#fuzzy warm balls of love

[mcyt-crack]

may I offer you little buddies in these trying times? 🤲

single pics under cut

[artbybai]

Some Baiya x Kaioshin Crumbs for y’all 🔮🐒

How did this sketch turn out so good though like 😭✨

[lay-z]

Based on this bitch

Pairing: alpha!Phillip Graves x fem!omega!Reader

Warnings/Info: 18+ MDNI | Omegaverse AU | established romantic relationship/bonding; knotting; squirting; a/b/o dynamics; praise kink; aftercare/fluff

This ended up so much sweeter than I intended it to be, but eh. The amount of times I've listened to that audio is... alarming. 😩😵‍💫💦 @goatgoesmbe

The dimly lit, lushly furnished bedroom is filled by the obscenely wet sounds of your cunt getting fingered, the frantic rustling of covers, and your alpha’s husky praises while your needy moans are the gasoline to an already blazing fire.

“Come on, baby. Come on, baby,” Phillip repeats, pumping three of his fingers into your sopping hole and curling them up deliciously to hit that little special spot not too far inside your quivering cunt. “Come on, baby, give it to me–fuck.” 

He’s nestled between your trembling thighs like a sniper, one of your supple legs draped over his broad shoulder to accommodate him as he fingerfucks your drooling pussy with perfected precision; feeling your warm, gushing slick dripping down his wrist and soaking into the soft bedsheets. Sheets he will be huffing for days after tonight to remind himself that you’re his now. 

Forever his to protect, his to love, his to fuck. 

“Phil... please,” you mewl desperately, writhing beneath him on the large mattress and canting up your hips to try and make his fingers plunge deeper into your velvety walls—the need to be filled and stretched by his fat knot becoming unbearable as your heat threatens to consume you. “Please, baby, just f-fuck me.” 

It’s the first heat you’re spending with him as your mated alpha, expecting him to be less mean now that you’re in this vulnerable state of your cycle—and being dead wrong about it. 

“Shhh, darlin’,” he coos at you roughly, his fingers never losing their rhythm nor vigor, “–gotta make sure you’re ready for my cock first. Ya gotta gimme one more, hm? Can you do that f’me, honey?” 

The heel of your foot digs into his back, sinking into flexing muscles as your spine arches again, chasing the friction of his fingers, though Phillip doesn’t care about the pain—too distracted by the succulent smell and precious sounds his omega is making, along with the mind-numbing pressure already building up deep in his balls as he humps and grinds against the mattress for some relief. 

“Atta girl,” he snarls, nipping and kissing the inside of your thigh as he feels your walls tighten around his thrusting fingers, knowing you’re about to obey and give him another orgasm like he told you.  

Your whole body convulses with a yowling moan when he latches his plump lips around your swollen clit, flicking the tip of his tongue over the sensitive bud with a low groan while his free hand wraps around your other thigh to keep you somewhat still—strong fingers digging into giving flesh, short nails leaving crescent moons on your dewy skin as he laps at your clit like a sloppy dog having a drink of water; sucking and slurping up your slick until your eyes roll back into your skull. 

Each lick of his tongue and pump of his finger into your fluttering cunt pushes you closer to your release; liquid fire pumping through your veins and spiking your pheromones with something burnt as the passion mounts to a crescendo. 

Your body tenses, your mind blanks with white hot pleasure, spine arching sharply as you come with a silent scream before crying out his name while your greedy hole clenches and convulses around his fingers, trying to suck them in deeper. 

His movements slow as he milks your cunt for every tiny spasm, peppering open-mouthed kisses over your swollen flesh while his chest rumbles with a pleased purr. 

“Good girl,” he hums against your warm, sweat-slicked skin while you slump against the mattress, your limbs feeling heavy and mind comfortably fuzzy as the heat fever begins to recede. “My sweet, sweet darlin’ omega.” 

Phillip crawls up your body, boxes you in with his forearms braced next to your head while his hips nestle against yours like a perfect fit. You gaze up at him with glossy, heavy-lidded eyes, admiring his handsome features, a dopey smile tugging at your lips.  

“My sweet, sweet alpha,” you whisper hoarsely, tracing the prominent scar on his cheekbone with featherlight fingertips.  

He leans in, grinds his hips and murmurs against your lips: “Sweet enough to fuck you slow, darlin’.” 

The thick shaft of his cock glides between your puffy folds as he slicks himself up with your cum before he lines his weeping tip up with your hole, popping it past the rim with a guttural moan while his eyes flutter in bliss. His head tips forward to rest against your collarbone and his brain short-circuits at the feeling of your welcoming heat wrapping around his cock in a way that feels like coming home—like he should spill deep inside you and stretch you thin with his throbbing knot to let his potent seed take root already. 

“Fuck my life, sweetheart,” he groans into your neck, breath puffing and tongue flicking out to lick along your scent gland just to feel the mating scar he’d left there. 

“You fit me like a fuckin’ glove.”  

He growls softly when you whimper his name in return, lithe fingers roaming over his flushed skin and carding through his short hair in a way that leaves him breathless while he starts to move and grind his hips; sinking his long shaft deeper until he bottoms out with another uttered curse, his heavy balls nestling against the curve of your ass. 

The bed starts rocking as Phillip fucks you in a deep, sensual pace; causing your breath to hitch and dissipate in keening mewls while you cream and quake around his plundering cock until he dips down to swallow your needy moans by kissing you with fervent passion, tongues tangling and drooling sloppily as he groans into your mouth when your nails rake down his back, leaving your own red-hot marks. 

“That’s it, baby,” he rumbles with approval, panting against your lips while his pelvis grinds against yours, stimulating your swollen clit with each thrust. “Mark me up. Show ‘em who’s yours.” 

“Fuck, you’re mine,” you whimper, sounding utterly wrecked, “–m-my alpha.” 

Phillip has the audacity to chuckle before he folds you up in a heartbeat, heart thudding inside his chest when he has you in a mating press underneath him. He can feel you trembling when he changes the angle and fucks you harder, more purposeful; cunt squelching around his thick cock when his thrusts become harsher, balls slapping against your sticky skin with each roll of his hips. 

“I need to feel you cum, baby,” he rasps and trails his lips along your slack jaw, down the column of your throat to inhale your heady scent. “You’re gonna cum on my cock, yeah? Make a fuckin’ mess on me,” he snarls, feeling his own climax building hot and rapidly at the base of his spine. “Fuck, baby, come on–” 

All you can do is nod furiously, eyes squeezed shut while Phillip ruts into you with increasing urgency—your own climax sneaking up on you like a paid assassination, not giving you a moment to prepare, to gulp another breath before it wrecks through you violently. 

The pressure is immense, choking you momentarily while Phillip’s body blankets you completely, his buff chest pressing against yours as you squirm and writhe in his grip. It’s too much as you feel your pussy gush and squirt around his cock, so you muffle your cries of ecstasy by sinking your teeth into his shoulder, incisors piercing through skin and muscle, drawing warm blood—thus triggering his own release. 

“FUCK!” he roars, fucking into you with sharp, shallow thrusts as you soak his cock with your cum before slamming his hips forward one last time, burying himself to the root inside your rippling channel as his knot begins to swell. “Fuck, yes–yes, baby.” 

His cock jerks and pulses as he spills thick ropes of his hot seed deep into your clutching channel—the force of his climax tearing through him as he continues to grind his pelvis against yours sensually, making sure that every drop of his cum stays inside your gummy walls when his swollen knot pops past your hole, lodging into place. 

Your whimpers and moans are muffled as you keep biting and suckling on his shoulder, shivering and shaking with the aftershocks of your own peak while Phillip pants against your neck, trying to catch his breath. One hand comes up to cup the side of your sore jaw and he digs his thumb into the hollow of your cheek to pry your locked teeth open with an amused growl. 

“Open up, darlin’,” he chuckles darkly, “I’m not a fuckin’ chew toy.” 

“Mhm, sorry.”  

Letting go with a soft whine, strings of your saliva connect your lips with his bruised skin before he turns his head to capture your mouth in a deep yet slow kiss while his hand buries into your hair, cupping the back of your head as he massages your scalp. 

“You did so good f’me, baby,” he mutters against your lips, and you can hear the amusement in his raspy voice while his cock keeps twitching faintly inside you.  

“I might just have put a muzzle on you next time, yeah?”

[bunny-jpeg]

hibernation

capt. john price

tags: smut/pwp, bear!price, size difference/kink, breeding kink, hibernation, shifter au, established relationship, living room sex, doggy style, rough sex, pregnancy

hefty lover, that was the only way you could describe your lover. the bear shifter known as john price. and you were his lovingly perfect mate.

price's paws were big, he was well over a head taller than you and when he showed you how strong he was, it made your knees wobble a little. "c'mere, lovie. come to your big bear." and like a moth to a flame, you got into your lover's arms. you held onto his hairy, strong forearms and felt protected by your grizzly lover.

you knew when the leaves started to change colours that your mate was going to get ready for the hibernation months. it meant being out in the woods more and acquiring a healthy diet of salmon and berries. fatty foods to bulk up during the long sleep.

you had your own food from the grocery store in town, you couldn't live off the diet of a bear. but, your mate happily fished and made sure he could make it through the winter. as a result of the bulking and the heart diet, your mate got much heavier and harrier. that didn't help your sexual attraction to him.

he started to notice your neediness when he kept catching the scent of your wet pussy. it only made him need you more. the attraction was mutual.

he knew soon he was going to be in a deep sleep, and he wanted you as much as he could get before the hibernation started. it all came to a head a week before his sleep started when he needed his mate more than anything.

"c'mere, lovie. come to your big bear." he palmed himself through his sweatpants. he was in a tank top and flannel bottoms. you could see the bulge in them and how hairy he was all over.

he looked like a protector, a provider. your big bear.

price soon had you over the solid wood coffee table that was your mate's project over the summer. he was painfully hard as he carefully took off your own sweatpants and your panties (they had little bears printed on them) and he admired your cunt.

he like his mate's pussy, a little fuzzy like him. he didn't need you plucked, shaven or waxed. he needed you the way nature intended. he cooed, "there she is, the showstopper." he cupped your warm cunt for a moment before he went to pull down his bottoms and get out his cock.

his briefs were under his heavy balls. he stroked his cock, he knew he was big. he could scare any man and make any woman drool with what was between his legs. but you weren't scared of anything, and only you were allowed to touch his cock.

you took your mate perfectly.

he rubbed his length up against your slit and chuckled, "ah, they're kissing, petal." he smeared his precum up against your needy sex.

you moaned, "please, honey." you felt the pleasure race up and down your body. his lust was infectious. his love was addictive.

only a wild woman could love a bear, and you were more in love with price than anyone else could be.

"mmm, you feel amazing and i'm not even in, beautiful." he licked his lips, he was hungry for you. his darling missus. when he sank into you, you felt heaven splash over you.

you gripped the edge of the table for support, some kind of support to hold onto while your larger lover moved against you with heavy thrusts.

price had been holding out on breeding you. it was wasn't easy for a human to carry a shifter baby, especially a bear one. and keeping up with price along was a task in itself.

but with you bent over the table, he couldn't help himself. he wanted a reminder of him as you got through the winter. he continued to thrust up inside of you. he was encouraged by your sweet moans, it made him hungry for you. he moved you up and down his cock, he needed you with a heated want.

you were a perfect little thing, his little human. his delicate little mate that he needed to protect. to love. to breed.

"that's it, love. you take me so fuckin' well. made perfect for me, you have the most beautiful cunt i've ever had the pleasure to fuck. you're heaven sent, a gift from mother nature herself. my personal goddess." he groaned while his mouth ran like a motor.

you whined in response as you felt your mate press his hairy chest against your back. he got his shirt off because he really pressed you up against the table. no wonder he spent the summer making sure it was strudy enough. a good place to lay out his mate and fuck her until she saw stars.

"that's my beautiful, girl." He said, "you look great under me. next time, i take you, we'll be face to face so i can watch you as you cum. my fuckin' angel, all mine." he continued to fuck you. he watched your ass bounce with each of his movements.

"please, john! ah! fuck, your cock feels so good." your eyes squeezed shut from the rush of pleasure in your core. he knew exactly how to make you feel good.

no other man ever made you cum before you met john price. on his first try he made your back arch and your toes curl.

your pulse quickened as the pleasure continued to build in your core. you loved being price's mate. to love him was a journey that you enjoyed. your pussy wetness drenched your thighs as price continued to fuck you from behind.

price knew how to be gentle, but where was the fun in that? not when he could bounce you on his hard cock at a feverish pace. pleasure bubbled in your soul as you felt on cloud nine.

such a rough lover, using size, experience and age to his advantage. he had you under his mercy. but that didn't matter to you, not when the shocks of pleasure bloomed in your head. not when you found the ache for your lover being filled. the bear shifter knew how to make heaven on earth. you held on tightly to the edge of the table as the movements grew faster. his cock hit against the softest parts of you.

"I love you."

"i love you too."

you whined a little and your feet dug into the patterned rug under the table. you bit your bottom lip to try and not be too loud. but price loved it when you were loud.

he wanted to hear every noise you made, it only turned him on further. price loved everything about you. you made him feel more wild than anything else, including turning into a bear. your allure had him on his knees begging for more. with you he could always be greedy, he was a possessive bear with you. territorial.

you didn't last much longer. not with such a heat pumping through your body. you were gasping with an insatiable want as he made sure you came before he did. you held onto the table tightly as you came. the clench in your body as you felt the inferno of lust around you.

price maintained his pace and fucked you through your orgasm. your heightened noises only sent him over the edge as his pace started to stagger. with a few heavy thrusts he finished inside of you. he held your hips up with his large hands to make sure it got all the way into your womb.

when he stropped, he wasn't finished. he had less than a week to make sure you didn't forget your mate over the long winter months.

