#its not a gender thing its a being crushed under the weight of love thing

[microwaving-tesilid-argente]

im having this problem when brainstorming for the genderbend au and it's called "i keep thinking 'reed should kiss hestio actually' "

[philistiniphagottini]

Hi I love your work !! Would it be OK to request Rengoku x Chubby reader fluff ? I've been searching and the stories with this are so little I can count them on one hand ! 😭

Oh my god hi, thank you so much for indulging me. I'm so happy I could literally cry you are so sweet. And it's such a shame that there isn't more. I think Rengoku would be super sweet with a chubby reader! And I had to write this immediately because I have zero restraint and I need to write more x chubby reader for the girlies and myself. Thank you, hope you enjoy xx

cw. fluff, gender neutral reader, chubby reader

You could always tell when your beloved Kyojuro was home. The atmosphere in the room would immediately brighten with the force of a thousand, blazing suns when Rengoku invited himself into your home, the door almost flying off its hinges at his boisterous entrance. You heard him call your name from the entrance of your humble abode, his booming voice echoed down the hallways as the sound of his feet scuffing against the floorboards soon trailing after. A smile graced your lips as you went to greet him and the instant he spotted you, standing in the middle of the living room he rushed to meet you. 

You didn’t have much time to react as in the blink of an eye he was in front of you, a bright, beaming smile splitting his face and arms held wide before he caught you in his grasp. You squealed in delight as you were swept off your feet, Rengoku’s strong arms wrapped securely around your plump waist as he crushed your soft body into the hard, wall of muscle of his broad chest. He laughed merrily as you tangled your hands in his wild, flaming mane of hair, the silky strands slipping through your fingers as you tried to hold onto something as you were spun around in a broad, sweeping circle. Your feet dangled uselessly in the air, your toes desperately reaching for the ground. Rengoku only squeezed you tighter in response, forcing the air out of your lungs as you sputtered like a boiling kettle.

“I missed you too, Ren” you rasped, trying to gulp down air. 

Rengoku hummed, his bright eyes soft as he stared up at you. He rested his chin on the pillowy soft comfort of your chest as he stared up at you, smile never once faltering as the relief of seeing you safe and happy filled his veins with simmering relief. He took a deep breath, your sweet scent curling in the pit of his lungs as his eyes fluttered close for a few, brief seconds to savour the smell of you lingering in the back of his throat. Your bones ached as he continued to hold you in a crushing bear hug, the warmth your soft body provided seeping into his clothes. 

As much as you loved being held by him, there was a nagging thought itching at the back of your head. It wouldn't leave you alone, even when you shook your head lightly to try and dislodge it. Weren’t you too heavy? Were his arms getting sore from holding you aloft for so long? What if he accidentally dropped you and you crushed him under your weight? Weren’t you just a tad too plump for him to be handling you like this? You pressed your lips together into a tight, thin line, swallowing the lump in your throat as you tried to quell the rapid beat of your heart. You felt awful, thinking of such nasty things when you should be happy that he was home, safe and uninjured. You gently tapped Rengoku on the shoulder, causing his eyes to flutter open once more. 

“Ren, I think you should put me down” you said, voice barely above a breathy whisper.

Rengoku cocked his head to the side. “Why?”

You timidly licked your lips, long lashes fluttering over your warm cheeks as your pulse droned loudly in your ears.

“Aren’t I…Am I too heavy?”

Rengoku’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline in surprise. Laughter bubbled up his throat and you were deprived of precious oxygen once more as his grip around your soft waist became iron tight. 

“Of course not!” he exclaimed. “You’re as light as a feather!”

To further prove his point he spun you both around once more, your head swirling in a tizzy as the world around you shifted in a hazy blur of colours. You gripped his shoulders for stability, wisps of his hair curling around the tips of your fingers as you knotted the digits in his clothes. You could feel his large, calloused hands grabbing at your soft stomach and plush hips, the material of your clothes bunching up in his firm grip as he grabbed at the soft pudge that lay hidden from his admiring gaze. He stopped spinning once you were out of breath, your eyes struggling to focus once more as your head still felt like it was twirling around the room. 

“Okay, I get it Ren, you’re strong” you conceded. 

A warm chuckle breezed past his lips, his infectious laugh causing the corners of your lips to twitch into a soft smile. 

“And you are perfectly healthy! There is nothing wrong with you!”

His words soothed the ache in your heart, your stomach erupting with hundreds of butterflies as your face flushed with heat. You leaned forward, placing a kiss between his eyebrows as a soft hum bubbled up your throat. 

“Thank you Ren. I…needed to hear that.”

Rengoku smiled warmly in response and squeezed your plump stomach. “I’ll remind you as many times as you need.”

You were really happy to have him home.

[theredofoctober]

Waking The Witch—

Stranger Things Fic

Synopsis: Vecna, once Henry Creel, holds Reader hostage for his dark purposes

Pairing: Vecna/Henry Creel x Gender Neutral Reader

Warnings: non con, humiliation

Cross-posted from ao3

-

Red and black is the dessication of this psychic world, and you know not whether it is your dream, or that of another. Structures moist and ebony in their coiling bulk bear upon their expanse the hung corpses of people you know and love, their bodies shrouded in tendrils, on hideous display. In terror you spiral about them, your mouth—your throat, your ravaged lungs—bitter with the stink of meat, of the dead.

In out, in out, you're breathing the rotten silk of sodden mist, and, thus, starved of air, you stumble in leaden weight towards you know not what, nor who, trawling you with a bait of guilt into the dark.

"Hello, Hole," a voice breathes—Vecna, his voice coming on a whisper of thought, the corrupted God in this road-kill universe. "Have you had time to reflect on your torment? The black matter of your unrelenting guilt?"

You turn, and see a crimson silhouette, a flayed man tearing himself from the cups of many tentacles, the puppet strings of an abject Wonderland. He towers over you, this so-called Vecna, claw-handed, his small, glistening eyes scoring the barrens of your haggard soul.

"Stay away!" you cry, and back up against a pillar of midnight stone, its ridges like knives in your back. "Why are you doing this?"

"Ah," Vecna breathes, and tears another flesh-clodded rope from his shoulder. "Haven't you guessed yet? Because I want you when all the others in your pitiful life can barely remember your name. Look at yourself. Your parents are gone, and all your friends have abandoned you, turned on you, one after the other..."

You make wrenching attempts to free yourself from the structure at your spine, but you are knotted to it by so many loops of slithering muscle that it is a struggle even to breathe. In desperation you close your eyes, attempting to shut out the fabric of this elemental nightmare. But when the demon's ratting laughter comes close to ear your lids start open, and Vecna is leaning into you, his moist breath upon your face stinking of damp and decay.

"I could take your pain away so easily," he says, ponderously, "as I've done for so many others. You could join me, lose your physical form, and all its torments."

Your torso clenches in spasms, your innards buckling in the psychic grasp of one eldritch hand. Then, as you scream and sob against your agony, the pressure lifts, and Vecna inspects you with a mixture of want and loathing.

"No," he says, a response to his own musings. "I won't destroy you. You're too delicious to burn away so quickly. There are other ways I can relieve you."

One crooked hand trips from your wan cheek down to your throat, your chest, the struggling mile of sensitivity between your legs.

"I could take you now, against your will," the monster breathes, "but I will have your consent to undress your wounded soul."

"Why?" you hear yourself whimper.

Slate coils of tentacle undulate beneath your clothes, and to your guilt a pleasure foams under the gooseflesh of your chest and aching apertures.

"Because," croons Vecna, "It's the only way to end your suffering. I know why they call you 'Hole'. The rumours of what you offer to those who seek it."

"It's not true!" you cry, and all about you, suddenly, the beings suspended on whirling cylinders come alive in paroxysms of ecstasy and motion, whimpering and bucking against their vile restraints.

All of them are dead, this you know with a frigid conviction, and yet their false arousal triggers something in you that the dark wizard notices, and gloats in.

"Not true," Vecna repeats of your pitiful cry, and takes possession of your tear-stained jaw in one crushing hand. "Come, now. If it were all lies then why are you here, and so ashamed?"

The creature's damp palm thrusts back your jaw, and in shuddering gasps you endure his mouth upon your lips, your pulse, your collarbone with its cavorting veins. He is so cold, so desolate, that you can do no more than twitch and shudder in revolt.

"Admit me," mutters Vecna, against your ear, "and your existence here, in flesh and soul, will be nothing but the pleasures of a dream."

You wrench in your impossible bonds, your teeth gnashing in horror and despair. 

"I– I know what you did to the others!" you cry. "The way you broke their bones–"

"Haven't you been listening?" sneers Vecna. "You're different from those hopeless victims. Let me show you."

He makes a gesture at his shoulder, and your vision of the nightmare-scape flickers. For a moment you are both within a rotting house, winged vermin screeching and spiralling in cursed flight above you. This is real, all of it, it's really happening: in mind and in reality both this king of doom and magic keeps you.

"You understand, now," says Vecna, as the horror of ruby and fog returns. "There is no hope of escape, except through me."

You feel a motion at your hip, and glancing down see your clothes part from you in the grasp of moist limbs in countless number. Naked, you writhe before the beast of glistening muscle, feeling your arms and legs winched high and far from one another.

"No," you whimper. "No, please, please—"

"Always they beg," says Vecna, gliding thin fingers across your chest, taking a quiet enjoyment in the sickened flinch and buck of your body against him. "And always I take them into my rank."

A grey tendril finds a hole, and enters, thick, and cold, and unbearable. You attempt to scream, but another passes your lips, filling your throat with churning muscle until you stare into Vecna's eyes in desperation, imploring without word.

"If you agree to yield then your taking will be– less overwhelming."

How loathsome you find his pretense of care, and yet part of you believes it, compressed by the influence of his magic. Endless, the wave of guilt and terror holds you in its ebb, so that there is no inch of you not hurt, nor aching for reprieve. 

The tuber in your mouth retreats, and Vecna circles the plinth to which you are bound.

"Think carefully, now," he says. "Do you wish to end your pain?"

As Vecna stands before you again, leering and relentless, you rasp out one word.

"Yes."

The tentacles retreat slightly, the one between your legs drawing across your thigh with a sound wet, and supple and humiliating. 

"Very well. I knew that you'd submit." 

Vecna moves his fine fingers to your groin, and a hiss of soft breath escapes him. 

"There. You're ready for me, despite your objection."

"You," you pant, a last. "Are you the Devil?"

A wry amusement sparks those wicked eyes.

"Is that what you think I am?"

Against you the swelling of some knotted flesh has you fighting again, but a mere touch of Vecna's hand on your forehead renders you still once more.

"Enough," he says. "Receive my pity."

He thrusts within you, and you choke on a cry as pleasure and a new tremble of pain rocks through you from the inside out.

"Is this how you imagined it? The first time? I've saved you from some hopeless fumbling. Yet you don't appreciate my kindness..."

Each jolt of skinned hip bone sends a cramping agony up through every synapse, a pain that, in this reality, passes for the sheerest joy. Vecna watches your face glaze in the rapture of it, gleaning from its top the fat of terror.

"Forget your colleagues," he breathes, "their laughter, your mistakes. Now there is only you and I. And yet, if only they knew their name for you was prophecy..."

You loathe the sense of your body thrust limply against the post, the tangle of slippery darkness whose coaxing touches throughout Vecna's assault break out pockets of uneasy pleasure across your body. You've never known such anguish, caught between raw, heart-eating horror and the bliss of being manipulated by one who can lap at the marrow of your very dreams.

He is large within you, the ram of some conquering army of one. You'd expected nothing but the constricts of pain, but Vecna is too clever for that, conjuring an oubliet of his own making from the strands of your enjoyment. You feel his tongue on the salt of your cheek, the manipulations of his wandering mind etching further and further ecstasies into your every nerve.

"No," you say. "I don't want to—"

"You do," says Vecna, and his voice, even as he fills you is low, and deep, and coaxing. "You want to stand at my side. Lich Sovereign, some would call you. My beloved servant. No longer just a hole to fill, but a God ascending. They won't halt our coming, those foolish heroes, so weak..."

He doesn't seem to hear you sob, soothes you with crooning words and creeping touch until you fall silent, enduring with heaves of breath and shivering exertion every ministration, drawn further and further into the midnight strike of an abyss.

"You've always been different," whispers Vecna. "Objects trembled around you, when you were angry. Sometimes those you despised met with misfortune, and you questioned if it was your own will when it fell. So I'll tell you now: it was, all along. Every time."

Vecna nudges your head back against the coal of vertical blackness and watches the flicker of your stare as he fucks you.

"There are beings in this world with abilities," he says. "You are of our number."

Harsh his breath is on your throat, and his voice comes all around you, a corona of volume. 

"You remember these events."

"Yes," you cry out, knowing what else to do. "But it—it doesn't mean anything, I'm not like you—"

"We're one and the same," Vecna says, almost tenderly, and you yelp in his hold, stunned that you are clenching around him, for all his evil, for all that his gleaming flesh nauseates you. Mortified that, despite your hatred of him and all that he has done to this small town your every sense breaks into a flashing crisis.

"There," says Vecna, coolly. "Isn't this evidence enough? Your nerves are bound to me."

You feel his warmth inside you, the end to a crescendo, and suddenly you are as cold as the dead, enduring such a finish in a fugue state.

This is what you are, now; this is what you are to be.

"Welcome," says Vecna, allowing his many swooning limbs to drop, ushering your fall into a shuddering pile on the floor of his dread house, all shattered memory. "This is your home now. You will know no hunger nor bodily desire except that which I allow. Your flesh—its needs—are my dominion. In time you'll come to desire this."

He raises the many-veined travesty of his head and gestures about your location.

"No one will find you here. And I will protect you. You've never been defended; never had a home. Here, you do."

He kneels, and in your wretchedness you lay your face into his hand, knowing in your foulest gut that the affections of this hell-scraped creature will elevate you from the brutal deaths of all those that he has had before.

"Be loyal to me," says Vecna, "and you'll never endure pain again, unless you disobey me."

Your will is molten to his overtures, and you fall to his feet in a collapse of all: sanity, comprehension, humanity, love of yourself, siphoned away.

"No more pain," you say, and you feel the viciousness of his triumph. 

"No more pain," he repeats. "For now."

And you become his creature, forgetting who you were, before.

[marimitozpen]

how to find a family and yourself, too

Summary: He supposes he becomes a man somewhere along the way, begrudgingly accepting the role as if it was some new expectation he needed to rise to. He never questioned why it was that way, just that it was. It's just some truth of the world: the sea is blue, his hair is green, and men just have to pretend to know what being a man is.

Or, Zoro realizes he is not as cis as he thinks he is, and that the crew doesn’t care, and that he really loves his family.

★★★★★★★★★★

Hi! This fic was originally uploaded to ao3 exactly two years ago today, and in honor of its second birthday I wanted to crosspost to tumblr. This is the only fic I've ever uploaded, and I wrote it as a way to process the fact that I am agender. A lot of Zoro's thoughts and feelings are based on my own. I know there's not a market for agender Zoro, but I know that this fic helped people from my ao3 comments. The original fic is under a different name, and I went through and edited this one before crossposting, because I have improved over the past two years. Anyways, enjoy!

*slight spoilers up to and including fishman island*

★★★★★★★★★★

The first time it happens, Zoro is ten years old.

The day isn’t going well, anyways. Zoro has been training tirelessly at the Isshin Dojo for an entire year already, dedicating all he has into finally defeating Kuina. She is his last obstacle, and just that day, she had beaten him in their 2,000th match. 2,000 times, Zoro had taken up the bamboo swords, and 2,000 times Kuina had struck him down. She’s still so far away, this unreachable pillar that Zoro just can’t defeat, no matter how hard he tries. Zoro is at his wits end, trying to understand how he is ever going to get out of this dojo, how he is ever going to move forward.

It’s hopeless, really. How could Zoro ever hope to become the greatest when he can’t even defeat the girl in front of him?

So, he takes up his swords, real ones made of steel and sharp enough to slice anything, and challenges Kuina. He finds her outside, sitting by the side of the road, and starts yelling. “I plan to make this our last fight, I’m going to end this! Fight me with a real sword!”

It is exhilarating , the most exciting thing in Zoro’s short life up to this point. Bamboo swords and sparring do not compare to the thrill of putting your life on the line, the danger of getting hurt for real, the scent of steel and sparks in the air. Kuina is just as difficult to defeat as ever, always faster or stronger than him. Zoro’s arms ache from the weight of the swords, and Kuina teases him, and she still manages to toss him in the air like a ragdoll. Their 2,001st match; Zoro’s 2,001st loss. The weight of the defeat is crushing, and as much as Zoro doesn’t want to, he starts to tear up.

But then, for reasons Zoro just can not understand, Kuina tells him that he shouldn’t cry. She tells him that eventually, just because she is a girl, she will start to get weaker. That she won’t be taken seriously. That just because of her gender, she can never be the strongest .

It makes Zoro feel a lot of emotions, a lot of which he can’t really decipher right now. If Kuina is giving up on being the greatest for some stupid reason like being a girl, where does that leave Zoro? All of his training so far has been just to defeat her, and here she is, saying she was just going to lose someday. What about all of this strength I’ve worked for? Zoro thinks. What about the strength you worked for? Does it all just disappear, because you grew up and that makes you weaker?

There was something else, too, something a lot harder to put words to. Just as Kuina is accepting defeat because she was a girl, she’s basically telling Zoro that he’s destined to win because he was a man. He’s everything she wishes she was, born to be stronger and faster and naturally more talented, and Zoro just can’t stand it. It feels like an unbelievable weight on his shoulders, just another thing he has to work for and grow into. Who says I have to be a man like that? Why does it matter? None of this matters, just our training!

Zoro finally gives Kuina a piece of his mind, yelling about the things that were easier for him to understand. He tells her that when the day comes that he finally beats her, it will be because he worked for it and earned his own strength, not because of her gender. And that she can’t just give up on being the greatest, because he is going to surpass her. Kuina smiles at him, and under the moonlight, they make a promise. One of us will become the world’s greatest swordsman.

Zoro gets everything out that night, but he still goes to bed feeling like something was wrong. But how could he explain the sinking feeling in his stomach, the gut instinct that Kuina was wrong? He’s already gotten her to agree that her strength and training were more important than something like her gender, so why does he still feel so odd?

She just… told me I was a man. I never thought about it until now, but am I? What does that mean? Does that mean beating Kuina, becoming the strongest? Zoro’s thoughts run wild for a minute, and he lets them, before he thinks about how swordsmanship was mind as well as body. Whatever was happening, it didn’t matter, it was just a bump in the road. He just decides that Kuina was what made a man, that if gender matters so much, he’ll just earn his when he beats her. It’s simple enough, and Zoro finally drifts to sleep.

He never gets the chance to beat Kuina. The next day, his world comes crashing down. Kuina had died, slipped down the stairs and away. Forever out of Zoro’s reach.

It was really, really hard to accept for a long, long time. Zoro throws himself into his training, trying to ignore the way he could still see her out of the corners of his eyes, focused only on becoming stronger so that he could live up to their promise. Zoro never settles for anything less than the best, and now he has to carry Kuina’s dream, too.

Kuina’s father hands over her sword, and it feels heavy with expectation but perfectly balanced in Zoro’s small hands. Carrying along Kuina’s legacy was still difficult sometimes, but sometimes he feels like having someone there with him makes it easier. Zoro pushes forward, both striving to surpass Kuina and to bring her along with him.

Zoro doesn’t think about his weird feelings from that night again for a long time. It’s easy to ignore in the monotony of the dojo – he doesn’t stand out from the other kids in anything but strength. They all wear the same uniforms, sleep in piles on the floor, train and live and fight together. Zoro pushes himself a little beyond what was reasonable sometimes, but that’s all just training to become the strongest. Some days, the pressure he feels is so overwhelming that every “he” he hears stings, but that’s okay. He can ignore it.

He supposes he becomes a man somewhere along the way, begrudgingly accepting the role as if it was some new expectation he needed to rise to. He never questioned why it was that way, just that it was. It's just some truth of the world: the sea is blue, his hair is green, and men just have to pretend to know what being a man is. He doesn’t get to seriously question it again until nine years later, when Zoro finds himself as one member of a two-member pirate crew, sailing away from a Marine base and on to something new.

----------

Zoro wakes up to Luffy singing, loud and bright and right in Zoro’s ear. Zoro doesn’t regret joining up, because he can tell this kid is going to take him far, but he also really wants to sleep right now. He’s not made of rubber, he can’t just bounce back into place after being injured the way his new captain can. Zoro cracks one eye open and turns his head in Luffy’s direction, intent on giving the younger boy a piece of his mind.

Instead, his eyes fall on Luffy’s chest. Luffy’s vest is open, and there are two long, thin cuts on either side of his chest. They look old, already healed, but Zoro still panics.

“Luffy, your chest! Did you get hurt back at the Marine base? Why didn’t you tell anyone!” he shouts, sitting up as quickly as he can.

Luffy just cocks his head, looking terribly confused. Then, as if a lightbulb has gone off in his head, he smiles. “Oh, are you talking about my scars?”

Zoro nods, swallowing. Those scars look painful , and Zoro is kinda shocked that Luffy is being so nonchalant about all of this. He is pulled out of his thoughts by laughter.

“I got surgery a year ago! Pretty cool, right? I told Gramps I wouldn’t become a Marine unless I got it, so he paid for me to have surgery, then I became a pirate anyways. I sure showed him, huh?”

Zoro’s head is spinning. He doesn’t know who Gramps is or why he wanted Luffy to become a Marine, and he still doesn’t know why Luffy got this surgery. His confusion must be clear on his face, because Luffy starts explaining again.

“Are you confused on why I got the surgery?” he asks gently. Zoro nods.

“It’s cause I’m trans!” Luffy announces with a grin. “Do you know what that is?”

Zoro shakes his head at that. Is this something I should know? he thinks, but Luffy is quick to dispel his worry.

“Don’t worry, lots of people don’t know! I didn’t even know for a long time. Basically, it means I wasn’t born as a boy. My brain and my heart always said I was a boy, even though my body didn’t. So I had to change my body to match.”

Luffy’s explanation makes sense to Zoro, but he still feels confused, although for a different reason. Not born as a boy…  Zoro just didn’t know that was something that could happen. He is silent for a long time, and Luffy just starts humming beside him. Zoro thinks he might recognize the tune.

After a long time, Luffy finally speaks up again. “Zoro, you’re… okay with it, right?”

Zoro startles a bit, then processes Luffy’s question. “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be okay with it?”

Luffy shrugs, one hand playing with the brim of his straw hat. “I dunno… it’s just that some people aren’t. You went all silent on me, I didn’t know what you were thinking.”

Zoro smiles at Luffy. It’s weird, because smiles used to be rare for Zoro, but it seems like his captain is able to draw them out of him so easily. “It’s okay, captain. I was just thinking about something else.”

Luffy laughs again. The sun is dipping lower on the horizon, washing their boat in shades of orange and purple, but Luffy’s face is as bright as the sun. “That’s good, cause I would’ve had to fight you if you weren’t okay with it.” He sways a little where he sits, coming to rest with his head on Zoro’s shoulder. “I don’t wanna fight my crew. That’s not what nakama’s for.”

Zoro just looks ahead, still deep in thought. He is vaguely aware of Luffy falling asleep on his shoulder, but for some reason, he doesn’t push the boy off. He just sits, thinking. Not born as a man… so how did you know, then? Did someone tell you that you were a man, just like Kuina told me?

What does all of this mean? I never just… felt like a man, I had to make myself feel like one. So am I a woman, then? Is that an option? Zoro’s racing mind halts for a second as he considers this train of thought. He snorts as he realizes how stupid it is. Okay, definitely not a woman. I guess this is what Luffy felt, then. Just not a woman.

It all starts to make a little more sense to Zoro. If all it takes to be a man is just not being a woman, then Zoro has that down pat. The rest will be easy. And yet, Zoro still feels strange. It feels like a door is opening up to him. Something is starting to change, and he can’t tell what yet.

----------

Zoro hates Sanji the moment he sets eyes on him. The cook is pretentious, starting a fight with a Marine over some soup, and Zoro can’t stand how preachy Sanji is. Then, he starts getting all flirty with Nami, which also pisses Zoro off. This Sanji guy is a real idiot, and if Zoro didn’t respect Luffy so much, he would be really worried about this guy joining the crew.

