#i need to marinate in FACE for a while longer

[jmdbjk]

Face-off

YOONGIIIIII!!!! (doing my best JK imitation)

More about Yoongi next but right now...

I can't get Face-Off, off my mind. Jimin reinforced to us that this album was about things he was feeling and going through so naturally that colored how I interpreted the lyrics and tone of the songs on my first listen. This is what I wrote back on March 25 about it:

Maybe he once trusted himself but in this time and place in which he finds himself, he questions what is he doing? and second guessing himself. Day in and day out, the days are all the same nothingness. Hiding his feelings, faking it, pretending it was all ok. It’s all cool. It’ll be all right. He has said many times he looks back at that time and thinks he could have done more for the fans. Being hard on himself. ... Face-Off feels like it could have been a purging song when he wrote it. A little primal, you know… just scream, get it out. Painful but cathartic. 

After several weeks now, after being exposed to even more promotional content and interviews and everyone else's take on the songs and album, I can't get the multiple layers of interpretation out of my head.

In one of his interviews, he said the carnival music at the beginning of Face-Off was just something he thought would be interesting. But you could also think of it as the beginning of his self-awareness... his sudden epiphany of his situation and mocking himself as a clown when he was living like a fool.

I originally felt all of the lyrics of the song were directed at himself, he was talking about betraying himself, but was it really friends or people he trusted who betrayed him?

However you want to think about the source of the betrayal, he realizes he had been a fool to trust, the song conveys an overwhelming humiliating feeling of betrayal. He was angry and hurt. And he lashed out.

We know Jimin is a deeply feeling person, so how do you escape the deep anxiety of humiliation, anger and shame? How does he erase the thought that he was too blind to see someone taking advantage of him?

He turned to drinking? He didn't want to be sober. Kill the emotions. Similar to the lyric in Like Crazy: "emotions on ice."

It seems like there was a specific day that was the climax of this betrayal... "a beautiful night" where he finds himself or maybe in other words, reaches a turning point where he can control all the turmoil, feels relief.

"Even though you test me...even though you kill me... even if you stab me more" are highly vicious and violent expressions. A determination to survive no matter how much it hurts. Could be talking to himself, his inner demons, or could be speaking about these people who betrayed him... or could be talking about haters in general.

Whatever this deeply emotional event was for him... that he wrote a song about ... I believe it impacted him in a way that significantly shapes who he is now.

The more I dwell on the lyrics, the more I think about how awful that moment in time must have been for him.

All that being said, multiple interpretations of this song live in my head simultaneously as I listen to it. For me, there is no black and white to what the song means. The meanings and interpretations flow back and forth. He created a great song with strongly emotional lyrics and I'm very proud of him.

[strang3lov3]

Bedridden

If you had cough syrup, you’d use that to put his ass to sleep. But you don’t, so you decide to utilize a different technique, one that always successfully incapacitates a man. 🍆💦❤️‍🔥

Joel is sick and refuses to rest, so you knock him out the best way you know how. (5.4k)

Tags - smut, lotsa sexual tension, blow jobs, pussy pronouns, teasing, fingering, unprotected piv, riding the sick old man’s cock, creampie, non-graphic descriptions of being sick. JOEL DOES THE DAD SNEEZE. coughing, fevers. That’s all. Joel is stubborn and grumpy while you take care of his old as fuck ass. Arguing with the old man, forcing the old man to bathe, forcing the old man to eat and drink, forcing a thermometer in the old man’s mouth. Joel bitching you out the whole time. Joel is kind of exactly like Dennis in IASIP when the gang gets quarantined. Fic Help - My usuals! @beefrobeefcal, your unhinged comments on the doc were the best part. and @endlessthxxghts thank you for your help <3 A/N - Heyyyyyyy. I promised this fic yesterday and then didn’t deliver. Sorry. It just needed to marinate in the doc a little longer or something. It’s been a bullshit ass few days and I’m,,,,handling it. Anyway, I’ve been sick as balls so that’s how this fic came about. Everybody wash your hands 🧼

There’s a fine point late in the year, right after summer turns to fall. You can fall asleep with the window over your bed cracked open just an inch to let the crisp, cool air blow over your face as you cocoon yourself in blankets. In the mornings you wake to that same breeze and the birds chirping, though less and less as they fly south for the upcoming winter. 

Not this morning, though. This morning, you’re awoken by a chesty, hacking cough coming from outside your window. You sigh as you get out of bed and push the curtains away from the window to get a better look at what the hell is going on out there. 

And it’s just your neighbor, Joel. You should have guessed it’d be him, you heard his earth shattering, deafening sneeze the other day when you waved to him as you walked by his house. Joel waved back at you with the same hand he sneezed into. Ew. 

Everyone’s getting sick lately, it goes around quickly in Jackson. Always does - it starts with the kids and works its way through the community, and a good four to six weeks are filled with endless sneezing and coughing and mucus.

Joel’s coughing up his lungs as he rakes up the leaves in your yard, a job he’s seemingly assigned himself, because you sure as shit didn’t ask him to do this. He has a habit of taking on your chores and home maintenance out of his own frustration. 

You pull a robe over your pajamas and slide on a pair of slippers, then leave out of the front door to greet Joel. “Good morning, Joel.” 

Joel clears his throat. “S’actually noon, lazy ass. ‘Bout time ya woke up.”

“Wanna tell me what you’re doing?”

“Exactly what it looks like.” He sniffles and wipes his nose on his sleeve. Gross. “M’workin’.” 

“Yeah, I see that. But you sound sick.” 

Joel ignores the accusation, “Your yard looks like shit, by the way,” he says. “Wouldn’t kill ya to rake once in a while. ‘Stead of makin’ me do it.” 

“You choose to do this. I don’t make you do anything,” you argue, rolling your eyes. It’s funny, though. Joel’s turning into the caricature of the old man angrily shaking his fist at kids playing on his lawn. All crotchety and pissed off about nothing. You step closer to him and wrap your hand around the handle of the rake, pulling it towards yourself. “Besides, Mother Nature put those leaves there for a reason,” you add. 

“Sure, smartass. For you to ignore and for me to clean up. Now, give it,” Joel tugs the rake back. Whatever. You let him. Joel rakes more of your leaves into the pile he’s created, then doubles over in another coughing fit. You rub your palm on his back, patting him gently. He’s sweating through his flannel. “Oh, Christ. Fuck me.” 

“Joel, you look awful.”

You help him stand up, “You’re a terrible flirt, darlin’,” Joel replies dryly. But he knows you’re not wrong. He saw in the mirror how pale he looked this morning, the dark circles around his eyes. 

“Oh, shut up.” You press the back of your hand against Joel’s forehead, all sweaty and warm. “You’re burning up, Joel. You’re sick.” 

“I am not sick,” Joel protests through another cough. “I’m fine. How ‘bout you worry ‘bout yourself ‘stead of fussin’ over me.”

“You’re hacking up a lung in my yard. I’ll worry about you all I want, thank you.”

In response, Joel grumbles something you can’t quite make out. You roll your eyes and take the rake from him, dropping it on the grass. “My rake,” Joel murmurs, annoyed and defeated. With your work clearly cut out for you, you take his hand and lead him into your house. “Aw, hell. What’re you doin’ to me.” 

“Taking care of you,” you reply.

“Didn’t sign up for this bullshit,” Joel complains. “I don’t need takin’ care of.”

Oh, he’s a peach. Most men, when sick, are total babies - pathetically crying about their headaches and stomachaches to women who deal with the same symptoms on a monthly basis. It’s charming, truly. But not Joel, though. In his stubbornness, Joel refuses to ever admit when he’s sick, like he’s got something to prove. Can never let himself be taken care of, because that’s his job - to take care of others. Always has been. 

Once inside, you have Joel take off his boots, then usher him to the bathroom with a hand on his back, his flannel damp with sweat. “Sit.” You reach for Joel’s shoulders and push him down, forcing him onto the lidded toilet. You crouch down at the bathtub and plug the drain with the stopper, then turn the water on - not too hot, not too cold. “Yeah, this is good. This’ll make you feel so much better.” 

“Oh, c’mon. Turn off the damn water. I’m not takin’ a bath.” 

“You are, too.” 

“Am not.” 

“Joel,” you bite. Joel parrots your name back in the same threatening tone.

“We’re breaking that fever one way or another, Joel. So you bathe yourself, or I’ll do it.” 

Joel cocks an eyebrow. “Oh, will ya, now?”

You go quiet, no retort to his comment. Heat rises to your cheeks and you focus on the bathtub filling with water to avoid Joel’s taunting gaze. After a long enough silence passes, Joel changes the subject. “I don’t have any clean clothes, y’know.” 

“Then I’ll grab you some from your house,” you mumble.

“Mm,” Joel grunts. “Got an answer for everything, don’tcha?”

You glare. Joel glares too. You fold your arms across your chest and raise your eyebrows at him. You are not losing this battle. 

Joel sighs in defeat. “Alright, go on an’ get, then. I’ll take the fuckin’ bath if it’ll get me fifteen minutes away from you obsessin’ over me. There. Happy?” 

“Happy.”

You leave Joel in the bathroom to bathe himself, closing the door behind you. Still wearing nothing but pajamas and a robe, you change quickly into a hoodie and jeans, then leave through your front door for the second time.

Joel’s house is right next to yours, so it’s not a long walk. Mentally, you’re kicking yourself for your stupid threat to bathe Joel. The way he responded to it, ‘Oh, will ya?’ and how bashful that made you, the embarrassment written all over your face in big, black, permanent marker. Your crush on the older man is obvious, and Joel, never the gentleman, will jump at any opportunity to make you squirm. Like when he catches your eyes lingering on him for a little too long, he’ll tease you for it. “S’rude to stare, y’know,” he’ll taunt, always with that stupid fucking grin on his face. Smile lines framing his cheeks, crows feet handsomely peeking at the corners of his eyes. You really need to stop setting yourself up for these things. 

Once in Joel’s house, you head upstairs for his bedroom and rifle through his dresser drawers for some comfy clothes. You pick out a pair of plaid boxers, some gray sweatpants, and a navy waffle-knit henley. You bunch up his clothes and inhale, Joel’s natural smell still lingering in the clothes, even washed. 

In his kitchen, you notice some vegetables sitting out on his countertops. Carrots, potatoes, onions. You grab those too, then check the fridge for leftover chicken or turkey or something. He usually has some, and usually brings it to you after he’s had his fill. “This is for you, trouble. Cause y’don’t eat enough,” he’ll gruff. “Would you like me to heat it up for ya?” And whether you say yes or no, he always does. It seems to make him happy or fulfill him somehow, so you let him take care of you like that. If only he’d let you return the favor.

Bingo. There’s chicken in old Tupperware right on the top shelf, and yesterday’s date written in Joel’s terrible handwriting from an old, dried up Sharpie. You take that too, then go back home. 

You leave Joel’s food you stole on the kitchen table and stop at your linen closet for a fresh towel. You knock on the bathroom door, “Joel?”

“Yeah, darlin’.”

“I have your clothes. And a towel.”

“Good. I need those,” Joel says. “C’mon in, then.” 

You open the door, averting your eyes from Joel’s naked body in the bathtub. “Relax. M’not gonna let you see somethin’ you ain’t ‘sposed to.” He’s got his hands covering his manhood, the rest of himself on display - toned biceps, veined forearms. His belly is pillowy and hairy and his legs look so long, all bare like this. His toes peeking out of the soapy bathwater. You set the towel and his clothes down on the toilet, stealing an even longer look at him when you think he doesn’t notice. “I see ya snoopin’, trouble. Wanna take a picture?”

You roll your eyes and ignore the offer, turning your attention to Joel but keeping your eyes focused on his face. His hair is slicked back, and his grays pop out against the rest of his dark hair, little ringlet curls at his neck. The asshole is criminally handsome. 

“Are you feeling better?”

“I feel fine. Like I’ve felt all day,” Joel lies. His body betrays him instantly when another cough wracks through him. 

“Right. Well, you smell better, at least.” 

Joel rolls his eyes, “Nice one, sweetheart. Thanks. Now scram, so I can get dressed.” 

You leave the bathroom, shutting the door behind yourself again. You can hear the sound of the bathtub draining and Joel getting out of the tub as you stop at the linen closet again, this time grabbing some queen sized sheets and pillowcases. 

In your living room, you pull some cushions off of your sofa and pull out the built-in bed, then dress it with the sheets and an old floral quilt. You cover your own pillows in the pillowcases, then fluff them nicely and set them up for Joel, who’s leaving the bathroom now, combing his hair back.

“Stole your comb,” he says, tossing it for you to catch. He stops in the living room and looks at the pull-out bed that you made up, the corners of the sheets tucked in and everything. “The hell’s all this?”

“Exactly what it looks like,” You mock his words from earlier. “Your bed.”

“You’re bein’ ridiculous. I ain’t even sick.”

You ignore Joel and point to the bed. “Get in.”

Joel rolls his eyes but gets in the bed anyway, springs squeaking under his weight. “M’not gettin’ in this bed ‘cause I’m sick or ‘cause you’re makin’ me. Just feel like sittin’.” 

“Sure, Joel,” you sigh. “How much water have you had today?”

“Plenty.”

“How much is plenty?”

“It’s enough,” he snaps impatiently. You leave him just for a second to fill a glass with some water, then bring it to him. Joel pushes the glass away, “I said I’ve had enough.” 

“I’ll decide what’s enough, now here–” you put the glass into his hand, “Drink.” 

Joel drinks the entirety of the glass, glaring at you the entire time. Good god, if looks could fucking kill. The cool water soothes his scratchy, sore throat, but Joel won’t tell you that. “You’re a tyrant, sweetheart,” he tells you, voice raspy and low. What he doesn’t tell you, however, is that if the shoe were on the other foot and you were the sick one right now, he'd be just as overbearing over your health. Probably worse. 

You pout mockingly at Joel as you take his glass. “Stay here. Don’t get up.” 

You get up from the bed to go into the kitchen and begin preparing a soup for Joel to soothe his aching throat. You start by dicing onions, then chopping some carrots. You toss them in a large pot with some butter, letting the vegetables soften. You’ve even got some leftover bread you made yesterday, so you turn on your oven to heat it up. You can hear Joel getting restless, tossing and turning in the less than comfortable bed. Probably should have turned on a movie for him, left him a book or something to occupy his restless mind. “You okay?”

