#imagine how much more ill eat

[ganondoodle]

so with echoes of wisdom .. i havent watched any of the trailers beyond the very first one and the thumbnails/screenshots and what others have said about it-

but with the world inside the rift being called "Welt des Nichts" aka "world of nothing/void" in german ('still' in english, for some reason) and demises title in french being "avatar of nothing" ... yeah my anxiety is shooting through the roof again

(hopefully you can be a little more forgiving for me being anxious/weird about it bc demise is my blorbo)

i had similar worries with totk, that werent proven true thankfully, but the darn book is making it all worse again with all those weird lore things the game doesnt even so much as hint at AND potential retcons- im in for a really rough time huh, not just stress in real life (more in tags.. its alot) but now about my specific hyperfixation from two things even (AND artblock still..)

weird as it may sound, i dont want demise to get more lore, partly bc i dont believe theyd do anything with him that i would like (given their track record) but much more importantly- the fact that he has this little lore about him is precisely one of the reasons why i fell in love with him, i tend to like characters that are neglected by the narrative, and his story being both so flat and already done meant i can be very creative with what i come up with for him without necessarily contradicting anything in canon (which is ... or was a big point of how i wrote destiny's story and lore, working with canon in a way that reframes it all without straight up ignoring it ... but i suppose i urgently need to let go of that and accept i spend alot of time working things that will go to waste :( ) AND not having to worry that there will be more stuff with him that would massively change not only what im writing but also potentially how i feel about him since the game he was briefly in was the oldest chronologically and ended with his death- i didnt expect them to mess with anything that far back and thought theyd just go forward and leave the timeline behind and wouldnt mess with it again, given how botw seemed to be a sort of 'fresh start' that seemingly regarded the past as the past that needs to rest and that the timeline was finally no longer a discussion if everythings unified through botw and one thing going forward

but i suppose i was very wrong with that .__.

right now the only thing that motivates me still is the left over determination and spite to work on my zelda comic, since i have never gotten this far and really want to get something done for once, but i cant lie that im feeling like i should pause all work on it too to wait and see waht the book and the new game will do .. either to determine if i still have the will to keep working on it after those things are out (my love for tloz has been taking alot of hits lately ..) or if i have to change stuff (mostly bc of my lore problem trying to not ignore it ..)

[mrcatlion]

Hi, I read this AU in a fanfic and it made me want to throw up(affectionate) but didnt like some other parts, so here’s my take on “Knives succeeds in brainwashing Vash” but also with “Vash still feels his past like a phantom pain”

[mgsdelta]

being poor is literally so miserable

[interstellarstorms]

I fell asleep (I have some sort of fatigue problem and also didn’t sleep the other night literally at all) instead of walking the dogs 6 miles and now my mom is subtly making me feel fat, lazy, and unproductive for still not having done it at 12:15 pm (it will be too hot to do it now) and I think this is contributing to me feeling suicidal all the time now. She also says the fact I don’t work out like my siblings is why the don’t treat me like one of them.

[acid-ixx]

a loving family, an unpalatable desire

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

a/n: would anyone hear me out if i ever wrote romantic yan! bruce (ft. platonic yan! batfam AND romantic yan clark kent alongside the superfam ofc) with a neglected spouse reader... because uhm, i've been thinking about it lately just yk... so anyways PLSPLSPLS send in asks about this, ive been thinking about it so much lately.

imagine wanting to raise a family so badly with a man who adopts problem children as a side hustle. you're not some invasive spouse, you've always been good, always been loving, so... so accepting, never questioned where or how he picked them up from the side of the streets, never once complaining about the hickeys on his neck or the once neat tussles of his hair now tangled accompanying lipstick stains on his white suit.

you love your children, you tell yourself all the time. you love them, you love bruce— even if he doesn't love you. you said it in your vows, despite it being scripted, despite your family finally sighing in relief in the sidelines at finally being able to sell you off to one of the wealthiest man in the world, rather than being wasting off under their care— your vows are real.

you wanted someone to love you, unconditionally, so viscerally eternal that it eats you up.

