#it's kind of dim now :(

[socksboxsketches]

LOIGHT

#marine the raccoon #messsssssyyyyy #so messy but i like it #sketches #sonic the hedgehog #sth #sonic rush adventure #shes a lantern type of person #prob struggles with the dark cause it reminds her of ghosts #so has a dim lantern nearby her whenever she falls asleep #It used to go out and she would be too scared to get up even for a snack #but now her latern just keeps on burning through the night #prob cause of a small kindness #or one of the coconut crew helping cause it avoids the racket she makes when she gets scared of the dark shifting in the corner of her eyes

[obeymeow]

nightbringer lesson 14 FUCKED ME UP in several ways but primarily I've spent the last 48 hours making myself sad over the solomon backstory we got. specifically I have, for no reason, latched onto that one chapter in the Kids event where baby solomon cried because he felt so guilty over being responsible for that spell. and that just feels a touch more depressing in context

#nightbringer spoilers #obey me on side #went back and unlocked the event again because i could not get this out of my brain i know it's probably not that deep #but it is that deep TO ME. okay #baby solomon has been on my brain since thirteen told that story so that's probably why it's sticking in my brain so hard but whatever #in case anyone was wondering the other things to make me sad are: #he has such a deeply excessive amount of lights in his room in purgatory hall there are SEVERAL chandeliers and lamps #there's a good handful in his room in cocytus hall too (his horror dg showed it) if a more normal amount #but that with the 'dim and gloomy' detail. ☹️ #i've also always thought that solomon's loneliness wasn't all about the immortal angst but like. #having it confirmed that he's had reason to be lonely since he was a child- before he was old enough to know he was using magic- #totally crushed me girl why can't I be wrong #had emotions about lesson 14 in general but solomon backstory steals the show every time for me so i haven't gotten around to the rest #i'm enjoying the nightbringer story so much (not talking about the game design. that's a different thing entirely) but man #the pacing is WILD it feels like every lesson could be a whole lesson block at the least. it's giving me a lot of room to speculate #which I always love! but i do wish they would slow down a little and expand on some of these concepts they're bringing up #because the basic idea of the game alone is REALLY INTRIGUING and it'd be a shame if they raced back to the present imo #what was i even talking about. sorry my brain fast forwards as soon as i get into the tags there is not one sequitur to be seen #so curious about solomon's friend now too. like my guess is it's going to be lilith (and hopefully not in a popular fan theory kind of way) #because it's more than a little suspicious that they expanded on lilith's views on humans the way they did #in a way that SO PERFECTLY lines up with the expansion on solomon's views on humans #WHICH I HAVEN'T TALKED ABOUT YET BY THE WAY BUT LIKE. HE IS SO RIGHT AND REAL FOR THAT #it's beyond stressful to me that I think solomon is completely justified in his views and being completely reasonable about it #but that it would also mean war between the worlds presumably while the brothers are still recovering from THEIRS #you cannot give me that choice man. not even sure that the human world would be ABLE to win that fight if we're being real #solomon's 72 pacts are a lot yes but he's still only one guy who is NOT on good terms with the sorcerer's society #and mc is powerful but so so inexperienced. and that's IF they choose to side with the human world which #really i don't think the canon mc is likely to do. but anyway i guess solomon's friend could also be adam maybe? #that could be wishful thinking because i like adam though. even if his hair SUUUCKS #deeply offended by everyone thinking solomon got the fucked up hair when all signs point to adam be NICE TO HIM he's ugly already

[sysig]

Lost my mind thinking about the Vyer Estate (Patreon)

#Doodles #SCII #Helix #Max Vyer #Dexter Favin #So while I'm not usually one to draw backgrounds I am actually Really into architecture and a little into decor and room design haha #Do I know much more than the basics? Nope! But I'm still fascinated by it :) #Some of these rooms have a very strong image in my head and some are fuzzier - it's been a bit since I reread #And I also haven't read with the layout in mind I don't think so there's that as well haha #I'll also freely admit to being very influenced by The Sims 2's build limitations when working these lol - spacing and density of items #Trying to map all these pieces of scenes into a continuous singular building is difficult! There are windows that butt up into other rooms! #It's a fun exercise tho :3 #Update: I have now reread with the layout in mind lol #My mental ears pricked every time there was a mention of furniture or layout lol #Like Max's couch! And a carpet in the foyer >:3c #And Dex's room also being upstairs :0 To think I almost made my first floorplan a single-story! #Silly me #I'm pretty sure this is the first time I've doodled Max's mom also :0 From memory - again - oops lol #I have always imagined that final scene with her as having this large-room/small in the frame kind of energy to it #All natural lighting and kind of dim and hazy - coming down from the high vibes #Actually pinning down a back wall is a whole other thing lol - sometimes the stairs are right there and sometimes they're in an alcove #It's always those tricky windows! And then actually populating a mansion with rooms that are useful lol #Dexter mentions that Max could've asked the cook but Max says he's asleep - how many people live on-site I wonder! #I'm also deeply enamoured with Max padding around in the middle of the night - a house he grew up in and feels safe wandering around in <3 #In his element ♥ Comfortable ♪♫

[moe-broey]

I've never been a "born in the wrong generation" type of guy because for So Many reasons I would be dead. Full stop like I would have died during childbirth I would have died of appendicitis age 8 and that's not even factoring in my queerness and neurodivergency and ultimately my mental health (carefully maintained thanks to support/modern advances in medicine and treatment). On Top Of That my hobbies include The Video Game and many such things that are of modern invention (adjacently: including The Device I'm typing this out on right now which has become my main avenue of communication to the outside world)

But I'm just saying that. It WOULD be nice. To exist in a world where fluorescent lighting doesn't exist and everything is possibly 99% less overstimulating all of the time forever.

#and like. a little less capitalist dystopia. i could do with less of that. #but focusing primarily on my own struggle. it's just a bummer sometimes like #i genuinely had fun!!! w my sisters and friends!!! esp at the arcade w ddr that is ALWAYS so fun #but man you can't even take me to your own damn house unless if you're ready to accept vampire rules. #my sister can/does dim the lights if i ask and i don't mind asking it's just fucking crazy to me like #damn uoy guys live like this. bright ass lights ten diff convos at once music in the bg. what if i died on this beanbag #BUT. THAT IS. one thing that is very nice i AM allowed to die on the beanbag!!!!!!! i'm allowed to cozy up and rest #while everyone does their own thing and i can listen in and chime in every now and again. severely underrated tbh #i really only feel a little hopeless when i think about like. public spaces where the only thing i can control is myself #IF i am ever employable again my requirements would be. no florescent lighting. i will die. #which like. kind of limits my prospects. #i do enjoy outdoors/physical work actually though so. i'm just limited bc i have to bind. #i am. so severely. banking on top surgery working out. it won't be a cure-all but by god it WILL open up my options #plus the. constant fatigue. of binding. but not binding is even worse. i need divine intervention (surgery) #SAD. well there are other people in yhe world #but man rhat is like my fave joke to make but i feel so much sadness attached to it. the world will move on without me. #there are a million other people who are far more capable. much 'easier'. ect. #and i know the answer is well there's only one me and there are a handful of people who love me. who keep me and include me #i am very thankful for that. #it's just a bit of a bummer sometimes. i stay silly and have the most fun i can but i am a little sad about it.