“M’fine. Mind your business.” 

You open Joel’s Tupperware and chop up his chicken into little bits. When you look up, Joel’s out of bed. You scoff. He’s forcing open your window, grunting as it squeaks. “Joel, what did I tell you? Get your ass back in that bed.”

“Relax, would ya? M’tryin’ to get some air in here.” Joel successfully forces the window open, and cool air blows into your tediously warmed home. “House is a fuckin’ oven.”

“Yeah, well, that’s probably your fever talking, dumbass. Put my window down.” 

“I really outta fix this window for ya. Ain’t good to leave it like this. I’ll get my tools an’ I–”

You march across the kitchen and into the living room, knife in hand and using it to point to the bed. “Joel.”

“You scare me,” Joel mumbles, raising his arms in surrender. He closes the sticky window for you, then you march him back to the pullout. Before Joel lays down, he glances in the kitchen at what you’ve been cooking. He heard the sounds of you chopping, but with his nose all congested he can’t smell enough to hazard a guess as to what you’ve been making. Joel narrows his eyes at the stolen Tupperware on your table, the carrots and onion peels to the side, and recognizes it all as his. “Is that my…?” 

“Just lay down, Joel.” 

“Did you take that from my fridge?” 

“I did.”

You’re completely shameless about this, there’s not even a half-assed attempt at lying your way out, and Joel’s beside himself. “You stole from me, you little–” You urge Joel into bed, fluffing the pillows behind him as you ignore his tantrum. “You are unbelievable. I could throttle you, you know that?”

“Go ahead, Joel,” you challenge. A slight breeze could knock this sick old man down to his knees. You tuck Joel into the sheets, then adjust the quilt over him again. And this time before leaving him, you grab an old book of word searches in a basket under an end table. “Here.” You toss it to him along with a dull pencil. That should keep him busy.

Back in the kitchen, you’re still working on Joel’s soup. It’s bubbling away on the stove, and you’ve just finished making egg noodles to make the dish a little heartier. Something to stick to his ribs. It hits you then, that you don’t hear sniffling or coughing. Joel’s gone quiet, suspiciously so. 

And lo and be-fucking-hold, Joel’s up again. This time, with tools. Tools that you don’t have, tools that he must have snuck out and grabbed from his home at some point. “Joel!” 

“There,” Joel says, moving your window up and down seamlessly. “Window’s fixed.” 

“How many times do I have to say it?” 

“How about you try a ‘thank you’, huh?” Joel shoots back.

You shoo him back to bed. You slice a bit of warm bread, then ladle some soup into a bowl and bring it to him with a spoon. “Eat,” you tell him. 

Joel eats a spoonful, and it’s written all over his face how much he enjoys it, the warm broth relieving his sore throat. “So what’d you poison it with, huh?”

“Oh, you’re such a dick.” 

Joel smiles, only teasing. “M’sorry. S’just that you shouldn’t be doin’ all this for me, s’all.” Joel squeezes your knee comfortingly. “Thank you. I mean it, darlin’.” He’ll let you feed him, but no more than that. You’re too sweet for your own good. “S’good soup.”

“I’m glad you like it, you asshole.” You smile too, and push some of Joel’s hair out of his face. He finishes his bowl of soup, even has a second one. You take his bowl away and wash it at the sink.

“Should let me do that,” Joel says, following you into the kitchen. “Ain’t that how it works? One cooks, the other cleans.” Joel bumps you to the side and takes the soapy dish from your hands.

“Maybe another time,” you offer, attempting to take back the bowl. “Don’t want your germs on my dinnerware.” But Joel holds on tight, so you let him wash the dish. Since he wants to die on this hill. So you dry your hands, then feel his forehead once again. You frown, displeased that the bath didn’t work at curbing his fever at all. He’s still burning up. “I’ll be right back.” 

You go to your bathroom and open the cabinet vanity, where you have an old Walgreens thermometer, the paint all smudged off. You wash it with soap and water in the sink, then return to Joel. Amazingly, you find him in the bed doing his word search puzzle, and you didn’t even have to tell him to go lay down this time. 

The bed creaks under you as you sit down next to him. You put his book down, “Open,” you tell him, thermometer in hand.

“Oh, c’mon now,” Joel complains. “Get that thermometer outta my face.”  

You shake your head no, and tug on Joel's chin so that he opens his mouth. You place the thermometer under his tongue and he closes his lips around it, staring daggers at you the entire time thermometer reads his temperature. 

He’s so handsome. Big, sparkling brown eyes underneath brows knit together in irritation. Pouting lips. Age looks good on him, perfectly both softens and enhances his rougher edges.

The thermometer beeps. You read the temperature, 102.3°F. Why Joel’s even upright with a fever like this is a mystery, but that’s men for you. Fucking idiots. “That’s a hell of a fever you’re running, Joel.”

“You’re full’a shit. Gimme that.” Joel sniffles and snatches the thermometer from you to read the number for himself. He shrugs. “S’old. Probably faulty. Can’t trust it.” Joel covers his mouth with his elbow and coughs loudly. 

“You’re old and faulty too, Joel. Look at you.” You offer him a handkerchief to wipe his nose. “You’re falling apart.” 

Joel scowls at you before blowing his nose. You leave him once more, this time to bring him a cool, damp rag. You press it against his forehead, and Joel closes his eyes. “Does that feel nice?”

“No. Quit that.” 

But Joel’s body betrays him. He’s sighing in relief, and his tensed muscles loosen. His breathing, while still shallow, has slowed as much as it can, soft belly rising and falling with steady breaths.

“Are you falling asleep?” 

“No, I’m not. M’not tired,” Joel argues. He tries adjusting the now lukewarm rag, warmed by his body heat.

“You should sleep.”

“Nah.”

 You take the damp rag off of Joel’s forehead and flip it so that the cooler side soothes his hot, feverish skin. “You know, Joel, I think this is why god made women. To take care of stupid, sick men like you.”

“Hm. Could be so. But I think he sent you to me as a punishment of sorts.” 

“Is that so? A punishment?”

“S’right. An’ some day, you’ll fool some poor man into marryin’ you and he’ll have to put up with this same shit the rest of his life. I don’t envy that sorry bastard one bit.” 

“Oh, I know,” you coo, wiping away a droplet of water that rolls down his temple. “You tell me all about it, Joel. Tell me how terrible it is.”

“Oh, I intend to.” Joel continues his tirade, bitching and moaning about how you're doing too much, that none of this is necessary. ‘Quit fussin’ over me’ and so on.

You know that after this, Joel will try to leave you, go home and fiddle with things in his home that aren’t broken - or worse yet, he’ll tinker with the things in yours that he deems in need of fixing. Squeaky door, creaky floor panels. You listen to his slight wheezing, his sniffling, his voice all raspy and broken. He really does need to rest, the poor man. 

If you had cough syrup, you’d use that to put his ass to sleep. But you don’t, so you decide to utilize a different technique, one that always successfully incapacitates a man. 

You remove the damp rag from Joel’s head and set it on the coffee table behind you. Joel’s eyes are shut as he takes shallow breaths, and you trace lazy patterns on his stomach, inching your way down, down, until you’re rubbing his warm bulge, feeling him stiffen beneath your touch. “Goddamnit, what the hell are you doin’ t’me, now?” Joel groans. He takes your wrist and squeezes it gently in his grip.

“Nothing, Joel,” you answer innocently.

 “Bullshit, it’s - you’re - oh, fuck.” Joel bucks into your palm. You slide your hand beneath his sweatpants to touch his bare cock, amused at how Joel decided against wearing boxers today. “You’re killin’ me, sweetheart. You gotta, you can’t–”

“Shhh,” you hush him. You drag your nails through his patch of coarse hair, playing with those long and wiry hairs. You palm his cock again, half hard and growing harder by the second. Before this goes further, you tug his sweatpants down his thighs. “Lift up for me, Joel.”

Joel lifts his hips and you tug his sweats down the rest of the way, then continue touching him. You spit into your hand and pump him from top to bottom, taking special care to gently massage his balls when you reach the base of his cock. “Ohh, darlin’. Oh lord.” 

Joel’s stiffened to full length now. You kiss the tip of his cock, all the way down his shaft before licking your way back up, one long, fat stripe. You swirl your tongue around the head and dip your head, teasing him with it as you bob your head up and down, taking more and more of him down your throat with each pass.

Joel moans, his sick voice breaking a little. He keeps a heavy hand on your bobbing hand and wonders what the hell he did to deserve this from you. He should have stopped fighting his sickness long ago if this is what was in the cards for him. 

Realization dawns on Joel. It all makes sense, why you’re sucking him off at this particular moment. You’re trying to put him to bed, you goddamn deviant. “You’re trouble,” he accuses. “I know exactly what you’re doin’.” 

“Hmm?” You turn your head to Joel, his cock still in your mouth. You bounce it against your inner cheek, and Joel groans at the lewd image of his cockhead bulging in your mouth.

“Yeah,” Joel says. “And let me - oh, fuck-” You drop your head low, taking all of him into your mouth. So deep that your nose is buried in his pubic hair. “Let me tell ya, darlin’, what you’re doin - it ain’t gonna work on me.”

You pull off of his cock with a pop. “It won’t?”

Joel shakes his head. “Mm-mm. You’re wastin’ your time.” 

“Oh. Well, I should stop, then.” 

You begin to pull off of his cock, but Joel forces you back down. “Nah, you don’t have t - you gotta give it your best shot, right?”

You smile with Joel’s cock in your mouth. What a fucking guy. You pull off of him only momentarily, garnering a protesting groan spilling from his lips. You take off your shirt and unbutton your pants. “Lemme help you with that, c’mere, darlin’,” Joel says, pulling your pants and panties down your legs. He unclasps your bra next, then sheds his own clothing. 

You take him right back into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks as you suck his length. This time, though, you play with your pussy. As you move up and down Joel’s shaft, you slip through your folds, dipping down to your wet hole to gather your arousal on your fingertips. You circle your clit a couple of times, then push your fingers in and out of your pussy. 

“You fuckin’ yourself on your fingers, sweetheart?”

“Mm-hm,” you hum, mouth stuffed full of Joel’s cock.

Joel pulls your hand away and replaces your fingers with his own, much thicker and longer ones. “Let me,” he says. “S’my job. Shouldn’t have t’do that to yourself, ‘less you wanna. Or if I say so.” 

Joel spreads your thighs wider. He moves his pointer and middle fingers up and down, exploring your slick, velvety pussy. He sucks those two fingers and then his thumb and rubs tight circles around the sensitive nub, all swollen and wet with your arousal. You moan at the action, the vibration of your voice traveling right down his shaft and to his balls. He bucks himself into your mouth.

Joel inserts his middle and ring fingers into your pussy, pumping in and out slowly before curling them upward, stroking right where you need him to. “Got a nice fuckin’ pussy,” he purrs with his hoarse, gravelly voice. You pulse around his fingers, and Joel admires the way your tight hole hugs him as he moves in and out of you. “She’s makin’ such a mess, drippin’ all over me.” 

You twist your fist up and down Joel’s shaft as you suck him, working him closer and closer to the edge. Joel’s content with this, the prospect of coming down your throat and fucking you with his fingers. But you have a different idea, and when his balls are tightening and his shaft is twitching, his breathing quickening, you pull off of him. 

Joel groans in frustration, but his anger is quickly eased when you straddle his hips. You reach between your legs for his cock and stroke it, dragging the tip through your folds, up and down, up and down, dipping it in and out of yourself to tease him. “You’re fightin’ dirty.” 

 Joel’s exercised enough self control today and doesn’t let you tease him for long. He puts both of his large, weathered, and masculine hands on your waist and pulls you right down on his cock, the initial penetration causing a stretch so intense you see stars for a second. “Oh god, Joel,” you moan, clutching his shoulders. 

“I know, I know,” Joel whispers, rubbing your back. “You good, sweetheart? You need a minute?”

 “Just - just a second.”

 “Take your time. Know it’s a lot, you’ll get used to it.” 

Joel gives you a second, then inches you up and down on his cock to get you adjusted to the sensation of being so full of him. Soon enough, the ache dissipates and is replaced with pleasure, nothing but pure pleasure. You rest against his hot body, rocking your hips to grind against his pubic bone. 

You know that by the way he bucked his hips into your mouth, how he pulled you down on his cock, how even now he moves you, that he’ll tire himself out. Your plan was simply to make him come to knock him out, but this - this works too. Exhaust his body, get yourself off in the process. Killing two birds with one stone. 

Joel fucks you harder now, hands on your ass to move you up and down on his cock. He bends his legs at the knee for more leverage, bouncing you on his lap. “That’s it, sweetheart,” he grunts. He moves you so that your chest is right above his face, and one at a time, sucks your nipples into his mouth, teeth lightly grazing them. 

You hold onto Joel’s broad shoulders to steady yourself, looking down at him as he fucks himself into you. He’s so handsome, cheeks and chest all flushed red, a sheen of sweat glittering at his hairline, his graying curls damp. Joel’s eyebrows are knit together as he fucks you, tracing your curves with his gaze. He pulls you against his chest as he ruts against you, his scruff scratching your skin so deliciously. “Takin’ me so good. Look so pretty on my cock like this.” 

You move at his will. Joel’s underneath you, rocking himself  in and out of your dripping, tight pussy. His thrusts are getting sloppy, hips stuttering in a non-rhythm as he pushes himself inside you over and over. He must be getting close now. 

“Up, sweetheart. Lean back f’me.” 

You peel yourself off of Joel’s middle, all slick with his sweat. Joel spits into his hand and presses the calloused pads of his fingertips against your clit. You roll your hips against him, savoring that much-needed friction against your clit.

“Like that, darlin’. Jus’ like that. Fuck yourself on my cock,” Joel says, rubbing your sensitive bud with tight circles. “Gonna watch you come all over me.” 

“Yeah,” you moan, “Wanna come for you.” 