-

price made a gruff noise and turned over onto his back. his eyes open, it wasn't quite spring yet. he raised his head and scratched his beard. he looked around the quiet bedroom with bleary eyes and noticed you not in the bed next to him.

even though you couldn't hibernate, you had been away from the nest for too long. he heard a small crash from the kitchen and he was up on his feet. he lumbered over and saw you by the oven with a tray of brownies in your hand.

you looked almost guilty at the sight of your mate standing there. you said, "sorry, big bear."

price smiled sleepily, "it's alright. you eat up for you and the cub." he came over and gave your soft bump a nice rub, "come back to bed soon. can't sleep without you." and gave you a kiss on the top of your head before he lumbered back to bed. back to sleep until the snow melted <3

[codnasties]

p!link collection 4 👻🚬🧢🧼🪦🗡🐺🦿🇷🇺🦌🤠 (🌽 links)

ghost 👻

ghost always meet bratty manners with some form of punishment, like slapping your ass raw

sucking ghost's soul out as he tries not to buck his hips up and push his thick cock deeper into your mouth

ghost may miss you, but his cock misses you even more. proof of it is how hard he is and how much he cums

ghost pinning you to the bed in prone bone with his whole body, deep inside of you and balls slappign your clit with each thrust

· · ────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────── · ·

price 🚬

freshly shaved pussy? don't worry, price will make sure his pretty cunt stays warm by stuffing it with his fingers

price might me the real much in 141, always between your legs, getting himself a taste

price sending you little videos so you can appreciate his thick uncut cock and fuzzy stomach and pecs

price stretching your pussy out, fisting you until you squirt all over his hairy belly

· · ────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────── · ·

gaz 🧢

coming back horny from deployment, gaz doesn't even make it home, making a mess of himself in the parking lot

gaz loves eating pussy from the back, specially because it gives him full access to your ass

gaz throat training you so you are able to take him full into your mouth and slobber all over his balls

brother's best friend gaz using the chance that he went out to fuck you nicely

gaz loves backshots, nothing compares to the view of your plush ass and the recoil with each thrust

· · ────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────── · ·

soap 🧼

soap is definitely the type to pull you into the closest barthroom and try to get you pregnant at the thought of wife-ing you up

sunset watching date with soap ends with you getting fucked on the hood of the car

soap getting himself a front row seat to your face twisting with pleasure as he fingers you mercilessly

you can't go around the house in pretty sundresses, beacuse soap won't hessitate to spread your legs and eat you out like a savage man

· · ────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────── · ·

graves 🪦

graves' possessive ass won't do threesomes, but he will have a fucking machine plunging into your pussy as he takes your ass

horny graves doesn't even make it to the bedroom most of the time, so he just takes you in the sofa

as much as graves lokes fucking your pussy, he loves cumming in yout pussy, watching his cum drip onto your fluttering empty cunt

· · ────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────── · ·

konig 🗡

having konig take viagra and getting to play with his incessantly hard cock until he's shooting blanks

konig fucking your soft thighs and humping his leaking tip against your plump lower lips

konig is definitely the type to ask you to cosplay his favourite characters just to fuck you

so pent up and with his balls so full, konig has to show you how much the videos you send him make him cum

· · ────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────── · ·

makarov 🐺

makarov is the type to finger you while he drives, sliding your panties to the side and pushing his digits knuckle deep in your soaking pussy

makarov does really try to not cum inside of you when he's fucking you without a condom on, but he can't resist you when you tell him to

· · ────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────── · ·

alejandro🤠

alejandro turning putty in your hands as you use an fleshling on his sensitive cock

· · ────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────── · ·

alex 🦿

alex is a messy eater, tongue lapping at your juices and playing with your pussy until your arousal is staining his chin

[svtswhorehouse]

ANAL W/ CHEOL — nsfw

disclaimer: minors do not interact, 18+ only

sidenotes: i’m ngl, when i first started writing i thought that i’d never include anal, but here we are. never say never ;) tbh i didn’t expect this to get as filthy as i made it….oops

• no lube, just spit…..lots and lots and lots of spit.

• he LOVES how intimate filthy and dirty it is.

• the type of man to let out the sexiest, pussy clenching, low groan ever when he slides it in.

• he would prep you, especially considering that he’s definitely girthy. he would make sure you’re absolutely ready before even thinking about fucking you.

• he loves to pound your pussy first, then your ass later.

• the type to stick a finger (or a few) in whenever he’s fingering you and move them all in sync.

• he wouldn’t do it unless you were absolutely comfortable with everything.

• he relishes in how tight your hole is and the way you squeeze around him (keep on doing it and he might just cum in record time.)

• he’s an ass guy so trust, HE’S BEEN WAITING FOR THIS.

• would spread your cheeks apart while hitting it from the back so he as a clear view of him thrusting into you.

• prefers missionary because he secretly enjoys that it gives him a clear view of your empty pussy clenching around nothing — almost like it misses his cock :(

• smacks your ass one too many times, he can’t help it, you’re hard to resist.

• he’s seen you all fucked out and desperate on numerous occasions, but he LOVES how pathetic you look whenever he fucks your ass.

• he would help you cum faster by rubbing your pussy, sometimes he might just let you use a vibrator on your clit if you really want to.

• once you grow accustomed to the feeling of his cock in your ass overtime, he would resort to anal whenever you’re being a brat. he would use it as a punishment, one that feels really, really, really good.

• he would make you feel so dirty, whispering filthy words in your ears about how good you take his cock up your ass and how pathetic you are for letting him.

• he’s always so hellbent on making you squirt by just anal — he loves, loves, loves how messy you get for him.

• surprisingly having his thick cock in your ass, hitting the right spot over and over again, turns your brain into mush much faster than when he’s balls deep in your cunt.

• overall, it ends up helping you two further your relationship on an intimate level. the fact that you trust him enough to allow him to do something like this makes him feel all warm and fuzzy.

[cxvii666]

“nah, i can’t, bro. my girl said no.”

hanta’s voice is casual, breezy, like he’s turning down a movie he’s already seen. except the movie is an invite to hit this new ramen spot downtown, something the group’s been trying to plan for weeks.

denki, leaning against the kitchen counter with a stolen capri-sun in hand, blinks at him in utter disbelief. “you literally just said she’s asleep.”

“exactly,” hanta says, like he’s pointing out the obvious. “she’s asleep, and i don’t wanna wake her.”

denki’s eyes narrow. “you’re at your house.”

hanta doesn’t flinch. “the vibes are asleep, denki. don’t mess with the energy.”

in the corner of the room, bakugou lets out a sound so sharp and pained it’s honestly impressive it’s not lethal. “you are so full of shit.”

hanta just grins, throwing his phone lazily onto the couch and stretching like he’s got all the time in the world. he’s draped across the sectional like he lives there—which he kind of does, when you’re around. the hoodie he’s wearing still smells like your shampoo. his legs are tangled in a fuzzy blanket you left behind two days ago, the one you claimed clashed with his “whole aesthetic” but brought over anyway. your socks—those ridiculous yellow ones with the tiny strawberries—are balled up under the coffee table.

everything in here is steeped in you. your perfume still hangs faintly in the air. your laugh echoes if he thinks about it too hard.

it’s not that he can’t go out.

it’s just—okay. no. it’s exactly that. he can’t go out. not when he could be here, waiting for you.

“look, i’m sorry,” he says with all the sincerity of a man who is not sorry in the slightest, “missus said no. y’know how it is.”

denki frowns at him, straw still in his mouth. “you don’t even call her that to her face.”

“i call her worse,” hanta replies proudly, just before a throw pillow comes flying from bakugou’s corner of the room and smacks him in the head with practiced precision.

“you’re so annoying when you’re in love,” bakugou mutters, already reaching for another pillow like it’s open season on sentimentality.

“thank you!” hanta chirps, catching the first pillow and hugging it to his chest like a trophy. “finally, someone’s noticing the effort I put into being an incredible boyfriend.”

“you’re lying to avoid social plans,” denki points out flatly. “you bailed on us last week too.”

“that time she really did say no.”

“no she didn’t.”

“she could have!” hanta says, like that somehow justifies it. “i just… preemptively respected her boundaries.”

bakugou makes a noise like he’s seriously debating whether homicide is worth the paperwork.

hanta settles deeper into the couch, gaze flicking briefly to his phone screen—already lighting up with a little preview of your goodnight text, the one you typed before your post-shift nap knocked you out. he doesn’t open it. just smiles at it. lets it sit there like a quiet little warm thing in his chest.

you’re coming over later. you mentioned it in passing this morning, half-asleep and brushing your teeth. said something about bringing that stupidly specific kind of candy he likes from the store near your work. he knows you’ll show up smelling like body lotion and a long day, probably steal another one of his hoodies and complain about the lack of snacks in his pantry like you don’t eat them all.

and if you’re even a minute late, he’ll act like he’s not checking the window every five seconds like a dog waiting for the mailman.

but right now, you’re asleep. and you’re still the best excuse he’s ever had.

“y’know,” he says, propping one foot up on the coffee table, “i just think it’s important to prioritize your partner. i’m choosing love. you guys are choosing noodles. i’m making mature decisions.”

“you’re eating half a pack of gummy worms and wearing her fuzzy socks.”

“maturely.”

denki sighs and checks the time. “whatever. i’m leaving in ten.”

“send me pics,” hanta calls after him, already fishing for the remote. “unless they’re ugly. then keep them to yourself.”

bakugou, on his way out, doesn’t say goodbye—just mutters something that sounds like simp and slams the door harder than necessary.

hanta doesn’t care.

he’s got a show paused right where you left off. your blanket. your scent. your goodnight text warming the screen like a promise.

the vibes are asleep, yeah.

and he’d rather stay in them, anyway.

[chimielie]

match point

hajime opens the door, blinking blearily as the permanent fluorescents of the hallway greet his eyes. he drags a hand down his face, taking a quick opportunity to take you in, your shorts and knees (the left one has a nasty green bruise, leftover from his forcing you to try indoor climbing last week) and fuzzy socks peeking out from your sneakers. your shirt almost swallowing you, making the jacket you’re wearing look oddly cropped. your hair sticking straight up.

“hi, hajime,” you say, yawning uncontrollably. “thank you. sorry.”

“no problem,” he says, “come in, it’s too bright.”

inside, there’s only the pinpoint of his cell flashlight on, a beacon leading you to his room—first left in the hallway, you really would be able to find it blindfolded. you don’t act like it, though, putting a hand on his back and closing your eyes while he forges forward. the light brush of your fingers over the thin t-shirt he’d pulled over his head thirty seconds ago is the confusing kind of thing leaking out of his dreams.

“there’s a protein shake pack there, watch your—yeah. your step.” the warning comes just in time for you to stub your toe as he shuts the door behind the both of you.

he busies himself digging in his closet while you swear as quietly as you can.

“you want the bed? i’ll take the couch,” he offers.

“‘m not kicking you out of your own bed at—” you squint at your own phone screen. “3:47 a.m. i just really appreciate you letting me stay over, haji. thank you so much.”

“not your fault your roommates set off the fire alarm at 3:47 a.m. seriously, take the bed.”

you were lucky, he thought, lucky he had your contact set to break through Do Not Disturb, lucky he lived a floor above you so you didn’t have to scream hysterically at them for waking you up like this again in the middle of exam season. the violent string of texts he’d woken up to (and the distant shrieking of your apartment’s alarm) had made him laugh so hard he’d typed come over almost without thinking about it, i promise i won’t hotbox the bedroom while you’re trying to sleep.

“let’s just share,” you suggest, and he fumbles the spare blankets in his hands. he’s glad he’s facing away from you. “it’s too early to fight.”

“too late,” he corrects you. “you sure we’ll both fit?”

it’s a reference to your freshman year, when you used to climb into his twin XL bed and lie on top of him so neither of you were falling off the edge. physical affection was more common for you then, before he’d realized that his dumbass had gone and fallen in love with you and you were just his very affectionate friend.

“yeah, you have a big boy bed now. i miss the lightning mcqueen sheets, though.” you’re already hanging the jacket on the back of his chair, crawling through the vast ocean of cotton to curl into a ball near his pillows. he checks his phone again, wondering if he ever really woke up. he has dreams, secret, shameful ones, like this often.

there’s a song and dance missing. shouldn’t he be fighting harder to take the couch? building a pillow wall? as he joins you, even as he’s stretching his body out and feeling his left shoulder pop, you gravitate into him. he puts an arm around you, his bicep thick enough beneath your back to make you shift around to get comfortable again. your fuzzy sock-covered foot pushes up the ankle of his sweatpants.

“hey, wait,” he says. you make a soft sleepy noise that breaks his heart to hear like this: so close, and yet not at all. “was that my jacket you were wearing? the one i’ve been looking for?”

“yeah,” you nod into his chest. “you gave it to me last time we went out.”

“oh, i’d forgotten,” he hums. a few more moments pass, his own eyelids getting heavy.

“i like wearing your clothes,” you tell him, “it makes me feel like you’re my boyfriend.”

maybe in the morning he’ll do something about that; for now, he sleeps with your deep, even breathing an inch away, the warm glow of something new and right and shared suffusing his chest.

[strawberrykidneystone]

your hot neighbor sevika pt. 2

a/n: AHHH TYSM FOR THE LOVE ON PART ONE I REALLY LIKE THIS SERIES IM GLAD YALL DO TOO <333

part 1

a week later, after silco reluctantly had one of his goons trail you when sevika asked, she got your name

damn, you had a very pretty name

after work, you went behind the apartment building as usual to fill up the bowls with food and water for the stray cats

and wash the blankets in the cat houses if they needed

but someone had beat you to it

there she was, sevika making a scrunched up face as she opened a few cans of wet food for the eager cats surrounding her

you practically swooned at the sweet sight, hot and good with animals? what didn’t this woman have?

she brushed her hands off and stood up straight, finally making eye contact with you

“hey there pretty girl”

you giggled and crossed your arms, glancing down at the cats enjoying their food, “ ‘re you a cat mom now sevika?”

“always have been, though someone else feeds them sometimes, guess i share custody,” she said smoothly with a wink, bending down and scratching down the back of an orange tabby

“wow, sharing custody and you haven’t even taken me out yet.”

sevika stood back up to her standing height, basically towering over you as she leaned in close, “well i know a way to rectify that, y/n.”

you raised an eyebrow with a smirk and looked up at her so that the two of you were practically nose to nose, “yeah? is that the prize you want for getting my name ‘vika?”