[coloursofaparadox]

im still not over the sleep thing one sec i gotta rant about this shit

#i think the problem now is that historically my sleep habits have been Really Messed Up by what can loosely be called insomnia my whole life #its always kinda just been a given that if im in bed and i cant sleep there is absolutely nothing that can be done to help #and thats not for lack of trying i have tried every meditation and suggested solution possible. it does not happen. #if i cant fall asleep and try to force myself w/o distractions i will be awake staring at the ceiling for hours. usually till the morning #thats not an exaggeration it happened often before i gave up on it. so i figured out coping methods! #namely 1) making sure my body is taken care of as well as possible to make sure its not caused by pain or hunger or anxiety #and 2) not trying to force it and accepting itll happen when it happens. and then reading a book or watching a show on a dim screen #until i physically cant keep my eyes open and then i can fall asleep. if i try any earlier than that no dice. my brain wakes itself up again #these worked for years! but now thanks to adhd meds that actually make my brain quiet. uh. these same coping methods are. not working #im physically tired and start my usual routine and wait to pass out while reading but i just. dont. ever. #like. the physically tired feeling has never made a difference in my body cooperating with sleep. but now apparently it will???? #and ive been ignoring it??? bc im used to it not working? i tried just. closing my eyes and trying to lay still yesterday and it WORKED #after like. 10 minutes or so. it was fucking crazy. i thought media and pop culture was lying about people doing that. #anyways. apparently i can fall asleep like a human and not some kind of weird chronically exhausted cryptid now. #(because of new adhd meds to be clear) but i havent been because i didnt even think to TRY it. since. yknow. cryptid status. #shits weird.

[piningprecussionist]

You should ask Ramona to train you to get your subspace license. You'd learn a valuable job skill (No-Account Video is probably... not long for this world) and get to spend a lot of time with her probably in a context where Scott has no interest in tagging along. Big wins all around!

It's not the worst idea... except for the fact that subspace travel has been miserable for me thus far. I'm honestly surprised I didn't throw up after that first time- and I STILL haven't gotten those sandals back, either...

...

It really does have an appeal, though, thinking about it. Maybe it only sucked so bad because I wasn't ready for it? Or maybe that was just a really shitty section to be in.

You're probably right, though. No-Account's business is describable as slow on a good day, I don't really see it weathering many more seasons unless the thing's been some sort of money laundering scheme the whole time.

I probably should be considering my options...

#I honestly might really miss the place when it or I am finally gone #I enjoy all the tall shelves just packed with movies and the slightly dimmed lights... #... although those might be dim because the bulbs are all ancient. they've probably been long overdue a change #Anyway. It could be interesting to at least try out... I hear it can be kind of dangerous though #as though the near drowning hadn't made that clear enough to me... #*kim shudders violently before shaking her head and going to hit post* #pine.txt #rp #asks #anon #kim pine #spto #sp comic #spvtw #spvtwtg #(ooc: this is actually a super fun ask for me to be thinking about honestly) #(ooc: this is gonna be in my brain rent free now- the idea of them crossing paths in subspace all day delivering things) #(ooc: maybe timing their breaks together and going to see if scott is having any weird dreams they can mess with him in perhaps?)

[zevrans]

.

#i was trying to make a colourful re3 gifset for a change in 540x350 but as i been coloring it for like 3 days for some time #i came to conclusion i should've chosen the 268x dimensions instead because i converted them when saving just to check if it looks better #and it does and now i feel unmotivated to redo whole process because just pressuring them from one dimension to another looks like crap 😭🥲 #and as i do i am constantly torn between making the intended like vibrant colouring or switching to the dim/dull/unsaturated kind of one 😩 #it's been a while since i did intense colouring instead of just doing few adjustments here and there and slapping the gif with my own psd 🙈 #i guess i'll just save the colurings as psd on these scenes and regif the vids in right dimensions 😪 #it's beeb a while i got so invested in a gifset but im determined to finish it once i collect my motivation💀🙈

[mickmundy]

sniper's loft bed headcanons pls 👁️👁️

omg.,., ehehe.,., i’m soo glad you asked this is something i am Not at All Insane About.,., ehee.,., and i actually think its probably for the best that i elaborate on this here since there really isn’t a graceful way to fit posts like this within a fic SKDFKSD so!! let’s get to it! starting off by saying i’ve been in and out of motorhomes, trucks with camper shells, vans, etc my entire life (though i would be doing it a lot more in my adult life if i could find ways to not have Every Bug On Earth eat me alive ;_; gwah!) so i guess i’m just a little biased for what i see In My Mind. i have yet to sketch out/floorplan out sniper’s van layout itself In My Mind but let’s just keep it vague enough to say it’s nothing flashy, but it’s cozy and Aged and… lived in! i’ve talked about it before in one of my Many headcanon posts but i think he was always taught that he doesn’t need material things and while i wouldn’t say he’s a hoarder by any means, i think he tries to convince himself everything in his home has a Practical Application just so he can justify hanging onto it! i think sniper is v sentimental and the stuff he chooses to keep might be a little “unconventional” by average standards (ie he doesn’t have lots of photos of his family, but kept his mum’s handmade quilts and his dad’s old knife and hunting rifle. also presses flowers and would keep the eggshell of when he and medic first ate breakfast in bed together, etc) but i could ALSO make a whole other post about just little knicknacks i think you’d find in sniper’s home at any given time HEHE… but i’m doing my best to stay on track so!!