really, all you wanted was to play that fantasy life of trophy house spouses. all you wished for was a loving, healthy relationship. the american dream: the picture perfect family frames, your husband kissing you on the cheek as he leaves for work, your children bickering at the dining room, with the scent of homemade meals wafting about the vicinity. all you wanted was the warmth in your chest to flicker like candlelights. all you dreamed about was that domestic life, an escape from the abusive household you were raised in.

yet the manor is too cold, too unforgiving for a soul such as yours.

the longer you stay inside claustrophobic, yet oh-so large hallways, the quicker you drown in a neverending pool of self-hatred.

but you're not allowed to show them your sufferings. they've been through much worse, you tell yourself. they've suffered more, and as what good spouses do, as what you're taught, you stay silent, enabling them to turn you into their own emotional punching bag.

you only allow yourself to cry at the dead of the night, under the sheets of your too-cold blanket and your too-hot pillows. when the manor is filled with deathly silence and a looming sense of dread and ill fitting thoughts of ifs and when they'll come back in one piece, will you grant yourself temporary respite; worry for a family who never even called you their parent.

yet you've always been so considerate. despite the pang in your chest every time bruce flirts with anymore potential love interest at a gala, you chose to instead monitor your chaotic children, who have always never bat an eye on you despite you always gazing lovingly at them.

you know of their interests, they don't know yours, yet you still give them extravagant gifts on their birthdays, with tired, yet glinting eyes, and a silent excuse to return to your room; one separate from bruce.

you know of bruce's hardships, but you don't push too hard, don't force him to talk, only provide him your silence and an offer to serve him dinner; all the time he refuses without looking at you. you give him comfort only if he ever allows you, only if he allows his walls to crumble— but not even his spouse can amount to a warm, crackling fireplace. to him, you're probably only a matchstick under the deadbeat glaze of the snow in a winter night.

maybe that's why you're such a ghost in the manor, stalking through the hallways, looking out for any of your children in case they come across you with any injuries. maybe that's why eventually your resolve weakened.

and maybe the absence of familial love led you to find comfort in another man's arm.

''til death do us part,' is such a tragic saying in your case, because you know it in your fragile heart that bruce's love for you was never alive in the first place. and yet you allow him to play you like a fiddle, allow him to slowly allow you to slip away from his nonexistent grasp.

and now, you're a stand-in parent for clark's son, jon, after the tragic loss of his wife. now, your world seems a lot less bleaker, as you play the fantasy of a loving house spouse, fully abandoning the life you left behind, a life you've never been gifted with until now. you want to feel guilty, you want to feel absolutely terrible but the heartache of neglect has become too much and all you do was allow clark to warm you up each night, kissing away your tears and spooning your deep-seated anxieties away.

you don't let the past eat you up, not when the present is too perfect, too freeing, too delusionally beautiful.

your son, jon provides you every joy a parent could have. parent's day gifts, heartfelt letters at every nook and cranny of your shared bedroom with clark— even reading him bedtime stories, allowing him to sleep in your lap after he slowly nods off, with clark knocking softly on polished wooden doors, greeting you with a loving kiss on the lips and a bouquet of your favorite flowers in hand—

it's everything a parent wants, needs even.

and you're everything clark, and especially jon wants, needs in their life.

so it's such a stupid mistake, really. a slip of the tongue, a too-enthusiastic smile, incredibly bright, shining eyes. it's not jon's fault, you still love him either way. but it's an error still— one a complicated matter at hand, so dreadful for you, that jon accidentally, all-too-suddenly, mentions you as his parent to damian.

a loving, wonderful parent, he says, with a picture of you in his wallet shoved right in front of his friend's face.

[katakaluptastrophy]

Periodically, I remember how absolutely fucked up the necromancers in TLT are meant to look. Like, necromancy does an absolute number on people physically.

Harrow is "rather small and feeble".

Necromantic Ianthe is "the starved shadow" of her non-necromantic twin.

Our first description of Palamedes is "a rangy, underfed young man" who is "gaunt".

Silas is "knife-faced...He had a necromancer build."

