#head in my hands in a fit of despair

[clare-875]

Misplaced Rings (Luffy, Sanji, Zoro)

_____ Pairings: Luffy x Reader; Sanji x Reader; Zoro x Reader Summary: They misplace their wedding ring/band and are sent into a panic. Warnings: Some Angst, Fluff, Female Reader [One Piece Masterlist] _____

- Luffy -

Everyone knows that Luffy's most prized possession is his straw hat. It is always on his head or within his reach wherever he may go, and if it was not, he would be sent into an untamable panic that almost always ended with tears if the hat was not found within the day. However, unbeknownst to most, there is now a second possession he cherishes just as much: his wedding band.

The simple strip of gold around his ring finger adorned with crushed rubies was a fitting wedding band you had picked out just for him. And though Sanji often berates his Captain for wearing such precious jewellery during battles, his concern was for naught; you had sought Franky's help, ensuring the band could survive Luffy's battles and keep up with his elasticity.

Thanks to those facts, the ring remained on Luffy's finger indefinitely, just like the iconic straw hat on his head. It reminded him of his wedding with you upon his ship; the banquet far larger than any he had thrown before, the lively music and laughter, the utter joy. But more importantly, it reminded him of you and your pledge to stay by his side as he became the pirate king; it was an oath you undertook with pride every day of your life.

So, imagine his utter despair when he realises it has gone missing.

You were sitting at the dining room table with Nami and Robin, the three of you chatting and looking over magazines away from the harsh summer sun when you heard a familiar shout. You startle along with the two women you sit beside, meeting glances with utter confusion.

"What was that-"

You barely get to finish your sentence when the door to the kitchen slams open, revealing a wide-eyed Luffy who looks as though he is about to be sick. Your brows furrow together, Sanji looking over from his kitchen and about to give his Captain a piece of his mind, but you are concerned seeing your husband look as though on the brink of rare dread.

"Lu, what's wrong?"

You stand from your chair and run up to him but he already has comical tears almost pouring from his eyes. He is on his knees and instantly grabs your hands, and shakes them in his despair.

"[y/n] it's gone!!!"

You are still lost in your confusion as you look at him, his straw hat still attached to his head. You remember his outbursts in the past when he had thought he lost his hat for good, so you look down at him confounded at why he is having a similar breakdown with it still on his person.

"But Luffy, you still have your straw hat. It's on your head."

Luffy shakes his head like a downtrodden puppy as he looks up to you with tears falling from his eyes.

"No, my wedding band, it's gone!!"

Your eyes widen for just a moment as you look at the hands that still hold yours, noticing for the first time that there remains a tan line where Luffy's wedding band used to be. You feel your heart drop lightly at the predicament, and at that point, your friends had also gathered around in the fuss their Captain seemed to cause. Sanji seemed shocked the most whilst Robin and Nami frowns in concern behind you.

"What?! You lost the wedding ring [y/n]-san especially bought for you?!"

Sanji starts berating Luffy but you can hardly be mad at him when he looks so genuinely upset and in despair on the ground before you. You instantly kneel down to his level, and caress his raven hair gently trying to soothe the turmoil in his eyes. "W-wedding band-" He murmurs, and you are touched by how much he seems to hold the simple piece of jewellery so dear, to the point where he reacts to losing it just as he does his straw hat. You smile gently, and pat the straw hat that remains atop his head.

"It's okay Lu. I'm sure we'll find it."

"W-what if we don't?!"

You sigh as he looks at you imploringly, but you take his hands and help him to his feet.

"We'll all look for it, surely we'll find it then."

You turn to the cook who stands beside you, still glaring at his Captain as though he had committed the worst crime in the world.

"Right, Sanji? You'll help us too right?"

Sanji instantly perks up at the mention of his name past your lips and turns into a puddle of nods and affirmations.

"Of course, [y/n]-swan-"

You sigh at his never changing demeanour but turn to your husband who seems to have collected himself and nods in grim agreement. You smile as you take Luffy's hand, ready to search every nook and cranny of the ship. Nami, Robin and Sanji also help, with Chopper joining in when he bumps into you all searching the ship for a glimpse of gold and red. You force Luffy to retrace his steps entering the rooms he went to the past day for the glimmer of jewellery, but soon hours pass with no sign of his beloved ring.

"W-wedding band-"

You had all returned to the kitchen, Luffy now with his head on the table and tears pouring down it like a river of defeat. Chopper tries to cheer up his Captain but it is for naught, and you pat his shoulder in comfort whilst the others look on sympathetically.

In his mind, Luffy cannot believe that he has lost the one piece of jewellery he thought he would cherish until the day he died. Gold was often a mere bonus to him as a Pirate amongst the sea; an afterthought often intertwined in his adventures on the path to becoming Pirate King. But the gold around his finger was another story.

"I'm sorry Lu, I'll ask Franky if he can make you another one?"

But Luffy seems inconsolable as he is adamant the one he received on his wedding day, was the only one he wanted. However, before you can even input another word, the door smacks open, revealing the very man you had just spoken about. What's more, in his hand, the shine of gold and red reflected from the kitchen lights; Luffy's wedding band.

"Here you go Luffy! Sorry, it took a while but I promise I added some SUUUPER upgrades to keep up with your SUUUPER gears."

For a moment, there lasts a long and lingering silence in the wake of Franky's words, when suddenly, Luffy sits up like he was told the day's weather.

"That's right, I did give it to Franky yesterday."

Everyone falls off their chairs in utter bewilderment at Luffy's words; the day spent searching that could've been solved by one trip to Franky who had been working away all day, or by lack of Luffy's dense memory. Sanji instantly stands back up, kicking the underside of his Captain's head in utter rage and causing his head to hit the table.

"Idiot! We searched the whole day for that damned ring!"

But Luffy seems unfazed, and you have to let out a small laugh as he collects the ring from Franky and puts it back in its rightful place. You don't know if your laughter comes from relief or discomposure at the stupidity of the scenario you were in, but Robin joins you, your other crewmates more agitated. When Luffy looks up to you, however, with his wide and satisfied grin, ring shown proudly on his ring finger you can't help but get up and kiss his cheek lightly.

"I found it!"

He was an idiot, but he was your idiot.

- Sanji -

Sanji adores you, he is utterly in love with you, and if anyone asks what the happiest day of his life is, they don't even need to wait a second before he tells them about his wedding day. The gorgeous atmosphere, the pleasant music, the wedding cake he pondered and spent hours making just right, you adorned in your beautiful white dress. He could speak hours on his love if you let him, and he is not afraid to shout it out for everyone else to know and hear: you were his and he was yours.

If there was anything that symbolised the depths of your love and his, it would be the wedding ring around your finger and the wedding band around his. Yours was gorgeous but simple, a beautiful diamond reflecting the strength of the love you both shared. His was personal and beautiful, a gold band etched with sapphires, engraved with the date of the wedding until the end of time.

He adored it, he adored the weight of it on his finger, a reaffirmation of the oath you both pledged. He adored showing it off to people, just as he adored seeing you pointing to your ring when asked if you were taken. He would only remove it when absolutely necessary, such as when he prepared meals for his crew, but even then it stayed close to him where he could never misplace it. He told you he would look after it forever, but amongst Sanji's abundance of thoughts, there was a moment where the location of his prized ring slipped his mind.

Sanji has been absent all day, hastily making meals, moving swiftly from your side, and not even a murmur of hello as he leaves every room you enter. You are confused and slightly hurt, but most of all you are concerned.

Have you done something?

Was he feeling okay?

Why was he avoiding you?

When you asked your crewmates about his behaviour, however, they said similar things. How his answers had been short, unable to request meals due to his haste to enter the next room, even Nami and Robin claimed he had seemed more distracted. So you frown at the entrance of the kitchen; you had just seen him enter and knew you could try and talk to him now. You only hoped he would share in his troubles.

As the door to the kitchen creeps open, Sanji freezes at the sound of your footsteps and looks up at you standing before him. When your eyes meet you catch guilt and trepidation in the depths of his, and you are instantly more worried than before.

"Sanji, what's wrong? You're not being yourself."

Your husband grits his teeth in regret, and you catch a slither of tears amongst his lower lash line, causing you to reach up and caress his face in concern. But in his mind, Sanji feels as though he does not deserve your touch or your care. He had lost his wedding band and could not for the life of him remember where he put it. He felt as though he had been searching the whole day, but as the hours passed, he felt his hopes withering along with the sun.

His most prized possession, a symbol of your love and a remnant of the best day of his life, was lost due to his carelessness.

His eyebrows furrow together as he reaches out and holds your hand that lingers on his face, his words low and softly spoken.

"I lost my wedding band. I- I'm so sorry love."

Your eyes widen slightly in surprise, and Sanji readies himself for the disappointment and your swift anger, rejection, your swift dismissal of him from in front of you. But instead, you collect yourself before continuing to bear the concern in your gaze mixed with what looked like understanding; finally knowing why he was acting this way.

"It'll be okay Sanji, no need to work yourself up. We'll look for it together, I'm sure we'll find it."

Sanji's eyes spark open in his own surprise at your kind words and conduct. God, he didn't deserve you. Guilt still travels freely within him, especially as he feels the coolness of your own wedding ring against his cheek; you had looked after your ring with so much care.

"I'm sorry love."

You smile but you release the touch on his face in favour of grasping his hand in comfort.

"It's okay, now come on, let's retrace your steps shall we?"

The next few hours are spent all around the Sunny, every room Sanji had been in before he remembered losing the ring was searched from the roof to the floor. You asked your crewmates if they had seen the mix of gold and blue you both are so adamant to find, had looked in every small crevice that may contain the precious jewellery. And as the sun started to dim, you were now looking in your shared chambers one last time.

Your hair was ruffled like his, clothes wrinkled under the time spent trying to find the ring, but to Sanji, you were still the beautiful, thoughtful and loving wife he married. You had spent all day trying to find something due to his own mistake, and he was never more regretful for losing the wedding band, nor more grateful for having you as his wife than he was now. Moments pass in silence, but finally, you let out a delighted gasp.

"Sanji!!"

Your husband instantly perks up from the other side of the room and in your hands is the wedding band, finally found. Your smile is wide, as you quickly run over to him, taking his hand and sliding it on his ring finger where it lay as perfect as it did all that time ago at your wedding. Sanji meets your gaze with such gratitude he cannot describe and impatiently presses his lips to yours. You smile as you return his fervour and pull away.

"Thank you, my love."

You let out light laughter as you roll your eyes.

"Of course, I am your wife you know? You can come to me about these things."

Sanji's heart warms even more than he thought possible as he tucks away a loose strand of hair from your face, admiring your features.

"I love you."

"I love you too."

Sanji makes you your favourite dinner and dessert as a thank you for your help and your love. You never see him without the ring on his person, again.

- Zoro -

Among the straw hats, Zoro seemed the least likely to be intertwined with thoughts of love and rings and weddings, well at least that's what the Strawhat crew initially thought. But as time passed, he fell for you, and what would you know, suddenly he is asking Robin and Nami about weddings and dresses and ceremonies; how it works, what would you like, how soon could he pledge his love and you yours? In utter reluctance and on rare occasions he would even approach the 'idiot cook' for advice; something he would often regret afterwards.

But suddenly, the two of you were married and had rings on your fingers and he was your husband and you were his wife. The ring he got you was surprisingly thoughtful, and you knew the girls had something to do with it as it looked so much like how you wished it to be when you talked to them. His was simple. A gold band, but on the underside there etched your name. He very rarely took it off, and it became a part of him just like the earrings he wore or the three swords always at his hip; secretly finding strength in the piece of your love always present.

Zoro is a man, adamant about loyalty, and it is one of the things he adored most about you. The rings symbolised that for him; that an oath had been pledged and the two of you belonged to the other. It was something you both took pride in every day, and he found satisfaction watching the crestfallen faces of men when they spotted your wedding ring, just as you did when you saw women leave him be when they spotted his wedding band. He took care of it and treasured it, more than he would allow you to know, so he is honestly shocked when one day, he finds it missing.

Zoro feels cold sweat rising on his skin, and he honestly can't remember a time he felt more stressed. He is looking down at his hands again and again, as though he can't believe the absence of jewellery he always had on his finger.

He looks frantically around your shared chambers, looking in drawers of bedside tables, under the bed, and every nook where gold might enter his vision. He spent many moments, searching in utter silence, but he finds no semblance of a ring anywhere.

The door suddenly creaks and Zoro stands upright, hair and clothes slightly ruffled, swords leant against the wall in his haste to find the missing ring. You enter your room, looking up in surprise at the rare presence of your husband in the middle of the day, but it was lucky for you as you had been searching for him.

"Zoro," you smile, before your eyebrows pull together in confusion. "Are you okay? I thought you're usually in the crow's nest about this time?"

Your husband freezes, static under the weight of your searching eyes and scouring for an excuse. You step closer, and instantly his hands go behind his back, causing you to stare at him in bewilderment at his strange behaviour. You eye his discomposure, his hidden hands and his guilty expression with suspicion.

"Zoro what are you hiding?"

"N-nothing woman just got up from a nap. I'll be in the crow's nest-"

He doesn't let you continue your words and is out the door in a swift movement. You frown but shrug looking down into your hands. Ussop had found Zoro's wedding band in the bathroom, no doubt from the shower you had somehow forced him into this morning. You had simply wanted to give it back but decided to wait until a better time when he wasn't in such a hurry to get to his training. As you are about to let the matter go, however, you spot three familiar swords on the wall of your room where Zoro left them.

You frown at the sight, just what was your husband up to?

Meanwhile, Zoro is moving at speed throughout the Sunny, every room he barges in, searching in what he hopes is discretion before running off in frustration again. Many times he left his crewmembers in utter surprise at his uncharacteristic demeanour, usually he was training or napping, not found running around deck in discomposure.

You had bumped into a few of your friends who shared the same concern you had earlier; his strange behaviour and franticity. Nami complained that he had barged in while she was making a map, ruined due to her shock, Robin said that she had been reading on deck when he had been looking closely at the floor for something, Luffy exclaimed that he thought he was looking for some sort of treasure but quickly left in his boredom of nothing found.

You start to put the pieces together and begin to realise, that he was looking for something. And that something was probably the ring the Ussop had turned to you, so even if Zoro did check the bathroom it wouldn't have been there for him to find. You sigh as you quickly get up, trying to find him, Robin assuring that she had last seen him enter the kitchen and with the sounds of two men fighting, you supposed she was right.

When you open the door to the kitchen, Sanji and Zoro who seemed as though they had been arguing look at you blankly before crossing their arms and looking away from the other. You hear Zoro murmur something along the lines of, "Don't tell her," but you ignore it, hoping to relieve the tension in the room.

"Hey guys, everything alright?"

You ask, and Sanji sighs at your words before walking out of the kitchen; he seemed disappointed in your husband, more than usual. "I'll be outside [y/n]-san." You turn back to your boyfriend in Sanji's absence and you furrow your brows in concern.

"Zoro-"

"I lost my wedding band."

Zoro interrupts you before you can continue or pass him the ring in your grasp. You pause at the abruptness of his words, and the surprising amount of regret and hurt in his downcast eyes; he looked as though he had failed you.

"Zoro, it's okay I-"

"No, it's not okay, dammit." He looks to you then, and his eyes betray the stress and worry he had held onto all day, softening at the sight of his wife - you - looking at him in concern when he has just lost a treasured possession you had given him. You watch the way your husband's eyebrows pull together, and a frown makes its way to your face at the sight of him so worked up over the ring.

"It was my wedding band, a part of an oath we pledged on our wedding day, and I- I lost it. I should've looked after it better, I know that. I'm sorry."

You look, wide-eyed at the sight of the swordsman apologising to you. One of the rare times he would, but you realise now how much he placed importance on what the ring symbolised and what guilt must've filled his senses at his readiness for your disappointment. You step forward, caressing the curve of his face with one hand, as his eyes look at you, emotion betraying his eyes, but you smile softly and unravel your other hand. A moment of shock enters your husband's vision at the sight of the golden band he had almost turned the ship over for.

You smile sheepishly then, "I'm sorry, I tried telling you and giving it to you earlier but you were, you know, you seemed busy. Ussop found it in the bathroom."

You expect him to become irritated, having searched so long for something already found, but instead, Zoro smiles wide, kissing your lips suddenly in one swift movement. When he pulls away, he puts the ring back on his finger, satisfied by the light weight of it on his hand. "Thank God," he murmurs before looking at you so determinately it makes you blush. "I won't lose it again." You collect yourself before nodding, warmth spreading in your chest at his rare emotion in front of your eyes.

"I know you won't."

[gghostwriter]

Wanted: A Gentleman

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Part 2 || Future take Summary: Your lovely group of friends, Penelope, JJ, and Emily, set you up with your perfect match Trope: Fluff! Just fluff! w.c: 1.3k a/n: Back at it again with something miss Sabrina Carpenter inspired. The fluff idea has finally struck and I love how this ended up, even without any editing! Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated! 💗 masterlist

“I’m serious!” You clarified, wiggling to get comfy on Penelope’s sofa. “It was the worst date I’ve ever been on!”

All the three girls laughed. It was Friday night, girl’s night, and you found yourself surrounded by the baddest girls Virginia could ever offer. The Powerpuff girls of the BAU as you once jokingly dubbed them—JJ being Blossom, Penelope being Bubbles, and Emily being Buttercup. Witty thinking on your part, if you say so yourself. 

Having just moved into the state just a few months ago, you were grateful for the ray of sunshine that Penelope was for taking you under her wing and introducing you to a great set of girlfriends.

“It can’t be that bad—” JJ giggled as she took a sip of her newly refilled glass wine. “Can it?”

Bringing out your phone, you swiped to the screenshot Bumble profile of your date the night before. He wasn’t bad looking, not at all. He was cute in a very American boy next door type of way but then again, his profile being filled with gym pictures should have clued you in.

