#i can be salty about things okay

[naughtystiel]

thinking of the time i broke up with my british ex and i was packing my box of cards against humanity (which i bought) only for him to say "why are u taking those? theyre in english" scuse me what do u mean tHeyRe iN eNgLisH?? both me and my friends are bilingual u ignorant fuck

[bonetrousledbones]

so when are we gonna start appreciating undertale AUs for fueling a metric fuck ton of the creativity and longevity of the fandom because if i see one more person calling them the cringiest part of the last 8 years i might lose it

[coffeebanana]

istg half of the post-s5 finale fics i see have some sort of disclaimer in the tags or summary (or i even just saw one in the title!!) saying the fic was written because the show sucks or the finale sucked or they just hated everything about it

and it's frustrating because i probably would have enjoyed a lot of these fics! but now i'm not even going to touch them because i don't want to engage with people shitting on the show

[justaz]

arthur (prince of camelot) still has to study under a tutor bc yknow uther wants him to be very intelligent before becoming king or something bc its super important idk idc anyways merlin is doing chores in his chambers while arthur is squinting at a book and merlin eventually caves and asks him what he’s reading and arthur gruffly explains that its a collection of stories from greece that make absolutely no sense so merlin asks him to read them outloud to him. arthur of course teases him and calls him an idiot and asks how he could possibly help but does as he’s asked and reads the stories to merlin as he does his chores. merlin (being crushed under the weight of destiny and tormented by the prophecies that kilgharrah spews) understands the stories almost immediately and gets all excited and starts rambling about them with arthur. arthur is glad to have someone who understands so he can give something that reflects a hint of understanding to his tutor who accepts it and moves onto the next unit of education.

the thing is, arthur finds more stories in camelot’s library and brings them up to his room to read them aloud to merlin under the guise of completing his studies but really he just wants to watch as merlin’s eyes gleam when he understands whats happening and listen to him ramble on and on about them bc he’s gay. the stories stick with merlin though and he realizes that they’re cautionary tales, that the heroes who were told too much of their future doomed themself to fulfill them - that them fighting the prophecies led to their completion. merlin takes it to heart and gives a big “fuck you” to kilgharrah before forging his own fate and helping morgana with her magic and handing out an olive branch to mordred and now everyone can live happily and peacefully in an albion teeming with magic.

[spectral-honey]

Au where Damian is closer in age to Tim and joins the batfam after Jason dies

bruce has to make himself functional with a new kid dropped in his lap and then has to cut back on the violent outbursts because Damian WILL take it as permission to kill and they're trying to teach him not to do that

tim keeps his stalker tendencies and grows to like Damian's robin just as much as Dick and Jason's, even if this new robin is a bit stabby around the edges

damian is the first robin to notice Tim tho and confronts him on his own without telling Bruce

timmy is like heyyy don't stab me I swear I wouldn't endanger the bats ever & also I can maybe give you info I find sneaking around & also hey wouldn't it be cool to have a secret from bats? You could have your own personal informant wouldn't that be so cool you could impress Batman and everything

dami: fine but you don't have any more secrets right

tim, knows their secret identities: and I said no, y'know, like a liar

so they make a truce that turns into a friendship that turns into Damian hiding the fact that he has adopted a brother, shut up Batman you picked up random children from the street so can damian

bruce and dick: wow it's so nice that Damian has started listening to us about not killing or using excessive violence on people. We're glad he understands now

Damian, who got a 72 slide PowerPoint lecture from Tim about the practicality of not killing as a vigilante in Gotham: yes, that is what happened. I have accepted your perspectives on morality. No other reason

tim’s powerpoint has a lot of graphs and venn diagrams measuring different kinds of criminal activity vs public cooperation vs batman's violence levels vs police cooperation vs rogue activity. The gotham ecosystem is delicate

when jason comes back tim throws a fit because he has to REMAKE his powerpoint and all the graphs to add red hood’s vigilante-slash-rogue effect

Tim at some point: batman is fragile if you kill people it will make his traumatized brain explode

Dami: trauma?

