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krispykollection · 16 days

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Peanut Butter

Part 1: Anjay

"Seriously Anjay you're eating more of that stuff? Look at yourself, do you really think you need more? You're practically bursting out of your skin already."

Gosh, I almost can't even believe how we got here. If you had asked me if I'd be standing backstage at a local bodybuilding show with a hulked out and glistening version of my best friend Anjay, I'd have for sure thought I were hallucinating off some bad lunch… Funny how close to truth that would end up to be.

It all started 3 days ago when an unannounced package appeared on our doorstep addressed to Anjay. Not only was he not expecting anything, the contents were even stranger. Pulling off the packing paper revealed contents not immediately familiar to two skinny young men like us.

To the left a shimmery pile of purple blueish fabric. Anjay held it up cautiously as it unfurled. The garment presented itself as a bikini, the sight of it filling both of us with an awkward embarrassment of being in possession of such an obscene object.

Anjay quickly dropped it on the table before turning his attention back to the box. I had to lean in closer to make out the next object of mystery. A brown bottle of… tanning oil? "What kind of crazed sex fetish shit is this, David?" Anjay turned to me and questioned.

I didn't know what to say, so I just looked back down at what's left. The remaining item, while on the one hand familiar, only served to confuse further. It was a container of plain old peanut butter. At least something normal, but what on earth did it have to do with any of this? As I picked it up to examine it closer a final item was revealed underneath, and with it an explanation.

"Ohhh" we remarked in unison with the kind of trailing off that makes it clear we're still skeptical. It was a pass for what appeared to be a local bodybuilding show and not just any kind of pass, one for a competitor. That well explained the first two items, not a bikini, but a pair of posers, and not just any tanning oil, the kind used to cake a fake shimmering bronze sheen onto huge muscle heads so they can show off their freakish masses onstage.

The peanut butter could be reasoned to be just a backstage snack for a lunk like the probable intended recipient, but that's where the last mystery comes into play. The name on the badge, it was Anjay's. Realizing the same, he flipped the top flap of the box back to check the address on the shipping label, sure enough it was ours. "Hmph…" he said defeatedly.

In an effort to put a quick and tidy end to the strange past few minutes we had found ourselves in, I offered up a solution. "I guess there must be some other Anjay Bajwa in the area, the show probably just got the wrong address."

Anjay tacitly agreed. I'm sure we both knew the obvious holes in that explanation, our town isn't all that big, and being solidly in the midwest of the united states, Anjay Bajwa was not exactly a common name.

"This guy probably wants this… stuff, right? Should we, uh, try to find him?" Anjay weakly questioned.

I conjured up the image of the intended recipient. Some roided out freak standing wider than a doorway with arms bigger than my head ready to crush someone like me in a single moment. A rush of fear ran down my spine. With a similar picture playing out in Anjay's head, we turned to face each other and in unison uttered "Nah…"

Anjay put the items back in the box and loosely closed the flaps. He tossed it in the corner of the room to hopefully forget about, at least for a awhile.

I wish I could say the strangeness ended there, in fact that was almost true, all the way up to this morning.

I woke up before Anjay. The apartment was bare so I decided to head out early, grab a coffee and a bite, and run some errands. When I got back in the late morning I could sense something was off even before I opened our front door.

Through the opening door I spotted not Anjay, but a nearly naked yoked out freak. I stood frozen for a moment. He was thankfully facing away from me admiring himself in the small mirror hanging on the wall. I spied something familiar, the colorful posers. That's when it hit me, this must be the other Anjay looking for his package. A rush of fear shot down my spine, what if he's pissed we had it? Just look at those fucking arms, that back, he could pulverize me without breaking a sweat.

I stood there long enough for the creature to take notice. As he turned to face me, my fear took it's place as a side dish, with a main course of bewilderment. It was Anjay, my Anjay, from neck up at least, or what's left of it. Finally I broke my silence exclaiming "What the hell, man?!"

"Dave! I'm soo glad you're home! Bro, drop that stuff but hold onto your keys, we gotta hurry!" I instinctively stepped out of the way as he came powering towards me. In another second he was out the door, a gust of wind cast from his wide torso the only remnant by the time I had spun around. He was halfway down the hallway by the time I made it out the door. I was astonished he could move so fast with how big his legs had gotten, they clashed with every step yet he was practically sprinting to the parking lot. Still he was clad in nothing but those posers, but passerby's opted to say nothing, either terrified by the sight in front of them or insanely aroused.

Thankfully I hadn't locked my car doors, otherwise Anjay might have ripped the door clear off the hinges. The shocks of my late model sub compact protested as he slammed his weight into my passenger seat. Jeez, how much does he, does Anjay weigh now? Following his lead, I quickly hopped into the car myself. As I got in though, I slammed into what felt like cement, but turned out to be Anjay's arm.

"Huh, sorry bro, not used to my new width." Did he always say bro so much?

"Where exactly are we going in such a hurry?" I ask. That's when he pulled out another familiar item, the badge, pointing at it and exclaiming "Remember this? The expo center!"

"You've got to be kidding me!" too much had happened, too much had changed, it's all I could blurt out. "Look at me Dave, I'm gonna clean up bro!" Okay, that's a bro every sentence. "C'mon, we're gonna be late!" I took a second to sit and process as he sat by anxiously… "Okay, fine we'll go, but you gotta tell me what the hell happened to you."

Anjay was more than happy to tell the story of his morning. He started before I could even shift into reverse.

"Bro! oh my god bro, you won't believe it! So I woke up and there was like nothing in the house, but then I remembered that peanut butter from the other day. I grabbed a big ol' spoonful and plopped my ass on the couch."

As he spoke I found it hard to pay attention to the road, he was so animated, only exaggerated by his newly huge muscles, they were bulging everywhere at the slightest movement.

"A few minutes later, I started feeling this fuzzy feeling, I didn't know what it was, but it felt good. Bro that's when I noticed something else, my body was moving under my clothes, I lifted up my shirt and I had abs, abs bro!"

He took the opportunity to point at his obvious abs, flexing as he did.

"Once I connected the dots I practically ran back to the tub and dug back in… and before I knew it I looked and it was half gone! I knew I had fucked up, so I ran to the bathroom to check out the damage."

"My clothes were pulling apart at the seams, huge fucking peaks ripping through the arms, pecs busting out the front." He flexed each muscle group as he called it out. "Fuckin' delts, abs, quads, lats, traps, my god bro, you have no idea how good it felt, how good I feel!"

I recognized some of those words as he said them, using his obvious context clues for the ones I didn't. I had no idea Anjay was so knowledgeable about muscle.

"I didn't want to completely freak you out." Mission decidedly not accomplished. "So I tried to find something to wear, but the only thing that would fit were those posers… when I slipped them on bro oh shit, they felt so good, I looked so good, but then something else happened. My mind started filling with all this new knowledge… muscle groups, workout routines, diets, supplements, cycles, poses! Before I knew it I was a champion bodybuilder, through and through!"

"Yeah, you can say that again…" I said acknowledging the physical embodiment of his statement. "I'm worried those posers might of sucked some knowledge out of you Anjay, since when do you use bro as a punctuation mark?"

"Haha, don't be silly bro, I've always talked like this… and call me AJ."

AJ? I sat there just wishing for my friend Anjay back, not this beefed up bro'd out version of him. Hesitantly I continued, "Ok… AJ, I just didn't know you were so into muscle?"

"I wasn't…" he paused "at least I think I wasn't, but I mean look at me bro, who wouldn't want this?" With that he raised both of his arms up to flex. As he did his lats? flared out and brushed my shoulder. "Shit, I didn't even know you could even have muscles there."

"Bro I got muscles everywhere and then some. Look at the class on my badge, super heavyweight… damn right! Fuck, I'm so pumped, I'm gonna crush it!"

Anjay… I mean AJ, had his bare foot on the ground before I had even come to a full stop upon arriving. Again I followed in tow. Unlike at the apartment, the sight of a muscleman clothed only in a shiny pair of posers was of shock to no one inside. It's what they're all here to see, what I was here to see I guess?

He led us straight backstage, scattered around were other men and their own companions all getting ready for their time onstage. Looking around I was shocked to realize that AJ was the biggest of any of them.

"Bro, take this," he handed me the bottle of tanning oil "you gotta help me tan up."

I was taken aback "I uhh… well I mean, I don't uhh." I looked around, elsewhere many men were doing the same, but I couldn't I mean, we're friends, but I.

"Fine," he grabbed the bottle back "I'll get started."

He dotted the bronze tan across his chest and started rubbing it in, following it up with his legs and arms. If you thought he looked insane before, with the shimmery coat of tan his new freakish form really popped. Halfway through, I heard his gut grumble, he turned back to grab something else, the peanut butter.

---

"Seriously Anjay you're eating more of that stuff? Look at yourself, do you really think you need more? You're practically bursting out of your skin already."

"I told you bro, call me AJ. Anjay sounds so… formal. As for this," he says as he gulps down a spoonful "I'm lickin' this baby clean…" "Now, I've done as much as I can, I need your help buddy, I can't reach my back." He contorts his arms up and over or behind and up showing just how far he is from reaching.

"I guess there's one downside to all those shiny new muscles," I quip.

"I wouldn't call it a downside, not when I have a bro like you…" with that he made a little pouty face unbecoming of his brutal form. I relent and swallow my awkwardness. "Hand me the bottle." His eyes light up.

I walk around AJ, and I mean around, and find myself staring at the contrasted light patch of his wide back. Man, I really wish I had gloves for this, I lament as I squirt a dollop into my palm. Distributing it between my hands I took a deep breath… here goes nothing.

I feel a jolt of electricity run though me as I make contact. Something's changed, something's flipped. I watch myself as I spread the bronze coating. The back in front of me is the same, but the interpretation has changed. It's not shocking, nor disgusting, it's a thing of beauty. I zoom out in my head, my god, the whole thing is, he is, AJ is. I feel my hands gliding over the many ridges of his back, turning perfection into more perfection. That's when I notice something else, the effects from the latest bite of peanut butter… he's growing. I can see his flesh expanding between my fingers, I can feel it press ever so slightly more against my hands. I've never felt so connected to AJ and I know he can feel it too. The world around us taking a backseat to our own shared reality.

I reapply and venture my hands further down south ensuring that his colossal glutes get the attention they deserve. I pull down his posers, ensuring every inch gets covered. Before I know it my fingers found themselves deep inside as I gently tease his hole. Electricity shoots through me again as I watch him squirm.

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice a figure coming in hot to our left. Fuck, we're busted, I think, followed up quickly by a different thought, wait, what the fuck am I doing?

The figure comes into focus, it's a frantic respectfully beefed up man in an official looking polo.

"There you are!" he yells out to us as I casually snap AJ's poser back into place. "You missed check-in, you better come with me right now if you don't wanna get DQ'd."

Not allowing for any protest he grabs AJ's hand to lead him away, muttering under his breath as he does, "These lunks, the big ones can't hold a thought in their head outside of their next rep…"

AJ grabs the peanut butter as he stumbles, then walks away. In between bites he shouts back "Grab a seat bro, I'll be lookin' for ya!"

With nowhere else to go I follow his instructions and find a seat in the amphitheater. In the relative calm I have a moment to process the events of the past few hours. Here I am, sitting at a bodybuilding competition waiting for my best friend to walk onstage and show off his insane muscles. I thought about how I feel about that, I have a vague recollection of being scared and confused, but now it seems clear. AJ's got muscles, he's a bodybuilder, of course we're at a bodybuilding competition. The only thing I feel now is anticipation.

I flash back to backstage as I sit and wait. I can't get the image out of my head. His muscles… so big, so hot, muscles are hot, AJ is hot, fuck! AJ is hot! I can't wait to see him again, to touch, I shiver. Almost on command the lights in the amphitheater lower to signal the start of the show.

Competitors start marching onstage, they all have nothing on AJ, I think, only confirming more as they continue to appear. The stage slowly fills as each hits their mark. Still no sign of AJ. I briefly worry something happened to him.

But then, the backlights of the stage are snubbed out by a hulking figure. It steps out under the stage lights. It's unlike any other man up onstage, it's hard to believe it's man at all. It's AJ.