“We had dinner at that newly opened restaurant, Palm & Pine, which is a great place by the way, but all he ever did was talk about himself—”

Emily nodded along. “Typical macho male behavior.”

“—that wasn’t even the worst part! He brought out a scale, a portable weighing scale, to log his macro calories in a fitness app!”

Penelope chose the wrong time to take a sip of her drink causing her cough violently while the two remaining girls threw back their heads and laughed hysterically. All you could hear were gasps of weighing scale and calories between them.

“I’m all for being healthy but really? On a first date?” You crossed your arms to your chest. “At this point, I might as well get a cat or two to keep me company.”

Penelope snatched your phone and clicked to open the dating app. “Oh no no, sweetheart. You’re too beautiful and nice to end up alone. We can find you a perfect man to love and take home with!”

“Yeah, we’re profilers. Trust us to pick for you,” Emily slyly added as she peeked behind Garcia’s shoulder.

Reaching out for the opened bottle of alcohol, you sighed in defeat and let the girls do their thing. “I’m going to need copious amounts of alcohol in my system for this.”

———

It was bad. Based on all their comments and numerous swipes to the left, the dating pool was atrocious, hell on earth. 

“He looks cute—” Penelope continue to scroll on his profile before making a face. “Never mind, look at that horrible grammar.”

JJ leaned in and read the poor man’s bio. “Theirs a million reasons why I’m your future boyfriend—Jesus, it’s really hard out there, huh?”

“I’d take any man who’s nice and breathes,” you laugh in despair. 

Emily’s eyes twinkle from a sudden idea. Everyone had been drinking continuously and the filter had been turned off by the time the third bottle was opened. Any thought made beyond just screamed bad idea. “You know, we could just set you up with Reid.”

“Reid?” you tilted your head to the side. What kind of a name is that? Its very…unique. “You have a co-worker named Reid? As in that’s his first name?”

“No, no, no. His name is Spencer, Reid is just his last name,” JJ clarified, leaning forward with a sweet smile on her face. Oh no, you knew that look. She was very much into this.

Penelope slides your phone to you and promptly claps her hands in glee. “You’re so right! Why didn’t I think of that!”

“Right,” Emily turned to face the other two. “They’d be great for each other. Now we just have to get him to agree. JJ—” the blonde raised her eyebrows. “—can you talk to Reid about it?”

She shrugged. “I could but you know how stubborn he is.”

“I’ll blackmail him if I have to,” Penelope interjected. “Boy genius needs to meet our own girl genius. They’ll be perfect for each other, he just doesn’t know it.”

Your eyes volleyed in between the three. “Don’t I have a say in this?”

Emily tsk’ed as she turned her inquisitive dark eyes on you. “I’ll cash in on that prize I won last time.”

“No,” you breathed out, remembering how you badly lost last poker night and vowed to do any dare the winner would tell you to do.

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes,” her smile growing wider and wider with each denial. 

Your shoulders slumped forward. “Fine but he better be the love of my life or you owe me big time.”

“Don’t worry your pretty head. He will be,” Penelope laughed, pouring more wine in all of the glasses. “Cheers!”

———

It took three weeks before the girls were finally able to wear the mysterious Dr. Spencer Reid down and in the midst of waiting (and stubbornly hoping that he would never give in), you learned more about the boy genius than you ever wished for. How he has an IQ of 187, graduated high school at the age of 12, has 3 PhDs under his belt, and an avid reader—like yourself. 

You begrudgingly admitted that he spiked your interest and having someone to talk to about books would be lovely but beyond that, you were slightly intimidated by his background which made yours, a literature degree graduate and publishing editor, seem insignificant. Penelope tried to squash that negative thought once you aired it out in the open by saying that Spencer wasn’t the type to judge anyone based on their societal standing. If anything, he’d find you interesting, she urged.

But there was one information you weren’t privy to, how he looks like. The girls didn’t want to show any photos, stating it’s best to see him face to face rather than through an image, which in turn made you imagine the worst. 

You looked around, standing on the second step of the museum as you try to spot any curly, hazel haired man walking your way. He wasn’t late, you were just too anxious to be fashionably late. 

Someone stopped in front of you at the bottom of the steps. 

“Are you—” the doe eyed stranger cleared his throat. “Y/N? Penelope’s friend?”

Oh damn. He was beautiful.

“Yes, are you Dr. Spencer Reid?” You squeaked. 

He smiled, stunning you into even more into awe. “Hi, yes. Yes, Spencer is fine.”

“Should we go inside?” You breathed out as you watched his cheeks reddened, no doubt matching the color of your own.

He nodded before slightly touching your arm to stop you in place and bending down like he was some kind of knight and shining armor and for all you knew, he could be. “Your shoelace is undone. Did you know that there’s more than 1,000 cases related to loss of footing each year and 67% of these falls were attribute to untied shoelaces?”

“We wouldn’t want to contribute to that, do we?” You quipped back as you studied how the sunlight hit his wavy locks, turning some into gold, and his doe expressive eyes with specs of green in them. Your favorite color as of today.

He laughed, his high pitched chuckle further capturing your heart. “Shall we?”

“We shall.” 

Your thoughts thanking the three women for setting you up with what seemed to be a perfect gentleman. 

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

[yandere-daydreams]

exhibit #5 - omorashi

an installment of the freak shit march gallery showcase.

pairing: yandere!geto x reader (jjk).

length: 3.0k.

warnings: non/con, fem!reader, watersports, infantalization, mentions of physical abuse, physiological abuse, implied kidnapping, and humiliation. dead dove: do not eat.

Geto Suguru was going to kill you.

Slowly, tortuously, and with pleasure. The same way he slaughtered curses too weak to be worth choking down, the same way he allowed his non-sorcerer acolytes to be torn apart after they’d expended their usefulness. Maybe he’d make you drink boiling water, or battery acid, something hot and corrosive that would destroy you from the inside out. Maybe he would drive some curve-bladed, ritualistic dagger through your heart and leave you on his altar to bleed out. Maybe he would have you drawn and quartered, even if you weren’t completely sure where he’d find the horses. You wouldn’t put it past him, though.

You guessed the method didn’t actually matter. Whatever he chose, whatever grisly end you imagined for yourself, the fact of the matter stood true.

He was going to fucking kill you.

You crumpled into yourself, pushing your body further into the back of the closet. Hiding would’ve been pointless, but you weren’t really trying to. Suguru had locked the bedroom door after shoving you inside, and you were beyond the point of trying to escape on impulse. It was all you could do to curl into yourself and try to forget where you were, what was coming, whose blood was drying under your nails. Even that was a futile effort – successful only in dragging your last minutes alive to a standstill and giving you that much more time to contemplate your utter hopelessness. You would’ve been better off banging on the walls and begging him to kill you now. At least, then, he might’ve gotten it over with quickly.

You buried your face in your knees, groaning aloud, but your spiral into complete despair was cut short. Distantly, you heard a lock click out of place, a door swing open, a set of padded footsteps growing ever-closer. You were tempted to stay where you were, to pretend he wasn’t there, but that would’ve only delayed the inevitable. Instead, you swallowed your fear, pushed yourself to your feet, and went to meet your hangman.

Of course, Suguru was waiting for you when you finally opened the closet door, and of course, he was the pinnacle of composure. Calm and collected, leaning on the foot of his bed, his hair pulled back and his traditional attire traded out for a plain black long-sleeved shirt and a pair of loose-fitting sweatpants. The three jagged lines carved into his cheek had been cleaned, but not bandaged over. Either they hadn’t been deep enough to be worth his time, or he wanted you to see them. Hopefully the former, but most likely the latter.

He smiled when he saw you – the expression softened, gentle. “There’s my pretty girl.”

You weren’t so serene.

Throwing yourself into his arms was more of a survival instinct than any real bid for comfort. He caught you easily, laughing as you barreled into his chest and buried your face in his shoulder. “I’m sorry,” you managed, voice muffled by fabric and proximity. “It was an accident, I—I didn’t mean to, please don’t hurt—”

“Slow down. I don’t even know what you’re saying.” He rested a hand on the top of your head, combing his fingers through your hair. “Why would I hurt you?”

Why wouldn’t he? He’d threatened to break your legs for so much as verbally wishing him dead, before. This was worse. This was a death sentence.

“Because…” It was hard to find an answer that wouldn’t incriminate you further. You pulled back, gesturing to your cheek. “Because of the accident.”

He hummed. “Remind me which accident, honey?”

Something curdled in the pit of your stomach. You let your eyes fall to your feet. “This afternoon, during your sermon.” And then, when Suguru continued to wait for a proper answer, “When you tried to pull me into your lap. You caught me off-guard, and I—” Fought back. Pushed him away. Acted like a fucking idiot. “—hurt you. It wasn’t on purpose.”

There was more to it than that. His followers had been watching, and the beat of silence that’d followed your little outburst had rung louder than anything he’d preached. You embarrassed him. It was only a miracle that he hadn’t gutted you on the spot.

“Of course.” His hand slipped down to your neck, his thumb rubbing circles in the apex of your spine. “And how could I punish you for something you didn’t mean to do?”

Easily. He’d done it before – more times than you could count. Your wrist still hurt from the day he’d dislocated it after finding a few loose coins underneath your mattress. You still weren’t sure they’d gotten there, let alone where you would’ve picked them up, but it’d been enough to make Suguru think you were planning to run away. Justification beyond that was superfluous.

But this wasn’t the time to point that out. You only nodded irrationally into his chest, and Suguru chuckled, kissing the top of your head. “I think someone’s had a long day,” he murmured, squeezing you against him before pulling away. “Let’s get you fed n’ cleaned up, alright? We’ll talk about your bedtime after that.”

You didn’t trust his sugary tone or saccharine expression, but obediently, you muttered a small ‘okay’. Suguru pulled back, taking you by the hand and leading you away.

His apartment was a small, depressing thing. He had a larger home further from the city, one with spare bedrooms for both of his girls and a private chamber where he could speak with his strange, eccentric guests privately. His live-in captive couldn’t exist under the same roof as his beloved daughters, though, and you weren’t the type of possession he liked to show off, so you were relegated to a well-maintained, but painfully unloved apartment not far from his temple. There wasn’t much decoration beyond the steel bolts on every door and window, nor did what few personal effects he kept scattered around bring you much joy – a cat o’ nine tails draped over the back of the sofa, a vacant dog crate set up in the corner of the living room. There was nothing of yours, of course. Suguru didn’t really let you have interests beyond him. Anything that demanded more of your attention than needlepoint or absentmindedly nodding along to his megalomaniacal rants was deemed unsuitable and quickly done away with.

The kitchen was a little homier, but not by much. Suguru sat you down at the kitchen table before moving to the nearest counter. There was nothing on the stove, no ingredients laid out to prep, but an electric kettle simmered quietly next to a small glass container. He hummed as he worked, filling the container with scalding hot water, measuring out a cup or so of some colorless powder and mixing it in. It wasn’t until he produced a lid – thick at the base with a pink-tinted nipple spouting out of it like some unfortunate tumor – that you realized it wasn’t a container, but a bottle. For a second, it was all you could do to sit there, motionless and bewildered, and wonder where he’d managed to find a baby.

The lid was worked onto the bottle, the temperature checked against his wrist. He placed it onto the table in front of you delicately, as not to damage the glass, and your confusion immediately turned to dread.

“I… I don’t think I have much of an appetite.”

“You’ll have to try. Growing girls need their calories.” He fell into the seat next to you, tapping his knee. “Right here, honey.”

You looked toward the bottle, then to Suguru – still smiling, still unwavering. You took a deep breath, reminded yourself that there were worse things in the world than ego-death, and pushed yourself to your feet.

Dinner was a slow, effortful, and humiliating task. Suguru held you snugly, cooing out praise as he held the bottle against your lips. You tried not to think about the lack of flavor, or the way the milk clung to the back of your throat in clumps, or why he’d apparently had baby formula and a nursing bottle on-hand. The bottle was refilled once at its half-way point, then again as you neared the last few drops. By the time you finished, your stomach ached and fatigue had knit itself into the very fabric of your being, encouraging you to shut your eyes, to rest your head against Suguru’s shoulder, to fall into the repetitive sucking motion despite the knots of soreness forming in your jaw. Still, you knew better than to complain. As far as punishments went, this was relatively tame. You’d embarrassed him in front of his congregation, and he’d embarrassed you in front of the only person allowed to see you - him. Fair enough, good game, etc.

There was no pretense of autonomy by way of reward. Suguru kept you gathered in his arms – tucked against his chest as he carried you through the empty halls and balanced on his lap while drew a bath, the water hot enough to steam. You half-expected him to leave you to your own devices or, more predictably, to strip down and join you, but he just perched himself on the edge of the basin, only breaching the distance to wash your hair or lather your skin. It might’ve been nice, in another context, with a more loving partner. Under Suguru’s watchful gaze, it was hard to feel like anything more precious than a pet being groomed.

As Suguru drained the water, you realized you had to pee. Badly.

Which wasn’t surprising, on its own. You’d practically drunken half your body weight, and it wasn’t like there’d been many chances for a bathroom break pre-punishment, either. You did your best not to squirm as Suguru patted you down with towel, not to complain when he carefully removed the toothbrush from your hand in favor of shoving it past your lips himself. “You’ve already gotten in enough trouble, today,” he explained as he took your jaw in his free hand, holding you still when you reflexively recoiled. “We’d better make sure you don’t have the opportunity to do anything else you might regret.”

After what felt like much, much longer than two minutes, he let you rinse your mouth out without further intervention. When you were done, you lingered in front of the vanity, shifting your weight from one foot to the other.

“Do you mind if I…” You swallowed. “…if I get a few minutes alone?”

He hummed. “And why would you want to be alone, love?”

Your face burned. Suguru was always terrible, but he wasn’t normally this dense. “I, uh—Nevermind, I guess. It’s nothing.”

If Suguru noticed your discomfort, he was more than happy to gloss over it. Your usual sleepwear consisted of, on good nights, one of Suguru’s oversized shirts or, on most nights, nothing at all. Tonight, though, Suguru seemed to be in the mood to play dress-up – forcing an ivory nightgown over your head, combing the hair away from your face, tying a delicate, pale pink ribbon around your neck. It was only after he’d taken the better part of five minutes to slide a pair of perfectly white, perfectly frilly knee-sigh socks up your legs that he seemed satisfied, taking a step back to admire his work.

This must’ve been the second part of your punishment. It wasn’t as bad at the bottle, sure, but there was something about the way Suguru’s gaze burnt into you, the vague amusement playing underneath his lovestruck grin, the pressing awareness that he was enjoying this. You let your eyes fall into your lap, but Suguru was quick to correct you – cupping your cheek and tilting your head back, coaxing you to meet his gaze. “Feeling shy?” He squeezed, the gesture playful, yet forceful enough to bruise. “You certainly weren’t during my sermon.”

You opened your mouth to protest, to insist that it’d been an accident, but Suguru’s patience must’ve been growing thin. His mouth was on yours before you could get a word out, teeth biting into your lips, tongue raking over yours. You felt his hands, next – eager and groping, slipping under the skirt of your dress, kneading at your ass and thighs. You squeaked, jerking away, and surprisingly, Suguru let you, his hands settling on your waist.

“I’m sorry, but I—” For the millionth time that night, your voice seemed to catch in your throat. This time, you forced yourself to choke it up. “I really have to use to the bathroom.”

You heard him laugh, felt his mouth against the crook of your neck. “I know, honey.”

One of his hands drifted to your stomach, pressing down lightly. You tried to scramble back, but Suguru held you in-place – bringing a knee onto the mattress for better leverage. “I’m serious, it’s really—”

“I never said you weren’t.” His touch drifted to your cunt, two fingers dragging circles over your clit. For all the time he’d spent picking out your clothes, panties had been strategically forgotten. “It’s alright. I’m here whenever you’re ready.”

Your breaking point was staggeringly abrupt and humiliatingly minor. Suguru’s arm wrapping around your waist, his body turning over yours as he fell onto the mattress and dragged you on top of him. The bulk of his thigh pressed into your cunt, and something inside you split, cracked, spilled. It was too fast, too hot, too wet, and you couldn’t seem to make it stop. You clenched your eyes shut, anything not to have to see the growing yellow stain spreading across the white of your nightgown, but that didn’t save you from the warmth trickling down your legs, the puddle quickly forming on Suguru’s lap.

It was a dizzying juxtaposition; the tightness in your lower stomach as more pressure was put on your bladder, the heat pooling in your core as Suguru continued to trace aimless patterns into your clit. His mouth latched onto your throat, sucking hickeys into tender skin before dropping lower, following the curve of your breast. His lips sealed around your nipple just as his fingers fell from your clit to your pussy, thrusting into you with only the slightest hint of warning.

Suguru was never careful during sex, not beyond what it took to keep from breaking your neck when he wrapped his hands around your throat, but he was normally deliberate, normally intentional in the ways he used and contorted your body. Now, he seemed determined to curl and spread his digits with little to no regard for your pleasure, to batter his fingers into your cunt like he was trying to split you apart from the inside out. It hurt, but even worse, it was working – slick staining the inside of your thighs as you struggled to close your legs around his hand. You tried to get him away from you, to dig your nails into his shoulder and scratch at his chest, but Suguru only groaned into your chest, sucking that much more harshly.

It didn’t save you from his laugh – barking and cruel – or his hand on your stomach, palm pushing into your bladder, milking your embarrassment. “This,” he hissed, venom sharpening the edges of his infantilizing coo. “is a fucking accident. The shit you pulled during my sermon – that was a brat begging to be put in her place. Don’t try to pass off one for the other again.”

You tried to open your mouth, to spit that you should’ve clawed out his eyes when you’d had the chance, but the only noise you seemed able to make was an unsteady, trembling whine. A flood of humiliated tears escaped despite your best efforts, forming searing tracks down the length of your face, and Suguru leaned towards you, pressing a light kiss into your temple before running the flat of his tongue over your left cheek. There was no attempt at comfort as he dragged your hips against his, as freed his cock and aligned his tip with your entrance. He thrust into you as the last deposits of piss were forced out of your bladder, your mess leaking down his shaft. Suguru only moaned, twitching inside of you.

