#like in your nasal cavity

[m-eowdy]

.

[thereweredragonshere]

Hey, could you draw the Bewilderbeast?

“Blimey that thing’s huge,”

I always feel weird drawing flat faced animals. How the fuck does this thing breathe (Looking at you pugs)

[isekyaaa]

I haven't had a fever in over 15 years and I rarely get colds either, but I'm planning on eventually writing a sick fic for that certain series, so like I need to get sick before than so I can write it properly.

[soobnny]

stay (forever, if you’d like) — lee know x reader ; the six times he asks you to stay (2.3k words)

happy bday lee know, you are my light

one.

There’s this thing about Minho—in the way his eyebrows are furrowed, eyes sharp, and lips always in a tight line. It’s why they call him cold, unapproachable. The same people that have intrigue and intimidation written on their faces when they lay eyes on the boy.

They just don’t know him.

His eyes are a lot softer than they describe. They’re wide, wonder-like, and they shine with something you can’t quite identify, but there. Present. There is so much you can decipher with a single look—mischief, pain, sincerity, love.

Those same eyes are looking at you right now. Almost pleading, but painfully trying not to look obvious.

“It’s getting dark outside.” He acts as if he isn’t the reason you’re still at his dorm.

Attempts at leaving, all in vain, flash before your eyes. You have to admit, your best friend is nothing but convincing, and a little manipulative in how he keeps you captive until there is reason for you to stay. “You should stay.”

You can hear the kettle whistling from a distance. It’s water for tea with measurements for two, like he knew you wouldn’t leave.

“Min.” You let out a breathy laugh. He’s almost detached himself from the couch he’d sprawled himself on earlier, inching closer and closer and closer until he gets the answer that he wants.

It’s obviously for your safety, it’s dangerous walking along at night. You would be stupid not to stay. That’s what he tells himself, but there is a feeling in his stomach telling him there’s more to it. He really really doesn’t want to think about it right now.

“Fine,” you sigh.

“Good decision. It seems that you value your life after all,” he says. There’s a hint of a smile playing on his lips that he doesn’t quite show. You can always tell, though. It’s usually when he gets something he wants.

“But I’m leaving first thing in the morning.”

(You won’t.)

two.

seungmin (2:03am): pls pick minho up. drunk

You have to look at Seungmin’s message twice before it properly registers.

You remember Minho telling you he wouldn’t be drinking tonight, but it seems there’s been slight changes to his plans. You wonder if Jisung’s peer pressure finally worked on him tonight.

yn (2:05am): omw

Your dorm is only a few minutes away from where they’re drinking, and your best friend had asked you to come with him earlier, but you’d decided against it. You weren’t in the mood for the stench of alcohol in your nasal cavity.

Though, with your sudden task of picking the boy up, it seems unavoidable now.

It isn’t difficult to spot him. The moment you’re merely a block away, you find Minho just outside with a sleeping Felix on his shoulder. Their backs are slouched, and his eyes look like they’re fighting not to close.

“(Name)!” Seungmin calls out for you first, and it’s hard to miss Minho’s head pointed directly in your direction the moment your name slips out of his friend’s mouth, like he’s been looking there this whole time.

“It was fun to have blackmail material at first, but now I’m just tired.” The younger boy sighs.

You laugh, and something bitter bubbles in the sitting boy’s stomach. He lets himself sit on the feeling for quite a while. Jealousy is an ugly monster, but he doesn’t know that yet. “Please take care of him.”

When you crouch in front of Minho, the scowl on his face softens.

“You’re here.” He mumbles, exhaustion dripping from his voice. He reaches out to you, and Seungmin mutters something you don’t quite hear.

“Did you have fun?”

“Mmm,” he hums. He’s really drunk. And by his curtained eyes and his lack of dignity, you can tell he’s a goner. And so is the sleeping boy next to him.

You look around to see if there’s a convenience store nearby. Water would be a good buffer to the eventual hangover that’s waiting for them in the morning.

“‘M just gonna buy some wat—”

“Stay.” He interrupts you, just loud enough that you get a whiff of the whiskey he’d been drinking.

“You’ll feel better if you drink water.” Your eyes flicker to the convenience store for a moment before refocusing on your best friend.

A visible frown crosses his features, and his skin is flushed out from drinking. “You just arrived. Stay, please?” The way he begs entices you, because it’s not often that your best friend pleads.

“You’re saying please? You must be really drunk.” You laugh before falling to sit next to him in resignation. There is no arguing with him, not when he’s gripping the bottom of your shirt and tugging for you to stay with him for a moment.

Then there’s a sudden weight on your shoulder. He mirrors the way Felix is laying on him.

Five minutes pass.

“Wanna nap.” He mumbles. Minho feels so much like a child like this.

“You can sleep at my dorm tonight.”

“You’ll stay with me there?” He asks, almost innocent. He lifts his head from your shoulder momentarily and looks at you—eyes hazy and hair fucked out from the harsh winds of the early morning. And yet, he still looked pretty. Even at 2 in the morning.

“Mhm, but we have to go now.” Minho groans when your warmth suddenly leaves him, but he doesn’t have time to dwell when your hand meets his vision, outstretched for him to hold.

Seungmin whisks Felix awake.

“Okay.” He grabs your hand with a tired grip, and your bones rattle at how he intertwines your fingers. As if he’s always held your hand that way. And he keeps it that way until you arrive just ten minutes after.

Minho crashes on your couch before you can even hand him a glass of water.

three.

“Stay.” Stone cold sternness.

Minho doesn’t boss you around, at least, never seriously. He knows you hate being told what to do, but there is something about the circumstances right now, something in the fear of your voice, that has him using imperatives.

“Just—” He cuts himself off, trying to keep himself calm.

Even through a phone call, you know what face he’s pulling. That scowl, lips shut, eyes angry. “Stay with Chan. I’m on my way.”

“I don’t know why he’s here.” Fear drips from your voice far too easily and your painstricken words make it difficult for the boy not to speed. Your ex-boyfriend has always tried keeping contact with you despite your obvious distaste. He makes you uncomfortable, and he has aggression tendencies.

The thought of him makes Minho step on his accelerator. He’s thankful Chan is with you. Had he not, Minho would’ve been in deep trouble with the law enforcement.

“You’re with Chan, right?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Good.”

When he arrives, he asks his friend to lead you to his car.

Minho is really angry, and the sight of your ex-boyfriend kicks things up a higher notch. You don’t know what he’s about to do, but he’s scary when he’s upset. Chan tries to take your attention away, but the dynamic in Minho’s voice is too loud. It’s the one he doesn’t like to use on anyone he cares about.

“You’re lucky we’re in public. If you so much as look at my best friend, I’m going to kill you.” There is no remorse when he speaks, and his fists are balled up tight. He’s trying his best not to use them. “Fuck you.”

He returns to you and Chan no longer than five minutes, but definitely long enough to scare off your ex-boyfriend. Chan hands him his car keys, and Minho says nothing the entire ride home. His anger is still evident, almost seething off of him.

“Are you okay?” He asks long after Chan is gone, and it’s only the two of you just outside your dorm. The night air is crisp, cold in contrast to the overwhelming heat he’d felt earlier. “I’m sorry if I scared you. I didn—”

Minho shuts his mouth when you suddenly wrap your arms around him. “Thank you.”

The rage melts from his face, features softening. He brings his own arms around you.

He stays the night at your dorm.

four.

They’re so pretty!”

Your face stands out in the sea of spring’s flowers. You’re unaware of the way he’s looking at you, eyes shifting in excitement.

“I hope the bees sting you.” You roll your eyes at him, dropping your vision to continue admiring the fields of flowers. They’ve bloomed so beautifully.

Minho disappears for a moment, but you don’t worry too much. He was probably looking for the nearest bench. You’d dragged him out after all. He hasn’t changed at all since you’d gotten together. He was still stubborn, and yet sickeningly sweet when he wanted to.

Your boyfriend comes back with his hands behind his back, and it has you squinting at him. What could he be up to this time?

He’s suddenly standing impossibly close to you, and you almost lose the rhythm of your breathing with how close he is. You don’t think you’ll ever get used to this. “Stay still.”

His hand reaches out towards you, fingers pushing a few strands of your hair away. A quiet heartbeat later, he pulls back, and the only difference you feel is something pinched just behind your ear. You wonder if it’s what you think it is.

(It is. An unassuming flower decorates the side of your face.)

Minho’s heart softens at the sight. “Pretty.”

The sight of you brings spring’s flowers to shame, he thinks.

five.

Arguing has always been something that wasn’t easy for the both of you, especially Minho. He hated fighting, but sometimes, it couldn’t be helped.

It’s how you found yourselves with puffy eyes and red noses. You barely remember what you were arguing about in the first place, but you have an overwhelming urge to leave. You think it’s so the fight doesn’t escalate, and because you don’t like that look on his face.

You say nothing when you move to open the door.

“What are you doing?” He sighs. He’s hesitant if he should step forward or not.

“I’m leaving.”

“You can’t.”

“I can, and I will.” You sniffle, a hand coming up to wipe your stubborn tears before planting on the doorknob of your shared apartment. “I hate it when we fight.”

“You don’t think I hate it too?” He frowns, hand hovering over yours. “But leaving isn’t the right option right now. Just stay, and we’ll talk about it more in the morning. I know you’re tired, but please. Stay.”

You cry even more into his chest, but he couldn’t be less bothered at the snot that’s staining his shirt. He brings you closer by your waist, hand patting down on your hair to quietly try and soothe you. He regrets letting the argument escalate this far. “I’m sorry.”

“‘M sorry for ruining your shirt.” You pull away, eyes trained on the big wet stain decorating the shirt he’s wearing.

“It’ll dry by tomorrow morning.” He reassures you, swaying the both of you gently. “Please don’t ever think about leaving.”

There’s something about the pain in his eyes that has your heart breaking further, and the way he bends down to cup your cheeks softly in his hands. He doesn’t reek of frustration anymore.

“Wasn’t gonna.” You mutter.

“You scared me for a second.” He shakes your head in his palms slowly before pressing a wet kiss on your lips. Your face is warm from crying. “Just… stay.”

(Forever, if you can. If you’d like.)

six.

You wake up to find him already looking at you, though he’s barely awake himself.

A greeting sits on his tongue, of your third anniversary, but he swallows it down for a moment. “Did you sleep well?” He asks instead, voice a little husky from the morning air.

“Hmmm.” You yawn, feeling something tickle just behind you. You know it’s one of the cats. They’ve grown into the habit of joining you and Minho in bed lately.

He smiles at you softly, arms reaching out to tug you back against his warm, very shirtless chest. And while you’d hate to ruin the quiet of the morning, you know you have to leave in a bit. You’d promised to run a quick errand.

“Baby, have to go.” You giggle when his grip only tightens around you. It’s never easy peeling yourself out of bed with Minho.

“How mean, already trying to leave me on our anniversary.” You know he’s pouting by the way he talks to you. You can only laugh—breathy and genuinely happy.

“I’ll be quick.” You whisper, and you hear a quiet ‘meow’ from your left.

“The babies would hate to see you go.” He whines.

“How classy of you to use them against me.” He smirks quite proudly, limbs still heavy over you. He refuses to let you go, not when your skin on his is a reminder of the things that had happened the night before, not when it feels this comfortable.

The sun continues to seep through the blinds to join the both of you, a taunting reminder that you really had to leave. You try to tug your arm free, but his fingers dig deeper into your skin.

“I’ll be right back.” You try to convince him, but all he does is plant a kiss on your neck before burying his face back into the scent of your hair. You know there’s no talking this out with Minho.

“Stay.” You can’t help the way your heart swells at a single word. “You won’t regret it.”

You have a feeling there’s a different connotation to his words. You think you know what.

“Fine.” You know there was never a chance that he’d let you go, even if you tried to wriggle yourself out.

He smiles. “Just wanna stay like this a little bit longer.”

Minho meets your lips like it’s the perfect time to do so. It is, always. He kisses you sweetly, gently, like there wasn’t anything else to do. He doesn’t make a move even when his phone rings somewhere in the room.

And you’ll stay. And stay, and stay, and stay.

Forever.

You think you’d like that.

[yosh-iro]

pretty sure i posted this before but if i could implement any one law i wanted i would make it illegal to chew with your mouth open cuz its gross :(

[fanaticsnail]

You're So Much More To Me

Masterlist here, Pollen Masterlist here

Word Count: 5,500+

Synopsis: Desperate to impress the Straw-Hat botanist as you travel with his unruly bunch of pirates, he goes against your warning and immediately goes into uncharted territory and does the unthinkable.

Themes: Eustass Kid x gn!reader, penetration - reader!receiveing, MDNI, 18+, smut, pollen fic, dub con, confessions of love, pining, longing, falling in love, kid pirate shenanigans, straw-hat!reader, sex, dom!kid x dom!reader, passing mention of pregnancy (not related to reader or Kid, just passing mention), swearing.

Notes: I said give me a couple days, and it grew from the measly 650 words to the fic you see here today. I have enjoyed this series, and I hope you enjoy it too.

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

Hunched over his personal desk in captain’s quarters aboard the Victoria Punk, Captain Eustass Kid hung his head low and grit his teeth in a tight clamp. Pants around his ankles, his belt jingled with every cruel piston he made within his balled fist. As he reached the edge of climax for the upteenth time, the gateways slammed tightly shut and withheld him from ecstasy.

He squeezed his eyes firmly shut and he bit-back his whimpered plea. The coppery and familiar taste of blood flooded his mouth from how harshly he bit down on his tongue, lips and inner cheek. He huffed, panted and shuddered as the tingles of his withheld release refused to flood from the small slit in weighty ropes of ribbon-like cum. 

“Nnghm… p-please, please, p-... f-fuck, n-no-...!” he choked out his cry, desperately trying everything to jump off that ledge and usher himself into his blissful release. 

Glancing down at his cock in his palm, his knob twitched in a mocking dance of perpetual taunting. The ribbed veins swirling beneath his shaft grew almost a vibrant blue against the pale hue of his skin. His knob was a bright, shiny red mirroring the intensity of his dark crimson hair. 