Tim: y'know from martha and thomas being murdered in front of him

Damian, eyes narrowed:

Tim: I mean… that's just a game theory?

but just like generally Tim and Damian being each other's support systems

they bond over having parents who are absent?? Like, damian missing his mom and tim immediately empathizing on how its hard when you love someone who is away a lot or for a long time

they talk about missing them and damian is able to open up about feeling out of place and how difficult it is to adjust or know how he's supposed to act

[getting-messi]

BREAKING NEWS🚨🚨🚨🚨

I AM ALIVE!!!🥳🤩💃🏾💃🏾

[lucy-ghoul]

I just realized what's wrong with the Targaryen wigs in HotD: they don't look like Targaryen hair, they look like they were stolen from the Malfoys. They all share one (1) or at best two wigs in toto and it makes them look like freaking Lucius Malfoy clones

[annonir]

I am SO sick of summer supremacists. We need to twist the narrative around and stop treating people who prefer the colder months like weirdos... If anything, summer enjoyers are the real weirdos here lol. Like ok time to enjoy Sweat... Bugs... Debilitating humidity... Not being able to survive without AC... Devastating wildfires... Having to dress like a boring minimalistic bitch because it's too hot to year layers... Heatwaves... Not cooking any nice hot meals for months on end... Being unable to escape the heat if you live somewhere with poor isolation... i could go on but idk ig its all worth it for a few barbecues. Beach for those priviledged enough to go. And like, having drinks in the late evening because you have to wait until the sun is less deadly to stay outside safely?? All in all a mystery to me. If you need me i'll be staying warm with some nice blankets wrapped around me for extra cosiness. Drinking hot beverages. Enjoying coming home after the rain... Thinking about how the forests are safe for a little while and all. And most importantly: NOT sweating my ass off

[reginrokkr]

Late night thoughts before going to sneep here, but it just crossed my mind that Dain may resonate with Wanderer's sense of otherness as he did with Ganyu when he let on that he understands her feeling of being surrounded by people but alone at the same time. While Dain does not lack a heart as far as we know so far, I'm one to think that he understands the feeling of being something that most of the people are, but at the same time not. In my portrayal specifically, I touch sometimes on his identity struggles because he thinks of himself a monster which is cursed by the gods and corrupted at that and that he's a celestial envoy— which leads to the question what am I exactly.

[mildhigh]

I'm so sick of putting in time and effort for people who can't do the same back at least a little bit 👍

[mysicklove]

CW: reader sucking nanamis dick lol, me playing up nanamis old manness bc i am picturing him as a middle aged man, no power dynamics, nanami cums on your face n realizes he may have a kink, reader is ":3" coded, unedited for now bc i need sleep

a/n: wrote this cause im down bad. not written well tho LOL

"Are you sure you like this? I dont want your jaw to hurt..." Nanami questions, furrowed browed as he gently traces the skin near your temple.

You were kneeling in front of him, hands placed on his thighs and grinning at him. "I want to. I really, really want to. Been thinking about it all day."

"You are quite eager."

"Arent you?" Your eyes trail to cock in your hand, completely hard and flushing a shade of red. His work attire was still on, and you just unbuttoned his pants enough so that only his dick was free. You had a thing for the work attire - you couldnt help it, he looked incredibly good in a suit.

In return, Nanami just rubs at his mouth, not denying it. Then he pets your hair, settling in his chair. "Okay, but I wont be mad if you grow uncomfortable."

You rolls your eyes at him, pressing your cheek against his cock. "You coddle me too much. I will not die from sucking dick, Kento."

He stays quiet at this, just silently brushing your hair back into his palms, holding it away from your face. It was polite, all things considering. You smile at him, while your tongue drags from the base of his cock to the tip.

You continue to prep yourself, licking and gently kissing the shaft, while Nanami watches in silence. Then, you put your mouth over him and begin to suckle the tip. A sigh is let out from the man, and he resists the urge to shut his eyes, wanting to watch the lewd sight.

Your head find a steady motion - bobbing up and down until you gag and pull off. He pretends that the sound doesnt turn him on, feeling bad that something uncomfortable for you sends blood rushing to his groin.

When you pull away, slightly panting, he rubs at your lips, now coated in saliva. "Are you okay?"

"You're doing it again, Kento. I am not a child - I've sucked other mens dick before."

He blinks at this, before frowning and forcing you back on his cock by your hair. But, when he heard your giggles from below, he realized quickly that you only said that to tease him. He sighs at that, shaking his head. "Do you like making me upset?"

You hum around his cock, letting drool purposefully fall from your mouth and down till it reached his balls - it was always bettter when it was sloppier, or so you have heard. But, you pull away quickly to answer him, tilting your head to the side so that you can continue to lick his shaft.

"Kinda fun to - you get this look in your eyes. Its weirdly sexy seeing you mad."

His non dominant hand goes back to caressing the skin on your face and his eyes soften. "I would never actually be mad at you."