A hush washes over the amphitheater. You couldn't just see, but you could feel his movements, you could hear him coming. The thuds of his footsteps, the stretch of his posers trying to hold back the mass he's become.

He hasn't even flexed a muscle yet but all eyes were on him. I had no idea a man could be so beautiful. He is absolutely bursting with muscle. Every limb, every surface stacked with veiny glistening meat. I find myself getting hard. I stroke my cock through my shorts and make note of many other men in the audience doing the same.

AJ is wearing a cocky smile confirming that he is aware of all our gazes. He coyly takes his place in the lineup, pretending that there's any possible way the show will go on as planned now that everyone has seen him.

To their credit, they did attempt to run though a few poses, but even those onstage found it hard to hold form when their attention was quickly snapping back to their muscled colleague. Noticing this, AJ steps forward to give everyone what they wanted, his juicy up body, up close and personal.

AJ goes through an entire routine like he's spent ages perfecting every pose. His front double bi threatens to encase his head in delt and bicep meat. His ab and thigh positively does. And those thighs, wide sweeping drops of muscle, transforming into carved marble columns as he stomps down.

He turns around to face the other competitors, winking at their astonished faces as he does. It's time to give everyone else the a view of what they've been seeing. His lat spread seems to just go wider and wider without any sign of stopping. And his glutes, my god, they're absolutely planetary.

Spinning back around, AJ playfully takes a customary bow indicating the end of the show. It was indeed the end of the show and he needn't move from that spot on center stage. Not wanting to keep the godlike figure waiting, officials rush out and crown him champion.

There's no lineup. Second, third, who cares, everyone else is a blur. He's first, second, and third both in size and perfection. Medals in hand, AJ turns and leaves the stage, leaving the crowd to reflect on what they just witnessed.

I find AJ backstage, swarmed by all types, attendees, officials, media, competitors, they all couldn't get enough of him, couldn't get close enough to him. He sees me and pushes his wide body through the crowd like it's nothing. He doesn't even skip a beat as he scoops me up and carries me out of the room.

I can tell I weigh nothing to him. I'm a warmup weight. Even without being terribly stressed, his muscles were putting on a show for me. I watch his biceps and pecs bulge to hold me, just taking in the sensation of being cradled by muscle. We lock eyes and smile knowingly.

AJ whisks us away into a side room away from the crowd and gently sets me down in front of him. The room is bare aside from us and the plastic taped on walls and floor for tan smearing muscle beasts like AJ. Not exactly what you'd call ambiance, but it didn't matter. We have all we need.

Without saying a word I step forward and place my hands on his chest. He flexes in approval. I feel a jolt run though me as I feel his pecs shift from beautiful pillows to striated boulders. I lean down and press my cheek against his cobblestone abs. I linger just feeling the motion of his gut contracting and expanding with every breath.

I bring my hands down to his posers and slip them down, his dick pleasingly flops out already semi-hard. As he comes to full mast I realize it's larger than I remember. It didn't grow as much as everything else, but it's still impressive. A stiff golden rod setting itself out from his dark bronzed quads.

I wrap my lips briefly around just the tip before taking it in deep with a skill like I had done this hundreds of times before. I'm in ecstasy as I feel AJ fill me so completely, as I hear him moan with pleasure while I hit all the right spots, as I watch his quads twitch up close and personal with every suck. His movements and breaths become sharply staccato as I take him to climax.

AJ grunts with gorilla-like intensity as he rockets three hot, huge, loads down my throat. I stand up and wipe my lips as AJ comes back down to earth. Once he does, he chooses to finally break the silence with, "It's your turn now, bro." His voice booms deeper than I remember, the statement hitting me like a ton of bricks. He turns around and fully drops his posers, struggling briefly against his quad meat as he does.

My already erect member twitches even harder at the sight of his uncovered ass. Even more so when he leans forward and his massive cheeks split. I hastily drop my pants and am practically pulled in like a vortex. I place my soft hands on AJ's granite glutes before inserting my cock into his waiting hole. I'm glad I went in so deep with the tan earlier, it serving as rudimentary lube.

As I begin to thrust, I watch the dancing mountainous landscape of AJ's back in front of me. His ass is magnificent, so firm and tight. Every few strokes he squeezes his mighty glutes ever so little sending pleasure rocketing through me and also reminding me that he could crush my dick to smithereens in a single flex if he wanted to, this only serving to rile me even more. Regardless, it's clear who is in control in this moment, he wants this just as bad as I do.

I collapse forward onto AJ's back as I cum. We both stay in this position for a few seconds while we catch our breath. Standing back up, we make ourselves as decent as we can. AJ pulling his skimpy poser back into place and me pulling my pants back up and trying and failing to wipe the stripes of bronzer now all over my skin and clothes.

I laugh as I look up at AJ. "What?" he asks.

"Sorry, I wore a spot out on your tan, haha."

AJ chuckles to himself as he turns to face me. "Oh shit bro, but look at you" I'm practically covered in splotches of bronzer. "Honestly, doesn't look to bad on ya, have you ever considered bodybuilding?" AJ heartily boasts. We both chuckle with the silly question serving to encapsulate the wild ride we both have been on.

"Something tells me there's a lot more of this to come, but first… this tank bro" AJ slaps his bloated muscle gut, "she's gonna need a lot more than peanut butter to fill 'er up."

With that we head back out together in search of what I assume is an ungodly amount of food to fill up my hulking best friend… boyfriend? possibly.

We're a total mess, anyone looking at us would have no trouble putting together what we just did. We hold our heads high regardless, because who gives a fuck, like you wouldn't if you could. But you can't, so might as well flaunt what's mine. Besides in reality no one is giving me a second glance next to him.

---

In that first stroll together as an item out in the world, AJ and David find themselves in a place of pure joy and contentment, ecstatic about their budding new reality and relationship. Little did they know what was coming next.

Waiting innocently on their doorstep… another package… Wonder who it's addressed to?

#muscle morph #hyper muscle #mg story #muscle growth story #bodybuilder #sannidhya bisht

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secretwritingspot · 4 months

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Too Much (Take Me Home)

Pairing: OPLA Sanji x Reader

Rating/Content Warnings: okay so I have no idea how to rate this. Like this is definitely not PG but it's also not really nsfw?? Honestly I'd recommend just reading the summary and deciding for yourself from there.

Summary: Reader is a sub who, due to the nature of y'know like being on a pirate ship constantly has not had a single chance to relax in weeks, especially since they don't really know any of their crewmates like that. Sanji steps in to save the day.

Disclaimer(s): so funny story - this is the single kinkiest thing I've written for this blog. And yet. It is also the least sexual thing I've written for this blog, that being not sexual at all. This is purely mentally-ill wish fulfillment emotional hurt-comfort d/s fluff. None of those words are in the bible but we persist nonetheless. A lot of d/s themes but like soft d/s if that makes sense, undernegotiated kink (there's definitely communication and it's p healthy but they're both idiots your honor), some petplay if you squint? Like not really but reader is on their knees and he calls them puppy a few times so do with that what you will.

There's a surprising amount of paperwork that comes with being the ship's chef.

One would think Sanji was always on his feet, whipping up something new- and yet here he is, late at night, sitting at a table that feels nautical miles away from where he really wants to be, the galley. But this was a part of the job- to catalogue ingredients, new recipes, what he could make and on what day for their supplies to last until the next town.

He's used to it being a solitary job, but then there's footsteps and a knock at the doorframe of his room and you walk in, shy uncertainty in your voice.

"...Sanji?"

You weren't sure about this, about any of this. But you were exhausted in a way that sleep couldn't fix, and it was obvious to you as to why.

You were a sub. There, you admitted it, got that embarrassing information out of the way as quickly as possible.

You - strong, strategic, stoic you - had been spinning out for the last few days. It had been too long since you'd been able to go under, since you'd joined the strawhats, to be precise, and it was starting to wear on you.

There was only so long you could go like this, tough and detached, protecting everyone else, taking care of the rest of your crew before yourself. It was constant, on the Merry. You really should've seen that coming with it being a pirate ship and all, but you felt like you had no room to breathe. Wake up, save the day, plan, eat and sleep only to keep your energy up to do it again the next day. You were always on, always performing the most capable version of yourself, and it was starting to wear you thin.

Sanji, for all his care and attention, hadn't seemed to notice. Even now, when you'd come to him like this. For that, a part of you was thankful.

He can't even hope to hide the way his face lights up when you walk in, quickly grabbing a towel next to him and wiping off his hands on instinct, like there should be oil or cooking wine or flour on them. There isn't, but other times there is. And there will be again, eventually. Better safe than sorry, he supposes.

"What could possibly bring such an angel down to me so late?"

He questions with a charming smile, cocking his head at you fondly. You roll your eyes at his immediate antics, blushing.

"Ah. Straight to business, huh?"

You laugh nervously, looking away and scratching the back of your neck with a sheepish blush.

"...can I stay with you? While you work?"

He squints at you curiously and then nods, smile blooming on his face the way it always does when you're around. For such a simple request, he doesn't know why you look so embarrassed.

Sure, the signs of embarrassment aren't as obvious on someone like you- but he can still see them. The way your eyes avoid his, the slight awkwardness in your stance as you shift on your feet.

"Of course, love. I'd never turn down your wonderful company."

You take a relieved breath and nod, looking down. For a moment you stand still, trying to make your feet move. Is this really such a good idea?

You take the leap before you can second guess yourself, walking over to where he sits at the desk. You pass the other seats and he squints curiously, having expected you to take one. Instead, you come straight to his, sinking down to your knees next to him and sitting back on your heels, resting your head on the side of his thigh.

Oh.

Oh, wow.

His eyes widen when you settle on the floor next to him, his face a pink hue as he looks down at you. Still, he didn't move. Instead, he gently brushes some of your hair back, looking at you with confusion.

"Are you...what are you doing, love?"

You swallow thickly, blinking your eyes back open to look up at him pleadingly, face pink.

"...can I stay here? I- I'll explain if you want, I promise, just...please."

He chuckles, an intrigued little smile gracing his features as he looks down at you nods. "Go ahead, explain. You can stay here as long as you'd like, darling."

"I need..."

You start to speak before backing up your explanation, embarrassment showing in the way your speech jumps back and forth between thoughts.

"I've been exhausted, recently. I'm sleeping fine, I just...sometimes I need to- to relax a certain, uh- a certain way. And since we've been on the ship, I haven't been able to, uh..."

You squeeze your eyes shut with embarrassment, taking a deep breath and turning to press your face against his thigh to hide your blush.

"...subspace. I'm- I'm a sub. And I haven't been able to go into subspace for a while, and I know this is a lot to ask you and I'm sorry, I just- I need to be like this for a while, please."

Immediately, your behavior starts to make sense. It would be hard to be a sub on a crew like this, constantly having to fight and stay in control. You likely haven't had the chance to submit to anyone in ages, if only for safety reasons. After all, you're all wanted. But with the natural way you dropped to your knees below him, put your head on his thigh like second nature, it all clicks.

He looks at you for a moment and blinks, his expression unreadable.

"...I think I understand what you mean. You want to be good for me, yes? I don't mind that, you know. You're quite pretty like this." He gently drags the back of his hand across your face with a smile before adding, almost as an afterthought, "Sweet thing."

You shiver at his words and nod in confirmation, letting your head fall back to the side to rest against his thigh.

This is...it's the last thing he'd expect from you, really. You're so tough and capable and independent, so the fact that you're a sub? The more he thinks about it the more it makes him blush- that someone like you was even capable of submitting, let alone craved it, let alone again would come to him, pleading for him to let you kneel at his feet for a while as he works. He gently runs a hand along your back, the corner of his mouth twitching as he smirks.

"I want you to stay like this until you're satisfied, alright darling?" He smiles and takes a look back at the paperwork on the table "...Are you comfortable there?"

You nod, heart fluttering when he says he wants you to stay like this until you feel better. It's sweet and gentle and so very Sanji, but at the same time, it sounds almost like an instruction. Like a command. It makes your cheeks flush and your mind stop whirring for a second in a way you'd missed so badly from when friends or partners who knew about your submissiveness back on land would put you under. The comfort of not having to think of anything besides doing what you're told- being good, always being good. You'd missed this.