i’m going to preface this with IM SORRY for the “pinterest looking ass” photos to describe what i’m talking about but just use this as a Basic Jumping Off Point. Not as the Literal Visual. work with me here… so i think sniper’s bed has LOTS of pillows and blankets. if you’ve ever slept in one of those loft bed camper van beds you’d know that those walls are cold and hard and don’t really hold heat in all that well! i think the blankets are a combination of furs he has (though he rolls up and stores them when its hot out), sherpa/wool, knit blankets and quilts, etc. all of different sizes and weights. whatever makes him comfortable! pillows are extremely worn in (as are the blankets; you could find lots of mends on them!) and comfortable just the way sniper likes them. i think he has so many layers because he sleeps naked and likes to be able to adjust what parts of his body are covered and what parts aren’t. he’s the king of sticking one of those loooong legs out of the covers, or having only his tummy covered and the rest of him exposed, etc! he likes being able to change things quickly to suit his needs. this is also great for draping something over his shoulders when he’s laying out on top of his van at night watching the stars or sitting in a lawn chair feeding hoots!

the space is small, so i think he’d also have a “nightstand” which really is just a “coffeetable book” (ie a big-ish hard cover book) of some subject he’s interested in that he’d keep pressed against the “long wall” of the camper that has just a battery-powered plastic lantern (for reading before bed ehe) on it, a worn-out old book of poetry or some kind of book he’s read a thousand times that he likes skimming before bed (this is not to be confused with the Utility Books he reads at others times about survivalism, gun cleaning, etc. this is a Wind Down Specific book), and aheh, when he starts really falling for medic, something else too… but i’ll discuss that later in my fics! ;-) if i’m being really self-indulgent i think he also has a stuffed animal from his childhood that he’s still hung onto all these years, but he keeps him stored away safely in a pillowcase because he doesn’t want it getting lost or damaged! :’( also he’s just a huge cuddlebug imo, so he likes having things he can Grab or fling his leg or arm over in his sleep (pillows, bunched up blankets, etc)! the space is small but he makes it very homey! HEHEHE

#WHEW #SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG TO ANSWER i was trying to find pictures that kind of described the Vibe i was going for and with no such luck -_- #this is as close as i could get and even then its not…. Exactly how i mean. grrr #asks #dutchiehcs #maximum-ride #TY FOR ASKING THOGUH EHEHEHEE I HAVE so many like. hyper-specific headcanons and i’m like errmmmm would anyone care what my thoguhts are #on this weird niche subject as a part of a study of this character?? KSDFKSDKF #dutchfoolery #if you can think of a Weird Niche concept to have a headcanon of chances are i have a headcanon of it LOL #and you DEFINITELY. DEFINITELY should NOT think about sniper and medic making love in his loft bed surrounded by/under lots of #cuddly blankets and a dim night light. you totally like. should not do that i think #or maybe you can crawl inside my mind and Do imagine it. maybe you are In my mind right now becuase yo’ure imagining it #:-)

[transphilza]

fuuuck i miss techno

#i can honestly never really tell how much is my own grief and how much is the grief i absorb from other people bc of my hyperempathy #but fuck if it doesn’t all hurt the same #there’s like so many nice positive and sentimental things i could say about the server and the community and how good this vid was #but it’s kind of all smearing together into me crying about techno again #all the feelings are just kind of bundled up together in this mess of tears #i’m grateful #dunno what else to say #great work tommy i love that kid so much i can’t wait to see what he does next #personal #cw grief #fuck it i’m just gonna keep talking here #grief is like confusing and complicated but the more i grieve the more simple it feels #like it seems obvious but like. it’s just so upsetting that someone so wonderful isn’t around to be wonderful anymore #like that’s all #obviously that’s why grief hurts like obviously but idk i overthink things and the feelings are so all consuming it’s hard to word it well #it’s so debilitating i just think about how bad i feel and i think less about the simplicity of why #techno was an amazing person and now he’s gone and that’s awful #loved ones are little beacons of light yknow. and when one is gone you can tell because everything is dimmer without them #and your eyes can adjust but every once in a while you’ll remember the light that used to be there and it’s like you never adjusted at all #it’s all dim again #i miss him cause he’s gone. it’s different to missing him when he was still alive maybe that’s why saying it in such simple terms feels odd #i am sad because someone good is gone and can no longer be good #his legacy is and his memory is. and that helps #but he’s…. finite now. does that make sense? #obviously we’re all finite like mortality but you don’t think about it because it’s an awful thing to think about #as a creator i admired i was always looking forward to something new. and now there can never be anything new again #it’s obvious but i don’t think about it in such simple terms. because it’s awful to think about #but probably important in terms of like processing and all that #i continue to love him despite that he’s gone #but it’s different and i can’t deny that i can’t pretend it’s not

[abbreviated-calibrations]

Day 1: Gargoyle

I’ve been really into L4DStuck, so my current goal is to incorporate it (and L4D concepts in general) into my sketches throughout the month. The throats and mouths are very prominent in gargoyles, so the Spitter seemed like a perfect fit.

(Edit 10/3/22: photo taken with better lighting)

#my lighting is very yellow and dim :/ #hopefully I can get better photos in the future #but for now I have to live with whatever this shit is ldjfjgjg #inktober 2022 #day one: gargoyle #fetch modus: artist #l4dstuck au #kind of

[girltomboy]

Lol my tarot reading told me something about suspicion in social life today and I'm supposed to meet up with my work friend and this one other colleague of ours and I'm totally not feeling it. But I haven't left the house all week, so I kind of need to go out and get some fresh air and human contact. Tbh I'd be fine hanging out with my work friend but the fact that there's someone else coming is kinda souring it for me. I have nothing against her presence but she's lowkey bigoted and also a big drinker and I'm not really in the mood to fake interest in what she has to say tonight. Idk why my work friend even invited her along. I might just fade into myself and be a witness to their conversations, or even better just stay in my head the whole time.

Omg I left all of this unposted and haven't opened the app until now, and I feel a lot different from how I did when I wrote it. I did go and meet up with the girls, ended up having a pretty sweet time, got a free round of shots from a waiter because my second friend was a bit jokey/flirty mean to him for being "slower than his cute colleague" (a short redhead with the shiniest hair I've ever seen on someone, who brought our beers in one hand). The girl I was talking about not being excited to see is a nice and kind person, I think what irritated me about her and still does sometimes is this main character syndrome she has. But I don't think she's bigoted in the real sense of the word, she just grew up in a restrictive environment (much like me but I'm normal about it) and tends to take it out on other people a little. And we also went to our other coworker's weekly music bingo just to say hi and hang out. We sat outside with her husband and some other friends of hers and chatted. It was chill, but when I got home I found these itchy bites? Scratches? I don't know what they are. All over my feet, and they've been driving me crazy with how itchy they are. And because of the scratching I think, my feet are swollen now and I can't walk normally. I've had these before, on my legs and lower back, arm too, but this time I found them when I got home and took my boots and socks off. I used to think they were like jumbo mosquito bites, but they're clearly not. And I don't have the slightest clue where they could have come from. But I have this soothing gel, and I've been taking these salt water baths, the swelling has started going down but the itch persists.