Ianthe parodies make-over scenes in House novels with "if the hero’s a necromancer it’ll be described like, ‘His frailty made his unearthly handsomeness all the more ephemeral'"

Jod acknowledges to Wake that even small children with aptitude would look odd to non-House eyes: "“I have access to any number of cute pictures of necromantic toddlers with their first bone. They don’t make for fat-cheeked roly-poly babies, but they’ve got a certain something."

In As Yet Unsent, Judith brags about her previous physical fitness: "I could run a kilometre in ten minutes, which was among the fastest for my adept group in the junior reserves." Which is about double the time you might expect for a physically fit woman her age.

In non-necromancer-friendly New Rho, Harrow's body is mistaken for a child's and has to be explained as a result of starvation and trauma to seem plausible: "Pyrrha explained without missing a beat that what with everything Nona had gone through she had been ill and still didn’t eat very much, which was why she was so knobbly and undergrown. The nice lady said that yes, many of the children had problems like that, but it was still hard to imagine Nona was anywhere over fourteen, wasn’t it?"

Tamsyn Muir's descriptions of the Canaan House gang on Tumblr back this up: "Judith is somewhat less completely scrawny than other necromancers on the cast, though she should be less built than Marta is", Palamedes is "seriously underfed" and "bony", Harrow is "scrawny".

And that's just what I can think of off the top of my head - I'm sure there's more.

Anyway, necromancers aren't slender in a conventionally attractive way, they're gaunt in a concerning way...and probably the only reason no one instantly clocked that Coronabeth wasn't a necromancer was because they all just thought it was par for the course that a Third House princess would have had a lot of plastic surgery flesh magic.

[fatphobiabusters]

People say weight loss is for sure possible...but no one agrees on how to do it.

Dieting works...but there's now an "ob*sity epidemic" despite people lining the pockets of weight loss corporations more than ever.

Weight loss products work...but weight loss corporations are making the Exact. Same. Claims. about their products that they did in 1910 with the products that were sold and then discontinued over a century ago.

Humans are all meant to be thin...but there are families of fat people who stay fat no matter how much "willpower" they muster and have fat ancestors going back generations.

It's about health and not looks...but people who are losing weight due to smoking, cancer, illness, mental disorders, and other health conditions are praised for their weight loss and told to keep going.

Fat people aren't oppressed...but fat people have no positive representation, no proper access to clothing, face a wage gap, endure deadly medical neglect and abuse, have their deaths by police brutality excused with their fatness, and countless other aspects of oppression that they deal with every single day.

Fat people are all fat because they overeat...but you can point to any fat person on the sidewalk and there's an extreme likelihood that they're on their 30th diet attempt in the past 10 years while there's thin people who eat whatever they want, however much they want, and don't exercise yet never gain a single pound.

Fat people are privileged because they gorge on unnecessary food...but fat people are overwhelmingly living in poverty, are not paid the same amount of money for the same work as their thin peers, are not chosen for promotions, are turned away from jobs that an employer wants more than a "pretty face" for, are at major risk of workplace harassment, and endure oppression even beyond just that.

Fat people aren't treated badly...but people use the word "fat" as a metaphor and synonym for "ugly," "unlovable," and "unworthy," while at the same time believing "fat," the most basic term for a specific body type, is a dirty, taboo insult you should never allow to leave your lips.

Professionals agree that fatness is inherently bad...but almost any weight-related research study that people, especially weight loss corporations, use to justify demonizing fat people has the worst methodology imaginable with validity errors and logical fallacies galore as well as conflicts of interest due to how many of these studies just happen to be funded by the corporations that make millions and billions of dollars off of the demonization these studies promote.

All health conditions a fat person has are caused by their fatness...but there is not a single health condition that only fat people obtain, many fat people developed the health condition in question when they were thin or thinner, weight gain is often a symptom of said health conditions, fat people are not given the same amount or quality of healthcare as thin people, and repeated starvation attempts (also known as "yo-yo dieting") have been shown to worsen a person's health.

Fat people can't have eating disorders...but fat people are the group encouraged to partake in disordered eating by this fatphobic world the most and then are not given any support to recover.