You make eyecontact with him as you stick your tongue out and swirl it around the redden tip, ignoring the salty taste of pre. Then you give the head another kiss, pressing your nose against it. "I know. You're too soft around me. Its cute, I dont mind it."

"I'm glad," he breathes, and then he pauses, gulping, and looking away, "Then if you dont mind, can you go a little farther down? If its not too uncomfortable, of course."

You obey with little hesistation, mouth coming closer to the dark patch of hair on his lower abdomen. This time he groans out, and cant help but shut his eyes at the warm feeling of your throat. You try your best to focus, but seeing your lovers face contort with pleasure was too pretty to not watch.

His hips move from his chair, slightly bucking into your mouth like he couldnt control them. It makes a lewd noise in the back of your throat, and he groans hearing it. You continue your movements, and with each moment, his cock gets wetter from the amount of saliva coated on it.

Large, callused finger tips run over your neck, feeling the way his dick creates a small bulge, and he lets out a shaky breathe. "Fuck. Wow, you are something. Doing so well, thank you, thank you, fuck."

Tears are beggining to prick at your eyes from the lack of air, but still you try your best to nod at him, even if the action sends him groaning out again.

He was growing overheated from the whole thing, and you watch as he removes his tie and unbuttons the top part of his shirt. The sight makes you slightly moan, and it sends a vibration up Nanami's spine.

When you pull away for another breathe, he lets out a noise close to a whine, and you hold back a chuckle. "Looks whose the one eager now." You tease, and his cheeks pinken slightly as he looks away.

"You really treat me so well."

"You think I am good at sucking dick?"

A lewd way to put it, and Nanami wouldnt phrase it like that, but alas, he nods his head, before guiding you back onto his cock. You in return laugh, and immediately go back to work.

With each bob of your head, he gets more into it, now slightly pushing you down farther by your hair. You don't mind it, and Nanami begins to pant from the pleasure, deep and breathlessly. The sound only spurs you on.

It doesnt take much longer for his abdomen to tighten up, and the feeling of his orgasm to approach. You could tell he was close to coming, even without a warning from the way his grunts seem to grow louder. So you continue your pace, trying your best to hold out without a breathe until he cums down your throat.

But, to much of your suprise, he pulls you off from him by your hair. You try to protest, wanting him to cum in your mouth, but he simply grabs at his cock with his other hand and pumps it a couple of times before aiming it at your face.

Cum shoots out of the wet head, and you are forced to shut one of your eyes as the white liquid lands on your upper cheek and eyelid. The rest lands on a multitude of places on your face, causing you to squint your one opened eye. He groans the entirity of it, and so you let him cum all over your face, finding the noise cute.

But when he is done, you simply wipe off your eyes, leaving the rest for now, and blink up at him with a small frown. "You know it would be alot cleaner if you would have came down my throat."

Nanami just stares at you, eyes scanning your face. Then, you notice the tint of red that danced on his cheeks and ears. Your face lights up at the realization. "I knew you had some sort of kink. You're not as vanilla as I thought, Kento! Who would have thought cumming on my face would do it for you."

"You just look...so pretty like this." A laugh falls from your lips, as your eyes travel back to his cock that was beginning to harden again. Now, it was time for the real deal - you almost squeal in excitement as you drag him to the bedroom.

[shotmrmiller]

this is just another pathetic!simon blurb. Not the second part to this. unedited.

Johnny is Simon's wingman.

One quiet evening, Johnny sits you on the bed and asks you if you'd do Simon a solid.

"A favor is me washing his clothes, or making him breakfast, Johnny! Not sucking him off!"

He is completely undeterred by your reaction and just grasps your hand to press a kiss on it. "Ach, dinnae be like that." He's out of his fucking mind, you think, and you move to walk away when he blocks the exit with his body.

"Bonnie. Just hear me out. Ghost, err, Simon, he's lonely. He's a big man, with an oppressive air about 'em, aye? His stare is unnerving to say the least. Lasses run for the hills when they see em— if they aren't frozen in place with terror."

You can feel your soft heart crack because Simon is so sweet, so kind— how can anyone be afraid of him? and that's what you tell Johnny.

He tightens his lips into a firm, white line to keep from telling you that the Simon you think is just so sweet, has shoved his tactical knife in between the ribs of his enemies remorselessly, and breaks their necks without a second thought. He snuffs out life as if it were the only thing he was good at.

"Aye, bonnie. He's not very good when it comes to lasses. He can be intense, and not a lot of people can handle that," Johnny kisses the palm of your hand, "But not ye— yer good at handling intense." And then he says the most pitiful thing you've heard. "It's been decades since someone's touched him willingly."

