#Saint is so much fun to write for

[makoredeyes]

(are these still open?x) 30. Misraaks and Saint x

YESSSSS thank you for sending me probably one of my favorite prompts! <3 <3 <3

#30 - as a comfort

The Market District was a bright place full of color, movement, light, and sound. Life moved all around Saint as he ambled carefully around shoppers and booths alike, admiring the people as much as the wares on display.

There were enough humans here mingling with the Eliksni of House Light that Saint almost blended in, if it weren't for his significant stature, and that, for the moment at least, he was the only Exo in the crowd. It warmed his heart to see Humanity and their once enemies mixing peacefully. It was a beautiful day. The sun was out, the sky was clear. The scent of flowers mixed with sweetly with roasting meats and breads. A pair of Drekhs plucked away on acoustic guitars in the shade of a tree, the couple tinkering on a duet together. Saint shot them a smile as he passed and one raised a secondary arm in greeting. The other, a transplant from another house, was still regrowing docked arms, but tipped its snout up instead. Saint's smile brightened as he passed along, ducking under low-hanging flower pots and through an archway.

Eido's grotto was cooler, but no less bright than outside. There were flowers everywhere, and butterflies danced in sunbeams filtering down through the ceiling. Saint reckoned they must be drawn to her sweet demeanor because he'd seen them nowhere else outside. One curious, sociable creature knew another, he reasoned warmly.

The young Scribe was nowhere to be seen, but her concoctions burbled and bubbled quietly on overladen workbenches, so Saint thought she must not be too far away. She never was.

She didn't like to leave her father out of her sight for too long these days.

Neither did Saint.

Unconcerned with examining Eido's work too closely, Saint turned away from that patch of sunshine to the shadow in the corner, his eyes dimming.

Misraakskel sat slumped in his throne, arms folded tight around his carapace, head lowered, the lights of his helm dim as he slumbered. For a minute, Saint stands planted where he is, watching. Misraaks is shrinking, his armor loose on his body, his limbs slim. The seat of the great chair supporting him seems to swallow his body instead of surround it.

There is no ignoring that the Kell of the House of Light is ailing.

As Saint watches, Misraaks' head tosses, the Kell hissing audibly with a hard vent of Ether. His legs twitch, and the claws of his hands scrabble against the armor covering his thighs. He jerks, moaning. The shadows surrounding him have grown longer. Darker.

Saint knows the evil that haunts him.

Looking around and confirming they are alone, he strides across the room and right up the dias, squaring his shoulders as he walks.

"Leave him alone, you vile wretch," he hisses, his voice low. He is looking at Misraaks, but he is addressing someone - something - else. He knows what is there, even if he cannot see it, and he is not afraid. "You are not allowed power here this day. Be gone!" He reaches Misraaks, and a distinct chill, wet and slippery like an ice cube, slides right down his spine to settle uncomfortably low in his gut, but Saint ignores it.

"Misraakskel," he whispers, bending low over his friend. "You are strong. You are loved. And today, you are safe with the Saint." He bends at the waist and kisses the knuckles of one of Misraaks' hands gently.

The shadows seem to ease, and Misraaks heaves a sigh, his slumber becoming restful as soon as Saint touches him. 

Saint pulls back, surprised that was truly all it had taken, but then nods curtly to himself, satisfied with the results.

"Good," he murmurs to himself. "Then I will stay."

With that, he folds himself up at Misraaks' feet and settles down to stand guard for as long as it takes.

It was the least he could do, after all, after everything.

[peridots-pixiwolf]

[Start ID. A redraw of the official icons of the ten named slugcats from Rain World, arranged in two rows: Survivor, Monk, Hunter, Nightcat, and Gourmand in the first, Artificer, Rivulet, Spearmaster, Saint and Enot/Inv in the second. Each is drawn in roughly the same pose as in the original art and fitted with speculative interpretations of their biology, and the second image is a “dead” version of this. For example, all ten have slug-like rhinophores in place of ears, cuttlefish-like colorful eyes with strangely-shaped pupils, cephalopod-like beak "teeth", expressive barbels or oral tentacles at the corners of mouths, spiny radulas, and the frilly mantle fringes of sea slugs, though otherwise their faces are squishy, simple and mammalian-shaped.

Cream-colored Survivor and yellow Monk both share triangular, bicolored spots matching their eyes (which are tan and brown, and two shades of blue, respectively), small, bumpy fringes, and relatively neutral looks on their faces. Defensive-looking Hunter is mostly a dull orange-pink, though their blobby fringe is a more violent red and their back is purple and marred with lumps. Nightcat is navy blue and flecked with dots of yellow and teal, their rolled rhinophores are a lighter blue, and their shading fractures into stars in some places. Gourmand is almost uniformly tan, their wide, very ruffly white mantle fringe bordered by a spray of white spots, and their beak sticks out from either corner of their smile. Primarily red Artificer, snarling, has yellow markings of multiple sorts, a prominent yellow dewlap and their characteristic dark scar taking out a chunk of its face. Rivulet is a darker blue than usual, with long barbels, red gills and rings, countershading, and a cheerful expression, sticking out their radula. Spearmaster is purple with orange accents, eyes and spots, a large fringe and spines down their back. Saint’s green caryophyllidia are marked by small, yellow diamonds, and their long, thin radula extends far below them. Enot is decorated with mottled red stripes, blue patches, yellow stars, and an uneven and almost cartoonish imitation of blush, though generally the same deep blue as Nightcat, a passive or almost slightly smug look on their face and their rolled rhinophores out to either side.

In the second image, nine of the slugcats’ eyes are crossed out, indicating that these are death icons. They look fairly the same, with mostly expression differences. Survivor is caught in the beginning of a threat display, a karma flower sprouts from Monk’s side, Hunter is burdened with overgrowing, purple and blue rot, Nightcat’s rhinophores are pinned back, and Gourmand looks mildly disheartened. For the final row, Artificer bites its radula between small plumes of smoke, Rivulet drops their expression, Spearmaster looks very startled, Saint looks almost entirely the same besides half-open eyes and their markings greater in number, and Enot grins confusedly. End ID]

If you'll excuse the unusually lengthy ID: the arena meme introduced by @pansear-doodles at long last after a nearly year-long wip status (or, rather, finished a month ago today to honor my own first time playing it!)

Design notes and shout-outs under cut! :]

The following people are some of those who’ve inspired my designs most since I started this eight months ago (or just inspired me to get a little weirder with slugcat biology), among many others for sure, and I thank them for it–but this is simply to bring attention to artists I find cool, and in no way an obligation to interact or anything :]

> @saturncoyote , @carpsoup , @charseraph , @gallusgalluss , @bitsbug , @dopscratch , and @0hmanit (and a special mention to dddeerbo and hunterlonglegs, who’ve since deactivated)!

Survivor: Surprisingly the hardest to pin down the colors for, since nothing with its sibling's palette seemed to match up right (I did have to add in a little blue somewhere for Monk, the beginning of making it clear how much I’m simply going based off of vibes for the colors of scug innards). I consider them, Monk and Gourmand to be part of the same gene pool of slugcats, and even possibly the same colony even if the latter isn't really related, so took a bit of Gourmand's coloring and fit them in with their inspiration: Goniobranchus verrieri. They serve as a bit of an introduction to my ideas of scug traits (i find it really fun how many people have thought to add so many silly sluglike fixtures of biology completely independent of me, buuut here I’m mostly talking about species variation), and like in-game they’re pretty average! They, Monk and Hunter have a couple scars sourced from a piece of Joar's concept art that I'm failing to find, those across the bridge of the nose, under the eyes, and across the rhinophores, respectively, and my Survivor interpretation features many on the back of the neck, as a result of survived lizard bites.

Monk: Their coloring is primarily based off the fact that I associate them with blue fruits, honestly, a bit because I was compelled to establish a familiarity with Rivulet, and lastly inspired by the spots of Goniobranchus kuniei (and geminus, less important to me as one of my characters is a kuniei instead, but more fitting). Between the yellow + blue and the circular marking in the center of their face, they’re meant to bear a little resemblance to an iterator that shares similarities with the characterization I’ve given them, and similar coding of her sibling can be seen on Survivor’s markings around the eyes. As both a “default” slugcat and one whose campaign I haven’t played, though, I can’t say I have much more to point out about em.

Hunter: The whole rot thing made for a really fun time drawing them, and while the color change on their back is a result of this, it’s also an excuse to relate them to Babakina festiva, arguably my favorite sea slug (mostly for sentimental purposes). And to Spearmaster, a fellow messenger slugcat, and it serves as a gradient between Hunter’s pink and the “traditional” color of Rot seen in the DLLs. Aside from their affliction, they’d actually be the plainest in terms of design, as they don’t have any patterns or quirks of body type, just the red + purple and strange lumps + possible malnutrition. I can’t remember if NSH had created them in particular or just...caught + released or something, but it probably wouldn’t be strange for a lab-grown slugcat to be simple like that.

Gourmand: Like the two above, they’re rather plain in terms of coloring and adaptation, and like the two above, I find that fun. I decided it would be nice to avert the “all slugcats being of the same body type, and Gourmand’s out of place as the exception” thing by just...adding more fat to all of them, really. I did want to emphasize their sheer bulk even so, both fat and muscular (not like I couldn’t have still gone further with it, of course, but slugcat anatomy can be a little obfuscating sometimes, and they were intended to look rather plush considering personal size headcanons and therefore the lack of proper gravity), and the thick and flounced mantle looked like a good addition, as per their sea slug Glossodoris hikuerensis. Unlike Survivor and Monk, I didn’t attempt to hold their resemblance to any particular other character (which means a little less to balance out the “default gene pool” thing), so those are all the design notes I have for em.

Artificer: The second slugcat I’ve ever played, or finished the campaign of, my favorite for at least a long time, and the first thing I did was give them yellow accents, the shape of which have troubled me slightly (not quite like the spots or stripes of the others). They’re both a little more appealing and more explosive-looking to me, and considering how early on I played Arti, actually present in some of my older art. It does give them a little resemblance to Saint (completely intentional, two slugcats with strange relations to karma), as well as the fact that its radula is green for familiarity with one of its children (at some point it was going to have all-green markings, even!). I’m generous with their scars, partly because it was fun to overemphasize the one on their face and partly because it does seem like a reckless slugcat, on top of the dangers of its explosive abilities–I’ll probably just keep adding more forever. Mostly-red sea slugs aren’t too common, but Hexabranchus sanguineus works for sure. The ridged, yellow dewlap can expand for combustion purposes, or something along those lines. Arti’s where I began experimenting with a lot of the mildly-offkilter features seen in my interpretation of slugcats, as they’ve once again been a favorite from the start.