Joel loves you like this. Your face contorted in pleasure, mouth agape, body quivering and twitching on top of him. He steadily massages your wet, swollen clit and wears a crooked smile when he feels your cunt start to pulse around him. And you think you’re pulling one over on him, but look at you, all fucked out and delirious. You’ll probably crash after this, and Joel will go right back to fixing up your house. There’s a door hinge that’s been squeaking…

“Oh my - Joel, I’m - I’m gonna -” 

“Know you are, sweetheart. Let me have it,” he groans, voice all broken and hoarse. “Come all over my cock, darlin’. Let go f’me.” 

That hot, sticky pleasure in your gut begins to intensify rapidly. You go quiet just before it happens, then let out a long, whimpering moan when your orgasm takes over your body. You shudder and jerk as Joel fucks you through your release, and once you’ve ridden it out, Joel pulls you tight against his chest. 

While you come down from your high, Joel frantically fucks you, slamming his hips against yours as he chases his own climax, balls tightening and his belly filling with warmth. “Oh, goddamn. Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Joel pants as he comes, painting your insides with his hot seed, the warmth of his release and the pulsing of his cock so satisfying. 

Coming down from his orgasm, a wave of exhaustion hits Joel. He finds himself unable to move, unable to open his heavy eyelids. He might’ve been wrong, because napping away the rest of the afternoon doesn’t sound quite so bad, now.

You pull your body off of Joel’s and he lets out a sighing grunt when his softening cock slides out of your body, the mess he created with you spilling all over his lap. You grab that washrag you held against his forehead and clean him up and then yourself, then get up to dispose of it. 

Joel grabs you by the arm, his grip weak. “Don’t you go anywhere, trouble,” he grumbles. 

“But I’ve gotta take care of this, Joel,” you protest. 

“Deal with it later. Just -” Joel yawns and pulls you down and holds you tight against his chest, as tight as he can, anyway. “Jus’ stay with me a minute.” 

Joel’s eyes are still shut, and his breathing becomes slow and rhythmic. It’s laughable how quickly sleep is taking over his sick, exhausted body, having used what little life he had in himself to fuck you stupid. Like that last burst of energy from a dying star. “I thought you weren’t tired,” you tease.

Joel sniffles. “M’not.” 

“Mhm. Sure.” 

“Just checkin’ my eyelids for holes.”

You push some curls out of Joel’s face and hold your palm against his cheek, still hot with his fever. He’s so peaceful looking like this, plump lips pouting as he breathes through his mouth. You bring your face close to his and close the gap by pressing a little kiss against his lips. 

“What’re you kissin’ me for, hm?” 

“I want to,” you reply, kissing him again.

“Gonna get yourself sick,” Joel murmurs groggily, eyes still closed. “Which means in a couple days, I get to do all this right back to you. S'payback, darlin’.”

You chuckle. And in just a few short seconds, Joel’s snoring lightly, dead to the world.

If you enjoyed, please please please reblog with thoughts or comment or hop in my inbox! Your kind words go farther than you know in keeping me motivated to write 💕

[shysuccubusstuff]

homicipher! men making it fit pt. 1:

Characters: Mr. Crawling + Mr. Scarletta - female reader

Content: non proof-reader; first time males + unexperienced LI + cunnilingus + breeding + unrealistic descriptions + slight obssession + overstimulation.

Note: I hope everyone who has found out about this game a great evening!! I'm so happy that so many people are interested on the game ♡. I'm sorry for those who wish for a neutral reader, I still struggle with it :((. Sorry for taking so long, I'm with uni stuff so this will probably take a while. Let me know if you have suggestions for the next part!! + Sorry if it seems rushed/short I've been letting this marinate for a bit too long...

Mr. Crawling:

Mr. Crawling who has no real idea of what he's doing to you, after all, it was your idea to do this, your hands running down his body as he started to feel something up with him, some strange feeling, like a heat starting to build up.

Mr. Crawling who keeps following your commands, his cold hands trailing down your body before getting rid of your clothes. His fingers tracing your nipples, his slightly warm breath hitting against your ear. His hands then move lower, starting to move towards your underwear, his fingertips tracing your clothed clit. He smiles as soon as he hears your soft moans leave your mouth.

Mr. Crawling who takes his time getting your body ready. He takes as much time as needed, kissing your mouth and using his tongue the way you taught him. At the same time, he uses his hands, one keeps playing with your chest, while the other keeps rubbing against your poor clit, not stopping even as your body was twitching from the overstimulation.

Mr. Crawling who is finally able to get his tip inside of you, his girth making you whine as you try to get used to his size. He keeps you in place, not moving an inch as he kept seeing your brows furrowed, his hands leaving handprints on your skin.

Mr. Crawling who keeps kissing your mouth, his tongue intertwined with yours as he tried to distract you, his cock slowly entering you until he finally bottomed out.

"You good?" Mr. Crawling asked, his hand rubbing against the small bulge that was forming in your tummy. He kept petting your head in slow strokes, almost as if he was trying to keep you as distracted as possible from the feeling.

"Too big, just... give me a moment, please." He nodded, his smiling face looking a bit too happy, for someone that was almost making you go dumb just from his girth.

Mr. Crawling kept you still for a second, just enough for you to finally get a bit more comfortable with him inside. As soon as you nodded to him, allowed him to keep going, his tip was already hitting your poor cervix on a rapid rhythm. Despite your attempts of telling him to slow down, it seemed that your brain was no longer working, perhaps too overwhelmed with the feeling of Mr. Crawling rearranging your insides., so you allowed yourself to be used by him, not caring even as he kept filling your insides once after the other.

By the time you were able to form a sentence, your legs were completely covered with marks, not only fingerprints, but also Mr. Crawling's hickeys, almost as if he was some kind of dog leaving his mark all over you...

Well, he was definitely able to make it fit, I suppose.

Mr. Scarletella:

Mr. Scarletella who almost explodes the second you let him approach you.

Mr. Scarletella who is able to (slowly) make you his, always making his way, even if it took him quite some time.

Mr. Scarletellawho is completely blissed the moment you allow him to become your one and only partner.

Mr. Scarletella who becomes more and more possessive as time goes on.

Mr. Scarletella who decides to try some of the ways he has seen other humans get "close".

Before you realised, he was already cornering you against the cold wall, his frame towering over you.

"Want take?" He is smiling, his hand signaling himself.

"What do you mean?... You want me to take you?" You look at him confused, but he simply answers with an energetic nod. Despite your confussion, you smile at him, not really sure about what he means, but you're sure it won't be dangerous... right?

Suddenly, he moves one of his hands towards his pants, unbuttoning them and lowering them just enough to let his member out, the size almost making you shiver in fear.

"I... I don't think that would fit, how about we leave it for some other time, yeah? Just---" Your words are stopped by his lips crashing against yours, as his hands gripped your hips, easily lifting you up in the air.

"Me want you. Know way to make you mine." He smiled again, although this time it had a slightly creepy undertone.

"I don't think you even know what this is supposed to be--- Fuck where did you even learn about this type of stuff?" You try to get him to put you down, but your attempts have no result, in fact, it's almost as if he tried arder, maybe because of his desperation of feeling truly close to you.

"Need you. Humans taught me, I saw them. Let me do it." His begging eyes end up convincing you, letting your body relax on his grasp and allowing him to start to rub the tip against you.

"Wait! You can't just shove it inside, you need to prepare... the place." He looks confused at you, which somehow makes you feel even more embarrassed. "You can, well, shove your fingers, some people prefer to use the tongue... There's stuff for that but I doubt we have that kind of thing here, you know? So we can just stick to--" Your sentence is once again shortened, as your position is suddenly changed, your legs now resting on his shoulders as he starts to use his tongue to pleasure you, not allowing you to escape from his grip.

"Good, so good. Love you." His words left him even as he kept using his tongue to prepare you, his tongue lapping on your fluids while his hands tried to keep you in place. As he started getting the hang of it, he gently introduced his fingers inside you, his mouth sucking on your clit as he made his way into you, your head starting to spin as the overstimulation became too much.

Mr. Scarletella kept going until you came a few time, devouring the fluids that you kept leaking. Then, he allowed you to rest for a few seconds, letting you breath as he hugged you, keeping you tightly wrapped around his hips. When he saw that your breathing was once again stable, he started to align his dick to your entrance, inserting little by little until he was finally able to thrust as much as you were able to handle due to your small size in contrast with him.

"Good, not afraid?" He petted you, using only one arm to keep you lifted as he started to move himself inside you, just enough to get you panting and bitting on his shoulder. "Too big? You can handle it." He (tried to) reassure you as he kissed your face, peppering soft kisses all over it as he started to move with more strenght, almost as if he was punishing you which forced you to keep your mouth open as lewd moans kept coming out. The sound of your skin hitting against his resonating all over the long corridor where you were, your face flushing just from the thought of being found by anyone of the other ghosts.

Mr. Scarletella was able to fit it, even if it was not the whole thing.

[hypnagogics]

sigh, can't stop thinking about riding abby's thigh...mmmm. smutty yap ahead!!

abby's taught muscular thigh, slotted so perfectly in between your legs provided otherworldly pleasure, supplying the most brain-meltingly delicious pressure on your swollen bud, and she didn't even have to put in any effort. when she did put in the effort, let's just say your ability to walk was affected afterwards. ♡

"that's it, doin' so good for me." her strong hands land on the side of your hips to assist you in grinding on her, she's pulling you down forcefully, yet there's still a certain gentleness about her touches. the assuredness of her actions only making you miles wetter.

the rolling of your hips stutters as the sensations in your lower abdomen build, the blissed-out whimpers falling from your lips only increasing in volume, frequency, but most of all, desperation. you find solace in the crook of abby's neck, wrapping shaky arms around her, burying your face in her and taking her soft skin in between your teeth to quiet yourself. that earns a chuckle from her, and her hand snakes up your spine—originating waves of chills to spread throughout your body—and lands at the nape of your neck, where she takes your hair in her palm and pulls. she doesn't pull hard enough to cause pain, but firmly enough to separate you from her and make you look at her, saying through amused wavers of her voice, "nuh-uh, none of that, wanna hear your pretty voice."

and she knows the edge of her tone got to you and flew straight to your pussy, because she feels you clench around nothing and gush against her exposed skin. you resume your movements, they're growing in urgency as the relief approached, evolving from smooth ruts to noisy smacks of your sopping skin against hers while you bounced. you close your eyes and let your head fall back, no longer restricting any noises and allowing them to fill her ears freely. she grins, and watches you in awe, a blush decorating her beautiful features, a sparkle in her periwinkle eyes, and her rosy lips morphing into a wide grin. she mutters more praises and moves to aid you in riding out the high that hit you like a truck, and she commits the ethereal sight of you using her body like this to her memory.

"that's it, keep fucking yourself on me some more, yeah?"

i know two posts like not even 8 hours apart is crazy business but one's high effort (yes im plugging it. read, sillies 🤭) one took three seconds and i WANT THIS OUT MY DRAFTS ALREADY LEMME LIVE I HATE WHEN SHIT MARINATES IN THERE NEED IT GONEEEE

[valkyrieromanoff]

God bless your dad's genetics… Dilf! Anakin x son’s girlfriend!reader

NEXT

CHAPTER ONE: CRUISE

synopsis: when your best friend Luke asks you to pose as his girlfriend during his parents' 25th wedding anniversary cruise, you reluctantly agree. After all, you're single, he's desperate, and who can say no to an all-expenses-paid getaway? But what starts as a simple favor spirals into a tangled web of awkward introductions, suspicious relatives, and one undeniable complication: your growing, utterly inappropriate crush on Luke’s father, Anakin. Surrounded by the charming and chaotic Skywalker family, you’re forced to navigate the tricky waters of pretense, loyalty, and a passion you never saw coming.

warning: age gap (Anakin is 44 years old and the reader is in her early 20s), cheating, alternate universe, that's it for now, I'll add more warnings when the next chapters come out.

words: 1.1k

a/n: I confess that I've had this idea marinating for a while, and now seeing the latest photos of Hayden at comic-con, he's so dad coded. So, I decided to take a chance and start a story, I don't know how many chapters there will be yet, but I'm excited to see where it will take us... Slightly inspired by Fuck your boyfriend('s dad) by forcemeanakin, I'm obsessed with her writing… Anyway, that's it, I hope you like it ;)

CHAPTER ONE: CRUISE

you were meant for me to find

it's out of my hands

there's nothing left to do but

cruise and just enjoy the ride

“Wait a second, let me get this straight…” you interrupted Luke, raising your hands to halt his rapid-fire explanation. He’d been talking non-stop for nearly five minutes, and you were still struggling to piece it all together. “You want me to pretend to be your girlfriend at your parents’ 25th wedding anniversary? Why on earth do you even need a fake girlfriend?” You adjusted yourself on the bed, pulling a pillow against your chest for comfort, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

Luke let out a long, dramatic sigh, raking a hand through his messy blond hair. “You know how my parents are… always in my business. And now with Leia bringing her boyfriend, I just don’t want to be the only one showing up alone.” He looked at you with those pleading puppy-dog eyes, his voice softening. “Come on, just this once. Please? Didn’t you say you wanted to go on a cruise someday? Here’s your chance.”

You arched an amused eyebrow. “So, what—you’re trying to bribe me now?”

Luke shifted uncomfortably, fiddling with a loose thread on his jacket. “Well, when you put it like that…” he muttered sheepishly. “Look, I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important. I—I trust you, okay? You’re the only person I can count on for this.”

His desperation was hard to ignore. You exhaled slowly, shaking your head. “Fine, I’ll do it,” you said, a reluctant smile tugging at your lips. “But only because of the all-inclusive package. Don’t think this means I approve of your ridiculous plan.”

A grin split across Luke’s face as he lunged forward to hug you. “Thank you! Seriously, you’re saving my life here.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you muttered, pushing him back playfully. “But if this backfires, you owe me big time.”

Luke hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. “Right, um… about that. I might have already put your name on the guest list.” 

Your eyes narrowed as you shoved his shoulder. “You what? Idiot.”

---

Now, a few days later, you found yourself standing on the pier, the midday sun beating down mercilessly. You checked your phone for the third time, scrolling through messages with a faint scowl. Still no word from Luke. If he left you waiting much longer, you were seriously going to kill him.

