#fem egos

[pxppet]

Sketch page of some of my fem!egos, finally have some confidence to post it (labeled with names for your convenience)

[luluisoff]

[elstoy]

૮ ෆ ´ ˕ ` ෆ ა no thoughts head empty just abby and yours first time together. abby’s mouth latched onto your tits, sucking and popping your swollen nipples from her lips, grunting whenever she gazes down at them because they look so wet and delicious and covered by her transparent spit. she squeezes both of your nipples between her thick fingers, pulls them upward so you feel the sting and lets go, biting her lips and humming at your little squeaks and squeals. she loves the way you react so much. your gasps, your pupils blown out, your jaw hanging loose, your mouth in that slutty “o” shape. you’re squirming and wiggling down beneath her, and quickly enough she attaches her mouth back on your tits and sneaks her hand down, just to softly place her palm on your pantie + shorts covered cunt. she feels the wet patch that quite literally leaked through the fabric, and chuckles as she lets go of one of your nips. “oh yeah?” she taunts, applying some pressure on your little quivering pussy. you blabber something incoherently, and she’s all cocky “i know baby, i know…”. could probably make u cum through your panties as well and definitely does. fights the urge to tear them off of you and make you ride three of her fingers, but the ego boost that comes from making ur clit throb through two (2) layers of fabric is just… exhilarating.

[pparadiselost]

your noa fanfic drove me crazy there is nothing i wouldn't do for you to write about ego 🧎

actaeon.

ego jinpachi x fem reader ego sets up the perfect trap to make you undeniably his. warning(s): nsfw, noncon, being filmed without consent, exhibitionism minors do not interact. author's note: hello there! thank you so much for sending in a request!! this one... got a little out of hand and gnarly, so if you'd prefer that i write a fic without the dark content, please shoot me another ask and i'll happily write up another fic for you!! (ノ*°▽°*)

ego jinpachi is distinctly aware of who he is as a person, and he’s distinctly aware of the privileges that come with his odd place as the coach of the blue lock project. he’s sworn under some legal masquerade to use his power only for the betterment of soccer’s future, as if anything other than his obsession with the sport flows inside his veins. 

he knows his place as a heretic. he’s an outcast always looking in: the director but never the star, the god but never the devotee, the abyss but never the light. he’s seen the way people distances themselves away from him, be it anri or even veterans like noel. ego is perfectly content playing the role he does. his crazed behavior brings the end, and in his worldview, the ends always justify the means.

but that doesn’t mean he can’t enjoy the unforeseen pleasures that spring up along the thorny path. he’s a free man now, and he has the world at his disposal. fortune favors the bold, but happiness favors the hedons. 

“you’re so sloppy,” he drawls in that condescending voice of his. if it weren’t for the slight edge to it, you would think it sounded robotic. his long cock is buried deep into you as you squirm in his lap, and his long arms hold you flush and captive against his chest. 

you’re faced with the horrifying sight of every single one of ego’s giant monitors lit up, each one displaying you. they’re all relatively innocent moments from your life. you’re eating breakfast in one, scrolling through your phone on the other, paging through a book you picked up in another… things that, creepy as they may be, are candid snapshots of your average life. 

except for the singular monitor facing center stage, seeming to mock you. you watch, stricken with fear, as the video plays a recording of you stuffing your fingers in your cunt, your pussy stretched out unmistakably on display. ego grins devilishly, and he thrusts in rhythm with the video of you masturbating.

“n-no… don’t do this to me-,” you squeak out. you need to clear your mind, need to speak reason into him, need to persuade him to get rid of these clips and to quit using all the cameras in the building for ill, and yet with his cock sliding in and out of you, it’s impossible for you to get any of your priorities straight. “d-don’t thrust into me like that-!”

“but you like it. you like it when i fuck you to a video of you getting off,” he giggles. you don’t need to be looking at him to envision the crazed gleam he’s bound to have in his eyes. you hate how much your pussy flutters and stretches around his cock, your juices making you gush every time you sink back down onto his lap. 

his hands tweak at your nipples, and he pinches your hardened buds in rhythm with the video. every time your fingertips swirl at your sticky clit, he moves his hands accordingly. pleasure courses in hot flashes across your vision and your cunt, and your hips move lewdly on your own, against your better judgment. 

“feels good, doesn’t it?” he chuckles behind you. his voice sounds high-pitched and crazed, like he’s a schoolboy going crazy over a scrap of attention from his crush. you should be disgusted, you should be scared, and yet with each inch of his long cock that pushes in and out of your squeezing pussy, your mind threatens to go dangerously blank. 

you shake your head weakly. sparks of heat and pleasure light up inside your brain. the dull stretch inside of your walls has your stomach doing backflips, his cockhead prodding deliciously at all of your deepest parts. “no- not you- you can’t do anything to me-”

he clicks his tongue, and when your head slumps against your chest, trying to retain your sanity by looking away from all the lewd videos of you he’s hoarded, he hisses as if you’ve scorned him. he grabs your face harshly, long and calloused fingers digging into the flesh of your face and neck, and he wrenches your eyes upwards so that you can’t look away from the screen. 

you hate it. your vision blurs when tears glaze over your eyes, but that can’t save you from the video. your legs are spread shamelessly open, your drenched pussy fully out on view as you toy with yourself. your face is twisted into a clear moan, lips parted as you gasp and cry out in pleasure, fingers buried deep inside of your cunt. your juices drool generously out of your clenching hole, and your thighs quiver uncontrollably as you masturbate.

“see? i have all of this and more,” ego murmurs. the glee in his tone is unmistakable. “i know how you like to touch yourself, how you like to be fucked. it’s cute that you think you can hide anything from me. you’re more feisty than you let on, aren’t you?”

he thrusts harshly up into you, his heavy balls slapping up against your clit. you barely bite back a strangled cry, electric sparks springing up inside of your chest. something tight pulls at your core, heat swirling like a slow whirlpool. you grit your teeth, and your breathing grows shallows. the friction of his cock rubbing into your gummy walls feels sinfully good, and his almost inhuman length makes it ridiculously easy for his tip to ghost over all of your sensitive parts.

it’s a lethal combination. his dick is just as long and tall as the rest of him is, not too thick but so long and enough to fill you up perfectly. each pump of his cock into you has you seeing stars, your nerves twitching and collapsing under the mounting pressure inside of your pussy. maybe it’s that, but maybe it’s also all the time he’s spent in the shadows, learning every inch of your body through the illicit videos and streams he’s collected of you, memorizing every quirk, every kink you have, making sure he knows by heart the best way to get you to crumble under his touch.

he was a feral beast that had been lying in wait, waiting for the perfect moment to pounce. all you needed to do was to let your guard down for a split second, and he took full advantage of it to expose every single one of your weaknesses.

“don’t your worry. i’ll prove to you that i mean everything i say. there’s nothing i hate more than someone that can’t live up to their bragging. results… results are the only things that matter in this world—,” his sick laughter snaps you back out of your grief, “—even if that means making you cum until you’re a fucked out mess.”

he grips at your thighs, spreading your legs open a bit further in his lap so he can fuck his cock even deeper into you. your head feels heavy, a loaded scream locked in your throat when his tip starts fucking into your deep spots. you swear he’s hitting at your cervix, his cockhead trying to pry the entrance to your womb open so he can defile you thoroughly. you wouldn’t put it past him; ego was never the kind of guy to be satisfied with only doing the job halfway. it was always all or nothing with him.

pleasure consumes you from the inside out, his length stretching you out obscenely. your tight walls were massaging him so expertly, and ego can almost delude himself into believing that your cunt was made just to fit around his dick. you were made for him, made to be his perfect mate, and all the times he spent pleasuring himself to the illicit videos he took of you couldn’t even come close to actually getting his paws all over you.