"I need you to relax for me, okay? Just...focus on enjoying yourself, yeah? I have to get this work done, so I'm counting on you to stay right here. Can you do that for me?"

You nod almost immediately and he grins at the obedience, going back to his work with a satisfaction mirrored in you.

Something to do. A task. Something to be good at, good enough to make him proud. It settles your mind as you lean your head against him, the slight twinge of pain from kneeling on the wooden floor grounding you pleasantly.

He could get used to this, he thinks- you sitting at his feet next to him like a puppy, one of his hands scratching through your hair absentmindedly as he works through his paperwork and supply numbers. He watches you out of the corner of his eye as he works, the sound of parchment paper a pleasant constant. Your breathing was also rather soothing, a nice background to his quiet humming as he writes. He feels as though he could listen to it all night and never grow tired of it.

He makes a mental note of how each different touch effects you- cataloging your reactions, what you like, what seems to make your mind dissolve. He finds a particular sweet spot behind your ears that leaves you a shivering puddle when he scratches softly with his nails, a spot at the crown of your head that makes you purr, that any light touch closer to your neck provokes a wobbly, ticklish smile but that you don't make any move to stop him. You seem completely zoned out, dazed and pliant and warm under his fingers.

A minute passes like that, then five, then ten. He looks back down to check on you and feels his heart stall in his chest.

"Oh, darling..." He whispers softly, blushing at the sight of you. Hazy and dazed with near-reverence in your eyes. He stops writing, setting down the pen and reaching down to lift your chin up, looking you directly in the eyes.

"Look at me. Please."

You perch your chin on his thigh obediently to look up at him from your position on the floor. It's the most relaxed he's ever seen you- shoulders dropped like a tremendous weight's been lifted from you, limbs like lead as doe eyes blink up at him blearily, expression glazed-over and vulnerable and soft, softer than he thought you were capable of.

You were a tremendous warrior, someone feared across the seas, and yet your head was on his thigh, sitting at his feet below him.

You, who could kill him in a fraction of a second if you wanted.

He sighs, a little breathless. He's so tempted to lean down and kiss you, but he shakes his head slowly. Not now, not yet. There's something else he needs to do first.

His hand runs through your hair as he looks into your eyes almost like a nurse would with a concussed patient, checking up on you to make sure you're okay.

"Can you speak? It doesn't have to be a lot, just...say something for me, love."

"C'n speak."

You answer softly, obedient nearly to a fault, your usually confident voice gone soft and mumbly. It's perfect. Christ, all of it is perfect.

"'verything's just kinda...fuzzy right now. 's okay, it's nice."

His eyes are glued to you as his hand gently runs through your hair, scratching behind your ear. There's something on his mind, something he can't quite place or figure out yet.

"You look so beautiful right now." He admits gently, his voice still a low whisper. "Can you tell me why- why you're like this?"

Well, wasn't that a hell of a question? Why are you - always that emphasis in your head, though he doesn't mean it like that - of all people, why are you?

A few moments pass before you say anything. You don't really know what you would say, not until it's already coming out of your mouth.

"...cause 'm not allowed to be."

It's the only answer you can think of when you can finally convince yourself to speak.

"I- I have to know everything. All the time. Be in charge and make the tough decisions and stay on top of everything and make sure everyone's okay-"

The words come slowly at first, but the longer you speak the quicker they spill out, rambling like it's something that's been festering for weeks that you desperately need to get off your chest.

You cut yourself off with a deep breath when you realize the breakneck speed with which you're ranting, simplifying your answer down to it's most basic terms.

"...I don't get to be weak."

He can't help but feel his breath catch at that reply. "I don't get to", like it's something you want but aren't allowed. He can so easily see that side of you now that you mentioned it, but he'd always just ignored it. It seemed inconsequential. Like that part just...wasn't you.

It strikes him then that that was probably on purpose, on your part. You wanted them to disregard it.

But the more he thinks about it, the more he recontectualizes all your stress, all the moments of you snapping at the crew over little slights, the more curious he gets as to how and why you got to be like this in the first place.

"There isn't anything weak about this." he pushes back sternly as soon as he can get his voice to work. "This is...this is the most courageous thing I could imagine. I'm so proud of you."

The words hit you like a brick and you close your eyes, taking a shaky breath as they play on repeat in your head.

"I'm so proud of you."

You can feel yourself crumbling at his affection, the voracity of his care. How adamant he is about understanding that sometimes you just needed to be below someone else.

He cups your cheek in his hand softly, angling your face to look up at him. The more you let your guard down, the warmer his chest feels looking at you. He'd never seen you open up this much, it makes his heart ache. He smiles at the sight of you looking up at him so prettily, lightly tapping the tip of your nose.

"...there you are."

The words are barely a whisper, full of pride and admiration and pleasant disbelief. It's a shame how much you try to prove your strength, your resilience when there isn't a reason for it.

You'd always been enough for him. Always been strong enough, tough enough, useful enough. Always, always, always.

You'd never needed to be anything more than who you were, and getting to see you like this...it's like he's seeing you for the first time all over again.

"It's an honor to finally meet you."

All you can manage is a soft huff of breath, his words knocking the breath from your lungs. It's almost a sob, except that there are no tears. You have no idea why. Or why you almost sobbed in the first place. Why are there no tears?

"It's an honor to finally meet you."

The words cut through you like water. He still wants you? Even like this- emotionally stunted, a needy mess, pathetic and fragile and shaking?

"The way you are right now is nothing short of beautiful. Everything about you is lovely. It's...it isn't easy letting go like this, is it?" He muses, a hand resting on your hair, his thumb running along your face.

You sniffle quietly and blink back tears, nodding your head. It's progress even getting you to agree.

He knows you aren't upset by his words and so your unshed tears don't bother him. Knows that you aren't used to this, aren't going to be good at believing or accepting it immediately. He knows it'll take time to get to a place where words like that don't phase you anymore. So for now, your agreement is more than enough.

"...can we stay here for a while? Please?"

You break through his train of thought with a cautious whisper, voice small. A surge of pride shoots through him at your words, so fucking proud. If agreeing with his words is difficult, asking for what you want is worse. It's a hell of a first step.

"Of course we can. How long do you want to be like this, sweetheart?"

Ah. And there's the problem, isn't it? The "what do you want?" Really and truly, you have no idea.

"I don't mind much, it's..."

You trail off softly, hiding your face against his thigh in embarrassment as your blush spreads to the tips of your ears.

"...'s however long you want me to stay. It...it helps, letting you decide things for me."

The admission is a shy one, but it's not like it's something he couldn't've seen coming. It makes sense that instructions and praise would go hand in hand to make someone like you feel safe, small, protected.

"...I don't want you to move, okay?" He finally decides, lifting his hand from your hair to brush it behind your ear, fingernails scratching gently.

"Just let me take care of you for a while."

You take a deep breath at his words like the air's cleared for the first time in decades, finally having something to ground yourself on.

He makes a note of that in his head, too- you like a sense of order, when he makes decisions for you or gives you instructions to follow. Something simple that you can focus on even in your dazed, vulnerable state of mind, a task you can accomplish.

His hand continues to run through your hair gently, thumb making little figure 8's at the crown of your head.

"Do you want me to hold you? Or do you prefer being on your knees?"

He doesn't look at you when he asks, pen scratching away at his charts with his eyes on the table. Somehow, that helps- the idea that he's still working, that you're not too inconvenient of a distraction.

The simple choice you're given between two options makes everything feel easy and calm and hazy, and your voice is quiet when you answer.

"On- on my knees. Makes me feel more- more..."

You trail off, trying to explain but unable to find the words.

"More vulnerable." He finishes for you, smiling as it finally clicks. A position of submission, giving up your power to him.

Undoubtably, you're more vulnerable on your knees. You'd typically never let anyone near you in this state, not since you joined the strawhats, but with him, it feels...safe.

"I like it too." He admits, his hand still on you as his voice slowly trails off.

Your features smooth out in relief at his understanding and you nod, leaning into him and nuzzling his thigh for a moment to show your appreciation.

He has to look away for a moment, as seeing you nuzzle against him triggers an almost visceral reaction he wasn't expecting. His face flushes a bit more, a small smile brightening face as he leans in his chair, his expression adoring as he looks down at you. He reaches out for your ear, scratching gently at it with his fingernail.

You're so soft like this he swears he might fall in love.

"...can we do this more often, when you want to relax?"

Your eyes widen with a surprised blush at all the question as your brain shorts out for a moment.

He really...he's really willing to make this a regular thing? He isn't just doing this to humor you? It seems almost impossible to believe that this isn't some kind of weird burden you'd pushed onto him.

"...yeah. I'd- 'd like that."

You mumble breathlessly, clearing your throat as you look down.

He's already looking for another command, a simple task he can praise you for. Something about telling you what to do - you, who could slit his throat in an instant - he's quickly figuring out that he likes it. Quite a bit, actually.

He thinks back to the little things he's noticed about you- you prefer standing with your back to walls, facing the exit of whatever room you're in. You can only fall asleep when someone else on the crew is still awake. You're always chewing toothpicks, sucking on the end of your pen-

Wait.

Do you have an- could he- maybe...?

He hums in thought, grin spreading wider as he looks down at you once more. Gently, he lifts your chin so you're looking directly at him.

"Open your mouth," He instructs softly, almost in a whisper. Curious.

A soft blush blossoms across your ears but other than that you don't question it, far enough into subspace that all that matters is following instructions, being good. You don't even think before parting your lips obediently, looking up at him with those pretty doe eyes. Like he hung the moon and the stars in the sky.

Bingo.

It was an oral fixation, your constant need to suck on a toothpick or the end of your pen. He couldn't fully understand, but he could relate- he always felt safer with a cigarette in his mouth.

He gently pushes his thumb in your mouth, taking a deep breath as he waits for your reaction to the audacious move. You wanted him to make you feel small, safe, vulnerable. He's more than happy to do that for you.

At your service, now and always.

Your blush spreads out to your cheeks and your eyes widen a fraction in surprise, but as soon as you manage to process that he really just did that, you close your lips gently around his thumb, eyes glazing over as you look up at him for approval.

You're so beautiful when you're like this, all raw and vulnerable and desperate to be good. He hums, eyes glued to you with a loving gaze as he takes in just how stunning you are in this moment.

"Submission suits you." He praises softly, his voice almost a whisper. "You're so...so sweet like this. So lovely when you don't think so much, puppy."

The last word is meant jokingly, gently poking fun at the way you're kneeling next to him, head on his thigh. Your reaction, though...that throws him. The way you squeeze your eyes closed and your blush darkens to a pure pink when he calls you "puppy", the way he can feel you whine around his thumb at the term as you melt, shoulders slumping- and that's certainly interesting, isn't it?

"Aww, puppy likes that, doesn't she?"

He can't help but smile as he takes his thumb out of your mouth for a moment before pushing two fingers in instead. Your cheeks flush when he does so, those puppy dog eyes glancing back at him with so much emotion it's almost overwhelming. The name is fitting, he supposes.

You flush further with embarrassment, though you know it makes no logical sense. Your mind doesn't seem to want to quiet itself, echoing judgements of your current position- weak, needy, pathetic. The shy feeling of poorly restrained shame claws up your chest even as you try to dismiss it. You shouldn't feel so embarrassed by this- Sanji clearly isn't bothered by it, doesn't think it's odd, hell, if anything he seems like he's enjoying himself. Yet you, brain all tied up in knots, can't seem to look at him.

So instead you try to focus on other things, like the comforting contrast of the warmth from his fingers and the cool metal of his ring pressing down softly on your tongue.

He can sense the embarrassment from you, though he can't understand it. He'd seen you at your worst, and this certainly wasn't it.

"...there's nothing wrong with allowing someone to take care of you, you know. I actually quite like seeing you like this." He says, the words falling out of his mouth before he even thinks.

Almost as if they'd been waiting to come out this whole time.

His reassurance only makes your blush intensify, but this time it's not bad.

It isn't shame, not really. It's more pleasantly flustering. If embarrassment were a spectrum, this...feeling would fall on the 'good' end of it.

Sensing it's a vulnerable topic, he lets the reassurance hang, not giving you enough time to think about it before changing the subject with a fond, knowing chuckle.

"You like the ring, don't you?"