“Hey!” His voice cut through the buzz of the crowded dock. You turned to see him jogging toward you, a backpack slung casually over one shoulder. He looked a little too cheerful for someone who had left you baking in the sun.

“You’re late,” you called, crossing your arms as he approached. 

“Fashionably,” he quipped with a smirk, completely unbothered by your glare.

“thought you’d forgotten about me,” you teased, elbowing Luke lightly in the chest as he finally reached you.

Luke shrugged, offering a sheepish grin. “Blame my parents. They were running late because my dad accidentally packed the wrong suitcase for my mom. Total chaos—everyone was scrambling to fix it.”

You chuckled, imagining the scene. Though you hadn’t met Luke’s family yet, you’d heard plenty about them over the years. His parents were something of a legend in his stories: the perfect, if sometimes chaotic, couple who’d married young and raised twins.  

Padmé Amidala, Luke’s mother, was a force of nature. A federal deputy and professor of International Relations, she somehow juggled her demanding career with being a devoted wife and mother. Strong, brilliant, and endlessly busy, yet always managing to prioritize her family.

Anakin Skywalker, Luke’s father, was no less impressive. A retired army general, he’d left his military career after the twins were born to focus on raising them. Luke often spoke of how his dad spent hours tinkering in their garage, restoring vintage cars and building gadgets—a far cry from his days in uniform.

“Come on, let’s get moving,” Luke said, snapping you out of your thoughts. He grabbed the handle of his own suitcase and motioned toward the massive cruise ship docked ahead. 

You followed, letting him lead the way. The pier was packed with elegantly dressed guests, most of whom were likely Padmé’s colleagues—senators, representatives, and a mix of politicians from all corners. The line to board snaked back farther than you could see. 

“Do we really have to wait through all this?” you asked, eyeing the crowd and clutching the handle of your wheeled suitcase. 

Luke shot you a sly grin. “We don’t wait in lines.”

Before you could ask what he meant, he veered off toward the front of the queue, guiding you toward a set of stairs reserved for VIPs. You followed, struggling a little as your suitcase bumped against the steps. 

"Luke, get your girlfriend's suitcase," a strong, masculine voice called out from behind you, deep and commanding yet tinged with warmth. "Otherwise, she'll think I didn’t teach you how to be a gentleman."

Startled, you turned toward the source of the voice just as Luke, already at the top of the stairs, groaned in exasperation. He glanced back with a tired expression but made no move to help. 

“It’s okay, really, it’s not heavy,” you mumbled shyly, gripping the handle of your suitcase a little tighter. But as your eyes met the man addressing Luke, the words caught in your throat. 

Your lips parted slightly in disbelief. Gods… what a man. 

Standing before you was, without a doubt, the most stunning man you’d ever seen. Anakin Skywalker. His angular face was framed by sandy blond hair, slightly tousled with subtle waves that gave him a rugged charm. His piercing blue eyes—so vivid and expressive they seemed to pull you into a storm—were framed by faint lines that hinted at years of experience and a life well-lived. His presence was magnetic, his confident stance and the faint smirk on his lips radiating an almost effortless allure.  

“Come on, I insist,” Anakin said, his voice softening as he stepped closer. He reached out and gently took the suitcase from your hand before you could protest. His touch lingered just briefly, and the warmth of his hand sent a flicker of heat up your arm. “Not heavy, huh?” he teased with a wink, his tone laced with amusement.  

You managed a weak nod, your heart racing as you watched him carry your suitcase up the stairs with ease. Every movement was graceful, effortless, as though he hadn’t spent years off the battlefield but still carried himself like he could command a room—or a galaxy. 

Luke rolled his eyes at his father’s display, muttering under his breath. “Show off.”

Ignoring him, Anakin reached the top of the stairs and set your suitcase down carefully before glancing back at you with an easy smile. “Welcome aboard,” he said, his voice warm and inviting.  

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to keep your expression neutral, but your mind was racing. What the hell have you just gotten yourself into?

[koophoriakiss]

afternoons with him

↬ jungkook x fem!reader

↬ established relationship, fluff / wc: 827

↬ warnings: none

—

“baby, do you want to make this with me?” jungkook asked excitedly, practically running into the living room with his phone. he held it up to his girlfriend’s face for inspection, which it successfully passed.

“is that… tteokbokki?”

“with bulgogi! look, they marinated it really well.”

“mm, it does look good. okay, let’s make it,” she agreed.

“come on, let’s make it now. i was just going to make lunch anyways,” he voiced as he offered his hands to her, pulling her off the couch and into the kitchen. “do you want to prep the beef or the rice cakes?”

“i can prep the rice cakes. you’re the best with meat anyways,” she hummed, pulling out the rice cakes from the freezer, placing them on the counter to let them thaw, grabbing the package of beef from the freezer, and handing the package to her boyfriend.

he grinned, pleased with her compliment, and grabbed the beef from her, setting it down in a bowl full of warm water to let it thaw before coming up behind his girlfriend and wrapping his arms around her waist. he watched as she placed the rice cakes into another bowl filled with warm water to avoid cross contamination while they thawed. afterwards, she readied a large pot and a bowl to make the sauce for their meal. jungkook, being the restless man he was, followed her around the kitchen with his arms around her waist and kissed her cheeks, neck, collarbones—anywhere his lips could reach.

“koo, you’re distracting me,” she chided lightly, trying to swat him away as she grabbed a few utensils.

“i’m sorry, i’m sorry. i’ll behave, i promise,” he murmured, continuing to kiss her skin.

“if this is you behaving, we’ll never get anything done,” she huffed, trying to be stern, although there was a smile on her face.

he didn’t respond, only smiled and continued to kiss her. when she finished making the sauce and adding it to the pot, she added some cheese as well, and stirred. after watching the sauce become thick, jungkook went back to the meat, which had thawed, and began to grab the ingredients needed to marinate it, like shown in the video.

he moved to the counter across from her and prepared to marinate the meat, which was the most complicated part of the recipe. while he was doing that, his girlfriend turned the heat on the stove to the lowest setting and moved over to watch him work. “do you need any help?” she offered.

“no, i’ve got it, don’t worry.”

she nodded in response as he pulled out various sauces and spices to rub into the meat. after that was done, she made a small noise of approval at his work. he grinned at her before cutting the seasoned meat into smaller pieces and placing them on the sizzling griddle he had prepared. “so, do you think i can compete with your cooking skills now?”

“no way, i’m still better than you,” she teased, playfully sticking her tongue out at him.

he joined her in leaning against the counter, shooting her a mock-glare, then pressed his lips against hers. it was a soft kiss, the type that made a person melt, and she found herself smiling into it.

“you’d think that after nine years, i’d be used to how you kiss me,” she murmured against his lips.

“i hope you never get used to it. you’re really pretty when you’re caught off guard,” he giggled, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear and kissing her cheek before turning over the pieces of beef on the griddle.

she rolled her eyes and nudged him with her shoulder before stirring the rice cakes again, which were nearly completed. “honestly, i thought it’d take longer,” she muttered, mostly to herself.

“don’t worry, the beef still has a bit to go.”

“can you add some cooking wine? it makes it juicier.”

“on it, baby.”

after watching her boyfriend add cooking wine to the grilling beef, she turned off the stove and put the tteokbokki into a large plastic container. she then brought the container over to him and glanced at the beef, which was finally ready.

he smiled at her before turning off the heat and using tongs to move the beef from the griddle to the container, and when he was done, she closed the container, handing it to him to shake it.

he shook it well, the muscles in his forearms flexing with every shake, and the bulgogi and tteokbokki mixed together. after he decided it was good enough, she brought out two plates for them and used chopsticks to portion the food for them.

“this smells so good,” he mumbled, practically salivating at the smell and sight of the meal.

she snickered and led them to their kitchen island, setting down their plates and sitting down with him. “let’s see if it tastes as good as it smells.”

—

[fishontumble]

Sanji cooks. He cooks and he buys more food to cook more. That’s his job on the Straw Hats. His meals dictate life and death on the open sea- he dictates life and death on the open sea.

Everyone on board respects this, and trusts their lives in Sanji’s delicate hands. After all, he’d rather lose his legs than let anyone starve on his account.

However, there’s one man he needs to go above and beyond to keep alive.

Lately, Sanji has been having recurring nightmares of Zoro sacrificing himself. Sometimes it’s a replay of his memories of Zoro refusing to explain why he was standing in a pool of his own blood, and other times it was new scenarios of him jumping in front of a stray arrow or giving himself up to the enemy. The worst part is even when he’s awake he knows Zoro absolutely would die in order to ensure the safety of anyone on the crew.

And so, Sanji tries to entice Zoro into wanting to stay alive longer.

“I bet I can come out of this fight with less cuts than you, mosshead. Unlike you, I know how to defend myself,” he challenges Zoro while fighting a fleet of marines. Everyone rolls their eyes at the ignition of another challenge between the two. However, Zoro was much more meticulous in protecting himself to prove he could come out unscathed.

“If you don’t make it back to the ship before me, that just proves that you’re just a directionless idiot,” he mocks, as everyone is fleeing a wild beast they encountered. Zoro scowls as he sheathes his swords and starts running ahead of Sanji. Of course, he got lost and was the last to the ship, but he returned without fighting the beast alone.

Sanji was running out of “challenges” that hid his true intentions. He couldn’t let Zoro out of sight, but he refused to let Zoro know that he worried about him more than anyone else, because at the end of the day, he’s the most probable to stay behind in a fight out of sight to save everyone but himself.

One night while chopping up vegetables and prepping some meals, his mind began wandering into dangerous territory. What if Zoro was in fact looking for a place to die? Maybe he promised to be Luffy’s wings until they both achieved their dreams, but what about afterwards? What if he was just testing the waters to see what kind of death suited him the best? Sanji felt sick.

The door swung opened and Sanji almost jumped out of his skin.

He turned and almost breathless, he said, “Zoro.”

Zoro stood at the doorway, a mocking comment at the tip of his tongue, but he realized that the look on Sanji’s face wasn’t one to make fun of. The cook was genuinely distressed about something. He just didn’t know it was about him.

Sanji took a breath and looked back at his knife. “Came for more alcohol?”

Zoro took a seat at the table and said, “No, I’m hungry. Make me something.”

Sanji clicked his tongue, “Not even a please, huh?” But regardless, he made some onigiri.

Sanji made some tea to go with it, and poured a cup for himself as well to find a reason to sit down with Zoro. The creaking of the planks as the boat rocked back and forth kept the room from being too silent.

Sanji figured this was the time, since nobody was around.

“When I die…” “What?” “Just listen!”

Zoro scowled but remained silent.

Sanji looked down at his hands on the table and continued, “When I die, I’d prefer to die either by old age or in battle.”

He looked up at Zoro, bashful now, “And I need someone around who can kill me in battle, if I can’t grow old.”

Zoro sighed and took a bite of his onigiri. While chewing, he chuckled, “Is this what your sulky attitude has been about? Yeah, I’ll kill you if you’re still alive by the time you turn fifty.”

“Fif- that’s not even that old!” Sanji screamed, shocked by Zoro’s nonchalant attitude.

Zoro shook his head, “Fine. Sixty.”

Sanji shook his head in disbelief, “Are you joking around right now? You know what? Never mind, I never should have brought this up.”

He stood up abruptly, and Zoro grabbed his wrist. He was leaning over the table uncomfortably, so Sanji took his seat again, and so did Zoro. He let go of Sanji’s wrist, the one not looking him in the eye this time.

“I’m sorry. I promise I won’t die before we grow old. I know what your little competitions have been about, and I know I shouldn’t be worrying you when we all have our-“

Sanji snapped, “I want to worry Zoro! I just don’t want you dead! How can I worry about a dead person? I want to be able to wake up every morning forever and think of new recipes that you might like and go to bed every night knowing your stomach is full!”

Sanji buried his head into his hands, embarrassed. He realized how he sounded, and that was probably why Zoro was staying silent.

“Cook- no, Sanji. Look at me.”

Sanji slowly moved his hands away, and met eyes with Zoro who had never looked so red before.

Zoro spoke much more seriously, “I already promised you. That I won’t die before you. That I’ll live.”

Sanji lowered his eyes and nodded, not wanting Zoro to see the tears. That’s what he wanted to hear all this time.

[mostly-marvel-musings]

Consider this: Tony x F!Reader where they both have an insanely high sex drive…which leads them to do it at any and all given moments, regardless of where they are 🤔🤭

Libido

A/N: This ask has been marinating in my inbox for a long time now. Heart it, reblog it and comment if you’ve enjoyed reading :)

Pairing: Tony Stark x F! Reader

Warning: 18+ smut, fluff.

Tony Stark Masterlist

.

“What was that, Y/N?”

You covered a needy little moan that escaped with a cough as you squirmed in your seat, trying to appear as normal as you could in front of the camera. This pushed your colleague to ask if you were okay, a question he really didn’t need answered.

Not when you had a certain cocky, billionaire genius between your legs, stroking your glistening folds with a shit-eating grin on his face. The table you sat at conveniently covered your lower half, making you appear perfectly innocent on the meeting call while your boyfriend teased you relentlessly.

It was payback for the time you’d snuck into his lab to give him the best head of his life - which he admitted to, while he was on a phone call with Thaddeus Ross.

Not that he would ever discourage you from doing it again but the dichotomy of Tony’s warning glares and vice-like grip in your hair to guide you along his length had felt too good to miss.

“I um—I’m sorry I think there’s something wrong with my network here.” Quickly switching off your camera, you went on mute as you felt Tony slide two fingers inside your pussy, grinning victoriously as you let out a moan you’d been stifling.

“I hate you, Stark.” You panted, lifting your hips to match his pace as he massaged your slick walls.

“Love you too, baby.” He smirked, kissing your inner thigh lovingly while bringing you closer and closer to the edge.

“Put that mouth to good use now, make me come.” With that you guided his face where you needed him the most.

The two of you often had a hard time keeping your hands off of each other. And you didn’t even try. Finding any and every place you could to get naughty. Be it on missions, plane rides or meetings, you two would make sure to christen the unlikeliest of places.

.

“What if they hear us?”

You would think your urgent whispers would make the man halt his ministrations but no, they seemed to spur him on.

“Better be quiet then.”