“right here, isn’t it?” he thrusts up harshly into you, and you jerk back against his chest when heat slams down onto your skin. he’s abusing your g-spot, relentlessly bullying your sweet spots. helpess cries escape from you unwillingly as he fucks into you at his pace, his thrusts too sharp and too quick for you to relax into it, but your brain eagerly soaks up the friction. your cunt is begging for cock, wanting the addictive feeling of being filled up disrespectfully like you were just some loose toy, keeping you at constant odds with your shattered rationale. 

ego giggles in your ear, and you know his words are right. he does genuinely have you struggling futilely in the palm of his hand. you’re overwhelmed by all of the sensations around you: the haunting image of your fingers stuffed in your pussy flickering behind your eyes like a mocking vision. your hole was unknowingly milking him over and over, the shame and embarrassment of having to watch yourself fingering yourself while getting fucked making your pussy fall victim to all of the confusing pleasures.

“i can feel you getting tighter and tighter. i’m making you feel good,” he mocks you. his hands keep squeezing at your boobs, mesmerized by the soft flesh of your chest. his balls slap up against your skin, just waiting to spill his seed into your pussy and make you his forever. he sounds so pleased with himself. “you love to act like you’re all high and mighty, but we’re the same, you and i. it’s why i think you’re perfect for me. you’re just as dirty, just as much of a freak, and it’s my job to make sure you know that.”

tightness flares in your gut as if it’s mocking you. you don’t want to cum, don’t want to break that final boundary, don’t want to admit to yourself that you’re fully getting off of being manhandled and disgraced like this. but your body was never yours this entire time, and whatever madness possesses you right now only cares about the long dick sliding in and out of you.

“are you gonna cum? you’re gonna cum, aren’t you? filthy girl.” he twists your nipples harshly as if to emphasize his last few words. you feel so heavy and so weak all at once, broken down bit by bit and torn apart like a sheet of paper. how could you even dream of fighting back? you grit your teeth, not wanting to think about the frothy ring of ivory forming at the base of his cock, where your entrance is enticingly stretched out. “cumming from having a guy like me defile you… cumming from getting fucked while i play a video of you playing with yourself… filthy, filthy girl.”

tears had dotted over your vision a long time ago, and this was already a battle for you to lose the moment you got roped into his trap. your pride grips at your mind one last time, and you flex your thighs, wishing yourself the strength to forgive yourself when the worst of this would be over. even if intuitively, you knew that this was nothing more than the beginning to a wretched, wicked fall from grace, you wanted to take what little your remaining sanity could afford you.

you muster up the firmest voice you can. “you’re the absolute worst- you’re the scummiest man i know!”the lanky man simply laughs again, unaffected by your hurled insults. “oh, please. you’re just too predictable? you think i don’t know that? you think i wouldn’t consider myself scummy and awful after i’ve filmed you for so long in secret? what a stupid whore you are. it’s a good thing you have that pretty body of yours. otherwise, you’d really be nothing more than an unsalvageable excuse for a human being. naïve, gullible, all too easy for me to take advantage of…”

he pauses for a moment, and he leans in. horror settles in your psyche again when you can feel his hot breath fanning over the curve of your ear, and he presses a sickeningly gentle kiss right behind your ear. 

“and if i’m the scummy one,” he murmurs contemplatively, “what does that make you? you’re the one getting off on it. you say you’re not, but your body doesn’t lie to me. i can feel every little fucking thing that slutty pussy of yours is doing whenever i fuck myself into you.”

your stomach twists, painfully and needily, and your legs shake as his cockhead keeps ramming into your sweet spot. his tip bullies you right where you like it most, and your vision glazes over, threatening to go hazy and leave you at the mercy of this terrible man. you’re gonna cum—you can feel it. you can feel the heat building up inside of your core, the depraved tension just about to break.

you clench your eyes shut and brace yourself. your walls are greedily sucking onto his length, the wet noises of your bodies coming together echoing across the room. your toes curl as the pleasure overtakes your mind, and it feels like a second pulse is forming in your cunt, your body no longer willing to listen to you.

you grit your teeth and throw your head back against ego’s shoulder, much to his delight. “...nngh-!”

your pussy clamps down on his cock, milking him with all it has. it feels like something deep inside your stomach is exploding, and heat grips you all over. your nerves all feel as if they’ve been lit on fire. pleasure floods your brain as your pussy quivers and throbs. you hate that it feels good, a pleasure so blinding that your vision spins and it feels like you’re losing your center of gravity. any lingering strength escapes from your body as you shamelessly orgasm all over the cock that’s stuffed deep inside you, your walls fluttering all around his length and drooling around it as if it's the most delicious thing your cunt has felt. 

even as your high consumes you entirely, ego continues to fuck his hips upwards into you, threatening to break your body in half over his dick. you let out an incoherent cry, thrashing weakly against his frame. “n-nooo… d-don’t…!”

he laughs, his voice raspy and evil. “you came, didn’t you? don’t fucking lie to me. i told you i can feel everything, can’t i? that pretty little pussy of yours came from getting fucked by my cock. and to think you were going on and on about how you hated me that much… you’re not above getting dicked down, are you now? that’s what i thought… you really do look the prettiest when you’ve been fucked out like this.”

you don’t even have it in yourself to fight back against him. his cock weighs heavy inside of you, still thrusting rapidly into you despite the overstimulation that starts to claw at your weary insides. it’s too much; he’s moving too much at his own peace without any consideration as to whether or not you can fully keep up. but you don’t have any remaining fight to do anything to defend yourself, and it’s all you can do to even keep your head upright as he pistons his hips into you as if you’re his personal sex toy.

he twitches dangerously inside you, savoring the newfound tightness of your walls from fucking you straight through your orgasm. you’re sobbing softly, unable to form full thoughts and just crying out, praying that this whole thing will stop soon so you can tend to whatever remnants of your shattered psyche you can salvage. he’s close too: you can feel the way his cock throbs and shudders inside of you as he drags his inches in and out, the way his balls tense up against the curve of your ass, his ragged breathing and his muttered threats of stuffing your cunt up so full with his cum that not even contraception can save you from being marked inside and out by him.

you brace yourself. it should be over once he’s done having his fun with you.

but instead, he pauses. you peel your eyelids open at the sudden stop, and you gasp when he leans forward in the seat he has you trapped in between. he’s still buried deep inside you, his cockhead pressed up dangerously against the entrance to your womb, but he reaches for the controls of his monitor.

you know better than to think he has anything good in mind by reaching for his technology. but ego is faster, smarter, in all ways better at thinking a step ahead of you, and after pressing a button, he quickly traps you in between his long limbs to keep you from moving. you whimper pathetically, your legs spread out to reveal your stretched out cunt being continuously speared on his dick.

“shhhh,” he chuckles, the maniacal gleam in his eyes twinkling with an unmatched madness. horror swirls again inside of your gut when you hear the mechanic whirring of a camera, and your fears are confirmed when the giant camera lens atop his many desktop monitors swings towards the two of you, seemingly focusing straight onto your fucked out, restrained form, getting fucked out helpessly like some scene straight out of a porno.

in another move of faux affection, he kisses the shell of your ear. “letting you get off with only getting creampied is too predictable, don’t you agree? just you wait, my filthy girl… in a few seconds, that camera is going to display everything we’re doing to the entire facility… those hungry, hungry boys are going to see you bouncing up and down on my cock, and they’re going to see every second of me filling up that little hole of yours with my cum.”

you don’t want to accept this ridiculous truth. this has to be a bad dream, a manifestation of your nightmares that you just can’t wake up from, and yet the painful aches at your thighs and inside your pussy tell you otherwise. this is the reality you’re trapped in, and you can’t run away from it.

“you’ll be all mine forever,” ego whispers as the cameras buzz to life, sealing your fate entirely. “i just have to make sure the entire world knows it.”

if you enjoyed my writing and would like to show appreciation, you can do so by donating to the humanitarian cause in gaza!

[lola25lovesyoutoo]

Sex On The Beach/Micheal Kaiser

Warning: Rough sex/Semi-public/Car sex/ Angry sex/ Spanking and Noncon/ Cursing/ Dirty Talk/ Choking/

It's a hot summer day in mid-July. Standing near the shore under the umbrella, Kaiser watches his girlfriend from afar. She was walking back to their car to get the tube of sunscreen that he forgot to bring. His poor girlfriend doesn't even know that as she walks, kaisers eyes are glued on her ass. Watching how her curves moved rapidly when she jogged through the surface below her, trying to avoid contact with the hot sand. He loved the way her ass moved or when she had to keep adjusting her bikini bottoms because they kept digging in her crack.