“i’m thinking of a much sweeter prize,” she practically purred and tilted her head, her lips so close to yours that you could feel her warm breath against your own lips

you looked down at her lips and bit your lip, glancing briefly off to the side, “here? in front of the kids?”

sevika snorted and half smirked, her lambret piercing tugging to the side as she did, “im not about to let a few cats cock block me.”

you laughed and shook your head, throwing your arms around her neck and pressing a deep kiss against her lips that she immediately returned, wrapping her arms around your waist

one of your hands felt up the fuzzy side of her undercut and pushed your fingers through her hair, causing sevika to groan against your lips

she squeezed your waist and pulled you closer, your chests pressed firmly against each other as the kiss got deeper

just as you bit sevika’s bottom lip to shove your tongue in her mouth, one of the cats coughed up a hair ball

what a mood killer…

the two of you laughed it off, you explaining that the cat was unofficially named smoky since she coughed like a smoker (sevika laughed a little too hard at that🤨)

sevika cleared her throat and looked down into your eyes, “so… i’ll pick you up at 8?”

“8 it is,” you said with a smile, holding your hand out to her

she took your hand with her flesh one and laced your fingers together, walking into the apartment building

she walked you to your front door and the two of you shared a small peck before she walked back to her own apartment to get ready for your date

you swore that she was walking with a spring in her step that wasn’t there before

the date goes well and the two of you live happily ever after with 20 cats weeeeee!

taglist: @maneskinwh0re @archangeldyke-all @fandoms-will-be-the-death-of-me @sevikasfan @lez-zuha @comfortripley @sunflowerwinds

[notjustjavierpena]

Parents

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: Merry belated Christmas from me! I know this is my second Christmas fic this time around but I finally got the courage to write about Wife’s awful parents. 

Summary: Javier puts his foot down during Christmas with your toxic family. 

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader/you (no y/n)

Tags: Toxic family dynamics, psychological abuse, childhood trauma, Christmas, conflict and confrontation, sobbing, declarations of love, hurt/comfort, body/fat shaming

Word count: 5.7k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/61942318

Parents

You get a call from your parents’ home number a few weeks before Christmas. Your mother and father haven't actually bothered seeing you since your wedding day last year but Lucas is four months old now and there’s suddenly a strange interest from them in being grandparents to your firstborn. Somehow, they talk you into spending Christmas with them and reassure you that they’ll take care of everything as long as you bring their grandson. The whole idea causes a ball of anxiety to settle in your stomach, almost imitating getting hit right in the solar plexus with how much your breath struggles to even out as you tell Javier about it. Your husband agrees reluctantly but not without raising a concerned brow, asking you several times - and with days between each time - if you are absolutely sure. 

He even asks you now as he parks the car in your parents’ driveway, looking at you with a serious expression, brows furrowed while you sit stiffly in the passenger seat. You glance towards the front door, trying to act casual as if you’re staring at a wild animal who might pounce if it notices your anxiety. It is an odd feeling you get, staring at your childhood home but feeling more as if it is the scene of a crime. This house is not a memory of warm and fuzzy feelings but rather a place of constant criticism and unjust pain. 

Javier says your name softly beside you. On the backseat, Lucas hiccups.

“Do I look okay?” You quickly ask instead of acknowledging the tone of his voice, fixing your hair without changing anything. 

“Yeah,” he answers and tries not to comment on your nerves, “You look beautiful, mi amor (my love).”

The call from two weeks ago had your shoulders tensing up before you even answered the phone but the way they had reasoned you into revisiting the place of your hardest years has made your shoulders not come down again. 

You sigh gently and unbuckle your seatbelt, “Okay. I can do this for just an afternoon. Let’s get this over with.”

You climb out of the car, Javier following you after carefully unbuckling Lucas and cradling him in one arm while balancing the diaper bag on the other shoulder. You leave his car seat, knowing how much easier it would have been to transport your son inside in it but Lucas has been fussy all night. You really wish he hadn’t because you don’t want to go inside with only half the energy that a good night’s sleep could have provided. 

As you ring the doorbell, you take a look at Javier one last time, “Please don’t interfere. I don’t want to make everyone uncomfortable.”

“Baby, are you sure that—“

“Oh, there you are!” Your mother exclaims when she opens the door with a syrupy smile, “We were starting to wonder if you’d gotten lost.”

“Sorry. Life with a baby and all,” you shake your head with an embarrassed chuckle and try to ignore the tension in your muscles, shrugging your coat off your shoulders to reveal your wine-red button-up and dark skirt. 

“Honey, I thought you knew we always dress up a little during the Holidays,” your mother says while glancing at your outfit with veiled disdain, “Where’s that nice blue dress? With the ribbons?”

“This is all that fits me right now, that isn’t maternity clothes,” you answer apologetically at the first jab of many. Beside you, Javier takes a step closer to you without saying anything. 

“Anyway! Where’s the little man?” Your mother chirps, already having moved on and looking to Lucas who has started stirring in Javier’s arms. When she gets closer, about to reach out to run a hand over his little head, Lucas immediately starts whimpering as if he is aware of the unpleasantries that his mother has had to endure at the mercy of this woman. He knows the culprits before they’ve even revealed themselves. 

“Oh, he’s a little fussy, isn’t he?” She laughs it off and retreats much to your relief, letting Javier bounce your son to make him settle down again. When he quietens down again, you share a glance with your husband who signals that everything is okay. You take a deep breath and let him handle the situation. 

“Where’s Dad?” You ask to turn your attention away from your crying child, smoothing out a nonexistent crease in your skirt. 

“I think he’s just about to get the turkey out of the oven,” your mother says, wagging a finger in Lucas’ face with a little smile, “Why don’t you go say hi and I talk to my grandson for a moment? Oh, look at you, Lucas! You’re just perfect, aren’t you?”

You reluctantly leave the three of them to head for the kitchen. You can feel each family photograph staring back at you as you walk through the hallway to your destination; a picture of your five-year-old self on a bike but somehow no picture of your graduation ceremony as if it has been decided where things went wrong before you could acknowledge it yourself. 

“Hey Dad, smells so good in here,” the kitchen does indeed smell wonderfully as you walk through the door. Your father looks at you over his shoulder, giving you a little smile and you try not to think about how he didn’t bother to come out to greet you. 

“Mom and I were wondering if you were ever coming,” he notes while plating pieces of turkey meat. In the hallway, you can hear Javier striking up polite conversation. He’s handling your mother with his usual calmness, and you feel grateful for his presence yet embarrassed that you aren’t strong enough to handle it yourself.

You shrug a little, Javier’s presence giving you the courage to try and mirror said calmness, “Newborns, you know.”

“He’s four months,” he corrects. 

“Right, time flies,” you reply with your confidence fading fast, the words coming out in a way that doesn’t quite carry the quick wit that Javier usually loves about you. You touch your arm, standing awkwardly by the counter, “Still figuring it out as we go.”

Your father doesn’t turn around, “Parenting’s not rocket science, you know. Your mother and I managed just fine without all the made-up nonsense you young people talk about these days.”

You jump a little as your mother puts a hand on your shoulder and says your name to get your attention. You look back at her, “Can you set the table? I put the tablecloth ready on the silverware cabinet.”

“Sure, Mom,” you smile, already heading for the dining room to escape from your father’s subtle judgments. You find Javier has already gone, an irrational thought popping into your head of how he has bolted and left you to deal with your mom and dad by yourself. 

You glance into the kitchen as you start placing the plates in each of their respective places, “Where’s Javier?”

“He went to get the presents from the car,” your mother replies from the kitchen. You hear her take out a serving bowl from a cabinet. 

“Oh, I should go help him wi—“ 

“He’s your husband, sweetie. Let him handle it. There’s no need to emasculate him like that,” she is suddenly in the doorway, staring you down in a way that makes your hands shake. Her gaze drops to the table and her brows furrow, “You’re using the wrong plates!”

You look up with a racing heartbeat, “What?”

She sighs your name audibly, “These aren’t the Christmas plates. We don’t use regular plates for special occasions. Honestly, I thought you’d know better.”

The words sting and you set down the plates you have been holding in case the littlest twitch will make you drop it onto the floor, “Sorry, Mom.” 

“Ah well, now you’ll never forget it,” she jokes without humor in her voice as she opens the door to the china cabinet, pulling out the plates adorned with what you recognize to be hand-painted holly. You shamefully realize you know them from childhood Christmases and that they are exactly where they’ve always been. 

Automatically, you gather the wrong plates to make room for the right ones. It’s Christmas, you remind yourself as you do it. It is one day. You can survive one day. 

“See? Isn’t this much better?” She says cheerfully when your mistake has been corrected and while you nod, Javier reenters the house. 

He joins the two of you, carrying a large gift bag in one hand and holding Lucas on the other arm. You immediately go to take him, doing a careful transfer until you can lay his tiny body against your shoulder while supporting his bottom. 

“¿Todo bien? (Everything okay?)” Javier asks quietly when you follow him into the living room where the tree stands. He sets down the bag and tries to act casual, laying out the gifts and waiting for your honest response in the meantime. Apparently, you haven’t been as successful in hiding the distress on your face as you thought you had. 

You force a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes and Lucas starts whining again. You bounce him gently, “It’s nothing. Just… Christmas stuff.”

Javier glances toward the hallway to the kitchen where your parents’ voices can be heard faintly over the sounds of cooking. His jaw tightens slightly and his mouth becomes a thin line. 

“Don’t,” you say as firmly as you can muster because you wish he would, “It’ll only make it worse.”

“Dame un beso (give me a kiss),” he says instead, and you shyly lean in to peck him on the lips. Afterward, he pulls back but only after stroking Lucas’ back, “You’re both doing great, okay? Don’t let them get in your head.”

You are interrupted by your mother’s voice ringing out from the dining room, telling you that dinner is ready. Javier kisses you one last time before reassuring you that everything will be okay and that he is in your corner. You try to smile, tense as you take a seat with Lucas still in your arms. 

The Christmas meal begins with polite conversation, your father asking Javier about work and your mother telling you about neighbors that you haven’t spoken to in years. You mostly just speak when spoken to, having decided to focus on your baby as he keeps wriggling in your arms in discomfort. You try to rub his belly, try to make him settle by giving him your attention but still, his tiny face crumbles and he lets out a string of small complaints. 

“Maybe we could open presents while he naps?” You suggest hesitantly when your mother has given you enough judgemental advice, “He’s been so fussy all night, and I don’t want him to get more overwhelmed than he—”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” your mother says your name with a sigh. You hear Javier’s chair scrape against the floor, almost as if he is about to get up and get ready for a physical altercation.

“Let’s do whatever is easiest for the baby,” your father interrupts, placing a hand on your mother’s wrist. Her annoyance shines through her eyes but she nods with a smile nonetheless. 

“Of course,” you hear her grit out, “It’s just… We’d love to spend time with him. We’ve already missed so much, and Luke needs his grandparents.”

“We’ll see,” Javier answers for you. 

The dinner continues in mostly silence with turkey being substituted by pie, cutlery clinking against plates, and glasses being lifted and set down again. There’s tension so thick that it can be cut with a knife, your mother glancing at Lucas with a smile before it disappears from her face when she shifts her gaze to your direction.  

Mercilessly, she finally speaks, “So, honey, have you thought about when you’ll start losing the baby weight?”

“Mom!” You exclaim in shock, surprised that sound comes out when your throat feels like it is about to close up completely.

In the same manner as one would spit out a drink in shock, Javier’s fork scrapes unpleasantly against his plate, and suddenly, your mother’s name falls from his lips like the sound itself leaves him with a bad taste in his mouth. She looks startled by the interruption, almost like a deer in the headlights of a car, but it doesn’t faze your husband, “My wife looks beautiful and she has just given me - us - the greatest gift which is our son. Let’s not diminish that, shall we?”

You try to feel the weight of Lucas against your chest instead of how you don’t feel safe within this house, with its bruises on the walls and its ghosts of a youth spent walking on eggshells. Lucas’ body is warm, a reminder that this doesn’t matter. He matters. 

“I’m focused on taking care of my son right now, Mom,” you reply coolly with your lips resting on the soft hairs on Lucas’ head. 

“Right, of course. I didn’t mean anything by it,” your mother argues, clearly flustered, “You know how important it is to stay healthy for the baby.”

“Your mother just wants what’s best for you, honey,” your father intervenes, trying to steer the conversation onto friendlier and safer topics but she has already gotten up from her seat. 

“Why don’t I clear the table so we can move into the living room and open presents?” She mumbles, putting on a show by letting her voice waver. She has begun stacking plates before anyone can even say anything, practically fleeing the room and leaving you all looking slightly sheepish. Javier hides the roll of his eyes exceptionally well and he smiles when you catch him.

“I’ll put Lucas down for a nap,” you announce to what is left of the party.

Javier gets up alongside you to help you. He walks upstairs right behind you, a calming presence with the diaper bag in hand as you head for the guest room.

When you close the door behind the three of you, the tension seeps out of your body at having a quiet moment with your boys. The lighting in the room is soft and calming, almost making you want to lie down to nap with your son. 

“There we go,” you say as you gently place Lucas on the bed while Javier rummages through the bag for his pacifier. Lucas blinks up at you, his tiny fists balled and his chubby legs kicking excitedly. He lets out a happy gurgle.

“Oh, now you’re happy,” you tease softly and kneel by the bed to rub his tummy, “Picky with who we’re smiling at, are we?” 

Javier joins you by the bed and offers Lucas his pacifier. Your son stretches his arms and reaches for his father, letting out a high-pitched giggle around the pacifier. However, as he suckles gently, accompanied by your soft touch that has now moved to his chubby cheeks too, his eyelids start to grow heavy. 

When his breaths have slowed, you do whatever you can with the pillows to create a safe space for him to sleep. You create a barrier around him, ensuring as well as possible that he won’t roll over. 