You didn’t want to cry. Really, you didn’t want to, but apparently, you’d managed to lose control of more than one of your bodily functions. Suguru crooned as the first sob broke past your lips, then another, until you were all-but wailing as he bounced you on his cock. With an artificial sort of exasperation, he lowered you gently onto the mattress, rolling his hips against yours. “Aw, baby, did I hurt your feelings?” The question was sardonic, teasing. As if both of you weren’t covered in your piss. “Here – I’ve got just the thing for delicate little princesses like you.”

Through tear-blurred vision, you watched him pull his shirt over his head and throw it thoughtlessly over his shoulder. A hand was brought to the back of your head and your mouth forced against his chest – lips smashed against his nipple. “Go ahead.” His nails scraped against your scalp. “All little girls love their pacifiers, don’t they?”

It was a wonder, how you’d ever thought you would get away with damaging his pride so easily.

It was a wonder, why you’d ever thought death was the worst thing he could force onto you.

He thrust into you, and you went limp underneath him. A whimper dying in the back of your throat, you let your mouth fall open, latched onto his chest, and started to nurse.

[yzzart]

✶⋆.˚ DID A DEMON EAT YOUR TONGUE? ── VERGIL

୭˚. ᵎᵎ summary: during your pregnancy, your husband only wants to make you feel good.

୭˚. ᵎᵎ content warnings: F!reader, reader is pregnant, established relationship/marriage, 18+, fingering, praise kink, teases, explicit words, explicit content.

“Carry on, my wife.”

The voice, so unperturbed and balanced, instructed your ears, exerting unalterable control over the words; a drastic calm, which also bothered you. — It burned, deeply, and increasingly, your skin.

Your husband, unusually, would never stop teaching you to be patient, to remain impassive — such words were ironic, like a joke about his past — even if it might take longer than expected.

“Vergil, i don’t…” — Your words, if they could be considered, slipped, incoherently, and not maintaining harmony of meaning, it was ridiculous, humiliating; you were starting to become blind, incapable of any shit in your head.

The half-demon, your lovely husband, kept you, in pure and complete comfort, between his thighs; pleasing a position where your belly, which was gestating your firstborn, would fit. — Firstborn, it was such a beautiful word, wasn't it? — The bed amplified the comfort, the fine and satiny sheets that blended together.

Oh, it wasn't just that. — Worried, perhaps, a little complacent, and austere with your complaints, which were not few, of contractions, discomfort and a thirst for need, Vergil didn't worry about a solution; his lover always knew what, in fact, to do. — Or rather, his fingers knew what to do.

“Can’t you tell me how your day was?” — He breathed, feigning disappointment, against the back of your neck, leaving a small kiss on the warm skin; at the same time, moving his middle finger inside you. — “I’m so curious.”

Your hand snaked down Vergil's strong arm, pressed so tightly against your body, lightly scraping your nails and feeling him shiver faintly. — The damned man laughed, seeing your despair and delight, which was so adorable, he followed his lips to your reddened cheek, kissing. — Such an affectionate gesture.

Vergil rested his back against the headboard, made of pure and resistant wood, in front of your body that rubbed desperately against his legs; with your hip, you tried to intensify the pleasure, wanting more while, with the other hand, you supported yourself on your belly. — A stunning scene for him.

“My wife,” — He claimed softly in his voice, breathing deeply and inhaling your scent; something that left him distracted, addicted as a demon is thirsty for blood. — “I have the right to know if you felt any pain or dissatisfaction.” — During the small reprimand, Vergil increased the speed of his finger, exuding a wet noise between your thighs. — “I would hate to know that my child is causing you so much mercy.” — The speech sounded sweet with a touch of predominance.

Gods, upon learning that he had impregnated you, after countless mating sessions, — such animalistic vocabulary, which came out of his scrupulous and brave mouth, causing a burning sensation between your legs — Vergil severely held you in his claws.

Not that this is an objection, ever.

The long finger provided a slow, disgusting “come and go” against all the agony that burned in your chest, wanting to delight and release that trapped pressure. — But it was so delicious, delirious, hellish.

“V-Vergil..!” — Tears began to threaten your eyes, the selfish and power-hungry man pushed, deepened, his finger, touching and feeling your velvety walls; locked and inside your pussy, he stimulated, moved his finger. — “My husband, my husband..” — You repeated it countless times.

“Yes, my darling?” — That damned demon, and he was still the father of your child, drove her crazy and, formidably, fucked you up. — “Tell me.” — The sky-blue eyes, which always contemplated you, in every detail that could exist in you, traveled to his hand; including his head, enhancing his vision, he observed the silver shine on his ring finger, his wedding ring.

The proof of your union, commitment to the faithful and pure passion bond between you and him. — The pact, the promise that would never be broken in any life.

“I felt nothing.” — Finally, you spoke, and you weren’t lying; even though it was extremely difficult to format words or be fair to your lover. — “I swear to you, i swear..”

Your head turned, along with a few strands of hais standing out against the eldest's chest, and those dilated, trembling and, in the midst of voluptuousness, ecstatic eyes met Vergil's face. — You were so charming, apollonian; you always were.

“I just missed you, my love.” — Your voice pleaded, whimpering through the teary vision; Sparda smiled delicately, dedicating human tenderness. — “Please,” — Tears began to roll.

“My beautiful wife,” — Vergil kissed your forehead, feeling a salty taste on his lips, removing one hand that prevented you from closing your legs completely, and resting it on top of yours, which was on your belly. — “the lovely mother of my child.” — The words warmed your heart, entering into fascination.

When he finished speaking, Vergil returned to investing small, quick and flexible thrusts with the same finger, smiling when he heard your needy and melodic meows. — And nodding his head in agreement with anything that came out of your cute little mouth.

[pukefactory]

•☽────✧˖°˖ HIGH FASHION ˖°˖✧────☾•

(COMMISSION)

★ Summary: A Compilation Of Headcanons Featuring Salesperson ENA As Your Roomate

★ Commissioner: @mrs-potatocat

★ Character(s): Salesperson ENA (ENA: Dream BBQ)

★ Genre: Headcanons, SFW

★ Warning(s): None - Completely Safe!

★ Image Credits: @JoelG

☆ You had no idea how renting worked in Dreamland. You tried to offer ENA some rocks and a torn “coupon” for housing payment. She accepted with a businesslike handshake, then later taped the rocks to the ceiling as “mood crystals.”

☆ ENA never asked if you wanted to be roommates. She just appeared beside you one day, pointed at a wobbly house that materialized on the shore, and said, “Welcome to our entrepreneurial headquarters. Rent’s due in emotional labor.”

☆ She has a business chalkboard in the kitchen. Most mornings you wake up to her jotting things like “Goal: Catch a fish the size of despair” or “Revenue stream: sell bottled sighs.” You pretend you know what’s happening.

☆ She casually intrudes into your personal space without warning. Like popping up from your laundry hamper or pushing through your bedroom window with a megaphone: “Good morning! Q1 goals are calling!”

☆ Her moods flick like a switch. Sometimes she’ll gently ask if you want coffee with a perfect smile, and two seconds later she’s screaming into the fridge about “THE DEATH OF EGG SUPPLY CHAINS!!!”

☆ You often find her in bizarre states of “relaxation.” One time she sat criss-cross applesauce inside the washing machine because “I need to rotate my anxieties evenly.”

☆ Nighttime is when she gets weirdly vulnerable. Laying on the couch, hat slipping off her head, murmuring to herself things like “Some days… I wish I was just static noise,” before immediately snapping back to pitch you a “start-up idea.”

☆ Despite her chaos, she’s quietly protective. If any other Dreamland entity so much as looks at you funny, ENA’s already intercepting with a sales-pitch so aggressive it borders on threat: “Would you like to invest in a lifetime supply of BACK OFF?”

☆ Sharing the same roof means learning her tics. Like how her Meanie side can’t fall asleep unless the window is cracked open exactly 2.3 inches, or how her red side won’t eat unless you pretend it’s “closing a business deal” over toast.

☆ Slowly, it starts feeling less like survival and more like home. Not because the house is stable (it isn’t) or because ENA is easy to live with (she’s not), but because somehow… you fit here. Like two missing puzzle pieces accidentally jammed into the wrong box.

When You And ENA Are Dating:

☆ ENA immediately made a PowerPoint presentation about it. Titled: “Reasons Why Dating Me is a Fiscal and Emotional Investment.” It included bullet points like ‘frequent hugs’ and ‘unlicensed emotional support during catastrophic events.’

☆ She keeps treating “dates” like business trips. “Thank you for accompanying me on this critical mission to the ice cream stand,” she’ll say while holding your hand like it’s a formal contract.

☆ Her Meanie side gets violently flustered when you’re affectionate. The moment you kiss her cheek, she’s yelling: “STOCKS ARE CRASHING!!! MY WALLS ARE DOWN! MY WALLS ARE DOWN!!!” (while secretly melting.)

☆ At home, she’s unbearably clingy in the softest way. Following you from room to room under the pretense of “supervising home operations,” but really just wanting to lean her sharp shoulder against yours.

☆ She accidentally made you matching “Employee of the Month” badges. (“You’re the best co-founder of this messy heart company,” she said, pressing it onto your chest while you tried not to cry.)

☆ Arguments are surreal and stupidly sweet. You’ll be bickering about who left a portal open in the laundry room again, only for ENA to suddenly grab your hand mid-shout and mutter: “I’m only mad because if you fell into the sky, I’d miss you.”

☆ Her Salesperson side plans “business retreats” that are just beach days. Setting up towels like “negotiation tables” and trying to teach you how to build a sandcastle shaped like a quarterly report.

☆ Her Meanie side has a special nickname for you now. She only uses it when she’s feeling too much at once. (Something stupidly intense like “Captain Foolheart” or “Top-Grade Dreamlander.”)

☆ Some nights, you both sit on the roof together. ENA lets her hat fall to her lap, and you both watch the neon moons turn inside out. She tells you, in a voice heavy with the red side’s warmth, “I never thought I’d find someone who understands the wrong parts of me too.”

☆ Living together used to feel like a gamble. Now, it feels inevitable. Like you were both tossed into existence not to be lonely chaos, but to be…each other’s slightly broken, slightly brilliant, slightly ridiculous home.

[m00nkeiki]

Remember in those romance books where the male main character growls "touch her and die." How would you feel about the monster trio (and Law) saying "touch her and die" but they growl while they say it?

H0i!!! Congrats on being my first anon!  This was really fun to think about! I will be honest, I barely dip my toes in romance books, buuut I do love me some protective blorbos who care for you lots!  I feel like in terms of playing the trope straight, it would definitely fit Luffy and Zoro. Meanwhile, Sanji and Law would word and say it differently, but they’ll still have the grit in the voice and say the classic phrase in a manner that fits them. Hence, I’ve varied the scenarios and dialogue a bit to match each character, but made sure they work in the vein of the trope~

Request: Touch Her and Die Featuring: Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, and Law; Fem Reader Content Warning: mildly violent diction, implied kidnapping/capture in Luffy's and Law's section (but can be interpretated otherwise), stalking/harassment in Sanji’s section (but he saves you dw).

Luffy

I think he would definitely say this with so much earnestness. Luffy cares for his loved ones so much that he would always rush to violence if there was the prospect of them getting hurt. If he holds these feelings for the friends he cares and cherishes for, imagine what he’d do for a lover.

Despite his brash mind, Luffy does not take the concept of death lightly: after all, it’s not in his nature to easily take a life as he prefers to disarm then defeat an opponent. Hence, if it meant protecting you, it would mean having to forgo his usual rule.

Before Luffy comes to your rescue, all hope seemed lost, as if you could have been swallowed in a pool of despair and darkness. Then, like daybreak, the Straw Hat Pirate arrives. He kneels down on you, to check if you’re okay. His expression is a blank kind of warmth, the one where he is trying to hold his emotions back to focus on ensuring your safety. You’ll know he’ll smile when the coast is clear and everyone is alright. No, not now. Not when you’re vulnerable like this.

After reassuring himself that you were safe, you could see how his usually bright wide eyes tense up, as if his irises are a blank dot in each of eyes. 

Then he turns his head to his opponent, marching forward as a humming grrrr emanates from his lungs. Luffy grits his teeth, his hands forming into fists that were sure to land a painfully harsh blow.

“You bastard.”

Luffy was trembling; not out of fear, but the forewarning that he could burst into a pour of punches that would break every bone in one’s body. The moment he speaks and growls, it’s gritty and low, a looming punishment for the enemy who could have hurt you.

“Touch her, and die.”

Zoro

He’s not training to be the greatest swordsman only because swordsmandry is his passion, but also because he wants to protect the friends who were precious to him, especially you. If he failed that promise, he would beat himself down for it. But Zoro cannot afford to fall into this pitfall. No, he’s got to keep training, keep fighting, keep pushing. If he reaches his limits, he’ll crack them open and surpass them. 

Even if he was well aware you too were a capable fighter, Zoro cannot help but have this little voice inside of him: what if he was too late? Thus, he promises that he will be there to shield you with his sword.

So when you were about to be the victim to an enemy’s lethal blow. Swift like the wind, Zoro deflects the incoming attack, glancing back to ensure you were alright. After creating a forceful X with his katanas as the enemy backs off, Zoro brandishes them, steel sharpening against steel to create a menacing threat.

Zoro is a demon: the kind you are grateful that you were his ally, friend, lover—instead of an fiend who would shed no mercy or forgiveness. You trusted that he was strong enough, that he would protect you at all costs even if the ends turn out ghastly and gory. 

One you heeded Zoro's yell to focus on getting to safety, you watched from afar to see him turn into the feared swordsman, the way he lets out a ghastly snarl as he became like a tiger, swords as claws about to prance.

“Oi, touch her…”

And in the next moment, he brandishes two of his katanas, a pierce of red from his open eye glaring into the person who dared hurt you. Growling like an oni boiling with fury, Zoro was determined to slash and slice the enemy who, if he had not come in the right moment, could have ended your life.

“and die.”

Sanji

Sanji will never stand for anyone laying a finger on his beloved. He always believed in kindness, to treat others right and to have empathy when they make difficult choices. But there were some acts that were simply unforgivable—especially if they were targeting you.

The blond cook, who always promised to safeguard you from all harms through the power of his martial kicks, sighted you one day as you were chased by a lecherous man. With the way you had forced your pace and let out anxious breaths, he could not stand for this. Nobody deserved this horrifying experience, for the lack of respect that came with stalking and harassment was disgusting in Sanji’s eyes, with the way his curled eyebrows furrowed. 

A knight in a tailored suit, Sanji dashes to your aid, running in kicks as he apprehends your stalker: It was one of the rare times he uses his hands as a threat—the way he grips the shoulder of your harasser, squeezing them tight as if he were to crack and break their flesh open. If not, he’ll kick upwards with his powerful legs to split their body in vertical halves.

At this moment, Sanji wishes he could instead rush past and hold you tight, to protect you from such cruelty of the world and whisper affirmations of safety. But first, he’s going to give your stalker an admonish.

“You shitty asshole. How dare you try to touch her…”

Sanji spat, with his voice evolving into a dark gritty tone as if he had smoked a hundred cigarettes beforehand. His grip tightening, you know he’ll keep his promise as your guardian and lover, and to the person who harassed you, a painful kickdown.

“And if you take one step further, you die.”

Law

Law has always been protective of you. He cares for you and your individual, and if you are adjacent to any kind of danger he will worry gravely. Law feels the utmost responsibility to keep you safe, because if there was even the slightest scratch on you, or a sense of unforgotten horror in your eyes, he will never forgive himself.

He also does not say the word “die” lightly. Following a doctor’s code, all life is sacred, and even with his callous streak when it comes to tormenting enemies, Law does not have it in him to kill. But when push comes to shove, when his loved one is in danger… Law may have to break that personal code.

Before anything, he has to prioritize saving you first. Once you hear him yell “Room!” then “Shambles!” you find yourself swiftly teleported to Law’s side, and you see how he was straining himself in his stance: the inked fingers of his right hand curled, the dark circles growing larger around his eyes… He’ll exhaust himself first before anything can happen to you.

Then he faces his opponent, the one who could have hurt you if Law was even a second late. Before the confrontation, Law tells you to get away from the battle before things get ugly. 

Law enjoys playing and messing around with his opponents, but not this time. Grabbing the hilt of Kikoku and ready to unsheathe it at any moment, Law gives the enemy an ultimatum.

“I’ll give you a choice. You can walk away right now, and I won’t mess with you.”

Then, his golden eyes seem to flash, a premonition of what will come if his advice is not followed.