Fuck, that shit did something to him. He can feel his cock twitch in his shorts and the pre-cum leaking already. Yet, still, he tries to save the last bit of dignity he has left and compose himself.

Walking back to the shore, y/n is shocked to find her boyfriends in the same position when she left him, staring at her. She shakes her head at him in disapproval.

Pointing at him, she says,

" This is the big ass tube of sunscreen you need when you decide to date a pale ass guy," Y/n spoke in sarcasm to her boyfriend.

Kaiser laughs out loud.

"Kaiser, go put half of this tube on your body before you start burning," Y/n remarks.

Kaiser follows her orders by quickly placing the white cream all over his body.

"All done, You're next," he spoke out loud. Good! Can you put some on my back?" the woman asks him politely as she lies down on her belly.

" Just my back, Ok," his girlfriend asks, but Kaiser has other plans. Of course, he does.

"Don't worry, baby, I got you!!" Kaiser reassures his girlfriend with a mischievous smirk on his face.

Now, Kaiser stands over his girlfriend's body, enjoying the view under him. Starting off innocently, Kaiser applies the white cream on the woman's shoulders and drags it to her back. As his hands work on the upper part of the woman's body, however, his eyes never leave her lower body. Kaiser's large hands worked their magic on his girlfriend's back, and he started to notice the slightly miffed noises coming from his girlfriend's lips.

" Do my hands make you feel good? Kaiser asked. " why don't we go somewhere more private? Huh, what do you think? Kaiser keeps on teasing his girlfriend.

" Micheal, stop touching me. Okay, Pervert," His girlfriend demands.

" This is why I don't take you anywhere; you always embarrass me." Kaiser's girlfriend is embarrassed as her cheeks have become dark red.

" So what? I can't touch or tease my girlfriend". Kaiser tried to define himself. "I was just joking, sweetheart." Kaiser wanted to pay it off.

" Ohh, please, the bulge in your pants speaks differently. Kaiser's girlfriend talks back to him.

" Ohh, so this whole time, you have been staring at my dick," Kaiser points at the woman and then starts smirking.

" Ohh, please, shut your mouth, it's not like I'm dying for it, you're the horny one here." The woman rolled her eyes and spoke in an annoyed tone.

"So what about those noises you made back then, huh? You are not as innocent as you might think." kaiser speaks to his girlfriends.

" I'm done with you." His girlfriend explained and then got up, trying to leave him alone on the beach shore. That is until Kaiser pulls her into his arms and picks her up. He then stands up and walks on the sandy beach toward their car, abandoning their previous setup and belongings.

" Put me down," his girlfriend demands, but Kaiser ignores her and continues walking as he aggressively holds her in place between his chest and arms.

" Since you have acted like a spoiled brat, you must be punished," Kaiser whispered into his girlfriend's ears, sending shivers down her spine.

In retaliation, his girlfriend bis his neck, pulling on the skin of where his tattoo is set; the blue rose is now bruised with red tooth bits imprinted around it.

" Ouch, you little bitch, you'll see what I will do to you once we reach the car."

Standing to his words, once the couple finally reached the back car, the first thing Kaiser does is toss his girlfriend in the backseat.

Lust is mixed with anger in Kaiser's bloodstream. The following action he takes is flipping her over on her belly, and in a hard swoop, he takes her bikini bottoms off. Reveling her wet cunt. Kaiser smirked to himself. "see, I was right, you dirty little whore, already soaking wet" Then Kaiser spat on her wet cunt and ass.

" Dirty whore thinks she can talk back to me," Kaisers speaks in an angry tone as he caresses and pulls apart her ass cheeks. He does this to tease her but not give her what she wants.

" I'm so sorry-" The woman's words were cut short by the loud spanks on her left ass cheek.

" Kaiser, Please--" the woman's words continued but were cut short again by Kaiser's hands. One of them landed a hard slap on her mouth, and then the other one traveled down to choke her neck.

The woman beneath him takes a quick glance at the man behind her. " Shut up, and turn your head back," Kaiser spoke again; from behind her, Kaiser was using his hot pre-cum to jerk his pink and swollen cock.

" You are so nasty, the woman muttered under her breath.

" You know what? You don't deserve this dick inside your pussy; turn around and give me your dirty mouth," Kaiser demands, impatiently kaiser yanks the woman by her hair and forces her to turn around to face him.

The woman cries and pleads with him, but he doesn't care. Kaiser slabs the woman again. "open your mouth." Kaiser's pink tip is oozing; Kaiser takes his tip up to the woman and smashes the white liquid all over her lips and some into her mouth.

" doesn't it taste good" Kaiser mocks the woman as she spits out his pre-cum.

The woman's stubbornness makes Kaiser feral, so he yanks her bikini top off and slaps her breasts in a harsh matter.

The woman screams in pain, and Kaiser takes this chance to force his cock into her mouth.

Kaiser moans and groans at the feeling of her warm mouth around his cock.

" Good girl just keeps taking me like that," Kaiser tells his lover as he keeps his hand on her hair, having complete control of the woman's movements as he forces her to take him all the way.

" See, isn't it easy to just listen instead of being a little brat" Kaiser points out. As his girlfriend takes his cock; he can tell that she enjoys sucking him off.

However, Kaiser doesn't know that the woman before him is still a little brat, following her subsequent actions. The woman's right-hand travels to kaisers swollen, large ballsack.

Starting off, she caresses them in a way that leaves Kaiser a moaning mess; she touches that sweet spot, and when Kaiser thinks he's ready to cum; the woman takes revenge. She then takes both balls into one of her hands, and then she uses all she strath to squeeze them.

" AHHHH!!" Kaiser screams, filling the car. And the woman tries her best to laugh, but the fat cock in her mouth is definitely making it complicated. " Ahh, you little bitch, just keep sucking my dick and nothing else" Kaiser's free handcuffs the woman's hands away, keeping them.

Then Kaiser retreats back to his previous motions of swinging his lips back and forth fastly while his cocking is in the woman's mouth.

After several seconds of this repeated action, Kaiser is ready to blow his load into the poor woman's mouth. And when he finally comes, he forces his poor girlfriend to swallow every last drop.

After his release, the woman is left panting and gasping for air.

" Ohh, baby, you did so good for me." Kaiser's mood changes after his release.

Kaiser picks up his lover and places her in his lap, giving her soft and kind kisses over her face and body.

"I hate you, Kaiser," the woman says, still upset about what happened.

" I will you forgive me if I take you out shopping and let you spend all my money." Kaiser knows his girlfriend's weakness, and he's sure that she will forgive him.

" Hmm, let me think about it." His girlfriend's mood changed instantly.

Kaiser cracks out in laughter.

"I love you so much," Kaiser tells his girlfriend as he hugs her tightly.

[jikagu]

FIRST TIME WITH THE BOYS

pairing: isagi x fem!reader, bachira x fem!reader, chigiri x fem!reader, ego x fem!reader

summary: just the boys first time with you <33

notes: this was fun to headcanon lol

ISAGI

literally a nervous mess with you

"um, am i doing this right?"

cums a lot 🙏

he was really shy abt the idea of oral 😭

"wait—you? want to suck it?"

"do you feel—good? cuz' i do." he slurred, pussy drunk. it hurt for the first few minutes and he let you adjust for a bit before he started moving.

"ye—s, fuck!" you moan, bucking your hips.

"so,, so, big!" you bit your lip, closing your eyes tightly.

"cummin,'" isagi slurred as you nodded. you both were so sensitive from earlier since it was your first time and already came so much.

isagi fell limp on top of you, taking his cock out.

"love you, baby." he sighed.

BACHIRA

this boy is so in love with you that when you asked about sex he immediately nodded

it seemed like he knew what he was doing but he was still a virgin, just watched porn a lot

"where IS THE CLIT??" he yelled, analyzing your pussy 😭

"bachira what the fuck"

when things got going, he was like a rabbit in heat.

"FOUND IT"

"wha—oh fuck!"

"WRONG HOLE, BACHIRA STOP A—"

"fuck, i love you so much baby." he desperately leaned in for a sloppy kiss as drool tickled your chin.