“You know, you’d think that they would have set up a crib for him if they’re so desperate to see him,” you murmur bitterly as you adjust the last pillow.

“You sure you want to go back down there?” Javier asks carefully. 

“Can you grab the baby monitor?” You ignore his question at first but Javier is already handing you the monitor, ruining your attempt at not addressing the situation further. You sigh and get up from the floor, “I can get through it. If it’ll make them stop pestering me for a visit for a while.”

“I swear, one more word out of her mouth and I’ll open my own,” Javier says with anger simmering just beneath the surface. He drags you into his arms when you stand up again, hears your sigh of relief at being squeezed. It calms your nervous system so effectively that you slump. 

“Believe me, I feel like I am going insane,” you whisper into his neck and shoulder, grabbing aimlessly at his strong frame and inhaling his scent. He returns the desperate touch by simply rubbing your back in slow circles. 

“Yeah, I don’t know how you stay so calm,” he kisses your temple a few times. 

“Trust me, humans can endure a lot when they know there’s a time limit,” you chuckle humorlessly and pull away, “Let’s just do the gift exchange and leave.”

Downstairs, your parents are waiting for you by the tree. The collection of presents is sparse this year due to the short notice but you find it relieving to know that the gift exchange will be over quickly. 

Placing the baby monitor on the coffee table, you sit down on the sofa but don’t allow yourself to relax into it. Javier drops down beside you but leans back into his seat, his hand resting casually on your thigh to ground you. 

“Let’s get to the gifts. It’ll be nice to end this day on a happy note,” your mother says overly cheerfully, pretending to have forgiven and forgotten all about the situation earlier. She reaches for the first gift under the tree while your father stands ready with a bag for the wrapping paper. 

“That’s mine,” Javier tells her with a little smirk in your direction. He holds out his hand until she gives it to him, “To my beautiful wife. Merry Christmas, baby.”

“How thoughtful,” your mother mumbles and sits on the edge of her armchair. 

“Javi, I thought we weren’t on gifts this year,” you scold playfully but there’s no seriousness to your voice. You finally smile and this time it is genuine, feeling his gaze on you while you impatiently rip the wrapping. 

“I know what I said but I know you’ll love it. It’s more for Lucas anyway,” he informs you shyly. 

Inside, you find two pairs of identical fuzzy and comfortable socks with a dinosaur print on them. However, one pair fits Lucas’ tiny feet and the other fits yours. Your whole demeanor changes with the sight of your gift, your face lighting up with a bright smile, “These are so cute!”

“For your cold feet. Thought you could use something cozy while you take care of Luke at home,” he moves his hand to rest just above the small of your back, his palm smoothing over you on top of the fabric of your blouse. 

Your parents sit idly by. They stare at the gift with confusion and arrogance, clearly holding their tongue over how ridiculous they find it. Your mother picks at her fingers, “Interesting.”

“Interesting? Aren’t they adorable?” You hold the matching socks up happily, not sure what to expect but not even your mother’s judgmental expression can bring you down right now. To really rub it in, you kiss Javier’s mouth gently in front of them, “Gracias, esposo (Thank you, husband).”

But the happiness is short-lived as your father goes to get the next present from the small pile. He searches for a moment amongst the few there are, deliberately seeking out the present that you have brought them, most likely to be able to leave the room soon due to the obvious tension. He has never been one to intervene. 

“You shouldn’t have,” your mother tuts with a small smile as she carefully unwraps it in her lap, her fingers doing everything they can to not tear the paper so she can reuse it. 

When the framed picture of Lucas is revealed - a photo taken during an afternoon when he was particularly happy and smiling - her smile develops into a slightly wider one even if it looks against her will. She studies the picture with your father looking over her shoulder. 

“We thought you’d like something to remember him by,” you encourage her to say something. 

Your mother places the photo on the coffee table, her hands smoothing out the wrapping paper while she talks, “It’s lovely, sweetie. Though I’m sure we’d have more memories if we got to see him more often.”

You tense up beside Javier. Out of the corner of your eye, you see him do the same but he squeezes your hip to tell you that he is right there. Anxiously, you curl your fingers into your skirt but your mother isn’t finished.

“I just don’t understand why you’ve been so distant,” she continues, cold in her tone. “You hardly call, which would be fine but you visit even less than that, and now you’re letting Lucas sleep through his first Christmas. It’s not like you’ve gone back to work, so what is it?”

“Mom, please,” you say quietly but it doesn’t veil the wavering of your words, “I’m doing the best I can.”

“Are you?” She challenges, “Lucas has been fussing all night, hasn’t he? Maybe he’s picking up on your stress.”

You hear Javier say your mother’s name as he had during dinner, low and with warning. At the same moment, the baby monitor crackles with the sound of Lucas’ tiny complaints. The sound pulls you from your seat, your instincts to go to him overriding your desire to defend yourself from further abuse. However, your mother’s voice rings out behind you just as you take your first step.

She rolls her eyes, “Oh, just let him cry a little. You’ll make him clingy if you keep running to him every time he whimpers.”

You stop in your tracks, finally turning around to look her in the eye with your own eyes narrowed. You can see Javier watching you closely while you talk, “Mom, if he cries, he needs me.”

According to you, she has already gone too far but it seems that she cannot stop once she has started, “You know, you really should stop babying him so much. He needs to learn to self-soothe.”

Tears of frustration start to build in your chest and you can feel the muscles of your throat start to tighten as they rise to your eyes, “Jesus Christ, Mom, I’m not going to stop babying my baby.”

Her final blow comes out with a deliberate intention to hurt you, “There you go overthinking again and snapping at your mother. He is whimpering. Honestly, sometimes I wonder how Javier puts up with it. You can be such a bitch when you’re stressed.”

The room falls dead silent and the first tear escapes your eye at the cruel nickname… then a second and then a third until you start to cry silently and hopelessly. You suddenly feel like a teenager again, suffering from forced proximity. Your father opens his mouth but nothing comes out, seemingly not able to figure out how to defend his wife for once. It is the final straw for Javier.

“What did you just say?” He firmly cuts through the silence. He has gotten up from his seat and has stepped in front of you to shield you protectively from your mother’s line of sight. His nostrils flare with anger that might explode into rage at any moment but he keeps his voice steady, “You better not have said what I think you did or I am wondering why you haven’t apologized already.”

Your mother’s eyes widen at the idea of consequences. She splutters, caught off guard, “Apologize? Javier, don’t be ridiculous! I’m her mother—“

Javier laughs dangerously and condescendingly and looks away with a roll of his eyes. He shakes his head, not afraid to let the room know that he thinks she sounds pathetic without even calling her out on it. He crosses his arms over his chest, “You got a hell of a way of showing motherly love then; all you have done is tear her down today.”

“Javier,” your father tries to interject, “Let’s not make this into a scene.”

“No,” Javier turns to him, his jaw muscles flexing slightly underneath his skin with how much anger is flowing through him. The simple word makes your father sit up straighter than before - a testament to Javier’s days in Colombia - but Javier is not done, “You don’t get to lecture me about making a scene. Not after sitting there and letting this happen. She is your daughter.”

When your father has shut his mouth, looking uncomfortable by his defeat while he leans back into his seat with no intention to follow up on his words, Javier’s fury settles on your mother once more, “What’s your goal here, exactly?”

You’re aware that it isn’t just a simple few tears falling from your eyes anymore but rather a silent stream that has your face puffy and sensitive. It is accompanied by grief over your younger self not having had someone like Javier in her corner. You sniffle audibly, feeling as if you have been punched in the gut with how much it hurts and humiliates you to sit idly by. Your mother catches a glimpse of you behind your husband but it doesn’t seem to have any effect whatsoever. 

“There’s no secret agenda here, for God’s sake. I didn’t mean anything by it,” she sneers, trying to keep her demeanor straight despite the humiliation of getting called out being evident on her face. 

“Yes, you did,” Javier argues immediately and fiercely, pointing his index finger at her in an accusing manner, “You knew exactly what you were saying. You wanted her to hurt. Well congratulations, you’ve succeeded. Unfortunately, your daughter is a lot nicer than me and handled your words with a lot more grace than you deserve. I will not be doing the same thing.”

Your mother’s composure falters. She says your father’s name helplessly but he looks at her with tired eyes, full of quiet disappointment. Even if he is absent and passive like always, his refusal to intervene further is a sign that he would never go as far as his wife has just done. He shakes his head in disapproval, “Why’d you do it? We were having such a nice time too.”

She gapes at your father while his gaze drops to his lap, shrinking herself slightly at the realization that she is outnumbered and has to face your husband alone. Javier takes a step closer, radiating authority when she tries to avoid further confrontation, distaste so clear on his face for how he has lost her attention for a moment. When you let out a quiet sob, too paralyzed in your spot on the couch to go to your whimpering child, his face hardens further and he continues, “Listen to me.”

Your mother looks up reluctantly. She appears to be on the brink of an attempt to turn his words against him and argue right back once more, but Javier cuts her off before she can even start. 

“You don’t talk to her like that again. Ever. And you most certainly do not question her ability to be a mother. She is a perfect mother and God knows, she hasn’t gotten it from you. Lucas is a happy, healthy, and thriving baby because of her,” he takes a breath, and for a second, it seems like he might be done but then, “You hurt my girl, you understand that? And if you ever speak to her like that again - actually if you even speak about her like that again -  I will personally make sure you don’t get to have Lucas in your life.”

“Are you threatening us?” Her composure slips even more. 

“No, ma’am, I am instructing you,” he replies coldly, “If you can’t respect his mother, we’re done here.”

Javier turns to you now, his face softening immediately at the sight of you sitting teary-eyed on the couch with your hands clutching the baby monitor. He says your name so softly, a sound that has always felt like an unfamiliar and unwelcome sound within this house, and gently pulls the piece of technology out of your hands. 

“Listen to me, baby. Go wait in the car. I’ll get Lucas and his things,” he instructs you, placing the baby monitor on the coffee table behind him without looking away from you. He helps you to stand when you find yourself nodding. 

When you’re up from your seat, he puts a hand on the small of your back to guide you towards the door. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t let you linger in the room. 

“You don’t have to leave,” your mother protests with obvious surprise that you and Javier are carrying out the promise of consequences. She begins pushing herself to stand. 

“Sit down, I will not let you disturb any of the peace she has left,” he commands harshly when she tries to take a step toward you. 

Your mother falters, stunned by his audacity, and sinks back into her seat.

The moment you’re out of the front door, your legs start shaking so badly beneath you that you aren’t sure if you’ll even make it to the car. The walk feels endless, like climbing a mountain, the neighborhood surrounding your childhood home quiet because everyone is inside with the happy family that you never got to have growing up. 

Until now. You have it now. However, you have left them to fend for themselves on the battlefield to slide into the front seat of the car. You rub your chest as it feels tight but it soothes nothing and suddenly, the tears come harder than they had in the living room. You rest your head against the glass window, screwing your eyes shut and feeling drips of hot tears on your cheeks.

Memories come flooding and you have no power to stop them, pictures of many nights spent in solitude in your room because it was the only illusion of sanctuary in the house before you. The sound of your mother’s scoffs, her unbearable ability to make you feel small, inadequate, and unwanted. Her year-long cruelty feels like a knife in your chest but your father’s silent complicity twists its blade too, makes you think that you were never worthy of defending. 

Yet Javier had done it so effortlessly, had done what you’d wished someone would have done for you in your entire life, and he had done it without any hesitation. You are shattered by another night believing the worst about yourself, yes, but you realize that a part of your sobs comes from relief too. Suddenly, it all feels silly and you don’t know why you have always stopped Javier from speaking up for you since you met because his words - she is a perfect mother - have taken the power out of your mother’s incredibly fast. 

You hear the front door open and a shaky sob leaves you at seeing the two of your boys approach the car. Javier has the diaper bag over his shoulder whilst cradling Lucas against his chest, his face serious. He moves in long strides to get to you fast, not saying anything as he buckles Lucas’ sleeping form into his car seat before climbing into his own seat in the front. 

You sit up again, eyes still brimming with tears that streak your face. You feel overwhelmed like you have run a marathon or fought a bear or a monster. 

Javier puts on his seatbelt but doesn’t put the key in the ignition yet. He looks out of the windshield for a moment, breathes a sigh of relief. The car is quiet except for Lucas’ soft breaths as he sleeps.

Right until Javier says your name when you don’t automatically turn your head to look at him, ashamed of how the day has progressed. It is Christmas, after all, and Lucas’ first one ever too. 

“Mírame (Look at me),” he says in a gentle murmur. 

You shake your head, unable to answer with how tightly wound you are. You feel his hand under your chin, carefully pulling you by your chin until your eyes meet his. His outline is blurry from all the tears but his voice cuts through the fog in gentle firmness. 

“I love you so much, and I love our son, okay?” He says it like it is a promise, “They aren't ever gonna to talk to you like that again because I won't allow them to. Do you understand me?”

You silently look at him through your tears, nodding weakly. He reaches to brush your tears away with a knuckle. 

“Everything’s gonna be okay because you don’t have to see them if you don’t want to. You just have to let me take care of you,” he continues and cups your cheek instead, “And right now, I say you’re done with them for tonight. Actually, for as long as you fucking want.”

“I want… I don’t…” You say at first but then, “I’m sorry.”

Javier furrows his brows, “Why are you sorry?” 

“Because that’s my mom,” you try to speak around a fresh sob, “And you married me and I trapped you with my fucked up family.”

“Hey, heyheyhey,” he shakes his head, moving his other hand to cup your whole face now. He leans over the console of the car and rests his forehead against yours. When you simply cry harder, he pulls you into a hug, “You didn’t trap me, okay? You didn’t. I’m here because you make me happy. You make me so happy, baby, and Hell knows, I needed a bit of taking care of when you met me. Let me return the favor.”

His body is warm, soothing, and grounding. His embrace squeezes you hard enough to make you calm down, giving you a moment of quiet peace in your mind as you begin to take in his words. You feel the same. You want to say it but you’re afraid that you’ll never stop crying tonight, so instead you find the courage to say those words that you should have told yourself years ago, “I don’t think I want to go back.”