Rivulet: I've obviously given other slugcats spots, deeply enjoy the bubbly-soda markings of other peoples' slugcats, and thought seal riv would be cute. Despite not too closely resembling it, they've been government-assigned Hypselodoris bennetti, for color reasons and for a couple sentimental ones. Originally, the colors of every scug were meant to match up with the custom colors I gave them at the beginning of their campaigns, (though Arti, Gourm and Spearmy are the only three who actually apply here, since I've only played through half the slugcats: I gave arti the yellow as mentioned above, gourm brown eyes and spearmy light pink spears, furthered by the outskirts pearl accompanying me and that palette all the way to moon. Tolerance training for eternity in hell cause I already knew about the maroon pearl quest). I initially gave them the colors of the bi flag for fun... but with the limited palette of this image, I was left without pink for a while and decided to see how they'd look in red. I then realized how they now wonderfully matched Moon, and besides, red's a sort of camouflage in deep water! As a side-note, the difference between their eyes and those of others always bothered me a little for anatomical purposes, and the cephalopod eyes were probably influenced by this!

Spearmaster: Inspired as much as possible by @notyourfunnyman ’s wonderful spearmy: designed in a way that helps it fit in with scavengers, at least between the long sensory tentacles, big ruff, back spines and slightly thin/distended anatomy, a form of defensive mimicry. I always had annulate rhinophores in mind, for a little diversity sure, but mostly because the shape reminds me of radio antennae and communication towers (seems fitting for the comms array and being a messenger slugcat)! I started searching for a real-life slug to give them just by looking up their rhinophore shape...and was met immediately and coincidentally with annulate-topped nudibranchs that fit them more perfectly than I could've imagined: Flabellina and surrounding clades, I think Paraflabellina ischitana works very nicely. The orange was completely unplanned, but there wasn’t a place for light pink among the other slugcats’ palettes, and importantly it likens them to both Hunter and Seven Red Suns a little more.

Saint: I am very much a non-furred slugcat enjoyer, with respect to those who aren’t, so figuring out the only visibly furred slugcat was an interesting challenge. I’ve decided that they likely have other, milder adaptations for help in the cold, mainly just more efficient fat storage, and what looks vaguely like fur is instead a bunch of tubercles (called caryophillia, for the second reminder out of three). Their inspiration doesn’t have these, however, Miamira sinuata’s numerous yellow and blue spots (not to mention...whatever’s going on with that shape) and general effect of being the only really green nudibranch I could find were probably perfect for a strange green echo. Not pictured, but their beak-teeth are tiny and flat to make a surface for grinding soft food against with the lack of a functioning radula, which is tipped with a specialized spiny “grapple-hook” for better traction/grip (not to mention the numerous little teeth running down the whole thing).

(Best part of hiding this under a readmore means edits will be seen by all reblogs, I'm mostly sure, because I completely forgot to mention! The spots on their forehead are simple eyes. Their camera eyes appear closed in-game, I like to believe their complex eyesight is rather poor anyways or otherwise reason that they aren't seeing out of those, and while this was far from her REASON for attunement with the world, it does help compensate for mainly viewing it through a canvas of simple light and dark. This, and the fact that their swapped-out "fur" is not only to commit to a lack of hairs but contributes to sensory input!)

Nightcat/Enot: I guess you could say I found the “these two are technically the same person” compelling. (E.g. similar colors, both very strange and enigmatic, and Enot/Inv/Sofanthiel’s remark during the dating sim about getting removed from Arena Mode.) I doubt they’re the only two slugcats in their body, considering humans with DID tend to have more than a few (and I find it very funny that a slugcat bearing resemblance to Nightcat appears in Gourmand’s ending. They’re allowed in the colony and Enot isn’t </3), and I have to credit @faelingdraws ’s art for being what convinced me on it! Their design inspirations come down to trying to balance a few different ideas: making the patterns and palettes of both look oddly similar (special mention to the stars, since those are fun to draw), basing them off of Felimare sechurana and juliae respectively, using blocks of color with the same placement as in Enot’s official art, and specifically making Enot look...biologically reasonable and imperfect, whilst also clearly trying to imitate human displays of emotion (what with...the eyes and blush on that one piece of official art).

Lastly, here’s just a lineup with notes on body shape and size. Most of the nicknames (existing to give a little more space, that’s all) are obvious, and while I can’t remember why I shortened Nightcat to Nox, it is in honor of my friend by the same nickname :]

[bigcats-birds-and-books]

Books of 2025: May Wrap-Up.

Good reading month, in terms of both quantity and quality (many four-star reads, good daisychain flow between books)! Great adulting month (more on this later)!! Even got some good knitting and writing in!

Here's what I read (photos/reviews linked):

GHOST OF THE NEON GOD ★★★★ Impulse buy; wasn't expecting it to worm into my brain but it did. Not perfect, but I had fun! Funny, fucked up, weird--you know my lifestyle.

CATCHPENNY ★★★★ Kitchen sink book (affectionate) about a washed-up thief who can travel through mirrors and doomsday cults and art and a missing teenager, exactly tickled my ODD THOMAS buttons, fucked up and funny and weird.

THE SAINT OF BRIGHT DOORS ★★★½ I really wanted to love this, but it didn't quite stick the twist!ending landing for me. I admire his ambition and his worldbuilding; excited to see how the author grows. Overall a good time.

MINIMIZING MARRIAGE ★★★ Snagged this from the library for Aro Reasons (Brake coined the term "amatonormativity" and discusses its implications with regards to marriage specifically). Chapter 4 was excellent; the rest of it was interesting but not what I was after. Very readable volume in a Feminist Philosophy series.

BRIGHT ★★★★ Thai novel in translation (first one written by a woman!), been on my radar for years. Lovely translation, lovely tonal balance (sweet moments + melancholy; it's a story about an abandoned 5/6-year-old, but it felt Authentic instead of Saccharine or Depressing). Definitely keeping an eye out for her other work in English.

THE LUMINOUS DEAD ★★★★ I didn't mean to binge this in less than 24 hours on a three-day weekend, but Here We Are. This is We Support Women's Wrongs: Cave SF/Horror Edition. Propulsive, tense, claustrophobic, deeply fucked up.

Under the Cut: A Note About ~*★Stars★*~

Historically, I have been Very Bad™ about assigning things Star Ratings, because it's so Vibes Heavy for me and therefore Contingent Upon my Whims. (Example: I don't like that stars are Odd, because that makes three the midpoint and things are rarely so truly mid for me)(I have hacked my way around this with a ½, which is really only applicable for me at ★★★ and up). Here is, generally, how I conceptualize stars:

★ - This was Bad. I would actively recommend that you do NOT read this one, no redeeming qualities whatsoever, not worth the slog. Save Yourself, It's Too Late For Me. Book goes in the garbage (donate bin).

★★ - This was Not Good. I would not recommend it, but it wasn't a total waste or wash--something in here held my interest/kept my attention/sparked some joy. I will not be rereading this ever. Save Yourself (Or Join Me In Suffering, That Seems Like A Cool Bonding Activity).

★★★ - This was Good/Fine/Okay/Meh. I don't care about this enough to recommend it one way or another. Perfectly serviceable book, held my interest, I probably enjoyed myself (or at least didn't actively loathe the reading). I don't have especially strong feelings. You probably don't need to save yourself from this one--if it sounds like your jam, give it a shot! Just didn't resonate with me particularly powerfully. I probably won't reread this unless I'm after something in particular.

★★★½ - I liked this! I'll probably recommend it if I know it matches someone's vibes or specific requests, but I didn't commit to a star rating on Goodreads. More likely to reread, but not guaranteed.

★★★★ - I really enjoyed this!! I would recommend it (sometimes with caveats about content warnings or such--I tend to like weird fucked up funny shit, and I don't have many hard readerly NO's). Not a perfect book for me by any means, but Very Good. This is something I would reread! Join me!!

★★★★★ - I LOVED THE SHIT OUT OF THIS, IT REWIRED MY BRAIN, WILL RECOMMEND TO ANYONE AND EVERYONE AT THE SLIGHTEST PROVOCATION (content warning caveats still apply--see 4-star disclaimer). Excellent book, I'll reread it regularly, I'll buy copies for all my friends, I'll try to convince all of Booklr to read it, PLEASE join me!!

[scoutofmymind]

scouttttt my dear will we get more lasan ?

I’m actually full-blown insane and doing a western (kind of Sinners inspired without the vampires) au with Luigi twins and Hasan.

Luigi (Saint) is a kinda-priest and Leo (Grave) is a gravedigger at the cemetery they inherited from their father. Hasan is a bronco buster whose dad died and he’s more enamored by the twins than the grief that comes with losing a parent.

I likely won’t post it.. but who knows. More so, I’ll send a link to the Google doc for reading to those who are interested. But we’ll see 💋 this is more self indulgent than anything else lmao

Here’s some snippets bc why not. I have nothin to lose

[umbral-dominant]

[Art is done by my wife @hlkproductions, who's asked me/given permission to put it here!]

Selene Amatori, Dominant of Greagor (Seraph) the Eikon of 'Mind'. The unknowing twin to Dion Lesage, she held the markers of a Bearer at birth and was separated from him for a lifetime. It was only on her Eikon's awakening from the death/rebirth of the Phoenix that she awoke as a Dominant. Swarmed by cardinals and priests alike, the ten year old Branded held no words of her own, all those in power speaking to the public on her behalf - to parade 'the goddess' in their needs for sating display, her brand painted ivory whites each day. Her only true companions were her Light and Shadow; Dion her trusted friend and Aramis her eternal guardian. For the purpose of her own needs, the newly-made royal Anabella falsified the excommunication of Aramis, compelled the duty for Bahamut along the front lines, leaving Selene alone to the kindness of a poisoned apple; sending the young woman to her death in a lockbox within the water. It was only using her Eikon's power - at the cost of her own health and fortitude - that Selene saved herself, fighting to live despite all the ingrained teachings that told the once-Branded otherwise. Now considered dead to the world and mourned by that suffocating religion, she found her first taste of freedom alongside another ghost; Joshua Rosfield. His status as a Dominant serving to hear the Mind's Call for help from that stormy river; bringing her to learn the world with his travels.