You warned him not to go to the plants growing on the east-side of the island. Something about the sticky yellow tufts in the center of the vibrant petals, Kid didn’t know. He didn’t pay any attention after you had the gall to bark an order at him. Who did you think you were? He was the captain here, not you.

So, with heavy eye contact and a defiant grin plastered on his lips, he walked directly into the field of flowers. Watching as your eyes went wide in horror, Kid’s smile only grew as he stooped down to pick one of the flowers. He arched his brow up at you as your horror only grew more desperate, your expression pleading with him to halt his motions. Your body froze, your hands thrust out in front of you as a warning. 

In response: he raised it to his nose and took a lengthy inhale of the sickly sweet aroma, several particles rushing into his lungs and nasal cavities. You shook your hands out in a rapid flurry to halt his emotions with a repetition of “No, no, no, no, no.” Kid didn’t care, in fact: he took it further. Opening his mouth, he threw the bulb between his lips and swallowed the thing whole.

After all, who did you think you were? Some kind of expert on plants and flowers? His shock overcame him as his body flushed both hot and cold at the same time, his hands tingling and vision growing cloudy at the heady scent.

It only hit him once he reached his quarters that that was exactly what you were: an expert on plants and flowers: The Straw-Hat's botanist.

And now he was regretting not heeding your warning as both a local of the land, and an expert in your chosen field of botany. 

Tears began to prick from his eyes as he squeezed his tip tightly and chastised himself. He had never been this built up before, and he did not enjoy edging himself at the best of times. There was not a patient bone found in his body to endure the halt of pleasure from releasing from his steely cock. As he was now induced to edge himself in a perpetual motion, he had no choice but to seek out your help. 

Just as he managed to wince while tugging his trousers over his painfully erect cock, he heard a gentle rap at the door. Kid hissed in a sharp inhale, snapping his eyes up to the door and growling at the intrusion. He needed to be rid of this feeling, and he wanted desperately for you to be the one to help him with this burden.

Offering an exchange-program as the Straw-Hat botanist was the best decision you had ever made. You were a native to the land the one-armed captain was taking his crew exploring, and your face lit up at the opportunity of visiting home at the Nakama meeting with the Straw-Hat, Kid and Heart Pirates. You were kind and compassionate, informative and professional, polite and reasonable: all of the things Eustass Kid was not.

Sitting at the lengthy dining table beside some of the quieter members of the crew, you slowly flicked through your cataloging journal and pouted at the scratchings in the margin. ‘No cure for the pollen, aside from the inevitable,’ you shook your head, looking to the assortment of crew and noticing a few were a little more friendly with one another with physical touch than you were with your own crew.  

You knew it would be an awkward question, asking if any here would be willing to sleep with their captain, while knowing they would have to face him day in and day out as they continued to serve him. The closest member of the crew to Captain Kid is his right hand man. You deduced that Killer would’ve been the first to seek him out and assess the situation.

As the minutes turned into hours, and the first day drew itself to a close, you seemed to be the only one panicking internally. You knew your place as a foreigner aboard the vessel to not attempt to halt a direct order, but you tried to prevent the Victoria Punk from leaving the docks and setting sail regardless. 

Eustass Kid barricaded himself in his office for three days: nobody going in or out from the fear of being the target of his anger and wrath. You knew the sinister act that was occurring behind that closed door. You knew exactly what was occuring while Kid remained in solitude, in an attempt to come down from the flower induced psychosis. 

And you knew it wouldn’t happen without aid.

“Killer, sir?” you turned your attention to the blonde first mate and closed your book shut. He turned to face you, rolling his shoulders back to square them before approaching you.

“Yeah, Straw-Hat Botanist?” he responded, his expression unreadable behind his blue and white mask, but his tone indicated a lazy humor in his cadence. You gulped back your resolve, stood up from the dining table, and attempted to lower your voice to halt any more attention drawing itself to you.

“Is there a member of your crew close enough to your captain to, um-...” you grit your teeth, gritting your teeth and begging Killer with your eyes to understand. He remained silent and stoic, gently folding his arms over one another and leant back on the table behind him. 

“Close enough to-...?” he continued with a small snicker in his tone. 

“You’re gonna make me say it, aren’t you...?” you mutter beneath your breath before turning to him, “I didn’t want to alarm you all back in the field, but what your captain did was beyond reckless. The flower he consumed was a potent aphrodisiac that has no cure aside from sex. You’re only meant to smell the damn thing, a simple whiff of the pollen powder is enough to drive a person insane with lust.”

Killer hummed for a moment, bobbing his head in a soft nod as he took in your words. 

“And, what? What does that mean for him?” he asked with a soft shrug, “Captain’s been in there for a couple days now. Maybe he’s just sleeping it off?” 

“I don’t actually know,” you responded with a shrug of your own, “And I highly doubt he’s sleeping. We have a parlor in town that people can go to for services to rid their bodies of the pollen in their system if they’ve accidentally doused themself without a partner.” You frowned, pursing your lips and crossing your arms, “But your captain decided he wanted to weigh anchor and return me to my crew all the sooner instead.” 

Killer hummed again in deep thought at this new information, lulling his head to the side. 

“Well then, I’ve got some news for you, Botanist,” he unlaced his arms and sauntered over to you. Holding your bicep by curling it within his fingers, he began marching you down the corridor towards the captain’s office. “One: our captain does not readily fuck his crew. I don’t know what your Straw-Hat Captain does, but we don’t do that here.” Before you had a moment to process his vulgarity, he held up his other hand to silence you.

“And, two: you’re a botanist, and this is a new discovery for such a hazardous plant. You should be jumping at the opportunity for study,” Killer’s tone held a subtle smirk beneath his mask, gently reaching the captain’s door and halting in front of it. “You a virgin?” You were taken aback by his unbridled statement. 

“Yes, I’m a botanist. I'm a bloody good botanist,” you first said, your brows furrowed and heckles drawn up, “And no, I’m not a virgin. I’m also not a professional from the aforementioned parlor.” Killer let out a small, shrill chuckle that seemed uncharacteristically high for such a hulking individual. 

“You find my captain attractive?” Killer asked after he teetered off his laugh. You huffed, your shoulders deflating in response to his question with a soft flush pooling at your cheeks. “It’s better you help him out than one of us. It’d make our jobs more tricky here if one of us slept with him.” 

“You expect me to help him out with this after he did something against my explicit orders?” you growled at him, pouting and folding your arms over your chest in response. 

“Who knows, you might like it?” Killer shrugged before slowly backing away from the door, “And this should be a groundbreaking discovery. ‘What does happen when you eat one of those things?’ could be the title of your research paper,” Killer turned away and called out to you over his shoulder, “I’ll keep the crew away for you until I see your faces. I’ll put on some pasta. Basil and capsicum pesto alright, or you prefer lamb bolognese?” 

“Bolognese,” you pouted your muffled response, another shrill laugh eliciting from behind Killer’s mask in response. You balled your fist and tentatively reached up to the wood of the door and knocked on the frame.

“The fuck is it?” a muffled voice spat from beyond the door. You heard a soft squeak pulling itself from his throat, and the slow divots of metal slowly raking up the entrance of his pants up to the hilt. You hesitated, huffing out another exasperated breath before you simply pushed the door open. 

Immediately entering the room, you turned to face the door and hastily shut it behind you and locked it. You stared at each divot and crease in the door, noticing the weighty cracks within the wood splitting with the swollen water damage to the Victoria Punk. Shaking your head, you could physically hear the breath being pulled from his throat in a raspy quake. 

“You feeling alright, Captain?” you hum at him, a knowing and hint of mockery found in your tone. He growled in response with a curt, “M’fine. Never better.” 

While many in your culture used the pollen as a fertility aid for pregnancy, or as a cure for impotence, only the pale dust from the plant was meant to be used in crafting balms, salts and perfumes. Only the smallest fleck of dust was enough to rouse even the least sexually active: heightening the libido tenfold for a time.

This idiot captain ate one of them. 

Turning to face him, you cocked your brow up, looking down your nose at him and assessing the damage. His teeth were grit so hard they would surely break, his pupils blown with eyes creasing in the corners. His entire face was covered in a damp sheen of glistening sweat, and his cheeks and tip of his nose had the hue of the softest pink. 

“You sure?” you angled your chin down at his pants. His blush darkens, his top lip curling and snarling up at you and his brows slinking down his forehead. 

“Absolutely,” he sneered in return. You hummed in mock thought, gently removing your shoes and placing them by the door. The next to follow were your socks, which you slowly removed from your feet in a soft coaxing manner. 

“Not even a little bit affected by the flower?” you asked him, slowly reaching up and shrugging off your jacket, and mandated metal and leather harness, “Not even a smidgen?” You could’ve sworn you heard him whimper out a whispered “fuck” as you removed your shirt, but elected to ignore it.

“None whatsoever,” he growled in response, his tone holding a soft whimper at the end of his confession. You nodded along, slowly hooking your thumbs into the hemline of your pants, slowly and tentatively inching them over your hips and over your ass. 

“Are you completely positive?” you asked him, slowly floating your knowing gaze down to where his cock was straining painfully hard against his patterned pants. He sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth, hissing at the pain his cock was currently in. 

His entire abdomen felt like it was on fire, his body ready to explode at a moment's notice. You knew he was suffering, and he knew you knew he was suffering. That fact alone made him want to fuck you into submission, rail you against his desk until you were so pumped full of his cum, you would leak with every step well into next week.

“You come ‘ere to gloat, s’that it?” he bit down hard on his lip, his cock twitching and begging to make a home within your body. He refused to give in, instead choosing to clamp his teeth down harder.

“No, actually,” you halt your next step, standing in front of the locked door on the other side of the room in nothing but your undergarments, “I came here to help.” Kid’s eyes fell glazed and half-lidded, drinking you in but forcing himself to remain behind his desk. 

“W-Why would-...?” he began, halting as his breath hitched in a soft whimper at the back of his throat. His cock was dancing behind his pants, the restraint causing tears to begin to prick at the corners of his eyes. 

“One: because your first mate said it’d be less awkward for me to help you than one of your crew,” you confess with a soft smile, Kid’s eyes snapping up in horror. You gently wave your hand in front of him with a softness in your features, “Only he knows what’s going on. He’s going to keep your crew away until we come out.” Kid gulps back a mouthful of saliva, his bottom lip quivering. 

“Two: because you took me to my hometown for free,” you admit, slowly stepping towards him. His eyes trailed your body with every step, listening as you continued, “Botany is my specialty, and this is a plant from my hometown.” He nodded, his eyes meeting once more with yours as his lips parted in humility. 

“And, three:” you stepped around his desk, closing in towards him and avoided his watchful gaze, "I want to help you with this, if-...” You trailed off, halting before him and gazing deeply into his eyes once snapping back up to meet his caramel hue. 

“If…?” he whispered, his body all too eager to join with yours, but holding back his restraint until you stated your terms. 

“...If you admit you were wrong,” you lulled your head to the side, crossed your arms over your chest and leaned your hips back on his desk. He growled in response, pouting and fighting the urge to simply take what he needs from you without inhibitions. 

He knew you were right, and he was wrong. He knew he should’ve known better and trusted you in the first place. He knew that if he said those things, you would be bouncing on his cock and having his tension released from his body and finally experience the orgasm he had been edging himself towards for the past three days. 

“And if I don't?” he narrowed his eyes at you, his body arching away from the table and desperately yearning for your touch. You inch away from him and hold a searing look at him in response. 

“Then I will leave,” you slowly trace your fingers over your shoulders, turning your face away, “And you can find someone else to help you with this.” You begin to remove yourself from his desk and you look over towards your clothes, muttering below your breath, “This was a mistake. I’m such a fucking idiot.” Lips pursed tightly shut, you bite at the flesh of your cheek and pout a little.

Just as you begin to make your way towards the door, you feel a strong arm coil itself around your waist and tug you back into a wall of warm flesh and muscle. 

“You were right,” his husky voice uttered darkly into your ear, his teeth gently grazing the flesh of your neck and causing it to pucker and dimple beneath his breath. “I was wrong,” he pressed his lips against your skin, his desperation being felt with every rake and twitch of his lips and teeth on your skin. 

“You’re not an idiot,” he continued, his right hand diving immediately beneath the hemline of your undergarments. His fingers danced dangerously close to where your arousal begged him to touch and toy with. “I think you’re pretty fuckin’ smart.” 

His hand dipped lower, his body stiffening and huffing out a soft laugh at hearing your voice hitch. Chuckling, he continued toying with you, stimulating you in slow and teasing motions. Biting back his urge to simply take you, he couldn’t hold it back any longer. 

“I need you,” he pleaded, his tongue dipping out and flicking against your neck, “Are you ready, or do you need more-.” You halted his train of thought by slipping off your undergarments and stepping out of them. 

“-Do your worst, Captain,” you challenged him with a soft giggle, “I bet you’ll cum immediately.” He laughed at your taunt, immediately slipping his cock out of his pants and recoiling at the pain of his stiffness. 

“Will not,” he huffed, flicking his knob over your entrance and biting his lip to stifle a swift hitch of his breath, “M’not some teenager. Not my first time fucking.” You braced your hands on his desk, your body turned towards it while you looked over your shoulder at him. 

“It is your first time with pollen, though,” you informed him, biting your lip as you felt the warmth from his tip meet with your entrance. “While I haven't had any experience with it, myself. I've heard stories.”

“Y-Yeah, well. M’not one of them ‘stories’.” His cock was larger than the ones you’d taken prior. His whole body was ignited and angry with the unnatural swelling from the aphrodisiac. Sparing a subtle look at his face, you were hypnotized by the concentration on his brow. 

He was holding back from swiftly entering you with reckless abandon, fighting with his feral urges to simply dive in and bottom out in one fell swipe. His eyes were soft and pleading, his lips quivering as he leashed himself to hold back from ruining you. 

“Captain?” you whispered, his eyes immediately snapping up to yours as he slowly pressed his cock flush with where he desperately needed to puncture you with it. He darted his eyes between yours, his metal hand discarded and lying beside him with a cruel thud. 

“Y-Yeah?” he asked you. His voice staggered, sounding almost whimsical and innocent in comparison to his prior aggressive behavior and attitude. You slowly rocked your hips back against his, prompting him to immediately move his hand from his cock to your hips to steady you. 