Thin privilege doesn't exist...but thin people who see the way fat people are treated in society do their absolute damndest and take whatever drastic measures they have to in order to prevent themselves from ever becoming one of "Them."

Fit and fat are mutually exclusive...but there are fat athletes as far up as even the Olympics, and sports are intentionally made inaccessible to fat people to the point of fat children even being turned away when trying to join a sports team.

Fat people are ugly...but all we grow up ever seeing in media are thin, conventionally attractive people painted with layers of makeup next to fat characters who were intentionally designed with an ill-fitting outfit, matted hair, and all other traits that fit the "ugly" stereotype that the character designer could manage to slap onto a single person.

Fat people are big, bad bullies...but studies show that weight is the number one excuse that children use to bully their peers, outcompeting a multitude of other oppressed identities considered.

Fat women are just men and vice versa...but sometimes they're androgynous, and sometimes they're basically nonbinary, and sometimes they're just things, and sometimes they're nothing at all depending on what labels a fatphobe decides will hurt a fat person most that day.

Fat people are subhuman...but fat people deserve the same love, respect, compassion, and support that all people are born inherently deserving.

Fatphobia isn't real, but—

-Mod Worthy

[inkskinned]

you were raised in comparison.

it wasn't always obvious (well. except for the times that it was), but you internalized it young. you had to eat what you didn't like, other people are going hungry, and you should be grateful. you had to suck it up and walk on the twisted ankle, it wasn't broken, you were just being a baby. you were never actually suffering, people obviously had it worse than you did.

you had a roof over your head - imagine! with the way you behaved, with how you talked back to your parents? you're lucky they didn't kick you out on your ass. they had friends who had to deal with that. hell, you have friends who had to deal with that. and how dare you imply your father isn't there for you - just because he doesn't ever actually talk to you and just because he's completely emotionally checked out of your life doesn't mean you're not fucking lucky. think about your cousins, who don't even get to speak to their dad. so what if yours has a mean streak; is aggressive and rude. at least you have a father to be rude to you.

you really think you're hurting? you were raised in a home! you had access to clean water! you never so much as came close to experiencing a real problem. sure, okay. you have this "mental illness" thing, but teenagers are always depressed, right. it's a phase, you'll move on with your life.

what do you mean you feel burnt out at work. what do you mean you mean you never "formed healthy coping mechanisms?" we raised you better than that. you were supposed to just shoulder through things. to hold yourself to high expectations. "burning out" is for people with real jobs and real stress. burnout is for people who have sick kids and people who have high-paying jobs and people who are actually experiencing something difficult. recently you almost cried because you couldn't find your fucking car keys. you just have lost your sense of gratitude, and honestly, we're kind of hurt. we tell you we love you, isn't that enough? if you want us to stick around, you need to be better about proving it. you need to shut up about how your mental health is ruined.

it could be worse! what if you were actually experiencing executive dysfunction. if you were really actually sick, would you even be able to look at things on the internet about it? you just spend too much time on webMD. you just like to freak yourself out and feel like you belong to something. you just like playing the victim. this is always how you have been - you've always been so fucking dramatic. you have no idea how good you have it - you're too fucking sensitive.

you were like, maybe too good of a kid. unwilling to make a real fuss. and the whole time - the little points, the little validations - they went unnoticed. it isn't that you were looking for love, specifically - more like you'd just wanted any one person to actually listen. that was all you'd really need. you just needed to be witnessed. it wasn't that you couldn't withstand the burden, but you did want to know that anyone was watching. these days, you are so accustomed to the idea of comparison - you don't even think you belong in your own communities. someone always fits better than you do. you're always the outlier. they made these places safe, and then you go in, and you are just not... quite the same way that would actually-fit.

you watch the little white ocean of your numbness lap at your ankles. the tide has been coming in for a while, you need to do something about it. what you want to do is take a nap. what you want to do is develop some kind of time machine - it's not like you want your life to stop, not completely, but it would really nice if you could just get everything to freeze, just for a little while, just until you're finished resting. but at least you're not the worst you've been. at least you have anything. you're so fucking lucky. do you have any concept of the amount of global suffering?

a little ant dies at the side of your kitchen sink. you look at its strange chitinous body and think - if you could just somehow convince yourself it is enough, it will finally be enough and you can be happy. no changes will have to be made. you just need to remember what you could lose. what is still precious to you.

you can't stop staring at the ant. you could be an ant instead of a person, that is how lucky you are. it's just - you didn't know the name of the ant, did you. it's just - ants spend their whole life working, and never complain. never pull the car over to weep.

it's just - when it died, it curled up into a tight little ball.

something kind of uncomfortable: you do that when you sleep.