But there’s something else about Sanji that irks Zoro, something he can’t quite put his finger on. He could go on for days about how Sanji is loud, and rude, and stuck-up, and stupid; but it feels like Zoro is skirting around some other issue. Luffy and Zoro are just as loud and rude, and according to Nami they’re even dumber than Sanji. Most of these qualities don’t even bother Zoro, so why does Sanji just have this way of pushing all of Zoro’s buttons?

After a few weeks and a few run-ins with death (and a very valuable reality check for Zoro), Zoro begrudgingly accepts Sanji’s presence on the crew. He has to admit, the other man is damn good in a fight, both as an ally and as an opponent. He’s also a very, very good cook, but Zoro would never tell him that. He doesn’t need Sanji’s ego getting any bigger, the thing is already threatening to sink the Merry. 

But Sanji still pisses Zoro off to no end.

The two of them get along like a house on fire. They will argue about anything and everything, much to Luffy’s amusement and Nami and Usopp’s chagrin. Zoro will insult the cook’s stupid eyebrows and Sanji will insult Zoro’s unusual hair color, and they will exchange blows just as often as they have each other’s backs. It makes things slightly tense, but still interesting.

Sanji is everything Zoro hates about men, Zoro realizes one day. He is cocky and rude and he pushes himself onto women, he is over-the-top and annoying and oh so performative. Zoro can’t stand him, because he’s everything Zoro’s not and he’s everything Zoro doesn’t ever want to be and he’s so damn loud about it.

This realization does absolutely nothing to remedy Zoro and Sanji’s relationship. Zoro is not only mad at Sanji at this point, he’s just as mad at himself for realizing what Sanji is and what he’s doing and feeling threatened by it. Seriously, Zoro has no reason to be questioning himself right now, and yet Sanji just manages to get under his skin and make him actually think. Zoro doesn’t like thinking all that much, he much prefers actions.

It makes Zoro wonder why Sanji is like this and how exactly his masculinity or whatever has the power to make Zoro so mad. It has Zoro questioning his own masculinity, because he is so different from Sanji so how can he be sure he’s doing it right? It makes Zoro think about his place on the crew, because it used to be easy; there was Luffy, the captain; then Zoro, then Usopp and Nami. Now there’s Sanji, and he has the potential to be Zoro’s equal in terms of strength, and Zoro just feels so strange about all of this. 

Zoro deals with it the way he deals with all of his non-physical problems: he ignores it. If Zoro can’t slice through a problem, it simply can’t be solved, from his point of view. Not that he doesn’t try slicing through Sanji, but the cook is quick enough to put up a fight. And besides, Luffy would probably be pretty upset if Zoro hurt or killed his beloved cook. 

The two of them continue to fight, and Zoro might even be starting more fights on purpose now, because he’s just angry with himself and Sanji and what better way to take it out? Eventually Nami puts some sort of stop on it and gives them both a stern talking-to, but that’s only because Sanji can’t say no to her and she’s threatening to raise Zoro’s debt if he keeps starting unnecessary fights. This doesn’t end the fighting entirely, not by a long shot, but at least some semblance of peace returns to their small ship. If Sanji were gone , Zoro thinks, peace could return entirely. But unfortunately, Sanji is there to stay, and he is there to be a thorn in Zoro’s side for the entire rest of their journey.

----------

Zoro did not expect to be literally facing his past when he woke up this morning and departed the ship to explore Loguetown, but here he is. Staring into the face of a dead girl who is shouting words at him that he hasn’t heard in almost a decade, and Zoro just feels so many things he might not be able to handle it.

Tashigi has been popping up around Zoro all day; he saw her on the street and accidentally broke her glasses, she dragged him to the Marine base for chores, he escaped but met her again at the swords shop, she finally recognized him and chased him down. And here they are, standing in the rain, as she taunts him.

As if it weren’t bad enough that she’s forcing her stupid ideal of justice on him, insulting his bond with his sword because he’s a “criminal” or whatever, Tashigi starts repeating the words that Kuina shouted that day all those years ago. She seems insulted that Zoro isn’t taking her seriously, interprets it not as an offense to her own skill, but an attack on her gender. Kuina’s face and Kuina’s words… it’s all too much for Zoro.

“Is it because I’m a woman?” Tashigi screams. “You view me as weak, you won’t finish me off! Take me seriously! You don’t understand what it’s like, to wish you were born a boy!” She’s so loud and so pushy and Zoro finally just snaps. He whirls around and starts yelling back, even though he knows it’s childish.

“Everything about you pisses me off! You have the same face as my close friend who died years ago, and then you start shouting the same things as she does! Give me a break, you copycat!” Zoro breathes in, and Tashigi starts arguing back, but Zoro continues. “I’ll tell you what I told her; your gender has nothing to do with it, only your skill and mine. And if I didn’t take you seriously, take that as an offense to your skill, because I held back because you were weak! Don’t blame it on gender!”

Tashigi just stands there, staring at him. It’s clear she’s never been talked to like this; her jaw is hanging open and Zoro is pretty sure that there’s tears mixing in with the rain on her cheeks. He scowls at her, then turns back to go find his captain, leaving her in the dust.

Later, when Zoro is back on the ship, he starts to think a bit more about what Tashigi said. It brings back everything from the night of Kuina’s death; the confusion and the anger and the weird, unplaceable feeling that Zoro was sure he suppressed but is coming back to rear its ugly head. What is it about swordswomen and their ability to shake me up like this? Zoro thinks to himself, allowing himself to just wallow in his confusion for a few seconds. He then stands up, shakes himself off, and decides he must become stronger, so he can get past this stupid gender stuff.

Of course, he can’t fully relax yet, because Nami is approaching. “Thinking over there, Zoro? I don’t see you doing that often,” she teases. Zoro flips her off. 

“Awww, c’mon, don’t be like that. Tell me everything! I’m a great problem solver, you know.” She encourages as she sits down on the deck and pulls Zoro down next to her. And Zoro really doesn’t want to tell her anything, but… they’re cooped up on a ship and Nami is the only woman here so maybe she will at least have some perspective on this whole thing?

“I just got in a really weird fight today, with one of the Marines. After I defeated her she started yelling about how I wasn’t taking her seriously just because she’s a woman. It reminded me of my childhood friend, she used to say the same thing. It’s strange, because I don’t think about who my opponent is when I fight them, only their skill.” Zoro explains. His voice sounds weak and it hits Zoro that this is really stupid, but he’s already said it so there’s not much he can do now.

Nami hums as she thinks. “Well, she’s probably feeling insecure a little bit. All women are used to being underestimated. Some of us, like me,” Nami accentuates her statement by pointing to herself, “like to use it to our advantage. I’ve got Sanji-kun wrapped around my finger, you know? Just because I’m a girl.” She pauses, then looks at Zoro before starting her next point.

“Well, I guess some women don’t view it the same way. They want to be seen as equals, instead of having to constantly prove themselves by exceeding expectations. I guess that Marine and your friend are both like that, they see that you’re not taking them seriously and they think it’s because you’re underestimating them. But if it’s just because of their skill, like you say, then there’s not much you can do other than ignore them.” Nami pats his shoulder. “Got that, stupid?”

“Yeah,” Zoro grumbles, not rising to the bait for once. “Although Kuina, my friend… I never underestimated her. She was always stronger than me. I never once beat her in a fight.”

If Nami notices the use of past tense, she doesn’t comment on it. “I’m sure I would’ve liked her, if she could take you down a peg,” Nami laughs. She leaves a little while later, and Zoro is kinda glad he had this talk. He’s still a bit swamped by the weird feelings, but at least the other things are starting to make a little more sense.

----------

“Hey Robin, whatcha readin?”

The response from the crew is instantaneous. Everyone who is on deck, Zoro included, falls silent and stares. Zoro himself sits up from where he was sprawled across the deck to watch as his captain leans over Robin’s shoulder to inspect the book she has laying open on the table.

He thinks he heard about this happening once before, of Luffy showing an interest in Robin’s books, and that the crew had been just as shocked then. It’s just that books and Luffy… they don’t really go together. Luffy has been listening in to some of Robin’s story times and she is more than happy to read out loud for some of her younger crewmates, but it’s rare that Luffy is the one to show interest.

“Oh, it’s a book about different identities. It’s rather interesting, do you want me to read it to you?” Robin hardly seems phased by Luffy’s sudden interest, taking it in stride. She’s always happy to indulge her captain on his more tame shenanigans.

Luffy shakes his head. “Nah, the pictures just caught my attention.” At this, most of the crew lets out a collective sigh. Nami goes back to watering her flowers, and Usopp and Chopper start making noise on the upper deck again. Sanji prattles away in the kitchen and Franky stays below deck, neither of them having heard the initial question. Zoro wants to keep watching, for some reason. Luffy hooks his arm over Robin’s shoulder, fingers running across the page. “Like this one! The colors are pretty. What’s it mean?”

Robin smiles, and it is unlike the smiles Zoro has seen from her up to this point. “That flag represents transgender people, Captain. Do you know what that is?”

Now it is Luffy’s turn to smile, the toothy grin taking up his whole face. “Like me!” he exclaims cheerfully.

Robin looks shocked for a second before she reigns her expression in. Zoro thinks this is the first time he’s seen her smile with teeth. “I’m like that too, Captain,” she replies. “How funny that we should meet on this broad sea.”

Luffy is positively beaming at this point. He finally pulls up a chair and sits across from Robin. He is gesturing excitedly as he speaks, telling Robin it is so cool that they met and that he’s never met another person like himself before. Zoro smiles a little, in spite of himself. It’s nice to hear his captain so happy, and seeing Robin smiling fondly isn’t so bad either. He is about to drift back to sleep when Luffy is suddenly calling to him.

“Zoro, hey Zoro! You should come look too! This book is so cool, they have a flag for everything!” Zoro cracks one eye open to glare at his captain. Robin is giggling from behind her hand.

Zoro sighs. Yes, it’s nice that his captain is taking interest in a somewhat quiet activity, and that Robin is opening up a little too. But to be honest, Zoro has no interest in the book himself. He figures that nothing in there is going to apply to him, since he already realized he’s not like his captain or Robin.

“I think that the swordsman wants to sleep, Captain.” Oh, nice save Robin! Zoro makes a mental note to thank her later. Luffy protests a little, grumbling something about how all Zoro does is sleep, but he’s drawn back into the book when Robin flips the page.

“Robin, look, this one looks like Zoro,” Luffy comments. Robin agrees, telling him that those colors do look a lot like Zoro’s hair color and outfit. Zoro can still feel Luffy’s gaze on him, but he ignores it. He closes his eyes and lets himself drift off to sleep for real, this time.

----------

Zoro wakes up in a bed in a room he does not recognize. Not that he’s never done that before, but it seems different this time. Zoro shouldn’t be here.

The last thing he remembers is running for his life. Zoro had been gravely injured, and there was an admiral and all these robots, and they really stood no chance…

The weird, spongy, not-earth of the Sabaody Archipelago is making it hard to run. Zoro’s legs ache and he’s sure he’s reopened several of his wounds. It took a serious joint effort just to take down that one Kuma robot, and Zoro isn’t honestly sure he has it in him to take on any more. He hates feeling so weak, but of course he couldn’t have changed the outcome of Thriller Bark. Zoro would gladly do it again to save his captain.

Still, this is a very bad situation, and no time for reminiscing. Zoro has crewmates to protect, and he has robots to escape. Of course, it is then that the real Kuma shows up. He quips about Zoro still being alive, and Zoro gives him the best answer he can in the moment. Of course, he does owe Kuma in a way, but the man still poses a huge threat.

Zoro’s lungs ache and his legs are about to give out. His arms are weak, he can’t do anything to save himself. He is aware of people yelling, trying to save him, but it’s too late. Kuma raises one huge, ungloved paw and swings it. Zoro’s world fades away immediately.

That’s the last thing Zoro remembers, so how the hell did he get here? He can feel bandages covering his skin, but they are not wrapped with the professionalism and care that Chopper’s usually are, which tells him that he’s no longer with his crewmates. He wonders what happened to them and starts panicking, bolting out of bed to start taking in his surroundings.

Then, he sees her out of the corner of his eye. The weird ghost girl from Thriller Bark, what was her name again? Perfume, or something?

“It’s Perona, you dumbass!” she shouts. Oh, so Zoro said that out loud then.

She explains to him that he came down in a bubble and how it was part of Kuma’s power. She doesn’t know where they are, but she bandaged him up the best she could, and he really needs to wait and rest before he does anything stupid. 

Zoro doesn’t listen, of course. He’s not so weak and helpless that he can just lay in bed when his crew probably needs him, when his captain probably needs him. He just keeps going out and getting into fights with the weird monkeys that inhabit the island, pissing Perona off and injuring himself further.

A few days later, Mihawk shows up to tell Zoro about the war, and this is probably the worst Zoro has ever felt. To think, while he was out here unable to defeat some stupid baboons, his captain was fighting in a war and losing his only brother in such a horrific way. Zoro is useless, useless, useless, and he’s so weak it hurts.

Then he gets the orders: stay where you are. You have two years. Get stronger. It’s painful, but it’s simple and it’s what needs to be done. It makes Zoro’s heart ache that he can’t be there to comfort his captain, but he quickly decides that he will spend these two years getting stronger so that he won’t miss this kind of situation again. Better yet, there won’t be one at all. After some begging, Mihawk agrees to take him in, and Zoro throws himself into his training. 

It is slightly reminiscent of his time at the dojo. At the time, Zoro’s need to become the strongest was so that he could carry on Kuina’s will and achieve their dream. But now, Zoro has people, a family , he wants to protect. The training is grueling and bloody and mind-numbing, and Zoro wouldn’t have it any other way. He loses sight of everything other than his goal and his crew, the two things he is doing everything for. Two years, and Zoro will be strong enough so that nothing has to happen to hurt the Straw Hats again.

----------

Zoro has to admit, being back with the crew after two years of separation is really, really nice. Two years apart was far too long. He had missed everyone, even that stupid cook, and he missed being on the ocean. He understands why they spent two years apart, and everyone is much stronger for it, but he is glad that those years are behind them.

Just making it off of Sabaody was an ordeal. Luffy manages to attract trouble everywhere he goes, though, so the crew is used to this. Zoro almost missed the nonstop action and the daily near-death experiences, but action is not the only part of a pirate’s life. Zoro loves just being on the Sunny, surrounded by his crew – his family – exchanging stories about their training over the past two years.

Zoro learns where everyone spent their two years: Luffy trained with Rayleigh, Chopper mastered all of his forms and learned a lot about medicine, Brook went on tour but still managed to strengthen his skills. Robin mentions something about staying with Luffy’s family in the Revolutionary Army, and it seems innocent enough except for the fact that Robin is wearing her “I know something you don’t” smile. It’s easily brushed off though, because Robin says she can’t share classified information. 

Zoro is not really one to give praise, but he does compliment Usopp for surviving two years on an island that was literally trying to eat him. Seriously, Usopp has developed a lot since Zoro last saw him, and he seems a lot more confident than the insecure liar they picked up in Syrup Village so long ago.

Everyone seems a lot more confident, actually. Robin is smiling much more, Chopper is so much more enthusiastic than he’s ever been, and the cook seems weirdly relaxed for once. Zoro hadn’t noticed it much in Sabaody, but the cook seems… different, somehow. He isn’t quite as pushy as he had been in the past, and his mere presence isn’t aggravating Zoro the way it used to. 

Zoro gets his explanation soon enough. Sanji is second to last to share his adventures from the last two years, and he takes a shaky breath before doing so. Robin, sitting next to Sanji, places one hand on his back and gives him an encouraging nod.

“I spent my two years on Momoiro Island.” Sanji starts. He is met with mostly blank stares, except from Nami, who raises her eyebrows. Sanji scans their reactions before he continues.

“So the island is home to a huge community of LGBT people, who wanted to create a place where they could exist without judgement. They’re led by Emporio Ivankov of the Revolutionary Army. I actually got to see Robin a few times over those years, because she visited the island on business once or twice. Ah, but that’s besides the point…”

Sanji trails off, still acting nervous. Luckily for him, Luffy interrupts. “I remember Iva-chan! He was so nice! Did he train you, Sanji?”

Sanji whips his head in Luffy’s direction so quickly that Zoro thinks it might fly off. “You think he was nice?”

“Yeah, he saved my life,” Luffy says matter-of-factly.

Sanji shakes his head. “That… doesn’t matter right now. Yes, he trained my cooking and my fighting abilities, but he also made me learn a lot more about myself. Like, that my views on the world and people in the LGBT community were really outdated. And… that I’m genderfluid.”

“Great for you, bro!” Franky congratulates, tears already forming in his eyes. “What does that mean, though?”

Sanji laughs, Franky’s antics lightening the mood for all of them. “I just don’t feel like a man all the time. Sometimes, I feel like a woman, or sometimes I feel like I’m somewhere in between. It changes all the time. Oh, and I use any pronouns now.”

Franky nods, and Usopp also nods along with one hand on his chin. “Right, I get it, but what are pronouns?” Usopp asks.

“It’s like he, she, they. You can use any of them to refer to me, just make sure to use all of them at different points. It’s not great if I’m hearing only ‘he’ all the time.”

Zoro can practically see the steam coming from Luffy’s ears as he processes this. Finally, Luffy speaks. “So, is it like, ‘this is Sanji, they are my cook, and they make the best food ever?’” he asks before looking between Sanji and Robin with an expectant look on his face. Robin giggles softly, and Sanji smiles.

“Yeah, just like that. Or ‘Sanji is my cook, she makes the best food ever.’ You can use any of them,” they assure their captain.

Luffy smiles wide and laughs. “Okay, I get it now! Thank you Sanji!”

After Luffy, everyone else offers thei support and congratulations. Nami, Robin, and Chopper each wrap Sanji up in a tight hug, while Brook and Usopp remind Sanji that he’s always a valued member of the crew. Franky continues crying because of how much strength it must have taken for Sanji to come out. 

Zoro… Zoro doesn’t really react. He nods at the cook when she looks his way, but Zoro doesn’t really know what to say. He’s confused, too, because he doesn’t really know what feeling like a man or woman is like, and he’s never even heard about that “somewhere in between” that Sanji was talking about earlier.

The rest of the crew moves on quickly. Zoro is the only one left who hasn’t shared his whereabouts, and he knows the crew will enjoy this. Not only was Zoro staying with and training under his greatest rival, but that ghost girl too. As expected, Luffy, Usopp, and Chopper get a kick out of that. Zoro pushes his worries about Sanji’s coming out to the back of his mind and focuses on enjoying his time with his family before Luffy inevitably drags them into some mess again.

The descent to Sabaody takes forever; long enough for Sanji to prepare and serve dinner. It’s actually quite a meal, featuring each of the Straw Hats’ favorite dishes – meat on the bone, cheeseburgers, sandwiches, even rice balls for Zoro. It is great to be home, defending his food from Luffy’s sticky hands and dodging the peas that Usopp has been launching across the table. Dinners on the Sunny are no calm event, but Zoro loves it. He loves the chaos of it all.

Normally, Zoro is one of the first few out of the kitchen. He usually has something better to be doing like training, napping, or getting pulled into playing tag with Luffy, Usopp, and Chopper. But Zoro has questions, about Sanji’s whole gender thing, and he can’t just ask that in front of everyone. Hell, it’s embarrassing enough to ask the cook about it. 

Zoro sits at the table long after he’s finished his dinner, even after everyone has left. He watches as the cook cleans up and washes dishes, ignoring Zoro’s stare the whole time. She doesn’t even try to start a fight, which is unusual, because usually if Zoro stares for that long it’s like asking for a shoe to the face.

Finally, Sanji has apparently had enough. The dishes are washed, dried, and put away. There is nothing else to do in the kitchen, so they turn to Zoro, planting their hands on the island bar and leaning over.

“I’ll bite, is there a reason why you’re watching me, marimo?” He starts. It carries the usual tone of annoyance, but maybe a little more. “This ain’t about earlier, is it? Better not be, cause I will–”

Zoro interrupts by shaking his head. “It’s not… Well, it’s not what you’re thinking. I just. I don’t get it,” he mumbles, staring down at the table in front of him, one hand coming up to play with his earrings the way he does when he’s stressed. He can still feel Sanji staring at him, and he waves his hand, gesturing at nothing. “The, uh, the gender thing. I’m having trouble understanding it. I want to understand it.” He looks up, meeting Sanji’s eyes. Sanji sighs.

“Ok, well which part don’t you get? I don’t really know how else to explain it, other than what I said earlier. Sometimes I feel like a man, sometimes a woman, sometimes in between.” Sanji starts. He speaks slowly, as if he were explaining this to a baby or something. Slightly annoying, but Zoro doesn’t push it.

Zoro furrows his brow, frustrated about the explanation, because it doesn’t really explain anything . At least, not the way Zoro needs. “That’s the thing! What the hell does feeling like a man feel like?”

Sanji falls quiet. “The hell do you mean?” Zoro can hear the usual burning edge to her words, the fight he’s used to. He doesn’t want to make Sanji mad, goddamnit, he wants to understand! Sanji takes an angry hit of their cigarette, blowing smoke in Zoro’s direction. Zoro glares back.

“I mean, how do you know when you’re a man? Since you’re other things sometimes, how do you tell the difference?”

“What’s this about, marimo?”

“Just.. Just answer the question! My reason doesn’t matter!”

“Okay, just… give me a minute, okay? It’s a weird ass question, you caught me off guard.” Zoro nods and leans back on the bench, satisfied for now. Sanji sits down on one of the barstools, spinning slowly as they think.

“I mean, to start off, did you know all this gender thing is fake?” Sanji speaks up after a moment, stopping so he is facing Zoro. “One of my, uh, friends? Yeah, one of my friends back in Kamabakka told me that everything we know about gender is just gender roles. It’s what we tell each gender they’re supposed to do or feel, not what gender actually is. Like, some people think women are just supposed to cook and clean and be quiet while men are supposed to go off and make money for the family. The way my old geezer raised me, women are better than men, and we’re supposed to protect and serve them in any way we can. It’s really different from person to person.”

Sanji pauses to take another hit as she continues. “Let's see… To me, being a man still feels more like responsibility. But there's more, too. Masculinity is loud and brash, it’s like a jungle or like the sea during a storm. The way my legs heat up when I do Diable Jambe, that feels manly too. But it’s different from when I feel like a woman; that’s all light and airy and stuff. It’s like helping Nami-san take care of her tangerines, or laughing with my crew and getting compliments on my food. Femininity is like caring for people, while masculinity is taking responsibility. And then there’s some times when it’s more than that… when I feel charged up and everything is uncertain but it doesn’t need to make sense. It’s like the early mornings when I’m the only one awake, or the moment before lightning strikes.” Sanji pauses, smiling, clearly patting themself on the back. “Eh, I’ve never had to think about how to describe it all before. I think Iva-san would be proud. That help at all, marimo?”

Zoro sits silent for a while, trying to take it all in. He’s never felt like… like a forest, or a storm, or like his legs are heating up. He had taken responsibility for things plenty of times, but it wasn’t related to his gender or anything, it was just what he had to do. There’s one thing that definitely stands out about Sanji’s descriptions, though.

“So, being a man, it doesn’t ever feel like you’re just performing it? It’s not like a job?” 

Sanji just… blinks at Zoro, then they stand up and start moving around the kitchen again. He pulls down a mug and starts brewing some tea. Zoro isn’t a big tea person, but he still understands the gesture.

“No, it doesn’t feel like a job.” Sanji finally says after filling the kettle and placing it on the stove. “It used to, though. Before I discovered all of this, and the possibility that I could just not be a man. You feel like it is?”

Zoro ignores Sanji’s gaze, suddenly very interested in the top of the dinner table. He knows Sanji understands, though, as she continues to talk. “I won’t press you, cause god knows I hated it when Iva-san did that to me. But just think about it, okay? There’s a lot out there, and the crew won’t care, you saw them today.” Sanji pauses to place the mug of tea in front of Zoro. “I won’t tell anyone either. But don’t start expecting me to be nice to you or anything! We’re still enemies!” 

Zoro grins. He knows that he and Sanji aren’t really enemies, they haven’t been in a long time. Sanji learning to accept themself had helped the both of them a lot, and they’re closer to friends at this point. Sanji knows it too, but they have reputations to keep! Still, it’s pretty nice. Sanji doesn’t treat Zoro like it’s anything weird or shameful, he just understands and explains and lets it be. She nods at Zoro, straightening up to leave the kitchen. “Oh, and you’re washing your own mug! Don’t get lost on the way to the cabinets, marimo!” she adds as an afterthought, ducking out of the doorway before Zoro can send him a glare. 