“I can take it,” you reassure him shyly, “When I say ‘Do your worst,’ I mean it.” His breath hitched as he felt your body begin to suck him in through your entrance, stretching to accommodate his width with a soft wince at the sting. 

“Do your worst.”

At that final reassurance from you, he immediately bottoms out. His cock drags itself up and slams its blunt tip against depths that have stars and lightning shoot sparks in your vision. He is overcome with the way your body morphs and molds itself to accommodate for his great length and width, his breath coming out in gruff pants as soon as his pelvis meets with your asscheeks. 

And as soon as it began, it was all over. Ropes of his thick cum shot up into your body and spurted back in a viscous wave of ecstasy. His abdomen tightened, his balls sucked up into his stomach and his release coated your insides with a groaned cry in gratitude.

“Mnghh-... fuck. I’m c-cumming. F-Fucking cumming,” he cried, burying his forehead into your neck and holding your hips within his forearm. He made no effort to rock or thrust within you, simply lingering in the hot hold your body had on his shaft as his knob twitched through his bliss. 

You closed your eyes and leaned back and lulled your head against his shoulder, feeling the waves of his orgasm continue to flood you. His lips pressed against your shoulder blade, pressing soft and gratuitous kisses against your flesh as his twitches began to become less frequent. 

“Y-You-... hhah-... you were right,” he said, sniffing back a soft sob as he came down from his high, “‘Bout the flower, and about the cummin’ too quick.” You chuckled, a soft smile beginning to draw up your cheeks.

“I don’t blame you,” you reassured him, turning your head and nuzzling your cheek against his forehead still buried in your shoulder. “It’s been three days, you’ve probably got-... oh fuck-...” Kid tore his forehead away from your shoulder at the sound of your alarm. 

“‘Oh fuck’ what?” he asked, searching your face for further explanation, “What: ‘oh fuck’?” You gulped back, your body twitching and straining around his cock.

“You’re still really hard,” your voice betrays you in a soft quiver. Arching your back, you slowly roll your hips back against his and rock on his cock. He huffs a soft pant, whispering a string of curses and pleas as you slowly took the lead in testing how stiff he was. 

“Captain-... fuck-... When you take a partner, how-... shit-... How many rounds do you last usually?” you ask him, feeling him begin to take slow and sharp motions against your grinds and rocks to match your pace. 

“I can go two, maybe th-three if I-... f-fuck this is-s good-... rest for a couple minutes in between,” he admitted to you, his parted lips huffing and chanting as he continued to rock into you. You whimpered, feeling his cock pulse and swell within your body, his thrusts becoming once again desperate and throbbing. 

“A-And when you’re b-by yourself-... a-ah-... How m-many?” you ask, your own stomach beginning to constrict, your body contracting around him and urging him all the closer. His motions pick up further, his body frantically chasing his high with each motion more desperate than the last.

“Fuck! Fuck! I-I’m c-cumming again-... fuck, fuck, fuck,” his voice cried out your name, mourning another hasty release. His motions became more languid and staggered, his forehead placed in the center of your spine as his cum shot up once more into you. 

As soon as his cock released the final spurt of seed into you, his shaft twitched and his cock immediately surged into a new round of arousal. He growled, his urges being propelled to piston his cock harder and faster into you. 

“Most I’ve done by myself is six,” he admitted with a soft pant, kicking aside your ankles with his cock still buried within you. He withdrew his hands from your hips, gently urging you down to lay your chest against his desk atop a litter of paper, mapping equipment. 

“Fuck,” you manage to curse, feeling his hand push down at the middle of your back as he sleeved himself in and out of you to use you as he needed. “S-Six in a day?!” your whimper caused him to laugh in a gruff rumble, pushing on your back to deepen the arch. 

“Six in an hour,” he confessed, his feet stepping out of the pant legs pooled at his ankles. You shrieked in response, feeling your orgasm begin to build at the pit of your stomach once more. 

“Were you-... fuck-... Bored or something?” you joke back at him, feeling trapped beneath his hand with each cruel slap of his hips meeting your ass, “Just wanted something to-... mmm-... Do between sh-shift rotations?” His heavy boot came to join your hips beside you, switching angles and reaching further depth that hit a spot within your body that had you cry out in bliss. 

“N-Not bored,” he huffed and panted, his motions becoming more desperate as he drove himself faster within you. “Fuck you feel so fucking good.” He whined, his pace becoming more clumsy and staggered as his hand reached between you and the desk, desperately clawing at your groin to stimulate you with his hand while shattering your insides. 

“W-What h-had you so built up for-... f-fuck, f-f-fuck,” you attempted to relay as his palm ground itself against you, your voice whining as he sheathed himself completely in your body. Rocking while sheathed as completely in you as he could, he focused more on motioning his hand to have your release twitch and erupt in his hand alongside his cock. 

Just as you feel the sparks begin to ignite, Kid leans down against your ear in a deep lunge and groans out a stuttered confession.  

“You did.”

At that, your body immediately ignited, your coil in the pit of your stomach releasing in an instantaneous snap. You cried his name, your body contracting around him and ushering him into his third orgasm inside your body. The viscos splashback of his cum seeped out of your body and oozed down your legs in heavy glubs. 

His foot slipped from the desk, his torso flopping clumsily on top of yours and caging you beneath him. He tested a few more, deep rocks of his hips, his body squirting a few more bursts of his seed from the small slit on his knob. Panting and catching your breath, you attempt to turn around to face him over your shoulder. 

“The fuck you mean ‘you did’?” you whispered, a look of confusion knit over your face. He huffed a soft laugh, shaking his head and retracting his torso from meshing with yours. 

“I mean just that,” his eyes almost rolled back at the sight of the heavy mess pooling at your center and seeping down your thighs. He retracted his cock from your body, giving the crease of your asscheeks a gentle tap and smearing his cum over the divot. “You're fucking incredible.” 

Reaching over your hips and hooking up your torso, he aided you to stand and turned you to face him. Your shock was evident on your face as your eyes met his. His lips were parted, and his caramel orbs held nothing but honesty and sincerity. 

“When we first met, way back on the Thousand Sunny,” he nodded to you, attempting to implore your understanding, “You were so animated when you spoke about your home. Killer doesn't normally leave my side, but he did to listen to you.” 

“I remember,” you nod at him, wincing as you felt a crewd squelch of arousal seep from your body and onto the floor at your feet. You both looked down at it, laughing at the mess before turning back to one another. “Killer was asking about food, Heat was asking about family. Got me feeling homesick like some child on their first camping trip away from home.” Kid laughed at you, raising his hand and hesitated before cupping your cheek. 

“You were so cute, and your smile just-...” he shook off his sentiments and flicked his eyes onto the floor, “Made me want to see it more. I decided to sate Killer’s curiosity of your cuisine, chart a course to your hometown, and hope Luffy would let me borrow you for a bit - just for a chance to get to know you better, s’all.”

“Mmhmm…” you arch your brow, crossing your hands over your chest and pursing your lips, “And the six times?” Kid gulped back, his blush grew deeper and looked over to the pile of your clothes in the corner of the room. 

“When you first put on the harness,” he nodded to the corner of the room. You turned to look down to the pile of clothes laying in a neat pile in the corner of the room. “I know it's stupid, I know I make my crew wear them so I can keep them safe, but-...” He trailed off, coaxing you to face him once more with his hand collecting your chin. 

“...It was like you accepted me as your captain, and that, in some way,” he smiled at you, his lips curling up in a genuine, crooked grin, “Had me wantin’ to make you mine properly.” You sighed, smiling while shaking your head and lowering your eyes to the floor. 

“It's only temporary, and you’re currently taking me home to my captain,” you confirm with him in a short, chaste whisper. “We'll likely not see each other in some time. I’m just a passenger to you, nothing more.”

“You’re so much more to me,” he whispered softly. Gently leaning forward, he pressed his lips to your forehead and cradled your neck with his right hand. You slowly slotted your hands around his middle and hooked them up to hover over the base of his shoulder blades. You felt a probe of interest twitch at your abdomen, prompting you to grin and shake your head against his chest. 

“Did it not go down?” You remove your head from his chest and place your chin and throat on his chest to stare up into his scarred face. “Still feel under the effects of the flower?” He chuckled down at you, shaking his head and cradling your shoulders against him. He nudged his patterned pants over the mixture of fluids pooling at your feet with his boot, covering the mess.

“Not the flower, no,” he uttered with a wide grin drawing up his lips, “It’s just you.” You growl behind closed lips, unhooking your arms and giving him a playful and gentle tap on the chest before removing yourself from his arms. 

“Well, I for one am hungry,” you turn and search his desk for something to clean yourself up with. “Killer is making bolognese, and I’m not gonna sit around and wait while your crew dives in. They’re as bad as Lu- ah!” 

“-Let me have you, just one more time, alright?” Kid whispered huskily in your ear, gently groping your thigh and holding you in place, “Just once more, as myself. Let me show you how much you mean to me before you run off to Straw-Hat.” His hands travel over to your center, gently coaxing away your inhibitions by massaging your cares away. 

“Captain,” you whine at him, closing your eyes and leaning into his touch with a warning in your tone, “I want dinner. Let me go and-.” He cut you off by turning your body towards him, hovering his lips just above yours. 

“Let me kiss you first, at least,” he demanded from you, his tone almost possessive and desperate. He immediately broke contact between your legs and hooked his arm over your shoulders and uttered, “I reckon I can convince you to stay a while longer.” 

“You drive a hard bargain, Captain,” you whisper against his lips, almost tasting the air he’s breathing. He chuckles, attempting to surge forward and claim your lips with his. You dodge his attack, his lips finding purchase on your cheek instead of your lips. He groaned before trailing a subtle chain of peppered kisses towards your lips.

“You gonna listen to me this time? Not gonna do something stupid, no matter how fun it seems?” you murmur, attempting to fight what your body so desperately craves to give into. 

“You talkin’ ‘bout the flower?” he mouthed against the corner of your lip, playfully biting at your flesh, “I did that ‘cos you told me not to. Wanted to impress you or somethin’ stupid.” He attempted to kiss you once more, to which you turned away and playfully laughed at his attempt.

“That was incredibly stupid. I am not impressed by your idiocy,” you admit, gently turning back towards him and darting your eyes between his. “I am, however, impressed by your stamina.” You looked down at his already hardening cock, before returning to his eyes, “How long are you gonna be? I can already taste that pasta, and I’m so, so hungry.” 

“Oh, Sunshine,” he growled a rumbled purr into you, brushing his nose with yours, “Let me take another two from you, and I’ll have you on my knee and feed you ya’ damn pasta.”

[llamagoddessofficial]

For mafia bad Sanses, how is it worse for Nightmare to like us as opposed to not liking us? Assuming he would kill us if he doesn’t like us.

"you don't get it, do you?"

You looked at Dust, confusion dampening the joy you'd mustered at your encounter with Nightmare going so well. "Huh?"

His voice was low. He wasn't looking at you. "this is so much worse."

"Wait, was... Nightmare lying? Was he being sarcastic?" You thought you did good. You thought you were safe. You'd made Nightmare laugh - surely he wasn't going to kill you now, right?

"no." Dust put a hand to his face. He seemed... shaken. "he was being honest."

"I don't understand. He told me he liked me."

"that's the problem."

Dust was right, you didn't get it. You stared at him, waiting for him to make sense. He was the only skeleton around here you really trusted; the only one who you felt you could speak to freely. Eventually, he let out a short breath from his nasal cavity.

"you can't leave, human. not anymore."

"... Huh?"

"nightmare likes you. he doesn't share. he'll kill to keep the things he likes in his possession." He stared into the middle distance. "there's nowhere in this city he doesn't have his claws in - there's nowhere you can go where he can't follow. he'll already have told the others not to let you get far. and they'll be happy to oblige."

"I..." You felt your stomach slowly but surely dropping.

"nightmare likes you." Dust finally looked down at you. The weight of his gaze was immense. "do you understand, now?"

You felt... sick. You felt really sick. Dust's face, usually so deafeningly impassive, cracked. For just a moment, a crease between his brows; on anyone else, it would've been the faintest and briefest of a facial twitch. But on Dust it was like his whole expression had collapsed into anguish.

You looked away.

"... i'm sorry." His voice was soft. "i tried."

"I-I... can I go home?"

"i don't know."

The honesty in his voice was absolutely terrifying.

"Don't leave me alone here," you said.

"i won't." He took your hand, gently squeezing. "i promise."

[actually-safer-to-kiss]

Pounding

Summary: Reader has a migraine, and Spencer wants to help.

Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Category: Hurt/comfort

Content warnings: none

Word count: 1.2k

The transition of seasons is something that has to be endured. It’s the time when you wake up to frost on your windshield in the morning but must remove your coat by the time you leave work. It is a painful time of inconsistency, especially for your sinuses. Not only with the pollen in the air (as well as on your car at all times) but the dryness as well. It causes your headaches to go from sometimes once a month to now twice a week.

And the first one happens this week, today. The migraine descended on you like a storm, brewing from your nasal cavities, its relentless waves of pain crashing against the shores of your temples. With each throb, the world around you seemed to blur and spin.

You shut the door to your apartment and let your bag fall from your shoulder, with no care with where it lands. Light, food, the smell of home is all too much to bear. With a sigh, you shuffle to the sanctuary of your room and bask in the silence while you can still control it. You unleash yourself from your business casual attire and fall into bed, nestling yourself under the covers.

The darkness relieves pressure, only slightly. It will probably be hours before it has settled, so you think it is best to call it a night now at 5:56 in the evening. There was no point in doing anything else as streetlights alone from the windows have proven to be enough to make the back of your eyes ache. You remained still, motionless, unmoved. Minutes could stretch well into hours without your knowledge.

Until the sound of the front door opened, cutting through the quiet. Spencer was home, which means it’s 6:06 now. The creaking floors from his aged apartment tell you he goes to the kitchen first, the sink runs, then his steps only grow closer to you until you can feel his presence at your back. “Migraine?” He asked, already knowing the answer.

It drains all energy and motivation out of you, so you merely nod in response. He’s more than familiar with severe head pain; chronic migraines that were resolved with a vitamin regimen. Fortunately, he has yet to complain about them bothering you in the year you’ve been together. And he never leaves home without them.