Tony murmured against your lips as he slid into your wetness with ease, muffling your moan that almost escaped by covering your mouth with his hand.

While the communal kitchen pantry was a sizeable space, the door wasn’t exactly sound proof. And with the team lounging right in the adjacent room, you were walking a thin line of hot, sneaky sex and outing your relationship to them all.

It was movie night, and while the team seemed blissfully unaware, you and Tony had snuck into the kitchen under the pretext of getting more popcorn. His wandering hands led you to pull him into the pantry urgently, wanting him to take you right there. You craved the man as if it were a primal need.

“Tony, I need more. Please..” you cried, digging your fingernails into his shoulders while he held you up against the cabinets, your legs wrapped around his hips as he began moving ever so slowly.

“Shh. I got you, sweetheart.”

With his lips murmuring promises against your skin, he picked up his pace, making his length brush deliciously against the spot that made your knees weak.

You weren’t sure if you could hold your moans in any longer as he drove you closer to the edge, his thrusts picking up on the urgency you both felt.

“Y/N? Are you in there? I thought you were getting popcorn.” Bruce’s voice made you stop abruptly. He was right outside and could come in any minute.

“Yeah! I just wanted to get some extra candies too. I’ll—I’ll be right out.”

You felt Tony grin against your neck hearing your lame reason, knowing all the candies you could possibly imagine were already laid out on the kitchen island.

“Alright. Do you know where Tony is?” Bruce frowned as he glanced at the array of snacks already sitting there.

Tony resumed his actions, not bothering to cover your mouth any more while your eyes were fixed on the shadows of Bruce’s feet that were visible at the bottom right outside the shut door. You held your breath, glaring at the man who was now moving inside you without a care in the world.

“Uh, not really, Bruce. He’s probably back in his room, old man needs his sleep!” You joked, watching the doctor finally walk away as Tony bit down on your neck.

“You’re gonna pay for that, Y/L/N.” he warned.

“Yeah? I can’t wait, Stark.”

.

“Wait! Found another twig.”

Turning around, you blinked in confusion as Tony’s arms went around you, movements exaggerated as his fingers carded through your hair to pluck stray leaves and a twig from them.

“Don’t look so innocent, you know where your mouth has just been.”

He smirked, giving your hair a gentle but firm tug as his lips descended onto yours, tasting the last of his saltiness on your tongue.

The team was on a mission and you��d just happened to have found a secluded spot in the woods that surrounded the area. Your make out session had turned into a quickie while the team was oblivious to your activities.

You hadn’t officially announced you were together, the thrill of all excited you, plus, you wanted to keep what you had to yourself just a bit longer. It was nothing short of a wild ride sneaking around with Tony Stark.

Though you had a feeling Rhodey had his doubts that something was up, then again, he knew Tony inside out. And according to him, his behaviour had changed significantly since you’d walked into his life. He laughed and slept more, cribbed less, and the way his eyes lit up every time you were near, Rhodey was certain his best friend was smitten.

His eager length twitched against your thigh once again as you kissed, making you nip at his bottom lip before playfully pushing him away.

“I’ve already taken care of my distraction for the day.” You called over your shoulder, heading back to where the team was. Nat gave you pointed look which you dismissed, your heart still beating faster as you took a seat next to her.

I think you lost your underwear somewhere —Your favourite distraction.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket, revealing a message from your secret boyfriend. While you made up an excuse to where you had been, Tony caught your eye and pulled something out of his pocket with a victorious grin. Your panties.

[jjenthusee]

Where We Are

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

A/N: honestly this has been marinating in my mind for a while because a while ago I saw @sunnie-angel post this small writing (linked here) and I wanted to write something for it, but I haven’t gotten to sit down and complete something :( BUT i finally sat down and wrote because i needed something as a break from my end of semester stress from school :D i would also recommend reading the linked post first so it gives some context and insight to why i was so drawn to it and how it heavily inspired this fic. ENJOY and like, comment if your comfortable 💐

Summary: How do you live with the memories of Jason after his death as Robin?

Tags: AAAANGST, have a nice day :)

Word Count: 1.6k

A boy.

Full of so much life and raw emotion, who stood against the worst of Gotham.

He saw so much of its poison. It struck him, filled his veins, but he fought every day against the pain. Only when he finally left did Gotham return its thanks.

Everyday was torture. The memorials, the photographs, the graffiti. Streets littered with “We remember you.” Every waking second was a reminder that he was gone.

No more late night chats, meeting at the library, leaning against his shoulder.

You can still taste the bile that consumed your throat when you opened your door to Alfred standing there with the most chilling expression. Once he said your name in such a matter-of-fact tone, you knew. Your heart ached the same way it did when your thoughts brought you back to your worst fears, maybe it ached worse but that memory is buried in the back of your mind.

You slammed the door on Alfred. Grabbing your phone, calling one of the most recent phone numbers in your call history. It rang and rang. Nothing.

You left voicemail after voicemail. Begging, yelling, crying into the ending message to pick up.

You couldn’t walk down the road that led to the same library you spent all summer with him. The humid air beating down on you before the air conditioning sent a chill down your back. Scanning your library cards, returning books, letting Jason give you recommendations.

The memory made your eyes water.

You did everything to avoid it all.

Taking the longer path to school, playing music in your ears loud enough to drown out the passerby’s conversations about how tragic such a thing could happen to a young boy, avoiding any sort of color that matched the suit he was so proud of.

The same one that took him.

The more you avoided, the more the image of him chased you. Billboards, coffee cups, baseball caps. Robin was everywhere.

Until you saw a memorial video that some Gothamite made on social media.

It broke you one more time.

You screamed and screamed until your voice couldn’t. He was gone. Your Jason was truly gone.

You couldn’t get mad at him cheating at board games, you wouldn’t hear his laugh, no more asking him to drop off food while he was on patrol.

The world took the other half that completed you.

When the pain numbed out and you felt the guilt of your actions, you apologized to Alfred. You got back on track for school, the world wasn’t better, but it didn’t weigh on you as much.

You finally took a walk down the road you didn’t dare look down. You held your breath when you crossed over the invisible line, taking you down a familiar path, but with only one pair of shoes on the sidewalk this time.

You walked with your hands clenched, before you found yourself in front of one of the small memorial stands. A tiny Robin keychain stared back at you. You paid the seller with cash and continued on your walk.

The air hung heavy in your lungs as you stopped. Coming face to face with Jason’s favorite gargoyle that sat in front of the library steps. You fought the tears with lowered eyebrows and a stiff expression to place the key chain on the base of the statue. You grabbed a permanent marker out of your bag to write in big bold letters, “We Remember You.”

It was sloppy writing, but it captured your unrelenting, unapologetic emotions that Jason had always told you was why he loved being your friend.

As the weeks went by, more tiny Robins appeared on the gargoyle. Flowers were placed and you finally listened to the city mourn your friend.

Eventually you graduated, took a job at the library because you didn’t know anything about your future into being a young adult. Life was simple, it was enough.

You finally felt some stability on the anniversary of Jason’s death before you heard talk of a new Robin. That a replacement had been made.

You were at a rage again.

When times were too tough or when you just didn’t know how to handle yourself, you called Jason’s phone. Leaving voicemails admitting how much you missed him, how mad you were that he couldn’t even wait until you were able to beat how many books he checked out at the library, now it wasn’t fair to continue the competition by yourself. How mad you were that they didn’t retire the Robin suit after he sacrificed everything for it.

You didn’t even question how his phone line was still running as long as you could leave more voicemails.

When your rage started to cool, you joined Alfred one morning while the cold air chilled your face. Alfred handed you a hot tea that you refused to take, but Alfred always managed to get his way. It brought a smile to your face when you realized Jason used to do the same thing.

You walked with him down your familiar path to work. Before Alfred could say anything, your body unconsciously walked up to a new park bench. It wasn’t worn, but freshly placed with a shiny plaque that you couldn’t move your eyes from.

“In memory of Jason Todd-Wayne, a son who is loved as much as he loved books.” You quietly read.

You couldn’t move. You didn’t say anything to Alfred as he handed you a handkerchief when you felt the tears drop down your chin. The two of you just stood there, admiring the wood, the brass, and the memories.

When Alfred said his goodbyes, you stayed there. Afraid to sit down, but afraid to leave.

You spent the following anniversary standing next to the bench, next to the one place that was so precious to your childhood. The fear prevented you from taking a seat.

By the next anniversary, you managed to sit on the bench. Alfred visited again, shining the plaque and wiping down the park bench. You didn’t say much, but it was comfortable and breathing wasn’t that difficult that year.

By the most recent anniversary, you were starting to spend every important milestone at Jason’s bench. When you got your degree in library science, you sat with your cap and gown. When you got a job promotion at the library, you came to sit and watch the sunset.

Life was content as you passed Jason’s bench and gargoyle on your way to and from work. It was a part of you.

One late night as you locked up the library, making sure all the part-timers and volunteers made their way out safely and secured the doors, you said goodbye to your coworkers as you made your way down the worn steps.

Your feet ached from the new shoes that didn’t support you enough, but your walk back to your apartment would be short to endure the pain. The fatigue could wait until you walked through the front door.

You trudged through the familiar path, passing the same trees, shops, gargoyle. Fifteen paces, another thirty, but you couldn’t continue to count your steps when you saw someone facing Jason’s bench.

A tall man, large build, covered in a large hoodie with the hood raised. Only a couple strands of hair stuck out the opening, but you couldn’t see a clear face.

It was eerie how still the figure was, the small fog of breaths were the only indicator that the person was living.

You quickly moved to the edge of the sidewalk as you distanced yourself from the large man. You held your breath as you briskly walked passed, but a small ache hit your chest. A tiny feeling, so minuscule that you tried to talk yourself into not looking back.

Why would you do that late at night in Gotham?

Two paces, five paces. You paused and turned your head over your shoulder.

They were gone. Only a clear yellow street light shining down on Jason’s bench.

Weird.

But you weren’t going to find out what that was. You paced back to your apartment, throwing your jacket off, letting your aching muscles relax on the couch. You sighed as you couldn’t get the figure out of your head.

By the morning, you woke up early to get some breakfast on your way to work. A quick drink and some food to help give you some energy. You said ‘Good morning’ to the owners, passed by other early commuters.

You held your warm drink, breathing in morning air and taking your breakfast to-go, until you sat at Jason’s bench. It had been a while since you got to enjoy a meal there.

You sat, listening to the birds, seeing morning joggers pass, kids making their way to school, and you finished your meal. You got up to throw your trash away and took one last glance at the plaque.

You memorized the phrase engraved on there, but still took the time to read through every word. You took your hand out of your warm jacket pocket and felt your hand graze over the cold brass, your fingers feeling the grooves and the strict maintenance courtesy of Alfred.

In one last sigh, you turned to get to work, tapping the base of the gargoyle before the steps, happily humming to the calm start to your morning. Then another ache hit you just before your last step.

You turned around, but all the people hanging around the block were further away, enjoying the company of others or taking a stroll. You glanced around, unsure of what you were looking for.

But your search was interrupted by the cheerful voice of your coworker making his way up the steps.

You pushed down the feeling of the unknown, but some days you always felt like maybe Jason was with you, maybe from his bench built in his memory or the fact that this place was important to the two of you, but you always knew you were going to carry a portion of Jason with you.

In some comforting way, you told yourself that maybe your Jason never left.

[tinydefector]

Marine centre 11- merformers AU

Warnings: post smut, fighting

Word count:1.8k

Fic masterlist

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_____________________

It's the sound of birds and the mosquitoes that wake them in the morning. The overly loud buzzing against their face as they unconsciously slap at the bug. Groggy as they move, wincing slightly when they twist their hips. A low rumbled chirp leaves right below them, they can feel it against their ear. A large webbed hand and arm is wrapped around their middle. Keeping them held snugly against the oceanides body.

Bluestreak stirs slowly as the morning calls, aware but content to hold his little human nestled close a while longer. Their stirring brings a soft chirr, concern and care woven through it. He's tender with his touches, gently, making sure they are alright, tracing delicate patterns.

Eyes shift to take in the waking of the small grotto. Joy flickering through them at the memories of the night wrapped around his soft one. Never had he dared dream a moment like this, yet here they were, slotted against his body cuddling against him as they tried to shoo away bugs.

Gently nuzzling their soft flesh, a longing croon escapes him. As he pulls them closer. They wiggle and squirm around as they turn over. Bleary eyes meet Bluestreak's as they yawn and stretch. Squealing softly. Bluestreak chirps eagerly at their stirring, nuzzling their face between soft croons.

"Good morning soft one, did you rest well, you don't hurt do you?" His words are quick and it takes him a moment to remember they don't understand. His fins flutter as a yelp leaves him as they slowly pull themself off his spike. Once the shock settles he nuzzles sweet and slow, peppering little lip touches around their skin.

They wiggle away, pushing against him until they are Lying beside Bluesteak on the grassy outcrop. One hand rested over their face while the other continued smacking at mosquitoes.

The reality of the situation finally starts to set in. They had just had intercourse with an Oceanide. "Fuck..." they mumbles before sitting up, eyes locking with Angelfish. The oceanides fins droop slightly as they pulled away. He looks at them with big sad eyes, little chuffs coming from him as he tries to move closer. A webbed hand reaches down to lightly caress their leg, his touch feather-light as he shifts closer, his eyes scanning their body making sure there are no injuries.

They grab their clothes and slowly redress themself despite how uncomfortable it is. The clothing is still rather damp from when Angelfish had pulled them into the water. "Can we go back to the cave, I need to go clean up" they state softly to the mer, still avoiding his gaze out of embarrassment. Angelfish nods, gently scoops them up, cradling their frame close as he swims with them. His movements are slow and careful, mindful of their comfort.

They don't fight as he pulls them back into the water, resting their head on his chest as he continues to glide through the water on his back.

The swim back to the beach is rather peaceful, Angelfish singing a few choice little melodies as he continues to make sure they are alright. The other Oceanides' heads begin to pop out of the water, watching as Angelfish swims with them. A deathly silence seems to form over the pods none of them calling out or singing, it makes a shiver run down their spin. Babybee was the one to swim up. "Hi baby" they call out softly to the pup. He Coos softly only to scrunch his nose up.