"so good, so good…" you repeated, tightly hanging on to the pillow he gave you.

it hurt for a bit so this boy gave you a pillow to take your pain out on, but he was impatient so he kept slamming in and out of you.

"slow—er bachira!" your lower stomach turned in ways you didn't know of,, it felt — so good

"cumming!" you yelped, bachira eyeing you.

"you squirt?" 😥

CHIGIRI

this man was so fucking gentle with you it even drove you crazy

"chigiri, you can go faster.." you mewled, your legs wrapped around his back

"i want you to feel good.. i don't wanna hurt you." the love sick boy caressed your face

chigiri would be gentle the entire time omg

"fuck you? no—i—wanna make love." he said, bashfully looking away. it was kind of embarrassing and cheesy, but he didn't care in the end.

"i love you so much baby." chigiri cooed, reaching your g-spot continuously.

"so tight 'round me." he smiled.

in

out

in

out

it was relatively slow, but—he just kept reassuring you he'd go faster.

"oh baby, im gnna' cum." he whimpered, closing his eyes before feeling the condom fill up.

"love you babygirl."

EGO

for his first time he was super cocky like wtf

"yeah? suck my cock."

"bitch who r u talking to."

"sorry."

he was big into spanking you and degrading you like crazyy

i guess it just always stuck on him

you'd think he'd be nervous and kinda worried but no, he knew what he was doing which was kinda weird

sounds of skin slapping filled the room with how aggressive ego was being with you. he held onto you as he slammed in you, grunts filling the room as well.

"ego oh my god! you,, so big—i can feel you inside of me!" you whined and whimpered before ego smirked.

"where can you feel me, slut?" he degraded you, making your head go in spirals.

"mmh, right here.." you moved your hand to your lower stomach where there was a large bulge inside of you, pushing down on it.

now that? that made ego cum.

big time.

[kalcifers-blog]

I needed to draw a fem!Marvin design. No- no reason,,,

[nana-mania]

“EXPECTING” she delivered a surprise to him

╰┈➤: ̗̀➛ oneshot

࿐*ೃ feat : jinpachi ego

࿐*ೃ fandom : blue lock

࿐*ೃ extra : fem! reader, fluff

╰┈➤: ̗̀➛ THE Blue Lock facility was just as imposing and intense as you remembered. Even with the countless visits you'd made to see Jinpachi Ego, your husband, the atmosphere inside never failed to make you feel like you were stepping into some grand, high-stakes war room. It was eerily quiet today, though. You guessed that meant the boys were out on the field, which made sense since Jinpachi was holed up in the observation room, glued to the giant screens monitoring each of their movements.

"Hey, Jin," you called out as you saunter into the room, casually leaning against the doorframe. Your voice cut through the silence, and you watched as his head snapped toward you, the ever-present dark circles under his eyes looking more prominent than usual. His focus wavered for just a moment, and you relished that little distraction.

"Shouldn't you be off doing something other than lounging around watching a bunch of sweaty teenagers kick a ball?" you teased, eyeing him up and down. As always, his fashion choices were... questionable at best. His lanky figure was dressed in his usual casual attire-black shirt, jeans, and the bolo tie that seemed to have permanently attached itself to his neck. His Crocs squeaked as he turned in his chair to face you fully, hands still poised over his tablet.

Jinpachi pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, raising an eyebrow at your entrance. "Shouldn't you be doing something more productive than pestering me in the middle of my life's work?"

You scoffed, flicking your hair over your shoulder. "Oh, please. Like I'd miss out on an opportunity to make fun of you. I mean, you're practically a caricature of a soccer coach at this point."

He narrowed his eyes, as if considering a comeback, but ultimately shrugged, his focus already returning to the monitors in front of him. "What brings you here, anyway? Don't you have things to do?"

"Oh, I do," you said. "But I figured I'd do my civic duty and check on my poor, neglected husband. Make sure you're still alive and not buried under a pile of instant noodle cups."

"Your concern is touching," he deadpanned, eyes still glued to the screen, tracking a particular player. "I haven't died of malnutrition yet, so you can stop worrying. Now, unless you have an actual reason for being here-"

You rolled your eyes, but a mischievous grin tugged at the corners of your lips. The banter was fun, sure, but you hadn't come here just for that. This was a big moment, and the anticipation of revealing your news made your palms slightly sweaty.

"I have a reason," you admitted, stepping further into the room. You dug into your bag and pulled out a small plastic bag, nonchalantly tossing it onto his desk. Jinpachi didn't even look at it at first, too busy tapping something on his screen. Typical.

It took a few seconds before he glanced down at the bag. His hand froze mid-tap. His eyes flickered back and forth between the plastic bag and your face, obviously confused.

"What is this?" he asked flatly, eyebrows furrowing together in that adorably clueless way that you found so endearing.

You couldn't help the smirk that spread across your face as you crossed your arms, waiting for him to connect the dots. He was smart, but you knew he wouldn't get it right away.

"Well, dear genius husband of mine, I'd think it's pretty obvious."

His eyes narrowed again, this time studying the contents more closely. The realization started to dawn, and you saw his eyebrows lift just slightly. "Who's carrying the demon spawn?"

You nearly burst out laughing, but you managed to keep your composure long enough to reply. "Me, you idiot."

There was a brief moment of silence as Jinpachi just stared at you. His face, which usually bore the expression of someone who had seen too much in life, remained completely blank. Then, without missing a beat, he leaned back in his chair, folding his arms. "Sucks to be you."

You let out a loud laugh, almost doubling over at the audacity. "Seriously? That's your reaction? 'Sucks to be you'? Unbelievable."

But he wasn't done. "Well, it's not my body that has to go through nine months of hell," he stated, almost smugly, though you could tell from the twitch in his cheek that he was just as stunned as you expected him to be. His cool exterior was probably the only thing stopping him from actually freaking out.

You rolled your eyes and walked over to him, leaning down to pinch his cheek-hard. "Listen here, you smug noodle-loving stick figure, you are not going to miss out on this. Every appointment, every scan, every time the doctor tells us what to expect-you're coming with me."

He winced slightly at the pinch but didn't pull away. "What if I'm busy shaping Japan's future soccer geniuses?" he quipped, though there was a hint of uncertainty in his voice now.

"Nope. Don't care," you responded, releasing his cheek but poking his shoulder for emphasis. "You are not skipping a single thing. We're in this together, Jinpachi."

He glanced away, scratching his neck-a tell-tale sign that he was annoyed, or more likely in this case, unsure how to process the information. "Fine," he muttered, his tone nonchalant, but you knew him well enough to catch the way his fingers curled just a little tighter around the tablet. "I'll come. Just don't expect me to, I don't know, do yoga or something ridiculous."

You snorted. "Yeah, like I'm going to let you anywhere near a yoga mat. I can barely trust you with a fork."

He gave you a dry look, but there was a faint smirk on his lips now.

You knew he was internally processing the magnitude of the news, even as he tried to play it cool. Jinpachi was never one to show too much emotion, especially not in a high-stakes environment like this. You could almost see the gears turning in his head, calculating how this would affect his meticulously structured life.

"Seriously, though," you spoke, trying to shift the mood a little, "I know this is a lot, but think about it. You'll have someone to mold into a future soccer star. It will take a while though."

He raised an eyebrow, an incredulous look crossing his face. "Mold? Is that really the word you want to use? I'd prefer 'cultivate' or 'develop.'"

You laughed again, shaking your head. "Whatever you want to call it, you know you'll be a great dad. Just look at how you handle the players here."

"Yeah, by constantly pushing them to their limits. I'm not sure that's the best parenting method."

"Oh, come on!" you shot back, amused. "It's either that or be a total softie. I'm sure we can balance it out. You can be the tough love dad while I take care of the cuddles."

He rolled his eyes but you could see the corners of his mouth twitching again. "That's a terrifying thought, honestly."

"Yeah? Well, get used to it. This is happening." You leaned down and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "You're going to be a dad, and I can't wait for you to experience all the joys-and chaos-that come with it."

His expression softened for just a moment as he regarded you, the seriousness of the situation creeping into his usual façade of confidence. "I suppose there are worse things than being a dad," he admitted, almost begrudgingly. "I just hope this kid doesn't inherit my inability to function outside of soccer."