Unfortunately, this makes him eager to figure out your head pains. Last spring, he left out an array of vitamins in a pill organizer. They didn’t. It wasn’t an issue at first. It was clear he was trying to help. The downside of your boyfriend being a child prodigy and objective genius is that he will never back down from a challenge, even when you have asked him to. He can’t do it. Later in the month, he came home one day with an array of tea brands, mostly ginger and peppermint. He’s bought humidifiers, massaged the cartilage of your nose, and even consulted Reddit. It’s certainly worn down your patience, especially when you require complete silence.

“I can get you some hot compresses from the pharmacy if you want.” He jumps in completely. The last three words are merely to cushion the obvious; reiterating the point rather than saying something like, “I���ve had headaches before. I know how awful they are, so you should let me help you.” Which he’s also said.

You continue the annoying pattern by shaking your head with an audible moan. Opening your eyes hurts.

“What about nasal spray or decongestant? I can get those at the pharmacy as well.”

“I don’t need anything from the pharmacy. I took ibuprofen. Just need to keep my eyes closed.”

“Well, that can only help so much today. Saline will help encourage drainage and expansion in the vessels. Ibuprofen solves the head pain, not the root problem.”

“Unless the BAU can order planting fruit trees, it’s the best we can do.”

“What I’m trying to say is—”

You groan louder. “This isn’t a time for solutions, Spencer.”

Another unfortunate aspect of your relationship is that you can feel the way Spencer’s face softens from your tone. He then mutters out an apology, a brief sorry, but he doesn’t leave. He touches your shoulder and keeps his hand there until you turn to face him. And because you love him very much, you strain to open your eyes. You can make out a blur of his silhouette in the growing darkness, but still see clearly his glossy eyes and the quirk of his lips. “Can you do something for me first, though? Real quick?”

Before you answer, his hand slides toward your upper back, meaning you have to sit up for this. You were ready to say something along the line that he’s lucky you love him right now and leave it at that because thinking further made the pressure in your temples increase. 

You didn’t have to speak at all, though. Because Spencer is also holding a glass of water in front of you. You look up at Spencer’s puppy-eyed silhouette. “Not a solution,” he says softly. “It’s something you always need.”

Well, if that didn’t make you feel like an asshole. You accepted the glass without a word, feeling the coolness against your palm as you brought it to your lips. Each sip, at the very least, a distraction from the throbbing. Spencer watches you closely. You had no choice but to finish the whole glass. And you did, leaving Spencer satisfied enough as he took the glass and walked out.

You didn’t say a word. The sink ran again, and Spencer returned with another full glass. He doesn’t hand it to you, instead puts it on the nightstand before turning precariously on his heels. It takes you a second through half-closed eyes to realize he’s walking back out. You’re afraid to ask, wondering if you’ve made him too upset to talk. You push yourself and do so anyway, keeping your tone in mind. “Where are you going?”

Spencer turns on his heels once more, looking around momentarily like there were others in the room. He then looks at you. “I figured you wanted to be alone.”

You reach out, moving through the pain quite literally, and you catch the polyester of his cardigan just between your fingers and pull him closer until you can wrap your arms around him. You hold your breath, knowing the intense smell of his laundry detergent would be enough to collapse down to your pillow in further pain. His cardigan is soft against your face. “Do you have other stuff to do?”

He chuckles, his abdomen bounces. So, he’s not too mad. “I do not.”

Encouraged by his response, you tug him gently (and not so gracefully) into bed. He’s delightfully warm. Spencer kicks off his shoes in response before pulling you close. Then you bury your face into his chest, hesitant to breathe in the scent of cedar that clings to the cardigan. You try best to ignore it as you cocoon yourselves beneath the blankets, finding refuge in each other’s company amidst the inner turmoil that comes with spring. You listen to the steady rhythm of Spencer’s heartbeat, and find a fleeting sense of peace in the storm.

[canisalbus]

saw your modern au piece where you tagged 'scenthound' and it just made me think about vasco in the original story after machete dies and how he'll never smell and take comfort in whatever unique smell machete had ever again and whoops I made myself sad

O- oh...

To be honest I don't know if Vasco's sense of smell is significantly better than a non-scenthound dog's (I mean maybe a little? Since scenthounds tend to have large nasal cavities and more room for olfactory receptors than a dog with shorter or narrower snout? But it's not really relevant in this context).

The way I see it, dog people's sense of smell is more acute than ours, but not as overpowered as that of an actual dog. Scents are more meaningful to them. For example, when you spend enough time with someone, your scents start to blend together, and smelling like your partner/family is an important part of bonding. I'd imagine that it plays into grieving process too. Even if you held on to the belongings of the deceased, their specific scent will eventually fade away from them as well.

I've talked about how the dogs perceive smells here and here.

[shnargo]

shoop-ing

pairings: john hancock x reader warnings: sexual innuendoes?? a little?? word count: 564 a/n: i have fallen desperately for this man, and i am very disappointed to find there aren't that many fics for him >:( so i'm adding to the pool. also sorry for disappearing, char.ai held me hostage for a long time and i'm actually finding inspo for writing again

"You're staring you know." The ghoul finally speaks after taking another hit of jet, tossing the now empty canister into a nearby bin that's similarly filled with various used chems and needles alike. All the trash bins in Goodneighbor were like that, a common vice shared by its residents. "You gonna share why or are you just gonna keep enjoying the view? Not that I mind, a'course." He ends with a rumbly chuckle.

"How does one exactly kiss you?" The words come out before your brain can catch up, and you watch as he manages to look surprised by you for once. You blame the old wine you picked up earlier, it was a gamble in drinking it to see how potent it really was. Your eyes end up drifting toward his nasal cavity as you try to sort the idea out in your head. "Wouldn't the noses just.. shoop?" You pair your improvised sound effect with a hand gesture that's a lot more sexual in retrospect.

Hancock barks out a full laugh at that, the sound resounding in his office room that you're sure that Fahrenheit can hear it loud and clear from the other room. You would manage to feel embarrassed at yourself were you any less piss drunk. "You got a thing for nose-on-nose action or what?" He asks, onyx eyes sparkling with humor as he sees the frown his words bring to your lips. "I'm serious, Hancock."

"How about you make yourself a scientist and test that theory of yours, then?" It's far less forward than any of the other comments he's thrown your way in the past, but whether it's the buzz warming your skin or how his hand creeps toward your side of the couch as he tries getting closer to you, he seems serious this time. Lifting yourself from your laying position, you figure it's good enough to try calling his bluff. And if he's actually serious about it?

Well, you wouldn't be complaining either way.

He doesn't shift much himself, but his gaze is intent on your every action. By the time your hands are on his chest, his find their place on your back. Respectful, but firm in making its presence known to you. As you raise your head in meeting his lips, you can catch the way his breath hitches, giving away his nervousness that he has about this situation no matter how well he tries to hide it.

It's mostly his nose bridge, or rather, the nasal ridge that juts out barely enough to keep your still flesh-covered one from dipping into the cavity nearby. Though you find yourself distracted by his chapped lips already working yours, that are no less chapped. Lip balm wasn't accessible in the apocalypse after all. But saliva is exchanged, smoothing the process in more ways than one as his other hand comes up to the back of your neck to edge you closer to him.

Once you mutually pull away, the next few deepened breaths are found in sync. Hancock's fingers play with the hair by the base of your neck, he was never a man to keep still for long. "How unfortunate." He finally rasps, lips quirking up as his gaze is held in yours. "I guess you didn't have your "shoop"-ing after all."

You grab the rim of his hat and shove it over his face.

[noisynaia]

𝑀𝑈𝐹𝐹𝐼𝑁𝑆 𝐴𝑁𝐷 𝐽𝐴𝑀

Written for the lovely @pedrostories Secret Santa event 2023

My dear giftee is @katiexpunk, hope you like it! 💕

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader 

word count: 3.2k 

summury: You moved into your new house six months ago, and you love your new home. It is spacious and has a lovely little garden, and it also just so happens to include the hottest single dad with the sweetest little girl you’ve ever met as your new neighbors. Over the months you have gotten to know them more and more. Little Sarah has fallen head over heels for your labradoodle Sofie and often comes over to play with her in your garden, and as you have gotten to know him more and more, you have fallen head over heels for her father, Joel.

note: Pre/no outbreak. Next door neighbors. Fluff. Baking. This is the first fic i've written in seven months, so sorry for being super duper rusty. English isn't my native language. This was supposed to be something completely different, but my laptop broke, (the 'screen part' literally just fell off?!) so I didn't have near as much time for this as I would have preferred, so sorry if this seemed rushed (it sadly was). But nonetheless, happy holidays ya'll! I'm so happy to be back, and aiming to write much more again in the new year ♥︎

Joel stands in the kitchen, staring hopelessly at the empty sugar canister while cursing under his breath, feeling the dull pressure behind his eyes and nasal cavity which usually indicates an incoming tension headache. He had been sure that it was full, but no, it’s as empty as his hope for successfully making these damn muffins. The curse words escape his lips like a symphony of frustration, echoing off the empty walls of the kitchen. Joel can feel the frustration sinking into his bones. 

He had promised Sarah that he would bake muffins for her school function, despite not being a very good nor patient baker. But he would do anything to make his little girl happy. He had thought that they could bake them together, that it would be a fun father-daughter activity, but work and chores and Sarah’s soccer practice and honestly just life in general had gotten in the way of those plans. 

So now he stands here, the night before Sarah needs the muffins, without one of the most essential ingredients. It’s late, way past Sarah’s bedtime, who is sleeping soundly in her room.  Joel would  have to wake her up and take her with him if he’s going out to buy more sugar. But he really doesn’t want to wake her, she needs her sleep, but there is also no way in hell he’s leaving her alone while he runs to the store even if she’s just sleeping. 

As he stands here contemplating his options, you appear in his mind. You do that frighteningly often these days, and deep down he knows exactly why, but he has to suppress it. He is too busy, and too grown, to go around getting crushes on pretty women with cute dogs who move into houses next door to him, and who is always so sweet and funny, and who is so sweet and nice to his daughter, and…. No. He has to stop this. He shouldn’t think about you like this. 

He is mature enough to admit to himself that he is attracted to you, very attracted to you, but admitting to the feelings he has caught is a whole other can of worms, which he is not going to even attempt to look into. He is a single dad to a six year old, focused on taking care of his daughter and providing for her needs.

But in this moment, as he stands in the kitchen with an empty sugar canister mocking him, he feels a tug in his heart, a desperate need for help. He reluctantly gives in to the idea that perhaps you might have some sugar to spare… 

It would be nice to see you, but he also really doesn’t want to disturb you, and something about knocking at your door this late at night gives him a funny feeling in his stomach. 

Joel shakes his head, trying to clear his thoughts as he focuses on the task at hand. He glances at the clock on the wall, realizing that time is slipping away. With a sigh, he reluctantly decides that he has no choice but to go next door and ask you for some sugar.

As he walks across the lawn and up to your front door, Joel can feel his heart racing. Why does he feel so nervous about such a simple request? He hesitates for a moment, contemplating whether he should knock or just turn around and forget about the whole thing. But the thought of disappointing Sarah and ruining her school event pushes him forward.  He takes a deep breath and knocks on the door, attempting to calm his racing thoughts.

Shortly after, the door swings open, and there you are, standing with a warm smile on your face. Your eyes light up as you see Joel, and Sofie, your adorable dog happily greets him as well. Joel can’t help but feel his heartbeat quicken even more at the sight of you.

“Hi,“ you smile at him. “What brings you here at this hour?” you ask curiously.

Joel awkwardly shifts his weight from one foot to the other, his nerves getting the best of him. “I hate to bother you, but I’m in a bit of a jam. I promised Sarah I would bake muffins for a thing at her school tomorrow, but I ran out of sugar. Do you, by any chance, have some to spare?" 

Your smile widens, and you tilt your head slightly. “Of course, I’d be happy to help you out. Come on in, I’ll grab it for you.”

Joel breathes a sigh of relief as you invite him inside. He steps into your warm and inviting home, noticing the pleasant aroma from what he guess must be a scented candle or something of the sort. It feels comforting and familiar, contrasting with the chaos and frustration that he left behind in his own kitchen.

He follows you into your kitchen, taking in the sight of the cozy space. The countertops are clutter-free, and a few potted herbs sit on the windowsill, basking in the moonlight. It’s a stark contrast to his own kitchen, which is always a whirlwind of activity and unfinished tasks.

As you retrieve the sugar from your well-stocked pantry, Joel can’t help but admire the ease with which you move around the kitchen. Your familiarity with the tools and ingredients is evident, invoking a sense of calm in him. He wonders how you manage to maintain such a serene environment amidst the chaos of daily life.

Unable to contain his curiosity any longer, Joel finally musters the courage to ask, “How do you do it? How do you manage to keep everything so neat?”

You pause for a moment, a kind smile on your face as you hand Joel the sugar. “Well, for starters, I don’t have a kid," you chuckle, “and I guess it’s just about priorities, and since I work from home, I find that having a clean and organized space helps me stay focused and reduces unnecessary stress.”

Joel nods at your answer. He can’t help but admire how put-together you seem, both in your home and in your life. It’s something he strives for but often falls short of, with the chaos that comes with being a single parent. 

“You’re doing really well by the way,” you smile at him, interrupting his thoughts, as if you can sense his doubts. “Sarah is really lucky to have you.” Joel’s cheeks flush at your compliment, feeling a wave of gratitude wash over him. He never believed he was doing enough for Sarah, constantly doubting himself as a parent. But your words validate his efforts and provide a much-needed boost of confidence. “Thank you,” he says softly, a mixture of appreciation and relief lacing his voice. “I always worry that I’m not doing enough, that…” he pauses. 

Your expression is filled with understanding. “I can’t talk from experience, but I know that parenting is never easy. But trust me, Joel, Sarah knows how much you love her and how much you’re doing for her. And I think you are doing a wonderful job,” Joel’s eyes meet yours, and he sees genuine sincerity reflected in them. It’s as if a weight has been lifted off his shoulders, the burden of his self-imposed expectations slowly dissipating. You speak with such warmth and wisdom, Joel’s heart swells with gratitude for your presence in his life. He never imagined that a simple request for sugar would lead to such a meaningful conversation. 