Today I woke up at 7am and could not fall back asleep, so I lingered in bed until like 9 and got up to wet brush my doormat and this one rug I have in my balcony. I discovered that my doormat is green and blue, and not *unidentified muddy shade of grey*, and managed to bring back the color in the balcony rug. It's pretty outside but my feet are giving me too much trouble to leave the apartment. I might go to the forest later for some fresh air and maybe doodles. I'm about to finish the second season of Six Feet Under, and I'm blown away by this show and all of its intricacies. After this one episode I'm gonna cook some liver with onions and dill, it's been a while since I made it.

#yesterday was one of my coworkers' birthday and also my college crush's...turned best friend #and she replied to my birthday message asking me how i've been and no joke that one question almost kept me up last night #like it's been so long since we last talked that we might just be two completely different people now. but isn't that the beauty and charm #of knowing someone? getting to see their transformations and getting to show your own? #idk i'm definitely overthinking this. anywayyyyy my bf got a job idk if i've said before #his shift hours are atrocious but he gets time off every 2 days and the pay is decent. the work itself is pretty chill too and he seems to #not hate it which is good and important. but god my god i've been missing him like all hell lately. all week constantly thinking about #kissing him and making love and walking in the spring sun together. i genuinely think i looked better last year because he was here and #we saw each other every day. not that i don't like how i look now but just in terms of like...the light in my eyes and glow in my skin. #it's kind of dim now :(

[multi-fandom-imagine]

ミ★: Lucifer Morningstar giving you oral.

A/n: I said it was gonna happen so here it is.

It wasn't Lucifer's fault that he fell for you, you were so sweet, so kind to Charlie that it just happened. He was over the moon knowing that you felt the same way, I mean it's not like he knew you were Adam's wife...ex as you would often correct him given that the angel was the one that sent you to hell.

Though it was how you told him that you never had a real orgasm, that Adam refused to even go down on you. He knew that he had to fix that, he was going to make you scream his name.

Hovering over you, Lucifer ran his tongue over his lips. You looked so good, so beautiful, from your soft curves, the way your skin glowed in the dim light, it was a vision that never failed to captivate him.

As Lucifer shifted his body on the bed, he let his fingers trace a path from your collarbone down to the gentle swell of your breasts. His touch was feather light, teasing as a small whimper escaped your lips.

A smirked formed on his lips, his forked tongue poking through his lips as he lowered himself to the edge of the bed. His eyes locking with yours, his voice low and filled with hunger.

"Spread your legs for me, my pretty little angel." His voice was laced with anticipation. "I want to taste you, make you scream my name."

He then delved between your thighs, his tongue eager to please you, his lips and tongue working in tandem to bring you to the heights of pleasure. He devoured you with a hunger, your gasp's and moans only fueling him.

Lucifer's forked tongue gliding across your clit, gently sucking the bud as your nails dug into the sheets.

He was smiling now, couldn't help but feel happy knowing that he was the one giving you pleasure. As he continued to tease and pleasure you, his fingers found his way to your entrance, slipping inside to further intensify the sensations. Lucifer continued to explore you with his mouth, his tongue tracing patterns over your sensitive flesh, his fingers thrusting rhythmically within you.

He relished in the sounds of your pleasure, the way your moans filled the room, spurring him on to push you further towards ecstasy.

He reveled in the taste of you, the way you quivered beneath your touch, your body trembling with each wave of pleasure that washed over you. He was going to commit these sound's to his memory.

And when you finally reached your climax, your body convulsing with pleasure, he held you tightly, his lips pressed against your trembling thighs as he rode out your release. Only when he was certain you had been thoroughly satisfied, Lucifer pulled away, a satisfied smirk gracing his lips.

He could still taste you and god did he already miss taste.

"My dearest" Lucifer's voice filled with adoration. "You are intoxicating as ever, I will make sure you will be treated how you deserved to be treated."

Leaning in, Lucifer nuzzled his nose into your neck. "Rest assured, I will alway's find you attractive. You are mine and I will make sure you are always satisfied."

Feeling warmth creep up your cheeks, you did your best avoid eye contact with Adam as Lucifer clutched you tightly to his chest.

"YOU FUCKED MY WIFE!"

A slow smirk formed on Lucifers lip's as he clutched you tightly to his chest. One hand moving to his lips as he made a v with his fingers. "We did a lot more than fuck."

#blurbs #blurb #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel smut #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel x y/n #hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer morningstar #lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer morningstar x you #lucifer morningstar smut #lucifer #lucifer x reader #lucifer x you #lucifer smut

[masked-and-doomed]

On god I'm this fucking close to losing it I can't take this shit

#no questions about my wellbeing and how that might be affecting my grades no no it's all 'you're not studying' #well too fucking bad i'm actively apathetic to my problems and will gladly let them swallow me as i do the things i like. #god will you ever shut the fuck up #i can't wait to not hear your voice when i'm buried. i don't give a shit about your prayers when i'm gone. #especially because you'll have played a part in it. #no care for me. no proper care; anyway. #it's all hard rough edges from you. #when i was 7 i realised i got fucking anger issues from you. i was aware all the way back. #but since i was mostly okay with my grades you were fine. and nowww it's aalll downhilll. now my health is worth nothing to you. #i'm not worth being treated with kindness since i don't work hard enough. #i'm not worth listening to. #i'm fucking worthless trash. simply a fucking burden that'll end up being nothing in the dim future that's set for me. #i can't wait to never hear your voice again. #negative #/negative

[honestsycrets]

starved | [miguel o'hara x reader]

❛ pairing | new papi!miguel x new mami!reader

❛ type | oneshot: explicit content

❛ summary | peter says he's sex-starved. he isn't. he's just... adjusting to less time with his wife.

❛ tags | breastfeeding miguel, lactation kink, slight pregnancy kink, touch starved, pissy miguel, spanish is not translated, mention of violence, some cursing, f!reader.

❛ sy’s notes | written as per poll request! thank you everyone who voted.

Miguel likes to work.

Or, he thinks he likes to work.

The fate of the multiverse and all that boring ass bullshit. Peter has heard it all, twice, thrice over. What he knows is what he sees. What he sees is an overworked man running through anomaly files, sending out orders, and not spending time where it really mattered.

“Is that who I think it is?” Peter’s annoying ass house slippers flapped over the ground by Miguel’s feet. Peter’s hands rubbed together, sparking little bursts of heat between his palms. “It is! Mireya!”