[outlying-hyppocrate]

i have officially returned. ask me anything.

[lights-at-night]

saint electric fic :0????? DO tell

ehehehhehehe i only started planning it today so it's pretty first draft-y and things are probably going to change in future but yeah

setting: basically the silt verses version of vaguely victorian era industrial revolution. the cities of glottage and nesh are filling with opportunists and churches - people are now considering the use of gods and some are doing their best to make money off it. there are a lot of unethical sacrifices happening, since no labor laws have been set in place.

entire plot (spoilers for the nonexistent fic i guess): the woman who will become the saint electric is a leading figure in the developing field of what i'm calling practical theology and she's developing a new god - a god of electricity. of course, she makes it, but at the cost of the sacrifice of her assistants, gertruderobinsonstyle. her patron is eager to monetize this, and creates the church electric. she's pressured to do a demonstration of electrical lighting in glottage, and although initially hesitant about the people necessary to power such a display she's convinced into it. the display is interrupted by her friend in an attempt to prevent the sacrifices from being taken, but her friend fails and glottage lights up. because of this, her fame skyrockets and causes many people to join the church electric, and as the face of the church they begin to call her a saint (this is my reasoning for why she's called the saint electric - gods are new to the land and terminology for saints and angels isn't well established yet). her patron begins negotiations with the governments of the cls and the peninsula to build the electrical grid in their land (i need to do more research about the history of the electrical grid but this'll do for now). unfortunately for them, the parish of tide and flesh (this is pre-devlin times, they're legal at this moment) is Pissed about all of this because they invented hydraulic power before she did electricity and yet the peninsulan government is favoring her? when her company consorts with the linger straits? when the parish is an older and more established faith? and now the church electric wants to build on their land? how dare. the parish joins forces with ethical sacrifice activists, headed by theodora's friend who tried to stop the first demonstration to protest against the church electric, and her patron has to deal with this too, so they go and tell theodora (thats what i called pre-god saint electric) that it would be really helpful if she could reveal some cool electricity things to distract from the unrest. luckily, while all this has been happening, theodora has been working on a prototype of radio. unluckily, she's been avoiding using sacrifice for experimentation out of guilt from the last demonstration and has been testing this shit on herself, which. isn't good. so her patron spins the tale that she's been merging with the god itself, and therefore it is more urgent that the governments fund and build these pylons and connect all their homes! and NOt try to sabotage the electricity lines of the other side! her patron goes and gets replacement assistants/sacrifices so she stays alive for longer and doesnt go and ascend off this mortal plane. they bond and are friends! and this connection and their collective sacrifice is used to make a telegraph. at this point her life SUCKS. all her assistants have become saints to her work, and she tries to think of it as an honor to ease the guilt. her past friend is a leading voice against what theodora literally stands for and the only person who will call her by her name and not the saint electric is her patron, who only cares for her when she's profitable. so she withdraws into her work and stops making public appearances. distress and strikes arise, and the patron kills the person leading the ethical sacrifice movement, which makes them and the parish back down, since the church electric has been breaking those laws since day 1. this death is used to the government to get them to put laws regarding sacrifice in place. the patron and theodora speedrun an irl century-ish so they can do it before the sacrificial laws are put into place. they build a bunch of streetlights, and she does her final display - gas discharge lights, powered by the saint electric herself. she (insert verb of apotheosis) in front of a rapt audience, and so ends/begins the saint electric

misc: the early versions of pylons are made of the bone and blood vessels of the sacrifices, stretched like wires. the idea for making a kind of radio came from an offhand comment one of her assistants made. her patron is a close to a relative of the as-yet unborn adjudicator devlin, and the parish's protests against the church electric was one of the reasons the trawlerman got banned. the slag king & petropater is also there, developing alongside the saint electric, but i don't know/care a lot about concrete or oil so unless any of you are enthusiasts the most there'll be is a passing mention. i named the saint electric theodora arne, bc theodora means god's gift and is appropriately regal and arne means eagle and is also a word for like a fire in the home, which is for the electricity thing. i dont have the names for anyone else lol. the law regarding sacrifice is named after the person who died and also forces the parish to cut down and change their sacrificial practices, which would be another factor leading to their outlawing

yes this is very much an excuse for me to nerd out about lighting and pylons and electricity, no i haven't written this yet

[pangolinheart]

Last Dance In Ishgard

I finally finished my 2nd FFXIV OC Swap gift for the lovely @waldwasser! They requested a fic surrounding the Swap's themes of "Masquerade" or "All Saints Wake" and gave me a few starting ideas that grew into this fic. I hope that it was everything you were expecting! Thank you to the organizers of the swap, and to the people who helped me beta-read the final cut of the story! This was a lot of fun to think about and write, so I had a blast! Go check out Waldwasser's OCs on their blog!

[fictionadventurer]

The Heir of Redclyffe is teaching me that what Little Women really needed was for the March sisters to have a clever, witty, sharp-tongued, disabled brother who was BFFs with Laurie.

[cartoonsaint]

Gordon remembers doing late-night/early-morning dog park with Tommy. After that, it's all fuzzy. Or, this dimension's unluckiest theoretical physicist contracts lycanthropy.

happy halloween? :D

[pray4saint]

me getting ready for another night of dropping mini fics in my moots' inboxes:

i hope my marauders moots know they'll get their own after i finish the dteam + chuckle sammy ones i'm currently working on

[britneyshakespeare]

If I learned one thing from reading Major Barbara by George Bernard Shaw it's that if I ever feel inclined to suffer through one of his plays again I'm going to opt for watching it, because it does not stand up to the labor of reading

[bloomseishiro]

Hi! Can I request some BLLK drabbles (with whichever BLLK characters you like) where the boys see the reader in tight clothes for the first time? Like, the reader usually wears baggy clothing or stuff that hides their curves/body figure, so it’s a total surprise! It doesn’t have to be a dress—tight shorts and crop tops work too!

Anyways, I love you and your fics! You’re doing amazing, hunny! 💕 Keep doing what you’re doing—your stories make me smile and feel the thrill!! 💓🩷💗

what a surprise — he sees you in tight clothes for the first time

౨ৎ ft. nagi seishiro, itoshi sae, itoshi rin

a/n. THANK YOU SWEET ANON FOR THE REQUEST!! i had sm fun writing this and ur kind words def made my day ^-^ i chose the three characters i’m most comfy with heh one day i will expand!! >.>

contents. fluff, pre-relationship, timeskip/pro soccer player bllk boys, reader wears a tight dress for rin and nagi’s + crop top/short shorts for sae’s, these are suggestive so rated 16+ pls ! 

NAGI SEISHIRO

Nagi isn’t one to go to parties often. But this one was for Reo’s birthday and you were begging him to go. 

He thought it would be less of a hassle to simply agree with you and make an appearance. Besides, he could always bring his phone and hide in the corner of the room, if needed. 

But when Nagi sees the dress you’re wearing to the party, he decides maybe agreeing to come wasn’t such a bad idea after all. 

“Does this dress make my butt look big?” you ask from his room, popping your head out of the doorframe. 

The two of you are getting ready at Nagi’s apartment, mainly so he can’t flake at the last minute, and he had stepped out earlier to give you privacy while changing. 

At your question, Nagi looks around lazily before his eyes widen slightly at the sight of you. The dress on your body is short and tight, leaving nothing to the imagination when it comes to the shape of your waist and hips. 

Nagi swallows with uncertainty. It’s different from your usual attire, that much even he could recognize. 

“Yes,” he manages to answer your question honestly. 

You beam as if that's just the response you’re looking for. “Great! I was going to wear my usual clothes, but Reo said we should dress nice since his family invited some celebrities.”

Nagi nods in acknowledgment. “Your dress is nice. But your usual clothes are nice, too.”

Hiding a giggle, you tug the dress down so it covers more of your thighs. Nagi can’t help but notice how shiny and supple your skin looks there. 

“Do you like one more than the other?” you ask playfully. 

He shakes his head hesitantly and he feels heat rise to his cheeks. “I like…both.”

“I’ll make sure to mix it up sometimes, then.”

ITOSHI SAE

Sae isn’t a saint. He’s never claimed nor pretended to be. While his focus has always been on soccer, he wasn’t one to turn down one night stands so long as they were conveniently timed for him. 

All that to say, he’s seen plenty of minimally-clad bodies before. But he’s never felt the dryness in his throat that he does now. All from seeing you in those denim booty shorts and cropped baby tee. 

Of course, the ridiculous shirt has, “Make Men Cry” written across your chest, only accentuating the curves you normally kept hidden even more. You may very well be able to reach that goal if you keep walking around like that. 

His face is neutral; only Sae himself feels the slight clench of his jaw as his eyes trail across your figure. 

“Do I look bad?” you blurt hesitantly, tugging at the hem of your shirt that landed just above your belly-button. Your fidgeting only serves to draw more attention to the exposed, soft skin on your stomach. 

Sae blinks slowly. “No. Who said that?”

“No one, but you just keep staring at me…” 

“Not because you look bad,” he corrects. “It’s because you look hot.”

“You think?” you ask shyly, peering up at him through your lashes. “My friend and I went on a shopping spree and I wanted to change up my wardrobe. Just sometimes, at least.”

Sae makes a mental note to thank your friend. “Well, if you need more clothes, you can use my card.”

“I’ll make sure to get more of these cropped tops. Since you seem to like it so much,” you tease.

“For whatever reason, only on you.”

ITOSHI RIN

Awestruck doesn’t begin to describe how Rin feels when he sees you in a silk dress that gracefully falls against all your curves. 

Galas are a pain, a stupid event he would skip if not for his PR team’s incessant prodding, but at least he managed to drag you along with him for this one. 

He didn’t, however, actually expect you to dress the part. He would’ve been fine if you had shown up in the oversized shirts and baggy pants you typically wore, but he was completely caught off guard at the sight of you now.