[alastorss]

a/n: hihi @bri22222 !! tumblr for some reason ate your ask in my inbox but here is the cat demon!reader taking care of sick alastor request you sent <3 i hope you like it!

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

You had taken it upon yourself to become Alastor's own personal nurse when he got sick, despite his outspoken displeasure in being babied.

He was an Overlord, for god's sake, and one of the most feared at that. There was a certain irritation in him when you would show up to his room (which didn't even have a bed in it until he fell ill and you decided to push one in yourself, much to his dismay).

You'd sport all kinds of goods; warm jambalaya, his own mother's recipe, that he would deny even though he was itching to eat it. Some cough drops that tasted horribly of sickly sweet honey and lemon. Fresh boxes of tissues since he was going through them faster than you could imagine.

The worst of them all was when you would show up at the foot of his bed with little rodents, eyes wide and expectant for praise that would never come. Then you'd settle in his bed, curled up in his lap like you owned the place, and fall asleep.

While the warmth was nice, which he would never admit, and he liked the feeling of his hand smoothing down the hair between your set of drooping feline ears, he's not sure how much more of this he can take.

"You know," he starts one day when you sit at the edge of his bed, straightening out the duvet as you do. "I do wish you would stop fretting over me."

"You're sick," you deadpan. "And you took care of me when I was sick. At least let me return the favour."

He grimaces, remembering how miserable you looked when you caught a nasty flu a few months ago. Who knew cats were so pitiful when sick?

"Really, dear, it's fine! I was just helping a friend."

You frown, unconvinced. "And I'm just helping you back! Come on, you can barely go downstairs to get food by yourself."

"I'm perfectly fine!" He mutters between his grit teeth, smiling bordering on baring his fangs at you. Unfortunately, he doesn't do a very good job at intimidating you. Not after you've already seen his soft side of clinging to you like you're his personal heater.

Of course, his cursed demon body decides to betray him at that exact moment and he falls into a coughing fit, sputtering as he rakes in sharp breaths of air.

You're quick to climb over the bed to him, straddling his lap and forcing him to drink from his glass of water. He glares at you but drinks without refusal.

Alastor is the Radio Demon. Owner of souls. Entertainer extraordinaire. Yet here he is, taken down by a pathetic fever and being coddled by his favourite feline.

He carefully pinches your tail to get you to pull away from him, yelping in the process. "I'm fine," he hisses. "I don't need your help. I don't need to be taken care of!"

Your ears flatten against your head at his tone and you scramble off of his lap, cowering like a wounded animal.

For a moment he feels a flash of remorse, or whatever feeling has replaced what would be guilt in that black heart of his. He even considers opening his mouth to say something more reassuring. But then you scurry out of the room and slam the door behind you. His ears ring from the echo of it, then deathly silence follows.

Alastor reaches over to drink from his water glass on his own, only to realize it was knocked over in the commotion.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

He counts the days that pass, subconsciously or not, and feels his smile shrinking by each daylight.

Sure, he was quick to temper, but he had never lashed out at you before. It's an awful feeling that sinks into his stomach, making him dread what's to come when he fully recovers.

Worst of all, he was wrong. He does need your help.

It was peaceful at first and he enjoyed the silence that came without your company. However, he hadn't realized how accustomed he had grown to your ambient presence.

How had he never realized you were so loud when you made your entrances, or that you purred ever so slightly when he scratched just behind your ears? And was he really so weak that he was thinking of apologizing? He can't stand the idea that he may have frightened or hurt you.