“Thank you,” Joel says, his voice filled with genuine gratitude. “That means more to me than you’ll ever know.”

 You smile warmly at him, reaching out to gently squeeze his arm. “Joel, you’re a great dad. Don’t ever doubt yourself.” As Joel thanks you once again, he can’t help but feel a warmth spreading throughout his heart. It’s a feeling he hasn’t experienced in a long time, and it fills him with a sense of hope and possibility. Before he leaves, Joel can’t help but ask, “Would you wanna come over for dinner sometime? I am a much better cook than baker and Sarah has begged me to have you and Sofie over and visit.” 

You smile and nod, your eyes sparkling with excitement. “I would love that, Joel.” 

Joel feels a surge of warmth, at your smile. Thanking you again he turns to leave, sugar in hand, he musters up the courage to say one last thing. “I’m happy that it was you who moved in next to us.  It’s been nice getting to know you and having you around.”

You smile warmly, your eyes twinkling, and an almost bashful expression on your face which catches Joel a little off guard. “Likewise, Joel. I’m always here if you need anything, whether it’s sugar or just someone to talk to.” you add the last part with a teasing smile, but the sincerity in your words are clear. 

“I really appreciate that,” Joel says, his voice filled with sincerity. 

“And just so you know…” you give him a bashful smile.“That includes help with baking muffins.”  

Joel feels how his stomach does a flip as he understands what you’re saying. “Would you like to help me bake some muffins?”  

“I’d love to,” you say happily, your smile growing and Joel can’t help but feel a sense of excitement through his body. “I’ll be over at yours in ten, how’d that sound?” you ask. 

Joel’s heart leaps at the thought of spending more time with you. “Sounds good to me.” 

“Cool, see you in ten then.” You grin at him. Joel smiles back at you, feeling a sense of anticipation building within him. 

As Joel heads back to his house, sugar in hand  he can’t help but smile, he had been so tired and frustrated only a little while ago, but now he suddenly feels fully recharged. 

____

Ten minutes… You have ten minutes to make yourself look somewhat decent, in a casual, ‘I’m just going over to my extremely attractive dilf neighbor whom I have a big fat stupid crush on’ way. No pressure at all. 

As you race to your bathroom to check yourself over in the mirror, you take a deep breath to calm your racing heart. You touch up your makeup, adding a touch of lip gloss and swipe on a new coat of mascara, you brush your teeth, and spritz on a little perfume. After making sure you look presentable, you opt for a comfortable yet cute outfit, realizing that you don’t want to come off as too overdone. 

Satisfied with your appearance, you grab a small container of homemade blueberry jam from your fridge. It may not be muffins, but it’s a sweet treat that you can bring to share. With jam in hand, you head out the door, your heart fluttering with anticipation.

As you approach Joel’s house, you can’t help but appreciate the calmness of the night. The moon shines brightly above, casting a soft glow on the neighborhood. You hear the faint sound of crickets chirping, and the warm breeze carries the scent of blooming flowers. Everything feels serene and magical, heightening your excitement.

You reach Joel’s doorstep and take a moment to collect yourself. You remind yourself to be casual and relaxed, even though your heart is pounding in your chest. With a steadying breath, you knock on the door.

Joel opens it with a warm smile, and you instantly feel at ease. His eyes light up as they land on you, and you can't help but blush under his gaze. “Hi,” he greets you softly. “I'm so glad you could make it.”

You return his smile, extending the container of blueberry jam towards him. “I brought some homemade jam. I thought it would be nice with the muffins and I remember Sarah telling me she loves blueberries.”

Joel's eyes widen in pleasant surprise, and his smile widens. “That is so thoughtful of you. Thank you, darlin’.”

‘Darlin’...’ Your heart flutters at the endearment as you step inside his house, the word falling so naturally from his lips. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee fills the air, mingling with the scent of warmth and comfort. It’s a homey and cozy feeling that instantly puts you at ease.

As you enter the kitchen, you notice the ingredients for the muffins laid out, ready to be used. There’s a twinkle of anticipation in Joel’s eyes as he gestures towards them. “Do you want to get started?”

You nod eagerly, not wanting to waste any more time. “Definitely. Let’s make these muffins amazing.”

For the next few hours, you and Joel work side by side, measuring ingredients, mixing, and chatting as you go. The conversation flows effortlessly between you, ranging from lighthearted jokes to more personal stories, and the atmosphere somehow turns more and more flirty, making excited butterflies flutter in your stomach. With each moment, you can feel the connection between you deepening, like ingredients coming together to create a perfect blend.

As the muffins bake in the oven, filling the kitchen with their delicious scent, the two of you take a well-deserved break. Joel pours two cups of coffee, and you find yourselves sitting at his kitchen table, sipping the warm brew in comfortable silence.

The soft glow of the overhead light casts a warm and cozy ambiance over the room. Despite the tiredness in his eyes from a long day, a smile tugs at the corners of Joel’s lips as he watches you take a sip of your coffee. There’s a comfortable silence that envelops the two of you, a sense of ease and contentment that comes from being in each other’s company.

As you set your cup down, you turn to Joel, your eyes filled with a mix of playfulness and sincerity. “You know, Joel, I have to say. These muffins wouldn’t have turned out as amazing as they did without your expert baking skills.” A teasing smirk dances on your lips.

Joel chuckles softly, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Well, I may have had a little help from a certain someone,” he says, a hint of affection lacing his voice.

You playfully nudge him with your shoulder. “Oh, so now I’m just your personal baking assistant, am I?” you retort, pretending to be slightly offended.

Joel’s smile widens, his eyes sparkling with humor. “No, no, not at all. You’re so much more than that,” he reassures you, his voice brimming with sincerity. “You’ve brought light into my life, darlin’. Ever since you moved in next door, things just feel...better.”

The warmth in Joel’s words seeps into your heart, igniting a deep stirring within you. A connection that goes beyond the simple act of baking muffins is forming between the two of you, growing stronger with each passing moment.

Before you know it, the timer for the muffins goes off, snapping both of you out of the gentle bubble you’ve created. You share a laugh, realizing that you may have gotten carried away in the moment.

Joel stands up and walks over to the oven, his movements fluid and confident. He takes a deep breath, a look of anticipation on his face. “Well, here goes nothing,” he mutters to himself as he opens the oven door and retrieves the tray of freshly baked muffins.

The delightful aroma wafts through the kitchen, filling the air with its tantalizing scent. Joel carefully sets the tray down on the counter, the muffins still warm to the touch. He reaches for a plate and begins arranging the muffins, creating a beautiful display.

You watch him with admiration, seeing the dedication and love he pours into everything he does. In that moment, you can’t help but feel an overwhelming surge of affection towards him.

As you join him by the counter, your hands instinctively reach out to brush against each other, sending a spark of electricity up your arms. Your eyes meet, and in that instant, everything else fades away. It's just the two of you, connected in a way that feels destined. 

Joel's gaze is warm as he gazes at you, and his voice is filled with sincerity as he speaks. "I just want you to know how grateful I am for your help, for everything. You've brought so much happiness into our lives."

You smile softly at him, feeling your heart swell with affection. “The feeling is mutual, Joel.”

Joel takes a step closer, his gaze unwavering and filled with a mix of vulnerability and longing. You can’t help but notice how his gaze keeps darting from your eyes to your lips, and you feel your own heartbeat quickens in response, but a sudden surge of bravery fills you as well. You can’t just be imagining this. “You can if you want, you know.” you whisper.

You can almost see how Joel’s breath catches in his throat by your words, his eyes widening slightly in surprise. He searches your face, trying to comprehend your words. “If I want...what?” he asks, his tone laced with both curiosity and hope.

A soft smile graces your lips as you reach out to gently take his hand in yours. “You can kiss me,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “If you want.”

“I want to, more than anything.” He brings his free hand up to gently cup your cheek, his fingers grazing your skin with tender affection.

With bated breath, the world seems to stand still as your faces draw closer together. The anticipation hangs in the air like an electric current, and as your lips finally meet, it feels like a rush of warmth cascading throughout your bodies.

The kiss is soft, tender, and filled with an underlying passion that has been building between you. It's a culmination of longing, uncertainty, and hope, all coming together in that single moment of connection.

As your lips move against each other, the outside world fades away, and all that matters is the tenderness you share. Time seems to stretch, allowing you to savor each second of this newfound intimacy.

When you finally break apart, breathing slightly heavier, Joel's eyes search yours, seeking reassurance and confirmation. "Was that okay?" he asks, his voice laced with vulnerability.

You smile warmly at him, a sparkle in your eyes. “More than okay,” you reply, your voice filled with sincerity. “It was everything I hoped it would be.”

A wave of relief washes over Joel as he pulls you into a gentle embrace, his arms enveloping you in a sense of security. Resting his chin on the top of your head, he whispers, “I'm glad, because I've been wanting to do that for a long time.”

And in that moment, as you stand in Joel's warm embrace, you realize that sometimes the sweetest moments in life come unexpectedly. As you snuggle into his embrace, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your cheek, you can't help but be grateful for the empty sugar canister and the twist of fate that brought you together. Love has a funny way of sneaking up on people, and you can’t wait to see where this new chapter with Joel and Sarah takes you. With muffins in the oven and love blossoming in your hearts, this late-night adventure is just the beginning of a sweet, heartfelt journey together.

[imgeekgirlfan]

The Curse of Cassandra│(Qimir x Reader)

Read in Ao3 : here

Pairings:  Qimir x f!reader(SEA Reader)  [The Acolyte]

Content Rating : Mature 18+  Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warning (AT YOUR OWN RISK)

tags/themes : Alternate Universe - Dune & Star wars, Partners in Crime, Strangers to Lovers

Summary: Being a prophet is both a gift and a curse; you see the future and you’re burdened with the weight of knowing that every decision you make could shape or destroy entire universe, with the overwhelming pressure that the fate of the galaxy hinges on your choice, and every path fraught with sacrifice.

Status: Completed (Finally! 😭)

A/N : I'm thai and english isn't my first language (sorry for the broken English)

This fic exists 'cause I got high (thanks to weed!). So my work's full of random shit in many ways. But I hope you'll dig it.

I got inspo from novels and movies I'm obsessed with: Dune, Furiosa: A Mad Max Saga, Blue Eye Samurai, and Anne Carson's Cassandra Float Can. (Hence the title "The Curse of Cassandra," linking to the Greek myth)

It's a mash-up of different universes, not just Star Wars, with a lot of tweaks for my storyline. If you want fanfic that strict Star Wars canon, this fic isn't for you.

Also, diversity FTW! the reader in this fic isn't white, she's a SEA woman, we gonna representing ASEAN pride.

➡  EP : 1 // EP : 2 // EP : 3 // EP : 4 // EP : 5 // EP : 6 // EP : 7 // EP : 8 // EP : 9 // EP : 10 // EP : 11 // EP : 12 // EP : 13 // EP : 14 (Completed)

Special OS : Phantom Thread

[Intro] A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away

What fate could be worse? 

Being captured by Jedi 

Or being hunted by Sith

You close your eyelids, frowning at the stabbing sensation creeping into your brain. It's always like this when you try to sink into the stream of time, pondering what's yet to come. The price for this wicked foresight is torment of both body and soul, intensifying as your senses expand.

You see, you hear, you feel. The moisture in the air, the sound of water droplets hitting the ground, the wind rustling through the grass, the capillaries in your nasal cavities twisting and rupturing before blood gushes from your nose.

As you casually wipe away the red fluid with the back of your hand, you suddenly realize certain truths that have always been part of you. 

You are an aberration, something repulsive. An Abomination. 

And abominations must be eliminated—so they say.

You let out a long sigh, allowing your mind to drift through the past, present, and future—every possible event and situation. You watch it all with a numb mind, as if you've seen the same movie hundreds or thousands of times, a movie whose ending you already know well.

Yet there's one thing you still don't know: which ending will the path you're on now lead to?

Something pulls you out of your meditation, coinciding with the moment you sense someone's piercing gaze openly fixed upon you. That man is watching you from the shadows behind a large tree, not with malicious intent but with curiosity mixed with several other complex emotions too ambiguous to explain.

You remain seated in meditation at the same spot, amidst the blood and corpses of the Jedi, not daring to move, almost forgetting even to breathe.

You are the last one still breathing, the final victim of the Jedi massacre carried out by the mysterious Sith—The Stranger who is now closely observing you.

His face is completely hidden beneath a dark, twisted metal mask. Yet you can still feel his gleaming eyes surveying your body, as far as sight allows, focusing excessively, even invasively.

The curiosity in his mind is so intense that you find yourself trembling.

You see visions of what might happen—there's a high chance he'll rush in to slice you to pieces with his red lightsaber, searching for secrets or whatever might be hidden inside your body. Or he might subjugate you with his Force, using his power to penetrate your mind, deep into your subconscious, hoping to taste the forbidden fruit of secrets that you alone possess.

But he will never know, as long as you don't wish him to.

The scent of death hangs heavy in the air as heavy footsteps crunch over gravel, approaching you slowly, like a predator toying with its prey. You freeze, every muscle in your body tense, as you face the tall figure in dark cloak, his visage concealed behind a strange metal mask carved into a distorted smile.

For a moment, this man reminds you of the grim reaper from ancient religious myths that vanished thousands of years ago.

He is the harbinger of death everywhere he goes, including your own death

Awareness strikes like a warning signal. Various possibilities flash through your memory, similar to how a dying person recalls everything that happened in their life.

You instantly realize how crucial this moment is. This is an incredibly fragile juncture. 

There's a fifty percent chance he'll kill you, and another fifty percent chance he'll spare your life. 

Fear spreads throughout your flesh, imprinting itself on your soul, turning your blood ice-cold. Your pulse races with panic. 

You take a deep breath, quickly focusing, trying hard to regain control of your shaken mind. "I must not fear," you mutter to yourself, the same phrase your mother used to teach you as a child. "Fear is the mind-killer, fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration..." 

A low, hoarse laugh escapes from behind the metal mask. Clearly, he heard what you said. "Oh, I think you should fear," he says, his words teetering between mockery and sarcasm.

You know he wants you to fear because, for the Sith, fear leads to power.