“But if you are still thinking about touching her, even in the slightest…”

Then with a growl, he affirms: 

“then die.”

~~~

I hope you enjoyed anon! Until then—see ya!

For more works: First hug from the Monster Trio First hug from Ace, Sabo, and Law

[yandere-wishes]

˖ ࣪⊹𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐅𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐞/𝐂𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐈𝐜𝐞 ⊹ ࣪ ˖

⸸ Yandere! Capitano x reader

༒︎ Summary: He's the ice bearer, the monster sent to snuff out the flames of your homeland. But isn't that just love? To kill with such passion. Wouldn't anything else just be a lie?

🗡Warnings: Yandere behavior, blood, and gore, reader has a pyro vision and wields a claymore

𓌜 author's note: I made some Girlypop Capitano edits to sorta fit the vibe: One & Two

๋࣭ ⭑𓆩✧𓆪⭑ ๋࣭

Do you love me? Or do you love how I make you feel?

๋࣭ ⭑𓆩✧𓆪⭑ ๋࣭

Kachina is lost

She does not emerge from the scared flame

Nor does her ancient name echo across the skies.

Life stills, death looms.

light wanes, darkness reaches.

The glow of the sacred flame burns your eyes.

It's ambers whispering grime truths.

"I volunteer to go, too. You'll need all the help you can get."

Mavuika's flame mane rasps across her shoulders as she shakes her head. Lips taut in thought, sepia brows furled in eccentric fret. You've yet to see this shade of worry painted across your archon's face.

"I can't afford to excuse you, especially now that I fear my powers are dwindling. I need someone to have my back. Besides I'm sure the champians can handle it."

Duty first, that's the oath of the Princesses of Flame. Guard the archon with your life, protect her through any means necessary.

You force your head into a sharp nod.

The chill in the stadium air sends a nervous tang rippling through your spine. You've heard the Wayob speak of this sort of frost before. This all encompassing thing.

His boots grace the stadium floor with all the grace of falling stars. Ethereal armor glows in the soft roar of dancing flames. Icicles in dawn's first light.

The tall figure tilts his armor-clad head up at the archon's perch, with impertinence. You almost swear you hear a chuckle of mockery chime from the inside of his helmet.

"Pyro Archon" he speaks, voice distant and distorted, ice on ice through hail storms. The chill glides across your body again, how can one man be so cold? Shouldn't the cold be a sweet thing? Relief from harsh suns and harsher fires?

"Since the oath made five centuries ago remains unfulfilled, what use is the gnosis in your hands?"

He is all ice. But not the sugar-laced ice cubes that float leisurely in spiced cacao milk. No. He is the harsh verglas only spoken of in hushed tones around grisly campfires. The ice that leaves plains frozen and destroyed. It kills all things warm, all things that breathe.

There is a chill in the air.

It penetrates the skin and nests between the bones.

subconsciously you run your fingers across your neck.

"I challenge you for the gnosis, for the right over Natlan's rules" He shrugs off the heavy cape, the multilayered garment with too much wool and heat.

Strange, strange thing.

It amazes you how he hasn't melted from wearing such stout apparel in such smoldering climate. He tosses it to the side careful to never ripe the precious fabric.

"Fight, or summon your champion"

Your hand rests heavily on Mavuika's shoulder. Eyes transfixed in a silent plea.

The people need their Archon.

Natlan needs its Archon.

Besides this is your duty.

Mavuika nods.

Red eyes never once straying from the intruder.

Vicious sparks flicker across your palm. Like sparking a match across dried bark. You feel the inforno's kiss licking past your skin, weaving into the bone, as your weapon materializes. Your fingers ring across the worn, burnt handle of your loyal armament.

"I shall fight you fatui, for the honor and glory of Natlan and the Pyro Archon."

He watches you through the mask, through the ebony darkness that shields his mysterious visage. He reminds you of how Saurians watch their prey. Weighing each tiny breath, tasting each heartbeat through the air. He looks nothing less than regally monstrous.

Like death, doom, and despair.

You've tasted this before, engraved the bitterness upon your tongue, and honed your body to fight it. He will not take Natlan, he will not condemn your home to his cold.

The weight of your claymore pulls you down. Plunging into hard rock. You watch as he bats the dust with his hand. Gloved and armoured. What is he hiding? You wonder. What man truly needs so many layers? Armor, ice, frost, steel, wool. You long to peel them away, desperate to find something human underneath. Something squishy and worm. You want to feel his heartbeath between your teeth. Drink from his warm blood and relish in the sweet aftertaste. A testament to how you conquered the cold.

You've never seen someone so eager to be hidden in layers up layers.

Snow on ice.

Ice on iron.

"You're awfully young to take on such a big responsibility little girl"

his voice makes you shiver, you can almost taste his ice on your tongue.

Bitter, like barbwire and salt.

"Don't mock me Fatui" You warn, molding your body into a battle stance, knees folded almost kissing the stadium floor, weapon clasped with both hands. Eyes on the target.

Just like Mavuika taught you.

Just like you taught Kachina.

You can feel the heat from your vision coursing through your body, cracking your bones and mingling with marrow. You wait, just one more breath. You use the pyro blessing to project yourself through the air, like an arrow aimed straight for the man made of ice and lies. Swinging your claymore, ready to dent his helmet - and hopefully his head inside-  but he blocks it with his glacier sword. Just a thin dainty thing, capable of quelling your inferno-laced colossus.

Capitano advances, with a flick of his sword he pushes you back. Your heart hammers wildly, someone so skilled so strong, it's almost a shame he can never compete in the pilgrimage. That he can never be on your side.

You use the momentum of his push to frontflip through the foggy air. You land squarely on his wide shoulders, digging your foot into his trapezius muscle, while your knee scrapes his other shoulder for balance. You swing your claymore once more, trying to strike his head off. But to your shock, he parries it with the back of his rime gauntlets.

You keep pushing trying to slice through ice, armor, flesh, anything. Yet everything about this man seems to be made of inviolable steel adorned with everlasting cyro. For a second the metal of his helmet kisses the inside of your thighs. There is no shame in battle, no flirting with the opponent. There are only two bodies entwined until death and defeat. Until one rises and one falls. Still, there's something about the way his black face, regards yours that has a shy blush creeping on the hollows of your cheeks. The man, no this formidable monster is far too close, it's almost as if he's longing for a kiss. You leap back, whispering patronymic blessing to the Archon when your feet meet solid rock once more.

"You fight well little girl, but your attacks are careless, loose. You can not defeat opponents if you can not penetrate their defenses."

He dashes, so quickly you almost think he's flickering between the ground and air. You feel his familiar cold before, you feel the hilt of his sword nestle into your abdomen. He leans forward, helmet sending frostbite through the side of your head "You smell so sweet, like the roses of Snezhnaya". Capitan thrusts his sword with raw force sending you soaring into the stadium walls, the rocks crumple around you, as you struggle to lift yourself up once more.

Your eyes try to carve sight through dust and debris. The air is thick, hot and cold. You blink twice desperate for your eyes to focus. There are silhouettes dancing towards you twirling through the air like Yumkasaurus.

Capitano's ice projectiles glide through the air, they're almost beautiful if you could doubt their lethality. He commands them with flickers of his wrist, and it's only when their frost kisses your body that you fully remember this is a battle, not a dance. They lounge themselves between your ribs, underneath your heart, in the plump of your thigh, the bullseye of your shoulder. Pretty icicles cut open your flesh burying themselves deeply inside you, you'd almost dub it romantic, with how the icicles intonate to your erratic heartbeat.

The frost begins to infiltrate your vascular flow, cauterizing you from the inside. Spreading through the outside, you hiccup out a low moan. Capitano laughs, in a tone that feigns mockery. "I see my ice is to your liking". You bite your lip holding back another moan, it's so wholly painful yet so satisfying. You were right the cold does offer such a delicious relief from the blazing inferno all around.

Your opponent stalks closer, kneeling by your freezing body. You doubt Muarvirka can see through the grey air permutating the stadium. Maybe that's why, away from all prying eyes. The captain lifts his helmet revealing smirking lips. He grazes the side of your mouth with a faux kiss. savoring your warmth before, parting your lips, and deepening the kiss. Even his lips are utterly frozen, he sucks you flames from your mouth extinguishing your fires, with blood-deep frost. He runs a cold iron-clad claw across her cheek, scrapping up the skin, creating a rivulet of red. Before licking it lovingly with his icy tongue. "Why are you so cold?" you shutter, "Why so frostbitten? Has no one ever taught you the joys of the flame?"

He laughs, really really laughs this time. And while you still can't see his eyes, you swear they soften. "I've been burnt too many times, trust me the cold has its merits. But one must be willing to surrender to them."

Capitano plucks your body from the ground. He cradles you roughly in his arms.

He has no warmth to offer.

No heat.

He is only ice.

The fog yields, as you look up. Mavuika screams, her anger palpable. "I'll accept her as my prize for now archon" Capitano spits. "But next time I shall challenge you and know that I will take the gnosis too."

The flames in the stadium roar, trying to melt away the frost plaguing your body. Trying to replenish your spark. You begin to flail and kick, desperate to be liberated from Capitano's iron and frost-clad grasp.

You need to break free, to return to your archon's side, to be there when the others return with Kachina. You can not let this monster pilfer you away from your home, your people, your archone.

"Let me go!" you scream, your last attempt at a battle cry.

"Shhh, war trophies have no right to refuse."

⋆⋆⋆༺𓆩⸸𓆪༻⋆⋆⋆

Super tempted to draw the reader's outfit!!

🪐 @definitely-asexual-volcano @eth3realc0rps3  @numberonefanfury  @madara3437 @crystalkat6747 @m00nlight-mexican @dilucragnvindr-my-beloved @orcasandtea @tecchoukisserr

[drewswife]

Hi can you write something with Dad rafe and his baby girl getting ready for bed they are just goofing off then Y/n comes in saying they have to go to bed the baby girl is 2???

if your too busy you don't have too!!!

Summary: Rafe and their 2-year-old daughter Nora goofing off while they are supposed to be getting ready for bed And y/n tells them to go to bed

warnings: fluff, Dad!rafe

A/n: sorry it took me like a day😭 - thanks for requesting 💕

words:1.2k

dividers by @bernardsbendystraws

The pink glint of Rafe's flashlight illuminated the already dim room, casting dancing shadows across the walls. Two-year-old Nora, a whirlwind of untamed dark blonde curls and boundless energy, squealed with laughter as Rafe chased her around the room, his long limbs awkwardly navigating the obstacle course of scattered toys.

"Come here, you little monster!" Rafe chuckled, his voice laced with playful exasperation. He lunged, scooping Nora up in his arms and showering her with kisses, making her giggle even harder.

"Again! Again!" Nora shrieked, wriggling in his grasp.

"Okay, okay," Rafe said, lowering her to the ground. "But just one more round, then it's bedtime."

Nora nodded, her doe eyes eyes sparkling with mischief, and took off running again, her tiny feet padding softly against the carpet. Rafe followed, his laughter echoing through the apartment.

Meanwhile, y/n watched the scene unfold from the doorway, a smile tugging at her lips. It was a familiar routine – the nightly stalling tactics, the exuberant playtime that always seemed to erupt just as bedtime approached. But beneath the amusement, a hint of weariness flickered within her. She knew she had to intervene soon, before things escalated further.

"Alright, you two," she said, stepping into the room, her voice firm but gentle. "That's enough playing. It's time for bed."

Nora let out a dramatic wail, flinging herself onto the floor in a fit of mock despair. "No bed! I wanna play!"

Rafe, still grinning, sauntered over to y/n, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her into a hug. "Come on, y/n," he whispered, nuzzling her neck. "Just a little longer? She's having so much fun."

"I know, but it's getting late," y/n replied, leaning into his embrace but gently pushing him away. "And you need to get some sleep too. You have that early meeting tomorrow, remember?"

Rafe groaned, running a hand through his already disheveled hair. "Ugh, don't remind me."

He turned his attention back to Nora, who was still sprawled on the floor, her cries gradually subsiding into whimpers. He knelt beside her, gently stroking her hair.

"Hey, sweetie," he said softly. "It's okay. We can play again tomorrow. But right now, it's time to go night-night."

Nora sniffled, looking up at him with her big brown tear-filled eyes. "But I'm not tired," she mumbled.

"I know, but your eyes are getting heavy," Rafe said, pointing to her fluttering eyelids. "And you know what happens when you don't get enough sleep? You get cranky and grumpy."

Nora pondered this for a moment, her bottom lip trembling. Finally, she nodded, holding out her arms to Rafe. He scooped her up, burying his face in her soft curls.

"That's my girl," he murmured. He carried her over to her bed, tucking her under the covers. Y/n followed behind, dimming the lights and placing a kiss on Nora's forehead.

"Goodnight, sweetie," she whispered. "I love you."

"Love you too, Mommy," Nora mumbled sleepily, her eyes already drifting closed.

Rafe sat on the edge of the bed, watching Nora drift off to sleep. He stroked her hair, a look of tenderness on his face. Y/n stood beside him, leaning her head on his shoulder.

"She's so precious," she murmured.

Rafe nodded, placing a gentle kiss on y/n's forehead. "Yeah, she is," he whispered. He stood up, pulling y/n into his arms. "Now, come on," he said, his voice low and husky. "Let's go to bed. We have a busy day tomorrow."

Y/n smiled, taking his hand. As they walked out of the room, she couldn't help but feel a surge of warmth and contentment. Despite the nightly chaos, these were the moments she cherished most – the moments when her little family was together, bathed in the soft glow of love and laughter. And as she drifted off to sleep later that night, she knew that even though bedtime could be a battle, the sweet moments that followed were always worth it.

[3amfanfiction]

May I politely and desperately request daddaughter Simon x reader? It doesn’t exist and I’m in despair. Not fauxcest/stepcest as that just doesn’t hit the spot

Nonnie you sent this less than a week ago and i can now present you with 2.7k of dad!simon incest. you're welcome, lovely <33 You should also check out santaprice for some more dad!simon x reader works. A lot of her works are sweet and horny.

Synopsis: dad!Simon stops you from heading to a date and has you hang out with him instead.

Cw: incest

Come Sit On My Lap

"Where do you think you're going?"

The voice rumbled out of the darkened living room causing your heart to leap into your throat. You whirled around, diverted from your trek towards the door.

"Dad! You're home," you exclaimed happily, a smile creeping across your face as you made out his shadowy form sitting in his recliner, tucked back into the far corner where he could see everything.

It's where you'd normally find him after coming home from a deployment. Still too tightly strung to find rest in a bed, the position far too vulnerable. So he'd post up in his big, comfortable chair instead. It allowed him a clear line of sight of the entryway while also letting him find some sort of rest if he could manage to doze in the plush cushioning.

"Mmm. I'm home and the first thing I see is you trying to sneak out of the house, how's that for a welcome?"

"First off, I'm an adult. I wasn't sneaking out of the house. I just didn't realize you were back," an admonishing smile peeked out as you made your way into the darkened living room, "second off, what if I was sneaking out? What're you going to do? Ground me?"

"Well, I guess that depends on why you were sneaking out. Going to meet up with a boy, were you?" he asked, giving you an obvious up-down and judging your attire. You smiled and gave a little twirl, showing off your new dress you had bought for just this occasion.

"I am, actually," you smoothed a hand down the skirt, making sure it was laying correctly, "seeing a guy, that is."

You didn't notice in the dark but your Dad's face grew stony, no emotion finding it's way from behind his eyes. It was like the whole room was holding it's breath for a split second.

"Is that so?" he took a drink of the amber liquid sitting next to him, "Why don't you come over here, let me see you better."

Not seeing any reason to argue you made your way over, coming to a stop directly in front of him. He gave a little 'spin around' motion with his finger which made you laugh before you complied, spinning on the ball of one foot to allow the skirt to flair out ever so slightly with your movement.

When you came to a stop facing him once more you smiled in delight, not noticing the predatory look in his eyes. What you did notice was him leaning forward and grasping your waist.

"Dad?"

With a sharp tug he pulled you into his lap, legs over the arm of the chair as your shoulder and side pressed into his abdomen.

"Dad! What are you—what are you doing?" you gasped in surprise, putting your hands on his shoulders to try and stabilize yourself. It had been years since you'd sat on his lap but you fit just as well now as you did back then.

One thing about your dad was he was always larger than life. This behemoth that never let anything get in his way. It had never failed to comfort you. If there was a problem you knew he could handle it, you only had to ask and it would be taken care of. It went to your head sometimes.

You tried to pull your legs down but he wrapped a large arm over your knees, placing a work-roughened palm against the outside of your thigh, holding you in place.

"Who's this boy you're going to see?" he ignored your slight squirming as he encased you in his arms, his other going behind your back to pin support you.

You settled down after a moment, accepting this would be your position for the next little bit. You relaxed into him, letting him take your weight and rested your head on his shoulder, forehead tucked into the crook of his neck as you looked down at your hands placed in your lap. You started to twiddle your fingers.

"I don't know, just someone who I've been talking to. He's been really sweet so we were going to go to a drive-in tonight to watch a movie."

He didn't say anything for a moment, just sat and held you, resting his cheek ever so slightly against the top of your head. You thought you heard him sniff your hair but that must've been a mistake.

The silence prompted you to fill it.

"He's been really nice to me, I think you'd like him," you tried, unsure of this thing that was hovering in the air but trying to inject some normalcy into the conversation. "He's been excited about seeing this movie with me all week."

"Of course he has," your dad scoffs in admonishment making your shoulders rise towards your ears for a split second before you lowered them again, "a drive-in is where you go to fuck your date."

"Dad!"

"It's the truth and if you're too naive to see it you won't be going tonight." You tried to pull away so you could sit up and look at him but he just cradled you tighter, fully tucked into his warm body.

"Well maybe I want that tonight, have you thought of that?" you sputtered your rebuttal into his chest but tried anyways. You felt your face heating talking about this with your dad but he was the one who started it.

And besides. It was true, you did want something to happen tonight. You'd been thinking about it all day and you were slick between the thighs even now. While getting ready you had touched yourself over you panties, teasing yourself with a glimpse of what was to come—working yourself up. The slick slide of your thighs reminded you of your debauchery with every move.

And now your dad was trying to cockblock you.

You pouted down towards your lap, safe in the assurance he couldn't see you.

"Pouting about how badly you want it?" You jerked in surprise, how did he always know what you were doing? "Want someone between your thighs tonight, you little whore?"

~~~

"I don't—that's so inappropriate," Simon smiled as you stuttered, clearly unsure of what was happening. He'd never acted this way before and watching you flounder had him chubbing up in his pants, blood rushing south at your sense of propriety.

He was going to enjoy pushing you tonight.

It was your own fault for coming out looking like that.

" 'S not inappropriate. It's a fathers job to take care of their kids, no matter what that looks like," his hand rubbed back and forth against the warm skin of your outer thigh. It felt silken under his fingertips. "If you need someone to deal with your whining cunt then so be it. I'll be handling it."