“Can you help me tighten the back?” you ask bashfully, turning around to reveal the almost-backless dress that held itself together by a few measly strings. “I don’t want it to fall off at the gala…”

Rin’s ears heat up and he mentally slaps himself for picturing that. “Yeah. C’mere.”

You aren’t one to wear revealing clothes often, and this is the most skin he’s seen since he ever met you. His fingers ghost the back of your spine as he fastens the strings into a little bow. His fingers jerk as he skims the softness of your skin and he clears his throat to distract himself. 

“Is this good?” he asks hoarsely. 

You tug at the straps to make sure it’s secure and nod brightly. “Yep! Thanks, Rin. Do you need help with anything? I can tie your tie in return!”

Panicked, he shakes his head and quickly fastens his tie himself. It’s the fastest Rin has ever gotten it done. Once finished, he catches you staring at him with a funny look. 

“You’re acting silly,” you say, sticking your tongue out.

“Sorry. I know. I’m just not used to you looking like that.”

Your gaze meets the floor as you shuffle your weight from foot to foot. “Is it weird?”

“It’s unfamiliar. But you look…” he trails off, cheeks a bright pink. “You look really pretty.”

You blink in surprise and an equally embarrassed look graces your features. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” he coughs. “Not that you’re not always pretty. Just…it’s different.”

“Yeah,” you repeat, giggling through the shyness. “Well, if you want to see me like this more often, I guess you have to invite me as your plus one to more of these events.”

“Do you want to attend more of these with me?” asks Rin in surprise. 

“Not particularly,” you admit and Rin scoffs. “But maybe it’s worth it to see your cute reactions.”

His face heats up once more. “Shut up.” 

You laugh at him, placing your hand on your hips and only drawing more attention to your curves. Maybe Rin doesn’t hate galas, after all.

[thehoneybeestings]

𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥

𝐬𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐤𝐚 𝐱 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐞!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

‧₊˚── Request: "hiiiii! i love your writing soo much, i’m not sure if you take in requests but if you do, could you write something about sevika w/ chubby reader where she’s feeling insecure and sevika worships her body alll night (maybe gentle sex?) byeeeee😚"

Word Count: 2.6k Content/Warnings: nsfw, reader referred to w fem pronouns/terms, reader has female anatomy, top! sev, bottom! reader, fingering (r receiving), strap (r receiving), talk of body insecurity A/N: omg doing requests makes me nervous bc like... what if it's not good lol anyway i still really enjoyed this request and i loveee me some soft!sevika. i hope you enjoy, and that perhaps this will serve as a bit of comfort for when you're feeling down on yourself. all bodies are good bodies, and all bodies deserve love; that is a non-negotiable. praying to Aphrodite for blessings to anyone needing an extra boost of self-love today <3

𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞, 𝐁𝐞𝐞 ୨ৎ

 ──˚₊୨ৎ‧₊˚──

You're taking far too long to get ready. 

This certainly isn't an uncommon occurrence, and Sevika has come to learn that you will almost always underestimate the amount of time you need to get dolled up. Thankfully, when it comes to you, she has the patience of a saint. 

But still, you're taking too long to get ready. 

She peers down at the watch you got her for her birthday last year- it’s 30 minutes out from your dinner reservation at one of the nice restaurants topside- and rises from the couch, contemplating which cliche she'll use to poke some lighthearted fun at your lengthy getting-ready routine. 

“Not gettin’ any younger-”

No, she'd used that one last time. 

“You're running on turtle time in here.”

She snorts to herself. She recalls the way you always stop what you're doing to roll your pretty eyes at that one, but never without a grin. 

Once upon a time, she considered her one and only purpose to be fighting for the prosperity of Zaun. That was before she made you smile for the first time. 

A grin adorns her own face as she crosses the threshold from the hallway into your shared bedroom, but when she makes it to the door of the attached bathroom, the upward quirk of her lip falls. 

The door is slightly ajar, just enough for her to see your reflection in the mirror. 

You're pinching at the fullness of your sides, your stomach, your thighs. A deep frown is etched onto your face, and when she sees tears begin to prick your eyes, she leaves two gentle knocks on the door. 

Your eyes go wild for a split second, but when you meet her gaze through the reflection, your shoulders drop with a sigh. Not in relief, but in defeat.  

No lighthearted quip falls from her lips this time. Not when her girl is upset.

“You okay in here, baby?”

She opens the door wider before leaning on its frame, concerned eyes glued to you. 

“These don't fit anymore,” you mumble, looking down at the jeans you're now peeling off.  

“Yeah?” 

You look up to find that a lazy smirk graces her face, her gaze shamelessly trailing up and down your lower half. 

“Sev.”

Her eyes snap up to meet yours upon hearing your curtness. Usually, you wouldn't be able to help but crack a little smile as she checked you out. 

Her own words are somber now. 

“Hey,” she says, gingerly tucking away the stray tendril of hair that had fallen into your face as you bent over to tug your pants off of your ankles. “Talk to me. What's going on?”

An irritated huff escapes you as you squeeze your eyes shut and place your hands on your hips. 

“What's going on is that I’m…”

Your words come out harsher than you’d intended. You open your eyes to find that she stares back with nothing but warmth. 

The patience of a saint.  

You exhale through your nose, turning back to the mirror to examine the fullness of your figure. 

Your eyes begin to water again. 

“I've gained so much weight, Sevika. I look so bad.”

She rears her head back, and for a good 10 seconds, she stares at you with pure, incredulous offense. 

“What?” She finally spits, but you know she isn't angry with you. “What are you talking about?” 

“You don't get it,” you grovel. You knew she wouldn't. There wasn't a universe that existed in which she regarded your body as anything less than worthy of worship; you just wished you could see what she saw. 

“Listen,” she begins, brows raised in disbelief, “I don't mean to make you feel silly or anything, but… baby.”

She slots herself behind you, strong arms wrapping around to circle the form you'd just been scrutinizing. Her touch has always reflected the reverence she has for your body, for you. Her palms will splay across your body, savoring every curve and dip, traveling like a steady stream through peaks and valleys. 

Now, her mech hand sits cool and firm on your hip, its flesh counterpart snaking up your arm. She leaves a squeeze when she gets to the junction between your shoulder and your neck- tight, she notes; she'll work some of the knots out later tonight- before planting a kiss in its wake. 

Her chin rests there now, her eyes meeting yours in the reflection of the mirror.

“You're so fucking gorgeous.”

Her breath fans your ear as she speaks. The purr of her words rumbles through you like a chill down your spine.

She knows your weaknesses. 

Your lips quirk up into a small smirk. 

“That's what you think,” you rebut.

“I don't think; I know.”

Indignation never did get far with Sevika, even in tender moments like these. More often than not, she knows she's right, and she has no problem refreshing your memory of that. 

It's why she suddenly pulls out her phone, looks up a phone number unbeknownst to you, and gives it a call. 

You watch in confusion as she saunters back into your room, phone pressed between her ear and her shoulder as she begins to fumble with the buckle of her belt.

“Hey, yeah, I've got a reservation for Sevika tonight at seven,”

She slides the belt off through the loops of her pants,

“Yeah, for two; that's right. Hate to do this so late notice, but something's come up and we won't be able to make it.”

You quirk a curious brow. Her socks are off now, and she’s fumbling to take her watch off her wrist and place it back on the dresser. 

“Perfect. Appreciate your understanding. Yeah, you too.”

With that, she hangs up, tosses the phone onto the plush comforter, and strolls over to you unassumingly. 

Your head is tilted to the side as she approaches and wraps her strong arms around your waist once more. 

“What’d you do that for?” 

“Don't pout, mama,” she keens, twisting you around to face the mirror. Her hand sneaks around to dip underneath your top, her hand inching up your waist and taking the material of your shirt with it. 

“You heard me. Something else came up.”

You chortle as her intentions are made obvious by eager hands pulling your shirt over your head and dark eyes taking in the lace garment hidden underneath.

“Honey, you didn't have to-”

“Nuh-uh,” she interrupts. “We can go out to dinner anytime. Right now,”

Her grip is gentle on your jaw as she turns your head, her eyes now meeting your own,

“if I can make you feel as gorgeous as I know you are, even if just for a second,”

And then, she plants a kiss on your lips, on your jaw, just below your ear, before she asserts,

“Then you're damn right I’m putting everything on the back burner to do just that.” 

Your breath hitches in your throat when her fingers dip below the band of your underwear, lingering just for a second, just above where she knows you want her, before she pulls them away with a growing smirk. 

“C’mere, baby,” she mutters, twisting you around once more to face her. “Let me kiss you first.”

The first one she plants on your lips is soft, tender, like you’re made of porcelain. She holds your face in her hands like you’ll fall to the ground, shattering into pieces below her if she lets go. 

She knows that words have never been her forte- that she’ll never be able to articulate just how achy her heart gets when she thinks about how special you are to her- so she’ll try her best to show you this way. With a kiss that grows deeper, more eager, as fervent as the love she harbors for you, if she can manage it. She’ll catch your bottom lip between her teeth, tongue darting out to soothe it before the muscle finds your own, inviting it to dance. She’ll grab your jaw, grip the hair at the base of your skull, press her body against yours as she pulls you impossibly close; so close that hopefully, for a fleeting moment in time, the two of you become one. 

Maybe then, you’ll feel what she feels. You’ll see what she sees. 

Perfection. All she sees is perfection.

She guides you to face the mirror again, breathless as she whispers,

“Look how pretty. Can’t get enough.”

She’s trailing kisses along your shoulders as she unbuttons her own shirt, the fabric parting to reveal that she dons nothing underneath it. 

“Scandalous,” you tease. 

“You’re the one who yells at me when you go to grab my tits and there’s something in the way.”

Her lips quirk up into a smile when you punch out a laugh, throwing your head back against her shoulder. 

“Pretty girl,” she muses again, dipping down to place a kiss on your neck. 

Her hands are back on your waist as soon as her shirt hits the floor, kneading at the fullness that never fails to drive her crazy. She hums in approval, a deep rumble that nearly escapes her as a growl. She pulls you flush against her body, her mech arm wrapping around to anchor you in place. 

Your breath quickens. You know what she’s doing. Holding you up, because when she’s done with you, your legs will have given out. 

She smirks at the hitch in your breath. 

“You ready for me, baby?”

There’s no need for her to ask. Her fingers have already found the arousal pooling at your core. 