"Ew, ew! Bubba stinky, gross Bluey" bumblebee huffs before swimming away from his human carrier who smells like Bluestreak instead of Optimus. Bluestreak's fins droop as the other Oceanides take notice, a heavy silence settling over the pod. He instinctively draws the human closer, protective and wary. "Oh, little one, I'm sorry..." Bluestreak murmurs, his guilt and worry begin to dig a pit in his stomach.

helps them out of the water and onto the dry ledge where they sit. "Take your time. I'll wait here, I don't want you hurting yourself." He settles beside them, ready to provide any assistance they may need. Bluestreak watches anxiously, hoping the pup would come back over, But the little one's reaction is all too telling, he was displeased by the unfamiliar scent.

Prowl swims up to Bluestreak, his fins flared wide in anger. "What have you done, you fool? I told you to stay away from them!" Bluestreak shrinks back. "Sire, I...I did not mean to disobey. The human accepted me, and I-”

"Accepted you?" Prowl hisses, cutting him off. The other Oceanides gather around, their trills and clicks growing louder as tension mounts. Bumblebee cowers behind a rock, confused and scared by the confrontation.

"Optimus has shown the Carer great kindness. How dare you take what is rightfully his?" Prowl jabs a clawed finger at Bluestreak, his eyes blazing with fury. Bluestreak tries to keep his voice level, desperation seeping through. "Sire, Optimus has been avoiding them!”

Prowl's lip peels back in a snarl. " The soft skin is Optimus' mate by our laws, they are being an active Carrier to his Pup!" Bluestreak hunches defensively, his spark racing. He hadn't expected things to escalate to this.

Prowl goes to snarl at the human for accepting Bluestreak but Megatron swims up, his massive frame blocking the human from Prowl's view. He lets out a thunderous snarl, fins flared wide in challenge.

"Stand down, Or ill make you." Megatron growls, large frame in front of the caretaker. Prowl recoils, but does not back down. "This has nothing to do with you, Megatron. Bluestreak has gone against my word!"

Optimus surges forward, calling out in a deep, authoritative tone. "Enough! This fighting serves no purpose." He fixes Prowl with a stern gaze. Bumblebee swims up to Optimus, clinging to his Sire. "Bubba stinky! Smells like Bluey." The little one scrunches his nose in displeasure.

Prowl's growl nearly echoes off the roof of the cave as he turns toward Optimus "But Optimus, our ways-" "Will adapt," Optimus interrupts. Megatron chuffs pulling himself up onto the cave floor, hands moving to check over the human.

The pod falls silent, over the conflict. Bumblebee continues to cling to Optimus, his chirps laced with confusion and unease.

They watch in fear as snarls and hisses are traded between the oceanides. Shaking slightly as The Meg holds them against his powerful frame in protection. Bumblebee swims towards them pushing himself up onto the floor as he crawls toward them, curling up as he begins to cry softly from the fighting as he clings to them.

"STOP THAT IS ENOUGH!" They shout as the cuddle bumblebee to their chest. Cooing softly at the pup. They stare Prowl down and let out their own snarl at him. Before looking at the other mers floating about who had been warbling over the fight. They look back down at bumblebee "shhh baby it's alright" Angelfish watches in awe. He trills softly.

Big blue approaches them, his movements slow and non-threatening. He warbles gently, his tone soothing as he gestures to the distressed Bumblebee. The pup doesn't let go but lets out a collection of unhappy noises. The Meg rumbles low, He eyes the others warily, fins flared in warning, but refrains from further aggression for now.

They scot themself towards the water with Babybee sliding into the water and swimming gently towards Dancer with a little motion that they wanted to leave, not wanting to deal with the snapping and snarling of the oceanides. She trills a soft greeting. As they swim, she casts a wary glance back at the other Oceanides.

Reaching a quieter, more secluded area of the beach, she slows her pace, allowing them to catch their breath. Babybee chirps nervously, his small form trembling against their chest. Dancer warbles softly, They chuckle softly as her webbed hands trace over their face, looking them over like a worried mother. "I'm alright Dancer, not dealing with them snarling and snapping at each other like jealous sharks" they hum.

She nods, her shoulders sagging with relief. "Glad you're safe, little one. Squabbling mechs can be such a handful." She gives a playful eye roll, earning a chirp of agreement from Bumblebee.

The youngling darts around, his earlier distress fading as he senses the calmer atmosphere. "Bubba safe! No more fighting," he chirps happily, nuzzling against the soft one's side.

She reaches out to gently ruffle Bumblebee's fins, earning a delighted squeal. "Come, let's get you both back to shore. I think we could all use a break from the drama for now."

Guiding the human and Bumblebee along, Windblade keeps a watchful eye, ready to intervene if any others try to follow. Her priority is ensuring their safety and comfort - the rest can be dealt with later, when tempers have cooled. "Just lean on me. I've got you," she murmurs, As they reach the sand they sit in the shallows, she continued to fuss over the human and keep a watchful eye on the pup who had made himself comfortable in their lap.

Quin spots the trio on the beach and her face lights up in a warm smile. "Well, look who it is! Fancy meeting you all out here." She approaches them leisurely, her gaze sweeping over the scene with an observant eye. "Seems like you've got babybee and babysitter today?" Quin teased towards them.

“Yea, also stay away from the cave think we might have a fight over there, well see how badly who comes out later” they call back, hoping that their words didn't give away anything, they can feel the anxiety crawling on their skin.

Dancer trills a greeting, her fins flicking in a friendly gesture. "Everything alright here?" Quin asks, her voice laced with gentle concern as she takes in her friend's expression. "You look like you've been tossed around."

"Yea I'm all good, just watch out the bulls and others are getting riled up." They reply. "But we are just enjoying ourselves at the moment, think Dancer here is trying to swindle some squid and clams out of me when feeding time comes around " they joke to Quin, hoping that it would make the night before disappear if they pretended it never happened.

Quin chuckles, amused by the human's playful jab at Windblade. "Ah, so Dancer here is trying to work the angles, hmm? Can't say I blame her. Well i'll catch you later, you still coming out to check nets, it's getting close to migration and i don't want to have any whales, sharks or Oceanides getting stuck in them"

“Yea I'll be there, Will probably get out of the water soon and have a shower, can feel the salt sticking to my skin and hair” they shiver, it wasn't they only thing sticking to their skin at that moment.

________________

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[iluvzaddies]

So I heard we're talking abt one piece la here, might as well request for my cutie patootie Koby?? pretty please 🥺🫶

˚₊‧꒰ა koby being in love with you ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

— koby, the newly recruited marine, is a very shy and timid boy.

— being held captive by captain alvida of the alvida pirates made him that way.

— but then a young pirate named luffy saved him from the clutches of the wicked woman.

— therefore, has gotten the freedom and the chance to follow his dream, which is to join the marines.

— when he meets you, he feels the need to protect you.

— so he trains harder to become stronger and better with the help of vice-admiral garp.

— each and everyday, he trains.

— in a short period of time, he receives big changes. his scrawny body is no longer scrawny. his chest is broad, his shoulders are wide, his arms are big. he has also grown abnormally taller.

— the training improves not only his physical appearance, but his communication skills as well. rather than shy and timid, he is now outgoing and more sociable. he finds himself making lots of friends and doesn’t stutter while talking anymore.

— even though he’s made friends, he still thinks of you. he still prioritizes you and your safety.

— helmeppo, one of his friends, suspects there is something going on between you two, so he questions koby about it.

— koby says, “i just want to protect them. that’s all.“

— to which helmeppo replies, “yeah, you definitely love them. the way you talk about them says otherwise.”

— koby’s face heats up at that.

— koby does in fact love you. yes, love. the ‘L’ word. he loves you, so he wants to protect you from the scums of the world. scums like alvida.

— “you’re right.” koby admits with a smile. “i do.”

note: koby is such a cutie i wuv him

[fanaticsnail]

She Was Mine

Masterlist Here

Word Count: 3,000+

Synopsis: A new transfer is tasked with guarding Doflamingo as he visits the world government headquarters. Doflamingo becomes intoxicated and reminisces about the love of his life to this new transfer, confessing he still loves her and wants to be with her.

Themes: Doflamingo x f!reader, drinking, intoxication, confessions of love, injury, talks of death, assassination, canon divergence, Lourdes Jordi is an OC (and an unfortunate venting target), Doflamingo is a sloppy drunk.

Notes: @feral-artistry said Doflamingo is a sloppy drunk who dials his exes and shows up on their doorstep. I needed to see it, so here is my little take on it. Image is a screen grab from one piece.

Tag list: @sordidmusings @since-im-already-here @writingmysanity @gingernut1314 @i-am-vita @indydonuts @carrotsunshine @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training

The newest transfer in the world government center did not truly know what he was expecting while on the infamous ‘Warlord Watchdog' shift. Many marines shied away from signing up for such a feat, opting to remain fixed on their assigned tasks and not put forth their names for extra credit.

Jordi didn't know. He truly had no idea what exactly he had placed his name at the top of the sign up list. A pay rise? Certainly. The month off from night shift? Absolutely. Babysitting an inebriated violent blonde man in a pink, feathered coat as he cried into the twelfth wineglass in a row, babbling about a love once forgotten to all that heard him? Not exactly what he was hoping for.

Donquixote Doflamingo had been drinking all day, lazing about and perching on the round table in the center of the meeting space. He had flirted with both Sir Crocodile, and Vice-Admiral Tsuru in the same sentence, reaching for Mihawk’s red wine glass and taking a lengthy swig and winking at him once draining it dry.

All of the guards in the room were on edge, but Jordi remained steadfast and strong. He did not want to be placed on Donquixote duty, and instead had hardened his resolve to ask Tsuru to be assigned to Mihawk or Kuma. Instead, Tsuru took his competency and stoicism as a sign that he could handle Doflamingo for the remainder of his time at the world government headquarters.

As Doflamingo reached for lucky number thirteen for the afternoon, he halted his soft sob and sniffed back a solemn smile.

“She was mine,” he whispered, his fingers shaking as he finally made his eyes focus on the glass, “You know? She was all mine. I had her, if you catch my meaning.” Jordi gulped back his fear, darting his eyes over Doflamingo's face and attempting to understand where he was coming from.

“Name, officer,” the tall blonde barked at him, prompting the young man to jolt back in his stance.

“Jordi, sir,” the younger man stated, his nerves no longer born on his features. “Lourdes Jordi of the Fourth Flight, reporting to Vice-Admiral Tsuru, sir.” Doflamingo clicked his tongue, lulling lazily in a drunken stupor as he hung the wineglass off to the side.

“And you're, what? Eighteen? Nineteen, even?” Doflamingo slurred, his glasses falling askew on his features as he looked the young man over.

“I'm twenty-two, sir,” Jordi nodded to Doflamingo with a deep furrow in his brow. Doflamingo cackled, his eyes puffy from his earlier depletion of emotion.

“Ah, then join me, Mister Lourdes.” The king of Dressrosa gestured to the seat in front of him, “Share in one of these piss-poor excuses of a rosé with me. It's sweet, dry and absolutely disgusting. She would never approve.”

Jordi was at an impasse. On the one hand, he was on duty serving the world government in babysitting the messy, drunk warlord. On the other, he needed something to numb the pain of babysitting the aforementioned messy drunk warlord.

Glancing at the time, he noticed it finally ticked over to six in the evening, which meant his guard shift had ended for the day. Sighing out, he slowly retracted the empty bar stool from its position tucked beneath the table and took his seat. Doflamingo chuckled, topping up his wine glass and pouring one for the bronze-skinned younger man.

“Have you ever been in love, Mister Lourdes?” Doflamingo asked him, flailing the rose bottle as he spoke, spilling a small trickle from the top and dampening the mahogany table. Without waiting for an answer from the younger man, he continued.

“She was… everything to me. My whole world, my northern star shining in the night and bringing me hope in the dark. My angel, my darling,” the Donquixote king of Dressrosa trailed off a series of pet names in both Dressrosian and Marijoan, leaving Jordi feeling far more out of his depths as he initially felt embarking on such a feat.

“My sun bringing my warmth in the deepest winters, my moon rising the tides of passion in my soul,” Doflamingo again began to sniff back his glassy tears, prompting him to raise his hand to his face and remove his ruby glasses. Placing them on the table, he pinched his brow and began to sob against his fingertips.

Jordi thought on his feet, raising his wine glass outwards and upwards in a gesture of good will. He offered a small sentiment in his speech, his lips curling in a sympathetic smile.

“Shall we toast to her memory, king Donquixote?” the younger man suggested, prompting Doflamingo to look through his fingers up at him curiously. Jordi pressed on, “You are mourning her passing, yes? Should we not toast for her?”

“She's not dead,” Doflamingo snarled, releasing his eyes from his hands and reaching forward and brushing his wine glass against Jordi’s with a sarcastic grin, “She just tossed me aside, ruining me for any other potential partner because she destroyed my soul and shattered my heart like porcelain on concrete.”

“Oh,” was all Jordi offered in response, sheepishly biting back his empathetic grin and raising his glass to his lips. The liquid touched his tongue, the sweetness spreading over his palate and igniting the follicles on the back of his neck in response to the tart tang. He grimaced at the flavor, prompting Doflamingo to laugh in a low snicker.

“Tastes like piss, doesn't it?” Doflamingo teetered off his laughter and drained his glass in one fell swig, “Drink up, boy. You need to get on my level here.” Jordi groaned quietly, knocking back the sweet liquid and hissing as soon as it impacted his stomach.

Doflamingo poured himself another glass, pouring Jordi’s one second and placing the empty bottle on its side against the table before giving it a small spin. Watching the glass rotate, Jordi shook his head and formed a question in his mind about it.

“You seem awfully upset, sir. What exactly did she do?” Doflamingo sighed forlornly in response, his heart pooling in his eyes and glazing them over with glassy emotion.

He hastily drew his shirt open and pointed to a small mark in his chest. Jordi leaned forward, examining the divot and noticing the precision in the mark and how the raised welt healed in a soft silver.

“She stabbed me in the chest with her favorite blade,” Doflamingo smiled proudly before the tear that threatened to spill finally teetered over the edge, “Do you know what that means?”