He felt you clench your thighs together tightly at his quiet commandment that he would be addressing your problems. He knew how it turned you on when he was competent. He'd seen you shuffle in your seat or excuse yourself to your room when he took care of things for you.

Your pussy was going to be included on that list.

His hand came around to rest at the seam halfway between your knee and hip, his wide palm covering a good portion of skin. He didn't press, just slowly stroked his thumb along the soft plushness, waiting for you to open up, to let him in.

"We shouldn't be doing this," you whispered, grasping at straws "this is wrong."

That finally got him to let you sit up. Still with one arm behind you he grasped your chin with his other, turning you to look into his eyes, unable to look away. They were inky black pools in this shadowed corner—watching everything and allowing nothing to slip past.

"There is nothing wrong with pleasure. I'm not the kind of father to sit back and watch his kid hurting." He watched as your eyes darted down to his lips before looking away. Felt the heat of your face against his fingertips. "I don't want you getting hurt by some overeager little shit rutting like a beast between your legs."

"I don't—Dad . . ."

Even now you looked to him for guidance. It went to his head how trusting you were, looking to him to help you out of this situation he was placing you in. He'd help. Make no mistake about it.

"I know, sweetheart," he cooed condescendingly as his thumb raised to trace along your lower lip, a wave of heat rushing through him when your tongue subconsciously followed the path his thumb took. When it caught up to the digit he knew he was gone. The wet give of the muscle against his skin was unlike anything he'd felt before.

You were such a fucking slag.

He held himself back from shifting his hips to rub against you through pure force of will. He wouldn't scare you off just yet, not when the reward was sitting right in front of him, waiting to be coaxed into his hand, sweet as you please.

"I thought that I raised a good girl. But you haven't been one, have you? It seems like when I'm away you turn into quite the little slut. I bet if I reached between your legs right now, played with those cute panties you have on, I'd find you dripping, wouldn't I?"

You didn't respond to that, your eyes darting away in shame as you tried to pull your chin free. Simon tightened his grip to keep you pinned facing him. He drank up your discomfort with delight. He wanted you to make that same face when you were tucked underneath him.

"No need to be shy now, after all you wouldn't have been shy once you got to the movies. Go on then, prove me wrong. Show me you're not wetter than a whore right now."

He watched tears fill your eyes as you valiantly fought not to let them spill over your lashline while you squirmed in discomfort. He was fully hard at this point and every movement you made rubbed his cock between his own leg and the fat of your ass. It took everything in him not to toss you to the floor in that moment and crawl between your legs.

He had to fight to keep his breathing steady as your legs slowly parted giving him access to the treasure housed between.

Maintaining eye contact he dropped his palm down to your knee, squeezing in a mockery of comfort before slowly trailing up the inside of your thigh. You radiated heat, soaking into his skin with every slow inch climbed. He listened to your hitched breathing with delight knowing he was the one causing such reactions.

When he reached your apex he was greeted with exactly what he'd been expecting.

"It seems I've raised a whore."

That caused the tears to finally spill as you denied it fervently. You tried to push his arm away but it was useless. He had you in the palm of his hand and he had no intention of letting go now. You closed your thighs around his hand, trying to protect your center but only pinning him firmly against you.

"I don't know why I expected anything else—everyone knows your mother was a slag so it's my own fault for thinking you'd be any different.

"Dad, please!" you cried, holding onto his forearm now that it was clear you weren't going to be able to push him away. "Please don't be mean to me."

You always were his sensitive little girl, weren't you. Couldn't stand a harsh word spoken to you without breaking down into tears. He was gratified that same reaction remained even now. He wondered how far he could push you before you would sob.

A goal for next time.

"You don't want to be called a whore? You want to be my good girl instead?" —you nodded firmly— "Then spread your legs for me, let me see this cunt that won't quit crying on my fingers."

You sniffled as you reluctantly opened your legs giving him free range. So obedient. Maybe he did raise you right.

Now with room to properly explore he dragged firm fingers up the indent of your slit, enjoying the texture of the soaked fabric against his skin. Watching you give an aborted twitch of your hips sent heat racing down his spine. He wanted you making those twitches while speared open on his cock. He wanted to feel every muscle spasm and hitched hips you'd give him. Pulling the wet fabric to the side he repeated the motion skin-on-skin.

Your whimpering moan was musical.

"You say you're not a whore but you sound like that when I get my fingers on you? Your own dad?" He scoffed deridingly, "you must think I was born yesterday."

"I'm not a whore," you insisted with a gasp, hips moving like you were unsure if you wanted to press closer or pull further away. "It's just—it feels really good," you ended on a mumble, ashamed.

"Feels good, hmm?" Simon smirked to himself, "well let's see what else feels good for this needy cunt."

Moving down he wasted no time pressing one finger in to the knuckle, entranced at the lack of resistance. Your body practically sucked it up inside it was so greedy. He watched the faces you made as he stroked at your sensitive insides, his callouses adding a delightful roughness to the sensation.

It was the work of minutes to have continuous moans falling from your mouth as you humped his hand—the wet squelch of his fingers a counter-tune. By this point your slickness was all the way to his wrist, smearing down onto his clothed thigh—staining the fabric with your essence.

He watched with avarice as you grew closer to your peak.

"I need to cum."

That was the best you could do? No, he wasn't going to let you off the hook that easily. It was clear you'd been suffering from a lack of discipline since he was gone so often. If he wanted to correct your behavior it would start here.

"That was pathetic. Try again."

"Dad," you cried, whether from your encroaching orgasm or from his harsh words who knew, "please, I need it. Please make me cum."

"Still not quite there, try again."

He watched you scramble trying to find the right words, trying to figure out what he wanted to hear in order to let you cum. He wasn't going to help you, not when those pretty, pleading eyes went straight to his cock.

"I—I'm sorry for being such a whore," you tried, mumbling it quietly under your breath.

"I couldn't hear you. Did you say you wanted me to stop?" he slowed his fingers and began to withdraw them.

"No!" you choked, clawing at his arm as if you were trying to sink your nails in and hold him in place, "I'm sorry I'm such a slut."

"—who gets wet with her daddy's fingers inside her."

"I can't—" he shifted his fingers again, "who gets wet with my daddy's fingers inside me," you finished quickly, shame coating your voice.

"There we go, that wasn't so hard now was it?"

Getting what he wanted he returned to his motions with purpose, bringing you to the edge of your orgasm within moments. With one last twist of his fingers he sent you over the edge, falling into the abyss that was him.

He watched your face as you fell, drinking in the parted lips and unseeing eyes. This was something to remember. The first time he made his baby fall apart on his fingers.

It certainly wouldn't be the last.

Easing you down gently he tucked you back into the crook of his neck as the last aftershocks raced their way through your trembling muscles.

"Look at that, seems you've missed your movie. I guess you'll have to stay home with me instead." He pressed a kiss to your forehead, "Let's head to bed. I know just the thing to tire me out so I can get some sleep."

[liahaslosthermind]

~𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐩𝐲 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐒𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭~ Part 3

Part 3 of The Spy Master's Secret Find more ACOTAR works here! Summary: The Inner Circle meets the most important person in Azriel's life. Warnings: Lia rewrites what the Carranam bond is to fit her own fantasy, (Mention of) Bad injuries and domestic abuse, (Mention of) Azriel's dad 🤢, Inner Circle loves to STAY in Azriel's business, I actually write Rhys as not an asshole in this one

“My Carranam.” The Spy Master replied.

No one was given time to think, much less respond, before Azriel had commanded everyone to leave the room. They would have been more reluctant to do so, the desire to know what the hell Azriel meant was painful, had the serious look on the strange female’s face, and the look of despair on Azriel’s, not given them the impression this conversation was better left between the two. 

Out in the hallway, Cassian finally voiced his concern, 

“Should we have left him alone with whoever that was? He isn’t in any state to be fighting back should he ne-”

Amren scoffed at the question. “I’d trust her with him far more than you all.”

 “What do you mean? Do you know her?” Elain asked.

“No, but he is her Carranam. You all might not know the significance of such a bond- I don’t even know much about it myself, but I know enough to believe there is no one who would protect and cherish him more.” In Amren's eyes was a sort of amazement and respect that told the rest of them she was right. Gave them enough information to walk away from the bedroom, content on letting Azriel come to them when he was ready.

—

The Inner Circle was no longer content waiting for their Spy Master to make an appearance. They all had been sitting at the dining table for what must have been millennia, plates full with no appetite as millions of questions swarmed their heads. Amren had seemingly been the only one to have any idea what any of this could have meant, but the second she got the chance, she disappeared so she wouldn’t be bothered with questions about something that had nothing to do with her. 

Finally, Nesta broke the silence.

“Do you think he is purposefully trying to torture us by taking forever?” She asked, eyeing the very apparent shadows in the corner that had been slithering to and from the room since they had all sat down. “Or do you think she is-”

“It would be my fault Azriel was occupied for a bit.” The strange fae announced as she entered the room, Azriel by her side with a slight limp. The two looked… strange together, but also so right. White feathered wings stood tall behind the female, nicely contrasting Azriel’s leathery Illyrian ones. Where he was crowned in darkness and shadows, she seemed to have bathed in light. These features should have contrasted each other terribly, but their stark differences only seemed to compliment the other.

It also didn’t escape anyone’s notice how their friend looked thousands of times better than he did just hours earlier.

He was still clearly injured, but far from the brink of death he teetered on these past few days.

“How? Madja could only do so much for him.” Rhysand asked, astonished at how well his brother looked.

She helped him into his seat before taking the empty one next to him. Even as they got comfortable, her hand never left his arm, finding comfort in his touch after days of agony and helplessness.

“Junia is a healer. The best Dawn has to offer.” Azriel said, the pride clear in his voice. It made sense that she- Junia had been from Dawn. A Peregryn and an Illyrian, two lesser fae known for their warrior skills and inherent desire for the skies. 

“I am not as skilled as Madja, but it's easier to heal when you know exactly what is wrong, exactly what hurts.” Junia replied, rolling her eyes at Azriel’s shameless bragging. 

She let out a deep and rich laugh as she looked at everyone’s faces, all pained by the many questions swirling around in their heads. Feyre noted that she hadn’t heard such a joyous laugh since Azriel had done the same when Elain had gifted him medicine for all the headaches the Inner Circle gave him. 

Clearly, whatever bond they had between them was deep.

“You better introduce me, put them out of their misery.” She teased Az, who had been too caught up relishing her laugh. After a very long and rough berating it was nice to see her not seconds away from tearing out his wings. 

“R-right. Uh- this is my- well this is-” Azriel stammered.

“Mother above Az, don’t hurt yourself," Cassian amused.

Azriel closed his mouth as he blushed, unsure of how to go about this. 

“My name is Junia. As the brooding bat said, I am his Carranam.” Junia answered, side eyeing Azriel.

Keep it together, Az. It's a little pathetic. 

Azriel responded to her teasing look with a glare. We haven’t had to tell anyone about this in a while. Why don’t you try to explain it to these idiots if you are so clever.

Rhysand noticed the silent conversation going on between them.

“You can converse like Daemati? Is that your ability?” The High Lord asked her.

They both hesitated, realizing they didn’t really know how their so-called “telepathy” worked.

“No- or I don’t believe so at least. When you communicate with someone, you are doing so verbally, even if not aloud, correct? I don’t hear Azriel’s voice in my head, I just feel what he is trying to tell me, if that makes sense.”

“Like a mating bond?” Feyre questioned.

“Also no. It's not our feelings that are conveyed solely, we can gather more specific meaning from it. Yes, Junia would feel I was not excited for this conversation, but she would also know I was offering her one last chance to leave, should she also not want to deal with all of your… strong personalities.” Azriel responded, looking at Junia. He really didn’t want to have this conversation with his family.

She laughed at his desperation which, while very clear to her, she knew the Inner Circle was none the wiser to the just how far Azriel was willing to go to leave this table. She could see him coming up with escape routes in his head as he picked up his wine glass. 

“Oh you poor delicate flower,” She teased. 

Unfortunately, everyone in the room still noticed the blush that once again appeared on Az’s face, laughing at their scary brother, head tortured of the Night Court, being compared to a ‘delicate flower’. 

Downing the rest of his glass, Azriel finally explained.

“A carranam bond isn’t like a mating bond. It comes from an old phrase, A Soul Friend. It gives Junia and I the ability to channel each other's powers, even make them stronger when we are together. Like you noticed, we have a different, more intimate way of communicating, far stronger than Daemati and mates can.”

“How the hell has no one else here heard of this bond?” Nesta asked, skeptical. Seems like something a group of people as obsessed with the mating bond would know about.

“It is rare, extremely so. There are also many… vulnerabilities that come with a bond such as this. To find your carranam is hard enough, most will never be born with one. But to accept such a bond is dangerous. And unfortunately there have been instances of others abusing such a gift. Tying their carranam up to reap their abilities, taking so much from them that both end up going insane. It became illegal in many places and eventually was forgotten by our world.” Junia answered.

“How did you find out what you guys had?” Feyre jumped in.

While this was Junia’s story as much as Azriel’s, she hesitated. Because there was another factor to that story, and she didn’t believe she was the one who should talk about it first.

Another glance between the two, a question asked. Azriel answered it by speaking up, “Junia is from Dawn. After my… mother was released- rescued from my father’s abuse, she wasn’t in wonderful shape. Fortunately, Rhys, Cassian, and myself found a place created by High Lord Thesan’s mother that offered aid to those escaping similar situations, Rosehall. That is where Junia worked as head healer. She helped my mother a lot throughout the years.” Such admiration and gratitude in his voice made several people at the table start to tear up.

Everyone was quiet. While Rhysand, Cassian, and Mor knew the story of Azriel’s mother being sent to Rosehall, they hadn’t known about Junia, just about the healer Az’s mother had gotten along with-

“You are the friend of his mother’s he sends gifts to every Solstice? The one he used to ask for my help when shopping for?” Mor asked, having been approached by Azriel with the request many times in the past.

“I thought you picked those gifts out yourself? You didn’t tell me Mor did all the work.” Junia turned to Az.

“I do pick them out, you just have peculiar taste. I have needed her help locating shops to buy such things before. That's it.” Az defended.

I certainly do have peculiar taste she silently said to Azriel who, once again, blushed at the double entendre.

He quickly cleared his throat, continuing with the story: “A few years after my mother had entered Junia's care, while I was visiting, there was an attack on Rosehall. It was one of the families of a newer resident enacting revenge for escaping abuse. There were many who were hurt or dying… or dead, and the two of us had been the only ones available to help. This bond had snapped because of that desperation. At the time, it was new but, strangely, felt as though it had always been there. We both leaned into the feeling and fortunately it didn’t end terribly. Suddenly, my shadows were able to heal, to a certain degree, and were able to talk to Junia, giving her any info on people who needed her help that she couldn’t see.”

Everyone was astonished at such a story. So different from the mating bond they were all familiar with. 

“Since then, we have been each others’ confidants. While we don’t live particularly close, shadow walking gives me the ability to come to him whenever, and vice versa. Plus the connection is always there, even when miles upon miles apart.” Junia answered. 

“Why keep it a secret?” Cassian questioned, knowing how much a connection like this would matter to Az. Wouldn’t he want his family to know about such a bond?

“I am not exactly without enemies, Cas. I couldn’t live with the possibility of someone coming after her because of me.” The sound of raw pain in Azriel's voice let his family know that this wasn’t something that was simply a fear. 

Someone had gone after her in revenge.

“Your secret is safe with us. You are safe with us. Should you need anything, just say the word.” Rhysand offered. 

The two carranam looked at each other. “After I spent a while yelling at Azriel for scaring me half to death multiple times in the past few days, we decided that maybe it was best I step back from Rosehall.” Junia explained, sadness present in her tone as she talked about leaving the place that had been her sole purpose for her entire life. “I have healers on my staff that deserve the promotion, including Azriel’s mother, who has used her experiences and time to become an impressive healer and valuable friend to so many of our residents.” 

Azriel’s throat bobbed at the mention of just how much his mom had healed and helped since she escaped his father. 

Excitement filled the room at the possibility of adding another to their family. But Junia was still painfully aware of just how many questions everyone had.

“Alright, now that all the nitty gritty is out of the way, you can all begin your interrogation,” she teased, knowing full well that the interrogation started well before she entered the room.

All at once, tens of questions left everyone’s mouth. Not a single one able to be distinguished over the rest.

Azriel’s hand reached down to hold Junia’s, squeezing her while seeming to say I told you we should have escaped while we could.

They both downed their wine glasses while they waited for the Inner Circle to tire themselves out. 

A/N: Originally, this was the end. But I think I created so much backstory and also fell too much in love with Junia not to add more. So please let me know if you'd like more to this series! (And what you’d like to see)

Taglist: @bunnyred-blog1 @that-one-bibliophole @fuckingsimp4azriel @daughterofthemoons-stuff @minaaminaa8 @lilah-asteria @azrielswhore @maksamillion

(If you are featured here but you didn't get tagged, check your privacy settings to make sure you allow for tags!)

[oopsiedaisydeer]

how to lose a guy in 10 days

slow burn, mutual pining, dual pov, fake dating, angst, comedy, miscommunication, fluff, enemies to lovers (kinda)

day zero one two three

disclaimer: @whor3ing has an au also inspired by how to lose a guy in 10 days which you can check out here!

word count - 700ish

day one

Boston bars on a Thursday night had a specific flavour… half-sour beer, half-sweat, half-despair.

The kind of place where office workers unwound and undergrads overcompensated. She fit somewhere in the middle, technically employed, emotionally unmoored, trying not to think about the fact that she was doing this on purpose.

Her drink came sweating in its glass. She took one long sip and scanned the room, reminding herself: first guy who smiles.

She didn’t have to wait long.

Two minutes later, in walked Matt Sturniolo, hat tucked in his back pocket, rings on his fingers like he was trying a little, but not too much. 