 You do the opposite, swallowing the lump of fear in your throat, maintaining a calm demeanor as you force a faint smile for the person before you. 

"Humans fear what they don't know, just as they fear me, and just as they fear you." You pause momentarily, carefully considering your final sentence, which could determine your fate. 

Finally, you speak, firm and unwavering, "But I know you, so I do not fear." 

There's a fifty percent chance he'll kill you, and another fifty percent chance he'll spare your life—this thought returns to your mind once more.

He had always kept his secret well, never letting anyone who knew his true identity survive.

You know well that your revelation will bring about an end that changes everything, both for better and for worse.

This is the gamble you've already placed your bet on, for this purpose and for this moment.

The lightsaber hilt in his hand remains tightly closed, showing no sign of the red flame that has taken countless lives. He kneels before you, his action clearly revealing vulnerabilities in his body. You could easily grab the lightsaber from the Jedi's corpse and behead him in one stroke.

But you don't kill him, just as he doesn't kill you.

You look into his eyes, he looks into yours, gauging each other in silence.

His large hand reaches beneath his mask, unlocks the mechanism, and slowly removes it, revealing the familiar face in your sight.

His face is sharp in every proportion, with messy jet-black hair. His eyes, once gentle when touched by sunlight, now cold as ice, contrast starkly with the smile slowly spreading wide, in the same fashion as the smile on the mask he wore earlier.

"Qimir"

His name sounds strange when you utter it, as if it's not a name you're familiar with, and the man before you is not the man you know.

The man chuckles softly and moves even closer, cutting off any chance for you to escape. You swallow hard, trying to turn your face away from his intense gaze. But he doesn't let you. His fingers, wet with others' blood, dig into both of your cheeks, pressing hard enough to hurt, forcing you to look only at him.

"Surprised?" He leans in closer, his hot breath on your face, and whispers softly in your ear, "I told you, you can't run away from me."

[valley-of-headcanons]

can you write something about farmer taking care of Harvey?? I wanna comfort my poor doctor when he has a cold or smth 😭🤲

doctor's orders || harvey x farmer one-shot

harvey cares for the people of pelican town, but now it's your turn to play doctor!

warnings: cavity inducing fluff :3

requested by: anon! hiya, tysm for requesting! adorable request, harvey content is always fantastic <3 he needs to be cared for, poor lil guy 🙏 hope you enjoy!! :)

Waking up in the morning to your gorgeous husband's face was the greatest luxury in your life. His head laid gently on your chest, his hand resting carefully on your waist. He was in a deep slumber, unconsciously rubbing his face closer as you ran your hand through his hair. You noticed he felt a bit warm, but maybe that was due to how hard he was sleeping? You didn't know, you weren't the doctor here.

However, it was time to start working on your chores. You slowly shifted out from under your sleeping husband, getting up and getting dressed for the day. You heard a soft whine come from the bed, looking over to see Harvey burying his head in his pillow. A bit concerned, you asked him, “Love, are you feeling okay?”

Harvey raised his head, looking toward you with tired eyes. “Headache,” he mumbled. He slowly sat up, his eyebrows pinched together as he stood. He immediately sneezed, the crook of his elbow instinctively meeting his nose and mouth.

You noticed his voice was more nasally than usual. “Hey, sit back down. I'll go make the coffee this morning and bring you a cup,” you said with a smile.

“No, that's my job, you already do enough- ah- ah- ... thank God,” Harvey sighed, preventing a sneeze. Right after that, he let out a deep cough.

“You're sick.”

“... no, no, it's just a cough ... and I haven't dusted recently, just allergies ...” Harvey said, making excuses as he started toward the kitchen. He was walking a bit more sluggishly than normal. Yes, he hadn't had a cup of coffee yet, but this was a little worse than usual.

You put your hand on his shoulder and used the other to feel his forehead. Silently, you walked to the cabinet and pulled out the thermometer. You pressed it against his temple, waiting to hear the beep. 100.1 °F. “I love you, and I know you don't want to believe you're sick, but this says otherwise.”

Harvey rubbed his eyes, sighing softly. “I'm worried that if I'm sick, no one's gonna tend to the patients ... what happens if there's a medical emergency?”

You pressed a soft kiss onto his cheek. “Maru can handle it. Plus, I'm the only one that comes in half of the time anyways. You're just that good of a doctor, my love. But you've overworked yourself. Now please, let me take care of you this time.”

“But--”

“Doctor's orders.”

Harvey contemplated what you said for a moment before getting back in bed. He didn't want to make his patients sick too, that would just be counterintuitive! He needed to focus on getting better so that he would get back in the office as soon as possible. So, he called Maru and asked her to call him if there were any emergencies. He couldn't be completely hands-off, that's not like him.

You replaced his normal morning coffee with tea, knowing that he didn't need the caffeine if he was going to stay in bed all day. You sat down beside him, handing him the cup along with some Tylenol. Afterward, you pressed a kiss against his temple before muttering, “here, darling.”

“Thank you ... please, don't worry about me. I'll be fine, you can go do some work if you need to,” Harvey frowned softly, taking the medicine. He felt soothed after the tea, but it didn't fix everything. He coughed once more, covering everything like a good doctor should.

“No, I'm not gonna let my husband be sick and home alone. That's torture, what kind of partner would I be?” you said, holding one of his hands gently. “What do you want for breakfast?”

“Let me-”

“Harvey. You are on bed rest. I'm going to make you breakfast fit for a king, and you are going to relax for one moment in your goddamn life. I love you,” you said, squeezing his hand before walking toward the kitchen.

Harvey's face flushed a gentle pink. Despite being married to you, you never ceased to amaze him. You were always so busy, yet you still managed to be the best spouse he could ever ask for. He didn't take care of himself enough, but knowing that someone else was there to make sure he was okay? It made his stomach erupt with butterflies.

You came back with breakfast, placed on a makeshift table, so Harvey didn't have to get out of bed. The plate had a nice, filling, nutrition-rich breakfast. Next to it was a hot cup of tea, which would hopefully soothe his cough. Sitting it on his lap, you sat next to him. “Do I need to feed you, or do you have that part down?” you joked, smiling from ear to ear. You were obviously excited to help your husband.

“Yes, my love, I've got that part,” he smiled as he began eating. He felt so loved and cared for, and it was nice for a change. He was lost in his sickly, slightly incoherent thoughts. You were the best partner for him, and he couldn't be more thankful.

After he finished eating, you pressed a kiss onto his cheek. “Full?”

“Mhm,” Harvey hummed, watching as you took his plate. He instinctively grabbed your arm, not wanting you to leave. “Stay,” he said with a slight whine.

“I'm not going anywhere, let me put your plate away,” you smiled. It was odd to see him in a state like this, but you didn't mind. It was really sweet actually, seeing him be so vulnerable.

You returned, laying on the bed beside him and opening up your arms. He wrapped an arm around your waist and laid his head on your chest. Your fingers traced his spine gently, making sure he felt right at home. Soft moments like these don't come often. Both of your lives are so busy, but you still manage to make time for each other.

Harvey raised his head, looking into your eyes. He looked a bit teary-eyed, like he was thinking about something he needed to say. “Thank you.”

“It's not that big of a deal, you deserve to be cared for just like everyone else in this town does,” you said, running a hand through his hair.

“... Thank you for being the one to do it ... and thank you for knowing me so well that you do it right ... I really appreciate you, and I don't say it enough. I love you, and everything you do for me means more than you'll ever know,” Harvey sniffed softly. He was a bit more emotional when sick, but it was okay. You didn't mind in the slightest.

You kissed his warm forehead gently. “You're fine, love. I love you too, and I know. Don't worry your sick little head, Harv. Rest,” you ordered.

Harvey laid back down against your chest, snuggling closer and closing his eyes. “I love you,” he muttered before slowly fading out of consciousness. He was so tired and sick, he just needed your love and affection.

You carefully pulled him closer as he dozed off, whispering sweet nothings into his ear while rubbing his back. You kept a check on his fever, and how much he was sneezing or coughing. It didn't seem too worrying, as it was going down slowly but surely. You made sure to keep him safe and secure. Your poor baby of a husband deserved to be held and cared for, whether he was sick or not.

[qin-qin16]

cw.: Ink x Reader, cat coded Ink, he has a tail, purring skeleton, canon height Ink, he is really clingy, animal/cat traits, this is a QPR? You can view it as you like... 

note: You have already seen Dog coded Cross, now it is time to see Cat coded Ink.

Ink was a peculiar skeleton — adventurous, curious, and honest. However, one thing you could never associate with him was the weariness that typically follows boredom. Even after returning from grand battles, Ink still had the energy to bounce around your house, excitedly recounting all the adventures of the day.

That’s why it was so surprising to see him curled up on your lap, his entire torso resting on your thighs as he gently rubbed his face against your belly, claiming he was tired. It wasn’t unusual for Ink to show affection; in fact, he often stayed close to you, following you around the house and occasionally pressing his skull against your back affectionately.

Unfortunately, after a while, Ink had to return to his duties as Protector in the Doodle Sphere — and each time you said goodbye, he would always touch his nasal cavity to your nose one last time in a kind gesture. 

So, you couldn't understand why he was behaving so differently with this sudden, cozy snuggle on your lap. It was the first time you had seen him so still, so unlike the energetic and noisy Ink you knew.

A soft sound caught your attention; on your skin, you felt a gentle vibration, like a faintly humming engine. As Ink’s hands began to knead the flesh of your thighs, massaging away the numbness that was slowly spreading, you realized that the sound was coming from him. He was purring!

You couldn’t help but chuckle, especially when Ink rubbed his face against your belly again. Despite your surprise, you started to stroke Ink’s spine, moving your hand from the base of his neck to his lower back. You couldn’t ignore the slow movement of his long, faded tail, swaying like ripples across a calm lake.

This is nice, you thought. It’s better than when he started drawing on the walls of my room.

If Ink was, for the first time since you'd known him, feeling tired, you weren’t going to deny him a comfortable place to relax — even if it meant your legs going numb and your muscles starting to ache. 

[bits-and-babs]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 — 𝐒𝐈𝐌𝐎𝐍 ‘𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐓’ 𝐑𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐘

synopsis : photographs from a gangland crime scene just beyond mexico's border send ghost into a spiral. as his superior, you feel it is your duty to bring him down from delirium by any means necessary.

pairing: simon ‘ghost’ riley x f!reader (colonel)

warnings : 18+ mdni. heavy use of the canon comics, gory imagery, mentions of torture, brainwashing, corpses. ptsd, delusions, simon in a submissive headspace. d/s themes, softdomme!reader, praise kink if you squint, oral (f receiving), fingering, cumming in pants, i wanted to write simon as a sub so i fucking did. please note this is a fic about using sex to navigate trauma. it will not be for everyone.

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He's like a spectre in the back of the briefing room, his shadow looming over the gory photographs spattered over the table and smothering the map beneath them. Snapshots of gruesome, twisted corpses reflect in the honey liquid of his irises, his usually expressive eyes made mute by the ghastliness of the savaged bodies.

Ghost's vast frame appears to shrink the longer he gazes at the glossy, printed pictures. 

Price continues his mission briefing. His forgotten cigar smoulders in the cigarette dish placed haphazardly over the map, ashes building an eminence of embers on the glass platter. His tar-drenched lungs rasp as he talks, gritty voice booming as it ricochets from the walls in the tiny box room. 

"Intel confirms a congregation of armed cartel members just beyond the Mexican borde-…."

Leaning against the wall, Ghost's shadow retreats from the tabletop and slinks back into the corner. He crosses his arms over his vast chest, charcoal grey fleece sleeves pushed to his elbows to expose the ebony ink scrawled across his chalky skin. His scarred knuckles bleach when he tightens his grip on his bicep, silently stewing in his own conviction. 

He knows. 

It's as though you can see them play like a film reel in his gilded irises, flickers of his trauma in Mexico. Ghost's file had been heavily redacted during your time as his equal, reams and reams of black ink ribbons distorting the writing and camouflaging his colourful history. Serving alongside him, you learnt that the SAS Lieutenant approached conversation similarly, censoring himself by remaining relatively silent. 

Since your promotion to Colonel, you had gained access to transparent files and learnt precisely why Simon' Ghost' Riley kept mum about his time in Coahuila… You'd seen those gnarly scars, pink and magenta and silver welts that raised or gouged into the porcelain of his pale skin. Yet, the answer to your concerned queries was always a singular, gentle remark. "Classified." 

Ghost's attempted brainwashing and the ultimate death sentence were confidential. He'd never told you that the scent of the decaying body of his Judas commanding officer, Vernon, had clung to the walls of his nasal cavities for weeks after escaping the coffin. Never revealed the way his hand sunk into the putrefying corpse when he attempted to break his way out of the casket. Wouldn't admit to ripping the jawbone from the rotting carcass to pry open the lid. 

His reason for convalescent leave was also confidential. Extreme temper-management difficulties handing the vulnerable Ghost over to ex-teammates Sparks and Washington and the conclusive massacre of his entire family. Three generations, blown away with a bullet through the skull. 

And the man at the centre of it all, Manuel Roba, stared back at him in the pictures of horrid, mangled, ripped flesh littering the table and pinned to the map. Puncture wounds from being elevated on meat hooks, emaciated following daily meals of mind-altering drugs––

"Riley." 

Ghost's honeyed eyes dart from their fixated aim on the pictures towards Price. Concern furrows the Captain's brow as he observes Ghost's self-preserving body language. "You hearin' me?"

"Loud and clear, sir," Ghost's gruff voice rattles like gravel in his chest. His eyes appear hollow through the gaps in his ski mask, black grease paint making him look particularly gaunt. 

It's a split second, momentary, but Price casts a precautionary glance your way. You know that expression, can translate the concerned crevices on John's face; he knows. 

"... Good Hunting," Captain Price issues his dismissal, pointed looks urging the members of 141 out of the room quickly. The rubber soles of your boots stay rooted to the floor, gaze set on Ghost as the task force leave the conference single file. The Mancunian doesn't budge, his eyes aimed at their target on the table. 

It takes a handful of moments, Gaz and Soap gawping over the brutal torture details and Price urging them both with an insistence to 'shut up' that was far too authoritative for them to ignore. Then, finally, the door swings shut, clicking in place. Ghost blinks at the sound, a minute, barely there flinch that wouldn't register with outsiders, but you notice it. 

