his headband around your wound, stemming the blood flow. It’s almost an out-of-body experience—he hardly even recognizes the hands as his.

He’d gotten too comfortable, and you had paid the price.

Those with strength survive, but that day brings a sobering realization—Kinich is far weaker than he thought.

A cold tear slides down his cheek as he carries you home. 

You’re sniffling in pain at each step, the movement irritating your wound, and Kinich feels truly helpless. All he can do is whisper promises and apologies, that he’s sorry it happened and that he promises everything will be okay. It almost feels worse that you don’t seem to blame him at all—you’re apologizing too, telling him you’re sorry for being a burden on his job.

“You’re never a burden,” he spits. It comes out harsher than intended, so he sighs, softening. “You could never be a burden to me.”

You don’t reply.

A thick lump lodges itself in his throat as he feels your blood soak through the back of his shirt. It all almost feels unreal—he feels like he could return home to your warmth and smile and everything would be okay. You have a way of making everything okay.

“We’re almost there, okay?” he murmurs. You’re sweating from the pain, sticky against his skin. “Just stay with me.”

The house feels unnaturally cold when he kicks the door open. 

By the time he has your wound properly wrapped, the sun is gone, a distant memory. He sets you down in bed, pulling the blanket up to your chin—you’re already asleep, but your expression is unpleasant, tortured. You must be in pain, even in your dreams.

The thought makes him sick.

With a sigh, he stumbles out of the bedroom, collapsing onto the couch. His hands are still shaking from overuse and exhaustion. He’s not used to the tedious movements anymore like you are—you’re always the one patching him up these days.

A vase sits on the table. It’s full of Saurian Claw Succulents—you’d planted them yourself, cheery at the prospect of decorating the house a bit more. Kinich plucks one of the flowers from the vase by the thin stem, vacantly inspecting each petal.

He wonders what he has to change.

Those with strength survive. Kinich wants to survive. He wants to survive and live his days out with you.

But he’s not strong enough. If you can’t smile at his side, what good is he at all?

Your labored breathing is audible from the other room, the sound grating against his ears. If he had a Vision, or some other kind of power, things might’ve been different. If he had just been stronger—

He thinks back on his younger self, on his innocence, on his weakness. He’d discarded that side of himself long ago in favor of something more powerful, in favor of someone who could protect and take care of you.

There’s no turning back now, he thinks.

The stem snaps under his fingers, under the weight of it all, previous gentleness gone.

[quarterlifekitty]

I mean this in the most polite, respectful, do only as you wish under zero pressure, way - I am FERAL for dog Johnny and am drooling and begging for more pretty please and thank you ignore my hybrid kink standing in the corner it’s fine we’re fine…unless you don’t want to :)

Uuuuuuuhhhhhhuuu let me start by saying I owe my dog soap illness to such pillars of the community as @boolger and @frogchiro so never forget that they walked so I could crawl around leaving a snail trail with my pussy.

cw: hybrid stuff

Dunno about you but I know my brain chemistry was permanently altered by lady and the tramp when I was a child. I never stood a chance.

So imagine Stray!Soap and Lady!Reader. He sees you every so often. On walks, laying your head in your owner’s lap as he reads the paper on the porch, scratching your ear, playing in the yard with your other owner as she tends to the garden.

Soap sniffs around in your yard at night, just the lightest traces of your scent drive him a little crazy. He decides to wait around— see if he can meet the little house-princess when she comes out in the mornings.

You have no idea what to make of him. He thinks it’s cute how your ears perk as you inspect him. No collar. Not like you— with your shiny little heart-shaped tag. You’re a little wary, but you figure there’s no harm in him being in the neighborhood.

And you know how it is with Soap. You give an inch, he’ll take a mile.

So he’ll wait right by the door near every damned morning. Just to say hello to the little lady. Smitten as can be.

Heehee and what if you had neighbors, also. Bloodhound!Price. Russian terrier! Or Newfoundland!Nikolai who’ve watched you become a young lady, and warn you to watch out for young dogs like Soap. Always a mess of trouble… you should be with someone who knows enough to look after you. Someone older, maybe. Not some young tramp looking to knot any pretty thing he can sink his teeth into…

[petew21-blog]

Leather up!