Johnny's eyes glow as he physically sees you give in, and you've barely given your assent when he's bolting out the bedroom door.

With a shaky exhale, you get up and start to change into something more comfortable. You're probably gonna be on your knees for a while.

--

You gape once you see Simon pull out his manhood. "Er...How are you, uh- what?"

Simon's cock is huge. Monstrous, even. It's so heavy it doesn't even stand erect— just falls downward. He's so thick, you don't think you can even wrap your hand around it. His balls hang low— full and would overflow your hand if you cupped them.

At least he trims.

Simon took his mask off for this, so when you look up at him through your lashes, his cheeks are ruddy, and he's nervously biting his bottom lip.

In a comforting gesture, you extend your hand and take his hand in yours, applying gentle pressure to his curled fingers, coaxing him to let go of the tension.

"Relax, Simon. You're alright. Nothing I can't handle."

Johnny is watching you proudly as he sits next to Simon on the edge of the mattress.

"Aye, LT. She'll treat ye right, wont ye bonnie?"

You nod, and shuffle closer, to be inches from Simon's length.

"I've got you. Just feel, hm?" Slowly and deliberately, you interlace your fingers with Simon's. "I'm gonna start now, okay?"

Sticking your tongue out, you tentatively lick his slit, tasting the leaking pre-cum, and swirl your tongue around his head. When you encase your lips around his tip, his hot, salty seed is instantly coating your tongue.

You let go of his hand to wrap it around him and pump as you bob your head, helping him ride out his orgasm. The moment you feel him stop twitching in your hand, you pull away and are about to swallow— only for Simon to lean down and slant his lips over yours, forcing his tongue into your mouth. He curls it around yours, completely uncaring that he's tasting himself.

He breaks the kiss and licks his cum and your saliva from the corner of his lips.

Johnny laughs as he reaches down to wipe the mess left behind with his thumb.

"That was a filthy kiss, wasn't it bonnie?" and then he turns his attention to Simon, murmuring into his ear loud enough for you to hear. "How was Bonnie's mouth, LT? Was it like ye hoped? Her slick tongue against your slit? I bet it felt heavenly."

You don't know if it's the thought of your lips wrapped around him, or if it's Johnny so close to Simon's ear that his lips graze the shell of his ear, but Simon's length stirs, rising to half-mast.

It's been 2 minutes, and he's ready to go again.

--

Simon must've gotten more comfortable, or his mind is simply hazy with lust, because the moment you put him into your mouth, he harshly thrusts into you, blocking off your air and triggering your gag reflex.

The hurck you choked out was unattractive and thank goodness Johnny was here because his reaction was almost instantaneous.

"Ghost, no— ye cannae do that, aye? Yer much too large for her, have tae take it slow," and chuckles. "Otherwise, she might bite."

Simon speaks for the first time that evening. "I don' mind a little teeth."

Johnny cackles. "Whether ye like it or nae, ye have tae be considerate. Let her work ye, she knows what she's doin'."

You stick him in your mouth again, and this time flatten your tongue as you go as deep as you can, and curl it to drag along the thick vein on the underside of his cock when you pull back.

Johnny hisses and asks Simon if it feels good. If the tip of your tongue is snagging on the ridge of his flared head— if it feels like your throat wants to swallow him whole.

Simon's ears are red, and he's panting harshly as he jerkily nods at what Johnny's saying, never looking away from you as you work him into another peak.

He comes with a snarl when you cup his balls, and a fingernail scrapes the thin, sensitive skin of his perineum.

Johnny coos at Simon, "Oh, that must've been delicious, the way her fingers stroke ye. The way her throat closes up around ye when ye push a little too far."

Simon spurts more cum onto your tongue when he hears that.

--

You've been on your knees for what felt like hours, and Simon comes for the fifth time that night when you slightly pinch the tender skin of his head with your teeth.

This time, Simon grabs himself to come over your face— viscous, globs of cum over your eyes and nose. He taps his cock on your cheek, a sticky slapping noise resonating in the room.

--

You sit with your eyes closed and hear someone get up and walk toward the bathroom, hopefully to get you a bloody towel, when you feel a strong, wet tongue drag across your cheekbone.

"Gross, Simon."

"Nae, bonnie, it's really not that bad. Otherwise, ye widnae have swallowed most of everythin' LT gave ye."

"Gross, Johnny."

@pieckyghost i aint finna get locked up again!