Mireya, the newest addition to his small family. She was nestled comfortably in the crook of one of Miguel’s muscular arms as if it were the safest place in the entire world, suckling on what was left of a bottle of breastmilk. Miguel turned to place the empty bottle down on his desk. Peter followed, peeping over Miguel’s arm at her. Despite Miguel’s reservations, her bright brown eyes bored Peter with interest. She cooed at him. “Can I hold her? Let me hold her, it’ll be great! Aw look, she has curls.”

“My daughter isn’t your doll.”

“Look how pretty, she’s just like her mami. All sunshine and dimples and--,” Peter reached forward, easing his scrawny hands under her plush little arms and picking her up. Miguel’s hands fell onto his hips, shifting weight from one foot to the other, glancing down at his feet expectantly. “You know, for a new dad, you’re grumpier than usual.”

“Peter.”

“Isn’t this what you wanted?” he bobbed back and forth, spinning in a circle. She giggled the kind of laugh that was all sugar, making Peter grin even harder. “I mean, wasn’t Mireya your idea? Are you-- y’know?”

“Y’know?”

“Sex starved,” Peter whispered like it was a great, terrible secret. As if in this vast space of silence, someone might catch his words and convict him because of them. Miguel’s half-lidded eyes slid against one another, held for a second, then spread open in an annoyed flick. He fluttered his gloved fingers at Peter to hand Mireya over.

“I’m just saying if you need a night alo--”

“I don’t. I’m not sex-starved.”

He waved him off. His eyes fell on his daughter, boring back up at him with those beautiful eyes he had waited so long to see. He shifted his weight from one leg to another, lulling her back into her late-night slumber, cradled against his chest.

Sex starved, he said. What a shocking joke.

His room was no place for a child. It was perpetually dark, dimmed for his sensitive eyes. So, at the end of the day, Miguel had your room to return to. A real home, one with more than a ratty run-down chair and a lifetime of regrets. A home that he couldn't make alone. Miguel pressed past the bedroom door where he found you overcome by sleep. Just like Mireya in his arms.

He turned his gaze down to Mireya once more, her soft and squishy body a vision of peace. Tiny fists balled up over her belly as she slept in her soft velvet onesie. The whole world in his hands: the start of a happy little family. Only right now, it didn’t feel so happy. Those were the cycles, the push and pull of life.

Tonight would prove to be another silent night with his thoughts. His chest swelled with a rush of air, bunching up his shoulders as he moved to the adjoining room to set Mireya into her warm crib. Torn from his warmth, her palms stretched out, ready to wail. Miguel placed his hand along the wooden rail, his stomach flopping into throbbing anxiety in his stomach. She could wake you up. "Shh," he set his finger in her tiny palm. Mireya’s small hands rested listlessly around her head. The wail never came.

“Mi vida,” your sleepy voice fell over his ears, a gentle caress. He longed to hear it from your lips again. “Is she already asleep?”

“Sí--” he glanced over his shoulder, catching just a sight of one of his favourite little slips. Dusty rose with delicate lace details. He studied the edge of the gown, flowing over your thick thighs as you walked. Shock.

“You look beautiful." You looked down at your soft belly, a mincing smile pulling at your lips. He knew you were nervous, the way your hands obscured your plush belly. Mesmerized, his finger fell away from Mireya's soft grip. Peter's words echoed in his mind, a deep annoyance. It made his skin crawl, this growing annoyance in the acknowledgment that he had no sex in weeks, months. He took a step forward.

“I hope she doesn’t sleep through the night. My breasts are full,” Your fingers skimmed the taut skin. The glint of your wedding band invited him forward as if… you should be his tonight. You were his wife-- and though he didn't expect you to give him relief, he missed you. Miguel dipped his head, stroking the sore muscles of his neck.

Are you, y'know, sex-starved?

“When does she ever..." he couldn't help from saying. He grazed his fingertips over the swollen skin of your breasts, glancing from the skin to your deep, shy eyes. His breath thinned, realizing that you were disengaging, too scared to look him in the eye.

“She does, Miggy,” you breathed. His jaw worked, annoyed. “Lately. You’d know if you came home at night.”

If it was lately, he had no knowledge of it. Every lab screen he pulled up, every status report from Lyla, and every silent night in the lab, obsessing over how his little girl was doing-- he missed it. He should be coming in more often, crossing the threshold of work to family life. His hand cupped the underside of your breast. You winced, embarrassment working on your face. You pushed his hand away, likely feeling exposed by his touch on your tender skin.

“Does it hurt?” He leaned down, mingling his smoky, musky scent with your delicate one. He leaned in to place a soft, open-mouthed kiss along your neck, the warm pulse of your skin against his plump lips.

“Miggy, you’ll wake her up.”

Your fingers laced in his before you pulled him out of the room with a click of the door. He settled his hand on the middle of the door, sliding his hand up your waist, the soft fabric crinkling over the movement. He glimpsed a look at your soft panties cupping your round ass. “Miggy, I… I can’t. I’m tired.”

Of course, you were tired-- He underestimated how much work you took on in her care. He willed the wisps of his desire to snuff out. The distant flicker of hope followed promptly after. Maybe, one day, you would want him again. It wasn't today.

“Ya veo,” he suppressed his frustrated growl, wrinkling his forehead. “Another time.”

It wasn't the next day. Or the one after that. Or the one after that.

The anomaly whirled along a cobblestone street, exploding in a cloud of dust and stone. Its many black dipped hands flickered, dulling into little more than a negligible tremor of their limbs. Everyone else noticed the complacency that came with loss of consciousness. Miguel did not.

Miguel sauntered forward, dragged it by its muddy boots out from the crumbly remnants of the wall, and whirled it into another. It wasn't moving. It was done, tired, exhausted. He didn't care, his large hand encompassing its tendril hair and smashing it over the dusty floor. A violent crack, crack, crack of its head scratched his inert need to destroy something, anything, anyone. It fell from his hands with a slump. Miguel spat a bit of blood to the side, his cheek chewed raw under the tension of the moment.

“You need to take Peter up on that offer.”

Miguel stretched his neck one way. Then the other.

“We’ve been over this,” Miguel grumbled, hiking the pummeled body over his shoulder. It gushed blood, streaming into a diluted pink with the downpour of rain. A simple contusion, Miguel said. It was just a contusion. And a concussion. Maybe a gash or two. It would heal if the thing woke up. “I don’t need help.”

“You thrashed it, whatever it was,” Jess said pointedly. Miguel’s finger ran across his watch. The air was stale without an acknowledgment of Miguel’s churning temper, growing into a churning tempest by the passing minute. He stared long and hard through his mask. She drew out the silence as she waited for his response.

“It’s a contusion.”