“Oh, you’re ready,” she coos. 

“Please,” you whisper as her finger trails up, parting your lips with no resistance, but never making it to the aching bud of nerves above them, never dipping lower to plunge into you. “Please, Vika.”

“So pretty when you beg,” 

You gasp as she presses a finger into you, walls clenching down onto its thickness,

“so pretty when you take my fingers,” 

Your walls flutter back open, ready to take the second finger she has poised at your entrance. You practically swallow the two digits, hissing at the fullness, and then, she’s pulling them all the way out, 

“always,” a thrust, “so,” then another, “pretty.”

She makes due on her silent promise, fucking into you until you can’t stand on your own. You whine when suddenly, her fingers are completely unsheathed. She just chuckles as she effortlessly turns you around, lifting you up to sit on the counter and slotting herself between your legs. 

“You could really stand to have some patience,” she scolds, but the way she smiles into the kiss she leans down to deliver belies her attempt at sternness. 

Still, you plan on retorting anyway; that is, until she unbuttons her pants, pulling them down to reveal the strap she’s had on. 

“You were packing?” you exhale.

She shimmies out of her pants with a lazy grin. “I was planning on bathroom sex,” she shrugs, before stepping forward to pull your underwear down your legs and toss them who-knows-where. “Looks like I got what I wanted after all.”

You inhale through your teeth when she drags the head of the toy through your slick, your hips bucking up for more. 

“Patience, mama,” she warns again. “You’re open for me. Won’t take long.”

You bite down on your lip, brows knit together in pleasure as you watch the silicone slowly sink into you. You’re holding your breath, and you don’t realize she’s been doing the same until she chokes out a grunt at the sight of her strap buried to the hilt inside of you. 

“Fuck, Y/n;” she grits, “so fucking good. You’re so fucking good for me.”

You can see her hips stutter with restraint as she tries her best to hold back, tries her best to keep slow and steady as she begins moving in and out of you; but when your hands wrap around her neck, one hand clawing at her shoulder as you spit, “harder,” she unravels. 

She pulls you closer by your thighs, and you yelp as her hips snap up into you. Her eyes are glued to the way you take her, cock slipping in and out of your pussy over and over, so easily, so effortlessly. 

“Shit,” she rasps, driving into you, “so good. Gods, I love you.”

And when her eyes snap up to meet yours, it’s written all over her face. Her eyes are blown out in pure adoration, like she loves you more than she’s loved anything in her entire life. You can’t help but tear up. 

“Woah, hey,” she immediately consoles, coming to a halt inside of you. Her hand reaches up to cup your face, worried eyes scanning you. “Good tears or bad tears?”

“Good tears,” you immediately confirm with a watery smile, “Good tears. Keep going, baby; I just love you, too.”

A breathy chuckle of relief leaves her as she leans in to press her forehead against yours. 

She wraps her arms around your waist, pulling you flush against her chest. You pull her closer, too, breathy moans floating through the air as you rock your hips against the fullness inside of you.

“Fuck, I’m so close,” you mewl, hand flying down to rub tight circles onto your clit. 

“That’s right, baby,” she croons, bringing her hips forward to meet every buck of your own. “Gods, you’re so fucking sexy. Wanna see you come; wanna see your pretty face when you fall apart on my dick.” 

The sound of skin on skin joins the chorus of grunts and whines as she picks up her pace again, coaxing you over the edge. 

“You gonna come for me? Gonna give it to me?”

You nod frantically, wordlessly, fingers working at your clit, your other hand pulling her closer, closer, until finally, you topple over the edge. 

Your legs shake around her waist, nails digging into her shoulder as you cry out.

“There we go,” she purrs, arms holding you close as you ride out the shockwaves of pleasure coursing through you. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you, sweet girl.” 

She doesn’t let go. Just holds you, plants kisses all over your face as you catch your breath, whispers praises into your ear as your muscles relax; and only when you let go, does she take a step back, careful as she pulls out, hands massaging the plush of your thighs. 

You stare up at her through your lashes, eyes already becoming heavy with sleep as contentment washes over you, warming the blood in your veins.

“Let me clean you up before you pass out,” she teases. “We’re already in the bathroom. That’s half the battle.”

You chuckle, watching with a soft smile as she wets a soft wash cloth with warm water, brushing gently over your sticky thighs, jumping in surprise as it makes contact with your sensitive core. 

“Sorry, love,” she mutters apologetically. 

She tosses the rag aside, taking your face in both of her hands as she steels herself with a deep breath.

“You know I’m not good with words…” 

You giggle at her sudden sentimentality. She refuses to admit it, but she always gets this way after sex: soft, ungaurded, vulnerable. Laid out for you to have and to hold. 

“...but you know that I don’t lie either. Ever. So, when I tell you that I’ve never seen someone so goddamn gorgeous, I need you to believe me. Can you do that?”

She raises a brow, lips quirking up into a smile.

You shrug with a smirk. “I’ll try.”

She rolls her eyes playfully before placing a kiss on your temple. 

You were stubborn; she knew that much. 

But Sevika’s stubborn, too. For the rest of her days, if she can make you feel as gorgeous as she knows you are, even if just for a second, then you’re damn right she’ll spend the rest of her days trying.

──˚₊ 𝐄𝐍𝐃 ‧₊˚──

[merlinfromberlin]

Downsides of becoming a queer historian you don't realise until you are in waaaaay too deep:

sometimes you have to read an article on "TrAnSvEsTiTeS" that was written by a white straight cis-man in, like, the seventies and it's just a guy who took Freud too seriously and is like: Men wear women's clothing because their mothers were ~homosexuals~ (if you know what I mean) who project on their little boys and their fathers were beta b#ches who let the household be run by a woman and didn't protest.

And all that while doing research for your paper that's due in four days that's about a really cool topic like - in this case the question of whether or not St. Mary/Marinos can be understood as a trans person and it's really fascinating because like, you can definitely read Marinos as a trans man from a modern point of view - even though it's always a curious discussion because obviously we can never know what Marinos would have chosen to call themselves. Except that we literally know that he would have rather been punished severely for fornication and fathering than child than tell people that he had a vagina. Like. As in Marinos told noone, they only found out after his death - so, I don't know what you want me to make with that, but that's not very cis. And that's basically what my essay is about. :D

And then there come the 80s and 90s scholars again and there all like this person is definitely a WOMAN - like, what do you mean, SHE lived her whole life as a male monk in a monastery and rather get expelled than tell people about HER vagina that made it impossible for HER to father a child and never told anyone and people only found out SHE was a WOMAN after HER death? Well Obviously SHE was in denial about HEr Womanhood.

Or- my favourite cishet interpretation of the story: well, obviously that story is written for cis men because St. Mary is a personification of the guilt men have for desiring women the shouldn't and acting on that because you see- she was punished for it and she couldn't have done it but it isn't revealed until after her death so men have stories that make them feel guilty and help them stay on the right path.

But like. Seriously. It's an absolut shit-show.

[physics-of-one-piece]

Risk and Reward

(Doflamingo x Reader)

AO3

Summary: When one of the servants makes a mistake serving Saint Doflamingo, you try to save her and defuse the situation by shifting his attention to you.

Tags: Female!Reader, Doflamingo's Wife!Reader, Celestial Dragon!Doflamingo, World Noble!Doflamingo, Implied Forced Marriage, Past Dub-Con, Smut with Plot, NSFW, Enthusiastic Consent, Vaginal Sex, Size Difference, Semi-Public Sex, Oral Sex, Orgasm Control, Spanking (it's one slap), Slavery, Attempted Murder, Sadism, Doflamingo is His Own Warning, Possessive Doflamingo, Nudity, Adult Language, They're In Love Your Honour

Word Count: 6k

A/N: Welcome to my 700 followers special! 🥳🥳🥳🎉🎉Guess what number 700 is! The beginning of Dressrosa Arc in the manga (in which Doffy appears) and 700th episode in the anime which is also in Dressrosa Arc! Thank you everyone for following me, I love you all! 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻🩷🩷

I wrote this within 4 days and have no regrets, the only reason I didn't finish it within a day is because I was sick🤧 I have been wanting to post a Celestial Doffy x Reader for months now, so I'm happy inspiration hit me for a one-shot. I decided to make this a thank you gift to all of you who followed me. Thank you and I hope you keep enjoying my Doffy-obsessed blog! Is this the first ever Celestial Doflamingo x Reader fic on the internet? Maybe, I have NO idea. Send me flowers or sth, idk. This is such filth but I feel 0 shame, none. At first I was gonna write Doffy being kind of an asshole and sorta selfish with Reader but then Soft Celestial Doffy was like "but I love my wife 🥺" and I sighed and let Wife-Lover Celestial Doffy take over and have his fun, he deserves it, he's a good boy. (Sometimes.)

Taglist: @fanaticsnail @moonbaby26 @wrennyx @doffyslittledove @ohnomyhooves @mandiemegatron @xblackxjackx @misaneeragoni @dummyduck44 @magnoliandew @froggiewrites @shanalikeanna @tavsianus @i-love-frogos @sagyunaro @schanwow @aganhim @orioncipher @7wanne @galaxxie26 @random-asian @pockethedgehog @anime-fan-isa-art @t-sarah

You were sleeping. Until the shattering sound of porcelain breaking with a crash on the floor and liquid spilling startled you out of your slumber. You shot up in the massive bed, disoriented and sleepy.

“Look what you did, slave.”

You felt your heart drop. Shit.

You were up and awake within a second, grabbing the golden silk sleeping robe from the floor, quickly slipping into it.

Doflamingo noticed you.

“Good morning, wife,” greeted Doflamingo, not looking away from the slave, aiming his gun at her. “Sorry, I woke you up.”

“Good morning,” you said, tying the silk belt around your waist, your heart rushing in your chest. “What happened?”

“I wanted to surprise you with breakfast in bed,” said Doflamingo, frowning down at the slave trembling on the floor, silent tears running down her face, too terrified to audibly cry.

It was a sweet gesture for a Celestial Dragon, a World Noble of such high standing, and despite your situation of how you came to marry him, your heart skipped a beat.

“That’s very sweet of you.” you said.