He doesn't say, 'it gives you something to focus on so your mind doesn't wander too far' or 'the temperature brings you back down and grounds you here away from those nasty thoughts', but you both know that's what it is.

There's something warm in the way he so nonchalantly reveals that he's been cataloging every little detail of your reactions- the spot behind your ears, the fact you like being called 'puppy', and now the fact that you like the feeling of his ring pressing down on your tongue. Your mind is in enough of a submissive haze that you can't bring yourself to lie to him, instead nodding your head in agreement.

A small, fond smile graces his lips as his thumb moves up to your lower lip, gently prodding at your chin to bring your attention back to him.

"You can take breaks if you want. I know the ring's cold."

His voice is a warm, intimate whisper, eyes watching every movement you make, every twitch and hum catalogued in his mind.

The care in it makes your heart feel warm and you keep his fingers where they are, nipping lightly at him for a moment as if to let him know without words that you're enjoying this, that you don't need a break. It's so fucking cute his heart melts.

He can't help himself any more, pulling his fingers from your mouth. You nearly whine at the loss but then - then, oh, then - he presses a small, soft kiss to your lips and the whole world falls apart, his lips pressed tenderly to you as if you're something so much more than the sum of your parts. Your mind works on overdrive- it's such pure affection and approval and he kissed you, so that means you must've been good, right? That he was proud?

Little do you know, he's just as in awe as you are. In awe that you're really here with him, like this. That you'd ever let him do this. Everything about you is special to him, special because it's yours. Just like your eyes, the sound of your voice, the heart beating erratically in your chest. Before he can think about it he's pulling his ring off his finger, wiping the remains of your spit from it, and sliding it gently on your ring finger.

You cock your head up at him and squint in confusion and he smiles, voice soft like he's afraid anything stronger than a whisper would break the moment he's worked so hard for.

"Keep it, puppy. Then, next time you...need my help like this, you can give it back to me. Yeah?"

He punctuates his words by lifting your hand up like it's precious, placing a feather-light kiss to your knuckles.

The promise sparks a warmth in your chest, the casual mention of "next time" like there's no doubt at all in his mind that there will be a next time, the way he touches you like you're fragile, stares at you with pink cheeks and blown eyes like you're the sun and the moon and all the pinpoints in the night sky.

You should've jumped overboard when you had the chance, you think, because you've ended up drowning either way.

Eventually you can convince your muscles to work enough to nod, face blooming in fireworks of pink and orange and red as your words come back to you, though your voice is still small and hazy and breathless.

"...yeah, okay. Next time."

#vinsmoke sanji #sanji x reader #opla sanji #opla sanji x reader #opla #opla x reader #sanji x you #opla Sanji x you #opla x you #one piece #one piece live action #one piece x reader #one piece x you #opla x y/n #opla sanji x y/n #sanji x y/n

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flufftober · 3 months

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🌸🍀 Hello and welcome to our (first) Flufftober Spring Edition 🌸🍀

SURPRISE 😁

Yes, we've decided that one month of the year simply isn't enough anymore! So we would like to fill two weeks in March with as much fluff as possible 🥰 for that to happen, we present you with 14 prompts, some of them neutral, some very much sping-themed.

How does this work?

Pretty much like our regular Flufftober event in October, so you'll find all the common rules and info below the cut. Contrary to the big event though, this one here only runs for two weeks instead of the entire month, and we set the date from March 11th to March 24th! So prompt one is NOT supposed to be posted on March 1st but instead on March 11th! Prompt two is for March 12th, prompt 3 for March 13th, and so on...

Since this is a smaller prompt list, you also won't find any prompt extras to switch these out with, sorry. Maaaybe if this event is a success, we'll think about changing that in upcoming years 😉

Below the cut, you'll find all our rules, posting info, and all the prompts in writing. If you have any more questions, please feel free to send us asks 🥰

Friends, we so hope you love this surprise and that the prompts may inspire a lot of fluffy creations! We wish you a great start to the new year and as always

Happy Creating 🥳

Standard Blog Rules & FAQ

(Due to previous asks, we made sure to add more points to this section - while they're not new rules, they're new to this list, so you'll find them colored green)

No inc*st or p*dophilia - we can’t keep you from writing it or creating art for it but it won’t be reblogged. No inc*st: This rule does not apply to distant cousins and such, as you might find in the LotR fandom (or basically in all of European Monarchy). The line we draw is at direct blood relations (siblings, (grand)parents, kids) and/or legal guardianship. No p*dophilia: This rule does not rule out fandoms that feature teenagers such as Harry Potter, Heartstoppers, Hunger Games, etc. It also doesn't mean you can't write about their time together as teenagers! It's aimed at ships in which one is a minor and the other is not - but since even that has grey areas, the rule is this: if you keep it SFW, all is good and allowed, we don't care; if it turns NSFW, be mindful of the legalities of the world/society/times your characters live in.

No hate or ship bashing - we’re all different and we all love different things. As long as it doesn’t go against rule #1, it’s allowed.

Tag correctly! Trigger warnings (including cheating!), ships, ratings, (pure) smut, etc - it’s all fine as long as you tag it.

There’s absolutely no word count restriction, write as little or as much as you like.

In regards to art, anything goes: drawings, paintings, collages, mood boards, gif sets, videos, playlists… the sky’s the limit (though not really…). If you would like to create a podfic, the fic you're using does not have to be new - your creation will be new!

You can mix and mash different mediums however you like, be it within one prompt or on different days.

While we can’t force you to write fluff or create fluffy art, please try to keep in mind that this is a fluff event 😉 that, of course, doesn't mean you can't combine it with angsty/whumpy prompts - hurt/comfort is absolutely welcome!

You can start creating as soon as you see this - but please refrain from posting before the respective day.

If you post early, we will schedule your post for the correct day; if you use multiple prompts in one creation, we will post on the earliest day you used.

You can participate on as many days as you like, even if it’s just one; you can also create multiple entries for the same day.

You can replace as many original prompts as you like with our prompt extras; you can also combine them with the original prompts or create for them in addition, that's completely up to you.

It’s okay to write one story/a series for all the prompts.

You do not have to stick to one character, ship, or even one fandom - switch as often as you like to or even write for multiple ships for one day.

The ship does not have to be a romantic one! Friendship and family feels are more than welcome (but this is not a way to get around rule #1!)

Original works as well as OCs in fandoms are welcome! But please make sure to mark these clearly, either in the tags or the post itself. We're not familiar with all fandoms (though we're definitely learning a lot!), so we're not always sure what might be an OC and what might be such an unknown side character not even Google can find them...

Reader insert fics (for example "character x reader") as well as RPFs are absolutely allowed.

Other languages are also welcome - just make sure to clearly mark the day and fandom so that we can still easily reblog.

This event can be combined with other events as long as the other event allows it.

Late entries are always welcome, even if it is months or years later.

All fandoms and ships are welcome - fanon and canon - as long as they’re of age (in case you want to add smut) and not related.

Posting

Posting to tumblr

Please use the tag #fluffspring2024 Make sure there is NO SPACE between fluff and spring and 2024! We will NOT be checking other variations of this tag!

Since tags are sometimes wonky, make sure to also mention us with @flufftober in your post

We will try to catch them all, but please don't be mad if we miss a post or if it gets reblogged a bit late

If you're absolutely certain a post has slipped past us, feel free to send an ask with the link to your post

To make reblogging easier for us, make sure to add the following tags: #fluffspring2024 #day [xy] #[fandom] #[ship and/or main character(s)]

Posting to ao3

You can add your creation to the collection Flufftober Spring Edition 2024 (flufftober_spring_edition_2024)

Late entries are always welcome, on tumblr as well as the ao3 collection! Neither will close - but like always, reblogs will become less regular the more months have passed...

Prompts

1. New Beginnings

2. Banter, Joking, Fun

3. Spring Cleaning

4. “Let me take care of you.”

5. Honey & Bees

6. Sharing a Blanket

7. Giving someone a Present

8. Breakfast in Bed

9. Daisies

10. Iced Beverage

11. Enjoying the Fresh Air

12. Claiming, Clingy, Possessive

13. “It’s still too cold.” - “No, it’s not.”

14. Putting down Roots

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sad-drake-lyrics · 8 months

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what my 65yo father has to say about antis:

let me preface this by saying, i literally wish i had what just happened on video to go viral on TikTok. i was shook by this conversation down to my bones; and if you could see my father - a loud old Italian man with dramatic hand gestures - say what he had to say, i think this shit would blow up. but as i was obviously not filming him while we were eating, i will have to relay to you the story with my words.

so i'm sitting eating dinner at the coffee table with my father while watching TV, as Americans often do instead of eating at the dinner table, and since the news was on he started telling me this story that had been recently mentioned on TV once again from maybe ten years ago (it was in 2014, you can read about it here) where these two 12-year-old girls killed one of their friends as a sacrifice to the Slender Man. yeah, real thing. fucked up.

and so my father told me about how they interviewed one of the killer's mothers, and when questioned about where her daughter's motive could've come from, she said something along the lines of: you know, when i was a kid, i was into Stephen King and horror - and so when my kid was into that kind of stuff, i didn’t think it was a big deal.

so, of course, my response was "yeah, being into that stuff isn’t a big deal at all - it's normal - but being a sociopath and murdering someone is not normal; it's fucked up. but there's nothing wrong with being into horror stories - they're just stories meant to entertain - it doesn't make you a murderer to enjoy Halloween - but it would if you put on a Michael Myers mask and went out and stabbed people." and, of course, like any sane person, my father agreed with me.

then, continuing this line of conversation, i started talking about the concept of how "fiction isn’t reality," and how a frightening amount of people don't understand that; and i literally started telling him about antis - people on the internet who attack and harass others over "problematic" or "inappropriate" fictional interests.

i used well-known pop culture examples like: if you're into Game of Thrones and like Jaime and Cersei together or wanted Jon and Daenerys to end up together (i didn't think he would process the term "shipping," but clearly by the end of this conversation i think i was wrong), that people (antis) will say things like "you should die," and that you "support inc*st in real life," and that "you're disgusting."

i also used the examples of "toxic relationships" in pop culture, like the Joker and Harley Quinn, or Kylo Ren and Rey, and how if you’re into those kinds of fictional relationships that people (antis) will say that you "support toxic relationships," and that you are "glorifying abuse," and that it all "must be what you really want and believe is right or good."

and my fucking 65-year-old father literally goes: "I don’t understand. It’s a TV show. Don't they know it’s fake?"

queue my jaw dropping to the fucking ground because i'm like. YES. THAT'S EXACTLY WHAT PRO-SHIPPERS ARE TRYING TO SAY AND THESE PEOPLE DON'T GET IT.

he was flabbergasted, my pals. the shock in his eyes was incredible to behold.

and, oh boy, that isn't even the best part, guys.

my father then says, "Don’t tell me it’s like that with anime too?"

and i said, "it's worse with anime."

and i fucking swear to you - no joke, on my life and baby Jesus' cradle - again my 65-year-old father looks at me and says, “It’s a fucken cartoon."

... ... ...

... i can't ...

i can't end this post better than that.

#anti anti #anti harassment #proship #proshipper #proshipping #pro ship #pro fiction #pro shipper #pro shipping #profic #comship #proship safe #comship safe #proship positivity #anti censorship #ship discourse #fiction is not reality #fiction is fiction #ship and let ship

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appocalipse · 10 days

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something good ⋆ bucky barnes

summary: bucky is about to go to war without confessing his feelings for you. you are about to watch him leave without confessing your feelings for him. that is, unless one of you gets up the courage to do something about it...

"I...need some fresh air. I'll be back."

Steve looks like he's going to argue with you as you push the chair out, but then you glance toward where Bucky disappeared in the crowd of people dancing, and Steve's face softens before he gives you a nod.

"We'll be right here," he says, pointing to your barely-touched drink. "Be careful."

The alley behind the bar is damp and quiet, cool from the rain earlier in the day but blissfully empty. You lean against the bricks and tip your head back, closing your eyes.

Steve was wrong — you should have stayed home.

He'd begged you to come out tonight; it wasn't just the two of them, he'd said, his eyes wide with hope. A few others had been invited, too, old friends who Bucky had wanted to see one last time before shipping out tomorrow.