You chuckled, the warmth of the moment settling around you. "I think we both know they'll be a soccer prodigy with you as their dad. But maybe we can throw in some art classes or something, just to balance it out?"

He scrunched his nose in distaste. "Art? Ugh. I don't feel like producing a piece of art."

You nudged him playfully. "See, this is what I mean! You need to open your horizons. You can't just be all soccer all the time. What about cooking classes?"

"Cooking classes? Are you serious?" he asked incredulously. "If I wanted to poison our child, I'd just let them eat my cooking."

"Oh, don't act like you can't cook." you challenged, smirking at him. "You're just too stubborn to learn anything outside of instant noodles."

"Instant noodles are an art form," he shot back, crossing his arms defensively. "Besides, if it's not in my contract, it's not my concern."

You rolled your eyes again, though your heart swelled with affection for him. His quirks and stubbornness were part of what made him so uniquely him. "Well, I think you'll have to make some adjustments in your schedule, Mister 'Nothing but soccer.'"

He sighed dramatically, though the corners of his mouth curled upward. "I'll think about it," he said, his voice dry as ever. But you noticed that glint in his eye, the one he always got when he was secretly pleased with something.

"Thinking about it isn't good enough," you countered, narrowing your eyes playfully as you leaned in closer. "You're going to be there for all of it. And when our kid asks you for help with their homework, you better know the answer. No slacking off with the whole 'I only care about soccer' excuse."

"No, you'll do the teaching."

You almost choked on your breath. "What a nightmare..imagine ME, teaching math? Do you want me to fail our child?"

You poked him in the ribs, enjoying the rare moment where you could tease him into a corner. "You better brush up. No instant noodles or spreadsheets will save you when that time comes."

Jinpachi sighed theatrically, pushing his glasses up again, a smirk barely visible at the corners of his lips. "I'll consider it a challenge. Though, I'm not responsible if our child grows up with a warped sense of humor."

"Oh, please," you snorted. "With me as their mom, they'll be perfectly balanced. It's you I'm worried about. You're going to corrupt them with your twisted soccer fanaticism."

He tilted his head, fixing you with a mock-serious stare. "And what, exactly, would be wrong with that?"

"Everything," you replied, matching his intensity. "Because if you think I'm going to sit through endless hours of soccer drills, you've got another thing coming. I'll make sure they're into something else, too. Maybe theater or art, just to mess with you."

The idea visibly made Jinpachi twitch. "Our child doing theater... Horrifying."

You grinned wickedly. "Exactly. And you'll love it."

Jinpachi shook his head, but the fondness in his eyes couldn't be mistaken. You could see it now, peeking through the cracks of his cool exterior. He wasn't just some cold, calculating football genius; he was also the man you fell in love with-quirky, egotistical, yes, but full of hidden warmth that he saved just for you.

A comfortable silence settled between you both for a moment. The only sound in the room was the faint hum of the monitors and the occasional scribble of his stylus on the tablet. You stood there, watching him work for a bit.

You were going to have a baby-his baby. You weren't sure what kind of father Jinpachi would be, but you knew one thing for certain: he would approach it with the same passion he had for everything else.

After a few minutes, you finally broke the silence. "So, when do you think you'll be free to come to the first appointment?" you asked, keeping your tone light but serious.

He glanced up at you, pushing his glasses up again-a nervous habit of his when he was thinking. "I'll make time," he said simply, almost nonchalantly, though you could tell he meant it. "I'm not missing it. I'll put it in my calendar. Between strategy meetings, of course."

You raised an eyebrow. "Between strategy meetings? Really? You're prioritizing strategy over me and your future child?"

"Don't twist my words," he shot back, smirking. "I'll be there. I can multitask."

"Sure, sure," you teased, though you knew he would keep his word. "And make sure to bring something that isn't noodles when we go. I'm not sharing my snacks with you."

He made a face, clearly displeased by the thought. "You're cruel."

You couldn't help but laugh, the sound filling the room. "I'm just preparing you for parenthood, Jinpachi. You'll have to learn to share eventually."

He rolled his eyes but couldn't hide the small smile tugging at his lips. "You're really enjoying this, aren't you?"

"Oh, absolutely," you replied, grinning. "I'm going to hold this over your head for the rest of your life."

Jinpachi sighed, leaning back in his chair again. "Of course you are."

You placed a hand on your stomach. It wasn't just about teasing him or watching him squirm, though that was always a fun bonus. You were building a life together, and this was just the beginning of something incredible.

"Ready for the ride, Jin?" you asked, a soft smile on your lips as you looked at him.

He glanced over at you. There was something real and sincere in his eyes, a flicker of emotion that he rarely let anyone see.

"Yeah," he said quietly, nodding. "I think I am."

You smiled, feeling the warmth spread through your chest. "Good. Because I'm not doing this alone."

He let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. "As if I'd let you. I'll be there... every step of the way."

"Damn right you will be," you said, though your tone was softer now, more affectionate. You stepped closer, gently resting a hand on his shoulder, and he placed his own hand over yours.

Jinpachi squeezed your hand gently, his eyes meeting yours with an intensity that caught you off guard. You could feel the warmth of his hand on yours, grounding you in the moment.

"You know," you murmured, stepping in closer, your voice low as you brushed a hand across his cheek. "I'm not always sassy."

He raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smirk. "Really? I've never seen the evidence."

"Shut up," you whispered, though you were smiling as you said it. "I'm trying to be sentimental here."

Jinpachi let out a small chuckle, but there was a tenderness in his expression that you rarely saw. He lifted his hand from your shoulder to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin in a way that made your heart skip a beat. It was such a simple gesture, yet from him, it carried so much meaning. Jinpachi was a man of few overt affections, but when he did show them, they were undeniable.

Slowly, he leaned down toward you, his movements almost cautious, as if he were afraid to break the moment. You felt your breath hitch in your throat as his face drew closer, your heart pounding in your chest. And then, with a gentleness that contrasted sharply with his usual brashness, his lips met yours.

The kiss was soft, tender-unlike the sharp-edged banter you usually exchanged. His lips were warm against yours, and for a moment, the world around you disappeared. His hand on your cheek was steady, grounding you, while your own hands found their way to the back of his neck, pulling him just a little closer.

You could feel the warmth of his body against yours, his long fingers brushing the nape of your neck as he deepened the kiss, still slow, still deliberate. It was the kind of kiss that felt like a promise.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested gently against yours, both of you breathing a little heavier than before. His hand lingered on your cheek, his thumb still softly stroking your skin. Jinpachi's glasses had slightly fogged up from the closeness, but he didn't bother adjusting them this time.

"Sucks to be us, huh?" he murmured, his voice teasing but quieter than usual, as if he were afraid to break the delicate moment.

You smiled, still catching your breath, your fingers lightly tracing the back of his neck. "Yeah. Guess we're stuck together now."

"Not the worst fate," he replied, his smirk returning but his eyes soft.

You pulled him in for another kiss, this one quicker but just as sweet, before you leaned back, a playful grin tugging at your lips. "And just so you know, that baby's going to love theater. Deal with it."

Jinpachi groaned, rolling his eyes dramatically, but there was a fondness there that you couldn't miss. "Fine. But only if you handle it. I'll take care of soccer practice."

"Deal," you said, feeling a warmth spread through your chest.

As you stood there, wrapped in his arms, you knew that whatever the future held, you would face it together.

࿐*ೃ thanks for reading this short scenario! likes, interaction and reblogs are deeply appreciated ♡

[thetruequeenoftheabyss]

Was is a redraw mood today so decided to give these drawings of Bim Trimmer And Fem!Darkiplier from 2020 a crack

I don't remember why I originally did these two drawings but i'm happy to see how i've improved

Original drawings and process shots under the cut

[lilacmox]

ŁĪŁÅC GHØST & a worried Jackie

[pxppet]

Every artist I love has been getting into fem!egos and it has been forever since I've drawn mine

So, have some sketches of Jeannette and Heidi (JJ and Henrik) with a guest appearance from Jackie!

Jeannette has PCOS and grows more body hair than is typical, and feels no need to shave it. Jackie is a transfem butch lesbian!