----------

 Zoro stands outside the door to Robin’s library, mug of tea in hand, for about ten minutes, just trying to work up the courage to enter. He feels so stupid, being scared to ask his crewmate to borrow a book. While talking with Sanji had helped, just a little, Zoro still has a lot of questions.

He is staring into his mug weighing his options and thinking that he might just come back tomorrow when Robin opens the door. She seems surprised to see him, almost dropping the book in her hands. As usual, she recovers gracefully, donning her usual closed-eye smile.

“My, it’s certainly rare to see you here, Swordsman-san. Is there something I can help you with?” she greets, holding the door open and beckoning Zoro inside.

“Uh, yeah, but if you were leaving–” Zoro tries to deflect. I’m not ready for this, he thinks. He hasn’t felt so uncertain in a long time.

“Oh, I insist!” Robin asserts. “It’s no trouble at all. What can I help you with?”

Zoro looks up at her, at her kind eyes and non-judgemental smile. He knows that Sanji was right last night when they told him that the crew wouldn’t mind if Zoro ended up not being a man. He knows that Robin, especially, wouldn’t mind. He recalls a day from two years ago, when Luffy had suddenly found interest in the book Robin was reading and she had confessed she was transgender as well. That moment had felt so inconsequential back then; it was just another instance of Zoro’s captain and crew bonding. But today, it feels like a lifeline.

Zoro takes a deep breath to steady himself. “Yeah, actually, I was looking for a book. I don’t know the name though.”

“That’s no problem at all. Do you know what kind of book it is?” Robin asks. 

Zoro scratches at the back of his head. “Uh, yeah. Do you remember that book you and Luffy were reading a couple years ago? He just wanted to look at the pictures, though, I think.”

Robin brings one hand up to hide her lips as she takes a tiny gasp. “Yes, I know exactly which book you’re talking about. Let me go pull it down for you.” Robin pats Zoro’s shoulders as she walks away, gesturing at the benches that surround the library. “You can take a seat, if you want. I can leave you alone, too. I’ll just continue my own reading.”

Zoro sits and nods, feeling a little overwhelmed. He hadn’t planned on telling Robin why he was here, exactly, but Robin knows everything anyways and he does find her company to be very comforting. Robin is something like what Zoro imagines an older sister might be like.

“I, uh. I think I would like that, but…” Zoro is unsure of what he’s asking, letting his voice drop out as he continues thinking.

“I’ll stay down here the whole time, if that’s what you want. And you can always ask for help.” Robin pats Zoro’s shoulder again as she passes him the book. “I’m just across the room, okay?”

Zoro is grateful, so grateful for Robin’s easy going nature. He shudders a bit as he opens the book, looking for the chapter on gender identities.

The first thing Zoro notices is just how many there are. There’s like, a thousand, each one with a different name and flag and description. It’s a lot for him to take in at once.

Breathe, Zoro, something in the back of his mind tells him. Just go through it one at a time. Zoro sighs. He already knows he isn’t trans the way that Luffy and Robin are, and he’s pretty sure he’s not genderfluid the way the cook is either. That narrows down his search, at least a little.

As Zoro flips through the pages, he just finds himself feeling more and more lost and frustrated. All these terms are swimming around in his head. And to make matters worse, a lot of them seem to rely on what a person is already feeling. Zoro… Zoro doesn’t actually know what he’s feeling. He’s had this vague notion that he wasn’t quite a man for a long time, but he’s also been acting as one for long enough that it still feels like part of him. He’s getting tempted to just slam the book closed and call it a night, but he really doesn’t want to find out what happens if he mistreats Robin’s books. He has a feeling it won’t be pretty.

“Are you doing alright over there, Swordsman-san?” Robin calls, momentarily stirring Zoro from his thoughts. She has worry written all over her face. “You seem a bit frustrated.”

“I am, but I’m okay.” Zoro reassures her as he continues reading. Then, he hits upon the definition.

Agender , the book reads. A person who feels a lack of a gender identity, or does not feel a strong relation to any gender identity. An absence of gender.

There is a second paragraph below, from an agender person describing how they feel about their own identity. It was really hard for me to figure out for a long time, the author starts , because I just didn’t want to face it. I was comfortable enough living with my own assigned gender. But whenever I think of myself and the words I would use to describe myself, my gender isn’t one of them. I was raised one way, sure, but that is as far as the connection goes. I don’t feel like a man or a woman, I just feel like me.

Zoro chokes on his breath. He studies the image of the flag next to it, and another memory from two years ago pops up in his head. “This flag looks like Zoro,” Luffy had said, and Robin agreed because of the colors. The agender flag has green, white, and black stripes. This is the flag that matched him two years ago, and now with the definition…

Zoro breathes in quickly. His heart is racing, hammering against his ribcage like a drum. He thinks back to what Sanji told him earlier, about sometimes feeling like more than a man or a woman. Zoro hadn’t understood it then, still doesn’t really grasp it. But he knows that he doesn’t feel what Sanji was describing. But if nothing is an option…

When Zoro tries to think about his gender identity, it is just his role as a man. He does what men do because that’s how he was raised, that’s what everyone told him to be. That’s his only connection to it. If he thinks any further than that… there’s nothing. He’s always just felt like Zoro , not Zoro the man or Zoro the woman or Zoro the anything else. Just Zoro, nothing more.

Agender. It certainly seems to fit.

And that thought is so world-changing, so scary, so new that Zoro doesn’t know how to handle it. Consequences be damned, he shuts the book quickly and tosses it onto the table, rushing out of the library. Robin stands up and calls after him, but Zoro just ignores her. All he wants to do is run, run away to when things were simpler, when he didn’t have to think about being different. He hurries into the boy’s room and huddles in his bunk, ignoring his crew for the rest of the night.

----------

Fishman Island is a disaster, of course, complete with princesses, some of Arlong’s disciples, and some very valuable revelations about the Poneglyphs for Robin. Zoro does his best to turn his brain off and focus on drinking the castle dry, eating delicious food prepared by the royal staff, and fighting. He ignores the whole gender issue. It wasn’t important for the first twenty-one years of Zoro’s life, so it can’t be that important now.

Sure, the realization that Zoro didn’t have to be a man was a weight off his shoulders. He didn’t have to “perform” if he wasn’t a man. But Zoro had almost gotten comfortable in the performance. He pretty much knew how to be a man. Why try to change things if they were working out already?

It becomes much harder to ignore after they resurface. Out on the open ocean, Zoro can’t rely on enemies to take his frustrations out on. He has to actually face this himself.

He’s especially irritable that day, mostly hiding in the bunk room and trying to nap. Zoro is usually very good at napping, but he can’t seem to calm his mind. No matter how much he tries to avoid thinking about it, the question of Zoro’s gender identity never leaves his mind.

He spots Robin and Sanji having a hushed discussion in the kitchen that afternoon. He just wanted a beer, because maybe the alcohol could push his thoughts back, but as soon as he enters the kitchen Robin and Sanji jump apart. Zoro doesn’t hear any of their discussion, but he has a pretty good idea what it might be about.

Luffy is the one to finally approach Zoro. He does it at night, when most of the crew has already gone to bed, except for Brook keeping watch in the crow’s nest. Zoro is leaning over the rail, flicking bottle caps over Sunny’s edge so he can watch them hit the water far below.

Luffy doesn’t say anything at first, just slowly walks up to Zoro and stands next to him. Zoro knows Luffy is watching him, analyzing him in that weird way he does. Luffy somehow knows things about people that they don’t yet know about themselves just from watching them, and usually Zoro really admires that, but he doesn’t want that knowing gaze turned on him. Especially not now.

But at the same time, it’s Luffy. Luffy who would never even dream of doing anything that might hurt his crew. Luffy, who sees the best in people, who has never judged his friends. Not when Nami claimed she was one of Arlong’s pirates, not when Robin was framed for shooting Iceburg, not when Usopp almost let his insecurities separate him from the crew. Luffy had nothing bad to say to Robin or Sanji when they came out, and he wouldn’t have anything bad to say to Zoro, either.

Zoro throws the last of his bottle caps overboard. There’s no way to avoid this. He sighs and sits down, back against the railing, and Luffy follows him down.

“What’s up, Zoro? Has something been on your mind?” Luffy starts.

“Luffy, how did you know you were a boy?” Zoro deflects. It doesn’t begin to address Zoro’s own issues, but he just needs to ease in for now.

Luffy looks a little surprised, but doesn’t push Zoro. “I actually always thought I was a boy. I didn’t know that my body was different to the other boys I knew, and I didn’t understand why people treated me differently when they met me. Everyone in the village called me a tomboy, so I thought I was a boy.” Luffy’s face softens for a moment, and he lets out a small laugh. “I really surprised Dadan and Ace the first time she tried to give us a bath. But when I told them I was a boy just like Ace, they didn’t push it, and they let me grow up as a boy.” Luffy trails off a little, but nods when he finishes his thought. He looks at Zoro again, and Zoro swears those eyes are seeing right through him. “Are you… questioning? Do you think you might not be a boy?” He asks, cutting straight through the bullshit and right to the core of Zoro’s problem.

All Zoro can do is nod weakly and stare at the floor. “I asked Sanji for help and she helped me a little, and I asked Robin to look at her books but it all just made me more frustrated. I don’t want to face myself, right now. It all just feels wrong.” Zoro’s face feels hot, he isn’t used to this kind of heart-to-heart and he’s starting to feel really embarrassed and–

Luffy reaches out, crossing the divide between them, and places his hand on Zoro’s. “You’re still the same Zoro you were before, right? Nothing’s gonna change, we’re just gonna see you as you.”

Zoro lifts his head up and stares at Luffy. He knows his jaw is hanging open, and he can’t bring himself to close it. Still the same Zoro… how does Luffy always know just the right thing to say?

“Do you want me to go get Robin’s book? We can look at it again, maybe I can help–”

Zoro shakes his head and smiles at Luffy. “No, it’s okay. I think I know which one I am. I was scared, though, about what it might change. I don’t want to change.”

Luffy laughs. “Nothing is going to change, Zoro. Well, hopefully you feel happier, cause you get to be who you really are. But that’s not scary, that’s a good thing!” Luffy’s eyes are bright and his hand is warm on Zoro’s.

“Yeah… happier, huh.” Zoro breathes out. He never really thought about what comes after his realization, but happiness… well that always sounds nice. Under the moonlight, with Luffy holding his hand and watching over him, Zoro is a little less scared to face himself and the truth that he has probably known this whole time.

“Well, Captain…” Zoro stops himself, clears his throat, and starts again. Right now, this is a conversation between friends, not captain and crew. “Well, Luffy… I’m not a boy. I’m agender.”

Luffy is on him in a second, wrapping him in a tight hug and threatening to knock them both overboard. Luffy is laughing and so is Zoro as they rearrange themselves to sit side-by-side, now looking out over the water.

“I’m proud of you, Zoro.” Luffy whispers, and Zoro feels warm in spite of himself. “So, do you know what this means from now on? Are you gonna change how we refer to you, like Sanji did?”

Zoro stills. He has been so caught up in denying everything, he never thought about what comes next. Slowly, he shakes his head. “I… I haven’t thought about it yet.”

“That’s okay! You can think about it now.” Luffy swings his legs over the side of the ship and leans into Zoro’s side. “Are you feeling better now? Do you wanna tell everyone soon?”

Zoro ponders it for a minute. He is feeling better, a lot better than when Luffy had found him. He knows the crew will be accepting, just like they were for Luffy and Robin and Sanji. If telling everyone can finally get this weight off of Zoro’s chest, he’s ready. He leans into Luffy, feeling the rough texture of the straw hat tickle his cheek. “Yeah, I think I’ll be ready soon. Thank you, Luffy.”

“It’s no problem, Zoro.”

Even after his talk with Luffy, the idea of coming out is still terrifying. Normally, the words “Zoro” and “scared” don’t even go in the same sentence. But there is something so much more real, more personal, about this. Zoro’s gender isn’t some enemy he can cut up. It’s him. And he’s trying to adjust to this new view of himself.

He talks to Robin first. He thanks her for letting him use her book, and apologizes for slamming it shut. He tells her how he knew that the term agender fit him, but that it freaked him out, and he tells her about his talk with Luffy. Robin is a patient listener, and she tells Zoro that she doesn’t blame him. “I figured that you saw something that fit you. I also had a hard time accepting myself. It’s normal to be unsure and afraid, but thank you for telling me.” She reassures.

His talk with Sanji isn’t as calm or patient, but it gets the job done. He thanks Sanji for helping him figure things out, using as few words as he can. Sanji teases back, but nothing she says is hurtful. They just acknowledge that Zoro feels differently, but there’s nothing to say about it, really. Zoro appreciates that sort of understanding.

Nami tells the crew that their next island is about three days away, provided that nothing gets in their way. Slim chance of nothing getting in their way, but Zoro is thankful to know. He spends three days getting comfortable. He tries out different pronouns in secret with Robin, Luffy, and Sanji, and he is pleased to realize that being referred to as “they” doesn’t feel as weird as he thought it would. 

Zoro finally tells the crew over dinner on the third day. Sanji made rice bowls; a giant pot of rice and three different kinds of meat as well as tons of veggies for the crew to choose from. Zoro loves rice bowls almost as much as rice balls, but he’s sure he never told Sanji that. Sanji doesn’t mention it, so Zoro doesn’t either.

Zoro had already told Luffy and Robin he was going to do it tonight, so they are sitting on either side of him. Luffy is playing with Zoro’s free hand under the table, waiting for Zoro’s signal to call attention to him.

Zoro nods at Luffy, signaling that he’s ready. Well, he’s not, but it’s now or never. Time to take the leap.

Luffy sets his silverware down and addresses the rest of the table. “Hey, everyone, Zoro has something to say. He’s nervous, so be nice.” The last sentence is teasing, and everyone knows it. They aren’t going to be mean to Zoro, and considering how similar his nervous energy was to Sanji’s just a few weeks ago, they have an inkling of what Zoro might need to tell them.

“I don’t know how to start this,” Zoro admits. Luffy takes off his hat and plops it down on Zoro’s head, and the gesture is so meaningful , it gives Zoro the push he needs. Zoro forges on ahead.

“Ok, uh, I guess it starts with the cook. A few days ago, when they came out, it uh… it kinda impacted me a lot too. I didn’t actually know that there was anything other than just man and woman, so it made me question a lot of things.” Sanji’s face looks weird; it’s red like she’s embarrassed but there’s a hint of… happiness? somewhere in there. Robin rubs Zoro’s back to encourage him.

“Well, once I knew I wasn’t just limited to being a man, it made a lot of things from my past make sense. I’ve never exactly felt like a man, I just did it because I thought it’s what I had to do. So what I’m saying is I’m not a man, I’m not really anything, in fact. I’m agender. No gender, just me.”

Luffy is smiling next to him and Robin and Chopper are both wrapping him in a hug. Nami teases Zoro about how emotional he’s become, but she’s proud of him too. So is everyone else. It’s a lot… but it’s still nice. Sanji just nods approvingly, and it reminds Zoro of how he reacted to Sanji’s coming out.

Before anyone else can ask Zoro, he speaks up again. “Oh, and for the pronoun thing. It’s he/they. Kinda like the cook’s, but no she.” Everyone nods and accepts it.

Zoro really, really loves their crew. They never thought they would reach this level of happiness, of acceptance. He supposes he should have known when Luffy accepted his dream without any argument, accepted everyone’s dreams no matter how crazy they were. Once Luffy declares someone as nakama , he is never letting go, and Zoro is so grateful that he chose to follow someone like that. They couldn’t dream of a life that was any different.

Zoro is feeling a bit awkward, so he’s glad when other conversations pick back up and dinner resumes. Usopp asks Zoro if this means they’re gonna be the world’s greatest swords person , and Zoro says that’s stupid, and the table fills with laughter. The night is still young and Zoro is surrounded by people they love and nothing has ever felt better.

[savoryhoneybear]

Glucose Guardian (WIP AU sugarbaby!sans x reader)

CW: dubcon, implied drugged sex, handjob, frottage, oral sex, sans x reader, reader's sex/gender is left vague, implied alcohol consumption. ecto body, ecto genitals, spit kink, unnegtioated kink, financial hardship, original character (its satyr, but he's niceys). alphys cameo. i have no experience working a big boy office job so please don't look at the details of your "work" too closely lol. ask to tag <3

---

he can't move.

sans feels heavy, like his bones had been replaced with lead weights. his eyes refused to focus.

where was he, again..? the last thing he remembered was you, sitting next to him at the bar and telling him all about your business. you were so excited about closing a deal with the vegetoid group - something about "making magic mainstream." now, he was pretty sure he was laying down, somewhere. he was looking at the fancy wallpaper of an expensive hotel room. the sun barely made it through gaps in the thick blackout curtains.

what time was it? how long had he been out? was papyrus okay?

he groans, trying to push himself up from under the heavy comforter - only to be pulled down, arms wrapping around him that he had no memory of inviting into bed with him. his panic is muffled and dampened by his lethargic magic. he can feel warm human skin in direct contact with his bare bones.

how much did he drink last night? the last time he woke up in someone else's bed like this was during his college years, but that was... well, it wasn't that long ago, admittedly. still! these days, he was way better about picking his partners, and he was always home before his brother had any reason to worry.

this felt different. the way his body wasn't listening to him was starting to scare him.

the body behind him tugs him closer, a soft, breathy moan chilling the top of his skull. he was being clutched like a teddy bear.

that couldn't be comfortable, he thinks offhandedly. his ecto isn't even summoned. his spine had to be poking into your soft tummy. his tailbone was being cushioned by the warmth of your -

oh, stars. you shift again, your thick thigh moving up and around his pelvis, locking the two of you together. sans can't look, but he knows it's you. he realizes sluggishly that he's surrounded in your scent. the body he'd fantasize about during guilty late night solo sessions was nearly crushing him now, exactly how he wanted it to. you seemed to revel in his bony form instead of being repulsed, and if the way you rubbed against his pelvis was any indication, you were getting off on it, too.

the new knowledge sticks to the front of his mind like taffy, refusing to budge. he whimpers, wishing he had the strength to do anything about it when his ecto starts collecting along his bones.

when it pops into place, solidifying with a squelch, he hears you hum in confusion. you're roused from your light rest, and in the dark of the room, his magic was neon bright, like a freshly cracked glowstick. it didn't help that he couldn't stop thinking about your thighs, or the chest pressing against him, or your hands on his ribs, or -

you chuckle softly. one of your hands moves from his sternum to trace lazily over his newly appeared rolls. you pinch a love handle with all the tenderness of a romantic and place a kiss to the back of his skull. he literally can't fight the way he melts at your attention.

"goodmorning, baby blue," you murmur. "looks like someone's excited for round three."

sans is trying hard to remember why this was a bad idea. he'd been wanting to be in your bed for ages, now, hadn't he? sure, he was missing his morning shift, and papyrus was probably wondering why he hadn't called yet, but -

oh fuck. he was going to get fired.

sans mumbles with a note of urgency, trying once more to get up and out of your decadent embrace. you only shush him, hand trailing further down to his half-hard magic. he whines, only spurring you on.

"hey, hey, it's alright," you say. "just relax, sweetheart. i've got you."

you continue to coax small sounds from him, lovingly pulling on his perfect little cock. you can feel him grow to his full size the longer you pleasure him, using the beaded up precum on his tip to slick the way. sans' breathing speeds up in time with his soulbeat and any vision he had flickers in and out. It's all he can do to stay conscious while you bring him to what was, apparently, his third climax of the night.

you're huffing into the side of his skull now, and he can hear every stitch of humor when you watch him spend weakly over your fingers. it plants a seed of doubt in his throat. what was so funny? did he look weird? did he not last long enough? were you playing some sort of joke?

you shush him again, pressing kisses to his cheek, each one followed by a small praise. "gorgeous. lovely. handsome. darling," and so on. it eases most of his anxiety.

sans finds himself feeling rather puddle-like. there was no hope of escaping now. he might as well accept his fate. once whatever was in his system passed, he could bombard you with twenty questions. he doesn't know what he was going to do about his shifts today, but nothing could be done in this state.

the thought of you that clings like taffy to his mind stretches to push his worries down until all he had energy for was the stream of praises being kissed into his bones.

---

as soon as sans settles again, you untangle yourself from the sheets and pad lightly to the restroom. you prepare a warm towel and grab a water bottle from the mini fridge on your way back. you take great care in cleaning up your escort, helping him take a few sips of water before lulling him back to sleep.

he's been your favorite partner so far. everything about him was interesting. you've found yourself delighted by this little skeleton in more ways than one. you wanted to keep him around.

you set up beside him, maneuvering him so that his skull rested against you as you went about a lazy morning routine. you checked your phone for missed calls and new emails, working through the small tasks that you could stomach before having your cup of coffee.

there was a lot less stress for you to handle this morning, thankfully. last night had been your personal little celebration. with the vegetoid group signing on to work with your team to bring monster brands to human shelves, it wasn't that you were off the hook - more so that you could focus on your favorite part of the job.

you rub a hand over your face. some caffeine would be nice anyway.

you lean over sans to reach for the hotel's landline, catching sight of his phone lighting up in silence. your curiosity gets the better of you, and you grab it instead, looking through the barrage of notifications. multiple missed calls from "bro." a few from "work3," and many unanswered texts. you frown, looking down at the sleeping monster beside you.

that won't do. you make a note to yourself to ask him about it when he wakes up. it wasn't any of your business to do damage control yet, though.

you put his phone back down and make your call to room service, requesting a late breakfast in bed. that settled, you shoot a text off to your personal assistant and ask them to find a new set of clothes for your companion before noon. the measurements you send are educated guesses made by using his old, discarded outfit as a reference.

he was adorable to you, but to the hotel's mid-day staff? he absolutely was not passing through the lobby without judgment. you didn't want to have to deal with it - it was cheaper to just doll him up a bit now than it was to keep mouths shut.

you let in room service and tip them well when they leave, coming back to find sans blinking groggily at the silver cart.

"good morning, darling. you must be hungry."

he groans, unsticking his tongue from the roof of his mouth a few times. he pushes at the sheets with the strength of a kitten, and it makes you want to coo and chitter over him. you help him out of his cocoon, bringing him closer to the food.

you watch as he struggles to pick up the fork. your humor quells to concern when you finally realize that sans isn't just tired. he seems to be incapacitated.

"are you feeling okay?" you ask gently.

sans' eyelights are hazy when they look up to you, and his teeth clatter when he tries to put together more than a whimper. eventually, he manages to slowly shake his head "no." a few more yes or no questions later, and you feel anger sparking in your chest.

you curse, grabbing your phone to get in contact with your PA again. you tell them to switch priorities and get a monster healer to you as soon as possible. you didn't know it was possible for a monster - much less one made of bones - to get roofied. If that even was the drug responsible, anyway. how had you not noticed?

you figured the two of you had had plenty to drink, sure. and sans was even rather enthusiastic about getting out of his clothes, but...

you tell sans that help was on the way. until then, you help him eat by feeding him yourself. you try not to think about who in that seedy little pub had slipped something into his drink. you try not to think about the fact that you had taken great pleasure out of his pliable body. you try not to think of the way his phone was still lighting up with new messages, as missed commitments passed with the rising sun.

you grimace. you take a chug of your warm dark roast. it helps a little.

sans is trying to get your attention. he's blinking owlishly at you as a hand tugs at your robe. you glance at him with a questioning hum, and you watch as he tries to form his words.

"wh...what... haah. happ'ned?"

you look away, take another swig, and sigh.

"not much," you say. "we both got drunk and i brought you back to my hotel room for sex and cuddles."

sans' eyelights are trained on you, even as his body sways unsteadily in its upright position. you wince. just how big of a dose had he been given?

"...s'rry," he mumbles. "didn' mean to..."

you scoff despite yourself. "no shit, babe. i'm not about to blame you for getting dosed. when i find out who did this to you i'm going to skin them alive."

sans frowns. "...didjou... like... it?"

you look away.

"i was drunk," you say again.

he nods. a mistake, apparently, proven when he starts convulsing like a sick cat. you leap up in alarm, rushing him to the restroom in the nick of time.

you two stay huddled by the toilet until another knock on your door demands your attention. you hesitate to leave sans' side, and in the silence your PA decides for you. they use the spare key card to let himself in, and you peek out to see him marching directly to the unkempt bed. he starts setting things to rights, placing a bag of brand new clothes on the couch.

sans' sockets blank out, and he huddles further away from their view.