And girls, of course. Girls with big smiles and bright eyes, who looked at Bucky as if they were hungry and he was a steak dinner.

To his credit, though, Bucky had asked you to dance first, and you'd said no. No, because it would have been impossible to act casually around him with your hands on his chest and his on your waist.

So, yes, you’d needed some fresh air after that. How could you not, when—

"Are you mad at me?"

You turn toward the voice that came from down the alley. Even though it's dark, you, of course, recognize him instantly, silhouetted against the weak light coming from inside the bar.

"Me? No, you—I'm not," you reply, your tongue feeling like it weighs three pounds. You attempt a smile. "What are you doing out here? You should be inside, enjoying your last night, no?"

Bucky shrugs and walks closer, but only far enough so you can see each other without straining.

"I was looking for you," he says, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Steve said you'd come out here."

"I'll go back inside soon, I promise. Don't worry."

He doesn't move except to kick a loose pebble away from his toe. "Why didn't you want to dance with me?"

Your stomach plummets at the question. He sounds almost hurt, and you wish you could explain yourself to him in a way that doesn't include blurting out your stupid feelings in the process.

"Uh...I don't know, I just...well, no reason," you stumble, wishing desperately that you weren't such an idiot. "I thought I'd keep Steve company while you...you know."

"Danced with the rest of them?"

You nod silently.

Bucky makes a scoffing sound before running a hand through his hair. "They're all the same."

"Okay..."

"It's not, uh, it's not what you think," he continues, taking a step forward, then back again as if he's unsure of how close to stand. "The girls — they're nice and pretty, sure, but...they're just not... I don't think they're my type, I guess."

"Uh-huh," you murmur, turning your gaze downward toward your shoes, suddenly finding it easier to look anywhere but at him. "Yeah, well, we better get back before—"

"Is there somebody else?"

The air in your lungs vanishes at his abrupt question, and you look up as your heart starts beating out of rhythm.

"Excuse me?" you whisper, surprised that you've even found your voice. "Somebody else?"

"Somebody that you...that you're seeing," Bucky says slowly, his words strained, as if every one causes him pain.

You stare at him for a second, hoping this is a joke, that maybe Steve put him up to asking these ridiculous questions — or maybe he's been drinking too much — because, surely, Bucky couldn't possibly be trying to ask you what you think he's trying to ask you.

"Bucky, let's just go back inside—"

"It's Steve, isn't it?" he cuts you off with the most absurd statement yet. His expression softens. "It's okay, really. If you are, I mean. He's a really good guy."

"Steve?!" You actually laugh at the absurdity of it all, shaking your head until the shock fades away into incredulity. "Jesus Christ, no! I mean, Steve is...he's like a brother to me, what...what the hell are we even talking about?"

"But...there's someone?" he asks again, sounding less upset than he had a few moments ago.

"No, not—no," you say, slouching against the wall and shrugging halfheartedly. "There's no one. Honestly, there hasn't been since..."

"Since when?"

Since I met you.

You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose and praying that a sinkhole will open up and swallow you whole. This has gone on long enough. "I don't know. It's...been a little while. I don't know what you want me to say, really."

"I just wondered."

"Okay, fine."

You start to walk back to the door leading inside, but Bucky moves so quickly that you run smack into his chest.

"Wait, just—"

He grabs your hand and holds it gently, thumb softly brushing along your knuckles.

Your breath hitches at the unexpected contact. You glance down at where he's holding onto you, then back up again, confused, curious, wondering if this is real and not some strange dream you'll wake up from any moment now.

You exhale with a shaky laugh when he lifts his other hand to your cheek and rubs his thumb across it, stopping at the corner of your mouth.

Slowly, so slowly, he leans in.

"Bucky," you breathe, his name soft on your tongue.

His forehead touches yours, and you reach up to rest a palm against his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart beneath your fingertips.

"Do you not want me to...?"

He's never been this close to you, but everything about the moment feels familiar — the heat radiating from his body, the light scratch of his stubble on your cheek, the smell of him surrounding you.

You lift your chin slightly. "I do, but..."

"Just..." You feel the warmth of his breath on your lips; he's so close now that they brush against yours as he speaks. "I wish I'd...said something before it came to this."

"Before what came to this?"

"That I'd have...asked you. Proper, like. Dinner, movie. You know, the way it shoulda been. Before I...before I leave."

You stiffen at the word leave, pulling back so that you can look him in the eye.

"Bucky..."

"I wish I would've asked you to dinner. Would've loved to take you to dinner," he says, his eyes searching yours. "Wouldn't that have been nice, doll?"

A small smile lifts the corner of your mouth. "It would've."

"It could've been nice, you and me."

"I think it could have been."

"Yeah?" he chuckles quietly, lifting your hand and bringing it to his lips. He presses a kiss to the back of your fingers, then your palm. "I think it can still be. You see, I'm quite selfish. I'd like to go to war with something good to think of. Something — or someone — to come home to. That'd be worth coming home to."

"Like...Steve?"

It's a joke, of course, and Bucky, to his credit, does laugh, too. Then, he slips a finger under your chin and tips your face up toward his. You hold your breath as he dips his head to place a gentle, barely-there kiss on the corner of your mouth. "Not like Steve. No."

The music from inside the bar becomes louder, a woman's voice singing softly, sweetly. Stars fading, but I linger on, dear...

"I..." You clear your throat nervously, fiddling with the collar of his jacket. "You better come back to me in one piece."

"You gonna be waiting for me?"

You smirk. "I mean, I already waited this long, so I might as well—"

The rest of your words disappear into his kiss. You gasp at the sudden, almost desperate press of Bucky's lips on yours, but then he brings his hands to the sides of your face and kisses you more gently, more slowly, more purposefully, as if he has a lot to say to you in this moment but words fail him and the only thing left to do is this — to kiss you, over and over, again and again, to say, with his lips, with his hands, with every inch of himself...that he'll come back to you.

You whimper as Bucky's teeth catch your lower lip and tug before letting go. He pulls back far enough to look at you, to see your swollen lips parted. "So...that means yes, right?"

"Yes," you murmur. You slide your hands over his shoulders and into his hair, pulling his mouth back down to yours. "It means yes."

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02chois · 1 year

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FAIRY OF SHAMPOO

pairing: idol au! soobin x fem! reader

summary: soobin found his own fairy of shampoo. the one that makes him smile whenever they show up on screen, and even manages to brighten up his day whenever he's upset. but this feels a little familiar, isn't it? he hopes it won't be like the song they released. he wants to be able to face the fairy that casted a spell on him without the screen between them.

genre: smau + written, idol au, romance, strangers to friends to lovers, fanboy! soobin, idiots to lovers, pining, light slow burn, fluff, crack, light angst

content warning: some kms/kys and typical questionable twt humor, small age gap (doesn't really affect anything), hanni's used as reader's face claim, their personalities may differ irl, parasocial relationship, no shipping of the members irl this is just a silly lil smau, profanity, from one-sided to mutual pining, don't mind the time and date, passive aggressive jokes, stalking (not the mcs), sasaeng

status: completed (230221 - 230323)

CHAPTERS & CHARACTERS !? ☆

— tokkiland / the star seekers / preview

01. tokki selca day 02. inkigayo sandwich 03. wrong number 04. that's my uid 05. passerby 06. bunny duo unite (written + texts) 07. certified soobrangdan 08. egg heart 09. mister loverboy (written + texts) 10. man I wish 11. what are we 12. emotional support bunny 13. soft launch or nah? 14. poetic rizz 15. soobin ur getting fired 16. dispatch wee woo? 17. soobyn endgame 18. anniversary

extra # 1 / extra # 2

#soobin smau #soobin x reader #soobin imagines #soobin scenarios #choi soobin x reader #choi soobin scenarios #choi soobin imagines #soobin social media au #soobin socmed au #txt x reader #txt smau #txt scenarios #txt imagines #txt social media au #txt socmed au #02chois ☆

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valeskafics · 7 months

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"Apocalypse" - Ettore x Reader (AHS Apocalypse AU)

Summary: The nuclear apocalypse isn't the end of the world for everyone, least of all you and Ettore.

TW: DUBCON, profanity, innuendo, she/her pronouns, afab reader, mentions of murder, masturbation, fingering, p in v sex, unprotected sex

Word Count: 2,565 words

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Grantchester characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are never required but are immensely appreciated ❤️

Just before the nuclear apocalypse that wiped out the earth’s population, a select group of people were taken from their homes and placed onboard one of eleven spacecrafts. The chosen survivors of the apocalypse were quickly separated into two categories. There were the “purples”, hand-selected elites chosen for survival and the “grays”, their servant counterparts.

You don’t know why you were chosen as a purple. Your family wasn’t crazy rich, you weren’t some sort of celebrity. You came from a normal family in a normal neighborhood. But for some reason, you were chosen to be saved. Well, if that’s what you can call it. Every day at mealtimes, you and your fellow survivors are given a cube of some gelatinous substance. The woman in charge, the austere Dr. Dibs, says it contains all the nutrients necessary for survival. Part of you thinks that you’d rather have been left behind on earth rather than be forced to live like this. Sexual contact between the passengers onboard the ship, known as “Outpost 11”, is also forbidden. You’re not sure what the reason for that is, but you do know that a lot of people have not been following that rule.

It’s a day like any other, the ship aimlessly orbiting through space, nothing in sight except for darkness and the occasional star. As you’re walking and gazing out the window, you collide with someone, sending the pair of you falling to the floor. You panic and rush to help the victim of your clumsiness to his feet, noticing that he’s a gray, and a handsome one at that. He has sharp features, brilliant blue eyes, and dark blond hair.

“I’m so sorry,” you say as he stands to his full height, over six feet, narrowing his eyes at you in a way that has you wishing the floor would just swallow you whole.

“You should bloody well watch where you’re going,” he snarks, “Guess I don’t matter just ‘cause I’m a gray, is that it?”

You flinch at his harsh words and meet his eyes, “I’m really sorry.”

And it’s then that he looks at you, really looks at you for the first time. And it’s like a shark smelling blood in the water. His lips upturn ever so slightly, something dark in his expression as he completely changes his tone of voice.

“Oh, it’s okay, sweetheart. Don’t stress yourself out over little old me,” he says, saccharine sweet, almost mocking.

You take a step backward, away from him, “Do you happen to know where Monte is?”

“Monte? The gray?” he chuckles, taking a step forward, “Why do you want to know where he is? I thought grays aren’t supposed to talk to purples.”

You take another step back, trying to keep some distance between the two of you and question, genuinely curious, “Is that one of Dibs’ rules?”

“Yeah, it’s one of the many rules that our good doctor has established,” he hums, the two of you doing your dance of one step forward one step back until you hit the wall behind you, “We grays aren’t allowed to approach or even look at you purples unless called on and so on.”

“That’s ridiculous,” you comment bluntly, taking the gray by surprise, “Dibs is insane.”

“Yeah, it’s all bullshit,” he agrees before smirking, “But you know what else is ridiculous? The fact that you’re still talking to me, even though I’m just a lowly gray.”

You avert your eyes, unable to deal with the intensity of his gaze, “Sorry. I’ll quit bothering you.”

You try to duck out from under his arm, but he quickly blocks your path, “Oh, no. You’re not getting away that easy. My name’s Ettore. What’s yours, my little purple princess?”

You wrinkle your nose in distaste at the nickname, “Don’t call me that.”

Ettore laughs, his eyes traveling along your body, admiring the figure hugging dress all female purples are given and the way it clings to you like a second skin, “Why don’t you like it? It fits you perfectly, just like that dress.”

You shy away slightly under his gaze, telling him your name before adding, “I should go before Dibs or one of her cronies shows up…”

“Don’t leave so soon, princess,” he says, his voice low and husky in a way that makes your stomach tighten as he crowds you up against the wall once more, resting a lean but well-muscled arm to cage you in, “You seem a bit tense. Maybe you need to relax, I can give you a little ‘massage’, yeah?”

“That’s not a job they have grays do,” you mumble, avoiding meeting his eyes.

“Who cares about that hag and her job list?” Ettore murmurs, moving his free hand to tilt your chin up, holding it between his thumb and forefinger, “All I see here is a beautiful woman who needs my ‘services’.”