[luluisoff]

[moiraimyths]

Before we call anon rude because let’s see it from their perspective, imagine getting an entire feast to eat. That can be pretty hard to start with so much that’s going on, but if they start with one thing they know they’ll like (aka one character they like) that can be the start for them leaping to other characters to finish the story and the bigger story. I struggle the same way to start book series if I don’t have at least one character that drives me to read it, it’s all about what can be the hook to push them through. Sounds like the anon is neurodivergent (just a guess) so they might genuinely not see it as rude and see it as a solution to even play the game to start with.

Btw absolutely adore the game, the complex and rich characters making them all so unique is amazing. The art is so pleasing to the eyes I love it!! I’m waiting for it all to get out at once so I don’t get too impatient. Shae however interests me the most, which routes will have the most lore for them? Will there be routes that give more lore in general based on decisions you make or do they all share the same amount? (I mean general lore not just Shae lore)

Apologies; we are not trying to accuse any asker of being rude! We are simply explaining our perspective as the developers / are trying to broadly encourage folks to dip their toes into other areas of the story outside of the main route(s) they're interested in, especially considering some routes will be made available sooner than others, and these other routes will likely contain additional scenes/lore of everyone's fave(s) regardless! We want to give each main cast member an equal amount of love (and lore) regardless of their overall popularity, so our goal is not to tut-tut anyone for having strong preferences for one character over the others, but rather to explain that you may be surprised by how much *more* you learn about your preferred characters in the other routes. That's all!

For Shae... Well, they were a foot soldier for one of the worst periods of the War. Lore wise, any other story that touches on the War will likely have content relevant to them and their experiences. ^^

[paperultra]

le festin.

Pairing: OPLA!Vinsmoke Sanji x Fem!Reader Word Count: 3,842 words Warnings: Swearing, alcohol use, toxic family [A/N: yes this is partially inspired by ratatouille. inspiration comes from many places and i am not one to question it. happy new year <3]

cingulomania (noun): a strong desire to hold a person in your arms nemesism (noun): frustration, anger or aggression directed inward, toward oneself and one's way of living

Thunk.

Thunk.

Thunk.

“Murfus.”

“Yes, Miss?”

“Get me more darts.”

Murfus wrings his hands, glancing between you and the wall a few feet away. “I … I’m afraid I can’t get you more darts,” he replies tentatively, “on account of us being out at sea, Miss.”

“Then fetch the ones I’ve already thrown,” you snap, pointing at said darts. “Idiot.”

“Of course. So sorry, Miss.”

He scampers over to the wall and hurriedly pulls each dart out of it, rushing back to you with sweat on his brow. You snatch them out of his white-gloved palms.

Pinching the blue dart between your fingers, you hold it up to your eye and aim. With a sharp snap of your wrist, the dart flies forward and into the paper tacked onto the wood panel.

Murfus winces.

Crumpled, smudged, and pitted with pin-sized holes, one would have a hard time reading the article on the wall. But you know what it says. You’ve memorized its structure, can land a dart onto each line mentioning that damned restaurant by name. And you do.

“Murfus.”

“Yes, Miss?”

“Read the menu to me again.”

“Of course, Miss.” You hear the crinkle of paper and the sound of him clearing his throat. “The appetizers are as follows …”

You only half-listen as the man continues, the other half occupied by the wall in front of you and the starting paragraph steadily being destroyed by your hand. Your tongue draws across your teeth.

“In all our years as food critics, scouring the East Blue for any semblance of palatable cuisine in a region brimming with endless possibilities, no other restaurant has come as close to unlocking the flavor of the seas as the Baratie.”

—

You had, by all accounts, a privileged upbringing.

The Nouveau Blue Guide is not royalty, nobility, or military – but it is an empire in its own right, a name that’s afforded you many opportunities and comforts since you were young: a fine education, luxurious business trips, a roof over your head and plenty of food to eat. Your family’s reputation as food critics, built by your great-grandfather and painstakingly maintained up to this very day, is unmatched in the East Blue.

Such is your birthright. A birthright that, despite your toil and travels and countless, countless hours spent writing reviews, your parents say you do not deserve.

“You call this an article?” Your mother brandishes the draft you’d submitted in hopes of some constructive criticism, her voice climbing high. “It’s a mess!”

“I haven’t polished it up yet –”

“There’s nothing worth polishing. Frankly, it’s embarrassing that a child of mine has written something like this.” She passes the article over to your father. “Darling, throw this away. I’m already stressed as it is.”

Your father takes it. Gives it a cursory once-over. Your tentative anticipation dissolves in the pit of your stomach when he sighs, shaking his head at you. “You’re not cut out for this career, dear,” he tells you, folding your article in half and then quarters and dropping it into the bin by your mother’s desk. “Claudie is already taking over the Guide. Your time is better spent improving your etiquette.”

You breathe in. Keep your hands relaxed, square your shoulders. Nod obediently with clenched teeth.

“I’m sorry for wasting your time.”

You know that your family means well. They want you to live a successful life, find a successful spouse, and raise successful children. They don’t want you to waste your time because your time is valuable.

Well, today, you’re going to prove that you are not wasting anything.

“We’re ready to disembark, Miss.”

“Good.”

Standing up, you put on your gloves and hat, picking your notebook and pen up from the table before walking with Murfus down to the dock.

He accompanies you to the entrance of the Baratie, then falls back so you may walk in alone. The maître d’hôtel welcomes you and promptly gets you seated at a booth on the ground floor, not too close to the stairs to distract you from the ambience of the restaurant and not too close to the kitchen to hear the ruckus of the cooks.

In the brief space of time before your waiter arrives, you take everything in. Dim, cozy lighting. High ceiling. Few windows. Sitting in the Baratie is like sitting in the belly of a whale. Perhaps you can make a point about it being a bit too enclosed, but given that its main customers are seafarers looking for reprieve from the elements, you don’t think many would find that damning.

You make a few half-hearted but detailed notes.

“Hello, madam.” A voice from above interrupts your writing.

You look up, irritated.

The waiter before you is a handsome man, blond-haired and broad-shouldered. He flashes you a charming smile upon meeting your eyes as he sets a plate of bread rolls down, standing close enough that you can smell cigarette smoke mixed with spices and just the barest remnants of cologne.

You recognize him immediately.

“My name is Sanji, and I have the immense pleasure of being your waiter this evening. Shall we start with drinks?”

Stifling your confusion with a sneer, you place your pen down.

“Is the Baratie so short-staffed that they have their sous chef waiting tables?”

Sanji’s smile freezes for just a moment. He seems to recover quickly, though, shaking his head and chuckling at your query.

“I’m flattered you recognize me!” he replies. “No, I occasionally wait tables when the owner requests it, that’s all.”

You do not buy it.

“Then, Sanji, I will have a glass of Ithürzburger Stein to start,” you say.

He nods. “Excellent choice. I will get that for you straight away.”

His eyes dart shamelessly to your open notebook before settling back on your face. To your utter surprise and dismay, he winks at you before heading off.

Your cheeks warm without warning.

Nobody, let alone a waiter (even if he really is the sous chef), has ever winked at you before. They had the good sense not to. It’s incredibly crude, and surely, you’re more offended than anything else – handsome or not, such behavior deserves a scathing call-out –

But … what if you’re overthinking things? What if it isn’t a big deal because it doesn’t affect the quality of the food? Your parents always take context into consideration – the Baratie is beloved for its rough-and-tumble personality under the guise of upscale dining, so perhaps this is part of the experience. He may not have even winked at you at all.

“Tch.”

You release the tablecloth from your grip, grabbing a bread roll instead and sinking your teeth into it. It’s light, sweet, and perfect. You chew quickly and swallow hard.

The sous chef comes back soon after, your requested bottle of wine in one hand and a polished glass in the other.

“Your Ithürzburger Stein, madam,” he says, opening the bottle and pouring you a glass with practiced ease.

He watches intently as you pick the glass up and bring it to your lips. The aroma reaches your nose, and it takes an immense effort not to wrinkle it as you take a sip. You’ve never particularly liked alcohol. This one is sour and dry.

“It’s alright,” you say, wishing you could rinse the taste out with juice. “I’m ready to order my appetizers and entrées.”