“What do you want to do then?” Javier pulls back to look at you. He moves back into his own seat again and starts the car to give you time to think clearly about his question. 

“Can we go to your dad’s?” You ask hesitantly. 

Javier’s brows rise slightly but he doesn’t argue, just nods as he puts the car in reverse. Before reversing out of the driveway, he pulls you in to kiss your forehead softly. 

“Claro, mi amor (Sure, my love),” he says simply, “He’d love to see us.”

.

.

If you would like to follow my writing then go follow @notjustjavierpena-fics and turn on notifications 💖❤️

[nofingjustaninchident]

⛧° sleepy nights - hoo boys

⛧° 。 ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆༺♱༻⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ 。°⛧

content: percy jackson, jason grace, leo valdez, frank zhang, luke castellan, charles beckendorf x reader - hcs on how they’d sleep with you

warnings: luke and charlie are 19

a/n: SHE’S BAAAACKK!! i’m finally not sick anymore (very questionable, but i’m definitely better) so i’m back to writing! at least i hope so. you can send your requests, preferably of not so long stuff cause i already have 5 super long drafts lol

⛧° 。 ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆༺♱༻⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ 。°⛧

now playing… sweater weather - the neighborhood

Percy Jackson

i honestly believe that he’s an awesome cuddler.

like, i just know that he likes to be the big spoon and wrap his arms around your waist and never EVER let go.

he’d totally lay his head on your shoulder and drool on it.

he plants a lot of tiny little kisses in your neck before you fall asleep.

i like to believe that he snores

but not like super loud snores and they’re not even annoying

its just super cute

and you feel so safe

he’s not super ripped, but he still has abs

so just leaning against them, warm in the night is just so soothing

he sleeps in two positions only, cuddling with you or as a starfish, with legs and arms thrown all over you and the bed

his body is naturally warm

not an uncommon warm, just normal warm

so sleeping with him is always good

whenever you sleep with him, he doesn’t want to get up to school/college the next day

he’s just too comfy to want to let go of you

and, subconsciously, he likes to trace patterns all over the exposed skin of your stomach

overall, a great person to sleep with

Jason Grace

my personal favorite for, uh, unrelated reasons

totally not because he’s literally my dream man no no

but hear me out, you won’t regret it

he’s canonically tall and muscular right

so just imagine resting against his delicious muscular chest and abs-

sorry i trailed off

ANYWAYS

he’s also a cuddler

but he’s kind of stiff in the beginning

like he’s completely touch starved

so he doesn’t really know how to act in situations like this

but the more you’re together the more he feels comfortable to cuddle and squeeze you

he loves to just pull you as close to himself as he can and bury his nose on your hair

because you just smell to good to not do that

he’s also a sweet talker

he just LOVES to whisper cute words in your ear as you’re about to fall asleep

and the first time he told you he loved you was one of these times

you were almost falling asleep in his arms and he just whispered “i love you”

you couldn’t even understand what happened until the next morning

anyways

he is the best person to sleep with

he absolutely loves when you just curl up in a ball beside him while he’s reading

he gets all fuzzy inside

he’s literally melting

he just loves you too much

Leo Valdez

look, don’t get me wrong, i love leo

but i don’t think he’d be the best cuddler in the world

for the simple reason that i think so

if u don’t like it just sush

BUT he absolutely loves to sleep on top of you with his head in your chest

i just know it

this is like super Leo Valdez of him

and you can’t tell me he doesn’t purr when you caress his hair

cause OF COURSE he does that

he’s the best person to sleep with in winter and fall, cause he keeps you warm and happy

but in the summer… not as good, i’ll have to admit

like, he’s too hot

in both senses of the word

so you just get overheated

not that you’re really complaining tho

it’s worth it

oh, and he LOVES to whisper words in spanish in your ear before sleep

if you can’t speak spanish, he’ll say… not so innocent things

our latino king fr fr

and if you can speak spanish he’ll just say how much you smell good or how pretty you are or how much he loves you-

not a cuddler, but a very good person to sleep with anyways

Frank Zhang

he’s tall and muscular

what more can i ask for my personal pillow?

oh, being a lowkey GENTLEMAN with every living being he interacts with

ok maybe that was a little bit out of context

but whatever

back to sleeping with him

if you want a best human pillow, you won’t find it

especially cause charlie died so-

i’m deeply sorry for that. not really.

he loves loves LOVES when you lay on top of him

it’s his favorite position ever

and he also loves when he can hold you

but not literally cuddle

just you laying with him, curled up against his chest but with your face to him, y’know?

i don’t know if it makes much sense

anyways

he likes to braid your hair while you’re falling asleep for you to sleep better

hazel taught him and he absolutely loves to do it in you

in the beginning of the relationship, you usually went to sleep with a dog or a cat

he was too nervous, okay? leave him alone

well, he got over it, thanks to you obviously

but sometimes he still sleeps as a dog

especially if you ask him to do it

he’ll be like “sure, if you want if” but deep down he loves it

it’s just too sooting for him when you curl up against him as a dog and pet his fur

its one of his favorite ways to sleep with you

Luke Castellan

oh, luke

i’ll never admit the uncommonly enormous crush i have on you

he’s just too hot

also i have a thing for blondes (hey jason and annabeth and a lot of other peopleee)

well, enough of me, let’s talk about this walking piece of MEAT

hehehe

he love love loves to sleep cuddled up with you

like, it’s his favorite thing in the world

the only problem (if you consider it a problem. i personally don’t) it’s because he has to sleep holding at least one of your tits

he says it makes him sleep better

technically it does, because his hands are cold and your boobs are warm

but it’s mostly because he really likes ‘em

he’s not gonna tell you that, tho

he loves when you lay on top of him and lets him caress your hair

bros seriously whipped

he’d be damned if you told him you want to sleep alone

he’ll literally become a whiny baby until you surrender

and if you don’t, the next morning he’ll be so grumpy

but that’s obviously until you give him a kiss

if the kiss doesn’t fix, another thing will

cuddles, duh

dirty mind

if you like to wake up early for morning walks, he’ll wake up and watch you get ready

but most likely never join you

Charles Beckendorf

best human pillow EVER

only god knows how much envy i felt from silena for real

he loves cuddling ofc

but it’s not his favorite way of sleeping

he’d rather much more hold you against his chest, arms and legs interlocked

because in that way he can hug, admire and kiss you anytime he wants to

i don’t know if this position makes sense help-

he loves to caress your hair and kiss your head in the process

it’s soothing for him and he knows it’s soothing for you

whenever he comes back from bunker nine super exhausted he just lays down and you hop beside him

and it’s heaven in his eyes

sometimes when things go wrong in a project he's working on he goes straight to your cabin and just stares at you

biggest puppy eyes in the world by the way

he just stares in a way like "please let me sleep here"

and who are you to say no am i right

he LOVES to snuzzle his face in your neck and breath in your scent

he just loves the way you smell

it's just too good to be true

can't take my eyes off of you

sorry i love 10 things i hate about you too much

your smell is one of his favorite things in the whole world

he's just so in love is sickening to anyone who's watching

anyways, cutie pie

a/n pt2: i'm sorry if charlie is short, but im too annoyed right now. i had to rewrite this shit five times because TUMBLR COULDNT SAVE THE FUCKING DRAFT HOLY SHIT- anyways hope u liked

[ice-man-goes-bwoah]

Fear factor||Lando Norris x fem!reader

Summary: Just as Lando finally warms up to Y/N’s pet snake, Slinky, he discovers that she’s added a new member to the family—a tarantula. And now, once again, he has to face his fears.

Word count—964

What pet next?

Lando had officially made peace with Slinky. It had taken months of patience (and a lot of bribing with kisses from Y/N), but he could now sit comfortably with the ball python slithering across his lap. Hell, he’d even taken a few selfies with Slinky, which Y/N had definitely saved in a folder labeled “My Boys” on her phone.

And now, here he was, lying on Y/N’s couch, casually letting Slinky curl around his arm as he scrolled through his phone. If past Lando could see him now, he would’ve passed out.

“You’re not so bad, mate,” Lando muttered, giving Slinky a small pat on the head. The snake flicked his tongue in response, almost as if in agreement.

Y/N walked into the room, pausing to admire the scene. “You’re officially a reptile guy now.”

Lando scoffed, not looking up. “Let’s not get carried away. I tolerate one snake. That’s the extent of my growth.”

Y/N hesitated, shifting slightly on her feet. “…About that.”

Lando finally glanced up, immediately suspicious. “What?”

Y/N bit her lip before nodding toward the corner of the room. “I, uh… I got a new pet.”

Lando’s stomach dropped. “A new what?”

Y/N smiled nervously before leading him toward another glass enclosure—smaller than Slinky’s but still big enough to house something alive.

Lando stared at it warily, his brain already cycling through worst-case scenarios. “…Please tell me it’s, like, a fish. Or a gecko. Or literally anything that isn’t—”

She tapped on the glass.

A moment later, a large, very hairy, very eight-legged creature emerged from a hideout.

Lando screamed.

Not just a startled yelp. A full-on, heart-stopping, “this is the end” kind of scream.

He bolted backward so fast that Slinky nearly went flying.

“WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?!”

Y/N winced. “Lando—”

“IS THAT A SPIDER?!”

“She’s a Grammostola pulchra,” Y/N corrected, as if that made things any better. “A Brazilian Black Tarantula. And her name is Charlotte.”

Lando’s face was pure betrayal. “Oh my—why?! WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS TO ME?!”

Y/N sighed. “Because I love spiders. And she’s gorgeous.”

Lando pointed at Charlotte, who was now sitting still, minding her own business. “NO. SHE’S A NIGHTMARE WITH LEGS.”

“She’s harmless,” Y/N said, crossing her arms. “She’s actually one of the most docile tarantula species out there. They’re super calm.”

“‘Calm’ and ‘spider’ don’t belong in the same sentence!”

Y/N rolled her eyes, stepping closer to the tank. “Come on, just look at her. She’s adorable.”

Lando did not look. “Nope. Nope. This is my villain origin story.”

After Lando calmed down (which took a while), Y/N sat with him on the couch, gently rubbing circles on his back.

“Okay,” she started, “I get that you’re scared. And I won’t force you to hold her or anything.”

“Good,” Lando muttered. “Because I was considering moving out.”

Y/N laughed. “But… maybe you could just sit with me while I handle her? See that she’s not scary?”

Lando side-eyed her. “You do realize I only just got used to Slinky, right?”

“I know. And I’m proud of you.” She leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. “Which is why I think you can do this too.”

Lando huffed, but his face softened slightly. “…She doesn’t, like… jump, does she?”

Y/N grinned. “Not unless you startle her.”

“Great. That’s so comforting.”

An hour later, Y/N sat on the floor, legs crossed, with Charlotte resting in her hands.

Lando sat a very safe distance away, watching with a look of deep distrust.

“She’s so gentle,” Y/N cooed, letting Charlotte slowly walk across her palm. “See? Just a little fuzzy baby.”

Lando’s entire body was tense. “That is not a baby. That is a horror movie prop.”

Y/N giggled. “You said the same thing about Slinky at first.”

“Yeah, but snakes don’t have eight legs!”

Y/N let Charlotte continue her slow crawl, keeping her movements steady. “She’s just curious. She likes to explore.”

Lando squinted. “Does she know she’s terrifying?”

“Not at all. She thinks she’s cute.”

“Delusional.”

Y/N smirked. “Come a little closer.”

Lando’s expression screamed absolutely not, but after a long internal debate (and some very convincing puppy eyes from Y/N), he scooted forward.

Charlotte, seemingly unbothered, remained perfectly still in Y/N’s hands.

Lando hesitated. “She’s not gonna, like… lunge at me, right?”

Y/N chuckled. “She’s not a werewolf, Lando.”

Slowly, cautiously, Lando extended a single finger, hovering just above Charlotte’s fuzzy body.

Y/N nodded encouragingly. “Go on.”

With a deep breath, Lando barely brushed his fingertip against Charlotte’s back.

The tarantula didn’t react.

Lando exhaled. “…Huh.”

“She’s really soft, isn’t she?”

He hesitated, then nodded. “…Yeah.”

For the first time that evening, he looked properly at Charlotte—not as some monstrous beast, but as an animal, just doing her own thing.

“She’s not as awful as I thought,” he admitted.

Y/N beamed. “That’s progress!”

Lando sat back with a sigh. “Yeah, yeah. But just so we’re clear—if she ever escapes, I’m moving out.”

Y/N smirked. “Noted.”

Lando side-eyed Charlotte. “And tell her if she tries to befriend me, I will scream.”

Charlotte, of course, remained unbothered.

A week later, Y/N walked into the living room to find Lando sitting near Charlotte’s enclosure, arms crossed.

She paused. “What are you doing?”

Lando didn’t look up. “Having a staring contest.”

Y/N blinked. “…And?”

“She’s winning.”

Y/N burst out laughing. “Oh my god, you like her now, don’t you?”

Lando huffed. “I tolerate her.”

But when Charlotte twitched her legs, Lando muttered under his breath:

“Nice one, mate.”

Y/N grinned. Yep. He was officially warming up.

The End (…Until the Next Pet).

[jisokai]

But do you see me

You slam the door behind you and stand wide eyed, panties a tight ball in your fist.

“I slept with Sanji last night,” you announce. You feel sick.

Nami sighs, not sparing you a glance from her focused nail painting. “Happens to the best of us.”

Your jaw drops. “Us?”

sanji x reader 6.3k words | oneshot, complete

minor spoilers for whole cake island, mutual pining, smut (p in v, fingering, overstimulation), porn with feelings, friends with benefits, friends -> fwb -> lovers, mentions of mutually drunk sex, reader uses she/her

read on ao3

note: this is me coming to terms with the fact that post-Whole Cake Island, I may in fact be in love with this stupid wet cat of a man. i tried my best to keep him in character but who knows!!

The sun is warm, its rays streaming through the windows. You hum while turning in the sheets, eyes fluttering open. It takes a few seconds for your vision to clear—soft edges sharpening as your body adjusts.