[bruisedboys]

No bc I need finnick to lovingly scold me over not eating all day and make me food and just be so protectively doting. you slayed with those casual dominance headcanons

thank you gorgeous! I hope u don’t mind, I’m using your ask to post a full blurb based on the hc’s :) I already had it written when you sent this in, and it’s kind of the perfect ask for it so!! thank u <3 here’s the original drabble if anyone wants it

finnick odair x fem!reader / finnick loves you and is bossy

You’re tangled up like a pretzel on the sofa when Finnick finally gets home. He’s been out swimming all morning and you’ve been (rightfully, in your opinion) quite miserable. It’s not your fault you like him so much — he’s lovely and handsome and perfect, and a handful of hours without him has left you a bit of a mess.

He appears in the doorway, the salty breeze following him in. He looks wildly handsome, his golden hair all windswept, his eyes searching for you.

You leap up. “Finnick!”

You swoop on him and he catches you easily, laughing softly as his strong arms wrap around your upper back. He smells like the ocean, salty and crisp, fresh. He hugs you so tight your feet leave the ground.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he says into your hair. You hear the smile in his voice, it’s not hard to miss, and you decide you want to see it, so you pull back. Like you thought, he’s smiling a dazzling smile that combats the sun in its brightness. He’s so happy to see you, and it makes you feel electric.

“Hello,” you say back, your voice sticky with love. You push his pretty hair back from his face, card you fingers through a rogue curl and tuck it behind his ear. His hair’s still thick with salt — hopefully he’ll let you wash it for him tonight. “I missed you.”

Finnick’s grin grows impossible wider. “Mm, I can tell.” He takes his face in your hands, thumbs dragging across your cheekbones. “I missed you, too, pretty girl. What’d you do while I was gone all day, hm?”

You hum something incoherent. You’ve barely heard his question, too caught up in his soft touching, his gentle voice and his lovely names. Your eyelids flutter under his affections. He touches you like you’re something beautiful made of marble, like you’re not just a girl. He certainly doesn’t make you feel like just a girl.

Finnick laughs at your obvious pleasure, your inability to answer his question. “Sounds interesting,” he teases. He gets his hand under your chin and tilts you up gently to look at him properly. “Did you eat already, sweet thing?”

You think about it and realise you honestly can’t remember if you even ate at all today. You shy, because you know what Finnick’s reaction will be. “Um. No?”

Finnick raises his eyebrows. “No? Did you eat at all?”

Barely. You were too busy missing him to think about something so unimportant as food. Has it even been lunchtime yet? “I had half an apple for breakfast,” you admit.

Finnick sighs. His arms drops to your waist, warm and heavy. “It’s half four, honey,” he says. Way past lunch time, then. “You know that’s not good enough.”

He’s only telling you off because he cares, but you still feel awful when he looks at you like that. “Sorry,” you say quietly.

“Hey, don’t be. It’s okay.” He chucks you under the chin and smiles at you. “Sit down, I’ll make you something, okay?”

Finnick starts to move away. You follow, eager to be near him. “I’ll help.”

He looks at you, raising a quizzical brow. “No, you won’t.”

“But—“

“Sweetheart.” He puts a firm hand on your shoulder, pressing down lightly. “I said no. I’ve got it.”

There’s a sort of sternness to his tone that makes your stomach churn. You imagine arguing back would only result in more of it, and though you actually do quite like when he tells you what to do, you don’t want to irritate him. Still, you pout at him dramatically before stalking off to the sofa again.

You hear Finnick chuckling at your dramatics as he disappears into the kitchen. You resume your position of miserable pretzel, curled up and sulking while you listen to the sounds of pots and pans, the tap running, the stove being switched on. It takes less than ten minutes before you get bored and wander into the kitchen. Finnick’s at the sink washing carrots, his back to you, with all the ingredients for your favourite soup laid out on the counter.

You try to be as inconspicuous as possible as you pull out a chopping board and a knife. You only get so far as to have them both in your hands before Finnick’s on you like a hawk.

“Y/N,” he says, sounding exasperated but unsurprised. He comes up behind you to take the knife from your hand, sets it on the bench and then turns you around by the shoulders. He pushes you back towards the living room. “Do you ever listen?”

Even though he’s technically scolding you, you can hear the amusement in his question. He’s not mad. You might even say he’s having fun.

“Finnick,” you whine, struggling to stay put with his manhandling. You dig your heels into the floor, though you know it won’t work because he’s really strong when he wants to be. “Can I at least sit with you? It’s lonely without you.”