“Of course.”

You rattle off a few items, having memorized the menu after listening to Murfus read it so many times. For the appetizers, wakame salad with sesame-ginger dressing, Sea King croquettes, and grilled plums with goat cheese. For the entrees, Sambasian crab-stuffed salmon with roasted potatoes and chickpea stew. They’re nothing particularly unique or outstanding, but you feel that they are worth evaluating.

Sanji takes your order and leaves you with another dazzling smile, and you make the excuse of drinking more of the wine to avoid it. Maybe you will be a better writer drunk than sober.

Probably not.

Alone once again, you occupy yourself by exploring different ways to describe the wine, the bread, and the atmosphere. When you tire of that, you eavesdrop on the booth next to yours. It seems to be occupied by a group of marines, each attempting to one-up the others in the world’s shortest dick-measuring contest. You tire of that much more quickly.

When your appetizers arrive, you’re examining the arrangement of the silverware and the quality of their polish.

“Is the table set to your liking?” Sanji asks while lining up the plates. He takes more time doing so than is necessary, in your opinion.

“How it’s set doesn’t matter as much as whether it’s clean and accessible,” you reply, eyeing the croquettes with interest. “Tell me, where do you get your Sea King meat?”

“The Gourmet Hunter Guild supplies us with most of the rarer meats we serve here. The Sea King meat in your croquettes was just delivered this morning, so I’d say you’re quite lucky, madam.”

“What species is it?”

“Baron of the Tides.”

“Barons of the Tides tend to have a strong taste and tough flesh. Not many people are fond of it.”

Sanji’s eye glints as he rests a hand on the table, leaning in. “You know your food,” he says. “I expected no less from the Nouveau Blue Guide, and yet I’m still impressed.”

“It must not take much to impress you, then.”

“It takes a lot, actually.” He winks at you, and this time, you’re sure of it – and it’s strange because you don’t feel leered at, not at all, and your cheeks warm yet again. “Regarding the meat, no matter what it is, a good chef can make anything into a delicious meal. You won’t be disappointed.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

“Of course, madam. You’re the expert, after all.”

You are glad when he finally leaves, if only because you have no idea what to make of him. It’s difficult to tell if he’s being patronizing, and you can usually tell.

You sweep your gaze over your appetizers and take a deep breath.

Starting with the wakame salad, you inspect its presentation – a round pile of rich green seaweed in a smooth black bowl – and take a small portion to chew on.

The seaweed strikes a perfect balance between tender and firm, and the seasoning is perfect.

Fine. Whatever.

Next, the grilled plums with goat cheese. You take one bite; the creamy earthiness of the cheese complements the tender sweetness of the plums, and the caramelization is obnoxiously fantastic. You eat an entire half to make sure.

It looks like your last hope for this round is the Sea King croquettes.

Plucking one up with your fingers, you cut your teeth through the crispy, golden breading. The meaty interior strikes your tongue and your intake of breath is sudden, your free hand curling into a tight fist underneath the table.

It tastes good.

All three of them are really good.

This is horrible.

When Sanji drops off your entrées, you hardly realize that he’s there, too engrossed in the scent and the sight and the taste of the food.

“I hope the appetizers were to your liking?”

Sanji somehow gets the hint when you stab your fork into the Sambasian crab-stuffed salmon. He clears his throat and leaves you to your own devices.

You eat, and with each bite, your frustration mounts.

The Sambasian crab-stuffed salmon is flaky and succulent, the potatoes roasted to crisp skin and creamy flesh. The chickpea stew sits hot in your mouth and fills your nose with a parade of fragrant spices. It tastes amazing soaked into the bread rolls. Nothing is undercooked, or overcooked, or sloppily presented. Everything is just right. Just perfect.

You spend what feels like hours in the mouth of the booth, tasting, writing, crossing out, agonizing. The sounds of the Baratie die out until all you can hear is the scratching of pen against paper and your own breathing and pulse.

No, no, no, no.

It’s … it’s impossible. Any complaint you have is simply an expression of your own personal preferences, and your personal preferences don’t mean shit.

Your writing utensil is nearly buckling under the pressure by the time Sanji comes around for the nth time, and you’re just about ready to skewer him with it along with whoever else has the luck to wander too close.

“Are you interested in dessert, madam?”

“Of course I am,” you grit out.

All you’re met with is that damned smile of his. “Wonderful. Here’s our dessert menu.” He holds it out and you snatch it from him. “Someone with such a sweet face deserves something just as sweet.”

You snap the menu shut.

“Surprise me.”

Sanji blinks while you glare up at him, handing the menu back.

“… Pardon, madam?”

“I want the famed sous chef of the Baratie to prepare a dessert for me,” you say evenly. “I don’t care what it is or how long it takes. Surprise me.”

“I … of course.” He straightens up, the most serious you’ve ever seen him this entire evening. “Whatever you want.”

—

You wait.

The sous chef returns, not even an hour later, with a white ceramic bowl in hand and none other than the owner of the Baratie stomping after him.

“Your dessert, madam,” Sanji says, though a bit hurriedly. “Rice pudding with mango –”

He’s interrupted by Zeff, who grabs him by the back of his collar much like one would do to an errant cat. You raise your eyebrows, watching Sanji’s expression immediately wrinkle into one of annoyance.

“Little eggplant, you stop and listen when I’m talking to you.”

“Are you serious, old man? I’m in the middle of –”

“I told you that you’re off the line. No customer can change that, no matter who they are.” Zeff casts you a wayward glance and frowns before dragging Sanji back towards the kitchen. “We’re gonna have a little chat, you and me.”

Despite his bitter protesting, Sanji leaves your table with Zeff, and you’re left with your final course and the curious eyes of several diners.

“What are you looking at?” you bark at them, and they quickly go back to their meals.

You look down at your dessert. There’s a sprinkling of cinnamon on the surface, and it’s crowned with bright, paper-thin slices of mango, but rice pudding is so … simple. You’re almost insulted. But you are also surprised, and that is what you asked for.

Scooping up a bit of the pudding, you place it into your mouth, closing your eyes.

Two seconds later, you slam your spoon onto the table and stand up.

You can feel the sturdiness of the kitchen’s doors when you fling them open, your gaze immediately falling upon a mop of blond hair in the corner.

Heading straight towards him, you seize the front of Sanji’s well-pressed shirt and drag his face close to yours.

“What did you put in it?!”

Your shriek explodes through the noise of the kitchen staff. Sanji stares at you with wide eyes and oddly reddening cheeks.

“In the pudding?” he asks, bewildered. “Not much, really. Glutinous rice, coconut milk, salt –”

“Goddammit.” You shove him away and dig your nails into the back of your neck, chest and throat tightening. You can feel your breaths beginning to quicken and your eyes starting to sting. “Shit. Shit.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa”—Sanji puts a hand on your shoulder and it burns—“sweetheart, what’s wrong –”

“Where does that back door lead to?”

“Er, a dock? We take smoke breaks –”

“Excuse me.”

Shaking him off and pushing past him, you head straight to the door, open it, and close it behind you.

And then you scream.

Gods, you’re fucking ruined. You’re a fucking failure. Your parents were right, Claudie was right, you can’t do this and you could never do this and now you’re at the back of the East Blue’s only five-fucking-star restaurant having an emotional breakdown over eating food.

You scream until your voice breaks, until you’re left kneeling and gasping for breath on the filthy, wet dock.

You cough. Cinnamon lingers in the back of your throat, and you start crying.

Behind you, the door creaks open.

"[Y/n]?"

“Please don’t let my family hear about this,” you burst out without even turning to look at Sanji. “I’ll pay whatever amount you want.”

“Nobody’s going to be saying anything.” You feel him approaching, and then he drops down to sit next to you. “However, I’m very concerned about you. What’s got you so upset?”

“Why do you care?”

“A lovely lady such as yourself shouldn’t have to suffer alone.”

“Oh, please.” You hug your knees to your chest. But Sanji doesn’t leave, and after a few minutes, the words fall unbidden from your mouth, having nowhere else to go. “… I wasn’t assigned to come here.”

“Hm?”