You hear a door open and tear yourself away from him, managing to eke out a goodbye. You hastily walk away, down toward the mess hall, though you can’t help yourself from glancing back over your shoulder at him. And, of course, he’s still staring at you, predatory and hungry.

You’re completely taken by surprise when you wake up the next morning to see Ettore standing there with your breakfast tray. Your eyes go wide with surprise.

“Where’s Boyse?” you ask, wondering where your usual gray is.

“She’s… Indisposed,” Ettore says simply, that same smirk playing at his lips, “I’m going to be your gray now, princess. Need me to brush your hair?”

“I can do that myself,” you mumble, getting out of bed and grabbing your hairbrush.

“But wouldn’t you rather have me do it for you?” Ettore takes a step closer, his gaze fixed on the exposed skin of your neck, “It’s my job, sweetheart. Let me.”

He gives you no room for argument, pushing you down into the seat in front of your vanity, before he begins brushing your hair. He keeps eye contact with you in the mirror all the while, his hands caressing your hair as he brushes out all the tangles. When he hits a small knot, his smirk widens when you let out a quiet moan at the way the brush tugs against it. He continues until his task is complete, watching you all the while, committing that sweet sound to his memory for when he fucks his fist tonight and pretends it’s you.

“Has Dibs said if anything is happening today?” you ask, keeping your tone even and quiet, still embarrassed by your actions only a moment ago.

“I’m on cleaning duty other than taking care of you,” he informs you, “I believe there’s a mixer dinner of some sort in the mess hall for the purples tonight.”

You gasp as his fingers move toward your neck, trailing down your back. His touch is slow and sensual, and yet there’s something dangerous lurking behind his gaze when you meet it in the mirror. You quickly pull away, grabbing your dress and heading into the bathroom to change.

Ettore calls after you, “I can help you change, you know. It’s kind of my job, princess.”

Silence.

You finally come out a few minutes later, dressed in your usual lilac dress and give him a quick nod, “See you later.”

He watches as you leave your nightgown folded at the foot of the bed, no doubt for him to give to the laundress. But Ettore has other plans for it. He picks up the soft white cotton fabric and presses it to his nose, inhaling your scent. Jasmine with a hint of lavender. He makes sure the door is closed and lowers the gray uniform pants he’s forced to wear every goddamn day on this ship, his cock springing free. He begins tugging at his length almost violently as he imagines you laying in that bed with him, pounding into you, feeling your pussy squeezing around him. God, he wants to hear you moan like that again. He wants to taste you, to possess you completely. You’re his. You just don’t know it yet. His little princess.

Later, just before the mixer, Ettore sees you again, standing around with some of the other purples as he scrubs the floor. The difference between your status and his hits him in an almost visceral fashion as your fellow purples giggle and smirk at him as he goes about his task. He can’t help but think to himself if these spoiled cunts knew just what he’s capable of that they wouldn’t be laughing for too much longer. He removes his shirt, using it to wipe the sweat from his brow and glances over at you, only to see you already looking at him, though you pretend not to - your eyes trailing along his sinewy muscles, the tattoo on his neck, admiring him. Ettore feels his cock grow hard against his pants, almost uncomfortably so, at the idea of you secretly longing for him. He flashes you a cheeky wink when you finally look his way again, loving the way you grow flustered and quickly look away.

He rolls his eyes when he hears one of your fellow purples, a spoiled girl who was some kind of influencer or something back on earth - Coco, whisper to you. Though it’s not really a whisper, as he was clearly meant to hear it.

“God, he’s so fucking creepy. He looks at you like he wants to eat you.”

Then he hears you, in that sweet voice of yours, “Shut up. He’s my gray. He’s nice.”

If Ettore had to define perfection, he’d use this moment - you defending him against one of the other purples, checking him out when you think no one’s looking. You want him, whether you want to admit it to yourself or not. And he’s going to have you, no matter what. He continues scrubbing the floor, staring directly at you as he does, waiting for your eyes to lock on his. You continue looking away from him, trying to talk to some of the purples other than Coco, some guy whose name he thinks is Tim. He seems to be trying to flirt with you and Ettore simply can’t have your attention on anyone who isn’t him. He moves closer to you, cleaning the floor right beside your feet before letting his fingers ghost along your ankle, up the back of your calf, gazing up at you for a long, heated moment before turning away as though nothing happened.

You look at him, frozen in place, before Dibs calls you and the other purples in for the mixer. As you’re all herded in, you cast one last lingering glance at Ettore over your shoulder. He can’t wipe the cocky smirk off of his face at the way you stare at him, the way you can’t seem to look away no matter how badly you may want to.

At dinner, Ettore serves you your cube and you eye it with thinly veiled disdain, poking at it with a fork, watching it jiggle as you sigh, wrinkling your nose, “Thank you, Ettore.”

He bites back a chuckle as he watches you struggle with your food, “Why so cranky, princess? Don’t you like your food?”

You give him an entirely unamused look, “No, I just love flavorless gelatinous cubes. If we were back on earth, they would’ve given Dibs a Michelin star.”

He smirks at your dry sense of humor, “Maybe if I feed you, you’ll like it better.”

You feel the heat rise to your cheeks and quickly stand up from your chair, ignoring the curious gazes from the other residents of Outpost 11 and walk back to your room as quickly as possible. Ettore watches you go, one eyebrow arched, knowing that he’s not going to let you get away that easily.

Ettore waits a while before sauntering over to your quarters. He can hear you have a record playing, something that’s a bit surprising at this hour, but hey, he’s a literal murderer. Why should he begrudge you a little late night listening? He twists the doorknob and finds the room bathed in darkness. But you’re anything but asleep. Your face is twisted in pleasure as you lay on top of the bed, working your fingers against that pretty little pussy, whining softly, your back arching off the bed as you pleasure yourself.

And then? You fucking whimper his name. Ettore loses any semblance of self control at that moment and is on you within moments, his hand covering your mouth as he lays on top of you. You gaze up at him with wide eyes, panicking at the intrusion and at the potential of the two of you being caught in such a compromising position. But shit, Ettore, doesn’t care about anything other than fucking you, claiming you as his own right now. He pushes up the fabric of your nightgown, revealing your bare body to him, salivating at the sight. He quickly replaces your fingers with his own, groaning as he pushes three of his digits inside your wet cunt, pumping them in and out, feeling the way you squirm and squeeze around him, weakly protesting against his palm, eyes wet with tears. And he knows it’s sick and depraved, but shit, you look so pretty when you cry. As one tear makes its way down your cheek, he can’t help but lick it.

“Shh, princess,” he murmurs, his voice low and gravelly in your ear, “Let me take care of you. You know you want this, looking at me like you do. Standing up for me like that. You want me to fuck this pretty little pussy, don’t you? You wanna be my dirty little slut? My little fucktoy?” Ettore lets out a low groan as you spill yourself against his fingers, bringing them up to his lips to taste you, “Fuck, you taste so sweet, princess. Gonna fuck you so hard you won’t be able to get out of bed tomorrow.”

He finally removes his palm from your mouth, listening to your weak protests of, “Ettore, don’t, Dibs-”

“Shh,” he repeats, pushing down his pants and sheathing himself inside you.

You let out a strangled gasp at the sudden intrusion, and at the way he pushes your knees up to your chest, letting him fuck into you at a deep angle that you’ve never felt before, the tip of his cock hitting spots inside you that you didn’t even know existed. You’re helpless, unable to do anything but lie back and cry out his name as he ruts against you, the sounds of his pleasure and yours mixing in the air, his skin slapping against yours as he fucks you into the mattress. He moves his hand down to pinch at your clit, loving the weak little cry of his name you let out as you squeeze around him so fucking tight as you reach your peak, his own release following soon after.

Ettore lays there beside you for a moment, completely satisfied, loving the shaky breaths you let out, the way you cling to him as though he’s the only thing keeping you from floating away into the vast expanse just outside.

You tell him that this can never happen again, but now that he has you?

He’s never letting go.

#ettore x reader #ettore x you #ettore x y/n #high life #high life movie #ettore imagine #ettore #ettore smut #ettore (high life) x reader #ewan mitchell #my writing #ettore oneshot #ahs au

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dreadsuitsamus · 6 months

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Will | Vegeta x Reader |

author's note: this is for the always lovely @miss-taura! i hope you're starting to feel better, or that you start getting better quickly!! rest and hydrate 🩷

pairing: vegeta x fem!reader

warnings: saiyan!reader, illness, mentions of death, mentions of frieza doing frieza things

Anxiety clings to Vegeta's stomach as he marches to your room on the Frieza station— you weren't at dinner tonight. It's unlike you, unlike any Saiyan warrior, and worry nags the Prince to his bones.

Of the Saiyans left, you're certainly his favorite. The bar is low, with your competition being Nappa and the Radish-boy, but you're still quite the cut above them. And your lack of presence is irritating, rude, and above all worth a princely tantrum.

Pounding on your door, his patience is too worn thin to properly wait for an answer. You haven't responded with the half second between his harsh knocks, so obviously he's got every single right to invite himself in. It's dark but his scouter clearly marks your exact position in your bed, and he hears your soft groan as the light from the hall floods in.

"What the hell, 'Geets?" Congestion plagues your sinuses, and a fever leaves you with harsh shivers as you glare at Vegeta with blurry eyes.

Vegeta scoffs and narrows his eyes as he steps further in, kicking the door shut behind him. "More like what the hell is up with you. You skipped dinner."

You cough into your shirt, flopping down pathetically onto your pillow. "I'm not hungry."

"A Saiyan is always hungry." Vegeta's arms cross over his broad chest as he tilts his head— he's not sure if he's ever seen you sick, or anybody else on this ship, for that matter.

A cold trickle of fear suddenly drips down his spine; Frieza certainly would find no use in nursing any of his army back to health, and absolutely wouldn't tolerate a particular bug spreading amongst the force.

He can't lose you like this.

Too tired to argue with him, you wave a hand in Vegeta's general direction. "Leave me be, 'Geets."

Vegeta nearly growls— you're far too uncaring. Do you have a death wish? He storms out of the room and you're far too ill to wonder what's gotten into him before another terrible coughing fit assaults you again.

Your consciousness fades in and out, though the next time you come to for longer than mere seconds, it's at Vegeta's shaking of your shoulder. His touch isn't particularly gentle, the rare occurrence never really is, but you can feel his effort of holding back. "Mmm…?"

"Sit up and eat, and take this too." A platter from the dining hall sits on the nightstand beside your bed, and a small caplet is flicked your way.

"Where did you find medicine?" Throat scratchy and burning at even breathing, a soft cough follows your question.

"It matters not. Just use it."

So he broke an international law somewhere, got it.

Your legs rub together unconsciously, begging the resulting friction for warmth. A Saiyan rarely feels so chilled, but it's as if you're iced to your very bones. Vegeta's jaw ticks and he doesn't put much thought into the why before he's stripped off a glove and pressed the back of his rarely-revealed hand against your forehead. His memories of his mother are frighteningly fading, but that is one of the few that holds strong and he can clearly remember of his late mother. He was young and felt awful for perhaps the first time in his life, and her gentle hand measuring his fever did wonders as a cure compared to all the bedrest and tonics.

Your watery eyes meet with Vegeta's as he moves to touch each cheek, his knuckles dragging along your skin and bumping over your nose. Eyes guarded, he turns his head and pulls back his palm. "You're running a fever. Eat now, and take the medicine. You're to be cured by tomorrow, understand?"

This motherfucker is giving my illness orders!

Opting for a dumb nod, your attention focuses on what he's brought you. Nothing too capable of potentially upsetting your stomach, it's easy to devour even with your fatigue crawling back by the second and the shivering from your fever slowly icing you more and more. You can hardly even notice Vegeta's too-quiet demeanor as he stares a hole into the carpeted floor, though to not see such a stoic side of the rather bratty, barbarous man that typically wears a smile of evil would be impossible.

"Done." Voice hardly capable of more than a whisper now, you set the plate aside and, large pill laid out on your tongue, finish off the first of the gallons of water he's thoughtfully provided you.

"Rest." His order is swift and gruff as he turns to leave, but your voice, quiet and unsure, calls for him to linger just a bit longer.