Finnick stops in his efforts to steer you out of the kitchen. There’s a pause, and then he sighs, and you know you’ve won.

“Alright, yes,” he says, in a tone that suggests admitting defeat. “Fine, you can sit with me.”

You spin around in his arms, pleased.

“But you’re not allowed to lift a finger,” he says, hands on your shoulders keeping you firmly in place. “I’ll do the cooking. You just sit and look pretty for me, okay?”

You beam. At least it’s something. And at least you get to sit with him, if anything. “Okay.”

Finnick looks at you with something akin to amused affection for a handful of seconds, and then shakes his head, smiling. “You always get your way, don’t you?” He asks softly, almost as if he’s talking to himself. His warm hand strokes a path down your neck and over the slope of your shoulder.

You want to tell him that it’s not your fault he’s always giving you what you want. You don’t think that kind of attitude would bode well for you being allowed in the kitchen.

[spidernuggets]

Hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhjtjfiadhus my brain just said how Jason would react to his S/O kissing down his chest, but specifically kissing down his y incision. He might hate it. It might turn him on. My brain is going feral and I need it—

Somewhere in the middle of your relationship, where Jason was getting comfortable being more open with you, he allowed you to see and touch his scars. Obviously, it took him a long while for himself to accept that these scars are permanently on him, in contrast to you immediately accepting every inch of him the moment he revealed his bare skin to you.

It took a longer while for him to let you lightly graze your fingers along his scars. And when the two of you began to become sexually intimate with each other, he'd guide your hands as to where he's okay with you touching.

You really didn't mean to trigger him when you were straddling his lap with your hands resting along his jaw, initiating a long and slow make-out session with him, who was shirtless, on your couch. Then your hands went down to hold his neck, your lips following suit.

You were just too in the moment when your kisses quickly moved to where his large autopsy scar started.

That's when Jason jolted with a big flinch, his reflexes making his hands move from your waist to your shoulders, pushing you back, harder than he'd meant to.

He stutters a quiet string of apologies, lifting you off his lap and walking to your shared bedroom in a hurry. A pang of guilt slapped you in the face, immediately regretting to contain your neediness.

You wanted to follow him to apologise, but you knew he needed some time alone. So you stayed on the couch, continuously picturing the horrified look on his face. You wanted to cry, but it wasn't about you. It was about Jason. You knew his boundaries, and you crossed them.

A few hours in, you were still on a couch, now with a cup of lukewarm coffee in your hands, patiently waiting for Jason to come out so you can apologise.

So when you heard the creak of the door opening, your posture straightened and put the coffee onto the table in front of you.

You waited for Jason to say something as he sat beside you, now with a long sleeved shirt on.

"I'm sor-" You quickly cut off his apology.

"Don't you dare say that, Jay. It was my fault. I knew where you drew the line and- and I crossed that line. I didn't mean to- I really didn't, I just-"

It was Jason's turn to interrupt you as he gently took hold of your chin, locking your lips with yours.

"I forgive you," he mumbles through the tender kiss.

A month or two later, when you entered the front door after a long day of a morning shift at work, you heard a bang coming from the bedroom in which you quickly ran towards it, only thinking of the worst that could happen with Jason.

When you opened the door, a trashed room was revealed. Clothes dishevelled on the floor, the knick knacks from your windowsill were knocked over, and the full-length mirror was slightly cracked.

Standing in front of the mirror, Jason stood, only in his boxers, his face was red, his nose was runny, and his eyes were bloodshot. But what stood out the most were the red lines over his body, particularly over his scars, to what you assumed were harsh scratch lines, coming from his own fingertips.

You dropped all your things and took one step forward, testing to see if he's let you come into close contact with him, which he usually doesn't. This case, it might've been serious because he whimpers your name, failing an attempt of trying to reach out to you as his hands just fall limp to his sides.

You quickly rush over to him, holding his face in your hands, wiping away his thick, salty tears.

You can hear the barely audible whispers of self insults from him. "I'm hideous." "I'm a monster." "How could you love me?"

You shsuh him by gently pushing your lips to his dry ones. You then ask a "Can I?" In a hush whisper, referring if you can touch his scars.

In hesitancy, he nods a slow yes. You start off easy. With his hands. A long scar that went over his hand, just stopping at the wrist. You gave it a kiss. Followed by the scar next to it. You do the same with his other hand.

Slowly, you finish kissing the scars that cover his arms. You do the same to the ones scattered all over his body. His knees, his thighs, his calves, his spine, his lower back, his shoulders.