“But this slave ruined it by tripping on the carpet and spilling everything.” said Doflamingo roughly, gesturing his golden gun at the girl. She looked no more than sixteen, and she was shaking from head to toe. “And now I have to wait another thirty minutes for breakfast and my surprise for you is ruined and it's all this slave’s fault!”

By the time Doflamingo finished yelling, veins were outlined on his forehead, furious and angry as he bared his teeth down at the girl.

Your mind was racing for a solution. Doflamingo didn’t forgive slaves for mistakes. One mistake, and he punished them with death for their failure. It was why a lot of the new slaves barely made it past a month, no matter how much the senior slaves aided them and guided them.

Maybe it would have been easier to calm Doflamingo down if the breakfast tray had simply fallen to the floor and only the plates with the buttered toast broke. But it had fell and everything shattered. What was worse, the coffee spilled onto your husband’s silk, golden pajama pants and on the carpet. You were sure the washers would do their best to remove the coffee stain, but it might be ruined for good.

It wasn’t looking good.

And then... An idea popped into your head. A risky one, but one that might save the girl's life.

“How about I make us breakfast?” you asked.

“Huh?” asked Doflamingo, handsome features twisted in pure confusion.

“I’ll make us breakfast,” you repeated, putting on a smile on your face in an attempt to calm down the Celestial. “And coffee, too.”

Doflamingo stared down at you for a moment. You didn’t flinch, didn’t move. You knew to get him to consider the suggestion, you couldn’t look away.

“Fufufu! And what do I get for waiting?” asked Doflamingo with an amused smile.

“If you don’t like it, that means I lose, so you can punish her as you see fit.” you said. “If you like the breakfast, I win, you give her to your parents and they can decide her punishment.”

“So,” Doflamingo said, a dark sort of thrill in his voice and smile. “It’s a game.”

You fought down a tremble.

“Yes,” you said, doing your best to keep your voice even and calm despite the painful banging of your frightened heart in your ribs. “A game. Between you and me.”

Doflamingo smiled. It was the same smile he wore when he saw you the first time. Like a lion finding the most beautiful doe to eat.

He lowered the gun where he’d been pointing it at the terrified girl’s face.

“Alright, wife. Let’s play.”

Your husband was watching you in the same way he watched you when you were making him his morning coffee in the café when he met you.

With incredible, single-minded intensity. His lips were set in a neutral line, his sunglasses staring down from the bridge of his nose at you, his hands in the pockets of his Celestial robe.

You knew by now that it was simply him being overprotective. He didn’t like the thought of you near knives and anything that burned. He didn’t want you to get hurt while cooking.

He would just rather stare than show that, though.

You finished making the toast and coffee within fifteen minutes, and handed them to the servers to serve.

Doflamingo smiled deviously, and offered you his arm. You put your hand on his forearm and let him escort you to the grand dining room.

Doflamingo sat down at the dining table in the grand dining room. It was a long table covered by a golden tablecloth, with golden-framed chairs with pink tufted backrests.

You two sat down, and the servers brought the food and coffee you made. As Doflamingo picked up the toast, you started praying to Nika inside your head.

Doflamingo took a bite. He chewed, and swallowed. Then he ate the sunny side up egg. Then, he took a sip of the coffee. For long moments, everything was silent, and you didn’t breathe.

“You win, wife.” said Doflamingo with a sigh, sounding disappointed his fun got ruined.

Your chest fell in relief, exhaling the breath you’d been holding.

“Get this slave out of my sight,” said Doflamingo, sneering disgustedly at the slave who spilled the breakfast. “Hand her to my parents. They’ll decide what to do with her.” He turned to the slave; the girl flinched, freezing in terror. He gave her a sharp, large, evil smile. “Thank my wife for her mercy.”

The girl turned to you, her eyes full of relieved tears. “T-Thank you, my lady!” She bowed down her head, much to your chagrin.

“You welcome,” you said, feeling awkward about your title as usual.

Doflamingo went back to eating breakfast. Now that the matter was resolved, you set out to eating the food on your plate, too.

“This is really delicious,” said Doflamingo, putting more sunny side eggs onto his spoon and putting them into his mouth, his dimples curving to his ears with his smile as he chewed. “You’re a wonderful cook, my wife.”

“Thank you,” you said, feeling your cheeks flush. You always liked cooking, and you wished your husband would let you cook for him, but for safety reasons and because he insisted you weren’t his cook but his wife, you weren't allowed to make him food.

You wish you could. He looked really happy with breakfast today.

Doflamingo excitedly told you about the tickets to the ballet his father bought for his mother’s birthday. Mrs. Donquixote’s favorite ballet was coming to Sabaody Theatre, and it would be there for a full week. Mr. Donquixote bought them tickets to celebrate her birthday.

“It’s a secret, though, so don’t tell. And definitely don’t tell Rosi, he won’t be able to keep it to himself, fufufufu!”

You nodded, continuing to eat. The breakfast was indeed good. You were glad you didn’t lose your touch.

Once both of you were finished and the plates taken away for cleaning, Doflamingo smiled at you, ravenous and wide.

“It’s time for your reward, querida.” he said huskily.

You chuckled to hide the building nervousness within you. “Reward for what?”

Doflamingo grinned at you, hungry and wide. “For winning our game, of course.”

Doflamingo gestured you to come to him with his fingers. Swallowing down your nervousness, you carefully stood up from the chair, and approached him. He took you by the hand and pulled you on his lap, chuckling when you gasped as you landed on his thick, long thigh.

His long arms wound around your frame, effectively trapping you against his broad frame. Not that you would try to run.

“Out, slaves.” Doflamingo commanded. The servants scrambled away, not wanting to be the last one to obey the order. It left the guards at the doors and flaking the long wall.

Doflamingo parted your sleeping robe, letting the golden silk fall off your shoulders, revealing your naked body. There were hardly times with him through the month where your underwear wasn’t a source of annoyance for him, despite the lace, pearls and gold they were decorated with to invite his attention. It was for pure aesthetic enjoyment. These days, you slept without underwear, as your husband wanted your body available to him at all times, even when you were asleep. There were many mornings you woke with his cum sticking to your thighs.

Heat crept up your neck, flushing your cheeks as he stared down at your bare body like it was a puzzle for him to solve.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said, leaning in, resting his face between your breasts. His hands squeezed your ass. Your breath shook out of you.

“Thank you...” you let out, knowing it was the right thing to say to him.

The saint pulled you close with his other hand around your waist, until the massive, thick bulge in his trousers pressed against your bared core and along your stomach. Your thighs quivered.

His mouth distracted you from his cock, placing kisses up to your collarbone. You did your best to breathe, busying your hands with his robe, unbuttoning one golden button each. His large tongue slid out, and you had to bite your tongue as he licked a path down your left breast. Within a moment, the wet muscle licked across your nipple, flicking it torturously while his fingers dug into your flesh. Heat and pleasure sizzled within you, making you arch your back into his mouth with a gasp, your fingers tightening on the pink lapels of his robe.

Doflamingo chuckled, the sound tickling your hardened, wet nipple. He played with your breasts, saliva dribbling down your chest where he suckled on your nipple greedily, pulling more and more sounds from you, his thumb and index finger tending to your other nipple. All the while you had to undress him, slide his hands out of the sleeves of his robe (his hands immediately returned to you once his sleeves flopped down) and down his body. Once you came to the waistline of his pants, Doflamingo hovered up off his seat in the chair, letting you pull his trousers down. His cock sprung free, covered in precum, pressing to the burning, wet lips of your cunt.

You hissed at the contact, the hot friction leaving you speechless, squirming on his thick thigh. Doflamingo sighed in relief, the breath from his nose tickling against your chest.

Another shift of fabric, and then, Doflamingo was bare from head to toe, exposing his tanned, broad torso, the sunlight shining through the curtains bathing him in golden light, tracing across his muscular chest and abdominal muscles.

“You’re such a good wife,” he purred contently, nose nuzzling against your neck, his breath warm on your skin.

His long fingers reached down between your thighs to touch your slit, his index and middle finger swiping over your slick, smearing it further across your pelvis, making you squeak.

Doflamingo laughed giddily. “You’re wet already.”

His thumb smeared your slick across your clit, and you whimpered out a helpless moan of:

“Doffy...”

Your thighs were trembling. Your cunt was desperately empty, and your husband’s continued ministrations of smearing your own arousal across your cunt and clit drove you to the brink of screaming and begging for his cock, your mouth watery and gaze hazy from want.

At the sound of his name, Doflamingo’s entire massive body shifted. He stared down at you, unsmiling, serious.

Before you knew it, his hands grabbed your waist, engulfing your body completely, with ease. He lifted you off his lap and placed you on a solid surface, sitting you down.

Right there, naked, on the table, on the golden tablecloth.

“Spread your legs,” he said, his commanding voice sending goosebumps across your thighs. You wasted no time in obeying, your thighs falling wide open, as wide as you knew to put them, leaving yourself bared to your husband’s gaze.

The shame of being naked with anyone but Doflamingo in the room had gradually faded through these four weeks with him, but it made you no less uncomfortable to know there were guards everywhere in the dining room, watching.

Watching Saint Doflamingo fuck you.

His large, tanned hands pressed down on your hips, his fingers holding your waist tight, digging into your flesh. His thumbs extended down to your pelvis, prying the wet lips of your cunt open on each side.

The sudden cold air against your flesh made you sigh in relief from the heat in you, your sweaty body relaxing beneath his large palms. Doflamingo hummed appraisingly. The sound traveled straight to your cunt, making it clench around nothing.

He leaned down and pressed his large mouth over yours, pressing his lips to yours softly. A sweet, tender kiss. He started trailing kisses down your neck, down your body.

“Good girl,” he praised, deep voice seductive like the appraising devil on the edge of leading you to sin. “Such a pretty -”

He pushed you down, lifted your legs, put your knees atop his shoulders, letting your toes hang down his upper back. The breath was forced out of you at the sudden drag of your body on the table, leaving only your head on the surface. Your entire back was lifted, pressing along his abs, your legs too, ass high up against his broad collarbone. Blood rushed fast through your veins.

“- soaking -”

You whimpered as Doflamingo kissed your swollen clit, rubbed his devious fingers across your inner thighs.

“- pussy.” he said breathlessly, like a hungry tiger craving food.

“Say thank you, wife.” said Doflamingo, his warm breath and voice caressing your bared cunt.