The portal whirled to life before them in a slurry of vivid color, an unforgiving abyss. Jess slumped her bike with weight on one thigh, hand on her belly. The longer Miguel stared at her, so full and pregnant, the more he was reminded of you. He pinched the bridge of his nose. There was no use-- he saw visages of you everywhere he looked.

“Doesn’t look like any head contusion I’ve seen,” Gwen slid into the portal. His lip curled, annoyed by the obvious objection to what he was saying. If they would let it go-- he could go on about his life, wait for this obsession with his sex life to abate. Wait for you to come back to him.

“You can’t keep taking out your—“

“I am not sex-starved!”

“Convincing.” Jess sped into the portal.

Miguel soothed the stress out of his forehead, opening and closing his palm, a current of energy coursing through his palms. They picked— and they picked— and they picked at him. At some point, he was bound to explode. He only hoped you wouldn't be in his way when it happened. He whipped the anomaly through the portal and followed after.

On the other side of the portal, there was Peter— again. Cooing with his hands on his daughter— again. His dark mask faded away, his suit wicking water off his frame. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he located you beside Jess and Gwen. You nudged its crumpled body with your shoe. He didn’t often feel ashamed of his actions. Usually, they were necessary. Something was wrong, your face pinched and curled in disgust. He felt the string of your disapproval pulling through his arms, a slight, incriminating tremor flickering through his finger. He willed it away.

“What did you do to this poor thing?” you turned to Jess, a click-click-click off your tongue. He’d hardly call it poor. “It’s overkill.”

“Girl, ask your husband,” Jess folded her arms, reclining on her bike.

“Mi Miggy?” you went to him. You leaned over, pecking his cheek with a terribly insulting kiss, tickling his jawline. He swallowed. Blinked. Then frowned and brushed off your fingers, finding the care misplaced. You could care for an anomaly but didn't care to ask him how he felt. What he needed. Your voice wilted that sunshine quality, dropping almost to a whisper. “¿Qué te pasa, Miggy?”

“Nothing.”

“Miguel--"

“I said nothing!” He knelt down, grasping its ankle and dragging it down the long, drab hall that stored a variety of anomalies. A line of blood soaked the floor, swerving after his rumbling steps. You took a step forward, snatching his wrist between your fingers. He whirled around, a tremble on his lips firmed out into an unforgiving glare. You let up the pressure on his wrist, allowing him to spin his hand free. “Déjame en paz! There is nothing shocking wrong!”

Mireya cried. So did you.

The admittance that Peter was right wasn’t one that Miguel was about to make openly.

Although he showed up that night, as you informally requested, the night proceeded awkwardly. There was no talk over dinner, not as he watched you feed his little girl, swaying by the window of the enormous city below. As you gazed into the sea of twinkling lights, Miguel came up behind you. His palms encompassed your slight shoulders, moist against your exposed shoulders. His naked chest grazed your back.

"Are you going to apologize?"

Why should he have to? If anyone listened to what he was saying-- he wouldn't be in this mess. Still, Miguel steeled his face. He placed a mincing kiss on the top of your head. His voice thinned out, barely a feather on his lips.

"I snapped."

"You did a lot more than that. You scared her."

You let him sit with his regret until you fell asleep. He debated returning to the lab or his room to try again tomorrow. But he knew his wife. You were attentive to everything that he did. You might take it as a sign of his disinterest. After minutes turned to hours, he breached the door and slid into your bed when he was sure you were asleep.

When his eyes coursed over your figure, he realized all he missed. It was too long since he felt the warmth of a real kiss. Not the brief pecks on his lips as he rushed out the door to help Jess or Gwen or any other number of spiders demanding his attention. He missed the warmth in your eyes, the way they turn into crescents with a happy smile or jaunty laugh. He longed for that sensation of your fingers combing through his hair, taking your time and curling his fluffy hair behind his ear, eyes trained on his alone in a sea of spiders. That… sensation of being the only one that you wanted.

Mireya was that for you now. He longed for it every time he came into the room, seeing you sway with his child in your arms, cradled against your breast, feeding her into a restful sleep. What he thought was a mere seed of jealousy turned out to be a terrible beast, tendrils of resentment that you can’t see what he needs. He needs you. And it isn’t his beautiful Mireya’s fault, no. It’s his.

Instead, he lay there with his palm wretched around his cock, soaked in the artificial lubricant, throbbing into his hand. He remembered his words that night. A begrudging -- Mami, give me a baby-- and how well you took him. Your body seemed to know what he wanted, swelling with his child after a few weeks. He buckled into his palm, cranking around the base and swirling up to his leaking tip, bubbling with his need. He circled his finger over the head, swiping the fluid away.

“What are you thinking about?”

Miguel paused, sweat crept down his thick throat over his broad chest. He shuddered under the weight of your silken words. His hand coiled around his cock in one more jerk, somehow accepting that he had been caught.

“Are you thinking about me? Or is there someone else?”

"Someone else?" he breathed. His lips dropped into a frown, agitation simmering to a boil. It cooled when you looked at him-- but really looked at him. The bed shifted under your weight, ruffling pillows aside. You hoisted your legs over his body, pushing his cock against your soft vulva and his stomach, breasts pushing into his face. So close that Miguel inhaled the uniquely sweet smell of your milk obscured by thin lace.

“Why would I have anyone else?” he asked, his chest distantly aching. His gaze tracked from one breast to the other. He stole a glimpse at your face, stricken with shyness. The slight pout of your lips, eyes refusing contact. “Do you even want me?”

Undoubtedly yes.

“You don’t come to see me. You don't fuck me. You don't even--"

"You're always tired."

"But you could wake me.”

“Could I? To deny me again?” It hadn’t meant to come out so passive-aggressive, but with the natural inflections in his voice, he knew you could read him like a book.

“Oh, papi," not that soft voice. He might hope again. "I always want you.“

Hmpf. Debatable.

“Even when you’re jerking off in my bed. Or couch.” You slid your pink tongue along your lower lip, guiding your body against his. The wet draw of your juices over his dick drew his sharp scarlet eyes to the sight, knocking your stiff clit with his dick. For a moment, his words failed. He should have known you would watch him.

“Is that why you're so... angry? Because of me?" He made a small noise, barely a huff. You drew his hands to your full breasts, obscured by a thin layer of fabric. This time, he smothered a groan in his chest. How pathetic, he thought, to be moaning from something as simple as your firm breasts back in his hands. What was he-- twelve? "Have I been neglecting you, Miguel O’Hara?”

“Yes-- you've neglected me,” he murmured, dragging the lace underneath each breast, knocked together by the straps of the fabric. He melded your breasts again between his hands, massaging the sore skin. His thumps flickered over your nipples, stiffening them into peaks. With a small pinch to your breasts, milk dribbled over his fingertips.