Silence creeps through the room and settles between you like a blanket of gunpowder, charged and ready to blow. Ghost's body is tense, oddly postured in an attempt to retain his intense emotions. 

"Ghost." You say his codename, and immediately he moves his head in a slight shake—a silent urge for quiet. He pushes his back from the wall, slowly approaching the table he had glared at for hours. 

"It's him, isn't it? Roba," Ghost's voice is tight with fury, those gravel pieces sounding a lot more like glass shards, "He's come back."

You watch, lungs seizing behind your ribcage when you hear him speak Manuel Roba's name. The vile man had lived like a ghoul amongst Simon's memories, fictitious as long as he remained unmentioned. Talking of him was almost like speaking the behemoth into existence. 

"I know you read the file, Colonel," Ghost spits through gritted teeth, reaching forward to pinch a photograph from the table. You see it, the almost imperceptible tremor in his fingers as he does. "He did this to us- Strung us up like pig carcasses-"

"I understand that you're scared-" You begin your attempt to ease the spiral that Ghost appears to be silently falling into, his almost normal outward appearance betrayed only by microscopic symptoms of panic. 

"I'm not," he insists, agitation edging his tone of voice as he holds up the image of a gutted corpse, "I'm not scared; you're all tip-toein' around this like I'm fuckin' stupid!"

"Riley."

The use of Ghost's surname makes the hulking mass of man stop in his tracks. He swallows the words he holds on his tongue, realising his disrespect to a commanding officer should not, and would not, be tolerated under any circumstance. 

Stepping forward, you gaze right back at the shell-shocked man before you. "Manuel Roba is dead. You killed him. You know this. Shot him right between the eyes."

You demonstrate the bullet trajectory by tapping between your eyebrows with your index finger, triggering a visual for the shaken Ghost to project the image of the slaughtered drug dealer. "The bodies you're seeing are probably a result of his control over the Zaragoza Cartel. Remnants of his fighters lashing out in a last-ditch effort to obtain some power." 

Ghost nods slightly, a singular tilt forward of his head as his hand lowers to his side, fingers loosening their hold on the gory picture so it falls to the ground. He clears his throat awkwardly, eyes following the path of the image as he casts his gilded irises to the floor. You note how vulnerable he looks, flayed raw by his memories and the stalking PTSD that had gripped him without detection.

"You're right. 'M sorry," he lets out a shaky sigh, chest trembling as he attempts to expel the tension in his chest, "Don't know what I was thinkin'."

You dismiss his embarrassment with a wave of your hand. "Don't mention it." 

"How much do you know?" Ghost asks, the question uttered in a whisper. 

You consider his query carefully. A good question. How much did you know? Had the files revealed the total of Ghost's catastrophic timeline from Mexico to Manchester? Or was there still unforeseen information hidden behind censorship walls that even you couldn't worm your way behind at this high a rank?

You're careful in your choice of words, attempting to curb any particular language that could trigger upsetting recollections. "I know Roba used to brainwash you. Drug you. Make you fight."

"And?" Simon urges you onwards, his aureate irises staring coldly at you through the blackness of the grease paint and mask–– awaiting the agonising stab of the truth.  

"He used to offer sex or death as a means of control." You carefully place your palm against his shoulder, a warm and weighty presence to help ground him as you speak. "Attempted to hardwire your brain to find arousal in fear."

Ghost swallows. You see the bob of his Adam's apple beneath the thick material of the ski mask. A minuscule quiver of his eyebrow indicates his inner turmoil, the usually composed and inscrutable Lieutenant Riley slipping away as you peel away each layer of his trauma.

"Do you still? Find arousal in fear?" 

Silence twists your stomach; Ghost's incessant, piercing stare causes the hairs on your forearms to stand up. 

"On your knees, Riley."

"Yes, ma'am."

Simon sinks to his knees, slow and deliberate, in a latent attempt to please you. It's as though Everest has crumbled, its foundations bending beneath its enormous weight. Simon is an unshakeable force, an indomitable summit, yet when his patellas hit the floor, his giant palms meet the edges of your thighs in reverence for you. 

His touch is precious and delicate with its weight–– not as though he's afraid he'll break you, but more like he's trying so hard to earn your favour as his superior. His blonde lashes dip low, heavy-lidded, unable to stand looking at your face when he's laid bare for you like this. 

"Please." When Simon speaks, it's as though the cocktail of gravel and glass shards has excoriated the walls of his throat. It's broken, choked and pitchy as he begs you. "Please."

"Please what, Simon?" You query, maintaining an even, commanding tone. His eyelashes flutter slightly, trembling so prettily for you as arousal floods his spine. 

"Please, ma'am. Can I be of service?" It's spoken through his gritted teeth as though he's mortified that he's voicing these torrid desires, even in the vaguest terms. You slip your naked palm beneath the woven canvas of his mask, clutching his jaw and forcing his face upwards. 

It's amusing, you think, that Simon believes himself unreadable as long as he wears the skull mask. It couldn't be further from the truth. His eyes are so expressive, constantly betraying his innermost thoughts without even exposing the expressions of his visage. 

The probing gaze you offer him has him twitching in his camo cargo pants. You see his thick length bob against the fabric, aroused by the ease with which you read him. 

"Is that what you need, Riley?" It's rhetorical; you both know it. He's never required anything so desperately in his life. Simon had been lost in the Congo jungle without food for weeks and escaped a kidnapping attempt that had him stumble through the Iraqi desert without water, yet he looked at you with those keening eyes as though he'd die without a taste of you. 

"Tell me."

"Yes," he gasps, inhaling sharply as though he'd forgotten to breathe, "Yes, ma'am. Please, I need to tast––"

Simon barely manages to finish his sentence before he pushes his trembling fingers beneath the hem of his mask on his throat, shoving it over the point of his chin and balancing the bunched-up material on the bridge of his nose. He groans out as he fumbles with your khaki belt, unwinding it with great difficulty. 

While Simon busies himself with your zipper, your fingers delicately trace the silvering scars on his throat, many of Manuel Roba's love letters to evil etched into his ivory skin. The files had labelled each laceration and its cause; S2 below his chin issued by a butcher's knife, S5 against his clavicle the product of a dagger during a spar with another brainwashed hostage. You can't help but smile when your fingerprints find S7. 

"S7 - a two-inch superficial scar from a tricycle accident."

A desperate groan rumbles in Simon's chest when he shucks the waistband of your cargo pants over the flesh of your hips. Your hand quickly grasps the edge of the table when he buries his nose against your clothed cunt, your heavy-handedness knocking more of the long-forgotten gory images to the floor. 

"Fuck," Simon exhales, his warm breath fanning across the soaked fabric of your panties. "Thank you, Thank y- fuck."

Your gasp of pleasure catches even you off guard as Simon drags the flat of his tongue against the wetness of your underwear, a groan sneaking from his open mouth as he relishes in the taste. 

"This good, ma'am?" he breathes, hot and heavy against your core. He's desperate to please, a slight flush to the lower half of his cheeks that you can see. It takes you a moment to compose yourself, overwhelmed by the exposed flesh of his face. 

"Yes," you praise him as he uses his fingers to push aside the cotton in his way. "So fucking good for me, Simo-nhgn-" 

The tip of Simon's tongue seems to find your clit almost instantaneously, curling around the sensitive bud and teasing it as though he knew exactly what you needed. His moan is muffled and pathetic against your soaked cunt, lapping at your arousal and drowning himself in you. 

He keens when your fingernails dig into the soft flesh of his shoulder, digging reddening crescent moons into the skin. They blend amongst the charcoal of his tattoo sleeve, but they're there, little arches among the skulls, guns, and warfare. 

Simon paws at the backs of your thighs, spreading the wingspan of his fingers across the curve of your asscheeks and squeezes, using his hold to drag your body impossibly closer to his mouth. He nuzzles in, the tip of his nose teasing at your clit as he sinks the hot, wet flesh of his tongue into your entrance. 

"Hah-" you gasp out, Simon's moan vibrating against your needy clit forcing you to grind forward against his face in search of more friction. Your fingers find purchase in the fabric on the top of Simon's head, curling your knuckles around it but ensuring you don't lift the mask from his face. 

The Lieutenant feels your grazing fingers against his scalp, burying his face further into your pussy as he tastes your arousal from the source. He sighs heavily, shakily into your cunt as he savours the ambrosia on his tongue, greed forcing him in for more–– licking and tasting and sucking and swallowing more of you. 

"So good for me, Simon," you reward him, voice trembling as he assaults your cunt with his probing tongue. He retreats from the soaked flesh of your cunt to tease at your clit again. You can feel your pulse concentrating in it, thudding against his tastebuds. 

"Mhmm," he huffs, vast chest heaving with heavy breaths that add another layer of pleasure to your arousal as they waft over your wet pussy lips. You could cry when you look down at him, his eyelids drooping (one lower than the other thanks to the scar that ran across his left eyelid. "S4 - a superficial scar from a fist fight during detention in Mexico").

A single, calloused palm skirts around your waist, splaying wide across your lower abdomen as Simon feels the muscles beneath his hand tremble and tense at his ministrations. He groans again, his other hand teasing at your pussy lips from behind in a silent plea for entry. 

"Simon- Simon, do it," you urge him, desperate to be filled as he teased at your clit with his nimble tongue. You'd never had guessed a man so intent on disguising his countenance would have the perfect face to sit on. 

"Yes, ma'am," he responds, only momentarily before reestablishing the relentless rhythm of the swipe of his tongue. Then, without much warning, he sinks his index finger into your entrance. A delicate press of his fingertip at first, testing the waters, so to speak. Only when you let out a blissful sigh does Simon continue to ease the digit into you. 

His fingers are so thick. You stretch around him, your head dipping back between your shoulder blades and gasping a curse to the naked bulb hanging from the ceiling. The bliss that sweeps through you is overwhelming, toes curling in your combat boots as you attempt to escape the onslaught of pleasure. 

Simon won't let you. 

"Please," he moans in bliss as he pulls you closer again, your feeble body unable to fight his firm control when your limbs are gelatinous and malleable to his whims. 

His cock is bobbing beneath his cargos, a dark patch of precum soaking into the camo print. A flood of arousal drips through you, your eyes rolling back at the realisation that he might fucking cum in his pants, untouched, just with the taste of you.

"S-Simon-" you wail, losing all control as your voice cracks. "Right there-"

God, he ratchets up the intensity of your bliss by sinking another finger into you. It faces no resistance, sliding down to the knuckle with an ease that had you seeing stars when it pushes up against something utterly devastating within your abdomen. 

"There!"

Simon groans around your cunt, lathing his tongue over your throbbing clit with an eagerness that seems so alien for the stoic, unreadable Special Airforce Soldier. His fingers ease in and out of you ever so slightly, rocking back and forth against that mind-numbing spot inside you that has your knees buckling beneath your weight. 

"Oh my g-aha-" you choke on your words, both hands now fumbling to hold onto the table with a white-knuckle grip. Tension curls in the pit of your stomach, twisting and shape-shifting.  

You feel it before you hear it. The vibrations of Simon's desperate groans of bliss rock through your cunt before the sounds reach your ears, his mouth sloppy on your cunt as his own arousal begins to take root. The fingers not buried inside your walls take a bruising grip on your waist, branding you with his prints.  

He notches that paradisical spot inside you one more, and your failing knees quake at the vicious burst of ecstasy it unleashes. You moan loudly, the lewd sound wracking through your body as though Simon had just set off a stun grenade, light bursting through you with a crack. Your hips buck against his chin and nose mindlessly as you ride through the peak of your bliss. 

Simon lets his jaw hang loose, tongue flat as you ride against it— pathetic, utterly disgusting groans of delight drip from his lips as you use him. He pants, and you only just manage to force your eyes open as a particularly pitchy wail of your name to witness his undoing. 

His hips rock forward against nothing, just barely finding friction on the seam of his pants as his orgasm rocks through him. You watch his eyelids flutter and his brows twitch as he cums in his standard-issue military cargos. He slumps back slightly, jaw loose as he sucks in deep breaths. It's utterly unbecoming of someone who appeared so unshakeable, a submissive, needy man taking his place. 

At first, you allow him some space. The forceful inhale and trembling exhale of his lungs tick like a clock, in and out, in and out. Simon's hand delicately smoothes over the flesh of your ankle, a feeble attempt to feel close to you in this moment without overstimulating his vulnerable mind. 

When he lifts those honeyed eyes to you, searching for your comfort, you allow your palms to smooth down the fabric of his ski mask and offer him some privacy, restoring some dignity to the usually stoic Ghost. 

He leans into the weight of your palm for just a second. A barely there moment, like the grip of his biceps from earlier, the twitch of his brow. It fades quickly like his S7 scar, the dripping molasses of his eyes hardening beneath the skull image. 

"Not a word," you order him, tone aggressively authoritarian when you issue your directive. 

Ghost is glad for it, a curt nod of his head indicating his return to lucidity as he begins to rise to his feet. 

"Yes, ma'am." 

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[fanaticsnail]

Body Worship: Franky

Birthday Celebration Masterlist

Word Count: 3,100+

Themes: Franky x gn!reader, angst, self worth, Franky has a little bit of dysmorphia, affirmation, fluff, smut, thigh riding, confession, body worship, praise, love, porn with feelings, mdni, NSFW, smut, 18+, non descript smut, grinding.

Notes: Massive shoutout to @thenotsofantasticlifestory for listening to my thoughts and aiding me with my time on this fic. I love this man, and I adore you. First time writing for Franky.

Cogs, wires, fizzes, and snaps of electrical circuits rang and shuddered within the chambers crafted by Franky’s own hands. There was never a silence to be held within him, not a calm moment where his body was not ticking like a clock wound by a coiled winch. He was constantly on, always on.

There was not a moment where man and machine were no longer merged as one, and Franky usually had no issue with being a self-made man in more ways than simple determination and gumption. But today, he just felt unnatural. He felt those cogs, wires, fizzes and snaps of electrical circuits overtake the humanity he so desperately attempted to preserve within himself.