He had spotted her immediately. Alone at the bar, one heel slightly hanging off her toe, like she hadn’t decided whether she was staying or leaving. When she met his eyes and smiled, he thought, Shit. That’s her. 

He walked over anyway.

“Hey,” he said, leaning just close enough to be heard over the ambient buzz. “Can I buy you a drink?”

She raised her glass. “Bit late for that. This one’s already mine.”

Matt blinked, smile just a little crooked, like he didn’t trust it to land right. “Right. So… maybe your next one?”

She tilted her head. “You always open with math talk?”

He laughed, nervous but genuine. “Only when I’m nervous.”

That made her pause. She expected smooth, maybe cocky. Not this. “You’re nervous?”

“A little. You looked like someone who’d see through bullshit.”

He gave her a look as he did this, scanning her posture, the way her skirt hiked a little too high from how she sat, unintentionally flirty, hair slightly wavy, haloed by the bar’s neon light. 

She smiled again, slower this time. “Fair.”

They talked. Not for five minutes. Not for fifteen. For nearly two hours.

He asked her favourite movie. She said The Truman Show and then wouldn’t explain why.

She asked about his worst habit. He said, “Saying I’ll call and then forgetting my phone exists.”

She gave him a look. “That’s comforting.”

“You haven’t given me your number yet,” he said. “So technically, I’m still innocent.”

She snorted. “Charming.”

Someone’s laughter cracked in the background, but all he heard was the ice clinking in her drink as she laughed at him.

“Flattered. You’re terrifying, by the way.”

She tried to hide her smile behind her glass.

“Do you always go to bars alone and talk to strangers?” he asked her then.

“Only on nights when I’m feeling creative on my mission to try and ruin my life.”

He laughed, the sound coming all the way from his stomach. When he finally caught his breath, he told her, “then I guess I’m your lucky mistake.”

“You wish.”

He raised his eyebrow at her and she looked away, already reminding herself the point of all this flirting. But fuck, it didn’t hurt that he was hot. 

When the bartender called last call, she didn’t check the time. Neither did he.

She pulled on her jacket. Matt cleared his throat, watching her down her drink as he subtly pulled out his phone.

“Can I get your number?”

She raised an eyebrow, playful but cautious. “Already?”

“Well, I don’t know if I’ll be able to find you in this bar again next Thursday.”

She tilted her head. “You planning on being here again next Thursday?”

He grinned. “Only if you are.”

She looked at him for a long moment, like she was weighing something. Then handed him her phone.

“Text me something weird,” she said, a small smile on her face. “So I know it’s you.”

As they left the bar, Matt held the door open for her, and she slipped past him, brushing her hand gently over his forearm as thanks.

I'm gonna make you wish you were dead, she thought to herself as she looked into his eyes.

As Matt met her stare, there was only one thought on his mind: You're already falling in love.

Later that night, as he was brushing his teeth he remembered the girl from the bar. He pulled his phone out, letting the toothbrush dangle from his mouth as he found her contact.

Back in her apartment, she tossed her phone onto the bed, feeling the kind of buzz that had nothing to do with alcohol.

And across the city, Matt lay in bed staring at the ceiling, already wondering what the hell kind of trouble he’d invited into his life. Because this girl?

He ran his hand through his hair sighing, realising he had no idea what he’d just gotten himself into.

But for fifteen grand? He was all in.

One down. Nine to go.

dividers by @bernardsbendystraws ꨄ

a/n: i hope you guys like this <3

[mindmelter]

Wrong Day To Wear This Shirt

It was a perfect day for hunting. Not in the traditional sense, of course—I wasn’t out in the woods with a rifle. My rifle was my mind control powers, and my prey was hot straight men.

My prey was walking right towards his parked truck in front of his suburban house. He was wearing those stupid sunglasses, and his muscles bulged out of a tight black tank top that read: "DON’T BE A PUSSY."

I rolled my eyes. Nothing irritated me more than performative masculinity. As if wearing a tank top with aggressive font and an obnoxious slogan somehow made him more of a man.

He couldn't have chosen a worse day to wear this shirt, maybe if he didn't, I would have let him go on with his day.

I walked towards him, giving him my most charming smirk as he strutted past. He barely glanced at me. Typical. But that was okay—I didn’t need his attention to make him mine. With a simple thought, I sent a little mind-scrambling pulse his way.

He stopped mid-step. I strolled up to him, slowly sliding a hand over his broad shoulder. “Hey, big guy,” I murmured. “Feeling a little different?”

His brow furrowed, lips parting as if he wanted to argue—but all that came out was a needy whimper.

That’s right. My power didn’t just control minds; it reshaped desires. His confidence was cracking, his once-cocky posture softening. His sharp, square jaw slackened, eyes glazing over behind his shades.

I traced a finger down his muscular chest, feeling his trembling body. I could sense his despair, his fear of not knowing why he was letting a stranger caress him.

“What was that your shirt said? ‘Don’t be a pussy?’” I chuckled. “Too bad. Because you, my friend, are about to become the biggest one.”

He gasped, blinking rapidly, his resistance melting away. The shift was happening fast—I could feel his mind rewiring, turning him into exactly what I wanted. His poor mind was already broken within the first mind pulse I sent his way, but there was still much more to break.

I leaned in, whispering against his ear, “Say it. Say what you are.”

He shuddered again, cheeks burning red, his once-deep voice coming out softer, breathier. “I’m… a pussy boy.”

I grabbed his bulge and squeezed it hard, "Yes you are. Now lift your tank top and let me see your body."

"Yes sir..." He whimpered as he lifted his tank top until his big muscular pecs were exposed. He had a perfect fit body, big pecs and hard abs. I played with his nipples a little, and even twisted one of them. He let out a pathetic whimper, but he didn't do anything to stop me, in fact, his cock throbbed harder.

"Uh uh don't be a pussy, remember? Take the pain like a man," He looked so stupid that I couldn't help but chuckle at his face.

I then glanced around. There was no one but us on the street, it was a very quiet neighborhood. Perfect.

I opened the door of his parked truck and sat on the edge of the seat, legs resting outside. I pulled my zipper down, freeing my hard cock. He looked at it with shock on his face, probably his first time seeing another man's hard cock in person.

“Get on your knees and suck, pussy boy,” I commanded.

He obeyed instantly, pupils blown wide with lust, body moving purely on instinct. He was mine now, and he’d do anything I told him to. He took my cock into his mouth and sucked. He was very bad at it, so I had to send some small mind pulses with blowjob techniques to his straight brain. And in seconds, he was sucking my cock like an experienced slut.

An old man appeared on the other side of the street while walking his dog. He looked shocked to see his neighbor sucking another man in public. A quick mind pulse his way, and he forgot what he saw.

I grabbed the hunk's head and started to face fuck him until I was near the edge. I quickly pushed him away and ordered him to take off his jeans and underwear, and soon the man was standing naked from the waist down, wearing only his stupid tank top, dumb shades, and cap.

His dick was hard and leaking, he was probably 7 inches. He stood in front of me and I playfully slapped his cock and watched it bounce. He was hard since the first mind pulse.

I then grabbed his balls and pulled on them roughly. With another mind pulse, I had him lying on the back seat of his trunk, his ass sticking out and legs hanging outside the car, just waiting to be used.

"Tell me what you need," I asked him as I caressed his ass, sending one last mind pulse to his fucked brain. His body immediately tensed, his sweaty muscles flexed and his throbbing cock was leaking all over the seat.

He was so aroused that he could barely form words, but he still tried to say what he needed more than anything in his life, "I-I need... to have my ass turned into a pussy, sir!!" He said... or at least tried to say. I didn't have to understand him, because I was the one who put those words in his mind.

I grinned and decided to put him out of his misery and give this poor man what he needed so desperately.

I roughly gripped his hips and fucked his tight ass. He let out a broken moan, his muscular body trembling as he sank down, his tight hole squeezing around me. I groaned, feeling just how snug he was, how his once-untouched body was now molded for my pleasure.

“Oh yeah,” I moaned, thrusting up into him, watching the way his muscles tensed, his lips parted in desperate, mindless pleasure. “You feel that? That’s what you were made for.” I made sure to print this sentence in his brain.

“F-Fuck, yes… I love it,” he gasped.

I grinned, running my fingers on his ass. “Of course you do. You were never meant to be some tough straight man. You were made to be a pussy boy. To be used by real men like me."

His eyes fluttered, my words digging deep into his broken mind, rewriting everything he thought he knew about himself. Pussies didn't arouse him anymore because he was now one himself.

“Say it,” I whispered, leaning down to grab his cock.

“I… I was made for this,” he panted, voice desperate. “To be used… by real men like you!”

“Good boy,” I praised, jerking his cock while I slammed mine into him harder. His moans grew higher, more broken, lost in the pleasure of his new reality. There is nothing I love more than breaking the minds of arrogant straight men like him. I knew that once I was done, he would live only for cock.

With another mind pulse, he came first, his entire body shaking as I filled him up, claiming him completely. His head lolled back, his breath ragged, his body still trembling as he lay there, spent and ruined. I smirked and pulled away, watching my cum drip from his used hole.

"Where were you going before I approached you?" I asked out of curiosity, as I pushed a finger inside him.

"I was going to pick up my kids from school," He answered in a mindless tone.

So he's a dad... I thought. I wouldn't want to destroy a family by turning him into a depraved cock hungry slut, the old me would do this, but not anymore. I sighed. “Looks like you learned your lesson."

A car passed by us and I quickly sent a mind pulse toward the car, making the woman driving forget what she saw.

It was time to give him his last set of commands. I wasn't going to completely let him go unchanged, no, his mind was already too far broken. I was going to give him a double life. So I sent the last telepathic command.

"Listen closely. On the surface, you will continue living as the confident, straight alpha man you’ve always acted. But every time you put on this tank top, your true self will take over your mind. Only when you're wearing this tank top will you know that you’re nothing more than a needy, insatiable pussy boy who needs to be used by real men. You will grow addicted to wearing this tank top, the longer you go without wearing it, the stronger your craving will become. While you're wearing it, all you will think about will be to be a pussy."

I playfully slapped his ass, “Have fun, pussy boy,” I teased, walking away, leaving him there—fucked, leaking, and forever changed.

[st4r-th0ughts]

I’m breaking down, I’m sorry.

masterlist

(platonic) corrupted? Ancient GN! reader cookie x Ancient Heros

Clotted cream Cookie x reader (+implied very very slight one sided Ancients x reader)

BAKENOHANA (NAKISO) ▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။‌‌‌‌‌၊|• 0:31

ׂ╰┈➤

tw/cw: Reader’s a bit of an asshole so be warned, thier also a flirty one. The Beast Cookie is my own OC (personally I don’t want to just refer to them as beast, they and whatnot bc it would be confusing) and some of the cookies in flashbacks are as well. Reader also has anger issues and probably an identity crisis so yay, written before Beast Yeast Ep.8

note(s): not proofread! this takes place in a slightly altered version of the crk timeline. Golden Cheese is present during the Cookie Odessey story, and the request of Reader’s strength is during Cookie Odessey right after Day 4, instead of Golden Cheese’s kingdom being located after the whole Cookie Odessey instead. This doesn’t affect any lore much tbh

special thanks: this entire fic was kickstarted by @brittle-doughie based on thier Virtue of Compassion! Reader. While the story is completely different, your fics are the ones that gave me the motivation to write this.

summary: O Light of Gaiety, tell me so, how do I let go of the sorrows of the future?

ׂ╰┈➤

gaiety, /ˈɡeɪ.ə.t̬i/ happiness and excitement.

sorrow, /sor·​row/ deep distress, sadness, or regret especially for the loss of someone or something loved

——

A gasp escapes you as you stare ahead of you, your soul jam glowing brighter in your scarf accessory, your hand moving close to grip it unconsciously, looking around at the walls, as if they were melting by the second and closing in on your form.

“This again? I’ve been seeing these halls for the last few nights.”

You murmur quietly, your throat feeling dry as you stare at the overwhelming melancholic feeling of the stale air around you, the environment making you feel dulled and sorrowful by the minute.

This wasn’t the first time you’ve come across the place. Ever since you helped Pure Vanilla regain his soul after being corrupted by the Beast of Lies and Deception’s powers, you’ve been having similarly resounding nightmares he’d described in one of your late night talks.

Only this time, there was no one here. And the loneliness of the silence was making you go nuts. You place a hesitant foot forward, and immediately, the abyss shifts to form a hallway. Cracked, paint peeling from its thin, greyed wafer walls, the icing that held the place together slowly melting into puddles, the sounds of soft, despaired whispers echoing through your mind.

You slowly walk through the hallways, and you stop at a turn, and gazing down it, showed you a collection of mirrors, and curiously prompted you to turn and walk down there instead, almost as if you were supposed to.

The reflections were not of you, but of your memories. Cheerful. Happy. Just like your Virtue. Despite the overwhelming feeling of sorrow enveloping you like a cold hug, a smile forms on your face as your hands fondly press against the glass.

The first memory you could set your eyes upon was your ascension as your kingdom’s ruler. You had pledged your oath, swearing that all cookies who inhabited the land of Gaiety and Joy, would be the most joyful, well taken care of cookies in EarthBread. Kneeling down, you had felt the crown settling neatly on your head, fitting perfectly.

Your friends were proud as ever. Pure Vanilla and White Lily were smiling tenderly in joy at your coronation, Dark Cacao, stern as ever, had the slightest hint of whatever he could call a smile on his face. Hollyberry was hosting the widest grin you think a cookie could make, and Golden Cheese was the first to give you a proud speech of you sharing your riches with her, though it was with sheer fondness and no malice.

The next frame housing a mirror was your regaining of your souljam. After the Dark Flour War, your efforts to try and hold your friends together failed, and in a fit of rage at feeling inadequate, and the despair that as the Virtue of Gaiety, you failed to keep your friend’s spirits up and keep them together in dark times, you smashed your souljam into fragments, leaving them to be scattered by the harsh winds of the Sugar Powder Desert as your heart and Virtue chilled to the core.

You ruled your kingdom with the same grace you had before, smiling during public walks and appearances. But within your walls, where only your soldiers and confidants remained, your heart was as cold as stone, mind as scrambled as cookie crumbs on a battle field. Gingerbrave and his friends entered your kingdom to try and speak to you, convince you to return to the Ancient Cookies’ sides to fight Dark Enchantress Cookie, and they’d brought to you your souljam fragments. The sight of it had made you snap, recalling all those terrible memories you had tried so hard to repress, and you’d taken the souljam and smashed it again, sending the group out of the palace with threats of imprisonment and execution.

It was only after Dark Cacao, Golden Cheese’s and Hollyberry forcefully pushed past your guards and Pure Vanilla had pleaded with you to listen to them, to your life old friends. They made you face them head on, even if your weapons did clash in your fury, even as you accused them of turning their backs onto you even as you tried to help them, and on their own citizens. Your soul jam had called out to you, just as gentle and as joyful as it was when you destroyed it.

“Reader Cookie, come. It is time… you open your heart, to your loyal subjects, to your friends. To become the kind, gentle ruler you once were.”

You remember the overwhelming guilt that swallowed you whole at once as the Light of Gaiety spoke to you, hearing your voice in its gentle and tender state that you hadn’t used in centuries made you stumble as you held the cracked gem in your hands, and you recall Pure Vanilla and Golden Cheese’s hands holding you upright as Hollyberry and Dark Cacao stood in front of you to offer support if needed.

“O Light of Gaiety, forgive me. I have made… so many grave errors in my pain and grief. I am not worthy of being one of the Ancient Heroes.”

You had murmured softly, cradling the gem in your hands as the cracks slowly started to heal, and you witness through the mirror at how the Ancients, the cookies you called your closest friends, had such heartbroken expressions on their faces. It made your heart ache as well, though it had been a few months since that event as a quiet sigh left your lips.

“For years, pain has ebbed away at your joy, wearing and chipping you down into a cold and closed off cookie whose hurt is unable to be shared with anyone.”

“Your pain will not go away even if you accept me into your life again, Reader Cookie. But you should trust in the cookies around you. To help you regain your values and virtues of Gaiety, to be the cookie your subjects, your friends, need again.”

The image fades from the mirror as it cracks, your hand jerking away as you sigh quietly. On your scarf’s ribbon, your souljam starts to shake, your eyes darting as you come face to face with another mirror, its corners cracked and some shards even missing, compared to the other pristine and intact mirror that had housed the last two memories.

The imaging was grim. It was the time of when you felt your friends were slowly becoming distant. Shells of the strong, powerful warriors you once knew. In the mirror, it simply reflected your form, hunched over and weeping softly as your souljam laid dark in front of you.

Voices of your friends filled your mind, words not of care and kindness, but of spite and malice you knew they could never direct towards any cookie, much less to you, and you recoil as the glass breaks, your mirror self’s cries echoing faintly throughout the warped hallways.

The weeps slowly ebb away as you realize it was no longer your sobs, but it was of another cookie. Soft, grief filled sobs that would have filled a normal cookie with so much despair and sorrow they could have burst into tears on the spot, unable to move. But you weren’t ordinary. At least, not anymore.

So your step into the room where you could locate the weeping, and your heart stops for a beat. A hunched figure, exactly how you saw yourself in that mirror, crying into their palms as they face away from your form, their front facing the window that cast a dim light over them.

Your souljam starts to shake uncontrollably, and you hold it down with a firm hand as you stepped cautiously to the cookie, their head turning abruptly to face you as tears streaked their sorrowful face, and you jump back.

“Oh Reader Cookie… my last missing piece of my sorrowful soul…”

The mysterious cookie reached out, standing up as their hands reach out to you, stopping as you stepped back, and they tilt their head, a curious but sad look in their eyes.

“You… you seem… familiar. Like we’ve met before.”

You uttered softly, in both subtle awe and disbelief, and the cookie’s voice is soft and grief filled as they reach for your soul jam, which you held firmly as it trembled violently, trying to break free.

“Of course we’ve met before. You… Reader Cookie, are my Virtue.”