You saved the big and most obvious one for last. His autopsy scar. Before your lips came into contact, you started with your fingers. You traced the Y shaped burden, drawing a few imaginary hearts and stars here and there.

The only thing stopping Jason from proposing to yoh right now was the lack of a garnet ring. He absolutely adored you, thinking how an angel like you can even love, let alone touch someone like him.

He then broke down, more tears cascading his face when the first kiss landed on the right side of his chest. But this time, he didn't push you away. When you looked up to see if you could continue, he gave you a slight nod. You gave him a small smile and continued your journey down his torso.

For the first time in an incredibly long while, probably since he first got adopted and became Robin, he felt loved. He felt wanted. And that was all you.

You lifted yourself back up. Jason's tears had dried. You lean your forhead to his. You whisper to him how much you love him. How much he means to you. How much he deserves to be loved.

And from that moment, Jason let you love all of him. He let you look at him, and he let you touch him. And from that moment, little by little, Jason started to love himself too.

It was another while before yoh and Jason initiated more sexual advances. But when you did, it was back on the couch, back to you straddling his lap, back to him shirtless and back to a slow make-out session.

It was back to your lips trailing down his jaw and onto his chest. When your lips touched his autopsy scar, you could've sworn on your mother's grave that you heard a whine out of him.

You looked up and saw his head thrown back, as well as his eyes rolling to the back of his head.

Your suspicions were confirmed when he whimpered a "Please, baby. Please, give me more," in which you happily complied.

Your kissing travelled every inch of the large scar, including smaller ones scattered along his waist, meeting up to the messy, black happy trail that led to his waistband.

[undiscovered-horizon]

Hi! I really enjoy your one piece writings, they have given me so much comfort when I don't feel okay 😭

Can I please get a Mihawk (I'm completely in love w this man aah) imagine where his wife is a sensitive person who gets sad when someone is rude to them but they feel insecure couse they think it's stupid

Thank youuuuuu ❤️🥺

First of all, I'm honoured that I can provide a source of comfort to you. I'm glad my work has made you feel better in your time of need.

Second of all: oh yessss bestie this hits the spot. It also reminds me of a wonderful scene in The Gentlemen (10/10, highly recommend) [it also hits close to home because I am a sensitive person]

The thing about strong people is that they make others want to be just as strong, which isn't always easy if even possible. You've always known you're a little 'softer' than most people but only after marrying Mihawk did you find the difference in temperament bothersome. Instead of considering your sensitivity a fact of nature, you've begun to find it a flaw, something that you should change about yourself.

You've never admitted it to yourself but the truth is plain and simple - you think it's embarrassing. That Mihawk will find your sensitivity embarrassing. Maybe if you had been up-front about it with your husband, you'd learn that he adores your soft heart. If he felt forthcoming enough, perhaps you'd even hear that you're the source of warmth and light in his life. Hence he calls you his 'sun'.

To say that Mihawk grew concerned when he heard your muffled sobs would be like not saying anything. A delicious euphemism at best. Anger and fear bubble inside his chest. There's a strange itch in his hands that eggs him to wreak havoc.

"Apple of my eye," his voice carries well through the rather empty room you're both staying at currently. "What is the meaning of this?"

Frantically wiping away your tears, you look over your shoulder to meet his gaze. Mihawk is leaning against the doorframe, blocking the entrance if you so wish to run away from this situation.

"Oh, it's nothing. Really, I'm alright. No need to worry," you half-heartedly attempt to reassure him.

The swordsman loudly exhales through his nose. He's your husband, worrying about you is his duty. In slow steps, Mihawk walks over to the edge of the bed where you're sitting. Pride and titles as if forgotten, he drops on one knee in front of you. One of his hands gently squeezes your knee.

Unsure what's the best way to go about these circumstances, you timidly meet his intense gaze. The passion in his yellow eyes makes you think of a maelstrom captured in a jar - something devastating held back by a miracle. He's already seething, just doesn't yet know who exactly to direct his violence at.

"Indulge me," he prompts you to confide in him. There's a rare sense of pleading in his tone.

So indulge him you do - you tell Mihawk all about the unpleasant encounter with a local tearaway. Your husband tries his best to control his expression as you recount the unambiguously offensive words, unwanted touches and threats of real violence coming from someone who was probably looking for a cowardly scapegoat to vent his anger. As you continue your story, tears just keep rolling down your cheeks, fear and humiliation finally finding their way out of your heart.