“Thank -”

You couldn’t finish because Doflamingo buried his face between your thighs, his tongue lapping at your clit slowly.

Fuck. you thought, head thrown backward into the table.

“- you.” you gasped, your thighs trembling on his strong, muscular shoulders.

Doflamingo’s fingers trailed gently over your ankles as his tongue tended to your clit, licking and sucking. Your mind was melting. All you could feel was Doflamingo’s tongue, licking at your clit skillfully, covering you in saliva, tapping at the muscle, prodding with the tip of his tongue.

You couldn’t stop moaning.

When you felt like you were burning from inside out, after another suck and stroke, Doflamingo replaced his tongue on your clit with his thumb, pressing the warm digit against your clit at the same time as he sheathed his tongue inside your cunt.

Doflamingo pushed you down with this, sliding your back right onto the table, rumpling the tablecloth, dishes clattering. The new position returned some form of focus to your vision before you could faint.

You yelled out as his large tongue moved, burying deep inside you, the wet muscle stroking along all the nerves within you. He dipped it and retracted it, making a meal out of you as you bucked your hips into his tongue, arching your back to the point of pain. The large, superior length due to his size helped his tongue reach deep in your cunt. He found the spot inside you that made you moan just right, sweet and loud for him, stars flashing across your vision. Doflamingo started pressing his tongue precisely into that spot, sliding the wet muscle back and forth. You followed him blindly, canting your hips into his face. His thumb pressed against your clit at the same time as his tongue against the spongy, weak place in your cunt.

Another breathless, helpless moan of, “Saint!” escaped your lips when he dipped his tongue in your pussy against your weak spot, and Doflamingo decided that he’d fuck you with his tongue for the next hour just to hear you say his sacred title again like a prayer.

With each moaned “Saint” and “thank you” from your pretty mouth, Doflamingo found his hard cock throb and twitch, leaking more and more precum. If he came untouched, it would be your fault, and you’d have to fix it. You both knew it, and yet, Doflamingo didn’t have the heart to make you stop, not when you were letting go and enjoying it so much — enjoying him so much. It made him happy. The way you shouted his title he gained at birth, the way your voice gasped the syllables and broke at the end like the crashing waves against the Red Mountain...

How could he tell you to stop, when you were showing him love just as he is, when you were willing?

Just a bit more, and you’d come, reach the heaven’s gate. Doflamingo couldn’t wait to lap it all up, lick your cunt clean and bury his cock home inside you. If he was your god, you were his temple. If he was your god, you were his altar. If he was your king, then you were his queen.

“Please,” you gasped as your cunt tightened, the knot in you close to snapping. You were so close, but you held on, wanting - no, needing — to come apart on his cock. Tears welling inside your eyes slipped out as you begged, desperate and pathetic, “Please, Doffy! Please fuck me!”

If you ever fell from Mariejois, you knew you’d be stoned, or beaten, or maybe they’d burn you to a crisp. All for opening your legs willingly for Doflamingo, for kissing him, for hugging him, for holding his hand, for holding him close to your heart.

You didn’t care. You love him.

A few rogue tears slipped down your eyelashes from multiple reasons. From being overwhelmed by his tongue filling you up. From self-loathing that you became like this, that you bowed instantly to him, so quickly accepted your life and him, all not to die, and you liked it. From guilt that there was either the option of trying to find happiness in your situation and accepting his love or be miserable and eventually killed because he wouldn’t be happy if you were unhappy.

Doflamingo wore you down quickly with his adoration. You wanted to give him a chance, with as little prejudice and fear of him as possible, so you let all of that go the moment you told him “Yes.” when he asked you to be his wife. 

You still remembered how surprised Doflamingo was that you accepted. You still remembered how he beamed, his smile bright and beautiful, like the sun.

You didn’t act. You couldn’t, and didn’t have the heart for it, not when he was so careful with you, like a wolf in love with a sheep, trying to impress you and convince you to stay, nuzzling your head and curling himself around you at night.

And now you were in love with him. In love with the same man that took you away from your home because he fell in love with you at first sight.

A sharp sting on your ass startled you, making you flinch, your whole body jumping off the table. You looked down at your husband between your thighs, and could feel his heavy gaze on you. It took you a moment to realize what happened. Your husband had slapped you on the ass because you told him to hurry up.

You could feel the leftover weight and force of his large hand across your stinging flesh.

You could do many things, but ordering Doflamingo what to do or when to do it was not one of such things.

“Good wives accept what they’re given,” he said, his voice as heavy as his concealed gaze. “Accept what I give you, and then I’ll give you what you want, darling. Understood?”

“Yes,” you gasped, nodding. Doflamingo called this a reward but the pleasure was too much for you. “Yes, Doffy. I’m sorry.”

Doflamingo smiled, wide and sinister, demonic. It sent a surge of fear down your spine.

“Good,” he said.

Without another word, Doflamingo went back inside you, stroking you with his fingers and fucking you with his tongue. Now, he kept your hips pinned down. You couldn’t buck your hips into his tongue, couldn’t move with him. You lost that privilege for now.

But the pleasure didn’t stop. It was building, exceedingly fast, the sting on your ass turning into an ache as your husband continued devouring you, driving you insane, whining and moaning as the pleasure built up due to his skilled fingers and tongue.

“Doffy —” you gasped. “— can’t — may I —”

All Doflamingo did was moan, continuing his onslaught on your clit and cunt with his thumb and tongue, not letting go of you. He moved his head slightly in a dip without breaking the rhythm. It was clear. You were allowed to cum.

You let go.

A strangled cry of “Doffy!” ripped out of you along with your ecstasy, the springs in your core breaking, the hot sensation exploding within you, an overwhelming pleasure covering your entire body, making you shake from inside out.

Doflamingo carefully lapped up and sucked the fruits of his labor, ignoring your whimpers, letting you handle the overstimulation to your nerves with choked back sobs, tears staining the side of your face and your fingers clenching into the golden tablecloth. The wetness of you stained his chin and lips like the ripe juice of a pomegranate. His mouth parted from your cunt with a smack that made your body burn. A translucent string of your pleasure trailed after his mouth from your core, and your body quivered.

Instead of dragging you to the edge of the table, Doflamingo pulled himself atop it, atop you. You gasped, taking hold of his forearms, fearing his weight would collapse the surface under your back.

He chuckled at your shocked face, leaning down and capturing your lips under his, encouraging you to open your mouth, immediately sliding his tongue inside after you did so.

You tasted the proof of your pleasure on Doflamingo’s tongue as his mouth enveloped yours in a hungry open-mouthed kiss, devouring you, making you submit to his exploration of your mouth. You kissed him desperately, face burning hot as his tongue filled your mouth, both his hands back on your breasts again, massaging them, rubbing your nipples and pinching them.

For someone holding the title of holy, Doflamingo acted the most unholy.

Doflamingo rendered you panting and breathless, your face flushed.

There was no more teasing. His large palms engulfed your upper thighs and pushed them up to your chest, holding them down, his chest bearing down on you. He adjusted himself between your legs, his thick cock smearing precum along the inside of your thigh.

He pressed another kiss to your lips. His cockhead nudged at your cunt’s lips, making you quiver and moan wantonly as you felt the blunt of him at your entrance. You held onto him, positioned like a bowstring.

With a lick of his tongue across his lips, Doflamingo finally sheathed himself into your heat. You bit your lip, the stretch burning due to his size.

“Fuck... wife...” he panted, shuffling on the table, knocking the glassware out the way with his hands, the movement so powerful the glasses flew off the table and crashed to the ground. Your cunt throbbed, and you let out a needy whimper when he bucked his hips, digging another inch inside you.

Doflamingo chuckled. “So needy...” His tongue slipped out, licking along his upper teeth hungrily. His cock twitched inside you. “But I like it.”

His warm hands returned to you, squeezing your breasts, making you yell out as a sharp lunge of pleasure overwhelmed you, rushing straight to your core. Your back arched, your husband’s cock sinking further into you inch by heavenly inch as he stroked his hips back and forth, carefully giving you more and more.

“You’re doing so well,” he praised. You clenched around him, your fingers tight in the skin of his forearms, clinging to him. He caressed your body, deep voice soft and loving. “I’m here, I’m right here, you’re taking me so well, you’re being so good, wife...”

Palming your breasts, knee over the side of your thigh each, torso curved and spine bent like an arc of a circular bridge so you could still see his face, Doflamingo thrust inside you with a single powerful stroke of hips, pushing through the slick walls easing his way in, pressing his hips close to yours, seating the entirety of his cock inside you.

You would have yelled out, if Doflamingo didn’t descend upon you and kiss you, swallowing the sound. The kiss was messy and desperate, hungry and full of need, but you didn’t care. The pain faded quickly, giving into pleasure. Soon, you were happy, your husband rocking his thick, large cock into your body with deep grunts, filling you up. Your hips bucked up into his cock to have the cockhead press all the way into that spongy spot inside you.

You cradled his cheeks, ran your fingers through his short blond hair, and hugged him around the neck. His muscled body shivered under your touch, his cock twitching inside your walls.

Doflamingo started a sensual, deep pace, his cock burying deep inside you each time, pressing hard into that soft spot in you that made you cry out in pleasure before he did it all over again. And you let him. Your hips met his halfway, arching your back into him.

“I love you,” he growled breathlessly, rutting into you, each thrust and movement of his cock inside your sopping, tender walls making you moan and pant. His fingers tightened around your thighs possessively, keeping you spread on the table, his balls slapping against the curve of your ass with each movement of his hips meeting yours, slick with the mix of your pleasure dribbling out of you as he fucked you over and over again. “My wife... Mine, mine, mine...”

Your vision started to blur, your walls clenching, the strings in your pelvis tightening with each stroke of him inside you, each drag of him coming deep in and out.

You were so full. You could feel your orgasm growing closer, the heat and tension in your core rising more and more...

“Doffy!” you cried, your thighs clenching around his hips. “Can I -”

“Yes,” he whispered huskily, cradling your face in his large hand, burying his face in your collarbone, placing a kiss over your breast, over your heart. A warm, gentle thing among the sweat and passion of his hips meeting yours. “Cum for me, wife. Cum on my cock.”

“Doffy!” you cried, coming once again, shaking to your core.