Your eyebrow raises in confusion as your ever so faint awed smile disappearing as the cookie stepped towards you, their hands finding your face, feeling you, as if you were their greatest masterpiece.

“Your… Virtue? I don’t understand…”

Your eyes widened in realization. As your eyes meet the mysterious cookie’s, a gasp erupted from your throat as their pale, cream colored eyes gaze sadly into yours.

After the events of Pure Vanilla’s corruption, you had buried yourself in books dedicated to the Beast Cookies, determined to know as much as you could about them to make sure your friends didn’t suffer further tragedies. Nights spent combing through books, skipping meals and locking yourself in your personal study.

Sleepless nights led you to a book that described a cookie from the ones graced with the power of the souljam. That sixth cookie blessed with divine power was the Virtue of Feeling, and was the only one to not be corrupted like the rest of the Beast Cookies, but instead, disappeared off the face of EarthBread after witnessing their friends be corrupted and sealed away.

Dawn Extract Cookie. The cookie described to possess the sweetest and glossiest cream colored eyes in all of EarthBread. One look into them made the cookie feel the emotions of them, whether negative or positive. It was said Dawn Extract Cookie’s souljam had splintered into many pieces as opposed to their beast cookies’ souljams being split into two.

“Of all my souljam fragments, you are the only one that manifested a physical form without my input, and the only that could astray from that fragment without much repercussions.”

Dawn Extract murmured softly, their hands finding your face as they slowly felt every faint crack from battle, every small wrinkle from your joyous smiles, and their hand pulls away as they step back. You finally caught a glimpse of their soul jam. It was identical to yours, but its cracks were visible, it looked like someone had badly glued them together. And its middle was missing.

“No. No. No, this can’t be-”

You stutter as your hand runs through your hair, staring down at the mirror that had appeared at your feet, watching the ripples of the glass contort as your features distort into swirls.

“I have- I have parents! Siblings, i grew up from a freshly baked doughball into a cookie! How could i- be your souljam?”

Your voice trails off into silence, and since entering this nightmare, you feel the sorrow that has been weighing you down start to chip away at your spirit.

“My souljam has given you false memories to pacify the need for knowing your past, your origin. You are my souljam. You are the last of my Virtue.”

Dawn Extract Cookie’s voice is soft, it would be comforting if it was not for the fact that your life as you knew it, as you thought you knew it, was completely shattered.

“Give in to your heart’s sorrow. Give in and allow your grief to become one with mine. You feel guilt. You feel sadness. Let them consume you.”

The Beast murmured, tears trickling slowly down their face in translucent, thin streaks, making them look almost comforting as their hand reached for you, the aura of despair growing stronger.

You snap out of your sorry state. You wouldn’t. You won’t give in. You didn’t fight for your kingdom, against Dark Enchantress Cookie, cry and scream as your friends walked away from you one by one, allowed them to come back into your life, and took back the Light of Gaiety that you’d shattered into pieces.

“No. I am Reader Cookie. I am the Virtue of Gaiety, and my desire to see cookies smile across EarthBread.”

You can’t tell if your affirming yourself, or if your trying to push back against Dawn Extract’s calm words, stepping back as they stepped closer to you, though their steps were slow and calculated, they were not menacing.

“Resisting is futile, Reader. You may hold the Light of Gaiety in your hands, but you are a part of my own powers. You hold Sorrow in your heart, and it will eventually consume you as it did me.”

Dawn Extract’s voice echoed in your mind, ringing in your ears as you recoiled violently, the Beast’s form towering over your crouched figure as you winced as their cold hands gripped your chin, forcing you to gaze into their grief consumed eyes, chilling you to the core.

“Witness, how your Sorrow will consume. Witness how your friends will all perish and become just as twisted as the Beasts whom I called friends.”

You feel yourself fall backwards as visions flash through your mind, and your heart sinks into your chest, your souljam falling into Dawn Extract’s hand as it slowly retracted into the final piece in the Beast’s own gem, your hands reaching blindly as you screamed for your soul jam to return, to not leave like your friends once did.

Hollyberry was first to fall. You watched as her Passion start to slowly waver and finally break, her strong love for her kingdom, her friends, her family, crumbled entirely, and she became indifferent to them, indifferent to the suffering she started to cause.

Dark Cacao fell next. His Resolution was strong and took longer than Hollyberry’s Passion to fade out, but eventually, his determination to keep his kingdom safe, his unwavering care for his subjects, became half hearted, second guessing and delaying both his advisor’s and his decisions, and his kingdom soon crumbled.

Golden Cheese’s Greed soon became corrupted, her need for gold, riches, land and resources making the loyalty and care for her subjects and friends she had placed above all treasures become nothing, meaningless to the Golden Sovereign as they had no monetary value.

White Lily’s Virtue of Freedom soon became a value akin to her dark counterpart, the wretched Dark Enchantress Cookie, but perhaps even worse. She ended up capturing the Faerie Kingdom who once saw her as a hero, under the guise and illusion she was keeping them ‘safe’, and when they rebelled and eventually perished at her hand, she sought to do the same for the rest of Crispia.

Pure Vanilla stood strongest, though his heart broke completely at watching all his friends save for you turn to the dark side, and in his heroic stricken heart, he immersed himself in a world of lies, where none of the bad things that had befallen upon all of you ever took place. His deceitful world, however, ended with corrupted whatever remained untainted of Crispia, causing the whole world to fall and be destroyed in chaos.

You hit solid ground, but you made no move to get up, slowly getting into a half kneel position, tears streaming gently down your face in thin rivulets as the visions plague your mind. You feel your heart slowly breaking, as you desperately tried to deny it.

“No… no… they.. they would never…”

Dawn Extract slowly stepped in front of you, their footsteps light as they came to a halt, and you could hear the sorrow, the pity and sympathy in thier voice as you feel your tears stream faster, their cold hands wiping them away from you in a masked attempt at comfort.

“But they will. It is inevitable. Your friend, White Lily Cookie, has fallen once, though not to her souljam.”

The Beast bends down in front of you, thier glossy cream eyes gazing into your deeply as you feel your heart slowly be wretched further into the depths of inexplicable sadness, your determination that was oh so strong, crumbling further by the second.

“Who is to say your other friends won’t be next? You saw it with your own eyes.

You tried so hard to deny that reality. But this Beast was one who had witnessed thier own friends be corrupted and turn into amalgamations of monstrous, almost demonic beings. This… this was your fate as well. To see all the cookies you loved with your heart be crumbled and destroyed.

“I… what was the point of fighting at all? If we… if we were all simply going to become just as corrupted as the Beasts we battle against?”

You mutter softly, your knees making contact with the ground as you quietly weep into your hands, the tears blurring your vision as you feel your form be swallowed by the darkness of the abyss of despair.

“Is this… how sorrow feels like?”

You whisper to yourself as the coldness of the dark consumes you into its depths, your vision fading to black as you mindlessly reach your hand out to the light that was fading faster by the second, your tears never ending as the abyss embraces you.

—— (Pure Vanilla POV Centric)

Pure Vanilla quickly strode through the hallways of the winding and curling hallways of an unfamiliar place that his souljam was guiding him and his friends through. He’d woken up from a sweet dream where he could fantasize about a world and life where him and his friends never experienced the tragedies and hardships that befell them.

His friends strode quickly behind in equal speed, the Consul of the Creme Republic having the most worried air surrounding him, despite the plainly calm though slightly stressed out expression on Clotted Cream Cookie’s face.

The Ancients have each other glances as he pulled on his sleeve slightly every so often as he gazed around the twisting hallways. They didn’t blame Clotted Cream. After all, he and you, despite the short amount of time you had known each other, had gathered some sweet affection.

It was a rather heartwarming thing to see, honestly. After seeing you break down in their arms after seething at them, regain back your souljam, helping you recover from years of isolation despite being in a kingdom that was built and thriving on your endless love and grace, despite being surrounded by citizen cookies who adored you with all thier hearts.

Pure Vanilla sighed softly as he tapped his staff on the uneven mirrored floors gently, his closed eyes fixating upon a large, ornate mirror with gold plated markings, his Light Of Truth shining and wavering more rapidly than before, and he felt his friend’s soul jams doing the exact same.

The group gathered in the front of the mirror, watching the milky glass swirl before them as their reflection faded and out came the memory that, save for White Lily Cookie and Clotted Cream Cookie, could recognize almost immediately. The day Gingerbrave had came to the other four Ancients in a despaired state, saying that you had smashed your souljam into pieces and sent it to be thrown into the fireplace.

You were pacing around the throne room, muttering angrily to yourself as you gave the Ancients a harsh glare, silencing any words they had tried to get out, your footsteps quick and rapid, your eyes almost staring through them.

“So, you all- come back to your senses only now? Only after decades, only after I establish a beautiful kingdom, where cookies are prospering, running on the streets, and have the best military and political party at my side, you want me to risk it all for a war you don’t even know you can win?!”

You slam your fist into a wall, your generals flinching back at your fury, your closest advisors slowly making their way to your side to calm you down, though you push their hands away with as much controlled rage to get your point across.

“Reader Cookie, you may not like what I’m going to say…”

HollyBerry’s voice rings out, her voice muffled through the mirror’s reflection, White Lily and Clotted Cream’s faces the only ones visibly surprised as the other four winced slightly as they recalled you, the Virtue of Gaiety, loose their temper so quickly.

“…but we are all just as responsible for Dark Enchantress Cookie’s return to EarthBread! After the Dark Flour War, we had done nothing to prevent her return!”

Your form stops in the mirror, and only then, did they all manage to get a vision of your face. Your once graceful and kind face contorted in pure bitter fury and rage as your voice chuckled bitterly.

“We? WE?! We are responsible? Tell me, my DEAR friends, who was the one who tried to keep our crumbling friendship together, and it was STILL futile?! ME! It was only ME, who tried!”

Your voice was shaking, filled with so much hate, rage and sorrow that your advisors themselves stepped back entirely, as you storm towards the Ancients who were standing at the base of your throne steps, gazing at your enraged form with shock.

“You do not- get to lump me with your- your foolish mistakes, when I did everything, EVERYTHING in my power, to keep us together! As friends!”

Your gaze, so piercing, and so fierce that even through the mirror’s glossy reflection, the cookies surrounding them shudder slightly at how your eyes, blazing with fury, if looks could kill, they would drop crumbling two times over.

“Hollyberry cookie, you- left your kingdom, abandoned your Light of Passion, all for exploration, abandoning your kingdom, leaving them vulnerable to attacks, and allowed a dragon- of all things! To take over your kingdom you were once so proud of.”

“Dark Cacao, you allowed yourself to become a- a useless king! You left tribes to fend for themselves, to rely solely on themselves against the terrifying monsters of the kingdom! All for a wall that crumbled the moment the threat you worked oh so hard to keep at bay rose up!”

“Golden Cheese Cookie, you decided instead of accepting your losses, and trying to find your still living subjects, you let yourself be lost in a world of digital bliss where your citizens were stopped in time, suffering the loss of the outside life, of being able to grow. Is that the Golden Sovereign’s Greed?”

“And Pure Vanilla Cookie. Had you not decided to be a- coward, and simply faced your fears head on, we would not be in this situation. And you are all here, asking me to give up all I have left for a war? You don’t even the decent to bring White Lily with you to change my mind. See yourselves out.”

The words were sneered, jeering, almost, as if the very intent was not to make them see the errors of their ways, but to hurt them as much as possible, and make their heart twist and clench in their dough. Even as the imaging fades from the mirror and the soul jams glow, subtly prompting them to move forward, the silence hung over them like a heavy cloud.

It had been a few months since that whole fiasco occurred. Even though, the four eventually did get you to join their side, the tension was still palpable. You refused HollyBerry’s invitations for drinks, avoided Dark Cacao and Golden Cheese’s attempts at talks and discussion like the plague, and Pure Vanilla’s effort were just as fruitless even as he knocked on your door during your stay in the Vanilla Kingdom. During meetings, you barely gave your input, only making the effort to speak and let your old self shine through most when flirting relentlessly with the Consul, much to your old friends’ chagrin. Meals was without your presence, and from what they could gather, you’d only eaten after everyone had been cleared of the hall.

White Lily was no different, even after you had met and reunited in the Faerie Kingdom, you were distant. Barely spoke a word to White Lily or Pure Vanilla, even words exchanged between Gingerbrave and his friends were short and rather cold. They understood, it was evident that while guilt plagued your heart, anger and the feeling of betrayal ran just as deep. Shadow Milk even poked fun at your obvious resentment and behavior, which only served for your negativity to fester deeper.

It was evident your icy exterior was starting to melt away, as Pure Vanilla recalled quietly to himself about his own corruption into the Truthless Recluse, how you had used your own dough as a shield between Gingerbrave, Strawberry and Wizard Cookie, your body cracking as you tried to reach through the Virtue of Truth’s heart to locate the cookie you knew was the kindest out of all of you.

Pure Vanilla had almost broke down after coming back to his senses, seeing how he’d failed to protect his friend again, apologizing repeatedly as he healed your broken wounds, and you’d simply smiled and patted his back reassuringly. The same smile the ruler of the Vanilla Kingdom remembered all so well when he first met you, during better times.

He wonders whether those times will ever come back. Whether the times when the group would get together around a campfire, laughing and smiling, before the burden of being a leader, before the burden of having the purest powers in the whole of EarthBread was entrusted upon you all. Your smile, he was sure, brought just a bit more joy to the Ancient’s faces.

He is snapped out of his thoughts as they come across another mirror, the surface rippling and wobbling as a low hum emitted from it when they tried to move closer to it, prompting the group to step back. The milky white surface cleared, showing you hunched over in your chamber rooms of your castle, they presumed, soft sobs wracking your form in the mirror.

“I- oh Witches, what have I done?”

Your cracked voice echoed in their ears, broken and defeated, and Pure Vanilla immediately recognized the regal clothes you wore, it was the same day that you had torn them apart, ripped their esteem and hope to shreds and thrown them out without a second thought that day.

“I feel so much… anger. I thought I would feel liberated, I felt all my hate drive me to say such terrible things…”

“But I feel empty.”

The imaging fades as the mirror cracks, perhaps to keep your dignity before it is completely wrecked, or a twisted game by the Beast that resides here to infiltrate the cookies’ hearts with sorrow. The only sound that the hallways echoed around them was the subtle weeping that made their hearts fill with an odd melancholy.

fin.

© st4r-th0ughts 2025, I don’t allow reposts, reuploads, translations, or copies.

[archie-sunshine]

TRANSFORMERS STRAGGLERS BELOVED ALREADY. Now's your chance to go off about what's going on with the decepticons over there

EEE THANK YOU!! and YES, FINALLY I CAN RAMBLE ABOUT THE DECEPTICONS!!

sO, as i've said, i'm not the most familiar with the combaticons. but in my research, what's come up the most is that onslaught is a plans guy, a habitual tactician, a danny ocean, etc etc.

and so I have given him leadership of this base of decepticons.

and an impossible challenge.

i'm giving onslaught a crisis of faith about his own ability to plan.

IM PUTTING A CUT BECAUSE THIS IS REALLY LONG BUT ENJOY!

If the autobots stationed at this outpost are disorganized, the decepticons are a mess. None of them are ready for the war to be over, none of them are ready to be STUCK HERE, none of them are ready to be at PEACE with the AUTOBOT SCUM they've been fighting against for almost YEARS NOW.

The general dynamic is that onslaught is really good at being the leader of the combaticons, but he is less good at being the leader of other bots outside of his team because he hasn't focused on building a rapport with any of them. The simple fact is that he assumed they would all be leaving this outpost soon enough, and so didn't bother to bridge the gap between his team members.

He butts heads often with deadlock- because deadlock hates taking orders- but his relationship with slipstream is even worse.

Slipstream is a stealth jet, she's a loner who prefers to just do her job and keep a low profile. She was given this job as an easier placement following a particularly bad failed espionage mission. She was told she would only be making strafing flights for surveillance purposes and occasionally assisting in basic maintenance or sabotage. And then the base received a trio of new seekers and Onslaught, not knowing seekers as well, made her their wing commander arbitrarily.

Those seekers were the rainmakers, a pack of codependant, antisocial, sadistic outlier experiments with incredibly poor social skills who immediately magnetized to her like a bunch of creepy cats. She hates all three of them so much, while they adore following her around and observing her (as in this continuity they're pretty fresh out of the test tube and have lacked any socialization outside of shockwave and being brought to battles.)

Deadlock on the other hand was kicked off of a more elite team by Megatron as punishment for killing his superior officer. He was previously a favourite assassin of Megatrons, and so Deadlock is now seething and holding a massive grudge against the warlord for not only banishing him, but then immediately rolling over and conceding the war right after. He's all knotted up with anger about everything that's going on, when of course, what should happen but the doctor that saved him reappearing!!

yes, yes, stragglers ratchlock real.

While the rest of the crew are bickering and raging about the war being over, Ambulon couldn't be more thrilled about it. He's one of the first on the decepticon side who really embraces the peace. He gets picked on frequently (mostly by the rainmakers, again, more about them to come) and sees his status as a decepticon as barring him from ever fully becoming a legitimate doctor. With the war over, he is the first that begins to mingle with the autobots by way of tutoring under ratchet, and commiserating with first aid.

The combaticons are also a complex lot, with each of them having their own despair surrounding the end of the war.

Vortex is aghast at the end of the fighting. He finds himself breaking into fits of destruction between long periods of apathy. Though he's mostly a character who is used for comedy here, he still struggles with feeling aimless and constantly bored without the war. He and whirl also have a mutually destructive pseudo 'friendship' where they beat the ever living shit out of each other for seemingly no reason.

Swindle is understandably distraught, seeing as his entire business as an arms dealer just went tits up on the cybertronian side. For much of the beginning of the story swindle would be refusing to leave his room, pitching a huge fit about everything being ruined. Eventually, he would be one to advocate for peace with the other base, if only for the financial opportunities it could present.