David sat on the concrete wall, waiitng for the buyer to arrive. He put up a post recently to sell his Kawasaki Ninja and get a brand new one. The price was high, but he loved his motorcycle and wanted to get the most of it.

The time of arrival of this secret buyer has already passed, but he was nowhere to be seen. David checked the message with coordinates and was sure that he was at the right place.

David was already sweating in his racing leathers.

He got up and checked the other side just to make sure, that he wasn't crazy.

"All right, you had enough time. I am leaving." he sent back, but the other person didn't open the message.

As soon as David looked away from his phone, he noticed a wet mark on the concrete as if something made it's way towards him. As if a giant snail crawled there. But there was nothing in sight.

David jumped of the ledge and headed to his motorcycle. But his leg was itching. He stopped and wanted to scratch it, but it was way too low. He took off his boot and was immediately shocked. A tiny green goo tail disappeared under the leather, crawling up his leg. "What the..."

David quickly unzipped himself and tried to take the leather suit off, but the goo already made his wait into his ass. He tried pushing at it to make it go away, but it didn't help.

He felt the last parts of the goo disappear in him. The goo stretched and massaged his prostate. He collapsed on the grown and screamed. It wass a mixture of pain and pleasure.

"No! Please! Somebody!!! Help!!!"

David felt weaker by the second. There was no stopping this, no one nearby to help him. David took his last weak breath and closed his eyes.

"Finally!!! I thought you would never let go." David's voice said while getting up from the ground. His indefference was now replaced with an awe and admiration for himself. He checked out his new leather suit and flexed, just to see how tight everything was.

His hand grabbed his bulge over the leather. "I just hope you're a grower, David. I hoped for a full package." his hand let go and made its way under the leather. "Oh fuck yeah. I was hoping you'd be really sweaty. Jackpot."

He walked over to the motorcycle and looked back at himself in the mirror. "I am you. I am DAVID. I hope you can see me David. I am about to destroy your life. So sit tight and enjoy the ride."He started the engine and headed out.

James:"It really worked? Are you really this guy right now? Or did my friend just pay you money to prank me?"

David's body:"Would a random guy just come up to you and showed off himself to you? Let you touch his dick?"

James:"Ok, yeah you're right. How did you even get his body? Can I do that too?"

"No. I'll keep that to myself. Now. How about you get on your knees. You seem parched. Let me fill your mouth."

David screamed, but the fucker that stole his body probably didn't hear him. All David could do was just watch as his previously straight body now participated in gay sex. His dick being burried in this guy's mouth. The fucker even kept him in the leather still.

Before the guy could cum all over the other guy's face, he took David's dick and came over the leather. After a moment of hyperventilating from the exhaustion, the other guy asked. "You're not gonna go clean that? It might make a stain."

David's body:"No,I'll keep it there."

Little did the know that the cum, slowly drying out on the surface, contained the remnants of David's soul.

[bebx]

I notice that animals in my garden (snails, snakes, birds, squirrels and some insects) all use the same paths when they travel and they each have their own schedule too, because this specific snake uses this tree to go from here to there at a specific time around noon every day, and this little snail crawls past that tree at the same time every morning. like tell me about your lives fellow animals. do you have a meeting today? a presentation perhaps? maybe we could have dinner and talk about our lives and responsibilities one day

[sobbingscripter]

Tags: [mlw][mdni][enemies to lovers][msub][femdom][humiliation][degrading][praise][sex with the door open][backdoor handjob][cowgirl][choking][not the kind you're thinking][whiny man][ruined orgasms][edging][gooch teasing][drooling]

You don't know why he's the most aggravating person you've ever come across. You barely even understand why he makes your skin crawl whenever he gives you that charming grin that has the corners of his eyes creasing in that boyish way that it does.

But God, do you wanna punch Wally in the throat.

You're pretty sure that it's because Wally wouldn't know a boundary if it looked him in his bare eye sockets. Frequently tossing his laundry in with yours, randomly rifling through your shit as he tries to find one of those strawberry sheet face masks that you stock up on and it's not farfetched to say that you could contemplate murder when Wally brushes past you, wearing the last ultra-rejuvenating mask with snail slime.