"T-Thank you, V-Vegeta." The tremors of your body are harsh enough to make your teeth audibly clash together, and the thin blanket wrapped around you couldn't possibly be enough to dispel this fever.

Breaking the fever will allow the medicine to work, and a little sigh pulls from his lips. You certainly always manage to break down a barrier he places, and usually it's fully unintentional and unknowing. But he cannot lose the last woman in his life, the last of the Saiyan race, and that's what has him stripping to his underwear and climbing into bed with you.

"'Geets…"

"Speak not a word further. Rest." He grumbles and unravels your wrapped form, inserting himself under the blanket with you. The heat radiating from him nearly makes your head spin as you grab the Prince's body despite how unbecoming this all is. The touch of his body isn't exactly foreign, though it certainly is in the manner of comfort rather than the training you've always known.

Vegeta's hold is tight. It's his duty as your Prince to keep you alive, though the warming of his cheeks when he gets a glimpse of your sleeping face suggests to himself it may not be as noble as he wishes.

#vegeta x reader #vegeta x you #reader insert #x reader #dragon ball x reader #dragon ball imagine #dbz imagine #dbz x reader #fic

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piratecaptainscaptainpirates · 4 months

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I really like reading Ed's story as a trans narrative. I know there's a great posible read of the slide into the Kraken era as a detransitioning narrative, but personally I prefer interpreting it as a forced return to being extremely careful about passing.

I love to read Ed as a trans man because it's so fucking juicy, and because the urge to lean hard into hyper-masculinity is such a common one among trans guys. You feel like you have to be the perfect man in order to be seen as a "real" man, and I see this so strongly in Ed. I mean, he named himself after his beard!

And then there's Stede, and he's a guy with an undeniably more feminine affect to how he presents himself. We know Ed doesn't just like softer things because he wants to fit in with Stede, he wishes he was the kind of person that got to have it. It reminds me of being younger, before I could pass, and wishing I could wear a skirt and be seen as a man in a skirt. And Stede helps Ed feel like he's safe to explore his gender presentation a bit - he puts flowers in his hair and little bows in his beard, dressing up his masculinity with a bit of femininity.

When Ed comes back to the ship after Stede abandons him, having a safe space to explore his gender expression seems like it brought him a lot of comfort. He writes song lyrics, wears a soft pink robe, and paints his nails with glittery pink polish. And, yes, none of these things are inherently gendered, of course, but they're not things that you get to have when you're trying to live up to some ideal of hyper-masculinity.

Through this lens, what Izzy tells Ed in s1e10 isn't just, like, really mean and homophobic, it also feels like all those transphobes who tell you they won't respect your gender unless you pass to their standards. "Namby-pamby in a silk gown" hits harder because it feels like Izzy is digging into Ed's femininity. It feels like he's telling Ed that he's not a real man unless he performs masculinity to Izzy's standard, and if Ed dares to be a feminine trans man, he's not safe.

Ed's slide into the Kraken era feels to me like a return to him focusing on passing perfectly as the ideal man, because sometimes when you're a trans guy you feel a lot safer when you feel like you're taking away all the ammunition anyone could possibly use to question if you're really your gender. He paints on a beard, which just screams beard dysphoria - I imagine Ed's gender dysphoria in that regard got a lot worse after Izzy yelled at him.

(One of my favorite little things about this read? Ed only wears full-fingered gloves until the start of s2, when we see him wearing fingerless gloves again, and I like to think that's so he could hide his painted nails.)

When Ed's at his absolute lowest, he gives himself one last indulgence, looking at the cake toppers and imagining a happy life with the man he loves. And he's painted his to look like himself, a bearded brown man in a dress. Fuck if that's not just the fantasy for a lot of trans guys who like to wear more feminine clothing, being able to be a man in a dress without being seen as any less of a 'real man' for it.

#ofmd #our flag means death

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franklespine · 4 months

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The scene at the start of All Hell Breaks Loose where Dean talks to Sam's corpse in that shack in the middle of nowhere is soul crushing to an incomprehensible level that the show hardly ever manages to reach again.

Firstly, what is revealed about Dean as he spills his heart open is devastating on a whole other level. Like there's grief and then there's this - it's like a piece of him has been torn out and he's left unable to literally function. It's not really a new idea in the series up to this point that Dean has centered his life around his family, in particular protecting Sam. As he starts off, he wishes so desperately that Sam didn't start asking questions about their family so Dean could preserve his innocence just a little bit longer. No doubt John put a lot of pressure on Dean to protect and look after Sam, but taking on this role was something that was all but written inside him, as he says, John didn't even have to tell him to do it, Sam was his responsibility. The tipping point in this scene is when Dean finally asks "what am I supposed to do" - how can he even begin to move beyond this? He doesn't care if the world ends anymore, doesn't care if Azazel wins and he never gets revenge. In asking this question Dean realises that he is incapable of letting go of Sam, of the responsibilities to his family he has built his life around like the grain of sand at the centre of the pearl, and of the crushing guilt that comes with 'failing' these responsibilities. The only way forwards is to force the laws of nature to bend for him and bring Sam back from the dead, no matter the cost.

Secondly, this is heart wrenching to me for Sam too. Here he is, 23 years old and lying dead on a dingy mattress in a shack in the middle of nowhere - the only escape from his dark destiny found in death. But the primary reason it seems that Dean makes this massive sacrifice to bring him back isn't because he's 23 and has so much of life he deserves to live, but because he is incapable of living under the weight of his guilt in failing him - that he is Dean's responsibility that he can't live with letting down. And this is not to say that Dean doesn't also bring him back because he loves and care for him as a person, but it's not like Dean was sitting there talking to Sam saying you didn't deserve this, we were so close to ending this, you deserved to go on to have a life that hasn't been built around and in grief and revenge, hell, you could've even gone back to university and had your happy ending. You know? It's like selling your soul for someone is a crazy batshit insane thing to do - the ultimate sacrifice. But same as with John, it seems that the reason behind it wasn't just pure love and desire for that person to live just because they didn't deserve to die. John needed Dean to be there to ensure Sam didn't go darkside - to kill him if he can't save him. In both cases it was out of love, but in this weird objectified way.

It's just so fascinating how this dynamic between the three Winchesters, love and sacrifice plays out in the early seasons. How supernatural finds selfishness at the centre of this seemingly sacrificial selfless act. The selfishness in martyrdom.

That's why this scene is just heart wrenching in my sad insane little head. Sam and Dean were crazy codependants before this but this scene marks a turn for the worst (in codependence) for them. This scene is like the solidification of Dean's belief that he is worthless and incapable of functioning without the responsibilities he holds to his family and solidifies that Sam is the little brother possession for Dean to protect and regulate until his time runs out and he's shipped off to hell - leaving him at the centre of his massacred family with all the fingers pointing in his direction. His mum was collateral damage to his anti-baptism by a demon, his Dad sold his soul for his brother's life to be the final yes or no in the decision of whether Sam deserves to live or not, and now his brother's gone and done the same for him. But hey, at least when Dean gets dragged down to hell it isn't with the weight of guilt that he failed his responsibilities.

(spoiler alert: he feels guilty for leaving Sam anyway and Sam spirals anyway).

#supernatural #spn #sam winchester #dean winchester #theyre just silly #silly little guys #i mean i could go on and on about the selling soul thing in s2/3 as an allegory for the cycles of emotional abuse #but that is a whole other can of worms for a different late night text post #also MERRY CHRISTMAS #yippee #i hope anyone who reads this and anyone who doesnt a very happy holiday #spn 2x22 #all hell breaks loose #spn meta #i guess

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softlyspector · 1 year

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I know we’re all on the Joel Miller train rn but a thought occurred to me and I need to share it before I forget: Imagine Din not cutting his hair for a little bit for whatever reason, and it just barely sticking out of the helmet. I just keep thinking about running my fingers through those lil strands before ever seeing his face. You don’t have to write this (unless you really want to), I just needed someone else to think about it as well.

Din Djarin x gn!reader

A/n: Don't cry Din Djarin Happy May the 4th content! Also, please anon I'm so very happy to think about this.

Warnings: soft and sleepy Din Djarin who forgets he's a person sometimes.

He hasn't had time to cut his hair.

Usually, he's meticulous about it. He's particular about his grooming, about the care and upkeep of his armor and his clothes.

The only thing that occasionally sees some wear and tear is his cloak, before he has time to patch it, or the credits to purchase another one.

He's been running you ragged the last few months, he knows that. You and the kid both look exhausted. Both of you were used to constant travel but recently things have been particularly brutal.

When he finally makes a pit stop on Tatooine - a longer stop, he promises you, to collect yourselves and rest - you've never looked more relieved.

As soon as the ship is on the ground, you tip yourself out of the co-pilot's chair and grip his bicep just below the pauldron. Your hand is warm. It's a welcome weight.

"Thank you, Din," you say quietly.

He just tips his head down in acknowledgement. Though he knew you were tired, you hadn't made a noise of complaint the entire journey. "I'll sort out somewhere for us to stay," you say, picking up Grogu. "Unless you want to stay on the ship tonight?"

"No," he agrees with you. "It would be good to rest." Somewhere with more space, a real bed.

That, and remaining in the ship would mean being dangerously close to Peli and her host of droids overnight.

You're only gone for half an hour, during which time he's able to secure the ship and endure Peli's usual barrage of questions and comments.

By the time you return, he's dead on his feet. Din isn't sure when the last time he'd slept properly is.

After Peli's requisite cooing over the child, and the assurance that you indeed were traveling with him of your own free will, you're allowed to walk away.

He herds you out onto the street in the fading light of the lowering twin suns. "Got us something to eat too," you comment.

Din hovers his hand over the middle of your back, not making contact with you but urging you along nonetheless. He isn't sure he has the energy to eat.

Grogu is down for the count as soon as the door of the room you'd rented for the night is firmly closed.

"Wanna eat? I can go walk around for a bit so you have privacy," you offer.

Din peers at you, not willing to admit he'd rather expose his face to the entire galaxy in that moment than be parted from you. "I'm not hungry," he settles for saying instead. "You should though."

You brace a hand on his forearm, your other hand going to his opposite elbow. "Eat," you say. "I'll turn my back."

Before he can agree to that, at least, you frown at him. "Din..." You say, your voice trailing off.

He frowns at you from behind the visor as your hand slowly lifts.

It takes him a moment to figure out what it is that has caught your attention, when he feels the tug of your fingers against his hair.

He sucks in a breath, the feeling foreign and strange. It feels nice, the light tickle of it against his jaw, your hand slowly inching under the helm to play with the too long strands.

It doesn't just feel nice, it feels -

He wishes your hand could travel further. He wishes that you could bury your hands in his hair, slide it between your fingers from the roots to the ends.

"I haven't had time to cut it." The words come unbidden and sharper than he means them to be.

You jerk your hand away and step back. "Sorry," you mutter hastily. "I shouldn't have-,"

Before you can step any further away, and maybe against his better judgement, he captures your hand and guides it back to the edge of the cowl around his neck, giving you the choice to feather your fingers through the ends of his hair again if you'd like.

"It's okay," he assures you. "I was just surprised."

He feels the tug again, watches your eyes cut to the barest wisps of the ends of his too long hair.

"It's soft," you note, almost to yourself.

Din closes his eyes, swaying where he stands. The feeling is putting him to sleep.

Your other hand cups his elbow again. "Okay," you remove your hand from where it had edged beneath his helmet. "Time for you to rest."

He'd never admit it, but he needs reminding of that sometimes. That he needs rest.

You're better at remembering that he's not made of beskar than he is sometimes, that there is flesh and blood beneath the armor.

He goes through the motions of it, of eating while you keep your back turned to him and stitch the holes worn through the hem of one of your shirts, of showering, of removing and caring for his beskar, before it eventually comes time to settle down.

The child is still dead asleep and he can tell that you're near the very end of your frayed rope.

When you settle down in the bed in the blissful dark and relative quiet, he takes your hand and guides it back to the stray strands of his hair.

You trace the lip of the helm and then edge your fingers into his hair again.

"I'll cut it tomorrow," he says when he releases your wrist. Your forearm rests on his chest, a pleasant weight on his lungs without the security of the chest plate.