It’s a pleasant morning. You feel good: warm, a little sore, heart fuzzy with an inexplicable glee. Your forehead throbs from last night’s wine, but it’s dull against your giddiness.

You blink once, eyes flitting across the room, and your stomach drops.

The sheets fly as you throw yourself out of bed. Your legs wobble as you race to collect your clothes from the floor, tossing on your dress and clutching your undergarments in a vice grip before yanking the door open and speeding down the hall. Your stomach is a ball of knots while you sprint to Nami’s room. You burst in without knocking.

The ginger sits cross-legged on her bed, a bottle of nail polish at her side as she brushes liquid cerulean along her fingertips. Her only reaction is the quirk of her brow and a cursory glance.

You slam the door behind you and stand wide eyed, panties a tight ball in your fist. 

“I slept with Sanji last night,” you announce. You feel sick.

Nami sighs, not sparing you a glance from her focused nail painting. “Happens to the best of us.”

Your jaw drops. “Us?”

She doesn’t reply.

“You—” you point at her. “You don’t even like men!”

She blinks, unphased. “You’d really call him a man?”

You have no response.

(The man—or not man, according to Nami—in question stands at the entrance of his cabin. In his hands is a tray with breakfast dishes: affectionately sliced fruit, neatly arranged bread, a serving of rice. It’s paired with freshly squeezed juice and an additional cup of tea, of course.

He stares into his room, now emptied of you. The covers are half strewn off the bed and a pillow is on the floor. Your hair tie sits on the nightstand. There’s a smear of lipgloss on the sheets.

His smile dies, morphing to a tug of disappointment. He sighs, shoulders and heart drooping.)

Nami stands by the door unamused. “You can’t hide here all day,” she says flatly.

You’re curled on the floor, leaning against her bed. “I’m emotionally processing.”

“You’ve been processing for an hour.”

“I need to process for longer.”

“You need to eat,” she retorts. “You didn’t have breakfast. Come to lunch.”

Your face twists. She’s not wrong; your headache has grown significantly, at least partially due to your empty stomach. But where there’s food, there’s Sanji—the other source of your distress. You are not ready to see him. 

“You can’t ignore him forever,” she adds.

Meekly, you reply, “But I can ignore him today.”

She sighs, face softening with a poorly contained grin. She steps away from the door and crouches beside you.

“I’ll bring you lunch,” she says. “But you owe me a thousand berry.”

You huff, smiling.

“Fine.”

You crawl under the bed, hiding behind the bedskirt in case someone comes looking for you. It’s dark and quiet, the rocking of the Sunny a lullaby coaxing you to sleep.

But you can’t. Instead your mind continues to race, heart thrumming against the wooden floor as you run in metaphorical circles. Fragments of the night reel through you: ghosts of touches, whispers of filth, the most intense euphoria rushing through your body. Just the thought of Sanji’s hands on you makes your legs squeeze together.

Because as hard as it is to admit… you like Sanji. He’s handsome and charming. He’s a strong fighter, self-sacrificing, and always ready to serve others. If you listed all of his qualities on paper and held it at arm's length, you’d think he’s a suitable match, even. Because he’s Sanji, the chef for the Straw Hat pirates.

But he’s Sanji. Sanji the pervert and the man with eyes for any creature that looks remotely like a woman. He’s Sanji, the man who calls you his darling love, but uses the name for every woman he meets. He’s Sanji, a man who makes passes at you so frequently you assume they mean nothing.

And you know why he’s like this, all the answers turned crystal clear when he returned to the crew—when he returned home, here at the Sunny instead of Germa Kingdom. What can you expect from a man who… who wasn’t man enough, according to the standards of his family? Whose natural gentleness and desire to serve was rejected and punished. Whose only experience of love came from the women in his life. 

You know the story of not-Vinsmoke Sanji. But knowing why he acts this way doesn’t mean you can handle anything beyond your usual dynamic—your amused dismissal of every pass he makes, no matter what kind of warmth he manages to strike in your heart.

You sigh. The boat rocks.

The door opens. Your stomach clenches before relaxing when you spot Nami’s shoes.

“What the hell?” she grumbles when she sees the empty room.

You slide yourself from beneath bed and she yelps. You feel like an idiot.

“Sorry,” you mumble, face burning. “I got worried someone would come looking for me.”

She smiles pitifully. “That bad, huh?”

You nod. She sets down the tray; a plate of fried rice with a small bowl of fruit and a slice of toast. You have both juice and tea.

“He insisted you eat it all,” she adds.

Your stomach clenches, stinging with hunger while your appetite simultaneously fades away.

(Sanji’s lunch is no easier, similarly distracted by thoughts of you.

But unlike you, his mind flashes with visions of the night before. You were a mess in the sheets, head thrown back as he bullied his cock against your clit, teasing your entrance with filthy condescension until you begged and wailed. Tears streamed down your cheeks, clumping in the length of your lashes. Your eyes sparkle beautifully.

He sunk into you with a promise— to give you everything you wanted. You had all of him; there was no reason to beg. He would give himself to you as long as you were with him.

And then you left his room in the morning.

You didn’t come to lunch.

The visions fade as reality settles in. He wonders if you’re okay. Will you eat all the food he sent with Nami? Did he upset you? Did he hurt you? Was it too much last night, when he… when he didn’t let it end with just one cry of release, one broken whimper of his name. What about when he turned you on your stomach, pushing his hand along the curve of your back and—

He exhales in his seat, gritting his teeth while recalling the way you clawed at the sheets, the tightness and… and the wetness and warmth you engulfed him in as he fucked you.

“You okay Sanji?” Usopp interrupts his thoughts. “Your nose is bleeding and you’re not even being a horndog for anyone.”

The cook coughs in surprise, rice catching in his throat.

Zoro makes a face of disgust across the table.)

Nami doesn’t let you escape dinner.

“I’ll give you five thousand berry!” you wail, trying to twist out of her grip. How is she so strong?

“You don’t even have that much,” she mutters. “And this is my room. Go rot somewhere else at least.”

Your stomach tightens. Nobody else would guard dog you effectively against Sanji—except for Zoro, but even in your panicked state you have the tact not to go that far.

So you sit yourself, begrudgingly, between Nami and Usopp at the table. Contrary to your worries, the cook doesn’t burden you with special attention beyond the usual, humming, “For you, dear,” as he tables your plate. You nod curtly, eyes averting to your food while ignoring the heat crawling up your neck.

He sits across from you. Despite the knots in your stomach you somehow sustain your appetite. Sanji offers you another portion and you manage to decline without choking on your last bite. You meet his eyes, those crystal clear waters, and are immediately hit with a full wave of guilt. 

This is Sanji, you remind yourself. Safe, sensitive, sacrificial Sanji. 

An embarrassed smile crosses your face, one just for him, and the grin he returns is blinding.

Relief settles in your chest. The knots in your stomach begin to unravel. With him smiling so sweetly across from you, eyes so earnest in their care, you trust that you can work this out. If that means a terribly embarrassing conversation followed by sweeping your feelings under the rug indefinitely, then by god that’s what you’ll do.

As an attempt to make reparations you offer to help with the dishes, but you leave when he begins a monologue about the disgrace of making a woman do his work for him. 

“Oh, but share a bottle of wine with me when I’m finished here, yes?” He calls.

You nod meekly. He’s asking to talk, the minimum you can do for him after your earlier avoidance. 

He flashes another sunny smile, and you duck out of the room before the flush can take over your face.

Once again, you wake up in Sanji’s bed.

This time there are no signs of an explicit night you don’t remember. You’re fully clothed—although, in different clothes than what you were wearing the evening prior—and your body has its strength, no soreness lingering in your hips and back. You lay tense, staring at the ceiling as you wonder why you’re incapable of learning from your mistakes.

You frown as your head throbs, digging through your memory for what happened. There’s a hazy vision of Sanji’s attempt to have a conversation, you downing glasses of wine like water to cope with your embarrassment. His somber smile is the last you remember.

(Sanji did his best, all things considered.

The first time truly was mutual inebriation. In his drunken state, he was weak to your advances. Or maybe the advances were his own, his usual dance of flirtation that you were all too willing to give into. But regardless you reciprocated, and he had no choice but to follow your lead.

But last night… you chugging glass after glass to find the courage to speak, to sit there with him… of course he wouldn’t touch you or take advantage of you when he had a power over you that he shouldn’t be privy to in the first place.

He can admit that he took you to his room for the night, partly out of his own selfishness to hold you close—no matter how troublesome his poor restraint might be—and partly to look after you, to be there in case something were to happen to you.

Oh—he would never forgive himself.)

“Good morning, my sweet,” his voice calls beside you. The mattress shifts and you reluctantly turn to the source.

The cook leans above you, seated on the bed. A tray of breakfast foods sit on the bedside table, his hands pausing their diligent spreading of jam on toast to carefully sweep at your hair instead. His touch is warm, loving. You feel nauseous.

“I’m so glad I didn’t miss you this time. You need to eat breakfast,” he continues.

You think you should die. You keep that to yourself, for Sanji’s sake.

The cook helps you sit up, offering foods that are easy on your stomach. You thank him diligently and shovel them into your mouth. He holds up a slice of apple after you’ve swallowed your bite of bread. You ignore his reddening face, his eyes trained on your lips.

He doesn’t speak, doesn’t press for answers. Instead he watches you, moving gently, smiling warmly.

After your second piece of toast and three slices of apples, determination blooms in your chest. When you speak your voice wavers, but you push through.

“Sanji,” you start. He tenses at the call of his name. “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to—” you pause, catching your own lies. “I mean, I did mean to run away yesterday, but I don’t want to act that way around you.”

You receive another smile, one so understanding that your heart squeezes. “It’s okay, my love. If you truly want to leave, I don’t mind. You must know that I would never do something you don’t want.”

Something shatters in your chest.

“No—” you immediately protest. This is Sanji: safe, sensitive, sacrificial Sanji. “It’s not that I don’t want this, it’s just—I don’t—”

Your face pinches in frustration, half pleading for help. But Sanji flushes again and you try to smother the expression. 

“I don’t want things to change between us, I guess,” you manage flatly.

He hums, reaching to swipe at the corner of your lip. His touch brings your skin to life, buzzing. You swallow.

“I understand,” he answers.

Your heart crumples at his agreement. Then it hardens, annoyed at your own lack of consistency. Aren’t you the one afraid of taking anything further, of sharing your feelings with him out of fear for his character, fear for his loyalty?

He likes you, you know this. Or at least, you know he’s attracted to you, enough to have his eyes morphing into those obnoxious hearts, to be visibly affected by your presence. But his attraction to women, his fawning and his pledges of love, don’t necessarily mean he’s committed to one woman in particular.

Maybe he thinks you’re hot, and that’s that.

You watch the cook as blankly as you can, smothering any expressions while arguments bounce along the perimeter of your mind. You go back and forth, thinking up new perspectives just to immediately refute them. Sanji watches you, blue eyes trained as if he can read the dialogue.

Would it not be better to ask him?

No, that’s too easy. Too easy to set yourself up for rejection, to hear confirmation of every concern you have about his perception of you. 

Instead a new idea blooms in your mind. A voice of reason sits on your shoulder, shouting at you that it’s a recipe for regret. But when you sit in front of Sanji’s warm gaze, his gentle eyes, his beautiful face, you find that you have no strength. You would rather deprive yourself of what you want from him if it means getting to be closer to him at all.

“I liked sleeping with you,” you clarify before you can stop yourself. Your face flames. Sanji freezes as he listens carefully. “… I’d be interested in doing that again—if everything else can stay the same.”

You avert your eyes, not ready to see his reaction. Even so, you can hear the sharp intake of his breath. One of his hands takes yours resting on his blanket.

“Angel,” he pleads. 

You keep your eyes averted. His free hand raises to your chin, finger guiding it upward. When you meet his gaze, you can’t look away, even after his hand falls.

“You must know that I would do anything you wished.”

The confession makes your heart race, then sting. You frown.

“Sanji, I’m not asking you to do whatever I want. I want you to want it too—”

He huffs, face twisting in amusement, twisted with something else, something more complicated. Something almost melancholy.

In an instant his mouth is on you, hungry as it parts your lips. His hand runs up your arm, then slides down your back to clutch your side. You gasp in surprise, feeling him grin as he swallows the sound. You’re forced on your back, a hard chest pressing against your own. His hips meet yours, firm bulge already present and growing.

As soon as he’s on you, he pulls his mouth away, leaving you panting. His lips attach to your neck, peppering kisses on his way to the base of your jugular before he sinks his teeth into the skin. You gasp and feel him smile against you for a second time.

“Are you still hungry, dear?” he asks.

You’re dizzy, mind swirling as he continues south, sucking at your collarbones. Any hunger for food has evaporated, incinerated in your stomach from the fire that sparks. It’s replaced with a hunger for him.

“Sanji—” you breathe, brokenly.

He groans against your skin, hips rutting against your thighs. He’s fully hard, and you’re aching.

“My love,” he gasps. The name strikes your heart both in pain and glee. “If you say my name like that—”

“Sanji,” you cry again when his hand lowers to pinch your nipple beneath your shirt. He’s relentless, sliding his hand to cup your cunt. You nearly choke, “Sanji.”

When he has you like this, spread open and tearing off your clothes, lowering himself to get a taste of you everywhere, you’re powerless. All the heartache in the world couldn’t keep you from giving in, from letting him drag a finger up your wetness—wetness made for him—and sink into your folds.

(And it’s true, what you think: that it’s enough for him to have you this way. It’s enough to touch you and kiss you and memorize every curve of your body, to burn the memory of your taste on his tongue. If that’s what you want.

Or, that’s what he’ll tell himself, if it means having you at all.)

Things don’t change on the surface. You and Sanji are still friends, still normal around the others aboard the Sunny. Normal entailing that he makes you a drink when the sun blares harshly, offers to take your shirt if you want to remove a layer. These gestures and suggestions make your heart flutter and your gut tighten, but that’s how it is—how it’s always been. 

Part of you leans into it, wants to play pretend for a moment longer as if he’s yours. Until, of course, you catch a glimpse of him with Nami and Robin, offering the same drinks, leaning in the same way he does with you. 