"satyr, your patience truly knows no bounds," you say sarcastically.

the tall cat monster adjusts his smart sweater vest, twitching his whiskers in place of an eye roll. the black and white tuxedo pattern of his fur is well groomed, complimenting the ice-blue eyes that flash daggers in your direction.

"you were the one who demanded urgency," he says with a slight hiss. "you're lucky dr. alphys was available at the drop of a hat. her time is valuable, and i expect you to be on your best behavior. she will be joining us any minute now to look over your new pet."

you know that name. a part of you relaxes at the knowledge that was good old alphy coming to your aid.

you tsk. "aw, is that jealousy i hear?"

his tail flicks. "you wish it was. where is he, anyway?"

you glance over to see sans in a miserable little ball. your mirth crashes when you see him shiver. you move closer, gathering him up in your lap. the bathroom tile is cold where your robe fails to cover you. you could only imagine what it must feel like on his bones.

"i have him," you say. "he's uh. not doing too good, say."

satyr hums. "have you given him anything?"

"food and water. nothing heavy. no meds because i don't know what he's ingested."

"right."

satyr continues his organizing in silence. sans curls up closer to your warmth, tucking in under your chin. you talk to him with gentle tones, rubbing soothing patterns over his dim ecto, still summoned despite his exhaustion.

another knock on the door. satyr answers for you, and after a hushed conversation filled with pleasantries, you hear the heavy footfalls of a different monster.

"d- director?" you look up at the mention of your title. "good afternoon! it's- it is good to see you again."

"afternoon? stars, is it already that late? thank you so much for coming out of your way, doctor."

alphys gives a small wave of dismissal, smiling nervously in the face of your gratitude. "don't- don't, uh, don't worry about it! not a problem at all. i hear you might be in need of an antidote?"

you shift around, bringing the front of your rob into view, and the sickly skeleton clinging to your body. alphys gasps.

"s-s-sans?? what? what are you doing here?"

you look back and forth at the two curiously. "you know him?"

alphys pushes her glasses up with an anxious tick, and then moves to rustle through her supplies. "uh! well, it's uhm- it was a small underground, you know? only two skeletons around to know! ha, ha..."

you look down at sans and curse silently. good going, pal. you managed to get attached to one of the easiest monsters to identify. sneaking him anywhere with you was going to be a higher risk affair than you had initially planned.

sans moans sadly, reminding you of similar noises he had made just that morning. you bite the inside of your cheek and wrap around him protectively once more.

oh, the trouble would be worth it.

alphys takes out her phone, tapping around for a bit. "i'm going to do a detailed CHECK on him. It's essentially like a full body scan. i'll be able to see the changes in his stats and address his symptoms directly."

"okay," you say with a nod. "i trust you. just let me know if there's anything you need me to do to help."

the doctor nods back, quickly refocusing on sans' care.

you watch intently, but there isn't much to see from your end. dr. alphys assesses sans' skeletal structure (say that three times fast) and you get a peek in their bag to see various supplies and substances that you know better than to name.

satyr busies himself with your calendar, anticipating your desire to move today's appointments further down the week. you would have to make it up to him later.

absentmindedly, you rest your cheek on sans' skull. "you're doing so well, baby," you murmur. "you'll be all fixed up in no time. then we can spend the whole day together. go on a little date. doesn't that sound nice?"

sans' ecto glows in response.

"you might want to make sure his schedule is clear, too, before making any plans, director." alphys is putting together a few different liquids as she says this, allowing her to display a rather collected, confident energy. it suits her.

you hum. "yeah. his phone is being bombarded with messages as we speak. it's okay. i'll take care of it."

"papy?"

sans tries to move in the direction of his phone, but he's stopped by alphys this time.

"he's worried about you," the doctor says, "but i know for a fact that you wouldn't want him to see you like this. i've got something that should do the trick, but you have to let my intent do its job. are we clear?"

"...crystuhl."

"good. satyr, do you mind grabbing sans a cup of water?"

satyr does as he's requested. sans takes his concoction without complaint, and the doctor observes for any immediate complications.

"so..," you say smoothly, "who's papy? is that the famous brother i kept hearing about last night?"

sans nods. "s'the best."

alphys grins. "yeah. uhm... anyway! it's- it's going to take a few hours for you to get your full cohh- coherency back, sans. i can talk to papyrus for you if you'd like?"

another nod. "ok."

"you might feel better if you rest at home, too."

"oh, best not jostle him around too much, right? you're free to stay here with me, darling," you cut in with a tone that invited no argument.

"ok."

alphys glances between the two of you for a moment but ultimately concedes.

"a-alright, then. if anything comes up, at- at all, then uhm. dr. satyr knows how to contact me. is there anything else you'd like my help with, director?"

you glance at your personal assistant, who doesn't care to remark on his pretty new honorific.

sans had stopped shaking, so you give alphys a gracious smile.

"thanks again, doc. i owe you one."

once alphys is sent on her way, you round on satyr. sans is set on one side of the bed, and he's clicking through his various notifications.

"since when are you a doctor?"

satyr's tail flicks. "if you had read my resume when you hired me, you would have seen that i received my doctorate in bio-mana technology."

"wait, wait, wait, so then, why didn't you help sans?"

"i have no license to practice medicine as, if you remember the words i just used, i am not a doctor in a medical field."

you stick your tongue out at him. "so mean to me, and for what? i could fire you, you know."

"if only," satyr says. he pushes his glasses up, the corner of his mouth curling in a smirk. "unfortunately, you need me around to cover you when you decide to shirk your responsibilities and play lovestruck fool."

"admit that you like the challenge. oh! speaking of shirking responsibilities - i don't want sansy getting in trouble with anyone. sans, sweetness, who do we need to call to give you the day off?"

sans shakes his head.

"no?" you pout. "what do you mean, 'no'?"

"no need to call anyone for the first gig," he says slowly. "alphys said i'll be fine soon, so i can... make- i can make it to my night shift-"

"what? absolutely not! you're literally recovering from getting drugged - that's a medical emergency, isn't it?"

sans shrugs. he rubs a hand over his skull with a low groan. "i don't- i'd rather... it would be best if no one knew i was in the position to get roofied at all, if that's okay with you, director."

you balk at his short tone, crossing your arms. "why? it's not like it was your fault."

"they won't care. it's fine. i can work."

"but you shouldn't," you plead. "sans, baby-"

"can you stop that? please."

your jaw clicks shut. satyr meets your side glance. he checks his watch and turns heel, immediately getting your hint that you want to be alone.

the hotel door clicks shut, and the silence in the room feels heavy.

sans sighs. "i'm not your 'baby'. you just think i'm weird. or, or... erotic. exotic? different, anyway. you'll be over me in a week."

that's not fair. you cross your arms, half in defense. you want to immediately disregard the comment.

but you couldn't, could you? satyr had been covering for your promiscuity for years. had become a bit of an expert at it, frankly. if sans was ever made properly aware of your track record...

you hate to imagine the way he'd look at you.

but this felt different. you wanted this to last longer than a month. you'd already put in so much effort into making this work. you weren't about to let him think you didn't care.

you weren't about to let him leave.

"i'm sorry. i didn't mean to make you uncomfortable," you say honestly. "i won't use pet names until you ask me to, moving forward."

sans looks tired. "ok."

you pout. "the rest of what you said isn't true, though. well, not like that. i mean, i like you a lot for a bunch of reasons."

sans puts his phone down. he blinks, and his eyelights struggle to refocus on you. "...like what?"

"well... i like your humor. and the way you talk about your brother. you must really love him." with every point, you inch your way closer to him. "there was this one time, when we were at that rooftop bar. do you remember? you talked about the stars for like, twenty minutes."

sans' face heats up. he looks away, and you chuckle.

"i would have listened to you ramble for the entire night, but you did just that. you got all blushy and shy and apologized for being super smart and cool."

there it is. sans snorts, making you grin.

"i like your appetite. if i knew how to cook, i'd want to share a meal with you. you don't laugh. you snort and chuckle and huff. i think i've managed to make you laugh, like, at most twice. i want to get to know you more and figure out how to get that big belly laugh out of you every time."

you lower yourself to the ground beside him, resting your head and arms on the bed and looking up at him innocently.

"if you stick around, that is. if you'll allow me to get to know you," you murmur. "of course, i like the color of your magic. and yes, i think you're sexy as hell. absolutely gorgeous. i love the way you melt into me, and the noises you make when you're so far gone that it only feels good."

sans' blush floods his cheeks.

"i want you, sans. i want to help you. will you let me?"

he looks at you for a long while. you sit patiently, looking back. he's searching for something, and you hope that what he finds convinces him to let you kiss him again.

he ultimately looks... conflicted.

"ok," he says softly. there's something vulnerable in his voice that makes you want to curl up around him again, and protect him from this bitch of a universe. you had failed him last night. you weren't going to let it happen again.

you smile kindly.

"ok. can you tell me what you need?"

sans picks his phone back up. his mood sours again.

"i don't know," he says earnestly. "i just got fired, and i missed the time to set up my hot dog stand for the lunch rush. my next shift starts in about four hours, and i know for a fact that if i call out now, they're not going to let me back in the door."

your soft posture is rigid once he's done explaining his situation. you hate to think you've cause him so much stress... you also despise that this man has been working at least three jobs just to make ends meet. no wonder he could drink you under the table - every day was another stress to hide at the bottom of the bottle.

"how much do you need? like, monthly?"

sans looks sidelong at you. "don't worry about it."

"too late for that, babes. i- i mean, sans. sorry. it's too late for that, though. i'm so very worried about it. you're smart and charismatic. you catch on to things very quickly. i bet i can give you a referral to a way better position-"

"no."

"what- but, why? please, sans, you're going to work yourself to death!"

sans shrugs. "It's not that bad... a lot of us don't even get the opportunity. It's hard to hire a skeleton for much of anything. if i was a bunny, or a dog..."

"then work for me."

sans squints at you. "doing... what? you already have a personal assistant."

"mmmaybe," you hum, inching closer. "you could keep me company. be my escort."

"i... i... no," he says slowly, with great hesitance.

"how much do you need, sans? i can offer you double."

"wha- what? no! i can't accept that-"

"triple."

sans huffs. "stop, please, i- look. i don't need much. it's... it's my brother who needs it. he got accepted into MEU. i think i told you about it? anyway. his classes, the tuition- the room and board... it's so expensive. the gold i had saved up from before is set to run out in a couple months if i don't have at least four different streams of income. i don't want him to worry about it, much less about me. he needs to focus on his studies and on getting to know as many people as possible. i don't want to be the reason he holds himself back from reaching his potential, and i can't- i can't be there for him the way i used to be, but then i wonder if i ever really was and i can't even-"

sans is starting to have trouble breathing, the anxiety choking him. you rush up to hold him again, shushing him.

"sans. sans," you say, tone firm. "you're okay, papy is okay. it's going to work out. please, trust me. let me help you. if you won't let me help you get a job- let me cover one month. i can give you time."

sans groans, leaning into you. his grip on his phone is worrying. you try to be soothing.

"why are you so against the idea, though? if anything, i'd expect you to leap at the easy out."

he buries his face against your chest, tossing his phone to the side just to grip you instead.

"i... like you. too." the confession is caught in the soft material of your robe.

you perk up for a moment before collapsing back into confusion. you wait for him to continue.

he's shaking again.

"i wanted this to be different," he says in a rush. "i didn't expect to like you so much. i don't want to take advantage of your status, and i don't want you to think i'm only here for your money, i just- if i can't do this, then what use am i to you? what do i tell paps?"

you frown. "sans. please look at me."

sans whines for a note, but does as he's told. he backs up just enough to meet your eye.

"sans. you don't have to do this alone. please let me help you. i promise that i won't like you any less."

sans' eyes flicker. "you promise?"

you nod. "i promise."

sans bites his tongue. he curls in closer to you, the side of his skull resting over your heartbeat.

a minute passes.

you try to be soothing, rubbing patterns into his ribs and rocking gently to and fro.

eventually, sans nods.

"ok."

you light up, pulling back to look sans in the eye again. "really?? wonderful! how much do you need? Mount Ebott University isn't Ivy League, right? i could probably find a way to slash that tuition for your brother. Where do you live again? do you rent or did you buy? regardless, i have property in the city that you could live in-"

"s-slow down," sans mumbles.

you grin. "sorry! sorry, okay. well, here, let's start with this-"

you grab sans' phone and hand it back to him.

"call out. you're not going anywhere today, young man!"

sans' smile is wobbly, and a drop of sweat appears on his skull. "ok."

you giggle, feeling compelled to plant a smooch to his cheek. that makes him blush again.

---

he calls out. someone on the other end of the line yells at him, and you don't entertain it for a second, hanging up on them for him. with a small celebration, you kiss him senseless.

with his newfound freedom, sans' first request is to take a shower. understandably so- usually you would have insisted on taking one earlier, but today had been rather eventful thus far. you don't even really think about it in your excitement, picking sans up in a bridal carry without issue and marching happily to the large bath.

you set him down on the soft bathmat and remove your robe with a flourish. sans' sockets widen, and he stumbles back a step.

you cackle. "what? it's nothing you haven't seen before!"

sans is grinning despite himself. "in my defense, it's usually dark, and i'm usually half-drunk."

"then feast your eyes, darling," you say with a grand gesture, standing proudly before him in plain view. only to wince at your mistake and walk back with a rushed, "shit, sorry, i mean-"

sans laughs.

"no, no- it's fine. i uh... i was..." sans' hands clench into fists. "you promised... so, uh, its okay. i like it..."

you perk up again. "you like it? what do you like?"

sans is bright blue when he says, "i... i like being... your baby..."

you squeal in delight. you pick him up again, this time spinning him around in giddy circles. with every endearment, you place another kiss on his soft face. "baby!! sweetheart!! darling!! cutie-patootie!! honey bunches!!"

eventually, sans devolves into a fit of giggles, helpless to avoid the onslaught of your affection. you set the water to temp, and as you wait for the room to steam up, you help things along by pressing sans against the wall.

you kiss him again and again, licking at his teeth. he summons his tongue at your insistence, and he tastes like-

medicine.

you spit without thinking, recoiling at the flavor. sans presses himself as close to the wall as he can, and he stares at you with a hint of fear. his jaw snaps shut, tongue hiding away.

"oh stars, oh stars, oh-" you fret, "no, wait-" and you can't help but laugh at the ridiculousness of it. "i'm so sorry, oh my fucking stars, i didn't mean to do that, i-"

sans' blush is so deep, his eye lights flickering and warping.

you kiss him elsewhere, trying to soothe over your mistake-

only.

sans is stiff as a board.

you grin.

"wait a second... did you... like that??"

"n-no!"

"holy shit, you liked that!!"

"i- i don't even-"

"you little freak," you say with a purr. "i'll just have to keep that little trick in my back pocket, hm?"

before he can protest again, you reach up to hook a thumb on his bottom jaw, prying it open. you see sans' florescent blue tongue squirm in embarrassment as you slowly position him inches below you. you gather a small bit of saliva and threaten a drop of it.

sans' eyelights spiral out of shape, and his arms lash out in search of stability. you pull back before the drop lands, letting go of him enough to let him gather his senses. he's gasping, trying to get a hold of himself, trying to not make it so obvious that he found that hot as hell.

his eyelights betray him, flashing heart shaped. his ecto is at full mast, and when he finds stability, he finds it in you, clinging to your strong arms.

now knowing what to expect, you dive in to kiss him again. the taste is unpleasant, but his keening whine makes it worth it. stuck between you and the wall, he ruts against you, searching for friction. you let him take his own pleasure, encouraging him to grind against you.

the steam builds around you, hot and heavy. you moan, dropping a hand to sans' thick thigh, pulling his leg up and over your hip. you rub against each other, and you can feel how the slick from his ecto is sticky against your skin.

"good boy," you say roughly, nipping the corner of his mouth. "you look so pretty and desperate grinding on me. does that feel good, baby? yeah?"

"y-yeah."

"i want to hear you say it."

"it- it feels- nmgh- it feels good."

you groan. "perfect. so good for me, sans."

"please, please-"

"what do you need?"

"need more," sans begs, "please!"

you kiss him hard, shifting until you can comfortably wrap a hand around his dick. you pull a few adorable squeaks out of him, and you can feel it in the way he twitches that his pleasure is climbing.

the ceilings are high enough that you can lift sans up until his thighs rest on your shoulders. he yelps, the bite of fear easily melting into arousal when you lick a stripe over his delicious looking cock. the tip of it is a dark indigo, contrasting the vibrant sapphire of the rest of his ecto.

you give him a teasing kiss before swallowing him down to the hilt. he's not the biggest you've ever had, but you might just claim him to be the best. he fit perfectly in your mouth, and he tasted as good as he looked. you moan around him, loud and vulgar, and focus on making him delirious with pleasure.

sans holds on to the best of his ability, a chant of "please, please, please," joining the humidity of the room. you're honored to provide.

it's wonderful for both of you. you love the way he feels, twitching involuntarily, thighs shaking even as they clamp around your head. sans' moan is gorgeous and ragged when he finally reaches his peak. his hands pull you down, smushing your nose against him, and you happily swallow down every pulse of cum that paints the back of your throat.

sans is panting, the strength of his hold waning as aftershocks zip up his spine. you look up to see his heart-shaped eyelights are hazy and warbling, and for a minute, you're so overcome affection that you want the moment to last forever. you suckle gently until he's whining again, one hand weakly asking you to stop.

you release him with a pop and one last kitten kiss. you take sans gently off of your shoulders and guide the two of you to the waiting stream of water. the shower was more than ready for you, and the water felt divine.

"you did so good, darling," you say in a hushed tone, half because your throat needed a moment to rest. "absolutely gorgeous. positively delectable."

sans is liquid in your hold, and he sighs with heady decadence. you rub gently at the surface of his exposed bones. slowly, the ecto clinging to his frame fades back down, and you're left with a sleepy little skeleton that you can maneuver as you wish. you are nothing less than thorough, making sure any buildup of magic and sweat was washed away. you continue to praise him as you go. it was quickly becoming your favorite thing to do.

after doing the same for yourself, you shut the water off and wrap sans in a big, warm, fluffy towel. he dozes almost immediately, trusting your care.

looking down at his peaceful expression, it dawns on you just how far gone you are.

as long as he continues to indulge your offer, you are going to do everything in your power to keep sans for yourself. safe, happy, and pampered...

[hiseternalmayfly]

(If you have the energy. If not, feel free to ignore my ass lololol)

All of the questions for Ji Hu

I am feral for more content, please. I love Seven, yes; however, the feral platonic love I already have for Ji Hu is mildly concerning. I need to be beasties (besties but we're feral) with the fellow gremlin.

Since this is going to be long its all going under a cut

1. what are the basics of your self insert? name, date of birth, height, etc.? Name: Ji-Hu Yoon DOB: 11/16 Age: 20 Height: 4'10" Weight: 130 pounds.

2. when in canon does your self insert come in? do you have a scene in mind for your entrance?

The gang would meet him along their travels. Since Ji Hu sorta "runs" a town with his gang. I say run rather they just bullied everyone into submission and now they steal kids candy and rich peoples money and also kick rich old men for funsies.

3. how do the other characters generally feel about your self insert?

Vash: Thinks Ji-Hu is a bit of a brat. Think exactly how he reacted to Katie in tri98. You know when he was slamming his head into Katie over and over? Yeah, same thing Wolfwood: These two butt heads hard. The second Wolfwood opens his mouth with an insult they are straight fighting each other. Wolfwood does remember who Ji Hu is but since Ji Hu doesn't, Ji Hu thinks Wolfwood is just a condescending asshole Milly: .....His wife t4t wife Meryl: He loves to pick of Meryl. Bullies her about being short despite literally being short himself

5. does your self insert have any special powers or abilities?

He is an EOM sleeper agent. If he were to ever be activated he would easily slaughter a town with raw strength. However until it's unlocked he's literally just a dude!

6. does your self insert have any pets?

None!

7. would any other characters (besides your f/o) have a crush on your self insert?

Maybe Vash????? Maybe Wolfwood?????? I'm not sure. He's a huge brat its hard to get through to him

8. what is your self insert’s orientation?

He's bi but don't ask him what his gender is cause he doesn't know either

10. how do the other characters feel about your self insert and f/o’s relationship?

No one understands how Milly of all people was able to get him to soften up. He utterly refuses to be soft with Milly around others and still sorta gives her the same lip he gives everyone else but she just picks him up and goes "Oh sweet boy calm down!" and pats his back like a baby until he shuts up.

11. what kind of outfit(s) does your self insert wear?

That signature look stays pretty much 24/7. Ankle length brown skirt and a varsity jacket. You'll pretty much never see him in anything else. He might take the jacket off sometimes but he just wears a dress shirt under it.

13. does your self insert have any information about their family?

His real family? No. The fake family background that Knives and the EOM members gave to him? Yeah. :3c

14. what hobbies does your self insert have?

Bullying rich people and stealing candy from kids.

15. how does your self insert play a role in the plot of the story? do they help directly defeat the villain, support the heroes, etc.?

He's a conflict of interest. Obviously once they get to know him better they want to protect him....but once that switch is set off how would they feel seeing the damage he can cause? :3c

16. freebie! name a fact about your self insert you want everyone to know.

Ji Hu has a VIOLENT sweet tooth. Basically everything he eats is sweet as hell. Even his coffee is absolutely loaded with sugar until you can hardly taste the coffee.

[boytouya]

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘊𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘖𝘧 𝘈 𝘚𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘦

words:2.3k

WARNING: graphic depictions of violence, blood, angst, open ended/ambiguous ending, descriptions of death.

request: “Can i request sukuna x male reader. Where reader keeps reincarnating with each lifetime for a curse and every time he remembers sukuna, he dies after gaining memories back. You can choose if theres a good ending or angst. Thank you king! I fell in love with him especially after reading that one shot i had to watch jjk and hes hot! Thank you for turning me into a sukuna simp! Much love”

a/n: i went,,,overboard with this request 🗿 BUT IT'S ONE OF MY FAVORITESSIJEHSHE i’m honored to have introduced you to such a foine man

When you were five, only then had you understood the curse deemed ‘Ryoumen Sukuna.’ A rather tall man with two heads, one of which had splattered blood onto your sneakers. You understood the concept of death, of course, but could never truly comprehend the feeling of nothingness after watching your life flash before your eyes until nineteen. But there you stood, clutching the loop of your shorts when you witnessed the murder of your entire village. You didn’t know evil could have a moral compass, but the tall curse seemed to exclude half of the women and children. After the widening of youthful eyes and curdling screams you learned the monster took likings to things too. Women, with shaking forms and broken spirits. He’d stop before them, stare at them with eyes that could- in fact- kill, if they truly wanted to. But then he stopped in front of you.

“Close your eyes, Brat.” Death's hands were just as large as your family painted them out to be, if not larger. Calloused and riddled with blood as they are placed over your ears. You do as he- it says, squeezing your eyes shut and enclosing your eyes behind the meat of your palms just to be extra careful. You can see stars behind your eyelids, just as you can feel the sickening twang of death lingering in the air. You were aware it would happen at some point, Death would find its place for you over and over and over again, you’d been told since the day you were born.

There’s another sound, only muted under large palms. You don’t need your sense of sight or hearing to know what it was, the warm chunks splattering onto your skin was enough. Immediately, you flinched. When you opened your eyes, there were piercing eyes staring straight into your own. It looked so human, but something was off. Uncanny, as if it took years to manipulate its flesh and bone to emulate humans to a T. But there was nothing human behind those eyes, instead a void of nothingness. Death itself. If Death could express interest, you’d have thought that was the expression it was imitating. It offers a hand, one of four. Larger than your face, with sharp claws that could almost be described as talons. Darkened by dirt and remains of your loved ones, if it truly wanted to kill you, it could. It could tear you limb from limb with the wave of a finger. And it knew that.

So you took the hand, and he became your second home.

When you were ten, you learned about the red string of fate. It could never be broken, and those connected by it would always reunite, no matter the circumstances. You often had nightmares, those of which filled with blurred faces and sharp pain that reached you in your lucid state. Dreams of talons, piercing eyes, and double headed monsters. You dreamt under the stars, tasted metal on your tongue, and choked on smoke that wasn’t actually there. You dreamt of facial markings, details that you couldn’t exactly place, a name that you couldn’t quite remember. It left your tongue feeling thick in your mouth, racked tremors through your body, and caused premature dark circles to accumulate under your eyes.