Your fingers pause, then resume slowly combing through his hair. "Shame. This is nice."

"It's time. I should have cut it much sooner."

"Well," you intone, "We've been very busy as of late." You tug sharply on one stand and he grunts. "Speaking of, you can finally sleep in peace, so do it."

He rolls his eyes, the pads of your fingers pressing along his jaw over his chin, his cheek. "I am trying," he replies stiffly.

"So you are," you chuckle and remove your hand again, shifting into his side without invitation. His body automatically adjusts to accommodate you. "I'll miss it."

Before he can answer, you've already passed out, the flame of your candle finally blown low.

Maybe he'd give it one more day. Tomorrow is a new day, one you would be rested for and that would give you the opportunity to play with ends of his hair for just a bit longer.

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #mandalorian x you

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zoros-bandana · 11 months

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Hi there :)

Since you ask me to think about another request, may I have a Zoro with his female s/O having some time together away from the crew? They are in a not so secret relationship, since everyone noticed how they act to each other, but they're still trying to keep it a secret.

It might be a little suggestive if you want/can, but s/o isn't in a smuty mood since she mostly just want the quality time she can't have with her boyfriend on the Sunny.

Thank you ☺️

Love u 💚

(*sanji voice* “gaby-sWan!!!” 😍😍😍) My dearest angel hello I'm so glad to finally do a request for you! (I hope this request isn't too boring for you I was after a really like soft and chill almost sleepy vibe. I will also get to doing the other request once I have caught up to that part) I truely love seeing your icon pop up in my notifications it truely makes my day. Love you sweetest 💚

Alone

SFW

Zoro x fem reader

Warning: slight suggestive touching, suggestive themes

Summary: wishing to usher your boyfriend for some alone time, you meet him in the quiet of the aquarium bar, soaking up the little time of remaining day.

Word Count: 1,300

"What took you so long?"

You huffed at Zoro's tone, shutting the door to the aquarium bar, leaning against the cold wood. Your head pounded in agony, exhausted from defending yourself against your friends in a bid to escape their brutal attacks and questions.

"I got cornered" you admitted, blinking slowly as you opened your eyes. Looking down you met the eye of Zoro, an all but empty mug of beer gripped firmly in his hand. He had made no attempt to come to you, comfortably situated in a slump that arched him to look smaller than he was.

"Was it curly brow this time?"

You nodded. "And Nami"

Using the door as a lever you rocked forward, finally taking a step towards your partner. Your movements dragged, slowing your steps in hopes to exaggerate your feelings. "They wanted to know why you had your arm around me at dinner"

Zoro lazily sat back up, spreading himself out. He chugged down the remaining bitters of beer before setting the mug aside, tapping his lap for you to sit upon.

"Tell 'em it was because I needed the space"

"I did" you confessed, flopping into Zoro's lap. "I don't think they were overly convinced, though"

"Well, that doesn't matter. You're here now" Zoro reached around your waist, guiding your body to turn, facing towards the aquarium to your left. You let your head fall to his chest, once again shutting your eyes, the sound of his breathing soothing you instantly. Keeping you close his hand squeezed comfortably, falling back into the chair to recline.

His left hand found its way to your legs, drawing aimlessly over your skin in swirling patterns, almost grounding himself. There were very few occasions where you could be alone together, the feeling almost strange and overly quiet. The rest of the crew would stay above ship after dinner, occupied by various group activities and stories, however, tonight felt different. You craved being with Zoro.

Your friends' voices rung overhead, laughter, and the sound of clattered footsteps led by your captain no doubt. You had exchanged a small whisper to Zoro before dinner of your plan, using tonight as an excuse to have him alone; taking as much of him as you could.

A lingering fear would often cloud your head of his disappearances, knowing how vigorous Zoro could lose himself into training, unsure just how much time you would spend with him that day. You never wished to keep your relationship a secret, and for the most part it wasn't, but the overbearing nature of your friends played a role in how reserved Zoro was; especially with his feelings for you. It was easier to tiptoe around the blatant proposal of an overly affectionate and love-struck couple than face endless teasing from your friends. You both craved one another, and found, as much as you wished to fight it, being apart made you crave these moments more.

Zoro bowed his head down, nuzzling into your hair with a long inhale. He groaned quietly, letting your scent be absorbed fully as if to remember you. "Mmm, you smell so good"

"You would too if you took a shower more often"

"Maybe if you joined me?" Zoro teased without skipping a beat. His hand wondered up, tucking under the hem of your skirt to rest at your upper thigh. The pad of his thumb ran over your skin, fanning in to pick at the edge of your panties.

The contact made you snap your head up, meeting the smug look on Zoro's face. His lips were cracked into a smirk, tipping higher on one side than the other. The grey in his eye was clouded with lust making it hard to determine whether he was serious or pulling your bluff.

"Fine" you shrugged, playing along. "But I bet you wouldn't last five minutes crammed in there with me"

"Crammed?" Zoro laughed, a melodious and heavy tune. "Oh, baby you're sized like a bug next to me. I think you're the one that will struggle"

"But what happens..." you lifted your hand to mimic the action of turning a tap. "When I set the temperature to the hotter side"

Zoro shuttered, recognising your love for hot showers as a searing burn over his back. "Mmm, fine you win"

Letting his hand come away from under your skirt, Zoro retracted himself from advancing on you, reaching instead around your back. His hands moved you to face him, spinning you to squat your legs over his, keeping you as close to him as he could manage. He smiled at your small chuckle, amused by your voiced pleasure of victory.

His body was warm, soft, towering around you like a fortress. Being with him like this, so vulnerable and kind, you felt like you were the only two alive. It was clear in moments lie this how much he cared for you - loves you - willing to keep you safe and grounded in the storm of your life. He was no longer stiff and irritated as he appeared with the crew, easing into a life with you that make him seem relaxed, almost as if the life he knew before you was a distant dream.

Unable to control himself Zoro bent down, his movements too quick for you to process. In a heated rush his lips collected you in a kiss, his arms wrapping tighter to pull you up to him. Even though his lips were dry and cracked, there held a balance in the way he moved, completing you.

He tasted sharp, bitters of beer mixed against the sides of his mouth, curling into a lopsided grin as he felt you. There was still a hint of clumsiness to his kiss, familiarising himself with affection he was deprived of for so long. The edge of his tongue would scuff your lip, hesitant to explore anything beyond surface level, already so comforted by how your lips hugged him back.

"I'm so happy with you" his lips grazed softly, tickling your skin as he moved to your ear. His voice was low and raspy, whispering as if someone was close by, unwilling to interrupt a small moment.

His fingers found the hem of your shirt, tucking under the fabric to brace your skin. The heat on the pads of his hardened fingers moved you to fold with his body, embracing yourselves to become one. Your arms whipped around his neck, holding tight, letting his face linger in the crook of your neck. "I'm happy with you, too"

Zoro was silent to that, taking in everything he felt in that moment. He was at peace, so happy, he hardly realised the weightless effect of the alcohol that burned his throat earlier in the day. He wanted to stay here, like this, soaking you up in the most pure and simplest form. He adored the slight patter of water as it sloshed too the left of you, tangling dances of fish that weaved through the water. The slight bow in the ship as it motioned over the waves, creaking like an old friend retelling stories of the past. The way you felt in his arms, your heart over his, beating at a steady pace. How your hair tickled his skin, leaving notes of you that would last longer than this moment; but he didn't care.

For right now, all he wanted with this with you.

"Promise me nothing will change with us, Y/n" Zoro requested, letting your voice mumble back in inaudible grunts. He could feel the pressure of his feelings fading, understanding how important he was to you as much as you were to him. He didn't need to hide behind his glass walls, turning over the bitterness he had for others. It was you after all that made him complete, deeply and truely fulfilled with the life he feared would never happen.

"I love you too much for that"

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bookshelfdreams · 16 days

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Hiii I hope this isn't too forward, but your tags re: Ed's evolving reactions to abuse and Izzy as abuse-survivor-wish-fulfillment are incredible and it would lovely as its own post, if you felt comfortable doing so!

Aww thank you! The post in question

Also, tbf, I'm just obsessed with the rule of 3, whenever there's the slightest chance of seeing a pattern like this I'll pound on it with a sledgehammer until it fits.

Anyway. Ed has 3 abusive white men in his life; his father, Hornigold, and Izzy. And all 3 he deals with, to escalating effect.

His father is the one who exerts the most power over him. Ed clearly comes from a violent household, and as a child, he is obviously completely at his fathers non-existent mercy. He beats Ed's mother, throws dishware against the wall, and there was a deleted scene where he yelled at Ed's mother for "turning my son soft" (oh how I wish they'd kept that in. I can understand why they thought this was expendable, but it would have made the connection between Ed's father and Izzy so much more obvious).

Ed cannot protect himself, or his mother, against this violence - up until the moment that he can. The moment he realizes he is no longer weak and helpless, he retaliates in the only way that he has ever seen conflicts be resolved. He knows that he can't intimidate his father into better behaviour, if he wants to end the abuse it has to be permanent. So he just fucking kills the bastard.

This is, of course, Not Ideal. Even 30odd years later, he feels monstrous and unlovable because of this moment. The violence scars him. Not because he was wrong in killing his father, necessarily; the show doesn't judge him for it. But Ed destroyed the life he could have had when he did it, and he wounded himself.

Violent solution? Possible, but he deserved better.

Next up, Hornigold, who is also a mean, abusive bastard. He represents the avoidance solution: Leave and never look back. We do not know what became of Hornigold after Ed left his ship, but 02x03 implies that Ed expects him to still be alive somewhere. Ed clearly suffered horrific abuse at his hands, both physical and emotional, and even though that is years in the past, he clearly never dealt with any of it. Gravybasket!Hornigold tells him "Sorry doesn't rebuild an abdominal wall. You gotta move on.": Don't expect an apology, don't try to make amends, just ignore what happened. Apologies are pointless, you can never expect your abuser to change his behaviour. So just try to get away from him and ignore him.

This also doesn't really work. In the gravy basket, Ed is clearly still desperate for Hornigold's approval - and is refused, as he probably was often when he sailed with him. "You're never good enough" is one of the core mantras of abusers. Hornigold is still living in Ed's head, and heart, and soul; the poison he fed him is still alive and well within him. Ed even tries a violent solution this time, but obviously that can't work.

Still, avoidance is better than violence. Hornigold is left behind, standing on that cliff, while Ed goes back into the light. Ed doesn't have to take him with him. He cannot make Hornigold regret what he did, but he can remove himself from his clutches.

And then there's Izzy. With Izzy, Ed obviously has the most ambivalent relationship. He seems to truly like Izzy, to some extend (why is that would be another post, but as briefly as possible: I think Izzy provides an interpersonal dynamic that is familiar, and therefore, a twisted kind of safe for Ed. Chronic mistreatment will embed in you the idea that there's something wrong with you, and that's something Izzy is all too willing to point out to Ed. Crucially though, Izzy is someone who's approval is actually attainable. Ed keeps around someone who will tear him down, yes, but who it is also possible to impress, and over who he has authority. He's going back to the previous relationships, only now he is in a position of power, and that may feel like he can fix them. Obviously this isn't exactly a healthy dynamic. Izzy, for his part, clearly gets a kick out of the power and status being Blackbeard's first mate gives him, and manipulating Ed into doing what he wants. Just watch how pissed he gets when his control over Ed starts to slip.).

And there's another, crucial difference: Izzy wants to come around. Izzy is the fantasy of the toxic person who realizes how shitty his behaviour is, and who deep down, cares enough to want to fix it. Who recognizes the pain he caused, and who tells Ed the things he most needs to hear: I hurt you, and I'm sorry. You didn't deserve this. I was wrong; you're fine.

And then - and this is also an important part of the wish fullfilment fantasy! - he dies. Ed doesn't have to deal with him anymore. We remove the possibility that he goes back on his apology, or tries to use that as a wedge to carve out a space for himself in Ed's life, or goes back to manipulating Ed. No. The apology has to be the final note this relationship ends on.

And this fixes it. Ed can look back on Izzy fondly.

He was a fucking nightmare. What a guy.

#of course this isnt too forward anon i love it when ppl notice my tag ramblings <3 #anonymaus #message #our flag means death #edward teach

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