Something twists inside your stomach. You look away.

This is how you want it—or maybe not how you want it, but how it needs to be for your own sanity. For your protection. It’s a reality check: no matter how much sugar Sanji feeds you, it will never be something special. You are just another woman.

“Darling, I—”

You grimace on instinct, butterflies turned to an ache in your chest as Sanji approaches with a plate. It looks delicious, layers of frosting and cake and fruit. Your expression must be easy to read, because Sanji backs off easily when you reject the offer of the dessert.

(You miss that there was only one plate. Only one dessert, made just for you.)

Somehow that same day you end up tangled in your sheets, face down and whining as he runs a hand along your spine to press you further into the mattress. You’re aching, slick bared to cool air as he teases you, bullies his tip around your overstimulated entrance, singing praise when he sinks in for another round.

The position is a savior, your face buried in the mattress where you can keep your feelings secret, where you can’t be read so easily. It feels good, so good. Sanji treats you well, knows all the ways to have you unravel for him, to have you lost and open and honest, so vulnerable in his grasp. How many women has he laid with to obtain this skill? You wonder if he knows how hard it is to let him taste your skin and come inside you, to give you moments that feel as if it’s only ever been the two of you, that his arms were made to hold you and only you.

When you come again, spasming around him while his lips mutter filth into your ear, there’s a hollowness in your chest.

He must be oblivious to how you feel, if he’s able to dance this dance with you—if he can see your tears as you finish and kiss them away in the aftercare. You smile lazily, playing it off as your subspace, and thank him. Isn’t this how you want it to be?

(But Sanji is one of the smartest of the Straw Hat Pirates. He is far from oblivious. However, he is weak-willed when it comes to you.

Something is warring in your heart, something large beneath the surface, with the power to shake the earth. He is aware, always on the precipice of asking. You are far too precious to feel pain, to be distraught. The end of your closeness with him, your tenderness and your touch, would wound him, but that sort of loss is nothing new for Sanji. He will manage.

He would ask, always wants to stop and hear you speak. But then you climb atop him, spreading your legs, and he throbs, aching for you. Your hand takes his length, hardening once more, to guide it through your folds, and all he can do is exhale as he watches in amazement as you sink down, beautiful face pinched as you fill yourself—fill yourself with him—

You take him to the hilt. He makes a sound, almost a whimper, before you lean back to grab his thighs and ride him. He gasps at the view: taut muscles, bouncing breasts, your cunt swallowing him with every drop of your beautiful body, and he has to bite down the string of I love you’s that threaten to leap from his lips. 

He is powerless against you, too.)

“So can we call you two official?” Nami asks candidly. She sits cross legged on her bed, filing Robin’s nails.

“Huh?” you frown, painting clear polish across Usopp’s fingertips. The sniper is the honorary member of girl’s nights.

“You and Sanji.”

“What?” you and Usopp gawk in unison. His hands flail, smearing the brush over his skin. You frown at the mess.

“You and Sanji are dating?”

You huff, rolling your eyes while you reach for a paper towel. “No, we’re just seeing each other.”

“You and Sanji are fucking?”

Nami laughs while you scowl. Robin’s lips tug against her cheek. Usopp stares at you in disbelief.

“Usopp, I think even Luffy knows by now. They’ve been banging for weeks.”

The man’s jaw drops, a strangled noise coming up his throat. “No… No way. What do you mean you’re not dating? He’s been in love with you since—”

He yelps when you pinch him, flinching in your grasp.

“He is not in love with me,” you sneer.

Everyone stares at you blankly.

“He’s not!”

“Woah, I thought you were one of the smart ones,” the sniper says flatly. You pinch him again.

“He doesn’t love me,” you repeat. “He’d say those words back to anyone.”

Brown eyes blink at you. “Don’t tell me… You’re in love with him?!”

“It… I don’t know,” you trail off with a grimace. “It doesn’t matter, anyways. I don’t want us to be anything more.”

He groans, free hand covering his eyes. “This is the worst. You’re both idiots! Oh we’re doomed…”

You roll your eyes and resume your work on his nails in silence. Robin is the first to break it.

“You should know by now that you can trust your crew. Maybe—”

“Stop,” you command, cutting her off. Her eyebrows raise, both in surprise and challenge, but she obeys.

“Sanji,” you huff, shoulders rolling his arm away. “Enough with the couple stuff.”

His face flickers with something painful, eyes shining with a moment of hurt before he schools into an easy smile. “Sorry dear,” he answers, sliding away.

Your heart aches at the gesture, but you don’t take back your words. Instead you watch as he pulls a pack of cigarettes from his pants and heads for the door of the tavern.

“Good riddance,” Zoro chimes beside you, nursing his third sake.

You huff.

A quiet falls over your corner of the room, the two of you taking in the space: Usopp and Franky dancing, Nami chatting up a rich-looking man, Robin standing quietly to the side. You frown when you notice Brook’s missing presence, head craning to finally spot him on the other end with the music. Zoro’s eyes repeatedly dart to Luffy, where he sits surrounded by empty plates and boisterous company. 

Your heartache grows when you spot Zoro’s fingers tapping the handles of his swords. Ready, in case something were to stir. Ready to defend, time and time again without question.

A pang of jealousy strikes your chest. You wonder what it’d be like to receive that sort of devotion, too.

“You and Luffy—” you stop, not sure where you were going.

“Huh?”

You swallow, eyes dropping as you swirl your drink. “You’d follow him anywhere, I guess.”

The swordsman frowns. “He’s my captain. … Yours too.”

Something heavy crawls up your throat. “You would even if he wasn’t.”

He grunts. “... Yeah.”

You glance to the side, away from him. Your eyes meet the door again, just in time for Sanji’s second entrance. You think he’ll look for you first, make his way over even after you shrug him off. A woman walks by, faltering when someone bumps into her. Sanji reaches on instinct, arm securing her at the waist. You watch despite the turning in your stomach as he grins, eyes solely focused on her form when he helps her stand upright, fingers trailing down her arm to grab her hand.

Good riddance, Zoro’s words repeat in your mind. Even if you did manage to rid yourself of Sanji, you know you’d be the only one suffering, watching him fall to his knees for the next woman who loves him.

You turn away with a grimace.

Zoro is still watching you, brow furrowed in a way you can’t decipher. If you had to guess, it’s a mix of concern and displeasure. 

“I know,” you mutter. “I’m an idiot.”

He grunts—you don’t know if in affirmation or denial. Your stomach flips again.

“It’s better this way,” you conclude.

Green brows furrow further, now in pure disbelief. You don’t know what the expression is for, but the thought of trying to explain anything makes you want to cry. Your nose stings, a glimmer pooling beneath your irises, and the swordsman’s eyes widen with pure concern.

His lips part to speak, but the words never come.

“Hey marimo, quit it. You’re upsetting her.”

Zoro’s face pinches in irritation at Sanji’s scolding. Grey eyes dart to your side, the source of the voice, to argue. “Don’t blame me for your idiocy—”

You stand abruptly. The chair screeches on the floor, not loud in the ambiance of the room, but enough to silence the men. “I’m leaving,” you announce.

“Darling, is something wrong—”

“I want to go to the Sunny,” you interrupt. 

“Oh, of course—”

“Alone,” you add, stepping away.

Sanji moves to follow, huffing out a confused, “Wait,” but Zoro intercepts him. You don’t bother attempting to listen to their argument, instead bolting for the exit.

(“Marimo, move,” Sanji growls.

The swordsman refuses. “You’re just gonna make it worse.”

The cook fumes, rage flooding through his arms. He has the urge to throw a punch. How would he know what upset you? Something ugly burrows in his chest. Does he know? Would you tell Zoro something that you couldn’t tell him?

He swallows, feeling sick.)

You’re most honest when you’re under him. Even when you’ve only had one drink, body fully sober, you can’t lie—and you can’t hold anything back.

So he asks then.

Your legs are open for him, splaying you on your back while he stands above you. His large palms press your thighs as he connects your hips with harsh thrusts. A mewl escapes your lips, chest panting as a hand travels up your belly and your breast, stopping to smooth over your clavicle.

“What’s happening here, angel?”

The words hardly register. You’re too consumed by his brutal pace, so he slows and asks again.

You blink rapidly, confused. “Huh?”

He leans forward, hips suddenly stalling as they pull back, dragging his length out of you painfully slow. You whine, head dizzy from the change.

“Sanji?”

He groans but doesn’t relent, stopping with his tip just barely inside of you. He rubs the skin between your breasts again.

“Your heart, love. Tell me what’s troubling it.”

He punctuates the command with an unexpected thrust, filling you all the way to the hilt. You choke, winded, and then scowl as he starts slowly pulling out again. Groaning, you try rutting your hips, but his hand holds them in place. 

Anger bubbles in your chest. “Nothing.”

He hums, the thumb on your thigh stroking carefully. “Please.”

You huff, frowning. “Sanji, I’m fine. The only thing making me upset is this pace.”

He thrusts again and you cry, tightening around him. This time he doesn’t budge, remaining buried inside you. When you meet his eyes, they’re firm, searching.

“Sanji—”

He twitches inside you at the sound but refuses to move. “Tell me. You can tell me.”

You scoff. “I don’t want to tell you.” 

A noise catches in his throat. His hand returns to your thigh before he pulls out and slams into you without warning, continuing his torturous thrusts. 

“You can tell me anything. We were friends before anything else—”

“We aren’t anything else,” you sneer beneath him, face twisted. It’s a truth that strikes your gut, rips through your skin and flays you beneath him—raw, open. The pain tangles with the pleasure, swallowing you. “So please stop acting like it.”

Sanji’s face twists, crumpling from the request. “I can’t,” he confesses, hips rolling into you again. “I can’t have you like this and pretend that it’s enough. Not… not when I’m in love with you.”

Your chest empties of air, his words a punch to the gut. 

“You don’t mean that,” you manage to whisper.

His eyes widen at the accusation. “What?” he asks, in disbelief.

(How could you challenge him and his love, assume that he would lie to a woman—to you? It’s one thing to have you reject his feelings; it’s another for you to think he does not mean them.)

You whine at his next thrust, how it touches you somewhere deep. Tears well in your eyes. Sanji jerks in surprise, hands immediately coming to cup your cheeks as you release a sob. It’s too much, so much that everything flows out of you without warning.

“You don’t love me,” you cry. “You’d love any woman—you just like that I let you touch me.”

“I love you,” he repeats desperately. “Why does it matter where the feelings come from?”

“Of course it matters. I… I want to be special to you—I want you to love me for myself.”

“You want me to love you?” his voice shakes.

“For me. Not just because I fell in love with you first.”

“You love me?”

(His heart thrums, racing in his chest. The buzz travels through his body, throbs in his cock. He thrusts harder without realizing, trying to satiate the ache.)

You sob harder. “It doesn’t matter—”

“Of course it matters,” he echoes your earlier words. Both hands grip your thighs until his knuckles pale. Sanji is always gentle with you—sometimes condescending, but never rough enough to leave marks beyond a love bite. Now he holds you in a bruising grip, thrusts fueled by anger. “I could be treating you like my wife—treating you like you deserve. Taking you out, buying you gifts—”

“Stop,” you wail.

He doesn’t, instead huffing as he stares down at your body beneath him. Sweat-slick and glistening, spread and curved.

“Never, beautiful. Never ever—”

“You’ll leave,” you snap. That gets Sanji to stop, stuttering his hips when his arms nearly give out.

“I would never—”

“You don’t love me, so you’ll leave me for the next woman.”

“What next woman?” he demands.

“The next one who falls for you.”

His fingers clench harder, nails scraping your skin. “You—you think I’d let you go? Darling, after all this?”

One hand releases to slide along your thigh and rub your clit. You sob again, a broken noise, body shaking against your will. “Wait—” you plead, feeling the coil within you tighten, but Sanji refuses, fingers dipping to swipe your dripping slick and rub you with it. In the next second you cry, vision flooding with static as the rush of your release consumes you.

Sanji’s hips give two more deep thrusts before they stutter, slapping with urgency before he presses to the hilt with a groan. Heat floods your insides as the aftershocks finally start to fade.

Anger floods your system as he collapses over you, his body a weight you can’t shake.

“Sanji,” you growl as you wriggle beneath him, pushing at his shoulders.

He slides his hands to capture yours. Pressing them into the mattress as he lifts his head and chest to look at your face.

“Oh my love, my darling angel—”

“Sanji,” you bark, heart racing with panic. “Stop.”

“You love me,” he announces.

Heat crawls up your neck and face. Your eyes sting from frustration. He blinks at your expression, one hand coming to cup your face.

“I love you, too.”

Your face pinches, “You don’t—”

“Please.”

You swallow, mouth clamping at the anguish on his face.

“Please believe me when I say I love you. Especially if you love me too.”

You grimace. “Sanji…”

“What can I do to make you believe me?” He pleads, heart open on his face. Desperate.

“I—I don’t know… Sanji, you fawn for every woman we meet, so much that you lose your reasoning. All it would take is a weak moment for you to get whisked away by someone else. Women are just women to you.”

Hot tears hit your cheek. “You—you think that about me? That I would… that I could be unfaithful to you?”

Your stomach sinks at his broken voice, his crushed expression peering down at you. But you nod, knowing he needs you to be honest.

He sighs in defeat, pulling out of you while he sits back, a hand lifting for him to smother his face. You watch with confusion.

(This is the uncertainty you were suffering through? Uncertainty about him, his affection for you, uncertainty about whether or not he would stay with you, stay loyal to you.

Is this how you see him?

Is this who he is?)

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. 

You don’t know what to say. Instead you keep your eyes trained on him, still lying on your back because your body is too weak to lift itself.

“Sanji,” you call. 

He doesn’t look your way. (His head is not strong enough to meet you.)

“Sanji,” you repeat.

He sighs, eyes closing before opening again with resolve. He turns to look at you, filled with determination.

“Give me a chance,” he says firmly. “Please, let me show you who I can be for you.”