The mask itself is icky but the results is so not icky.

So you have to sit across from Wally at the briefing table while his skin glistens like that of a newborn baby's, invisible pores and glass skin. His hair frames his face so prettily, his T-shirt stretched tautly over his chest and he reclines in his seat, and you watch the fabric stretch even tighter.

It would be sexy.

If it wasn't one of your baggy and worn sleeping tops.

The bear on the front is a dead giveaway, the peeling image stares at you with pity as your hands clutch at the edge of the table. And you clear your throat.

"Wallace." You say his name with venom, your lips pursed so tightly because you know that with one wrong breath taken, you'll spring across this table and Wally just might not be fast enough.

"Yeah cutie?"

The nickname only makes you angrier. The way the words roll off his tongue. That exact same tongue that peeks out between his incisors when he smiles after pissing you off, the way his lips curl and furl with each syllable.

Looking at Wally is making you wanna choke him with his own chain.

"Why are you wearing my shirt?"

The others have already started to dissipate, filing out of the briefing room with wary glances towards the scene behind them because they know that there's no way Wally will speak that won't make you even madder.

"All my shirts are in the wash." He hums, rolling his broad shoulders as he relaxes even further in his seat, emerald eyes sparkling as he regards you.

"You know, you should really do your laundry. We're both running out of clothes."

And that's exactly what has you lunging across the table, scrambling like a cat scrambles towards prey and your manicured hands find purchase around his muscular neck, fingers pressing against his windpipe and you shake him violently.

"What—. Is—. Your—. Problem—. You. Cock. Sucking. Assh—..."

You're cut off when you see the way Wally looks up at you.

Like a fucking golden retriever waiting for a treat.

Staring up at you through his lashes, his glass skin even more aggravating up close because goddammit, that's supposed to be YOUR glass skin.

Muscular hands find your hips, thumbs brushing at the protruding bone through the fabric and you feel his throat bob beneath your palms.

And your heartbeat damn near goes erratic when Wally rocks his seat back, resting it on two legs and you slide further down his muscular thighs, finding purchase atop his rock hard and... Tangibly pulsing cock.

"Keep choking me, I'm almost there." He breathes out, face flushing with the lack of oxygen to his brain and you nearly screech, pulling your hands back and eagerly moving off Wally's lap.

"You're a sick, sick man, West!" You hiss, from the doorway because you needed to maximise the distance between you two, and fast. You point at him with an accusing finger, before storming off to your room, slamming the door shut behind you.

If Wally wants to play games, you'll play them right back at him.

It starts small.

You're walking around wearing T-shirts that could be mistaken for yours, but he knows.

Wally knows.

That stain at the edge of the shirt would never last so long if it was yours, you'd have either cropped the shirt or even bleached it. But you're wearing it.

You're wearing him.

And God, he just wants to wear you.

"You've gotta be fucking with me." Wally groans, eyes narrowed with the faintest hint of annoyance as he watches you trot into the shared kitchen, his T-shirt tucked into the front of band of your bra because the air conditioning is out and it's admittedly almost as hot as Jason Todd manspreading while reading a book.

But that's not what bothers him.

It's the boxers you're wearing as shorts. The waistband reading his name, because of course he labels his underwear and God, he's glad he does.

Because nothing has him harder than the sight of his name, just above the cleft of your ass and when you turn around?

Wally's jaw clenches at the sight of his name just above your mound, fabric so snug against you that if he looks hard enough, he can watch the way your pretty pussy forces the stretchy material to fit you like a glove.

The threads cling to you like a second skin and he's never been happier to know that he's the only one who'll be seeing the sight of you.

In his shirt, and his boxers, eating his Chinese takeout. Because God, he can't even be mad because watching your lips wrap around the chopsticks have his hands fisting.

"Why are you wearing my clothes?"

Wally can barely push the words past his lips, his eyes focused on the way the shirt's fabric moves, ever so often brushing against your chest and showing off the silhouettes of pretty, pebbled nipples.

"Are you seriously asking me that?" You question with a snort, gaze lowering to Wally's torso where he's wearing a cropped shirt that reads, 'OnlyFans' and has just... A bunch of ceiling fans on it.