“My family”—you swallow the lump in your throat—“they don’t know I’m here. I came here to write a review on the Baratie and get a … get a star taken away.”

Gods. That sounds so fucking stupid now. What is wrong with you?

“You did?” Sanji sounds baffled. “How come?”

A wet laugh crawls out between your teeth. “You’re the only restaurant my parents have ever given five stars to, you know that, right? So I figured – I-I figured if I could find out something wrong with the Baratie, they’d realize how good I can be at this job. I’m good at finding flaws. I’m good at details. This should’ve been … I should’ve found something.” You glare down at your lap. “But I couldn’t. Not even in the stupid dessert you made.”

“Oh.” A moment of silence occurs in which you can practically hear him gather his thoughts. “… I suppose I can take that as a compliment,” he says slowly, crossing his legs. “But is that really how you see food? Something to find fault in?”

“It’s something to evaluate. I’m a critic. It’s what I’ve always wanted to be.”

“But do you enjoy it?”

You frown, sniffling. Your brow furrows.

You want to tell him that it’s a stupid question. Why would you need to enjoy food? It’s work. You feel accomplished after finding the right words for a dish’s unique flavor, feel determined when you comb through the items on a menu. You feel delighted when you find something wrong with it.

But you …

“No,” you realize. “I … don’t.”

“I see. Well, I’m not one to tell you how to think,” Sanji says, “but as a cook, I believe that food’s one of the pleasures and privileges of being alive. As a critic, why deny yourself of its full potential?”

“I … I don’t know,” you whisper.

And the thought occurs to you, like a bottle that had been floating out at sea for years finally washing ashore, that you hate what your life has become.

“I don’t know.”

You can’t help it. You let out a loud sob, your head hanging down and bumping against Sanji’s arm. He doesn’t hesitate to wrap you in a tight hug.

It’s the first hug you’ve had in a very, very long time.

“I’m so sick of this,” you croak, face hot with shame and humiliation. “I’ll never be good enough for them. Ever.”

“They don’t deserve you.”

“But they’re my family.”

He rests his chin on your head. “A family who hurts you this much isn’t much of a family at all,” he murmurs.

His words are like a hot knife to the throat. What follows is cold, awful, bitter relief.

You force your eyes shut. Your arms tighten desperately around him, and you curl up, a pathetic excuse of a person in a crumpled heap on a dirty dock.

So this is you, you think. A purposeless silver spoon, miserable and starved for affection, clinging to a complete stranger outside the best restaurant in the East Blue.

It feels better to lay everything bare, actually.

“I can’t go back,” you tell him hoarsely.

“We won’t let anything get out.”

“The staff won’t, but you can’t do anything about the customers.” Reluctantly, you pull away, taking a deep breath and wiping your eyes. Clarity comes with it, hard and heavy. “But you know what? I don’t care anymore. I quit.”

“Quit?”

“Yeah.”

Reaching up, you close your hand around the small family crest resting just below your collarbone. You hesitate for just a moment, then tug sharply, and the thin chain around your neck snaps. Beads of gold glint in the sunlight as you look at it.

Yeah. Fuck it.

Winding your arm up, you fling the necklace as far as you can into the dark sea. It barely makes a splash as it hits the surface and disappears from sight.

“Good throw,” Sanji compliments.

“Thank you.”

He grins at you crookedly, and you finally return it, the last of your tears squeezing out from the motion and dripping down your cheeks.

Gentle fingers touch your chin. You let Sanji turn your face towards him, and the corner of his mouth tilts up as he takes a handkerchief out of his pocket and wipes the rest of the wetness from your cheeks and nose.

“There,” he says once he’s finished. “Now I can see your pretty face better.”

(You wonder how the world ever produced someone so kind.)

“I’m sorry, Sanji,” you say, “for being such an ass to you earlier.”

“Please don’t worry about it. It was my pleasure to serve you.”

“No, really. I grabbed you. I’ve never done anything like that before, and I feel awful about it.”

“I really didn’t –”

“Please,” you plead.

Sanji bites his lip, holding your gaze for a moment, then sighs. “All right. If it’ll make you feel better, I accept your apology,” he acquiesces. His expression softens. “And if you really have nowhere to go,” he offers more quietly, “the Baratie will gladly welcome you.”

Your lungs feel a bit emptier than usual.

“Thank you,” you somehow manage to say. “I’ll consider your offer.”

Your sudden formality seems to amuse him. He raises an eyebrow. “Oh, consider it? Anything I can do to sweeten the deal?”

His voice dips at the end, a sort of low and raspy thing, and you learn that it is much, much worse than being winked at.

You swallow and turn your head away. “T-Tell me the rest of the ingredients for your rice pudding,” you mutter.

“Join the Baratie and I’ll show you how to make it.”

“What? You’re turning it around on me.”

Sanji merely laughs in response, the corners of his eyes crinkling. Despite your embarrassment, you eventually find yourself chuckling along, and the sounds bloom together, so different yet so complementary. It’s nice, laughing with someone. You enjoy it.

Perhaps this is what food is supposed to bring, you think, this same, small, strange moment of peace and satisfaction.

You hope so.

[jacksepticeye-simp]

Wilford Warfstache x reader 😞. Idk what plot, it's just something I suppose 😼

Adoration

Pairing(s): Wilford Warfstache x F!Reader (So happy to see you on here bestie! Here's some hurt/comfort with your favorite journalist! Hope you enjoy it!)

TWs:Mentions of death and suicide (implied), Insanity stuff, Illusion of actor trying to degrade Wilford

Wilford stared at his computer blankly and sighed as he twirled his mustache. The light of the digital document before him was almost blinding, wasn't really like he cared much though. He groaned in frustration, pushing his chair back to stretch his legs. Did it really matter what he wrote? It'd never be good enough..

N̵͐ͅo̴̹̽t̷͕͝h̷̭̒i̴̩̊n̵̲̎g̸̳̐ ̷̡̕e̶͎͆v̵̗̍e̷͉̐r̵̘̿ ̷̡͝w̸̏͜õ̵͚u̵̪̐l̶̦͠d̵͖͝.̸̖̇.̴̹̽

The lightbulbs throughout the hall in front of his office flickered aggressively before shattering one by one into thousands of tiny pieces, The sound of this caused you to look up from your work. You stood up quickly and ran down the hall, doing your best to avoid the glass on the floor. "Wil?" You asked, knocking on the door of his office. No response came from inside, which worried you since it was unlike him to be so quiet.

You placed your hand upon the knob and twisted it, opening the door and entering the room. You found Wilford sat at his desk in front of his laptop, but he wasn't typing or anything. He was just sat there, his eyes glowing pink while he muttered words you could barely make out. You slowly approached him, his words becoming a bit more coherent to you.

"You're absoloutely useless, William..Your own wife is afraid of you.. Maybe she'd be better off without you.."

Wilford stared down at his gun, locked away within his desk drawer. Perhaps the snake was right for once.. He slowly started to reach for the key around his neck..

"Wil? Are you alright?" You placed a hand on his shoulder, bringing him back to reality in an instant. He was sweating, but he felt so cold at the same time..

"..Dearest?" He asked weakly, looking at you. He rubbed his eyes a bit, just to make sure you weren't some sick hallucination.

"Hey honey, you doing okay? You were muttering and mumbling and the lights fused out so I came to check on you.." You said to him as you gave him a small shoulder rub. Wilford relaxed slightly, smiling at you.

"I'm doing marvelous now that you're here, sugarplum~" He took your hand and kissed it like the gentleman he was, while also taking a moment to admire the wedding ring he'd gotten you.

"Wilford, I love you but I don't want you to lie to me." Wilford scoffed and put a hand over his heart, looking a tad offended.

"I would do no such thing to you, my love! I cannot believe you'd accuse me of that!" You rolled your eyes at him and grabbed his hand.

"You're taking a break from your work, It's not like you'll get fired since you're the boss after all."

"Technically I'm senior vice president, Dark is the boss." He corrected as you dragged him into the kitchen

"Dark wouldn't fire you."

"You're very correct sugarplum, but I-"

"No buts, you're taking a break and watching a movie with me."

"That sounds incredibly perfect, just like you my love."

[kalcifers-blog]

Fem!Jackie !!!!!