"I know I'm being stupid," you mumble as you clumsily wipe your face, "he was just rude and it's not like he actually hurt me but-"

Mihawk's touch makes you cut your sentence short. His hand, its skin rough and calloused, gently cups the side of your face. Your hot, salty tears disperse as his thumb slowly rubs them away. Something about the tenderness of his touch, of hands that have killed and maimed, is enough to make you feel like you're about to break in his arms. Even if you do, you know that when dawn breaks you will be whole again, put back together with the unending love Mihawk holds for you.

"You've always been too good, my sun," he tells you in a low voice. He could have said 'too soft' or 'too sensitive' but then his remark would come off as deceitful as it would suggest his dislike towards your nature. Nothing of that sort - Mihawk genuinely thinks you're a better person than most people walking this plane. And he'd rather succumb to torture than let anyone make you feel bad about that.

The man leans in and places his warm lips against your forehead. Without much effort, he lays you down on the bed and you let him. Even if you wanted to fight back, you're way too tired to do so.

He's sitting on the edge of the bed, caressing your face, neck, arms and back as he's waiting for you to fall asleep. The anticipation doesn't require much patience - Mihawk's tender touches lull you to peaceful slumber rather swiftly. When he's sure that you're asleep, he kisses your forehead again before cautiously leaving the bedroom and closing the door behind him.

Perhaps he can't turn back the time and make the offending man choke on his words but he can ensure that the tearway won't hurt you ever again. Someone resting in peace so you can rest peacefully is a good bargain.

Mihawk knows exactly who he's looking for. He made a note of a certain characteristic trait you had mentioned - an earring with a single, red-coloured feather. It doesn't seem like a piece of jewellery that would be common anywhere.

It doesn't take much to find the tearaway. He makes his presence well-known as he stumbles out of a tavern, his legs almost giving away with each step.

So he assaults random women minding their business and then gets blackout drunk. It's pathetic enough to consider his death merciful.

Staying true to his name, the swordsman stalks his prey before lunging. Appearing as another patron of the inn, Mihawk follows the stranger around the corner towards barns, stables and pigstys. Fitting place for the likes of him, Dracule thinks to himself.

The man with the curious earring staggers his way towards a drinking trough. He's fumbling with his pants, desperately trying to pull them down to relieve himself but his fingers are not dextrious enough.

Mihawk picks up the pitchfork leaning against the barn wall. In one, swift motion he gores the tool through the back of the man's knee. A guttural scream tears through the night as he falls to the ground.

The swordsman grabs a fistful of the tearaway's hair. He forces the kneeling man to look up into his seething, yellow eyes.

"Do I owe you money?" The man is slurring his words. He squints his eyes, trying to focus his hazy vision on Mihawk and, possibly, recognize his creditor. "It's money, isn't it? Shit, just give me two days, man. I'll give it back with interest."

"I don't care about money."

Instantaneously, panic appears in the tearaway's eyes. Did he just find himself in the same position he's put hundreds of people in to cure his own boredom and need for grandiosity?

"Then what it is?!" he shouts, fear settling in his viscera. Dracule's calmness put together with the sheer hatred emanating from him makes for a deeply unsettling impression.

"You hurt my wife," comes the answer. The fist clenching the man's hair tightens its hold further, threatening to tear off his scalp. "My wife," Mihawk growls.

But before the tearaway can ask for clarification, his head is forced into the drinking trough. Surprised and scared, oxygen is escaping him fast. Soon, his throat and chest begin to clench and throb painfully. Dark spots dance across his vision, foreboding blindness.

Then, Mihawk pulls his head just above the surface. The man desperately gasps for air.

"If you believe in a god," the swordsman begins in a low voice shaking with anger and adrenaline, "I suggest you start praying. Fast."

The tearaway's head is forced underwater again but this time, Mihawk keeps it there until the ruffian's body stops trembling and shaking. After that, Dracule waits for a while longer - just for good measure.

You're woken up by the creaking of doors as they slowly open. Blinking sleep away from your eyes, you look over your shoulder only to experience a sort of deja vu: Mihawk is standing in the doorway. Before you can ask about his strange behaviour, your husband makes his way to you in long, quick strides. He kneels on the floor beside the bed.

Mihawk takes your hand in his. He takes something out of his pocket and places it in your palm. You recognize the red feather earring immediately. And is that... a piece of skin still attached to it? Gently, your husband closes your fist and lifts your hand to place a chaste kiss on your knuckles.

"The rat has paid for its sins," he whispers to you. Judging by the intense look in his eyes, you don't want to know the details of this story.