He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t speak. He didn’t see the body he crafted as a work of mastery, but something foreign and tainted. He couldn’t look at himself without seeing the parts of his flesh, bone, and muscle he replaced, rendered, soldered, and attached. He was no longer himself, but just those parts he forged to keep himself alive.

A pile of scrap made into the shape of a man. Flesh from his prior life stretched over a frame of humanity pushed to its extremities.

Unsure as to when the first tear fell, or whether they were tears at all, his rounded eyes swelled and poured heavy drops down his cheeks and onto his chest within his workshop. Usually when he cried, he had the sensation of an almost sting in his nose: nostrils flaring and a saltiness within his nasal cavity. The lack of this feeling within his steel nose now only made him feel more like a machine and less of a man.

A soft knock at his workshop door was barely audible over the mechanical symphony rattling within his mind and skull. He scrunched his eyes shut and focussed finding a single sound to focus on within himself to no avail. It was just too much. Too noisy. Too intense. Too overwhelming. Too-.

“-Franky?” your voice shocks him out of his spiral, truly unaware of the opening and closing of the door to his workshop. He jolted back, beginning to panic a little while his body caught up to the way his mind was spiraling.

Keeping a safe distance away from the cyborg, you took him in. Noticing how his shoulders and hands were beginning to shake, you tilted your head and furrowed your brows while assessing him further. Franky’s eyes met with yours, a soft quiver of his lip atop his tri-pointed chin matching the forlorn expression blooming over his face.

As ships’ counselor, it was your job to advise and flesh out plans for your captain. It was also within your job title to unweave the troubled thoughts and matters of the head and heart for your crew.

Franky was a friend to you, and you adored the large cyborg wholeheartedly. If he ever gave you an opportunity to see him as more than just a friend or crewmate, you would take it before your heart could skip a beat.

There was no favorites on the Straw-Hat crew, but if there was, Franky would be it for you. You truly loved him for all that he was: man, machine, or otherwise.

It did not take much more than a soft sniffle from the larger man to usher you towards the larger man, opening your arms and taking him within your embrace. Pressing his head against your chest, you cradled his face within your hands and slowed your breathing for him to join with his own. His shoulders slouched, a single hand wrapping around your back and feeling the warmth your body had to offer him in the sensors within his palm and fingers.

Gently carding through his blue hair, you felt him relax into your touch while his ear pressed up against your heartbeat. His broad hands began to clutch at you and tug you into his lap, each thigh placed atop his own at the side while he pressed more of himself into you.

“Want to talk about it, big guy?” you asked softer than a murmur, but louder than a whisper, “I’m always here to talk with you when you need it, just like you are with me. Open door, honesty policy, remember?”

Franky sniffed before a raspy chuckle rattled in his throat. Tugging you nearer to him and releasing a sigh, he moved his chin to rest on your chest while peering up into your face. Gazing down at him, you offered him a softness in your smile while peering into his unshrouded eyes.

“Just-...” he began, waiting for the words to find themselves in his throat, “...It's just… I can't quite put it to words, now you mention it.” His chuckle was more in a bid to rise one of your own, teetering off the more he drank in your smile.

Darting his dark eyes between your own, glancing briefly down at your lips, he drank in your appearance the closer he drew to your face. You and he were nothing more than exceptionally close friends, but the cogs churning in his stomach and heart desperately desired there be a moment. He leaned in just a touch more, his eyes rounded just a touch more while his jaw grew softly slack.

“Franky?” Your voice soothed him, a smile found in each syllable, “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re wanting to kiss me.”

Franky’s eyes darted down to your lips, angling his tri-pointed chin up just a small shift more. His eyelids grew heavy, lashes heavy as his pupils focussed on the way your lips curved in your smile.

“Do you?” he whispered, his voice heavy and husky within his throat. His hands desperately clasped the small of your back, his receptors tingling in indicating your body heat growing warmer.

“Do I ‘what’, Franky?” you queeried, not shying away from his touch. You were curious to see how far he would take this action, enjoying the attention he was giving you and feeling secure within his embrace.

Franky’s outer hand slid down to your thigh, his other moving you closer to press yourself into his chest. The blue-haired cyborg moved his lips in a tone just above a whisper, his breath tingling against your mouth as he ascended them towards yours.

“Know any better.”

His lips immediately claimed your own, focussing his own existentialism on claiming your lips against his own. His skin felt your warmth as you opened yourself up to him. Each roll of his lips mouthing at yours was reciprocated with eager enthusiasm, and Franky began to feel just that little bit calmer.

Until he wondered if it was truly his skin touching your own, not what receptors told him it was. Was it his lips touching you, or the cogs behind him sending sparks to his mind and alerting his brain that it was truly you giving into him.

Did you even like him?

Were you attracted to the man that he made himself to be?

Did you even see him as a man, not just a creation marred with the injury of battle and reforged by his own mind?

You sensed his enthusiasm dwindle against your lips, prompting you to close off the embrace with a soft peck. As you pulled away your lips from his, you peered down at him with your eyes half-lidded and holding nothing but a slight amount of teasing pulled in a soft smirk.

“Franky?”

When you met his gaze once more, your smirk immediately fled your features.

His eyes were glassy, his expression the polar opposite of the manner he usually presented himself as. There was nothing of the boisterous, uplifting, passionate, and optimistic cyborg you had come to adore, and it's absence held you hostage.

“Franky,” you sighed, gently reaching up and cupping his cheek. “Please. There's something going on, and as your counselor, I need to know. I could leave the job at the door and just be-.”

“-What am I?” he answered suddenly, his lips toppling hurriedly over the words, “I need to know.”

Taken aback by his hasty questions, you furrow your brows at him and check him over. Darting your eyes over his face, noticing his posture becoming slightly slouched and his hands holding you in heaped fistfuls, you inhale a soft and steady breath before exhaling.

Your breathing inadvertently has him so the same, both inhaling and exhaling slowly and steadily. After a moment of you both dwelling in the silence, you answer him with a non-rehearsed speech from the heart.

“You are Franky,” you whisper, rolling the pad of your thumb against the apple of his cheek, “Shipwright to the Straw Hat Pirates, senior officer shepherding the Straw Hat Grand Fleet. Creator and master constructor of the Thousand Sunny. Former gang leader, who convinced those joining to switch from beer to cola, and-...”

Franky nodded you on, convincing you to continue to affirm him with your words. You could see it was not entirely the answer he was seeking, which spurred you on to change to how deeply remarkable you found him.

“...-You are so kind. An exceptionally intelligent person with your heart beating for others,” you nod to him, catching the hitch in his throat and paying it no mind. “The way your mind can see the mastery in machines, crafting it with your hands, and forging it into the best version of itself is a gift.” You draw your other hand up to his bare chest, feeling a fizz and beat beneath the skin while you speak.

“You don't just do this with your skilled labor, Franky.” You reassure him, glancing down to your knuckles on the back of your hand in his chest. “You see the potential in others, and coax them skillfully to bring it to the light.” A small laugh fled from your lips, prompting you to shake your head and whisper, “A remarkable skill, and I envy you for it.”

The dampness felt beneath the fingers on his cheek had you moving your eyes slowly back up to meet his own.

“You are, and will forever be, Franky: man, machine, both married as one and inseparable from the other,” you concluded, drawing your hand up on his cheek to slowly caress away his tears. “You are all of this, and you are so much more.”

Franky felt his chest soar, whichever fluid, whether cola or blood, pumped his heart and had him desperate to know more. Considering the fact you didn't pull away from the offerance of a kiss earlier, he drew his hand over your back and rested it on your hip while leaning in.

“What am I to you?”

Without skipping a beat, you spoke truthfully and from the chamber's within your own beating heart.

“And you are beautiful to me.”

Franky scoffed, rolling his eyes and almost pouting at your response. You sigh out with your brow arched high, gently perching your hands against his broad shoulders and grasping his muscles firmly.

“I mean it, Franky,” you reaffirm enthusiastically, “Everything about you is beautiful. Your heart, your soul, your mind, fuck,” you gasp, feeling the firmness of his shoulders beneath his hands.

A warm flush crept up your neck and swelled your cheeks with a vibrant fluster. Franky searched your eyes, darting down to your parted lips and back up to meet your gaze.

“What was that?” he chuckled, picking up your vocal inflection and teasing you with his smile.

“I just,” you halt yourself, slowly molding the joints beneath your palms and squeeze his muscles. “I usually… I usually focus on the mind and heart, but you're-...” Your fingers move down to his scarred pectorals, gently caressing a trail of timidity down towards his nipples.

“...-You're really attractive. Physically attractive,” you admit, pressing a little firmer against his muscles before dipping the pads of your index fingers over his pebbled buds. “Whether it was the kiss from a little earlier, confessing how I see your mind, my position currently on your lap, or the fact that there's a lot of tension between us right now…”

“Oh?” He taunts you a little more tilting his head to the side with a cheeky grin drawing up over his lips. Leaning forward, he pressed more of his pectorals against your hands and whispered coyly against the shell of your ear, “Tell me?”

“Shit,” you stutter past your lips. Eyes rolling a little, you suck your lips into your mouth to halt a moan from fleeing as you feel the tension only swell to a greater intensity.

Franky chuckles, his hands still running circles against your hips and gently ushering you in closer.

“Better yet,” he drew one hand away from your middle and drew it up to collect your chin in his grip. “Show me?”

Your breath hitched as you slowly drew your hand around in circles against his flesh. His skin felt warm to the touch, smooth and soft with coiled ringlets of cerulean fuzz shimmering against his pectorals. Moving your hands up and down his chest, your lips parted in surprise at feeling the buzz of circuitry beneath the stretch of flesh.

“Every nook you've notched into yourself is a work of art, Franky,” you exhale, rolling the pads of your thumbs against his abs and raking them towards his belly. “Each alteration and modification has just made you more you, you know?”

Franky felt his throat hitch at the admission parting from your lips. His body that he saw moments ago as a trap for his spirit, now being worshiped and praised for its mastery. As your hands ran over his skin, his receptors and skin both felt need and desire course through his circuits and veins.

Without any more prompting at your touch, he maneuvered you to straddle one of his thighs and held your pelvis flush against his own. Your hands automatically fled back up to the shoulders that held you captive as he pressed you firmly against himself.

“You like my body much?” The rasp in his voice tangibly reverberated within your chest and shot straight to your crotch, igniting it with need.

“Franky…” you gasp, his hands holding you against his thigh pressed harder, slowly rocking you over the hard muscle lurking beneath. “If you'd give me an opportunity, I'd drop to my knees and worship you like a devotee at an altar.”

Franky chuckles at the comment, using his large, metal hand gripping your waist to slowly rock you back and forward over his thigh. Your stomach bound in knots, your needs only growing higher and more incessant the more he puppetted you against his body and gazed into your eyes.

“No need for all that. I don't need it,” he laughed once more, moving forward and brushing his metal nose gently against yours, “But I do need this.”

His larger hand completely trapped your waist within his grip, knocking your knee against the bulge in his pants and grinding his clothed cock against your own body.

Manhandling you against his leg, bouncing you up to brush more of yourself against his cock, you felt trapped against him as he bore you fully against his body while holding your face gently. His metal thumb stroked your lip as you parted them to release a groan.

Soft whimpers and mewls left your throat as he held your gaze, his own gasps growing in need the longer he rocked you against himself. Your desire began to seep through your pants the longer he held you firmly and guided your motions.

“Show me,” he whispered, peering down his steel nose through half-hooded lashes. “Show me everything.” He worked you harder, his own cock leaking it's head and staining his red briefs with soft dewdrops of precum.

His abdomen tensed, feeling the need rise further in his stomach while his cogs, wires, flesh and bone felt more unified as one than ever. Humanity overtook his senses the longer his primal urge to feel more of you against himself.

You were no different, feeling your own release clench in the pit of your stomach and sizzle your eyes with the first sparks of euphoria. The need fogging your mind spurred you on to bare yourself down against him and begin rutting against him harder. As you found yourself falling over that edge, you clenched your eyes shut, earning you an immediate reprimand from the cyborg cariotting your bliss.

“Eyes on me,” he ordered firmly, “I said ‘show me’. I want to see you. Just you, baby. Gonna cum on my lap?” He rocked you harder, pinching your chin and giving it a soft shake to draw back your gaze on his own.

“Cum for me, baby.”

“Franky-!” you cried, feeling your eyes spring open as your vision blurred as your focus was marred by ecstasy. Your body flooded with endorphins, spurring within your chest and releasing the heavy knots in your belly. The damp patch below you deepened in intensity as your release seeped into his thighs.

Franky’s lips quivered as he darted his eyes between yours, finding in you that tether binding him to the mortal realm. With you anchored against him, he used your body rutting against his own to buck up his clothed cock and roll his hips against your thigh.

With a rough bark of your name, his cock began flooding his briefs with his own release. His eyes never left your face as he rode through his high while you came down from yours.

Two breaths, two hearts, two souls, two people: both enjoying their bodies while clinging to one another. That is where you found yourself, truly just intending to find his office to inform him your crew were about to make port in an island in two hours according to Nami.

As your body slouched against his chest, he cradled you in the same manner you did moments ago while reassuring him of his own body. He had never felt so secure as he did just now with his own body.

“Franky?” you whispered softly, turning your head and pressing your forehead against the crook of his neck.

“Yeah, baby?” He nuzzled against the crown of your head, “What's up?”

“We'll be making port in about forty-five minutes,” you gasp against his skin, pressing a shy kiss against his neck before hiding your gaze in his shoulder to cringe away your giddiness. Franky chuckles, reaching down and collecting your chin in his grip and turning you back to meet his eyes once more.

“Stay with me until then?” he asked softly, blinking slowly and and almost unsure of himself as you seemed to be. You found yourself drowning in his eyes, raw emotion swelling between you as you feel the chemistry fizzing up to a ruptuous tumble.

“After all that?” you scoff playfully, your smile painted over your lips and causing him to mirror it himself, “I'll remain by your side always.”

“Always?”

“Always.”

Tag list: @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training @since-im-already-here @gingernut1314 @writingmysanity @i-am-vita @indydonuts @feral-artistry @the-light-of-star @empirenowmp3 @racfoam @sunflowersatori @carrotsunshine @skullfacedlady @jintaka-hane @thenotsofantasticlifestory @jadeddangel @ane5e

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