"You're wearing my crop top, for fucks sake."

"It fits me better." Wally defends and painfully, he's right. A perfect, trim waist, a toned abdomen with sculpted abs and a V-line that runs deeper than generational trauma.

"You look like a slut." You mock, eyes narrowed as you take a step forward, staring up at Wally through your lashes, your lips curled into a distasteful frown.

"No, you do." He retorts. "Walking around with your ass out like some kind of Jezebel hussy."

"You're a slut."

"No, you're the slut."

"No you're the slut."

"Nuh uh, you are."

"I—I'm your sl—...fuck, keep doing that..."

Muscular hands fist at the sheets, and Wally's forehead moves to rest against the soft, silky pillow, his muscular thighs twitching with each stroke you gave his weepy cock.

He's had handjobs before.

But not like this.

Not on his hands and knees, thighs spread like he's ready to take something up the ass while you tease his cock, small hand wrapping so limply around his base, your grip gradually increasing as you get to the tip, only for you to repeat the cycle.

Over.

And over.

And over again.

"Please, please... Please, just let me come..."

Wally begs softly, his voice cracking and his gaze flitting between the slightly ajar door of your room, and the foggy reflection of you in the mirror-y ornament on your bedside table.

A cute little disco ball that judged him.

"Hm? What? What did you call yourself, Wally?" You hum. You're teasing Wally to the max, stroking him at your own pace, enjoying the way his hips twitch in ways that are so, so invisible but you feel whenever his cock rocks against your palm at a pace you didn't set. You occasionally trail a teasing finger down the seam of his balls, pressing soft and wet digits against his perineum just to watch him squirm.

"I— mmhf...— I said I'm your little slut...—" Wally gasps when his hips twitch, slowly and gradually fucking your hand.

Your grip isn't nearly as tight as what he'd usually feel but less is more when hands are as soft as yours.

The lines of your palm feels good against the sensitive skin of his tip, his expression so fucked out as he rests against the pillow. Back arched like a fucking slide, his cheek against the pillow and drooling the tiniest bit as he stares at you with hazy green eyes.

"I'm your dirty l— little whore..."

Wally can barely see straight, not when you're looking at him the way you are.

So proud of his obedience and he gasps, letting out a shaky breath.

"Can I...— fuck, can I come, please?"

Wally looks at you over his shoulder, eyes bleary from one too many ruined orgasms. And you hum, one of your manicured hands brushing over the plush globes of Wally's ass before nodding your head.

"Mhm." You hum sweetly, tugging him just a bit faster, veins throbbing against your palm and the wet slick sounds are so loud, bouncing off the walls of your room. "And say 'thank you'."

Wally's body shakes when he comes. Arms giving out and his face buried in your pillow as he takes those unsteady breaths, inhaling the scent of your lingering shampoo and smell, clinging to the cotton fabric of the pillowcase and the sheets. His hands claw at the sheets, hips bucking as cum spurts from his flushed tip, dripping down onto a puddle between his knees.

"You okay?" You hum softly, watching as Wally makes use of his shaky limbs, turning to rest back against the headboard, his chest heaving and his eyes hazy.

"Mff...—mhm..." Wally nods his head, parting full, spit-glistened lips to suck on your manicured fingers, green eyes lowered to where your fingers tug your panties to the side, pretty pussy glistening with wetness and his tongue swirls around your digits.

And Wally whines, his hands moving to rest on your hips, eyes locked on the sight of where his pretty, flushed tip leaks beads of pearly cum brushing against your folds before notching at your slit.

"Eyes on me."

Wally follows your command, lashes fluttering as he looks at your face.

You're so fucking pretty.

Your lashes are so dark and so long, the way your teeth presses into your bottom lip as you slowly slide down his cock, brows twitching when you feel the way he stretches your tight, gummy walls and fuck, you're snug.

"You're... So... —hah— tight..." Wally's lashes flutter, his lips wrapped around your fingers and his hands gripping your hips tightly and his eyes roll back when he feels his cock twitch.

You're so warm.

And so wet.

And so... So mean.