Brawl is arguably the least affected by the end of the war. He's not stupid, but he is simple, so he knows as long as his fellas are around he's going to be able to find work, and they'll probably just go back to being mercenaries. What really annoys brawl is more the fact that they're stuck here. he's usually the first to jump at an opportunity to fight, and is the one who objects the most when the group finally is forced to work with the autobots. It also goes without saying that he is fiercely loyal to Onslaught, and is usually the first to agree with his boss.

Blast off is conflicted. He is deeply enamoured with onslaught, and admires his leadership skills very much. He is Onslaught's second in command, and he holds that title proudly. He is reserved, and quiet, distant from his teammates despite being incredibly loyal to them. He struggles between feeling relieved that the war is over, and knowing his crew would likely all rather be fighting. He also struggles with a great deal of guilt, knowing that if he really wanted to, he could leave, but he'd be leaving his crew behind.

AND finally, ASTROTRAIN shows up a couple 'episodes in', crashlanding on their planet on his way back to cybertron. Immediately, the decepticons leap to help fix him up and try to brownnose to get him to give them a lift back home. HOWEVER, astrotrain has been doing a lot of thinking on his way back home. He's realizing how much of his life has been spent ferrying people around not getting any time for himself, just being a glorified taxi service for a load of ungrateful jerks....

and then he looks out at this beautiful quiet organic planet with a nice big energon vein, far off from cybertron and all his nagging bosses... and he goes.

"I quit. and im staying right here actually."

:D

BUT YEAH!! thats sort of the deal of all the cons right now, i'll update with drawings of all of them when i can!!

[lunatf-ao3]

HEAT CYCLE ❦︎

Optimus Prime/cybertronian!Reader

[⚠︎]: nsfw, size difference, oral sex, blowjob, heat cycle

I need requests for more content

-

"Optimus~..." You call his name pleadingly, leaning against his neck, behind the chair. "please, please, I need you so much." Muttering between the various wires, you insist.

How long have you been like this, constantly interrupting his work?

It's not your fault, it's the fault of your heat that, after many cycles of tranquility, is attacking you again. Despair invades from your tank to your valve, but Optimus refuses to give you what you desire: him.

"I am sorry, little one. I know it must be hard, but I am afraid to hurt you. You are a petite femme, I am not sure you can handle something my size."

"I wll ride you until it fits." You growl, and Optimus almost looks giving in.

"Just... take some pills, okay? I am busy right now, we can talk later."

"No~! I want you, now!" Another whine, and you brace yourself against him, rubbing your faceplate on his shoulder. "Come on, you do not even have to strain yourself, I will get you on this chair and you can get on with your work, okay? I will not get in the way of your view, please, please, please-"

"Stop." Optimus exhaled, finally turning around in his seat to look at you. Without a word, he pulled you into his lap, hugging you tightly. His interface panel brushed against yours, and you could almost overload there. "I am sorry, my sweet spark."

He gave you a kiss on your helmet and led you out of the room.

Great.

But you are not giving up on that.

You walk in one more time (because you know the long access code perfectly well) and you can hear the old leader sigh. This time, trying a different approach, you crawl under his desk.

"What are you doing?"

"I will suck you, of course."

"...No. Get out of there, now."

"Please!" You caress his panel. "I will do it right, okay? I will leave you alone later, okay?"

With one more exhalation of his vents, he simply stood upright and went on with his work. You take that as a yes.

With caresses as soft as a feather, you open the panel with enough enthusiasm to uncover your valve simultaneously. Delicious, thick and juicy, Optimus's spike greets you, hard and arched as ever, taking it in your servo, you bring it close to your derms.

You don't hesitate to give it a good lick from start to tip, the metallic taste enveloping your glossa. You hum, filling it again and again with well-deserved licks and wet kisses. The length is too long to take it in your mouth completely, but you don't hesitate to give it light licks all over.

"Ngh... Sweet spark..." Optimus grunts, spreading his thighs further apart, giving you much better space to work on his now weeping spike. Semen slides from the cleft of the tip to the saddle, thick and bitter, but are you really going to refuse the taste of your lover? Of course not! You suck the tip deliciously clean, rubbing it on your face.

"Give me some more of your transfluid, will you? You taste so good! So good!! Come on, feed me."

"Just... Shut up- Shut up and keep sucking." Optimus pushes your head and you don't hesitate to obey, taking it in your hands to suck every part of the shaft forgotten, leaving it glistening with your oral lubricant. Thick tears of cum stain the fat length and your servos, which you don't hesitate to clean with your glossa.

Optimus continued to work, stuttering digits as you toiled arduously on his hard spike. Sucking and kissing deliciously, stimulating the sensitive receptors in that area. He still felt a little annoyed that he gave in so quickly to you, just as he felt a little bad about rejecting you in your heat. But he was still determined not to give in to anything else, afraid of hurting your valve. But for now...

Optimus guided your helmet to the tip of his spike, gripping one of your antennae tightly to push his hips into your mouth. You don't complain at all as you take the weeping tip into your warm intake. It feels good, the metal is smooth at the tip, while the rest is accompanied by slight indentations, the sour taste of the transfluid doesn't bother you. You can feel a few drops of lubricant dripping from your valve, preparing you to receive something else.

You suck delicately, enjoying the slight twisting of the leader, going up and down for what you are limited to receive: its tip.

In the meantime, the Prime becomes more and more distracted from his work, confusing letters and writing irregularly. But how could he ignore the little fembot between his legs, sucking him so professionally? It is impossible not to let a few drops of transfluid escape into the warm orifice where only energon should enter.

You look up at the optics, a part of the metal protruding from your cheek, giving him a nice, exciting view.

He himself knows that you have it wrapped around your little finger, he also knows that you know it perfectly well, especially when you convince him so easily and he enjoys it. Actually, why does he resist you? Sighing, he finally steps away from the computer, making room to bring his servos down and stroke your helmet contemplatively. You were good at tending to his tip, but maybe you could go a little lower... Gently but firmly, he pushed your head down to swallow more of his spike.

You moan a little, feeling the components of your intake being pushed aside and accommodating the hard metal going in, barely making it a little less than halfway in. You must admit it's slightly painful, making you spill a few drops of lubricant from your optics, but you're not going to stop for that. You suck as much as you can, twisting your glossa in the tight space.

Optimus moans, a deep, guttural sound that makes your valve drip. It's the first time you've heard him moan, and it's absolutely delicious. Without thinking about missing it, you run your helmet up and down, running what you can up and down his spike while your servo runs the rest.

"That is..." Optimus babbled, stroking and playing with your antennae awkwardly. A few drops of transfluid lubricate your lips.

You increase the speed, squeezing it down your throat harder for what seemed like hours.

Until finally the overload attacks you. His servo pushes your head all the way down as he releases the sweet juice of his ecstasy straight into your intake, your auditory sensors barely able to process the moans.

Your moans are heard only when the transfluid spills from between your dermas, Optimus pulls out his spike and lets the rest of the thick semen adorn your faceplate.

"Uhm... You look beautiful like this." He caresses you before carrying you, sitting on his lap. "I think I am ready to get you ready for me now."

Another victory for you.

[fairene]

Fic idea!! maybe some sick lando? like taking cares of him, kinda overlapping with Austrian Grand Prix?

i love your writing; am always rereading it and still have the same effect as reading the first time :))

sweet love / ln4

anon!!! i love this idea.

lando norris x f!reader

no use of y/n, as always.

a/n ⋯ felt the most grueling muse for this as lando has been sick. needed to spill out my love for this man. he needs all the support he can get for the race tomorrow! took a break from writing beneath the moonlight, too, just for a brief time. i wrote this whole thing at work haha. as usual, reader's looks are left up for interpretation, and whatever outfit you choose. hope you all enjoy, cheers!

warnings ⋯ no smut, kissing, anxiety.

wc ⋯ 2.3k (unedited.)

this weekend, you knew, was going to be difficult. within the past few days from barcelona’s grand prix, lando had come down with something. he woke that morning beside you, snoring louder than usual, with a hoarse voice and a congested nose. it startled you upon waking, thinking that it would be much worse than you suspected. 

ultimately, you believed it was.

when you were getting ready this morning, taming your hair and throwing on a relaxed fit for the sprint race, you were watching him. you watched him from the ensuite, hunched over the side of the bed with his head in his hands. he sniffled and blew his nose relentlessly. 

your shoulder leaned against the bathroom’s door frame, his hoodie covering your figure completely. with arms wrapping around your body, your head lolled to the wooden plaster. “lan,” your voice came soft, rugged with the toils of sleep. 

he turned to face you, slinging his legs on the end of the bed. he replied with a small ‘hmm?’ and you felt your heart wrench. 

he shouldn’t race today. he shouldn’t. but you knew he had to. this wasn’t a sport where you could simply take days off, but looking at lando in his disheveled state had you overcome with worry. 

you let out a sigh when you approached him, running a hand over his shoulder. he relaxed into your touch, needing it now more than ever on this cloudy morning. you shuffled your way between his thighs, settling above him. you captured his face between both your hands, angling him to look up at you.

what you were met with was a sea of despair and disappointment. his eyes were bruised, bloodsohot, weak. but your lando wasn’t a weakling. this was an obstacle for him to overcome, and you’d help him in any way that he needed. 

 “don’t,” he said, attempting to shake off your grip. but you remained strong and firm, unrelenting to his disapproval. “don’t want to get you sick.” 

you scoffed. “you think i care?”

“you should.”

you shook your head. with both of your thumbs you swirled circles across his scruff of a stubble. “i care about you.”

he let his weight fall limp against your body. his entire chest leaning against your abdomen, head nuzzling just beneath your breasts. you combed through his curled, mahogany hair, soothing him the best you could before you decided to make him breakfast. 

he groaned into you, letting you know of his adequate discomfort, and sniffled a few more times. you finally gained the strength to to lift his head, curling a hand around the back of his neck, the other beneath his chin. his stubble had grown long and itched at your fingertips, but the sensation was more than welcome. 

your eyes were connected with one another again. he blinked slowly, his pupils blowing wide. you looked angelic looming above him, stroking the rough skin of his face. he’d never felt so much ease as he had before beneath your hands. your wondrous, careful hands. he had so much love for you, and it only grew tenfold when he saw how worried you were. worried that his sickness evolved to an ailment of his performance. he decided then that he would try his hardest for you. 

“i love you.” he whispered, turning his head to the side to kiss the open palm of your hand. he let his mouth wander up your wrist, kissing the vital veins that ran beneath your skin. your heart was thummering at a stable pace, calming him much further from his rampant anxieties for the upcoming sprint race. 

you knew he meant his words with his entire heart, and the universe combined. you were awed by his courage to want to race today–not that he had much of a choice– but you knew that he would perform to his utmost capabilities. you were proud of him, though the race wasn’t starting for a few more hours. 

“and i love you, baby,” you breathed, sucking in a tight breath when he kept kissing up the length of your arm. his lips were tender, caring, a way that he expressed just how much he meant to you. “come on, i’ll make you some soup.” 

he had a spur of energy at those words and didn’t hesitate to rise to his feet. he stood a bit taller than you, and planted a kiss on your forehead. his mouth lingered at your hairline, his nose brushing through the strands of your hair. you savored this moment. hands coming to his chest, you gripped at the fabric of his shirt. 

“you’ll be okay.” you said the words not only to consolidate him, but to soothe yourself. he hummed a soft sound of approval, music to your ears, and kissed your forehead once again. 

“get dressed. your soup’ll be done soon.” 

he sighed a soft thank you when you detach yourself from his grasp. you made your way to the small kitchen, and began to work with the ingredients you had on hand. lucky for you, you had ordered an instacart order for prepping dinner. you had everything that you wanted and more, and couldn’t be more thankful that you had prepared. you had a feeling that with his illness, the only thing that could make him feel better was a warm cup of soup. 

into the pot went the essentials. stock, protein, and over the burner it was lit. it wasn’t until another hour that the soup was ready to eat, but you had gotten to work hastefully. 

lando emerged from your shared bedroom and immediately aimed for you. his arms wrapped around from behind you, riding up the expanse of your body, gripping at his most favorite parts of you. his hands were tight as they held on, desperate to feel you, and you leaned into him as you stirred the goodies in the pot. 

“smells delicious.” he commented, chin coming to rest on your shoulder. you smiled, angling your head to kiss his cheek. 

in only just a few minutes you had plated the soup for him in a cup from the cupboard. he was eager, but couldn’t find himself to sit down. he was latched on behind you the entire time, littering tender kisses down the column of your throat. you noticed that he became touchy, needy, when he was sick. not that you were complaining, just about ready to give him the whole world if he asked. 

“come on, lan,” you urged him, placing the bowl at the table for him with a spoon and napkin. “gotta eat. we’re leaving soon.” you had checked the time an he only had a half hour to eat before the car would be here. 

his head buried into your shoulder. his words muffled against your sweatshirt–his– “don’t wanna.” if you heart could shatter even more, it split into pieces. you knew he was struggling, and he would only share these disparities with you. 

your hand came to hold the side of his face. you squeezed his cheek. “i know.” 

he finally sat down, tucking himself against the table, and began to eat. he was in heaven, truly, with how your soup tasted. it brought back nostalgic memories for him when he was a boy, and it could only be described as euphoria. a feeling or state of intense happiness.

he made a sound in the back of his throat, guzzling the soup with earnesty. “fuckin’ good, baby, thank you.” 

you smiled, coming to rub your hand along his back. he was in his mclaren kit, the papaya color shimmering beneath the kitchen lighting. 

it didn’t take him much longer to finish. you had filled his water bottle for him, full of icecubes, to soothe his burning throat. you even gave him some lozenges to pocket. he washed his dish and the pair of you moved in comfortable silence. your eyes never left him, as if you were waiting for him to change his mind to race today.

but he didn’t. and you could only hold his hand tight when you left the hotel room, the door shutting quietly behind you. 

you arrived at the track and were met with the onslaught of paparazzi. lando clung to you closer than usual, hiding his face from the shutters of photographs. instead, you took the heat, and even talked to the paparazzi that wished to speak with you. 

you took up the majority of the media for the morning walk to mclaren hospitality. with a plastered smile and good manners, you took all the selfies you needed. you were happy to do it, but your mind wandered elsewhere. lando loomed quietly, eerily taught, and it worried you even more. he hadn’t said a word except for a few pleasant hellos. 

arriving through the pitlane, you joined with alexandra. she was bubbling with happiness, a ray of sunshine, and she cleared the dark clouds of worry from your shoulders.

“how’s he feeling?” she asked after giving you a greeting of dual cheek kisses. you crossed your arms with a shrug, mclaren hat atop your head to hide your woes. 

“not well.” 

she let out a soft sight, offering you a brief reprieve. “well, i’m here for you and him. anything.” you thanked her sincerely, looking around for your british driver. he was waiting for you, standing in conversation with will, his engineer, and his brows uplifted. it was a desperate attempt for him to urge you over without his words. 

you responded quickly, bidding alexandra a quick goodbye with a hug, and moseyed over to your boyfriend. you tucked an arm around his waist and he topped your cap with a kiss. you could feel the pressure of his lips, hot and clamoring, and squeezed his waist. 

in the heart of the hospitality, lando was still hovering behind you. he’d been needed for press, but he denied as much as he could. 

you were standing by the coffee station, prepping a cup of tea for him. the water boiled as he scrolled on his phone, sniffling as quietly as he could with an occasional cough. 

prepared to his liking you snapped the plastic top on. you swirled it a bit with a wooden stick and handed it to him. he glanced at you, unexpectant of the treatment, and he smiled for the first time that day. 

“you’re an angel, you know that?” you laughed softly. it seemed like one of the most quiet moments you could muster for the days activities. 

“go do your press. i’ll be here when you come back.” 

he leaned down to kiss your cheek. you pulled his chin back between your fingers and kissed him fully. your lips on his, it was a kindhearted gesture, one that filled him full of comfort, and washed away the squall of his anxiety falling away. he tasted of the soup you made him, and smelled of his cologne that you loved so much. 

his forehead leaned against yours. his nose brushing your own. he took a deep breath in and nodded. you did, too, encouraging him further. 

he left your side with an “i love you,” and you didn’t see him for another hour. 

he came back in his fireguard, prepared to hop in his car for the race. you met up with him, fixing his collar and brushing off the excess rubber from the car. you could feel his beating heart beneath your fingers, your bottom lip catching beneath your teeth. he saw it then, just how anxious you were. 

“i’ll be okay.” 

the words meant a great deal to you, but it did little in the grand scheme of your concern. you nodded your head. 

“you’ll be okay.” you agreed. though you couldn’t help but think of the worst things that could happen, and the guilt that you would carry. “tonight we’ll watch a movie, yeah? more soup when we’re back, too.” your fingers wrapped around his neck. 

he smiled again, cheeky and toothy. you loved him so much, and he you. “you’ve got it all planned, don’t you?” 

you knew he was making an attempt to lighten the mood. you allowed it, the sun shining on your darkness. 

“something for you to look forward to out there.” you offered in return. he took a final deep breath in, and you took an inhale. you wanted to take his exhaustion from him. you’d take it all. 

you reached your lips to kiss the scar across his nose. then, to his lips. he leaned into you, deepening the connection. your hand came to cup the back of his neck. you were lost in one another for the moment, and that was okay. it was tribulating to see him go out there, but you’d be cheering him on. you’d always cheer for him. your man, your man. 

“ice cream, too?” he asked against your mouth. you chuckled.

“of course. anything that helps.” 

he kissed you again. teeth clashing with yours, tongue daring to swirl against yours. “this helps.” he promised, hand against your back pulling you closer. but you heard the bell, an alarm that meant your time was up. 

you broke the kiss, but lathered two more onto both of his cheeks. 

“let it rip, baby.” 

and he did. with the thought of your evening on his mind, he’d do his best during the race. it was a tough battle, but he would do anything to taste your sweet lips again.