Doflamingo groaned as he felt you clench around him as you reached ecstasy, spilling on his cock, drowning him in your pleasure.

“Fuck… good wife…” he murmured, continuing to move inside you as you slumped down, exhausted, flushed and panting. “Just like that, querida… you feel good, fuck…”

Doflamingo started to pick up the pace, his hips smashing hard into yours. His hands took hold of your legs, holding them tight around his hips until your heels dug into his muscled back, his balls pressing against your ass. The angle was so deep and good you started to feel a quiver inside you. If it wasn’t for the ache of oversensitive nerves, you’d come again. 

“Tell me you want me,” he growled, his voice echoing in your ears. He leaned his body down, resting his body atop your small one, his torso completely covering you. His large hands cradled you to him, pressing your face to his chest, filling you with his scent, his face burying into the crown of your head, his cock burying deep inside you. “Beg for my cum, beg me, beg!”

“I want you, Doffy,” you said, clutching onto him tightly, clinging to him desperately, fingers digging into his shoulder blades as he moved inside you, basking in the heat of him. “I love you, Doffy. Please cum inside me!”

That sent your husband over the edge.

“Fuck —” he groaned, your name slipping past his lips wantonly.

The next few thrusts made you hold onto him for dear life, his cock pushing your entire body forward in jostling movements. Doflamingo took you savagely, roughly, hard and fast, ramming into you to the point it was too much. He pressed his face into your neck and moaned, loud and deep, then spilled inside you, his cock shooting vicious, hot lashes of cum deep within you. His thrusts stuttered as he rode out his orgasm, huffing and moaning all the while, until all of him was spent and emptied inside you.

Doflamingo caught you in his arms and laid on the table, panting deep against your neck, his hands clutching onto you in the aftermath, your fingers carefully brushing through his short blond hair.

The two of stayed like that for a while, holding onto each other regardless of the sweat and heat of your bodies. Doflamingo slipped out of you with a slick sound, cum dripping down your entrance. He pressed his fingers to your cunt, picking up the spend and putting it back inside you, making you whimper and squirm.

“Shh,” he said gently, his voice settling you down. “Stay like that, wife. It needs to stay in.” He kissed your neck. “Every.” Licked your earlobe. “Single.” Nibbled on your jawline. “Drop.”

All you did was shiver, closing your eyes, catching your breath.

“Thank -” You panted, swallowing. “Thank you.”

Doflamingo hummed. He licked the tears from your face, his wet tongue laving across your skin greedily, lovingly. Like a tiger licking an antelope.

You relaxed your muscles. You felt wrecked in the best of ways.

“I was supposed to be rewarding you, not the other way around.” Doflamingo huffed some more, sweat trailing down his bronze chest and temples. Then, he pouted, rested his elbows on the side of your head, and buried his face in your neck. “That’s unfair.”

You giggled, smile gentle. You reached up and caressed Doflamingo’s blond, sticky hair, basking in the beauty of him, his large cock hanging limp between your legs, covered in the aftermath of his and your pleasure, his broad body completely covering your tiny one from view.

“You reward me every day, my love.” you said.

Doflamingo smiled.

The two of you got showered, dressed and headed to the main manor of the Donquixotes by carriage for brunch with his parents and brother.

Mrs Donquixote was there when Doflamingo helped you out of the carriage.

“I hope my son isn’t being rough with you.” said Mrs. Donquixote.

Doflamingo blushed, which you found extremely adorable. “I’m not, Mother.”

“Good!” chirped Mrs Donquixote, beaming at her son.

“Did the guard deliver the slave?” Doflamingo asked.

“Oh! Yes, he did. Your father and brother are filling her in on her tasks.”

“Do they know she needs to be punished?” asked Doflamingo, leading you up the marble stairs to the large white doors of the manor. “She ruined my breakfast surprise for (Y/N) by dropping it.”

“Oh, that’s not so bad, Doffy -”

“It is!” insisted Doflamingo. “It was supposed to be romantic. For our one month anniversary...”

You blinked. Has it been a full month? You didn’t even notice... Well, you did, but you didn’t think Doflamingo would celebrate it...

“Aww,” said Mrs. Donquixote. “You’re just like your father. He always makes grand romantic gestures for me, even now. Though he trips up sometimes.”

Mrs. Donquixote giggled.

Doflamingo grunted, tilting his head away to hide the pink hue on his face. You, however, were staring at Doflamingo with wide eyes. So that’s why he got that mad... He always had a short fuse, but to think it was because it was a surprise for your one month anniversary of marriage with him. It was supposed to be not only a surprise but a way to celebrate a full month of your marriage.

You felt your heart melt, your eyes swelling with tears at his attentiveness. Your fingers squeezed the white sleeve of his robe.

Doflamingo noticed, and tilted his head to you. His face turned confused and worried when he saw the tears in your eyes.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his deep, strong voice softening with worry. “Are you hurt?”

You smiled. “Nothing,” you said, looking at him lovingly. “I’m happy to be your wife, Doffy.”

Doflamingo’s lips parted. He didn’t seem to know what to say.

A happy voice called your name. A tornado — literal tornado almost three meters tall — of blond hair and lanky arms picked you up off the floor, and you were lifted up high and spun around by Doflamingo’s younger brother, Rosinante.

“How are you?” asked Rosinante. “Are you sleeping okay? Is Doffy being rough with you? Is he feeding you well?”

“I’m good! I’m sleeping fine. He’s not. H-He is!” you gasped, startled by the large gap of height between your feet and the ground.

“Let go of my wife, Rosi!” Doflamingo yelled.

“Hehe, sorry, sorry!” apologized Rosinante, smiling goofily, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

Doflamingo took you — actually took you with his arms — from his brother, scowling at Rosinante like he’d taken his most favourite plush. He rested you on his forearm, cradling you to him possessively while frowning at his brother.

“Doffy, are you going to carry your wife the entire brunch?” asked Mrs. Donquixote as she swept past them both, uncaring for barely reaching to her sons' waist, for her voice gathered both the blonds attention.

“I might,” grumbled Doflamingo with a pout, pulling you close to his chest protectively, his nose nuzzling your temple and brushing the strands of your hair. “If Rosi keeps picking her up.”

“I gotta hug my sister-in-law! And check you aren’t breaking her!” said Rosinante defensively.

“I’m not!” yelled Doflamingo.

“Boys.” said Mrs. Donquixote with a sigh that told you she dealt with this longer than you were alive.

They both stopped arguing and said, “Sorry, mother.” in startling sync.

“Your father is in the welcoming room. Doffy, please put (Y/N) down, she’s not going to up and vanish.”

Doflamingo hesitated for a moment, looking worried you might do exactly that, but relented and put you back on the solid floor.

All of you entered the welcoming room, and there was Doflamingo’s father, Homing, who very much reminded you of Rosinante by personality.

He lit up when he saw you and Doflamingo.

Doflamingo, however, pointed at the slave.

“She needs to be punished, Father.” said Doflamingo, frowning down at the slave, his expression cold and ruthless. “She dropped mine and (Y/N)’s breakfast.”

“Oh,” said Homing. “Um...” The elderly celestial seemed at a complete loss. “She can... wash the dishes... For a week?”

Doflamingo’s veins throbbed on his forehead. “Servants do that already!”

Homing flinched. “Uh... Um...”

“She can clean the stables,” offered Rosinante.

Homing lit up. “Yes! She can brush the horses!”

Doflamingo growled.

Homing and Rosinante sweatdropped.

“She can... shovel horse manure?” asked Homing, sounding incredibly guilty.

Doflamingo’s forehead veins retracted.

“For a week!” announced Homing happily.

And the veins were back on Doflamingo’s forehead.

Rosinante elbowed Homing in the side.

“For a - a - a month!” Homing announced. He heard the words he said and flinched, looking immensely guilty.

Doflamingo looked pleased. He nodded.

“How about we go see the flamingos while your parents and brother prepare for brunch?” you asked your husband.

“Fine,” said Doflamingo. He took your hand and led you out of the room.

Rosinante gave you a thumbs up. You sent the thumbs up back.

A few minutes later, as you sat with Doflamingo on the bench to watch the pink flamingos in the pond, you rested your head against his chest, and said, “I'm surprised you agreed on that game.”

“I didn’t want our month anniversary day to start badly,” said Doflamingo. His long, tanned fingers wound their way between the spaces of your own, intertwining his fingers with yours. “That’s all.”

You found yourself smiling. Genuine, happy. “Thank you, Doffy.”

“De nada.” he murmured.

“So, what other surprise should I expect today, Saint Doflamingo?” you asked teasingly.

Doflamingo laughed. He leaned down, his thumb resting under your chin, tilting your head up to meet his devious, handsome smile. His nose brushed yours. His sunglasses slipped down the bridge of his nose, revealing his pink, breathtaking eyes, looking at you adoringly and sweetly, with a hint of darkness in them.

Your breath froze in your lungs.

“If I told you, it would ruin the surprise.” he whispered, pink eyes full of promises. “You’ll just have to wait and see, fufufu!”

Before you could get another word out, he kissed you. You smiled into it, deciding to let yourself be surprised today by your husband.

A/N: Celestial Doffy, I love you. I love you, Celestial Doffy. That's it, that's my note. What a beautiful, wickedly sexy World Noble Saint Doflamingo is 🤭

Okay, fine, the actual author's note is that since it's a month in the marriage, I decided Reader is still using a mix of titles for CD! Doflamingo. For formal occassions, you refer to him as "Saint Doflamingo" and probably did even on your wedding night call him "Saint" or "Saint Doflamingo" and a bit of "Doffy". Of course, Doflamingo did request you call him "Doffy" in private and with family (or myb only when he's fucking you) but he definitely has a kink for being called "Saint" in the bedroom. He's still a narcissist with a god complex what do you want me to say? So it's a mix of Doffy and "Saint" or "Saint Doflamingo" along with terms of endearment. He likes being called "my love" & "my saint" For the public sex, well, as it's implied, Celestial Doffy is very normal with being nude within the bounds of his home and everyone just has to deal with it, and that leads to him not caring very much for the amount of witnesses there are when he fucks you. If he wants to fuck you, he'll fuck you then and there, and if there are witnesses, oh well. He doesn't care.

Hope you enjoyed this! Thank you for reading! 💕🫶🏻