When your hips roll against his, so roughly and your free hand moves to rest on his chest, right above the golden lightning bolt charm of his chain.

"Fuck, you're gonna make me come..."

Wally mewls, fingers digging into the fat of your hips while he watches your squelchy cunt swallow him and spit him back out with each move of your hips.

"Only good boys get to come, Wally." You smile softly, leaning forward to brush your lips against the curve of his neck, smelling the sweaty salt of his musk, cock twitching against your walls. "Are you a good boy, Wally?"

And he pants.

"Yeah..." He huffs. "Yeah, I am. I'm your good boy..."

Taglist:

@lucky-beheaded 🌻

@jasontoddswhitestreak 🌸

@fayethefaerie 🦋

[penkura]

Sanji feels nothing but anxiety as he waits for the transponder snail to ring. He’s not felt like this since he first called Zeff to tell him about your marriage and pregnancy, and that was nearly three years ago. He’ll have to call him again soon, but for now, he’s practically glaring at the poor, sleeping snail on your shared bed.

After a few minutes of nothing, Sanji lets out a heavy sigh and falls backwards, putting an arm over his face. He feels annoyed, and still anxious, but also somewhat scared? Yeah, he thinks that’s right. Maybe it’s more worry than anything else, he’s not entirely sure. Luckily he doesn’t have to dwell on it, as your daughter, two-year-old Angel crawls over to him on your bed, starting to pull on his arm with little giggles and shouts of ‘dada’ to get his attention. Those cute little sounds and her precious smile calm Sanji down quickly, as he picks her up and gives her a tight hug, making Angel squeal out of her own happiness.

“There’s my pretty girl!”

“Dada,” Angel giggles again, wrapping her little arms around his neck to return the hug, “Dada!”

Her laughs get louder when he kisses her chubby cheeks, causing you to smile as you joined them both on your bed.

“I get the cutest view ever with the two of you,” the two give you bright smiles, making you laugh a bit before you look at the transponder snail, “Anything yet?”

Shaking his head, Sanji stays quiet while Angel babbles and pats his face with her chubby hands, another small squeal coming from her when he hugs her close, kissing the top of her blonde head. You lean over, kissing his cheek and laying your head on his shoulder.

“…maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe she doesn’t—”

“She does, Sanji. She wants to know how you’re doing and how your life has changed,” stroking Angel’s hair gets her to look up at you, her smile making you move to take her from Sanji, “She’ll be so glad to hear you’re happy.”

Before he can even say anything in response, the snail starts ringing and Sanji feels that anxiety come back, looking to you while you smile at him as you go to leave. This call deserves every bit of privacy as any other.

“You’ve got this, Sanji.”

He lets it ring for a moment longer after you leave, before finally picking it up with a shaky hand and a deep breath.

“…Reiju?”

+!+

“Have you noticed that she looks like mom?”

Sanji tries hard not to let too much emotion show while he continues to make some tea for Reiju, but he still nods just a bit. You hadn’t invited her to the Sunny for such emotionally charged talks, just to meet her niece, since she’s the only one left of Sanji’s family that he doesn’t mind talking to. You made sure he was okay with it before you did so, promising that if he said no, you’d drop the idea altogether. You just wanted Angel to meet her aunt like she had all your siblings and parents more recently, and after Sanji thought about it for a few days, he agreed that it would be fine, as long as word about her didn’t get back to the rest of them.

“I have. I tell her that she looks like [Y/N] though, I think she doesn’t believe me since everyone says she looks just like me,” Sanji laughs while giving Reiju her cup of tea, sitting across from her with his own, “She’ll make a face at me like she’s skeptical, but she’s still adorable when she does it.”

The image makes Reiju smile as she sips her tea, nodding. “She probably has the same pout you did at that age.”

“Hey, I did not—”

“How old is she now?”

“…she’ll be three on Valentine’s Day, about two weeks from now.”

“How cute,” nodding, Reiju rests her chin in her hand, just watching Sanji, the love on his face is visible, “And you said [Y/N] is pregnant again?”

“With a boy, yeah. One of our allies is a doctor and did a check-up when we saw him last. He said everything’s fine so far.”

“That’s wonderful, Sanji.”