When you were nineteen, you experienced your last breath. The air was stolen from your lungs, crushed under years of heartbreak and terror, and snatched from you in the dead of night. Your eyes glazed over, and nothingness overtook you. It left you for someone else to find, cold and lifeless. A void, similar to the eyes you had finally placed. But that didn’t matter much then, you had already drifted away from your body.

And that was that.

Thus, the cycle repeated. Under different names, different ages, different genders. There was always something gnawing away at your conscience, you felt as though you were forgetting something. But when you finally remembered, it was too late. And there was nothing you could do about it.

It was almost like deja vu, stepping outside your home to find blood splattered on the concrete floor. It made your blood run cold, sent a tremor through your body and made you feel like you were five again. Small and defenseless. You take it as your best interest to go back inside before you pass out, but the second you whip your body around you meet something- someone?- large and sturdy.

“Sukuna.” That was it, the sour taste at the tip of your tongue, the lingering sensation at the back of your brain. Him. He didn’t look the same, no, much smaller with tufts of pink hair. There’s something behind his eyes this time, something almost irrevocably human. For some reason that’s much scarier than what you remember. What you think you remember. He’s much more human, but the way he looks at you is everything but humane. He looks frustrated, angry at something, as if he’ll implode any second and go on a rampage. Dread bubbles up in your stomach, nearly erupting through your mouth as bile. It felt as though something should be happening, like something usually happened when the itch went away. He chuckles, low in his throat as he cranes his neck to put his face uncomfortably close to your own. His hands, still large, find their way to your wrist, gripping your right hand uncomfortably tight. For a moment, you consider how long a trip to the hospital would be if he shattered the bone beneath his fingers. But instead there’s a jolt of electricity that would’ve had you yanking your hand back if he weren’t holding it.

“What? You look different.” He all but purrs, inspecting your palm with long nails. Not long enough to be talons, but longer than those of a claw. It was true, you did look different. He wondered if you spent your lifetimes looking exactly the same. That couldn’t have been possible, he would’ve found you much easier, then. Still quite boyish, as if the body you were in didn’t originally belong to you. Clearly grown out of cargo shorts and polos, much taller than you were before. There was no way he could have forgotten you, the way you jumped when the remains of your loved one splattered across your legs. The way you stared back at him with a look of acceptance, the way you grabbed his hand and allowed him to lead you out of the village. It explained the body memories perfectly, the feeling of large palms on your head and remnants of a brain splattering onto your knees.

“Last time I saw you,” He let’s go of your wrist with a bored expression, then replaces its spot with the top of your head. He shoves you down, and you make an effort to ignore the crack your knees make when they smack against the concrete. Then, he crouches down to stare you directly in the eye, just like he had the first time you met. His eyes were no longer dark, instead a deep shade of red that caught light from the moon. They reminded you of vials of blood. “You were this tall. Much cuter in this century.”

“And you were bigger.” Sukuna laughs as if hearing that was the funniest thing in the world. He leans his weight into you and uses you as a support beam, laughing until his ribs burn and beg for a break. But how could he laugh at a time like this? He didn’t think it was weird? He’s existed for centuries, murdered for millennias and only now has he seen you. That wasn’t how it worked, when you died, you died. But Sukuna was a walking oxymoron to that statement. When he died, if he died, he would return. He’d return through you, the last fragments of his soul would stay bound to yours until the end of time. Perhaps that’s how he knew, how he remembered. Perhaps that’s why he still took the time to find you, even after countless years of failure. It was peculiar, but not as much as being bound to Death himself. It was a sick game of turning the phrase ‘Til’ death do you part,’ because in your case it was literal.

“You’re still a brat.” His voice is closest to something fond, as if he’s reminiscing sweet memories. It was much different on your account, and part of you wondered if Sukuna understood that. He makes no effort to help you up (he explains that you’re “a big boy now”) as he invites himself into your apartment. Nothing special, he doesn’t care much for family photos or if you have them, but the stacks of letters and books on your table peak his interest. He tears apart envelopes as if he owns them, reads through the contents and discards them to the floor if he deems them useless. The way he sits nearly breaks your chair, and, honestly, you weren’t sure what to do with yourself.

So you sit beside him.

“You were so scared,” He says, almost as if he were bragging. But he was known to be arrogant and cocky, that was just his nature. He didn’t truly mean it like that, in fact, he looked quite reverent after letting the thought drift into the air. It was kind of funny, such a powerful thing fawning over past memories. But that wasn’t how this should go, you had your memory back, so why hasn’t anything happened? “When you grabbed my hand you stopped shaking.”

“...”

“It’s a shame I couldn’t keep you long,” He visibly frowns, the skin around his lips worry, but you can't tell if it’s genuine or not. He looks at you with something knowing the second the thought enters your head. “I looked for you, at first. You died young, for a human.”

Ninteen. ‘I should have been there,” he wants to add.

“Why aren’t I dying now?” You interrupt and let the panic sink in, the thought of impending doom sits on your shoulders because, really, it could happen at any moment. But this time, you don’t want it to. You remember accepting death when it came to your door at the young age of five, nineteen, countless times over and over. You had only ever gotten this far, you weren’t ready yet. You couldn’t start over, not now. “Sukuna?”

The question sours his mood in the blink of an eye, and instead of looking through your things, he raises himself from his seat to rest his palms on the table. It seemed he had a thing for staring down at people, making them cower under his stone cold gaze. You note the way his jaw clenches. You open your mouth to speak again, but he seems to have other plans. He squeezes your cheeks, making your lips purse together under the pressure of his large fingers. The movement feels familiar, like he’s done it before. The five years you spent with him were still a bit of a blur, but you remembered holding his hand quite often. He’d tell you to close your eyes if there was something he didn’t want you to see, he’d ruffle your hair a bit too hard, let you sleep on his back if he was out in the town. But that was all you remembered. He remembered it all.

“Respect your elders,” He lets go and sits back down as if he hadn’t just thrown a tantrum over you interrupting him. Sukuna was centuries old, but even then, he’d exhibit immature behavior sometimes. Living for so long had to get boring (and lonely) at some point, perhaps that was why he looked for you. He did consider you something close to family, after all. In truth, there were some lifetimes where you met. Some when you were friends, something more than that, and something inseparable. And that’s why you hadn’t died yet, you didn’t remember it all. “It’s rude to interrupt someone when they’re talking.”

“You’re much more handsome in this life.” His smile is much more intimidating than sweet, the sinister curl to his lips would only ever be associated with bloodshed in your eyes. But it was much more than that. Nights of sleeping together, days of laughter and flirtatious comments, soft moments that only you had seen. And it was bittersweet, because he knew the second he’d jog your memory you’d be gone. It wasn’t just a curse for you, but for him. Maybe it was his punishment for hurting so many people, dragging an innocent soul down with him and hanging them by the red string of fate. The comment makes your skin prickle with heat. Sukuna was quite the charmer when he wanted to be, easily picking at your weak spots with whatever you wanted to hear. But the comment was much more for the sake of his own, instead of yours.

Sukuna stands, hot on his heels as he holds out his hand one last time. If something were to happen to you tonight he’d make the most out of it, just as he did countless times over and over. So many years of starting over, getting to know you in various different bodies, realizing that being trapped away was the only way you’d get to live a full life, it was always on his mind. You were always on his mind.

So you take his hand. And for the millionth time, he’d become your second home.

taglist:

@ryoukuna @indigowren21 @cannedfoodisbestfood @junkwhoore @kissesdenji @sanderssidesangsttrash @i-d0g @kaito-asmr @jream-23 @princejasno @mel-bigia04 @mhasimp666 @onehellofasimp @corporeal-terrestrial @angelaturservice @shadows-of-nightmares @rinkindaugly

[morelikedoccock]