Jordi sat back in his seat, his eyes widening as he took in the information that someone was close enough to Doflamingo to land a single blow. The divot in his chest was enough of an indication of the intimacy of such a heinous act on someone so dangerous.

“What does that mean, sir?” Jordi whispered, his eyes darting between the unadulterated gaze given to him from the warlord. Doflamingo sobbed, raising his glass to his lips and taking a lengthy gulp.

“It means,” he grunted back the bile rising in response to the hasty drainage of the alcohol, “She loved me. She truly loved me.” Jordi’s eyes widened at such a deranged conclusion, prompting him to raise his glass to his lips.

“What brings you to that end, sir?” Jordi tested him with his voice even and unwavering, “A blade to the chest would hardly mean such an expression, surely?” Doflamingo leaned forward, his motions slowed by the alcohol and slurred in each action.

“Because, Mister Lourdes,” Doflamingo snarled at him, leaning in closer before his lips curled into an unfamiliar and highly expressive pout, “If she wanted me maimed, she would've aimed for my face.” He leaned closer, gesturing to his cheeks before gesturing to his throat, “And if she wanted me dead, she would've aimed for my jugular.”

Doflamingo sat back in his seat and spread his knees wide, relaxing into his chair with a prideful smile.

“No, Mister Lourdes,” he continued, sniffing a lengthy inhale through his nose and smiling a true grin, “No, she loved me so much. She was mine, sh-she loves me.” Jordi nodded along politely, fearing the delusion that was expelling from the blonde warlord.

“Who was she, sir?” Jordi’s curiosity peaked, his eyes never leaving the lengthy blonde eyelashes or ruby tint of the warlords irises, “A pirate, a marine, a princess?”

Doflamingo slurred a name familiar in reputation enough to him that had Jordi's glass drop from his palm and shatter on the ground beside him. His lips parted in shock, his eyes widening and staring in shock and disbelief.

“There's-... There's no way-...” Jordi whispered, watching as Doflamingo's eyes glazed over as his consciousness slowly departed from him.

Doflamingo collapsed on the table, the weight of the potent fluids finally igniting his veins and causing him to buckle beneath his stupor. Jordi signaled the barkeep to call for backup to move the ten foot giant.

Lying in your bed, you are suddenly awoken by your Den-Den snail. Rolling immediately to your side, you sit completely upright in your bed and click the speaker to awaken the sentient technology.

You state your name in a monotonous drall, not allowing the fact you were in the midst of an REM cycle not seconds ago dissuade you from conversing precisely.

“State the target,” you utter darkly, not paying attention to what the snail was morphing into to match the distinction of the person on the other end of the call.

“Cara mia,” the voice on the other end slurred back at you, “Te amo, mi princesa.” You groan, lulling your head back and rolling your eyes at the all too familiar voice. You could almost taste the alcohol from within the mouthpiece, the snail missing the signature glasses and eyes looking red and swollen.

“Donquixote,” you utter in return, your malice dripping in venomous viscosity in every syllable, “I informed you the last time, lose this snail code. I refuse to-.”

“-Please, my love,” his hush whisper cut through the piece, his desperation pouring from his lips like warmed honey, “Please, I just want to hear your voice. My heart is with you, always. Let me hear your voice. Let me hear your melodies sing for me their sweet song.” You growl, rolling your eyes and prompting you to lie back against your pillows and pout.

“You’ve been drinking,” you note, feeling his tone shift and slur along with his uttered praises. “What have you been drinking?”

“I had tequila with breakfast, a mimosa or two to follow,” he slurred, prompting you to wince back at his confession, “Everything started getting blurry at the fourth shot, or maybe it was the absynth? I know that it got foggy for a minute there when I drank from the swordsman's wine.”

“Ah, you've mixed poisons then,” you nod before shaking your head at his confession, “You will likely not recall making this call, like all the others you've made in the past.”

“I remember them all, my love. My darling, the siren who sings my praises as she shepherds me into my doom,” he coos into the mouthpiece, “Mi princesa, mi reina, tell me you love me. Tell me, please.” You shake your head.

“It’s been a long, long time, Doflamingo,” you utter darkly, shaking your head and pinching the bridge of your nose.

“But a bat of an eyelash,” he whispered in return, “A beat of a butterfly’s wing.” You shake your head, closing your eyes and mourning your lack of slumber.

“You have had much to drink to spoil your mind and sour your words,” you sigh into the receiver. He returned your sentiment, sighing in a sarcastic breath back at you.

“My mind has never been clearer,” he slurred, “My thoughts are only of you and that pretty knife you pressed into my chest. Your lips close to mine, your thighs straddling my waist, my mind only thinks of you.”

“Doflamingo-,” you sigh, his voice cutting you off with a sorrowful sob.

“As is my heart. Always with you,” he sobbed, his breath hitching and his tobe coming out in soft sniffles, “Just-... Just tell me you love me. Tell me you feel something for me. My heart can't take it.”

You huff out your resolve, shaking your head and closing your eyes shut. Your heart panged with guilt, feeling your heart reignite with passion long since forgotten and lost to the ages that fell between you.

“Of course I did,” you whisper in a hushed hiss into the mouthpiece, “Or I would've carved out your eye, split your face with my blade, or simply killed you to prove my loyalty to the assassin's guild for the celestial dragons.” Your dark confession raises a hum from the other end of the call.

“You 'did'? Does that mean you no longer feel for me?” you shake your head and glance up at the ceiling. He sniffs, his heart pouring out to you over the transceiver with each passing moment.

“I-...” you began, reopening your eyes and sighing in exasperation, “...You know I do, Dof. That's why I've taken out each person who's presented me with a contract to kill you.” He swoons, his voice crying for you in a keening mewl.

“My guardian angel protects me as I still draw breath?” his tears spill with each hushed whisper, “Even though you're prevented from being with me, our love was never sanctioned, and our world's far distant from one another. You still love me even now, don't you?”

Emotion began to well in your chest, springing up like a forgotten fount being pumped at a rusty, iron piston. You bite back your sorrow, feeling it overcome you with grief.

“Of course I do, Dof,” you admit into the transponder. Your heart soars for him before you remember the state he decided to call you in. Shaking your head, you bite back your emotion and ask him, “Will you still love me in the morning?”

After taking a moment to collect himself, Doflamingo sniffed back his sorrow and confessed to you.

“I will love you all mornings until my eyes close in their eternal slumber,” he whispered his dark confession, “Each day the sun rises, I will love you. And for each day the light disappears on the horizon, I will mourn for you as I remain alone in my love without you beside me.”

Sighing and shaking your head, you close your eyes as your heart splits in two at his confession. Clapping your palm over your lips, you refuse to allow him the luxury of knowing he'd moved you so easily with such pretty words.

You, a hardened assassin made to prove your devotion by attempting to kill Donquixote Doflamingo for the Celestial Dragons as their prize jewel in their vast treasury. He survived your attack, the dragons understanding that his healers were some of the best available and not questioning his survival when you presented them with your soiled blade and somber expression. They found it entertaining to have someone like you in their armada.

Their forgiveness came as a double edged blade: you were their preferred contract killer and were to live a life of luxury, and you in turn were to never return to your old life as a bounty hunter for someone as lowly as a Vice-Admiral. You were welcomed into Marijoa with opened arms and granted a title amongst the menagerie.

Doflamingo was a hindrance, and your love for him was depicted as weakness. Stabbing him was the easiest way to part from both of those inhibitions. The heart was an easy choice, considering how it broke yours to make such a terrible decision.

“You still there, my love?” Doflamingo's voice echoed within the transponder, breaking you away from your reflection.

“Always,” you respond in kind, closing your eyes and focusing on his words. His breathing was labored, his soft groans and cries for you coming across in each breath.

“Come to me?” he whispered to you, his heart in every cracked syllable as he coaxed you to come closer with his beckoning cry. “I want to see you. Please come to me?”

“We both know I can't,” you utter in return, “My face is too recognisable these days, and my reputation as an assassin for the celestial dragons has the seas part for me as welcome.” He groaned for you, his heart in every gruff whine.

“But do you want to?” he whispered, “That's all I want to know. Do you want to see me? To be with me? To lay beside me and watch the clouds with me?” You press your head back into the pillow and stifle a soft sob for him.

“Of course I do,” you utter in return, “I love you, Doflamingo. Never doubt that.” He whimpered in the mouthpiece, prompting you to shake your head and utter, “As always, if you remember any of this conversation. I'll be waiting.”

At that final word, you hung up the receiver and ended the call between you. The calls were getting more frequent, his drunkenness prompting his sloppiness and desperation between every call. Slouching back into your bed, you wait for sleep to claim you back into its arms.

That slumber never comes, reflecting in turn the call that you never received from Donquixote Doflamingo. No matter how many times he calls you while drunk on whatever fluid of choice of the evening, his call once sober never arrives.

As you prepare your coffee in the morning, your sleeplessness provoking you to make a greater caffeine to liquid ratio, your Den-Den roars to life in its soft, frog-like, chirp. Expecting one of your superiors, you almost drop your earpiece as an all too familiar voice purrs at you.

“Are you still waiting, my love?” Doflamingo asks you, his breath halting in his chest as he anticipates your answer, “I-... I meant every word. Every syllable. Every breath,” his voice crackles in the snail distorts his voice briefly, “As promised, I still love you in the morning. All that remains is one question.”

You suck in a soft breath, waiting to hear his words as you grip the handle of your coffee cup further.

“Do you still love me in return?”

[moodymisty]

Just had a thought for a cute fic request. What if Lady Guilliman catches some nobles/inquisitors/clerics complaining about and insulting her husband behind his back, and just goes off on them. "How dare you! He's doing a fantastic job!" And what if Guilliman overhears his usually patient, even-tempered wife vehemently defending him? Just a sweet, supportive spouse moment. Because that man desperately needs it.

I know you're probably overwhelmed with requests right now, so I just want to encourage you to relax and take your time. No rush. We're grateful for whatever you give us, whenever you decide to give it.

Author’s note: Something short and sweet, and a bit funny XD

Relationship: Guilliman/Fem!Reader

Warnings: None really

You aren't entirely paying attention to the conversation at hand, drifting in and out of interest until there's a moment that catches you again.

"I just worry about his, lack of interest."

You can infer by the quieter tone- the way they emphasize he - that they're referring to Guilliman. It's then that you realize that while these deacons and pontifices know that you are under the banner of the Ultramarines for your duty, they do not know your close relation to Guilliman at all.

"He had the cherubs removed,"

Another deacon says, her voice a hushed whisper. Your eyes dart between them all to feign interest so they'll keep speaking grievances in your company.

"I heard from one of the priests that he doesn't even allow them to say the armoring rights when he dawns his armor!"

You will admit you found that odd, at first. Then over time Guilliman has explained to you the galaxy he came from wasn't like this, and you understand now that the vehement nature of the current Imperium's worship over the Emperor is not something he has wished for.

He would've hated this. This galaxy now spits on the ideas he created us for. This all would've disgusted him.

You wish you could understand what he meant, but, it's the Emperor. Even you struggle to think about him not being seen as a god.

"What is going to happen if we allow a man who borders the line of heresy like this to lead us?"

You clench your fists, and open your mouth to speak unable to hold your tongue any longer.

"Lord Guilliman?"

The primarch looks up at the Ultramarine who approaches. His face seems, apprehensive? He nods at the man to continue speaking.

"Your lady has gotten into a fight with some of the Ecclesiarchy's deacons. They have begun to issue accusations of heresy at her in return."

Guilliman finds himself walking towards the marine sooner than he'd expected. The surprise of this, let alone that you are involved- and possibly in no shortage of trouble - is not something that he had expected.

"Where is this happening?"

Guilliman had known you would probably come into contact with the deacons at some point, but a fight? He rushes behind the Ultramarine through the halls, and soon hears your voice.

"If you are so upset over his choices, how about you just tell him yourself!"

Guilliman steps into the room and sees you pointing down a pontifice, face twisted with anger. You are spouting insults, some of which he has never heard before; Though he's sure by the expressions of surprise and anger on each of the deacons and pontifices faces that they are not insults used by the faint of heart.

"You all seem quite eager to accuse him of heresy, but you do know you're accusing the Lord Regent, correct? What does that make you if you're wrong?"

The pontifice at your center attention purses his lips and recoils, as his own vehement faith is thrown back at him.

"I suggest you all shut your mouths and let the Primarch who walked beside The Emperor himself decide what is best for all of us."

The primarch stands back for a few moments longer than he thought he would, watching you. The way you have defended him so vehemently, most would simply allow them to spout their lies before skittering away; To avoid the hammer of a institution so powerful as the Ecclesiarchy.

While it is most important to prevent you from getting into trouble, he can't help but feel... Prideful. He is not used to being the one defended.

Guilliman approaches before anyone decides to escalate things any further. Once the deacons notice him they quickly shut up, and you turn to look up at him in surprise.

"My men told me you all had gotten into an argument," He looks down at you. "Your shouting has given me all the context I believe I need."

Your mouth stays firmly shut as Guilliman turns to the others, and you wonder what the consequences of your outburst will be.

"I suggest you all learn to keep your muckraking to yourself. Or bring it up with me, if you're so bold as to accuse me of heresy." Guilliman nods in the direction away from him.

"Leave."

They waste no time in doing so, not forgoing proper farewells before shuffling away with tails between their legs. Guilliman has had more than his fair share of issues with them as they skitter around the Macragge's Honour, so he's eager to shoo them back into their rat holes for a bit longer. Once gone, Guilliman turns to you.

"You, have an even bigger mouth than I thought."

You raise your eyebrows at him and try not to laugh; It takes Guilliman a second to understand why and his face warms and wrinkles.

"That is not what I meant."

He shakes his head and continues his earlier thought without your inappropriate interruption.

"You cannot be getting into such big fights with these men and women. They have significant power."

He takes a kneel, putting his hands to your jawline.

"I, appreciate you defending my honor. But I do not need it. Do not waste your effort on the likes of them." You smile and nod.

"I will try but, no promises."

Guilliman leans forward and kisses your forehead.

"In this modern day, that is good enough."