Your heart clenches, eyes wide with disbelief. He holds your gaze, ocean blue irises pleading.

“I don’t know…”

“Just one chance,” he wagers.

Your face twists with uncertainty. One chance usually comes with many smaller chances; you don’t know if you can handle the back and forth, the constant heavy conversations. 

“I only need one,” he pushes. “Now that I know how you feel about me.”

You exhale, feeling your heart crawling towards him. What difference does it make at this point? You’ve been kicking yourself acting like a jealous girlfriend even while asserting to him that you aren’t together.

He doesn’t press any further, waiting for your response. You roam your eyes over his face, tracing the swirl of his brow, the slope of his nose. His eyes are focused but patient, lips smoothed neutrally. Sun colored hair frames his face in waves, stubble emphasizing his jaw. He’s beautiful.

He’s here, waiting for you to let him give himself to you.

You fold. “Okay.”

The grin that takes over his face is blinding, so overwhelming you want to bury yourself in the blankets. Who are you to elicit this kind reaction—such genuine crinkles around his eyes? His hands reach for you, gripping your side as he leans forward to lay against your body. Your breath falters.

“Thank you,” he mumbles as he kisses your temple. His lips travel across your face, claiming every speck of skin. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” he says between each peck.

“Okay, okay,” you mutter, trying to pry him off you. But his grip is too strong.

“I love you,” he says, stealing your breath before capturing your lips. “My angel, I’ll prove to you how well you can be treated.”

Your chest stings at that, crawling up your face. You blink before tears can surface again. “Okay.”

Sanji laughs, a huffed and throaty sound, before burying his head into your neck. His hair tickles your skin, the touch of a feather, of lightness and freedom. You still feel uneasy, the future looming over you with all its unknown possibilities. But with Sanji in your arms, his warmth against your body, his declarations of love in the air—you feel there’s a future of joy waiting for you.

(On the horizon there’s a future where you still don’t understand. Maybe you will never understand; this is the reality of being two different people. However, there is a future with trust, where Sanji’s devotion has been proven, is proven daily, and you learn to lean into his love. A love he has never before received, and a love that he will only ever hold for you.)

sorry if the end is kind of bad and cringe and typical for me. i was going to try and make it sexier but i can only handle so much porn.

[buckyalpine]

Thinking about the cutest little beefy babie Bucky who just needs cuddles and kisses and to feel small. He’s spent so much of his life forced into the complete opposite, the large killing machine who was hosed down with ice cold water, fed through tubes, his mind wiped a thousand times over. He knows he wants to be babied but he has no idea how to put it into words and he’s too embarrassed to ever bring it up. That's all he wants. A safe space all just for him.

The mission takes forever, mental and physical exhausting competing against each other to wear the soldier down. He sits at the able after mustering a quick shower; your heart hurts seeing him look so defeated, not touching his food, too tried to even lift the spoon.

“Here, let me feed you” you smiled, taking his plate from him and feeding him little bites of pasta. You notice the way his eyes light up, sitting up a little straighter for you while you carefully make sure not to spill anything. Your thumb wipes away a tiny smidge of sauce from the corner of his mouth and Bucky feels warm and fuzzy on the inside.

“Thank you” he whispered, cheeks tinted pink

“What else do you need, Bub?” You caress his scruffy cheek and you swear you hear him whimper. He's in a headspace he can't quite place his finger on, desperately craving more of your affection. He contemplates keeping his mouth shut and just going to his room, not wanting to push his luck but you touch him so softly and he needs it so badly.

“Cuddles please?” He manages, immediately nuzzling into your side.

"Of course" You take his hand and lead him to your room, leaving the lamp on so Bucky isn't plunged into total darkness. He shuffles at the edge of your bed while you pull back the sheets, tugging him to lay on top of you. He’s physically much larger than you but on the inside he’s so little. He curls him self up into a ball, loving the way you wrap him up, holding him close to your body. His head rests against your chest and for the first time ever, he falls asleep to the sound of your heartbeat without a single nightmare plaguing him.

Bucky managed to keep it between to two of you, those puppy eyes always a sign that he needed his safe space. Around others he'd hold himself together, going through the motions and as soon as he sees you, he simply melts. He only lets his inhibitions' down when there is no on else around.

There are some days where he's so lost in himself, so tired, so drained, he struggles with the most basic tasks. Tears well in his eyes, his head hurting as he tries to comb through his hair, some how making it worse. You hear a sniffle as you pass by his room, gently knocking before entering and seeing his fallen face.

“Mama?” He doesn't always realize when he calls you that but he can't help it. You're the safest person on the planet for him, so soft and pretty and oh so loving.

“What it is, bear” you coo, taking his hand away from tugging with the brush, seeing his frustrations grow. He whimpered at the knot in his hair that hurts to detangle, looking at you with glassy eyes. You lead him to sit down at the edge of his bed while you work through his chestnut lock. He lets out a content sigh when he feels your gentle nimble fingers work through his hair without hurting him. You graze and massage his scalp as you detangle and your small ministrations make it hard for him to keep his eyes open.

“Sleepy” he mumbled, pushing his face into your tummy and hugging you close like his favorite stuffy. He lets out a precious yawn and pulls you to bed to cuddle.

“Go to sleep, bear" You whisper, kissing his forehead, rubbing his back in soothing circles. He nods against your skin before descending into soft snores.

Such a cute beefy baby.

[flemingology]

soft alexia where she always looks for reader after a home game and runs to the stands or dedicates goals to her 🫠🥲🥺

siempre para ti ─ alexia putellas x reader

in which: alexia scores the winner in el clasico. for you.

warnings: none

wc: 1.3k

a/n: 2 posts in 2 days? who am i

Game days. Your worst favourite days. You loved going to watch your girlfriend do what she loves, really, but the nerves that came along with that weren’t as welcomed. Especially with El Clasico.

Alexia went through the motions, as she always did on game days. Had her usual breakfast, did some pre-pre-activation in your home gym and listened to the same 4 songs on repeat like she always did on matchdays. You could cite them all word for word now, but you wouldn’t dare complain and mess up her little routines.

She left you 4 hours before kick-off, a couple lingering kisses that would’ve lead to more if she didn’t have a 90-minute football game to go play, not without your promise that you’d be there and cheer for her if she scored. Alexia knew you’d be there and she knew you’d cheer the loudest of them all if she managed to get the ball in the back of the net, but who minds a little reassurance?

You made your way to the stadium well before the game started, not wanting to get caught in Barcelona’s rush hour traffic. You found your spot in the friends & family box, greeting Eli and Alba with a kiss on the cheek before settling in and glancing over at the Barça team who were already doing their warm-ups.

Alexia scanned the crowd when they were called inside, her gaze lighting up once her eyes found yours. You shot her a wave and an encouraging smile, which she reciprocated quickly – not without having to endure some teasing from Vicky.

The Spanish midfielder would never get used to seeing you in the stands. You probably hadn’t missed a home game yet in the past 4 years of dating each other, but she still felt fuzzy and warm inside when she saw the woman she loved most sitting in the stands of the football club she loved most. You were there for her, to watch her, in her shirt to cheer for her and she wanted to perform for you.

And that’s what she did. Barça took the game by the scruff of its neck, completely dominating and controlling the game from kick-off onwards. Chance after chance, shot after shot, the girls in blaugrana were all over their opponents. Aitana and Caro both had a big chance, but neither could convert. Much to your surprise and the team’s dismay, the 0-0 was still on the board when the referee blew the whistle for half-time.

They’d had the chances to be in front, but they hadn’t been clinical enough. This time, Alexia didn’t search for your eyes before she went into the tunnel, her professional demeanour never wavering a second once she was in game-mode. You hoped she wouldn’t be scolding herself too much over the promising free-kick she wasted.

The teams came back out 15 minutes later, and you finished up chatting to Alba as the game started again. More of the same, as expected, as Barça once again took control of the game. They were playing good football, passing the ball around, making runs in the channels and creating chances, but it felt like they couldn’t cross that final hurdle. Ingrid almost scored from a corner and they were claims for a penalty after a harsh tackle on Ewa, but nothing given.

It wasn’t until stoppage time that they had their best chance of the game. Some combinations at the back to play out of Madrid’s press, Patri was now rushing forward with the ball in midfield. She scanned the pitch, looking for options to lay the ball off to, sending it outside for Caro to chase. She got there first, beat her defender with a simple step over and sent a cross into the box.

It felt like slow motion, really. The final minutes ticking down on the clock, the ball sailing in the air, bodies pushing one another in the penalty area, until someone fell and they were shouts for a foul. You couldn’t make out who it was, who had fallen, but what you did make out was the whistle and the outstretched arm from the referee. Penalty.

Situations in football didn’t get much more pressure-loaded than this. A 93rd minute game-winning penalty in El Clasico. Your heart hammered against your chest, so you could only imagine how the players were feeling on the pitch. You’d been too caught up in a conversation with Eli to see Alexia had stepped up. She was stood near the ball, hands on her hips as she tried to calm her erratic breathing from having ran around the past 45 minutes.

The whistle sounded and Alexia took another couple deep breaths before beginning her run-up. A couple steps back. One to the side. Another deep breath. Short little steps to begin her run-up. A little pause. And then; the back of the net.

The stadium erupted, you cheered and jumped up and down to celebrate what would surely be the winning goal of the game. Alexia took off towards the corner flag to celebrate with the fans, her teammates soon barrelling in and tackling her down to the ground. You hugged Eli and Alba, the remnants of what had been a nerve-wracking game slowly washing away.

Alexia stood back up after a couple moments and her eyes scanned the friends and family box, looking for you. Your gazes locked and a toothy grin formed on her face, pointing her finger at the badge on her chest and then at you. She blew a kiss your way before turning back around and jogging over to her side of the pitch, leaving you with a warm feeling in your chest. No matter how many goals Alexia would dedicate to you, you’d never get tired of the fact it was your eyes she looked for after she made the ball hit the back of the net. It was you she blew a kiss, you she broke her stern captain bravado for.

It was much later when Alexia finally emerged from the changing room and into the friends and family area, surrounded by teammates and their speaker still playing loud music – clearly all very happy with the derby win. She was dressed in a pair of black trousers and a dark green shirt, clearly planning on celebrating the win. You could hear plans were made for a night out from where you were standing a little away from the group of players, as Alexia silently snuck away and walked over to you.

Your face lit up with a smile as the Barçelona captain come up to you with damp, disheveled hair, eyes tired with the exhaustion from running around for 90 minutes. “Hola, winner,” you teased, the brunette engulfing you in a tight hug. “Nice goal, hmm,” you said, lifting your shoulder a little so she would pull back. “Para ti,” Alexia whispered, her forehead resting against yours. “Siempre para ti.” Alexia accentuated her words with a soft kiss against your lips, pouring all her love for you in the short couple seconds of intimacy.

You closed your eyes and enjoyed the soft moment, clutching onto the back of her shirt tightly before she’d inevitably be pulled away by her teammates to get their night out going. Alexia’s arms circled around your waist in that ever familiar way, and even though you were here in a friends and family box in a stadium an hour and a half away from where you lived, Alexia’s embrace felt like home.

[billiesgoodgirll]

keep going… ! 𐙚₊˚⊹

g!p billie !

“angel..i’m tired,” billie groans, her head falling back into the soft pillows of your shared bed.

“but i need you!” you whine, a pout forming on your pretty lips.

always so whining billie thought to herself.

billie was tired, plus she already made you cum an hour or so before.

“i’ve already made you cum, four times,” she says letting out a little amused smirk.

billie was quite a few years older than you, even though she goes to the gym regularly, you are a complete ball of energy always on the go.

“i need you,” you repeat again, the ache in your cunt only getting worse, billie looks so perfect right now.

her long dark brown her framing her face perfectly, the noticeable buldge in her boxers, her wife beater tank top that shows her muscles deliciously.

you need her. and you need her now.

“need your cock, please billie,” you all but whine, so incredibly needy for your hot girlfriend.

billie smirked at that, her eyes heavy but finding it amusing all the least.

“mama…” she trails off, unable to say no to you especially when your looking like that.

big doe eyes looking up at her, an innocent gaze yet what your asking for is far from it. plump pink lips pouting at her, she just couldn’t resist.

“alright baby, but i’m not helping,” she pulls her boxers down letting her rock hard cock springing up at hit her stomach.

she was at least 9 inches, thick with prominent veins on the side.

you eagerly smiled, already naked from your previous activities, now straddling her lap and lining your entrance up with the tip of her cock. 

billie looks down at you, lining yourself up on her cock, she smiles sleepily through hooded eyes.

you let out a loud whimper as you continue lowering yourself down on her cock, breathing heavy already.

your eyes fall shut as you take her all, she’s stretching you at greatly.

“oh! billie..” you moan softly, you’ve never been a big moaner, always letting out little whimpers and whines.

billie let out a soft moan too, feeling your warm falls hugging her cock tightly her hands instantly going to your waist to support you.

“thaaats it, such a needy little girl hm?” her fingers dug into your hips, rocking you back and forth on her.

“fuck.. yes! ohmygod,” you agreed, incoherent mumbles and whimpers leaving your mouth as you chase your orgasm.

your vision going blurry and your head becoming fuzzy as your orgasm approaches.

“billie ‘m gonna cum,” you cry out, one of her hands leave your waist for a moment, reaching down and rubbing your clit.

your whole body jolts, riding her impossibly fast chasing your orgasm.

“cum for me doll, be a good girl, there you go,” and you did, releasing all over her lap moaning wildly.

“billie,” you whine, slowly down drastically.

“oh my sensitive girl, it’s okay you’re okay baby,” she gently and carefully lifts you off her cock, tucking it back in her boxers.

“‘m tired,” you whine yet again, always so whining after you cum.

“i know sweetheart, i know,” she kisses your forehead, shuffling so she’s laying down pulling you onto her chest.

“cmon mama, close your eyes,” so you do, nearly instantly falling asleep.

billie smiles to herself, happy your comfortable all orgasmed out.

she plays with your hair, whispering a goodnight and i love you, before joining you in your slumber.

i can’t tell if i like this or not