“ i don't know what the future holds, all i know is that i hope you're in it. “

Sorry in advance, this kinda accidentally turned into prose-poetry😂

Doc Ock x Gender neutral reader

~~~

      To you, he has always been a force of nature. At first, he was the sun, bright, warm, helping others grow. His presence brought smiles to faces. People orbited around him, glowing with the light he shed.

      Then, he was ice, frigid, distant, and crackling with ferocity. He crept like frost across your windows, bringing his chill into your home, into your lungs. His touch was as numbing as frostbite.

      You watched as spring began to melt his frozen heart. His ice turned to water, running down in rivulets, and then he became a lake, deep, cool, and full of secrets. Yet somehow he welcomed you in, wordlessly inviting you to peruse your reflection in his ever changing surface, to dip your fingers into the water’s edge and enjoy the ripples that spread from your fingertips.

      He blazed like a hot summer day. He fell like spring showers. He whispered like the autumn breeze.

      Tonight, he blows into your kitchen as a hurricane, all whirling wind and flushed cheeks and wild eyes. You’re sitting at your kitchen table, a fork of pasta halfway to your startled mouth.

      The fork clatters to the floor as he reaches for you, pulls you to your feet, wraps you in his arms. The embrace steals your breath as he crushes you against his chest, the faint smell of cold and smoke lingering on his coat.

      “Things are— things are uncertain right now, aren’t they,” he rasps, and you can hear the weight of the earth in his voice. “Tonight is the end of it all. I’m so close to being finished, and then—”

      He pulls back, lightning in his eyes, thunder in the strength of his grip on your arms. For a long moment, he looks into your face, drinking you in like parched earth under a gentle rain.

      And then he is bending forward, capturing your lips with his. You cling to him, returning his kiss with ardent desperation; he is your sun, your seasons, your world. When he finally breaks away, it is to gather you gently against him once more.

      “I don't… I don’t know what the future holds,” he whispers in your ear. “All I know is that— that I hope you're in it. If you want to be.”

      And of course you want to be, you tell him, your words true, as clear as crystal, your love for him shining inside your chest, as warm and as vibrant as a sunny day.

      After all, what would the sky be without its beloved sun?

[wannabegwenstacy]

Eden's Favorite Fic's (BTS Fic Recs)

Updated Version: Here!

Note: In the past I haven't indulged in tumblr fics often but I recently (past 3 months) have been reading quite regularly & am planning on branching out a bit. To keep track of the ones that I have enjoyed & the ones that I have even came back to I'm making this list. Again, I haven't been digging into the tumblr fics world for long so for right now its a very short list. I'm hoping with time I can get more fics of different types on here (btsxbts, some gender neutral xreader ones, & more ones that I genuinely like)

About me to understand what's going to be on here:

Age: 21 (99' liner)

Sexuality: Bisexual

Pronouns: She/Her

Ult Bias: Yoongi

Trio: Rap Line

I am OT7. I do enjoy smut but don't think it is necessary to FF. Overall I just want a well-crafted plot that makes sense. I read for entertainment & to escape. But I still need some form of realism (just me personally) to follow the trail of events. PSA: I'm trying to find a broader scope of writers I like but for right now I don't have many. There are gonna be some repetitive writers for now.

______________________________________________________________

Kim Namjoon:

- Librarian Namjoon Universe by @jungshookz

Beauty & the Bookworm (I love this concept SO MUCH)

Pairing: Cute, Good Boy, Nerdy, University Librarian Namjoon x Bratty, Semi-Popular, Procrastinator, University Student Reader

Word count: 20.8k

Summary: You're a procrastinator big time and you may or may not be failing. To get some extra credit you begrudgingly take the library assistant opening where you work under strict dorky Namjoon. Passive aggressiveness, cuteness, fluff, & some smuttiness arises.

Jealous-Boyfriend-Librarian Namjoon (Drabble)

Pairing: Jealous Boyfriend Librarian Namjoon x Oblivious Cute Girlfriend Uni Student Reader

Word count: 3.4k

Summary: You take an Art History Course and end up needing a tutor. Joon offers to tutor you but he doesn't know shit about Art History so you end up getting tutored by an ArtHoe Taehyung that may or may not like you but you are oblivious to this and Joon gets super jealous.

Kim Seokjin:

- Hockey Player Jin by @ve1vetyoongi

HEART OF GOLD (BLADES OF ICE)

Pairing: Sweet Hot New Hockey Player in Town Jin x Ex-Figure Skater (who has a history with jin) Reader

Word count: 20k

Summary: After a fall during figure skating practice dashes your dreams of competing at nationals, you vow to hang up your skates for good. That is until you cross paths with Kim Seokjin, captain of the ice hockey team, who is determined to get you back out on the rink and melt the ice in your heart. (Jimin is a bully in this and their other k-pop idols as characters. Very Very Fluffy and Hallmark Christmas Movie-ish so be aware of that. Overall, it's just cute :) )

Min Yoongi:

Note: these are all but one by the same writer @jungshookz & are written from the pov of a female reader. I'm gonna try to find some gender-neutral fics but for now, if you are female-identifying I really enjoyed these! :)

- Mechanic Yoongi Universe by @jungshookz

Baby, You Can Drive My Car (My favorite AU Fics I've read so far on Tumblr!!)

Pairing: Tatted, Mic Drop Era, Mechanic Min Yoongi x Spoiled Rich, Inexperienced, University Student Reader

Word count: 24.6k

Summary: Welcome to Min Mechanics - What can I do for you today, doll?

Maybe She Can Drive His Car

Pairing: Oblivious, Hot, Boyfriend, Mechanic Min Yoongi x Adorable, Spoiled, University Student, Jealous Girlfriend Reader

Word count: 11.6k

Summary: Yoongi's ex is back in town for a visit and you would be lying if you said you weren't slightly envious of a) how knowledgeable she is about stupid cars and b) how well she gets along with literally everyone.

- Uni Yoongi x Nerdy Reader (mini series) by @jungshookz

Note: these are all drabbles I'm gonna link my favorites in the series. I'll probably add more later.

Cocky Uni Student Yoongi x Nerdy Reader:

^^This is the start of the mini-series, recommend you read it first!^^

The One with the Scrunchie:

Contains: smut, a super cute scrunchie turning into a kink of sorts, slightly insecure Yoongi, experienced Yoongi, slightly inexperienced reader, shy about their own body reader.

Yoongi always had an Overactive Imagination:

Contains: talking about sex, implied smut, reader trying to be productive while also being horny, Yoongi being super distracted and horny.

"I'm gonna need you to shut up now please"

- CEO Yoongi Universe by @jungshookz

Suit&Tie (First Fic in the series)

Pairing: CEO Min Yoongi x Secretary Reader

Wordcount: 21k+

Summary: Young Intimidating Hot CEO Yoongi, Clumsy Secretary Y/N who loves Sugar, Best Friend Jimin. Funny Awkward Meeting that sets up the whole plot, was like reading a Kdrama in book form.

The One Where Augst D makes a Comeback (Favorite Fic in the series)

SPOILERS READ PRIOR DRABBLES TO CATCH UP!! (I recommend The First Date, The One Where Yoongi is Just a Little Jealous, The Proposal, The Wedding, Baby Makes Three, Baby Min's Timeline, The Birth of Baby Min, Daddy's Little Girl, Who the Hell is Augst D.

Pairing: CEO Min Yoongi x Secretary Reader

Word count: 6.5k

Summary: Yoongi finds out you faked an orgasm and he's going to gi-give it to you more ways than one.

- Demon Yoongi by @jungshookz

Hellish (I got some feelings for incubus Yoongi not gonna lie)

Pairing: Bratty, Super Sexy, Sex Demon, Mint Min Yoongi x University Student, Non-Supernatural Believer Reader

Word count: 22.1k

Summary: Jungkook is your clueless, energetic best friend. Wonho is a character in this fic, You are dragged into summoning a demon one night by your overly excited to be summoning a demon? best friend Jungkook. Spooky but Kind of Sexy Shit Happens! (This is probably my second favorite Yoongi Fic I've read!)

- Basketball Captain Yoongi by @jungshookz

Basketball Captain Yoongi

Pairing: Cocky, Popular, Charming Captain of the Basketball Team Min Yoongi x Water girl University Student Reader (who has been crushing on Yoongi hard for some time)

Word count: 18.4k

Summary: Jungkook is your athletic bro of a best friend that signs you up to be his replacement as the water boy (girl in this case) after he makes the team. You have had a pathetic schoolgirl crush on Yoongi for a while and is basically the only reason you agreed to be the water girl aside from spending time with Jungkook. It's fluffy & smutty!

- Android Yoongi @jungshookz

Technologically in love (..I cried! but I also smiled a lot so you know this is well written)

Pairing: Personal Assistant Prototype but SUPER Lifelike Android Min Yoongi x Messy, Junkfood, & Cartoons Loving Reader (basically your early 20s living alone kind of vibe)

Word count: 24k+

Summary: You live in a Detroit Becoming Human type universe but prior to a lot of the advancements. Androids are already a thing but not to the level the M1N Y00NG1 is yet. You are best friends with all the boys and they happen to be engineers which is how you ended up with Yoongi in the first place. Namjoon created Yoongi as a personal assistant prototype android & you are told to live with him. Things get fluffy, SUPER ANGSTY, and super smutty!

- Listen Closely by @avveh

Listen Closely ( sexiest Yoongi fic I have read so far, I kept wanting to go back and read again)

Pairing: Tsundere Office Worker Min Yoongi x Hardworking Office Worker Reader

Word count: 12.2k

Summary: Unintentionally, you stumble upon something that makes you view your coworker Min Yoongi in a whole new light. (SMUT 18+: Masturbation, voyeurism, exhibitionism, breathplay, spanking, degrading names.)

Jung Hoseok:

- Secret Boyfriend Hoseok by @kpopfanfictrash

Keeping a Secret (this took me places...Idk about you but I have trouble finding really good Hoseok fics and this one was perfect. One of my favorite fics on this website)

Pairing: New Relationship Dom Hoseok x New Relationship Tease Reader

Word count: 3.7k

Summary: You and Hoseok have been hooking up for a few weeks now. No one in your friend group knows. What happens then, when he shows up at movie night looking better than anticipated? SMUT!

- Studio Sex Hoseok by @joonbird

Studio:

Pairing: Boyfriend BTS Hoseok x Girlfriend Reader

Word Count: 5k

Summary: Hoseok is stressed about his upcoming mixtape, so you decide to swing by his studio and help him relax. (Hobi being the beautiful glorious sexy man he is and putting those ungodly hips to use!)

Park Jimin:

- Jimin and His Pregnancy Kink by @boymeetsweevil

ME, YOU, AND THIS THING WE HAVE BETWEEN US (NSFW)

Pairing: Sweet Caring Domestic but Horny Jimin x Pregnant Hormonal Reader

Word count:~3.7k

Warnings (aka what to prepare for): everything is graphic and gross lmao, blowjobs (face f*cking), boob job (not the one w/ silicon inserts), cunnilingus, dom!jimin if u squint, cumplay if u squint again, dirty talk/degrading language, penetrative sex (doggy style), unprotected sex, PREGNANCY KINK that’s a big one

Summary: You’re pregnant and Jimin is…happy about it (If I remember correctly this one is 25% cute domestic Jimin trying to calm his hormonal pregnant partner and 75% pure filth aka Jimin having a pregnancy kink and trying to hide it but not well at all. This is however my ultimate fav Jimin smut I have ever read!)

- Crush/Neighbor Jimin by @sketchguk

Lover to Lean On: (I absolutely adore this fic. Overall it's just really well written and I felt like I was watching a show in my head rather than reading a short Tumblr fic. Highly recommend it!)

Pairing: Cute Customer & Neighbor Jimin x Florist Reader

Word Count: 19.9k

Summary: For months, you can hear your no-face neighbor and his ‘girlfriend’ singing and dancing and laughing and falling in love. Above all, you can hear their bed banging against your shared wall, and they won’t ever let you sleep. You’d much rather stay up at night worrying about your own problems, like the weight of an unrequited crush, so of course, you’re bitterly single. But one day, the apartment is radio silent. And one day slowly turns into one week and then into an immeasurable amount of time since you’ve heard his laugh. So on Valentine’s Day, when you’re missing it the most, you beg your neighbor to open up to you with cookies in one hand and two broken hearts in the other.

Kim Taehyung:

-Roommate Taehyung Universe by @jungshookz

Stuck with You

Pairing: Frat Bro bit of an asshole Roommate Kim Taehyung x Clean Organized bit of a Pushover Reader

Word count: 37k

Summary: Kim Taehyung becoming your new roommate is definitely up there on the list of the worst things to ever happen to you. Librarian Namjoon is your Best friend and ex-roommate. Frat bro Jeon Jungkook makes an appearance. There is so smut and implied smut.

The One with the One Year Anniversary (Drabble)

Pairing: The cutest domestic boyfriend Kim Taehyung x girlfriend reader

Word count: 4.6k

Summary: NO SPOILERS! so I'm going to give you a quote: "well, um, look! I made breakfast for you. f-for us!" Also, SFW

Jeon Jungkook:

- Gamer Jungkook by @softyoongiionly

PRESS START (this is the cutest fucking smut type fic I have ever read! it is so pure and is the exact type of relationship I want! IT MADE ME SIMP SO HARD!) gender-neutral I believe!

Pairing: Night owl Gamer Domestic Boyfriend Jeon Jungkook x Witty Domestic Cutesy Relationship Reader

Word count: 5.5k

Summary: A night in with your boyfriend Jungkook includes all kinds of things: anime, witty banter, snacks from 7-Eleven and, you know, sex. (GREAT READ!! I AM A SIMP FOR THIS FIC!!)

[infernalrevenge]

Nerves to the Nines

Fandom: Resident Evil 8: Village

Pairing: Alcina Dimitrescu x Reader (Gender Neutral)

Rating: T (for negative self-talk in some parts)

Summary: Reader is attending the Gathering of Lords with Alcina and is too nervous to even dress themself properly. Luckily, their lover is here to save the day.

Notes: I have no idea if Alcina may be OOC here, just know that I love the thought of very powerful and intimidating people being soft and protective only for those they love, and that's partly what spawned this thing. That, and the idea of how intimate it is to have your significant other help you get dressed for an important event (that I completely made up for the sake of this fic.)

Also thank you so much for 50 followers :D May not be a big number, but it's more than I expected when I started writing here a few months ago haha

----------

Two hours to go before the Gathering of Lords.

You went through the mental checklist as you assessed yourself in the mirror. Hair done, make-up done, clothes... well, most of them were on.

You wanted to dress to impress, but not stand out either. A black button up rested on your frame and loose wide-legged pants to match, where your cream-colored shoes peeked out from the bottom. The burgundy blazer you were going to wear over it was hung in front of your closet, and the white rose you would pin onto the lapel sat on the vanity.

It was meant to be an inverse of Alcina's usual attire. She was going to bring a burgundy shawl as well to complement the outfit. Daniela said it would look cute.

But right now, the idea of wearing an extra layer was unwanted. You were too warm right now, and the last thing you wanted was to sweat through your clothes. Everything had to be perfect -- you had to be perfect, lest you sully the "good name of House Dimitrescu" in front of your lover's siblings, and Mother Miranda.

You knew how important tonight was to Alcina, and she wanted you to be a part of it all. She was looking forward to it as much as you and the girls were; when Bela, Cassandra, and Daniela were told they could come, they immediately squealed and started chattering away with you about what they were going to do, what to wear, what you were going to wear, and seemed to already have everything planned in their heads. Their excitement rubbed off on you for the rest of the week, and the happy jitters only got more intense with every passing day.

But the closer the time got to leaving for the Gathering, the more those jitters made you feel like throwing up.

You sat in front of the mirror and idly fiddled with your unbuttoned sleeve cuff, feeling the nerves of tonight bundling up in your chest. One leg bounced under the table impatiently; you had to get the energy out somehow.

You want to go, you reminded yourself. You wanted to go. You still want to go... right? You had been looking forward to this all week, of course you want to go. Just pull yourself together. You took in a deep breath and clapped your hands together.

Wait, when did they get so sweaty? If you tried to shake anyone's hand, they'd be weirded out and disgusted. How can you get it to stop? This is so stupid, why are you worried about sweaty hands all of a sudden?! Control yourself, idiot! This was not the time to worry about such trivial matters, but why did it feel like your heart was about to burst out of your chest? It's going so fast, you started to wonder what it could be running from.

This was a mistake, you shouldn't go. You'll just embarrass yourself, and Alcina, and you can't handle that kind of pressure. The scrutiny you'll be under would be crushing, you could practically feel the air getting sucked out of you. This was a mistake, this was a mistake.

You undid the buttons on your shirt, ready to take it off. Just say you don't feel well, that's a good enough excuse. This was a mistake, this was a mistake--

"Y/N, are you alright?" You heard her voice in your room, and she had already ducked inside by the time you turned around. You sucked in a sharp breath.

I'm not feeling well, I think I should stay home.

The lie you had concocted got stuck in your throat as you looked up into her golden eyes, clearly concerned. You didn't want to worry her. You wanted to go. You did.

Instead, you swallowed it and tried to keep your voice steady, "Yeah, yes. I'm just, I'm having a bit of trouble with..."

You looked down at your fully opened shirt, gulping again. "I can't..." Why won't your hands stop shaking?

"What's wrong, my love?"

Alcina was standing at full height, and to any other person, having her look down at you like this might have felt condescending -- an effort to exert power and establish authority. But somehow, being under her shadow in what had felt like a bright room... it was comforting. Just to know she was there, physically. To know that she saw you as you were at the moment, trying to be brave.

"I'm just... nervous, that's all," you finally managed to admit, and it felt like a weight had just been lifted off your shoulders. You relaxed only a fraction though, remembering what the night was going to bring.

In about an hour and a half.

She sat down on your bed, her knees tucked in a bit considering its height. "Perhaps if we talk, you can settle your nerves." She presented the space in front of her, as if she knew you couldn't bring yourself to sit at the moment.

You started rolling the button on your cuff between your fingers, your arm close to your chest like you were trying to protect yourself. From what, you weren't sure.

"What are you nervous about?" she spoke softly, quite a contrast from the usual commanding tone she took on when she spoke to almost everyone else. "Are you worried about not looking right? Because I assure you, darling, you look wonderful -- you deserve nothing less than the best."

"No, I... well it was your idea for us to dress like this, so no, that's not... what I'm worried about." You looked up from under your lashes. Her eyes were still focused on you. You wanted to squirm, and your next words came out softer than you wanted them to.

"I just... don't wanna mess up."

"I'm sorry, I didn't quite hear you." If you were any other person, she might have lost her temper at your mumbling. You almost flinched at the thought, but you knew she would never. Not with you.

"I-I don't want to mess up." You said a little louder as you folded your hands, one holding onto the other wrist. "You know, like, in front of your siblings, in front of... Mother Miranda... I'm afraid of embarrassing myself in front of them."

She frowned and leaned forward, "What could you possibly do that would embarrass me?"

You shrugged, wanting to shrink in on yourself. "I don't know, I might say something weird or do something that'll seem off, or just, I'm not sure. Something's probably gonna go wrong. Maybe even being myself is embarrassing enough," you joked.

"Darling, you are not embarrassing," she assured. You didn't know if she knew that you meant it as a joke, but she said it with such sincerity that it pulled some of that weight off you once more. It brought a small smile to your face.

"Do you not want to go anymore?" she asked worriedly, and you snapped your head up at that.

"No, I want to!" You answered so fast that Alcina seemed surprised but definitely not displeased

"I'm excited to go, I really am. I'm just not sure if I'm, like, ready to face the others. I wanna go, but I don't know, I can't explain it, I just don't want things to go badly because it'll reflect on you and your daughters and I know how much you want to be in Mother Miranda's favor so I--"

She took your wrist without a word, so gentle in her handling that you barely noticed it at first, and you trailed off. Her fingers fixed up your loosened cuff -- oh, right. Any more stubborn fiddling with it and you would've taken the button right off its threads. She did the same with the other cuff, a calm yet unreadable expression on her painted face.

When she finished, she gently smoothed your hair down, traced your jawline with a finger and tilted your chin up to look at her. "If you're worried about what everyone else would think, I understand. But you are my significant other, my lover. I trust that you'll be wonderful, so know that at least one person there believes in you."

It felt like you were really seeing her for the first time that night, looking so proud when she talked about you. She took the opportunity to fix the rest of your outfit, buttoning up your shirt once more, and kept talking to ease your mind.

"Don't ever doubt me, Y/N, because I've seen you at both your best and your worst, and your best is more than enough for tonight. If they can't see that, then it's their loss, not yours."

You could feel her words physically calming you, heartbeat steadying as you saw the loving gleam in her eyes.

The lady sauntered over to your closet, taking your blazer and handing it over to you. "Now, I believe you're missing a piece, my dear." You hadn't even noticed until then that she was already wearing her shawl. A gentle smile finally broke through your facade as you pulled it on in front of the mirror.

Alcina stood behind, laying her hands on your shoulders when you seemed satisfied. "A perfect match," she cooed, leaning down to face you, so close that you could feel her breath against the shell of your ear. "Wouldn't you say?" You could feel your heart racing again, but it wasn't from any nerves this time.

But before anything could be done about it, the moment was interrupted by multiple knocks on the door, followed by a loud thud. "Mother, Y/N, we're ready!" Bela called out from the other side, fussing over her sisters immediately afterwards. "May we come in?"

Alcina raised an eyebrow at you, a smirk playing on her lips. "Well? We shouldn't keep them waiting."

You felt loosened up for the first time that night, ready to face anything with Alcina by your side. You pinned the rose in place and took one last glance in the mirror. "We could always be fashionably late."

[get-shiggy-with-it]

*°:⋆ₓₒCollab Masterlistₓₒ⋆:°*

Pairing: All Might x Gn!Dom!Reader (Theme for this month was sex work au!)

Word Count: 6.2k

Warnings: 18+ this is a dark fic, both dubcon/noncon, straight up, forced submission, bit of mind break, dom/sub dynamics, sub!All Might, dominant All Might later in, dark All Might, violence against reader, bodily harm, face fucking, spanking (for Toshi), thigh riding (for Toshi), blackmail, minor mentions of blood, bondage/rope play, reader is gender neutral, no pronouns used

Summary: You work as a popular dominant for pro heroes who need to give up control once in awhile and Yagi Toshinori is one of your best clients. But when word gets out to the media about your involvement with pros, you decide to take matters into your own hands. Though you quickly discover All Might does not take kindly to anyone who threatens his reputation. 

It was all about the exchanging of power. 

About the relinquishing of control—about letting go and the freedom that came with it.  

And you?

You were just there to facilitate, to take over, to release all those bottled up years of stress that the camera’s weren’t supposed to see. 

But you did. 

You saw all of it. 

It was about trust too. Trust in you to give them what they need and trust in them to do exactly as you instructed. And most of all, trust that everything stayed confidential. That the things said through tears and whimpers and sighs were kept quiet. Trust that they would show you the same respect and privacy you showed them. 

You took these rules very seriously. They were the foundation your business was built on and it had earned you quite a lot of credibility. You prided yourself on it, as you should. Professionalism was key in your line of work. It made the clients feel a bit more comfortable—counteracted the sense of taboo that was usually associated with people like you. 

People in “your line of work,” was the common way of referencing it. But you preferred to be clear and upfront, not skirt around the edges as though your job was something shameful.

Language was important too. 

“Client,” “session,” etc...all added a buffering degree of separation for those you serviced. It was a crucial part of the balance which has allowed you to be so successful. They needed to be able to remove themselves from who they became once you were alone together. You’d learned that some amount of plausible deniability was key to achieving the complete relinquishing of authority. They had to be able to convince themselves after they’d walked away, that the crying, begging mess they’d become wasn’t who they really were—wasn’t actually a part of them, just something you’d done.

And by them, of course, you meant the heroes you served so dutifully. 

And by serve, you meant completely and utterly dominate. 

Contradictory to most common misconceptions, your job wasn’t always about sex—though it could be and was at time—but truly, it was about release. 

And above all, it was about power and who got to hold it. 

When that structure was broken—when the rules were strayed from—that’s when things got murky. But you were good at what you did, so luckily, that hadn’t been much of an issue. 

What more could one expect from someone whose services are sought out by the Symbol of Peace himself?

Hm. 

You really ought to get that put on your business cards. 

***

It was late when he came to you, though that wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. Occasional hero work coupled with a teaching schedule and numerous media appearances left one very little free time. Fortunately, you conducted most of your business during the small hours of the morning, so Yagi Toshinori showing up at your door as the clock ticked its way past two wasn’t a shock. 

You fell into the usual rhythm of things easily. 

Toshi was one of your newest, but most favorite clients. You came highly recommended from many of his coworkers, and after an initial meeting over drinks to discuss his needs, you struck up a routine that worked for the both of you. 

Of course he paid you handsomely for your time. 

Constantly being in the public eye, acting as an unwavering representation of hope for the future was tiring. You were more than happy to take the weight off his very broad shoulders for once. 

And bend him over your knee instead. 

“Five,” he panted, whimpers of thanks and your name spilling out around his loose tongue as your hand connected sharply with the meat of his ass again. 

You always asked to be called by name, no frilly titles to get in the way and complicate the dynamic. When they walked into your space, they set aside their hero personas and you afforded them the same intimacy. 

Names meant something. Names were power and so they mattered, particularly in this game you played together. Equality had to be achieved before domination. 

“Good boy Toshi, you’re doing so well,” you cooed and brought your palm down twice, watching the skin on the backs of his thighs bloom pink like sakura in the spring. 

“S-six, seven,” there was a wet spot forming under his mouth on the sheets and on your lap where his cock was bare and leaking. “Ah, please—harder!” 

You raised your brow as he turned his head to look at you with those teary, dark eyes and you could never resist a look like that. 

“You want it harder, why’s that?” you wound back and smacked roughly over the raised welts that made him hiss and sob. “Is this what you deserve for being so weak?”

He may have been thin now, skeletal compared to the face he showed the public, but you didn’t mind. He trusted you enough to let his guard down, and his weight was still thick and full across your legs. It was invigorating to see a man like All Might, reduced to this. Whatever pent up guilt he carried inside, you were here to help let it all out in the best way you knew how. 

“Yes!” Toshi cried and buried his face into the plush fabric of your comforter as you delivered the last three harsh blows of the punishment he paid you for. “Fuck yes, I’m weak and I’m a failure and I deserve this—!”

“That’s right, you’re a piss poor excuse for a hero and you haven’t earned your title,” you wrapped two thick locks of his hair around your hand and yanked hard till he craned his neck to face you. “What would the world say if they could see what a sobbing mess you are when no one’s looking?”

He opened his mouth to speak, hips twitching and grinding uselessly against your thigh. The second that plush pink tongue dipped past his lips, you were rearing back to spit straight between his teeth. 

Toshi’s face was always priceless in these moments. You’d almost be willing to do it for free if you only got to see the way his brows shot up and those red rimmed eyes blew so wide as you steeled yourself and looked him dead on. 

“Now, swallow like the little bitch I know you are.” 

And he did, of course he does, because behind your bedroom door Yagi Toshinori was your good boy. So you got to watch his throat bob as your spit slid down and he moaned so pretty at the awful things you said to him. 

Your palm kneaded against the red, raw flesh of his ass and you watched how he squirmed at the sting. The room was filled with the scent of sweat and expensive cologne. Your head was spinning from the smell alone and the high of the control you wielded over this man. His hands fisted hard in your bed sheets and you let him helplessly rut against you a few times before running your free hand up the graceful curve of his spine. 

“Oh, you really are so disgusting Toshi,” you mused as your nails dig into the planes of muscles to drag angry red lines over the skin. “Did you really get that hard from me slapping this tight little ass of yours?”

He groaned pathetically and nodded, not bothering to hide how his dick had been oozing obscene amounts of precum every time you etched a new welt on his skin. The blush that crept up his chest and painted his cheeks had spread between his legs too. The unfairly massive cock that Toshi sported was flushed a dark angry red at the tip and you couldn’t help but have mercy on him. 

Well, only a little bit. 

You weren’t here to be nice tonight, even if a part of you might have liked to be. 

“Do you want to cum, Toshi?” you asked, lacing your voice with the false sweetness you knew he loved. “Have you been aching for it all night?”

He keened, crying your name and rutting his hips harder against you. It sent a rush of warmth between your legs despite your better efforts to remain unaffected. This wasn’t about you, this was about ownership and his pleasure. 

“Mhmm,” his voice was little more than a rasp, “wanna cum so bad, please!”   

You laughed, but it was a cruel thing and you knew he could feel the rumble of it in his scarred chest. 

“You did so perfectly taking your punishment,” you raked your nails over the raised handprints again just to hear him cry out. “I suppose I’ll let you cum, but you’ll have to work for it.” 

Toshi’s breathing was ragged as you helped him up to straddle one of your legs. His swollen cock rested on the plushest part of your thigh, the tip nudging your hip and drawing choked gasps from the man towering above you. 

He stared down at you, confused when you didn’t move to stroke him. 

“Go on, then,” you smiled up at him, resting your weight on your palms so you could lean back and watch the show. “I said you’d have to work for it, didn’t I?”

You punctuated your question with a bounce of your knee that rocked his length against the fabric of your pants. It didn’t take long for him to catch on, eyes squeezing shut against the waves of shame and embarrassment that just made it so much hotter as he slowly began to ride your thigh. 

He might be paying you to be ruthless, but Toshi was kind to a fault from what you’ve learned of him and he ke[t most of his massive weight held on the balls of his feet so you weren’t crushed below him. Under any other circumstances, you might have actually enjoyed that quite a bit, but his face—cherry red with spit-slicked lips held parted with the force of his pants—was enough for now. 

His cock was so heavy you almost couldn’t believe it was real. You nearly didn’t the first time he’d stripped for you, but even just the drag of it through your clothes was delectable. It was so long and thick you needed both hands to wrap fully around it, and he gushed like a fucking gieser when you got him under your metaphorical boot. 

With every rock of his bony hips, his length was forced up against the curve of your stomach and he whined at the glistening strands of slick that connected his tip to you.   

“Come on, Toshi,” you clicked your tongue disappointedly at him, letting a hand fall to the puckered skin at his waist, squeezing harshly. “I know you can do better than that.”

He was beyond words now, you could tell by the way his jaw was loose and his teeth clacked with every thrust, but he did gasp out a long, high pitched moan that made up for it. The speed of his humping increased, becoming erratic as he hunched on the bed, hands beside yours. He loomed over you but anyone could tell just by the composed, serene smile playing at your lips—and the absolutely wrecked noises spilling from Toshi—just which one of you was really in control. 

“You’re so close, aren’t you?” 

You knew he liked it when you spewed filth to him right before he boiled over and you were more than willing to oblige. 

“You’re gonna cum like a fucking teenager humping his pillow, isn’t that right?” you snarled the words up at him and he really did cry then, big fat tears dripping down onto your shirt. “All Might, the number one hero is gonna cum all over my lap like the slut he is.”

He nods frantically. You know his balls were tensing up as he sobbed and spluttered—completely ruined. Just the way he needed to be. 