"I won't do it again," he wondered if you missed his touch by the full, grateful hum of your lips, your palms disappearing into his dark hair. You coursed along his dick again, eliciting another piteous noise of longing from his throat. "I promise."

“Hm," was the only agreement. "What a mess,” he teased, not bothering to look at you. It had the desired effect, your shoulders shyly bunching up, the cute pout of your lips, warmth in your cheeks, quivering eyes. He loved it when you looked so fucking shy, so vulnerable, and all for him. "You're leaking all over my hand."

“I’m-- sorry,” you flushed, “It… happens.”

“Mhm, you're full,” Miguel flicked his pink tongue along your stiff, fat nipple, drawing it into his mouth with a suckle. Sweet milk soothed his tongue. He hungrily drank it up, shifting his other hand back to angle his cock at the entrance of your core. A hand left his thick locks and jerked to his broad shoulder, stabilizing your hips down to sink onto him. Blood welled to the surface with your claws scratching piteously along his sunkissed skin. With a bit of resistance, he slid perfectly into your body, just like he always did. A satisfied sigh escaped his lips against your breast. It was somehow different-- the tug and stretch of his cock-- as he fucked the mother of his child. Maybe it was all in his head. “Shock, you’re gorgeous on my dick.”

“Miggy--”

He shifted to the other breast, his hands nearly stapled on your hips, encouraging you to do the work. Your warm milk slid into his mouth, down his starved throat. The pleasure of knowing he was draining you of your milk was tempered with the ever-present fact that soon, you’d have his spunk in your belly again. Your hips flushed, drawing around in quick circles, flushed with his pelvis. Small waves of pleasure grew in your belly. Your stiff clit glided against his skin, again, and again with the undulations of his hips. You felt pinned between his mouth and dick, restricted in movement, but all his, devoured by his need.

“Come here, mi hermosura,” Miguel released your breast from those lush lips, sliding his tongue along his lips to catch the remnants of your sweet milk. He slid down along the pillows, flushing your chest to his, and propped his legs slightly for a better angle. His muscular arms wound around your back, cock pumping into you with renewed vigor. He knocked against your cervix in this position, holding you fast and tight in his arms. You nestled against his sweaty chest, accepting his thrusts so well.

“Miggy-- I’m not-- on anything.”

“You're breastfeeding, close enough,” he mused in your ear as though it were a joke.

You might have argued with him if you weren’t so blinded by that fantastic juddering of his hips. As it were, pleasure rocked all thoughts of birth control out of your mind. Miggy, an ever-present lover, groaned as he held out through your orgasm milking and soaking his swollen dick in your cum. Not a moment later, Miguel forced a long stroke of his dick inside your cunt, reaching his climax buried deep in your tremoring walls. You squeezed him tight, milking him dry of his orgasm until it all faded into fuzzy pleasure. You sighed as his arms loosened, warm and full of Miguel after so long. His soft dick slipped free, cum oozing onto his thighs, but he couldn’t be bothered to deal with the mess.

He set a kiss on the top of your head, then your forehead, and eventually snatched your lips in a warm kiss. You could taste the sweetness of your milk on his tongue and flushed. Your head dropped down on his chest, listening for the gentle whining of your daughter. It was silent but for the intermingling of your heaving breaths.

After all the issues: the disappointment, the fighting with Peter and Jess, Miguel couldn’t help but chuckle. All it took was jerking off in your bed. He should have known-- you never did like to be left out on his fun. You were always a jealous lover, even at the threat of his own hand.

“Hm? Why are you laughing?”

“Peter said I was sex-starved."

“Well," you glistened a smile, kissing along his jaw. He huffed. "He wasn't wrong."

#miguel o'hara oneshot #miguel o'hara x you #miguel x reader #miguel ohara x reader #miguel o'hara/reader #miguel ohara oneshot #miguel o'hara x reader #atsv imagine #atsv imagines #atsv x reader #atsv x you #across the spiderverse imagines #across the spiderverse imagine #miguel o'hara smut #spiderman 2099 smut #miguel ohara smut #miguel x y/n #miguel o’hara smut #miguel/reader #miguel x you #miguel o'hara imagine

[yawnderu]

Birthday Boy — Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

content: mutual pining, idiots in love, fluff.

"Hey, big guy." You greet, pushing past him while holding a cake on your arms, setting it down on his desk. He simply gives you a confused look, eyebrows raising under the balaclava, closing the door hesitantly.

"Fucking hell." He mutters softly, arms crossing as he rests his back against the wall, his behemoth frame looking down at you as you steal a lighter from his desk, lighting the candles.

"I know you said you don't do birthdays but I just thought you deserve to have a day for yourself, so I kind of... gave you a birthday, I guess." Your embarrassment grows the more he stares you down, a bashful smile growing on your face when he says nothing. Your attention is grabbed by a deep chuckle coming out of him, shaking his head before he walks over to you, skull gloved fingers gently flicking your forehead.

"Why?" Is all he can ask, curiosity tainting his tone before he lets out a soft groan, looking down at the cake decorated with a messily written "Happy Birthday, Simon" and awfully drawn skulls all over. He wouldn't admit it, but he finds it even more charming.

"Just because." You reply shortly, hands making contact with the thin fabric of his black compression shirt, gently holding him by the biceps, guiding him to a chair in front of his desk where the cake was. He lets you drag him without any complaints.

"I'm gonna sing ya happy birthday, okay?" Your words are met with another groan, his elbows going to the table, face resting on his hands as if this situation is stressing him out. He eventually nods his head, looking up at you.

"Yeah, yeah." He mumbles, the fire from the candles making his eyes stand out even more in the dim room, the dark brown now a sweet honey color, showing you just how dilated his pupils are as he looks at you. You sing him happy birthday, making a small show out of it with claps and an overly cheery voice, dragging groan after groan out of him, the corners of his eyes creasing as he tries his best to suppress the smile tugging at his lips.

"Make a wish and blow the candles." You encourage after you're done singing, hands gently massaging his sore shoulders as you excitedly wait for him to comply. And he does, hesitantly getting closer to the cake and not doing anything for a few seconds before blowing the candles. A laugh of pure relief escapes your lips once the candles are off, tapping his shoulders gently before letting go.

"Good man. I made the cake, y'know?" You start cutting the cake, making sure to cut an extra big piece for him— with what little he has told you about himself, you can tell it's been a while since he got celebrated— If it even happened at all.

"I can tell." He replies teasingly, tone full of humor as he gets up and narrowly misses a punch thrown his way. He can't help but let out a small laugh, getting into a playful fighting position, pretending to throw a few punches your way and making a show out of making sound effects for each one. None of his punches connect, of course, but you use the opening he left to smear a little bit of frosting on his arm, making him groan loudly.