[mikoyamisheadcanonblog]

Doflaming, Cora (Rosinante) and Law protecting Fem!Reader from an abusive Ex

Warning: Physical abuse, mention of verbal abuse, and hinted manipulation

🦩Doflamingo🦩

Word Count:394

He was watching, for a bit she was new to the “family,” and she had brought an idiot lover with her as he made the offer for her to join his family. She had refused unless her lover was with her joining his family. Doflamingo frowned when she had asked and made the offer to her.

He watched the man she wanted to invite reeking of alcohol as he wrapped his arms around her waist pushing her closer into his arms and smirking. He was like a leech as he stuck to her side, aware that without her he would have nothing.

“That sounds fine,” Doflamingo said, he needed her talent and if that man took one step outline he would rid of him. By then she would be deep in Doflamingo’s clutches anyway. Or that was the plan. “One wrong move and he is out,” she agreed to the terms.

Unfortunately, the man had managed to stay longer than Doflamingo had hoped. He turned on the charm in front of everyone, his lack of talent in the battlefield or even member of the family went unnoticed for a while as he tried to weasel his way around each member.

But the day came when he lost the charming smile, the family was celebrating their victory again. How easy it was to fool the marines, how they were in Doflamingo’s hand and being manipulated like puppets on a string. After a few drinks did his charming smile disappear after she dropped her cup onto his lap.

He started shouting at her cursing her out. The table watched before he lifted his arm ready to slap her but couldn’t move, his hands held back by Doflamingo strings. The blond man in a large pink suit smiled seeing the horror on the other man’s face, “I warned you one wrong move and you are out,” he flicked his finger sending the man flying to the ocean.

He let the man off too easy, but he didn’t want to spoil the mood of the party by spraying blood everywhere, instead, he took a seat by her. She turned to Doflamingo and smiled thanking him before he pushed her into a kiss. She thankfully kissed him back before he deepend it. He knew the perfect place to end this celebration with her in his room, in his bed.

💖Corazon (Rosinante)💖

Word Count: 338

She was a new recruit working under him as he showed her the ropes and what was to be expected in the Marines, from mopping the hallway to even fighting off a pirate invasion. She was good and diligent in taking notes and asking the correct questions.

 It was almost sad when their time together training was done but fortunately, she was under him and he would run into her often, when out in the hallway. And sometimes he would time his walks or exits just to see her and greet her with a soft smile and invite her to lunch.

But one lunch was too much to handle when she invited her boyfriend. The boy took a seat next to her not much taller than her and ordered her to get his lunch while he talked to Rosinante hoping to woo the older marine.

The conversation with the guy was simple, talking about his accomplishments and such and himself. Whenever Cora changed to the subject on the woman, he would soon get reminded that they weren’t alone, and he was there to talk about what he liked to do and throw orders at his girlfriend. A few lunch dates went on like this for a while Cora getting angrier but couldn’t say anything after all she seemed happy till she finally spoke up.

She finally had enough of him talking about himself she wanted to talk to Rosinante the jerk glared at the woman he was dating before lifting his hand ready to strike, Rosinante quickly stopped his hand from touching her cheek.

“YOU ARE A MARINE,” He nearly shouted, “Your job is to protect,” he pushed the jerk down to the floor as he glanced at the tall marine surprised before scrabbling off leaving Rosinante alone with his crush. “You should break up with him,” he told her.

“I plan too,” she smiled and took his hand and kissed his cheek, “thank you for saving me,” she said,

A few days later Rosinante would ask her out.

🐅Law🐅

Word Count: 395

Law had noticed the marks on her skin when she came for checkups, she lied saying such obvious likes like falling down the stairs or hitting the door when opening it. He was annoyed how easily she liked protecting the asshole, but he couldn’t do much about that after all she was a stranger, but it didn’t stop him from whispering in her ears his advice on how to leave him.

She would stare at him wide eye feeling his lips brush against her ear, his bread brushing against her skin. She blushed a bit and stared at him, her heart hammering harder in her chest as she stared at the handsome doctor with the golden eyes staring at her before her eyes flickered to her boyfriend who was waiting by the door.

“Please….save me,” she whispered. He knew better than to say anything right now as both men stared down at one another. The weaker of the male eager to leave. He stared at the woman with fantastic eyes and such and her eyes closed to tears. He would listen to her wishes.

He needed to protect her. He enjoyed the small conversations he had with her when her boyfriend wasn’t around, and he didn’t want to put her in danger anymore. He waited as the man walked towards him; he tried being charming tried talking to Law in a calm manner but it was easy to see he was getting angry.

“She is my girlfriend,” he finally said, “I think you should let go of her,” he was running towards Law and the girl ready to attack her.

“I think she is over you,” he held his hand up, “ROOM, SHAMBLES,” he cut the man into two pieces before picking up the young woman's bridal style. “Get near her again and you won’t live to see another day.

The girl wrapped her arms around Law’s neck and whispered words of thanks as he took her to his ship where he could have a full examination of her.

It took a while till she felt comfortable around Law as she adjusted to the Heart Crew but in the private room in the middle of the examination did, she share a private kiss with him. Thanking him for saving her but most of all for reminding her that she was also deserving of love and safety.

[solspina]

In Unlovable Hand

Mephiston ⋆˙⟡

wrote this in 20 minutes, not proofread and it’s 7am. need this man out of my head immediately, i have a dante fic marinating in my drafts please let me release it… mephiston is holding me hostage (kidding of course i love you husband)

Sanguinius’ former serf is called to take care of the Lord of Death’s horribly neglected wings for the who-knows-what-number time. The tension is higher this time than it was the last, and the two decide to hit it off into something absolutely miserable. oh

warnings: some sanguinius x reader mentions, toxic relationship dynamics, manipulation, blood, lil bit of biting

Mephiston lay completely still, wings uncomfortably outstretched, eyes baggy and half-lidded.

His chest felt painfully empty, it always did, but more so in the presence of the woman who preened at his psychic wings and dug stubborn feathers out of the creases he couldn't reach. A servant of Sanguinius, she used to be. He could feel her persecuting gaze burning at the back of his skull (at least he thought he could), and he could feel her fingers pulling at some of his oily black quills far too harshly. Still, he did not move, his face remained expressionless and stoic instead as he wondered whether or not she had a knife tucked securely somewhere in her clothing, and whether he would feel it's blade make a home between his shoulder blades at any given time.

His muscles involuntarily twitched at the pain in his wing as she pulled out a particular feather, and his face contorted into a wince.

“I apologize… just a blood feather… It wasn’t quite ready but you will not bleed.” She whispered from behind him, taking note of the way his back muscles had tensed after his small outburst of pain. “The quill was cracked.”

She seemed satisfied at the way he buried his face back into his pillow, still clearly in pain. She stroked at the area she pulled the massive feather from with one hand as she held it in the other, watching it disappear like floating ashes into thin air as it were severed from Mephiston’s psychic bond with his wings, no longer tethered down to reality.

She sat on her knees while she continued her work upon the lord of death’s wings as he fought sleep, sprawled out in front of her like a bird on a surgical table. At the very least, the silk sheets the two of them sat on top of were comfortable. She could feel them on the skin of her legs and did not blame him for his display of exhaustion, or his frustration from the inability to fall asleep.

“I don’t think i’ve ever seen wings as unkempt as yours.” She said. She teased him to keep him awake, hoping that he wouldn’t fall asleep and leave her to sneak out of the room so she didn’t wake him. “I say this even after i’ve seen some rather questionable mutants.”

“Mutants were human at one point too." He replied rather harshly. "They can be communal, the winged ones will have their parents teach them how to care for their wings.” His voice was cold, empty but somehow aggressive and sour alongside it. Whether his tone was toward her or toward Sanguinius for giving him - and him alone - such a gift without teaching him how to care for it, she did not know.

A heavy pause rung through the air, and she swore she could hear his hearts pounding slowly in his chest. “Why do you only ever sulk when i’m around, my lord?”

Truth be told, he had not been prepared for her to ask such a question, regardless of whether or not he had an answer. There were many that could be applied to what she was asking, many reasons for his brooding nature that she got to see much more often than his brothers. Perhaps it was because she knew the angel personally that he felt safe enough to sulk and express his exhaustion, or maybe it was the fact that he knew her opinion wouldn’t change no matter his mood, she would hate him for what he was regardless. He rejected his father’s gifts. He conquered them, and his own brothers hated him for it.

Astorath wanted him dead.

Dante almost approved.

Gabriel Seth spared not a single glance before he called him an abomination.

What was it she would do?

She knew what he was. The black angel, half of sanguinius’ soul, a vessel for the most horrible things about a man she loved ten thousand years ago. Even the care she provided him with, the preening of his wings and the frequent meetings with him, were simply an attempt at appeasing the angel’s soul. She gained time with a fragment of her long gone lover, and Mephiston got to pretend that someone cared for him beyond his use as a vessel and a monster.

As if feeling his thoughts, she removed her hands from his wings - modeled perfectly after his father’s - and placed her hands upon the cold skin of his back instead.

He let out a small groan as her knuckles buried themselves into his shoulders and ran down into the lower areas of his back. Her hands moved with greater precision than he thought possible up and down his spine, kneading their way through tense and aching muscles as his jaw fell slack from pure pleasure and his eyes failed to resist the need to roll back, or close, or something that wasn’t staring into oblivion.

“Relax, oh lord of death… am I hurting you?” She replied to his short series of quivering breaths and whimpers before he relaxed into her palms.

“No… just… feels good…” He managed to let out as years of aching pain were rubbed away by the hands of his father’s closest servant. She achieved with ease the effect upon him that the medicae strived for, but their hands always left his back sore and tight.

He hated this. He needed out. She was merely using him to get closer to something she missed and he saw that clearly.

“You’re just like the angel, when I did this to him for the first time.” She giggled, her voice full of warmth. His erratic breathing calmed at the sound of her amusement with his poorly repressed panic. “You’re finally seen, your flaws are on display, and it scares you. You want to run, to be perfect again, but you want just as badly to allow yourself to melt away… To not matter for even just a moment.” She leaned down toward where his head lay and flattened her hand between his shoulders, allowing her nails to scratch gently at his skin in comfort. “so melt, mephiston. I am here with you now.”

“Why are you doing this” He whispered, doing his best to keep his composure against the sensations she brought him. “Why are you pretending you’re not doing this for him.”

“Have I ever told you how beautiful I think you are?” Her voice was full of warmth, admiration, care, something he had heard from no one since the day Calistarius had died and the search parties had given up on searching for him. “And why do you lay here, pretending you don’t enjoy the company? I’m here because I lo-“

“Don’t you dare say that word to me.”

He turned to face her, propping up his tired body on his elbows and allowing deep brown eyes to stare accusingly into hers. He bared his fangs ever so slightly, attempting to intimidate her, but she simply smiled and removed her hand from his back, moving it instead to place her palm upon his cheek, ignoring his snarl and running her thumb along his ivory skin. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, but he held them in incredibly well.

If he truly wanted her silent, he could kill her effortlessly. It would take nothing more than a wave of his hand or a particularly accusing glance. He could boil her blood from the inside, rewrite her vital human functions with surgical precision using his mind alone. He could read her mind, find out exactly what she wanted from him, find out that she saw him as nothing more than a vessel for the angel, uncover her motives to use him.

“I will hurt you... do things angel never did... I am capable of things even he wasn't.” He whispered, his body eerily still save for his breathing. His hearts seemed to calm to a deadly pace, the hidden red within his eyes showing through as his face contorted into something far too empty for her comfort.

"I doubt-"

He grabbed the wrist that held his face and sunk his teeth into her palm. He fought the urge to smile through his own tears at the pained shock across her face. His fangs penetrated her skin like the nails that held a certain old terran messiah to his cross, leaving a wound deep enough that it would not ever heal, and perhaps would paralyze her hand if not treated in time.

The thirst had left him long ago, yet that didn’t stop him from basking in the warmth of the crimson that poured down his throat, some of it made its way down his chin and disappeared into the scarlet sheets beneath the two of them. He looked up at her and bit down harder before releasing his jaw, proud of himself for his reclaim of power over her after she had spent hours taunting him. If she did not hate him before, she had to now.

“Now tell me the truth, and i’ll heal that wound before it renders your hand useless.”

Her face remained blank through the tears pouring down her face as she sobbed and gasped in pain. Still, she placed her trembling, bleeding hand upon his cheek once more. “I love you.” she said as her vision began to fade to black through her pain. “Nothing you do… w-will… Meph…”

Her eyes closed, and her body fell limp against the mattress. He lay still again against the bed as he grabbed her hand and allowed his energy to flow through it, watching intently as her nerves, muscle, and then skin repaired themselves as if his teeth had never made their mark.

His wings manifested upon his back as he draped one over her, allowing its warmth to heat her body and radiate through her own aching limbs.

“Servant of Sanguinius…”

His whispers were near silent against her skin, his words more of a promise to himself than they were speech to her unconscious form.

“Servant of mine… Don’t make me regret this.”

[blondieeu]

seasons. yoichi I.

yoichi isagi who is just the sweetest guy you've ever met.

he purposely goes in front of you just so he can hold it for you, he doesn't let you walk on the outside of the sidewalk, he even makes sure to not look down into your face just in case he accidentally gets a glimpse down your shirt.

for your first date he takes you to the aquarium. but its not because he really likes marine life or anything, just because he remembers one time on the phone you told him you'd never been to one before.

he picks you up in his fathers car, it's not the nicest thing in the world but you didn't even notice since you were so busy laughing and smiling at the joke he just made about how nervous he was.

when you go to hold hands with isagi while buying tickets together he doesn't even think about letting your hand go after that. he actually ends up holding your hand the whole date, with the exception of when you needed to let go to pick up the food he'd ordered you two.

when you're not looking at him, he's sucking in every detail of you. from the outfit you're wearing to the clips in your hair and rings on your finger that matched it, he thought you were so beautiful!

isagi is so nervous at the end of the night. its dark outside now and he's standing on your porch. the air is a little nippy but he's not worried about it since you're wearing his jacket and he's not that cold anyway.

he actually wasn't gonna kiss you at first. thought it was too fast and maybe you wanted to wait a little longer for that, but with the way you were standing and twiddling your fingers behind your back waiting for him to make a move, he knew he had to.

when he got home he couldn't stop thinking about you all night.

blondieeu xx