“Then cum.” 

You finally wrapped your fist just around his aching tip and he exploded into your palm. Rope after rope of sticky, white release coated your arm and dripped onto the bed. He kept grinding his hips, working himself through the climax, cock still pulsing and leaking in your grip. You didn’t mind the mess. 

He always tipped a bit extra if he left stains anyway. 

Such a gentleman.

When the last wave of his orgasm had petered out, Toshi collapsed to the side with his face buried in your pillow and his long legs still strewn across your lap. He didn’t usually ask for much in the realm of aftercare, preferring that you cleaned him and let him rest for a bit before he suited up and rushed off into the night. 

You gave him a minute before you got up to wet a warm cloth in the sink. He looked so destroyed, you couldn’t help but admire your handiwork. As you palm his ass once more, fingers spreading him so his pink hole was on display, you slipped your phone silently from your pocket, and snapped a few shots of the nasty red hand marks and smears of cum as he groaned deeply at the touch. 

His voice was lower as he grunted and you could tell he’s coming out of the subspace you’d thrust him into hours before. Quickly you slid the device smoothly away before lifting his legs from you and settling them gently on the bed to work on tidying up your mess. 

You didn’t feel particularly good about keeping this kind of collateral, but as much power as you hold in the four walls of your bedroom, you were frustratingly weak once you left them. These men you worked with, while generally professional, were also top heroes. Top heroes who really didn’t want their embarrassing private lives getting out. Top heroes who thrived off reputation and who would willingly throw you under the bus in a second to protect that. 

You liked Yagi Toshinori. 

But you didn’t know him. 

Smacking someone’s ass or stroking their cock every few weeks didn’t mean much in the grand scheme of things. 

So you kept your personal insurance that would be there should one of your clientele decide to forsake you in favor of their public image. And you would never use it unless you absolutely had too. 

After all, this was about trust and power and the exchange of those two things. Or at least it was supposed to be. Trust was quite a subjective thing. 

The general citizenry trusted All Might to protect them against the growing evil in Japan’s underground. But behind the scenes, you knew his failing health had caused him to seek you out as the intense guilt of his lie came crashing down on him.

Toshi trusted you to relieve his pain and indulge in his degrading fantasies, and you hadn’t failed him yet. 

But your trust was not easily bought, and none of your customers ever paid much mind to whether your perceived belief in them was genuine. 

After so many glimpses into the messes of pro-heroes personal lives, you knew you’d have to be your own protector. Hence, the photos remained in a locked folder hidden away as you sat yourself down next to the dozing hero and wiped away as much evidence of your meeting as you could. 

“How are you feeling?” you asked quietly, lathing the warm cloth between his legs and softening length. 

“Good, all things considered,” he responded, voice returned to it’s normal, deep baritone. 

“I sincerely hope you won’t have to do much sitting tomorrow,” you quipped and it earned you a chuckle. 

“I’ll manage.” 

You rolled him gently and finished clearing the rest of his spend from the flat expanse of his stomach. Toshi mumbled his thanks and you gave his thigh a friendly squeeze before retreating from the room to shower and change yourself. 

He’d be gone by the time you got out, notification of payment on your phone and a sizable tip left on your dresser as a parting gift. 

And as long as Yagi Toshinori was just as good a boy on the outside as he was here, then the world would never need to know what their Symbol of Peace got up behind your closed doors. 

***

“All Might! Mister All Might, sir!” 

The grating voice of that shithead reporter echoed through the speakers of your headphones over and over again. Your hand shook as the train stuttered to a halt and a wave of passengers burst out onto the platform. 

“All Might, are the rumors true!?” 

Your stomach sank as the reporter shouted your name above the ruckus of microphones and camera flashes and roaring bodies. Their voice was like chalk on your tongue, dry and cracked and clamoring to know whether the Symbol of Peace was involved with the recently revealed ‘seedy’ and ‘scandalous’ sex ring between yourself and multiple top ranking heroes. 

You’d been out having a relaxing lunch with friends in the city when everyone’s phones blew up. It wasn’t that you hid the general details of your job, but by the looks on their faces were enough to make your face burn. The judgement was clear—what you did was abhorrent, disgusting and by extension, so were you. Reporters had caught you on camera with a certain second ranking pro and very quickly deduced exactly who you were and what services you offered. 

The tabloids took it and ran, dragging your reputation behind them. 

Call after call and text, dms on your social media pages, all from news outlets requesting interviews or quotes or hero fans calling you a ‘shameless whore’ for going after pros—hell death threats had even begun to fill your inboxes. 

Hero fans really were ride or die, you supposed, although the ‘die’ in that scenario seemed to refer more to you than themselves. They would never believe their precious big boy crush had ever associated with the likes of you, had ever willingly kneeled for you—had ever enjoyed it. 

They couldn’t understand the things you did, all they saw was some false emasculation.   

And if it came out that Toshinori had any contact with you, his career would be ruined. 

You had hoped from the little you’d learned about him in your sessions, that he’d simply deny knowing you existed at all. That he’d have mercy on you, treat you like the thousand helpless civilians he pulled from burning buildings or whatever the hell heroes did these days. 

But you’d been right before to say that you didn’t know Toshi. 

And now you certainly didn’t like him either. 

“Are you one of the pros involved?” the reporter hounded again as All Might’s massive form panned into frame. 

“As your Symbol of Peace, I certainly do not partake in such degenerate behavior,” his words rang out, deep and resonating. “I would never associate with someone who’s actions border on criminal.” 

The dark, soulless pits he called eyes stared mockingly from your tiny screen as his signature laugh reverberated through your ears along with the train’s clacking breaks. You ripped the headphones from your ears and closed out of the app, ducking your head and pushing towards the door. Everyone’s eyes were drilling into you, worming deep under your skin and making you squirm like so many of those heroes had done on your silk sheets. 

Rationally, you were aware not many people would have seen the story yet. Tabloid trash took a day or two to disseminate into the general social media outlets and for people to take notice. Your friends only knew because your name stuck out to them, but you were hardly recognizable in your typical citizen attire. Even still. 

Your life, your work, all of it was on display. 

And he’d called you a degenerate. 

The infallible All Might had taken your name and tossed it in the guttered, likened you to a villain and single handedly destroyed everything you’d built in the process. 

Years of effort and crawling your way up the ranks of society all for nothing.  

All so some washed up hero could keep his fantasy of success going for just a little longer. Toshi trusted you with his secrets, his weakness, his body, and you’d defended that at every turn. The only thing he had to do was pay a small fee for your time and discretion. 

But no amount of money could fix your toppled character. Nothing could reverse your place as a disgusting slut in the eyes of literal millions of people. 

Bold of Yagi Toshinori to underestimate you so thoroughly, to think that you’d sit back in the rubble as he rescued cats and little kids and lived his delusion of perfection.

This was about trust and power. 

When those lines were crossed, that’s when things got messy. 

And you’d make sure to leave so big a mess, Toshi would never dream of coming back from it. 

***

Your apartment building was thankfully free of any press when you arrived home. It had been a few days since All Might instigated your public slander, but the mass media hadn’t managed to track you down after you went into a short period of hiding. 

You needed time to let all your other clients involved in the scandal play their cards. 

There would be no use in condemning one just to have them warn the rest of their equally impending doom. That way you could be assured they’d all come crashing down with you. Especially the blonde poster boy of hero society himself. 

His would be the sweetest fall. 

It had been long enough now that you could start compiling. You locked the door behind you, shrugging off your coat and settling on the couch. The plush cushions sank as you fell back, pulling out your phone and scrolling through your contacts. Toshi was there, two red and blue hearts on either side of his name. You pulled up his text thread. 

You’d thought about going public of course. 

Of course you had.

Your entire career had been trashed, you’d been shamed by the number one hero himself and your personal life was blasted over social media. 

But you were human, so you were weak. 

And you had liked Toshi. 

Well, you hated him now—a deeply dark, burning resentment—but before that, he’d been so sweet to you in a way that most were not. Respectful and nice and you were unused to it. So, you couldn’t quite bring yourself to eradicate his credibility in the same outright manner. 

No, you had decided you’d give him a chance.

Because you were better than him. 

A chance to atone, come clean, apologize the way you’re sure he would if his public image wasn’t so goddamn important to him. So you didn’t reach out to any of the media outlets that had been hounding your socials for the past week, and didn't offer them the inside scoop quite yet. Instead, you stared at the handsome contact photo of your hero client and slowly typed him up a message he couldn’t ignore. 

It was short and sweet, polite but firm. You acknowledged he most certainly did not want to speak with you—in fact, you weren’t very inclined to speak with him ever again either—but you happened to be in possession of some fairly compromising photographic evidence of your time together. And if that evidence were ever to, say, end up in the pocket of the exact scandal rag that sent voice clips of All Might all but denouncing you as a whore to the nation, well. Things would certainly not end well for him. 

But, you were nothing if not professional. 

He knew that. 

You never wanted to use these, but he had forced your hand. Of course you were more than willing to work out a deal with him. 

He was your favorite client after all. 

In any case, he knew how to reach you, and he had a generous 48 hours to give you an answer to your proposition. 

Oh and you were kind enough to provide a little snapshot of just exactly the type of evidence you meant. 

Your thumb hovered over the little blue arrow to send. The phone clacked against your nails as it shook in your grip, slick from sweat and frayed nerves. You couldn’t quite tell if you were anxious or angry or some awful combination of the two, but your heart was in your throat as you shut your eyes and pressed send. 

There was no going back, and if this all came tumbling to the ground, you promised yourself that you would shatter gracefully. 

Letting the screen go dim, you stared in silence at the small check mark confirming the message had been delivered and your fate sealed. You pulled yourself to your feet and made your way to the bedroom. 

He’d get back to you soon, or maybe he wouldn’t. You couldn’t know for sure whether or not Toshi would simply ignore your texts and be blindsided when the deadline passed and you destroyed him all over again in a far less enjoyable manner than you used to. But whatever the case, it was out of your hands for now. 

With aching feet and tired eyes, you stripped slowly and stumbled towards the bathroom. Turning the water to just below scalding, you did your best to scrub away any pesky remaining guilt that clung to you in a thin, suffocating film. 

You told yourself that there was no other choice. That you would have found another way if there was one. That this was how business often went. You had seen it before when you first entered in the field of sex work and you’d see it again. So you scrubbed yourself raw and let all your doubts trickle down the drain. 

Tonight, you would sleep restlessly, but it was a fair enough burden to carry for your honor. 

You were foolish to believe the cost of revenge wouldn’t bear a heftier price. 

***

You woke slowly, trapped momentarily in the strange limbo between sleep and consciousness that fooled you into thinking the strange tightness at your wrists was nothing more than a leftover side effect of a dream. 

The reality was so much worse.

It wasn’t until you felt the blunt, radiating sting of knuckles backhanded against your cheek that the haze of sleep fell away, and you could truly appreciate the scene before you. 

Which was to say, you could take the opportunity to scream before Yagi Toshinori’s fingers were shoved down your throat to muffle the noise. He was large, shirt seams full to bursting, and sporting an expression you’d never seen before. His eyes, while always dark, were like holes now and they filled you with an unfamiliar sense of dread. 

He’d called you a villain before, and now he was looking at you like one too. 

“Oh no,” Toshi hissed. His voice was impossibly deep, reverberating against your ribs painfully, “I don’t want to hear anything out of you.” 

One quick bout of struggling made it very apparent he didn’t want you moving either as your wrists had been bound behind your back and your ankles were similarly immobilized. The fingers in your mouth pressed hard on your tongue, his thumb pushing below your chin to make you choke and splutter. 

“You really let all that power get to your head, didn’t you?” Toshi’s voice was buzzing in your ears and mingling with the pain in your jaw. He put one massive knee on the mattress and hooked his fingers behind your teeth, forcing you to sit up from the bed.

You could feel your face burn as he looked down at you, drool slipping passed your lips and coating his fingers. The straining bulge in his pants looked even bigger than you remembered now that he was no longer the slip of a man you’d come to know as Yagi Toshinori. 

No this was All Might, the Symbol of Peace. 

And you got the feeling that whatever was about to happen, it was not going to be peaceful for you.  

He had you tied and trussed like a piece of meat, and he would treat you like one. You’d seen this before, you’d tied these knots—he’d been where you were now, but he’d asked for it. The loss of control was never something you’d delighted in on a good day, and now the rising pressure in your chest and the sensation of walls closing had panic coursing through you.  

“Did you really think that I’d come back here willing to grovel at your feet?” he jeered, the trademark smile on his face more snarl than grin. 

He shook your jaw violently in his grasp, listening to the joints pop as they tried to stretch around his thick fingers. Your name left his mouth in a mock coo, just as you had done to him so many nights before. “Remember, you might get to call me a bitch but it’s only because I let you.”

Your hands trembled violently against the bonds which tore the delicate skin and rubbed it raw. Toshi’s free hand traveled along his thigh to rub himself through his pants, his knuckles brushing your nose as he bucked into his palm. 

“But now you’ve stepped out of line,” he mused and clicked his tongue as though you were a student who’d done poorly on his latest exam. “And I’m going to make sure that whore mouth of yours never utters my fucking name again.” 

Eyes wide with horror, you watched as Toshi’s fingers fumbled with the button and zipper of his slacks until his cock had sprung free, monstrous in length and girth, dripping onto your forehead. 

You’d seen it before, but it seemed bigger now. So big that you’d never been able to take it, and Toshi had been staunchly against you ever trying lest he quite literally split you in two. But any kindness he’d shown you before was clearly off the table. His fingers pumped in and out of your throat as if preparing you somehow to take the stretch. It wouldn’t help. You knew that. He knew that. 

Toshinori smiled as he removed his fingers in favor of digging the spit slicked digits into the joints of your jaw, ensuring you wouldn’t bite down on him as he pressed the spongy tip to your lips. The panic that had set in—making your blood rush and your limbs shake—was constricting your chest and the pressure of Toshi’s dick pushing past your teeth made your breathing even more erratic. 

You whimpered loudly, trying to wrench your head away as the strong salt and musk flavor of his pre cum spread across your tongue, but that only made him thrust forward harder. His length quickly hit resistance back of your throat as you gagged and tears burned at the corners of your eyes. 

The ache in your jaw was already unbearable and your bottom lip was being rubbed raw by warm spit and the friction of Toshi roughly fighting to sink his dick fully into your mouth. 

“Mm, that’s it,” he groaned as you inadvertently licked over his tip, trying to force him away. “You look so much better like this.” 

He ran a falsely sweet hand across your cheek, collecting the stream of tears and using the moisture to slick the rest of his length. Your chest heaved in a mixture of gags and increasingly violent sobbing. You were stretched painfully wide as he rolled his hips again, pushing the thickest bit of his cock into your mouth and forcing your teeth to dig painfully into your upper lip. With the next thrust, he was able to sink another excruciating inch deep into your throat. Blood rushed from where you bit yourself and caused crimson streaks to form as Toshi fucked slowly into your mouth. 

Your mind was slipping. 

You’d had so little time to process the encounter, so instead your brain had secluded most of your consciousness into a precious little box, away from the intense burning in your throat as Toshi finally sank all of his innumerable inches completely into you. Your throat bulged and protested, tightening in an attempt to force him out. 

It only made him moan loudly and dig his fingers into your hair. 

“See?” he huffed, pulling out at an agonizing pace only to ram his length in roughly to the hilt. “I’d never lie to my public, you really are just as much of a slut as they say you are.” 

You shrieked around his cock, though it was muffled so badly by the lack of air and the wet slap of his constant thrusting that no one but you could hear the screaming in your own head. The pain was unbearable, this awful friction burning sensation that had your stomach churning and your chest wracked with stifled cries. Your bound legs kicked and your fingers grasped useless at the sheets as Toshi fucked your mouth reckless abandon. 

Time blurred along with your vision, whether from the lack of oxygen or the tears you weren’t sure. 

And most horrifyingly of all, was the pleasure that grew as your mind drowned the pain in darkness. You felt as though you were floating, disgusted but euphoric and the slide of him against your lips became delicious. Heat rose in you and built between your legs accompanied by a distant and unfamiliar ache to please, to be touched, to taste him, to obey.

You wondered if this was how he felt when you forced his mouth on you. If he slid into this strange space where your mind was a separate entity and the only thing that mattered was the pain and the pleasure and the release. 

Because somehow, in the midst of your struggle and revulsion, he’d made this strange, incorporeal part of you enjoy this. 

All the fight had drained out of you, letting your jaw hang slack and your tongue flick up to catch his tip on every backstroke. Your eyes flitted up to look at him through the haze of tears and sweat, hoping strangely that he’d be pleased with you. And the groan you earned yourself was delectable. 

You gave in, then. Let yourself be swept away by the rushing of blood in your ears and the rhythm of Toshi tearing you apart.  

At some point, you could distantly feel his thrusts becoming more erratic, turning into a rough grinding in your mouth. 

You couldn’t even taste it when he came, his cock was too obscenely deep in your neck, but the warmth of it burned your bleeding throat and filled your belly with a hot finality. 

You weren’t even afforded the dignity of spitting his seed onto the floor where it belonged, ignoring the searing voice in your head that revealed in being rewarded with his essence. 

When Toshi finally pulled out and tucked himself away, your head fell limply to your chest. A series of violent coughs erupted from you as a thick, viscous mixture of blood and spit and cum dripped from your tongue. 

Those impossibly large hands gripped your chin once again, forcing you to look up into those piercing black eyes. 

“Now, you’re never going to speak about me again,” he wasn’t asking but you glared up at him as his hand fumbled in his pocket, pulling out his phone. 

The device was comically small in those hands of his as he aimed it at your ruined face and snapped a picture—the flash blinding you while he reached around and roughly undid the knotted rope keeping you in place. 

“Because if you do, I’ll make sure those reporters know everything I said about you was nothing but the truth.” 

The loudest part of you wanted to scream, to punch and bite and tell him it wasn’t. That you were a professional, with self-respect and dignity and you were good and your job, but— 

But when you opened your sore and aching jaw to shout, nothing came out. 

No sound, no yell, no words. 

Just this awful rasp that made your throat feel like pins were sticking into the abused flesh. 

“Well, looks like I might not need this after all,” Toshi dangled the phone in front of your face before pocketing it once again. “Looks like you won’t be saying much of anything for a good long while.”

And then Yagi Toshinori left. 

He turned on his heel and walked out as you toppled off the bed behind him, trying so hard to scream despite the pain and the ripping in your chest—whether they were curses or cries for him to stay, you weren’t sure.  

But there was nothing either way. 

So you sat and screamed in silent agony at his retreating form until the sound of a door slamming rang out through your home. 

It seemed that in all your years of playing this game, you’d finally been toppled off your tightrope. 

Because you were good at your job, so you knew. It was all about the exchange of power, and yours had just been thoroughly stripped away. 

[thesquareinthecircularhole]

hey stupid, i love you [MCYT: Dream x GN!Reader]

song: hey stupid I love you by jp saxe

warnings: fluff

im pretty sure i made this an gender neutral as possible but if there is an error lmk thanks bby :*

im in a simpin mood bby

as always, song lyrics in italics

i skipped a couple versus due to repetitiveness oops

this is the one i complained about losing, but it actually worked out bc i like this one better...less wordy

word count: ~2k

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

Nothing's wrong, and it's not what I'm used to Oh, does it surprise you too? When it's simple, is it easier than it should be?

"Hey babe, are you okay? You've been quiet today," Dream practically pouted as he asked you. He loved the sound of your voice and while you definitely weren't giving him the quiet treatment, you sure weren't as talkative as you normally are.

"Yeah, I'm good. Just distracted thinking my thoughts." You smiled at him and leaned against him. He looked down at you and pecked your lips. You gave him a sweet kiss back. The smile he gave you made your heart boom. Loving him was as easy as eating a cake (because the usually analogy 'baking a cake' isn't true, its sometimes hard to bake a cake, especially when a hungry streamer keeps trying to eat the batter or start a flour fight).

"Anyway, don't you have a stream with the Dream Team to get ready for? One that starts in," you look at the clock on your phone, "three minutes ago?" The slight panic that crosses Dream's face makes you laugh loud. He gives you another kiss and in less than five seconds has practically launched himself across the house into his recording room. Your laughter follows him the whole way, a smile and blush upon his face.

Nothing's wrong, but when you're not in my arms I send voice notes, you send hearts And get quiet, and I know that means you miss me

Okay, granted, you were the one to remind him that he was streaming with his friends today and speedrunning, but you didn't expect it to last well over five hours. At the beginning you worked on your classwork for your [college degree of choice]. You got it done quickly, as it was nearing the end of the semester and most professors of yours were laidback and wanted you to study more than write nonsense papers (fictional you, i'm so jealous). Occasionally you would jump in fear when you heard Dream shout, still not used to it after years.

After finishing your classwork, you started cooking dinner. Soup was the vibe for the evening, and you had found a wonderful chicken and dumplings recipe a while ago that you wanted to try. You did have to go to the store for some of the ingredients, but luckily it only took you an hour. You can back and he was still streaming. It took about another hour for dinner to be done. You let it cool and prepared yourself a bowl. You set your laptop up and started watching Dream's stream. Hearing his voice made you miss him, so you pulled out your phone.

Going to the two of y'alls messages, you started making him a voice message.

"Hey baby, I made dinner, so don't play so long it gets cold. I love you! Kick the enderdragon's ass baby! Mwah."

You continued watching him stream, and he took a pause for a minute, his screen not moving from the create a new world screen and his mic muted. A couple seconds later you got spammed with every heart offered in the emoji index times what felt like a thousand.

He continued being quiet for a couple seconds, although he did unmute and continue playing, answering George's and Sapnap's questions of where he went with, "I had to take a message."

You're jealous, you shouldn't be I want you obsessively But I know how complicated it can get When you're not in front of me I know insecurities get in your head

Chat sometimes upset you. Sure, you got Dream, all of him, but sometimes the comments made by some of the more obsessives fans were a bit to much.

'With the way he killed those mobs you know he's got good fingers'

'His voice is hot so he must be'

'Heyo dream baby lemme see them feet'

Okay the last one was more weird, and actually turned out to be a joke from Quackity but anyway moving on.

He was your guy, and he promised himself to you, but sometimes he seemed to have a genuine connection with some of the sweeter and not gross ones. It made you scared that someone, one day, will swoop him off his feet with a comment and he’d leave you for them. 

But I'm not gonna interrupt if you need to talk about it Roll my eyes, get offended by the way you doubt it You know you're mine, you just forget sometimes So promise me you won’t And you know I'll remind you when you think I don't

The stream ended a little under an hour later. Dream left his recording room, grabbed a bowl of soup, and found you in the living room, lost in thought. He plopped down right next to you. 

“Talk to me baby.”

“About what?”

“Anything and everything.”

“Okay.” You’re quiet for a bit, despite his offering of listening. He knew you were gonna take him up on the offer, you just needed a bit of time, so he was going to wait patiently. He finished his soup quickly, he was much hungrier than he thought. He put the bowl on the coffee table and before he was all the way leaned back on the couch, you were leaning against him. His arms wrapped around you, your head was tucked in between his head and shoulder, and a blanket covered the both of you. You looked towards the blank tv screen but felt his eyes on you.

“I love you a lot. And I know you love me too, but I’m afraid I’m not enough. You have so many options, especially with your popularity online. I don’t know what I’d do if you left me, whether it be for someone else or just because you’re tired of me.” Dream waits for you to stop entirely, with you breathing heavily.

“Well, you’re right about one thing. I do love you, a lot. The rest of it is wrong and I’ll spend the rest of time telling you so.” Dream says, pressing several kisses against your forehead. 

“Yeah I know it’s stupid to feel this way, but my anxiety gets the best of me. It’s stupid, I’m stupid.”

“First of all, you’re not stupid. Second, hey stupid, I love you.”

Nothing's wrong, I just get in my head too Can you reassure me you, you're still in it? I just wish you could lean in and kiss me

As much as Dream loved you and reassured you, sometimes he would get caught up in his thoughts too. The life of a streamer/youtuber, especially one with as much fame and subscribers as him, was rough. The constant need to feed his fans with entertainment and content, and the need for the content to satisfy his fans was stressful. He hates to admit it, but he some days he spent to much time working and not enough with you. He thinks you would be so much happier with someone without a tight schedule and without a large, intense fanbase. Any random person on the street would be better for you than him, he thinks. 

When he gets into this headspace, the only thing that grounds him is your lips on his. When you kiss him, the clouds go away and all he can see is your eyes, as bright as the sun, and your smile, which can tempt even the purest. 

Say nothing's wrong, tell me to settle down You do it better than I've ever known how Won't pull some tricks for attention But could I get a little now?

Now, everyone knows that Dream likes some attention. He especially likes attention from you. Good thing is you also like attention, especially from him. The not so good thing is both of y’all get distracted so bad, it’s almost too funny.

He tends to get your attention by tickling you, whether it be in the comfort of your home or in public. One day, when you guys were walking through town, you stopped at a flower booth and got to talking with the friendly and flirty florist gentleman. It had been a couple minutes, and Dream was really needing some love, but you continued chatting with the florist who was definitely going to ask for your number but you genuinely thought he was just being nice. Dream crept up behind you and placed his hands on your side. You froze for a moment and looked at him, confused. The smirk that crossed his face barely gave you a second to prepare as he tickled your sides. Your laughter filled the street as you turned around as he tickled you. You wrapped your arms around his neck, which got him to stop ticking you, and gave him a kiss. The two of you continued on your way, attached at the hip.

And one day, when you wanted his attention, it was after he was done recording a manhunt with his friends. The actual video had been done for a bit, but they were just fucking around in the minecraft world and talking to each other. You had had a not so nice day, and wanted the crushing weight of your boyfriend on top of you. You crept into his recording room and came to stand right behind his chair. Based on the conversation you could tell he wasn’t recording anymore, so you knew it was safe. Your hands started in his hair, trailed down to his face, and slid down his body till your arms were wrapped around him snuggly. Your head was placed on top of his. 

“What are you doing?” he asked, and received no response. Instead, you began aggressively shaking him and the chair, turning it this way and that, making him slightly dizzy. His laughter filled the room, and he quickly ended the call. The two of you spent the next 12 hours cuddled in bed, leaving only for the necessities. 

You're jealous, you shouldn't be I want you obsessively But I know how complicated it can get When you're not in front of me I know insecurities get in your head

Dream got jealous as well sometimes. You were beautiful and a lot of the time attracted the attention of random passerbyers. Those people, who you don’t even know, who lived normal lives where they didn’t have to spend every second worried that their face will be revealed to the public and suddenly all their fans from around the world will know what they look like or the general area in which they live, who don’t have to obey algorithms and bend to the will of the masses to make sure they get paid enough to live, who could give you a normal and safe life. Every time one looked at you with some attraction, he pulled you a bit closer and kissed you a bit harder. 

But I'm not gonna interrupt if you need to talk about it Roll my eyes or get offended by the way you doubt it You know you're mine, you just forget sometimes So promise me you won’t And you know I'll remind you when you think I don't

Sometimes, Dream needed to rant. A long, hard, intense, rant. Sometimes it was about how someone accused him of cheating his speedruns. Sometimes it was about how someone said something nasty to him or one of his friends. Sometimes it was about a comment someone made about him or you that got on his nerves. When he needed to talk, you sat there and you listened. You did whatever he needed to get better, whether it was just listen or talk to find solutions. You did it because you know he would do the same for you. And afterwards, a cuddle session was a must. 

How could you forget? I told you seventeen times before 7 AM I love you How could you forget? I told you seventeen times

The morning after rough days were one of the bests. Arms tangled together, legs tangled together, everything tangled together, no one able to tell where one started and the other ended. Lazy kisses pressed to faces, hands, necks, any part of skin the lips could touch. One particular morning you woke up earlier than he did. A quick kiss against his cheek woke him up, and he gave you the most love filled smile any man could do.

“Hey stupid,” you said, “I love you.”

[youwerenevermeanttofeelalone]

Christmas Figurines and Mistletoe | Damian Wayne

✦ pairing — older!Damian Wayne x gender neutral!Plus Size Reader

✦ word count — 2.4k

✦ request — Could you write something about being caught under the mistletoe with Damian Wayne? Fluffy and really mutty.

✦ warnings — nsfw, reader has a vagina, making out, vaginal sex, pouty Damian, jealousy if you squint, fluff.

✦ author’s note — I assumed anon meant smutty instead of mutty.

════════════════════════

Damian was driving you crazy. And not the good kind of crazy. You were regretting staying at Titan Tower instead of going Christmas shopping with your friends.

You had assumed they would need the bonding moment on their own. They would spend Christmas at the tower while you would do so at home, it was only fair.