The two are quiet for a few moments, Sanji’s still nervous about this. When Angel was born he’d sworn to not let anyone from his biological family or Germa learn about her, but then he heard you were talking with Reiju. It upset him greatly at first, even though you promised up and down you’d not told her anything about you two being married or Angel’s existence, you only spoke to her about mundane, every day things, very rarely in fact. It took a few days before he stopped being upset, after you explained that it was simply to get to know her better, you were leaving the more important life things for Sanji to tell Reiju if he ever chose to. You’d never take that from him or cross that line without his permission.

Sanji did apologize for not believing you at first after he finally spoke to Reiju himself and heard how surprised she was to know you two had gotten married and had a child, she really didn’t know. She loved getting pictures of Angel after that, so she could see her niece and get used to the idea of being an aunt, before you suggested to Sanji that either the three of you meet up with Reiju somewhere, or invite her onto the Sunny, so she could have a real meeting with your daughter. It still took nearly a year for Sanji to feel comfortable with that idea, before you even asked if it would be okay, he had been thinking about it anyway, but needed some time still.

You and Angel aren’t even on the ship right now, you’d taken her into the town of the island you’re docked at, to let Sanji have some time alone with Reiju, he had somethings to talk to her about anyway. You’ll be back soon, Sanji’s anxiety over the meeting getting worse as time goes by.

“Reiju,” his voice is quiet, but Reiju hums a but in response, noticing Sanji isn’t even looking at her, “I don’t…I don’t want any of them to know about this…”

“Sanji—”

“If anything happened to my wife or children, I…I’d—”

“Sanji, I’m not going to let anyone know,” Sanji only looks at her when Reiju sets her hand on his, trying to calm him before he lets his mind run too far, “Father and our brothers won’t find out, nobody will, I’ll make sure of that. You deserve your happiness.”

It becomes quiet again, Sanji clenching his jaw as he’s not sure what to say, before Reiju speaks again with a smile.

“Mom would be proud of you. If she could see you now, and see that little girl, she would be so proud of the person you’ve become, how wonderful of a father you are to Angel.”

Sanji has to fight not to cry, especially when he hears you and Angel outside the kitchen door, you telling her that he has to be there like he always is when you come back. He’s quick to wipe away any tears that come up and stand from his seat, putting on a smile when you open the door and Angel sees him, grinning brightly before running to him.

“Daddy!!”

“There’s my princess!” Sanji lifts her up into the air, making her laugh, before he hugs her, “Did you have a good time with mommy?”

“Mm-hm!! We got candy!”

“Did you get your favorite, my dear?”

Angel nods, starting to try and tell Sanji everything both of you did in town, Reiju watches and smiles while you sit at the table, hand on your pregnant belly.

“I was right. He is a good father to her.”

Smiling yourself, you nod while watching the two loves of your live talk, Angel eventually noticing Reiju and starting to shy away, hiding her face in Sanji’s shoulder. She still takes glances at Reiju which Sanji sees, his own smile softening as he brings her over.

“Angel, this is your aunt Reiju. She’s my big sister.”

“Hi there, Angel,” your daughter starts to open up a bit when Reiju gets to eye level with her, holding her hand out for her, “It’s nice to finally meet you, I’ve heard so much about you from your dad.”

Angel really does start taking to Reiju as the day goes on, letting her hold her and talk to her more, your daughter even telling her she couldn’t wait to be a big sister too. It feels like the day goes by far too quickly, and Angel almost throws a fit when Reiju says she needs to leave, holding onto her and refusing to let go for you. Sanji crouches down to her level, giving her a smile.

“Sweetheart, we have to let aunt Reiju go now. She needs to go home.”

“Can she come back…?”

“If your dad is okay with it,” Reiju smiles and looks from Angel to Sanji, “I’d love to come back and see you all. And meet that little boy once he’s born.”

For a moment Sanji doesn’t say anything, but he nods and smiles softly at Angel.

“Yeah, she can come back.”

The three of you see Reiju off, Angel waving goodbye the whole time. You take Sanji’s hand and lean up to kiss his cheek, which he easily leans into.

“I’m proud of you, Sanji.”