"Bloody hell." He grumbles, the cheeky smile you shoot him making him playfully roll his eyes. He eventually settles down, sitting in bed and lifting his balaclava halfway, tasting the sweet treat. He takes his time to savor it, nodding his head in approval as he looks down at you before digging in again.

" 'S good." He praises after another bite, attention now fully on the piece of chocolate cake on his plastic plate. You take this moment to admire the exposed half of his face— his soft jawline and thin pink lips, hints of a stubble covering his cheek and chin, a little bit of his eyeblack tainting his cheeks as well. You feel like a Victorian man seeing ankles, grasping at straws just to admire him.

He gives you a side eye and you look back down at your plate, starting to taste the cake as well, as if you weren't just staring at him like an infatuated hyena. You're too deep in thought to even realize his eyes are on you until you feel his finger smearing frosting on your nose, a laugh of pure disbelief escaping your lips.

"You little cunt—"

#cod mw2 #cod mwii #simon ghost riley #ghost mw2 #simon riley #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost fluff #ghost fluff #mw2 fluff #simon x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost x reader #ghost x y/n #ghost x you

[grandlinedreams]

“We should get married.” 

The question in and of itself is a strange one, made more so for the fact that it’s coming from Zoro of all people – and the fact that he’s asking you in the middle of a fight. Your back is pressed against his, the heat of his skin seeping into your clothes – and you wonder if he’s gotten hit in the head too many times. Or thrown through too many things – too much of something. 

“Are you seriously saying that right now?” Your tone is incredulous as you swing your weapon, scowling as you watch another enemy drop with a cry and a splatter of blood. “We’re a little busy right now, aren’t we?”

Zoro grins, expression manic with the deepened shadows of his face from his bandana, adjusting to place the hilt of Wadou Ichimonji in his mouth. “Is that a yes?”

You have the brief moment of considering knocking Zoro out for your opponent – clearly his daily naps out in the sun have baked his brain more than you previously thought. “No!”

–

The question doesn’t turn out to be borne from a brain-based injury flaring up, because Zoro doesn’t let the subject go. He bides his time, waiting about two weeks from when he first asked before he tries again.

This time, the stars are a witness to his buffoonery – now fueled by the bottles of sake he seems to have squirreled away everywhere on the Thousand Sunny. You watch as he tips the bottle to his lips, the brief shimmer of liquid that beads at his lips before it disappears as he swallows. 

“We should get married,” he says, and this time, you scoff. It isn’t one of disdain, rather of amusement as you wait for the alcohol induced flush to rise to his cheeks. “‘m serious, you know.”

“No,” you counter softly as you scoot closer to him, reaching up to wipe a drop of sake from the corner of his lips and bring it to your own for a taste. As ever, his own choices in alcohol seem to be tailored for him and him alone – sake still isn’t your thing. “You’re drunk.”

Zoro hums, eye flicking from the night sky above to you. “Is that a yes?”

You press your lips to his warm cheek. “Ask me again when you’re sober.”

–

The third time that he asks, he’s waited so long that you’ve almost forgotten that he ever asked in the first place. After all, Roronoa Zoro has never seemed like someone interested in the intimate entanglement of marriage – you have absolutely no clue what has possessed him to suddenly ask you with this kind of tenacity. 

“We should get married,” he says, and you resist the urge to sigh as you stare at him, his head pillowed against your thigh. Below the shade of Nami’s tangerine trees, you can hear Luffy’s bright laughter intermingled with Usopp and Franky’s. 

This time you aren’t in the middle of a fight, nor is he drunk. This time, you take a moment to study his face, the dapple of sunlight through waxy green leaves, the scent of citrus in the air. You love him, you’re sure of that – as sure as you’ve been of anything in your life. 

“We’re pirates,” you answer, tapping your fingers against his cheek in an echoed rhythm of one of Brooke’s songs from the night before. “Pirates don’t get married.”

“Sure they do.” He’s watching you now, with the kind of intensity he usually only reserves for battle, and you look away. “Captains can officiate marriages. I asked Robin about it.”

You blink and let your attention shift to Luffy for a minute – you love your captain, you do. But the idea of him being serious about much of anything beyond what matters to him (food, his crew’s safety, finding the One Piece – in that order) makes you giggle. You can’t imagine him officiating something like a marriage. 

“What if I want a ceremony?” Your fingers find his cropped green hair, stroking gently across his scalp. “Those are expensive.”

He shrugs. “We’d find a way. I’m sure Nami would help.”

Your lips curve in an amused smile for a moment before it dims at the edges. “It’d be dangerous,” you point out, and he answers with a short bark of laughter.

“Not any more than shit we’ve already faced.”

“Rings?”

“We don’t need that fancy stuff.” 

Your smile fades completely, hand stilling in his hair. “Why do you think we should get married?”

There must be an edge to your tone now, because Zoro refocuses on you, all signs of mirth gone. “Because we love each other, right? Sounds like the next logical step.” 

Your gaze hardens. “So you’re asking because you think we should? Or because you want to marry me?” He sits up, and you get to your feet. 

“Is that a no?” he asks, and you pause.

“Ask me again when you figure things out, Zoro.” 

–

“Marry me.” 

This time, his voice is quiet. Soft and vulnerable – for the late hour or the intimacy of his bare skin against yours, you aren’t sure. His hand drifts up and down your back, counting the bumps of your spine over and over. 

You shift against him, face nestled to rest against his chest. “Zoro–” 

“I’ve thought about it,” he cuts you off. “So just be quiet and listen, okay?” You don’t say a word, waiting for him to continue on his own. “I don’t want to marry you just because I think that I should, I want us to get married because you...you mean a lot to me. You’re important to me, and I –” He pauses, struggling. This kind of thing is not Zoro’s forte, you both know that – but after a moment, he resumes. “I don’t see myself being like this with anyone but you. I don’t want to be like this with anyone but you. Just want you.” A moment of silence, hearts beating in tandem. 

You move, adjusting enough that you can look at him properly, the gleam of moonlight against his face. And you kiss him. Slow and sweet, eyes sliding shut as you linger for as long as you can before you pull away. 

“Marry me,” he repeats. 

This time, you don’t squawk at him like he’s crazy. You don’t accuse him of being drunk, don’t deflect him for fear that he’s doing it because he thinks he should, not that he wants to. This time, you smile.

“Yes,” you answer. “I’ll marry you.”

#ㅡmine. #one piece x reader #one piece scenario #zoro roronoa x reader #zoro x reader #–ml: zoro.