The problem was that you didn’t think Damian would come to the tower so early. He had said he’d come by that evening to make sure everything was perfect for the Christmas party you all convinced him to throw.

He hated almost everything. And you were terrified of showing him the Christmas tree because it was... a lot.

Explaining to him that Christmas was supposed to be colorful and that meant things looking tacky here and there would be pointless. He had been clear on what he didn’t want to see.

Damian clenched his jaw as he stood in front of the tree. “Why are the lights off?”

“The Tower’s empty.”

“You are here,” he said drily. “What did you do?”

You immediately defended yourself, “I didn’t do anything! I wasn’t here when the tree was decorated. You sent Jon and me on that quick mission, remember?”

Damian grunted, nodding. To your horror, he lit the tree up himself. A strange sound spluttered from his throat, and he turned to look at you with narrowed eyes.

“Damian, come on! It’s cheerful.”

“Who was the genius who decided that colorful lights and colorful ornaments were a good look?”

“I don’t know... Christmas trees come from a German tradition, and—“

He interrupted you, exasperated, “This specific tree!”

You shrugged. The tree had already been decorated when you came back, just like the kitchen.

Oh, the kitchen. Damian hated it, it looked cluttered according to him.

He picked a ceramic figurine and examined it. “This is the sloppiest paint job I’ve ever seen.”

“Most figurines come like that. Or with deformed faces.”

He placed it back in its place, turning around to examine you. “I find it interesting,” he mused, dragging his eyes to the microwave which was decorated by a Christmas themed microwave cover, “that you seem to know a lot about figurines and their flaws.”

“I didn’t buy them if that’s what you’re implying.”

“You bought Christmas mugs for everybody.”

“Yes, but I didn’t buy those!” Seeing him incredulously lift his eyebrows, you groaned. “Look, those figurines are common in most households. My mom loves them. That’s it, that’s how I know how flawed the come.”

“What will you do if I inspect your bedroom and more of those ugly things are there?”

You slanted your head, making a motion for him to exit the kitchen with you. “Come. Inspect it.”

You lead the way, more relieved than exasperated. He would drop it once he realized you didn’t have anything to do with it, he always did.

Before he could cross the kitchen’s doorway, Damian halted his steps behind you, grasping your hips and pulling you closer to him. You turned around, now confused.

He looked up to the top of the doorframe. His eyes stayed there and he remained silent which prompted you to look up too.

You shifted as mistletoe came to view. “I— I didn’t put that there... I didn’t even know somebody had bought it!” You attempted to move, hoping he would drop his hands. When he didn’t, you said, “I’ll get it off.”

Damian’s grip on your hips tightened. “Not following the tradition would bring us bad luck,” he explained with ease.

Your stomach flipped. Damian wasn’t superstitious.

“Yeah,” you breathed out, “you’re right.”

You half-expected a comment along the lines of ‘I’m always right,’ but instead, he slowly leaned in. You did the same, meeting him in the middle. His lashes brushed your skin when his eyes lidded closed, prompting yours to flutter.

He kissed you softly, taking his time to map your lips with his own, somewhat afraid of kissing you wrong. You tentatively placed your hands on his arms, ever so slightly tilting your head.

Pulling away, you nervously watched him. Damian slowly opened his eyes, not helping your case and making you feel giddy as he gazed at you.

He brought you in for another kiss, resting his lower back against the counter. Damian swiped his tongue along your bottom lip, and you eagerly opened your mouth for him.

His pleased hum sent shivers down your spine. As if it wasn’t enough to have you breathless, his hands lightly wandered to your back. His touch and kiss didn’t match in rhythm, and it only drove you crazier.

One of his hands fell onto your ass, then the other. You instinctively pushed your hips forward, hands flying to his shoulders. He grasped your asscheeks in both hands and pulled your hips flush against his.

A low whimper left your mouth, going directly down his throat as he swallowed it by kissing you harder.

He pushed you back. Assuming he needed space, you withdrew your hands from his shoulders. Damian briefly frowned, yet his grip tightened on you as he tried a different approach by walking you backward instead of pushing you.

“I still need to inspect your room,” he said, voice low as he analyzed your reaction.

You didn’t trust your voice so you merely nodded. It would have been easier to walk to your room by yourself, or with his hands still on you but actually looking where you were stepping.

The thought of walking slowly so you could savor the weight of his hands on your body was tempting. But Damian hated wasting time. And slow walkers.

Your room was underwhelming in comparison to your teammates’, in part because you didn’t have time to decorate and in part because you didn’t know what to do with the empty wall near the window therefore you couldn’t make up your mind about anything else.

“You can open any drawer you want,” you told him, ready to put the moment you had just shared to the side.

Damian gave you an incredulous look upon realizing you were being serious.

His eyes were as green as ever, watching you carefully as though he expected you to read his mind. Not for the first time, you wished you could.

His hands twitched on your ass. One of them softly caressed the area, drawing random patterns on your clothed asscheek.

“You can’t possibly think I brought you here to look for a stupid Christmas ornament.”

“So you brought me to my bedroom just to make out?”

”Let’s go with that,” he conceded. “I didn’t want us to be interrupted.”

“Can’t let the team know about your crush on me?” you teased him before you could fully realize what you were saying. It was fun banter, meaningless.

Damian turned serious. “I’m certain they know by now, but I would rather not get caught groping your ass in the middle of the kitchen.”

“Wait... so you hung the mistletoe?”

“No. But I’m not above admitting I should thank whoever did it.” He firmly rested his hands on your ass, pushing his hips against yours. “Now, can we stop talking?”

“Sure.” You kissed him this time, wrapping your arms around his neck.

Soon, he had you on his lap as he sat on your bed, humping him while he kissed your neck. He inched your sweater up, brushing your belly with his fingertips.

“I want you,” you whined, aware that he would leave marks on your neck.

“I’m here,” he deadpanned, nipping at your throat as he continued lifting your sweater.

You stopped moving your hips, lightly shifting on his lap in order for your hands to reach his belt. He didn’t stop you, so you went on and unbuckled his belt before undoing his pants.

Damian made you stand up, not for a moment taking his hands off you. In contrast, your neck already missed his plump lips.

He undid your jeans in a hurry, lowering them down your knees along with your panties.

Bluntly, he asked, “You need me to finger you first?”

Feeling your face heat up as he intensely gazed at you in expectancy of an answer, you pulled one of your hands off his body and parted your folds.

You found embarrassing how wet he made you. Only able to shake your head, you avoided looking at him directly.

“Use your words,” he commanded softly.

“No,” you whispered. He shuffled, lifting his hips to get rid of his pants and boxers. The gesture made your skin tingle, and as you kicked your shoes and jeans off, you added, “I don’t need you to finger me.”

Hissing, Damian held his cock for you, looking down as you placed your palm on top of the back of his hand. Your hand replaced his, and you softly caressed his cock.

“Condom?”

He stretched his arm, slanting his body to the side as he reached for his wallet. He handed the condom to you without a word, throwing his wallet onto the floor.

Once you had rolled the condom down his cock, his gaze lifted. You straddled him again, slowly gliding down. A groan spurted from within him as you took your time to push inch after inch of his cock inside you.

Damian’s eyes were on your face, refusing to lose any detail of your reaction as he entered you for the first time.

You moaned, leaning forward to kiss his cheek. He held you by the waist, holding his breath as you ever so slightly drove your hips forward.

The more you moved, the less he cared about whether he was loud or not. There hadn’t been signs of the team coming back, but you were certain Damian wouldn’t have cared either way.

He began moving his hips at your rhythm, only prompting you to roll your hips more enthusiastically as you sucked on his neck.

You tried to push him to lay down on the bed, but he stopped you, speaking softly. “Wait. It’s hot in here.”

Feeling empty as you moved away from his lap in order to get rid of your remaining clothes, you entertained yourself by admiring his body as he did the same.

Damian grabbed your hand, bringing you on top of him as he laid on his back. He kissed you, holding the back of your head with a hand as the other rested on your lower back.

Such placement made it extremely easy for him to roll you over so he could be on top, and the distraction his lips bestowed upon you a calculated move.

“Meanie,” you lightheartedly panted on his mouth.

He huffed a laugh, giving you a short kiss. “You seem to like it.” Damian dragged the tip of his cock along your folds, briefly teasing you before shoving it inside you.

He caressed your thighs as he started to thrust in slow strokes, teasing you some more as he controlled his breath.

Bottoming out, Damian tightened his grip on your thighs. He rolled his hips, and by your request started going faster.

You dropped your head onto the pillow, whimpering freely. This time you were the one who didn’t care if the tower was still empty.

His mouth hovered over yours. You were struggling to keep your eyes open, and by the way he was smiling at you, he surely knew.

“You look so beautiful right now,” he told you, lips brushing against yours. “Even more beautiful than in my imagination.”

You canted your hips up, desperate for more. More of him, of his voice, of everything he was willing to give.

And he granted you such wishes, picking up his pace, kissing you, gripping your thighs just the way you liked it even though he had no way to know.

Your nails dug into his back as you attempted to have him closer. It was impossible to do so, yet you had to give it a try.

“You’re gonna make me come,” you announced.

As though your words had been a demand for him to make you come already, he pressed his fingers on your clit and started rubbing as he thrust inside you.

Tired and spent, you felt his weight fall on top of your front. Damian kissed the side of your neck as he rested his head on your shoulder, breathing heavily.

Eventually, you softly pushed him off you and begrudgingly left the bed in direction to the bathroom.

You were washing your legs with the showerhead when Damian entered the bathroom. “There are clean towels in the second drawer if you also want to wash yourself,” you informed him.

He opened said drawer as you shut the water. He didn’t make any move for a moment, but he took a clean towel nonetheless.

You patted your skin dry, moving out of his way so he could use the shower.

“You had condoms here,” he observed.

“Well, I didn’t know which type of condom you preferred...”

“Oh, are those somebody else’s preferred ones?”

You slipped a clean pair of panties on. He watched you. “Please tell me you’re not actually angry because of this.”

“Your shower gel smells nice,” he opted for saying.

You hummed. “It’s new. I got tired of the blue one.”

Giving him privacy, you exited the bathroom and decided to check the mattress in case you needed to change the bedding.

Back in your bedroom, Damian silently put his boxers back on. He didn’t bother with his pants nor his shirt.

“I’m not angry,” he finally stopped avoiding the subject.

You tried not to frown. “You’re pouting.”

His expression turned blank. “I don’t pout.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

“Come to the Christmas party with me.”

“I’ll be at the party either way.”

“Yes,” he gritted before inhaling deeply. “But I want you to be with me. As my date.”

“What would the difference be?” You didn’t understand why it was such a big deal. “We know everybody already.”

“For one, it would help me sleep at night.” He took you by the face with one hand, looking straight into your eyes. “Yes or no?”

“Yes.” Your voice sounded weird due to the pressure of his fingers on your cheeks

Damian gave you a sweet kiss, loosening his grip on your face to cup your cheek. You softly placed your hand on the back of his head, giving him another kiss. And another, and another, until you lost count.

[its-deputy-caleb]

I hope this isn’t too dumb, but could you write something where Micah has been feeling down for whatever reason so the reader gifts him some flowers and he’s completely taken aback/ embarrassed/ has funny tummy feelings? Female or gender neutral reader, up to you. Thanks! 🥰

never too dumb!! i loved writing this and im genuinely having the best time writing these requests they make me v happy :)

also at some point i ended up writing in like micah's POV? sorta? its a bit messy but yeah idk its just a big ball of fluffy mess. i hope u enjoy

-------------------------------------

One thing you’ve learnt about Micah is that he’s not as good at hiding his emotions as he’d like to think he is. Most members to tend to care if he’s grumpier or happier than usual and generally tend to stay clear of him. But not you.

You were something of a close friend to Micah and you always noticed when his mood changed. Sometimes it was easy to spot when he started getting into more fights than usual with Pearson or Bill while other times you saw him draw away from everyone. Those nights when he was feeling sad, you saw him retreat to the outskirts of camp, pacing around for hours before settling against a tree to fiddle with his knife. It was a nervous tick he had to distract his racing thoughts.

It always broke your heart to see him like that and a lot of the time talking didn’t work. That’s why you decided you’d bring it upon yourself to get him a gift to cheer him up.

-

It’s one of those days again and Micah find’s himself retreating to the outskirts of camp again. Micah could never imagine himself running away from a gun fight but he finds himself trying to flee from the invading thoughts in his head. Of course this only makes Micah beat himself up further.

Leaves and sticks crush under the weight of his boots as he walks through the shrubbery, well away from camp. He takes a seat on a large log and goes to pull his knife from his pocket only to realise its not there.

He cursed to himself as he remembers leaving it wedge into the wooden table right in the middle of camp. He’d been practicing at five finger fillet and kept making errors from a mixture of his thoughts running at a million miles and a lack of sleep.

Out of frustration Micah had left the damn thing on the table as he stormed off with a ‘dammit’ under his breath.

He sighs and begins to pick at the small scab that’s now formed from when he nipped himself this morning in his practice. He’d be damned if he walked back through camp to go get his knife, there was no way he’d risk running into someone that might push his buttons.

Micah is left alone for hours with his own thoughts until he hears someone walking up behind him. He’s always on alert so he spins around instantly, ready to defend himself despite being uncharacteristically unarmed.

Micah can’t tell if he’s excited or not to see you. On one hand he’s absolutely head over heels for you and wants to spend as much time as he can with you. On the other he’s so terrified that you make his stomach flutter that he’s not sure if he can keep his composure after such an exhausting day.

His eyebrow raises when he sees you walk around the log to stand directly in front of him, your hands uncharacteristically stiff and held behind your back.

“I’ve got you something.”

Perking up, Micah can’t help but be a little excited, if not nervous since he rarely ever receives a gift.

“What is it?”

He sees you smile at him, the adoring one that makes his heart melt and leaves his chest feeling bubbly in a way he’s not used to at all. His face drops however, when he sees you shake your head.

“Close your eyes.”

Micah tenses at your words. He does not like to have his eyes closed, makes him feel too vulnerable and exposed. Its one of the reasons why he hates sleeping in front of others.

His breath hitches slightly when you lean down so you’re eye level with him, your noses almost touching.

“Do you trust me?”

He does, gosh he does. You’re one of the few people he’d trust blindly. You’ve been nothing but kind to him since day one and he’ll admit to himself that you’ve managed to make him feel loved.

Slipping his eyes closed, Micah lets out a soft huff of air and wills himself to try and calm his nerves, nodding slightly. He hears ruffling for a minute before you tell him he can open his eyes.

“You can open them now Micah”

He hears your sweet giggle which could literally cause his heart to stop beating as his eyes slowly open. There, in front of him is a bouquet of flowers in your hands. The colours are a beautiful mix of purples, reds and whites all of which are perfectly arranged together.

Micah, having never received a gift, little alone flowers goes bright red and stares at them dumbfounded.

“Whatcha got there?”

He’s still in a mild state of shock, not really understanding what or how to deal with the fact you’ve brought him flowers out of no where. He moves his head to look at you, feeling his blush get hotter as you playfully roll your eyes and smile down at him.

“They’re flowers Micah, they don’t necessarily sell them at the general store so I picked them myself. I wanted to do something for you though, cheer you up.”

Micah’s stomach is in flips but that doesn’t stop the smile from appearing on his face even though he tries to hide it.

“Micah, can I give you a hug?”

After a good five minutes of on internal debate Micah finally gives in and nods softly, too exhausted from a mentally draining day to do much more. He’s expecting you to just wrap an arm around him awkwardly. He’s not at all prepared for how gently rest in his lap, taking his head in your hands and bringing him forward to rest his head on your shoulder.

He’s tense but soon relaxes into your arms, his own come to wrap around your waist as your cheek rests atop of his head.

-

The next hour passes like that, your hand rubbing slow circles into his scalp as you gently whisper that he can always rely on you when he’s feeling down. Between each of your breaths you tilt your head to place a kiss into his slightly greasy hair, but you never really minded.

Eventually, the calming whispers come to an end when Micah speaks up.

“Thank you for the flowers, for everything. I- thank you.”

You smile adoringly down at him. You can tell he’s trying to express all that he means but you can see it just by the way his eyes light up when he looks at you.

“Common now, I bet you’re tired and don’t bother denying it.”

Micah instantly goes to protest about being tired but is cut off by his own yawn which is the most adorable thing you’ve ever seen. You walk hand in hand back to camp, happy to now that most of the camp members have gone to bed as Micah holds the flowers in the other.

Once you’re in your tent, Micah will wrap his arms around you and spoon you. His head is pressed into your neck as he holds you close and you both drift off to sleep.

As it turns out, Micah is a snorer.

[sassycassie-s-writing]

Under the Moon

By: SassyShoulderAngel319

Fandom/Character(s): Avengers - Peter Parker/Spider-Man

Rating: PG/K+

Original Idea: I’ve been in a mood recently.

Notes: (Masterlist)(By Character)(About Me) I actually put forth a decent effort this time to make it as gender-neutral as possible. It’s probably not perfect but I tried.

^^^^^

A twinge in the muscles of my back jarred me from my sleep.

$#!+ did I forget again? I thought. Another spasm arched me off my mat. I fumbled through my bag for my phone. No service. Of course not. With shaking fingers, somehow I managed to unlock it. Moon Tracker was waiting for me on my home page. It launched and actually loaded, despite the lack of service.

Tonight’s Moon: Full read the screen.

I swore aloud. MJ didn’t wake.

Scrambling out of the tent, I stumbled through the dark to the tent next to ours. “Peter!” I hissed, knocking a knuckle against the tent pole. “Pete!”

I heard a groan. “What?” Peter complained.

“I need your help. I need you to come with me. Now.”

The tent he shared with Ned zipped open. Ned was curled up in a corner and clearly Peter had been sprawled out. Peter slipped out, barely managing to get into his sneakers, and zipped the tent shut behind him. “What’s goin’ on?” He yawned.

I recoiled as pain wracked through me. “We need to get away from camp—and I need you to web me to a tree,” I replied.

“What?”

“Now!”

My tone scared him into movement. He grabbed my hand and we ran from the campsite. I stumbled more than anything. My control over my own body was slipping. I moaned in pain. Peter looked back at me.

“What’s happening to your eyes?”

“No time to explain. Keep moving,” I panted.

We blindly wove through the woods until we were over a mile away. I found a sturdy tree and backed against it.

“Web me here,” I said. “Just cover me.”

“Why?”

I looked up. The moon was starting to peek above the hills, casting its light through the woods. “Just do it!” I cried out—stifling the sound as much as I could—and slammed into the tree. “Now!”

Peter’s webshooters activated and he spewed webs at me. I gave him a small smile.

Then I thrashed in pain—

And everything went black.

—

Peter stared as his friend’s body began to change. Claws broke through fingers. Fangs replaced teeth. A snout elongated from the face. Thick, brown-and-black hair sprouted. Pajamas started to disappear under the hair.

Until, instead of a human, Peter was staring at a wolf.

An enormous wolf. Easily twice the size of a regular wolf—and he’d found out that wolves were twice as big as he’d thought not too long ago—and covered in grey fur. The beast’s paws were wide and ended in long dark claws sharp enough to tear flesh like cotton candy. Thankfully they were positioned too awkwardly to reach the webs holding it.

“Gah! What the he—” He cut himself off as the wolf snarled at him, writhing against the webs. He applied another layer just to be safe. “Since—since—since when could you do—” The moonlight shone brighter, catching his attention. He peered up.

The moon was a massive disc—full and shining silver-white down against the tree trunk.

The wolf in front of him seemed transfixed by it, staring up with a melancholy whine softly escaping its throat. It tried again to escape the webs, but only half-heartedly.

Peter whooshed out a breath as realization struck him like a blow from the Hulk. “You’re a werewolf,” he whispered.

The wolf whimpered and then growled. Peter stepped back.

“I’m not sleeping tonight, am I?” He asked.

The wolf didn’t reply.

Which was probably a good thing, because if it did he probably would have screamed loud enough to wake up their friends over a mile away—and every big nasty in the forest. And he doubted his werewolf friend would protect him.

The wolf’s amber eyes were watching him suspiciously. But Peter just sat down and yawned again. “You and I have known each other for like ten years now. You’re in on my secret. Why didn’t you ever tell me yours?” He stared at the wolf, who was still seething at being trapped, but not fighting against the webs. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Again, the wolf made no reply. Just turned those amber eyes up to the moon. Peter looked up at it too. “Yeah. It’s beautiful. Especially on nights like tonight. When there aren’t any clouds.”

The wolf whined like a puppy—and Peter had to remind himself to not tear off the webs to cuddle into that thick, soft-looking fur. That werewolves probably didn’t have any human memories when they were in their wolf form. He leaned back on his hands. “You’re probably not gonna remember this, so I may as well tell you: I’ve actually had a crush on you since like seventh grade. I know we’ve been friends for longer than that but…” He shrugged. The wolf kept staring at the moon. “I don’t know. Something changed that year. I saw you in the gym with the ballroom dance club, teaching some poor dude how to waltz when I stayed late for robotics, and it was like this… like a lightbulb went off in my head. You know? Suddenly it was like I was really seeing you for the first time. Like I caught a glimpse of the best pieces of your soul.

“And I’ve never been the same since. Never looked at you the same way. I notice the grace you use when you move. Even if you’re clumsy sometimes. But I see your compassion too. Your care. Like once I started looking, I couldn’t stop.”

The wolf didn’t even react to him at all.

Peter sighed. “I’ll keep an eye on you tonight. I promise. You won’t be able to get out or hurt anything. It’ll be okay. I promise.”

—

I came to under the pale orange light of dawn. The last dregs of dissolving web fluid clung to my pajamas. I felt drained. Like I always did the morning after a full moon.

“Hey, you’re up!” Peter said happily. I turned. He was sitting on the forest floor a few feet away, using a Bunsen burner camping “stove” to heat a small pot of water. Two paper cups were sitting near him, plastic spoons poking out of the top. I slumped against the tree trunk. “I’m making some cocoa. Want some?”

I watched him pour the water in the cups, adding packets of cocoa mix and stirring carefully. I didn’t have the energy to actually reply.

He handed me one of the cups. “This should warm you up. It’s a little chilly.”

“Did you get any sleep?” I croaked.

“I did, actually. See, the thing is, my webs dissolve in two hours. On average, it takes fourteen minutes for a person to fall asleep, and a single sleep cycle is ninety minutes—hour and a half. So I used my webshooters to set timers. An almost-two-hour one to know when to replace the webs around you, and another to wake me up roughly an hour and forty-four minutes after I set it. So I slept between replacing your webs and I actually feel alright. Probably better than you anyway.”

I grunted agreement at that. I felt like I’d been trampled by a herd of elephants.

I tried a sip of the cocoa. Not too hot, but enough to warm my core. I sighed, content with the taste and warmth.

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?” Peter asked quietly. I met his eyes. He had the expression of a sad puppy on his face.

I huffed a little, stirring my cocoa. “My secret isn’t like yours, Peter,” I said. “You keep your secret to keep the people you care about safe. I do too, but mine—mine is different. You’re keeping the people you love safe from villains who want to hurt you by hurting them. I’m keeping the people I care about safe from me. Because I’m… we’re classified as monsters, Peter. Werewolves, vampires—we’re referred to as monsters the same way humans are mammals. I never told you because what I can do… it’s worse than what you can do. You’re a superhero. I’m a lycanthrope. Yours is a mutation of your DNA. Mine is literally a curse. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you looking at me like I’m…”

“A monster?” Peter finished gently.

I almost growled at the word. “Yeah,” I admitted begrudgingly, taking a sip of my cocoa. “You have no idea how hard it is for someone like me to make or keep friends. I’ve spent most of my life super lonely. Then I met you and Ned and MJ and I felt like… like finally I could have some friends. I was turned into a werewolf when I was four-years-old, Peter. Thirteen years, I’ve suffered with this alone. My parents know but they don’t talk about it. They pretend like my curse doesn’t exist. Then I make friends for the first time in my life and still know, deep down, that I’ll never belong with them. Not really. Even when you told me about you, I knew I still wasn’t like you. I never would be. So I hoped I could just be friends as long as I could with you guys and… find a way to live with it when you all eventually left me.”

I downed the rest of my cup and stood. My joints ached.

“We should go back to camp before Ned and MJ wonder where we’ve gone,” I said.

Not waiting for Peter, I headed back the way we’d come, following my own scent through the trees, several hours old now, but doubly punctuated by Peter’s as he’d gone back to get the burner and the cocoa.

He caught up to me, jogging a little. “For the record, even though you scared the pants off of me last night when I saw you turn, I don’t think you’re a monster,” he said.

I managed a small smile. “Thanks,” I replied.

“And, also, I’m not going to leave you. You’re still my friend and I’m not scared. I can lift… like, a hundred times more than my body weight. I think I can handle you as a wolf. You’re not gonna hurt me and I’m not going anywhere.”

“That’s… that’s a relief to hear,” I admitted. We kept hiking back. “Do I remember you saying you’ve had a crush on me since we were in seventh grade? Or did I dream that up?”

Peter swore under his breath. A normal person wouldn’t have heard it, but I did. Wolf’s hearing. “Uh… I think you dreamt that up,” he said.

Liar. But if he wasn’t ready to tell me human-face-to-human-face, I’d give him time. He’d taken my secret better than I could have asked for or anticipated. I could let him admit his feelings whenever he was ready. I owed him that much.

When we got back to camp, MJ was sitting on a tree stump, munching on some dry cereal. “Where have you two been all night?” she asked.

[ive-been-quested]

Request for @ironbabey, im sorry it took so long! Life's been hectic and I wanted to make it good and not rush it. Hope you enjoy :)

An angsty fic, insert reader no y/n and im pretty sure its gender neutral!

Warnings: mentions of injury and blood, angst, Mando is angry acts like a Scary Man™ at first but he doesn't do anything drastic

You had never, in all your time of knowing Mando, seen him well and truly angry. Not like this. Not angry enough to tear through everything in his path. Not enough to be yelling. He never raises his voice, always keeps it low and firm and steady, especially around you.

"You just fucking /left/. I didn't know where you were, or if you were safe, I knew-" he knocks over a chair, unaware of how much space he takes up in this small kitchen, "-fucking /nothing/!"

Cara has appeared somewhere from another room, attempting to diffuse the situation, if only to salvage her kitchen furniture.

You weren't scared of him. You had a blaster that you were well versed in using if it came that, though you doubted it would. You were just furious.

"Mando, stop-"

"You just left! You were injured and you left, the kid was terrified, he's cried every night since you've been gone!"

"Last time I checked, I wasn't obligated to tell you what I was doing or where I was going-"

"Guys-" Cara tried

"You could have been /dead/, or bleeding out somewhere and I would never have known!"

"QUIET" Cara's voice broke through the onslaught of chaos and the two of you fell silent. "You people really need to get your shit together, okay? Stop yelling for two kriffing minutes!"

Mando's visibly heaving under his armor, and you notice your hand hovering where you keep your blaster on your thigh.

"You're going to /talk/ about this, and im gonna take the kid and leave you to it, ok? But you have to promise not to kill each other". Neither of you answer her, so she takes her leave.

It was you who broke the silence, as usual.

"You should leave."

"No." He's basically growling. You can't tell its to cover up the waver that threatens to break through.

Your eyes don't leave his visor, hoping half-heartedly that you could intimidate him into giving in.

"No, of course not," you sighed. "Stubborn asshole."

He knows he should stop. You have every right to be mad at him right now, even scared, with the way he was yelling and pushing things and generally being intimidating just moments ago. But you show no signs of fear, as always. Always so stupidly brave. He would never hurt you, but others would. And have, he thinks, as his eyes fall to your bandaged side. An image of fresh blood and grunts of pain and trembling hands flash through his thoughts before his eyes clench shut and he tries to turn his attention back to your face.

"I'm sorry." Its all he can think to say, all he /wants/ to say, now that the dust is settling. It feels like too much and not enough all at once.

"For what? For treating me like a child? For getting mad at me for, I don't know, doing my job and protecting the kid?"

"You were being reckless, you could have died-"

"I was doing. My. Job. You told me when I first came on that the kid is our top priority. I agreed. I made sure he was safe, Mando".

It was the truth. Maybe you were reckless. Maybe there was a better way of getting the kid out of range of that asshole's bullet. But when things happen fast you do stupid shit, right? Like jumping infront of a bullet to stop it?

You couldn't admit that it was stupid, because then you'd have to admit that you didn't always care if you got hurt, or that you kinda just wanted to know if Mando would give a shit.

"That was before."

"Before what?" You demanded, fists clenched and jaw tight.

"The nightmares." You've never heard him so exasperated. "You bleed out in every nightmare I have."

You don't know what to say. You can imagine that pain; you imagine him bleeding out infront of you enough to know that it feels like hell, feels like being crushed under the weight of the whole galaxy at once. But he can't possibly feel the same way about you, right?

"I try to stop it-" his voice breaks. No, it doesn't. It can't. Not Din. "I do everything i can. It's not enough".

"Din-" his true name bounces off your lips in an unprecedented moment of sincerity.

"I can't stop that much blood." You definitely hear his voice waver now, and your throat closes in at the sound. /fuck/. You never even considered, never thought it was possible, for him to worry like this. Not about you, at least.

He's defeated. His greatest weakness is revealed. /You/. He could say so much more but it wouldn't make a difference. He could have made up so many excuses; how the kid would miss you, how he wants you so badly to hug him every night, and it wouldn't have even been a lie. But it wouldn't have been the whole truth either, would it? No. You were too damn smart for that.

The truth was this: losing you would be a big enough wound to ruin him. The kind of wound that festers, rot taking him slowly, creeping into every vein, every breath, into the very marrow of his bones.

He didn't know how to say this. He says 'I'm sorry,' and the breath is still caught in your throat so he says it again, and again, until you finally remember how to exhale and shoot up and wrap your arms around the cold metal of his body. And then you are shaking with the effort of silencing a sob.

"I love you," you whisper. "I can't help it. I didn't want to. It hurts."

"Why? Why does it hurt?"

"Because I can't imagine you think the same of me."

"Of course I do. I am not metal all the way through," He chuckles softly and the sound melts the tension lingering in your body.

"Then say it. Please?"

He thinks he might choke on the words but he complies anyway.

"I love you," he says. "I love you, I love you."