It used to be so easy for him to sit with his own thoughts. Nowadays it's hard without getting to hear about your day or getting to fluster you with his incessant teasing.

He's cold, too. He would gladly let you fetch him a hundred rodents if it meant getting to hold onto you in his sick state.

On the fifth day, he decides he's had enough. The demon doesn't even bother knocking, instead opting to materialize from the shadows and jumpscare you from behind.

"I'm..." he seethes through his teeth, eyes thin and twitching.

You tilt your head at him curiously, prickled hairs flattening back down as confusion replaces your adrenaline. "You... what?"

"I'm sorry," he finally manages to get out, though it comes strained and awkward. Still, he swallows his pride and avoids your eyes while he continues. "I was wrong."

You stare at him blankly for a few seconds, intrigued by the sight of such a powerful Overlord trying to do something as uncharacteristic as apologize. In the end, you can't contain your laughter.

He glowers at you as you topple over in your bed in a fit of giggles, wiping away the tears in your eyes.

"Oh, you sap. Come here!" You sit up and open your arms wide, a big, cheeky (and smug) grin spreading across your face.

Grumbling, Alastor shuffles into your bed and collapses into you, effectively crushing you under him. You don't seem to care, arms tugging him closer and tail brushing over his body.

"You missed me that much?"

"One more word out of you and I am leaving."

"Aww, so that's a yes?"

The Radio Demon only sighs, heavy eyes drifting shut in your warmth.

"Don't get it twisted, dearest. I will not be thanking you for putting rats in my sheets every morning."

~

taglist: @the-lake-is-calling @dragons-and-dwarves-are-nice @averylonelysea @bri22222 @cxrsedwxrlds @amarokofficial @anae-naea-zacheria (send an ask to be added!)

[kingtomura]

Uber Eats

synopsis: What a crappy Friday night! You’re the only driver for your restaurant and you have to deliver to this Tomura S. guy. The worst part? He never tips. wc: 2.7k content: tomura shigaraki x female reader, quirkless au, oral (f! receiving), overstim, degredation, vaginal fingering, mdni cross posted to ao3

You hated this guy. 

He ordered every week without fail, like clockwork. 

“Do I have to make this delivery?” You ask your manager, wishing the ticket in your hand would burst into flames. 

It did not. 

The black ink only stared back at you as you stewed in your own misery: 

Tomura S. 

“You’re the only driver we have!” Your manager calls back to you, tossing some rice around in a wok before dropping it into a takeout container. “But after this, you’re good to go.” he placed the next order into the wok and the hiss of the food only added to the bustle of the restaurant.

You sigh, accepting your fate and crumple the receipt in your hand. It was the last delivery of the night so you find solace in at least being able to leave once you were done.

This guy was a known regular, and better known for not leaving a tip. Ever. It didn’t matter how big the order was and it didn’t matter what the weather had been outside — Tomura S. would not tip. And unfortunately for you it seemed he was more likely to order on your shift so you had to be the one to deliver. What awful luck.

Your manager waves you off after he finishes packing Tomura’s order and you step outside to your bike. It was about a fifteen minute bike ride, and the sweet promise of going home was all the motivation you needed to get it over and done. You put the order in the front basket of your bike and were off, hitting more than a few bumps in the road on your way.

Once you reach the apartment complex, you set your bike aside and head up to his door.

You’ve been here many times before, but that doesnt stop the nerves. 

Tomura was an… interesting fellow. Never a smile on his face and rarely a thank you. 

You steel yourself at the door of his apartment, taking a breath before raising your fist to knock. Maybe today would be different, you ponder, shifting your weight to cool your nerves. Maybe he would tip generously and send you on your way.

Everything could all be a big misunderstanding and you start to feel yourself get a little hopeful. He could be a nice guy under that rocky demeanor — maybe you’ve misjudged him.

The door opens with a little too much force and a vermillion glare meets your eyes. 

You feel yourself falter under his gaze. “Um, Tomura?" You put on the best smile you could and extend your arm, the bag of takeout presented to him. "Here’s your order.”

He looks down at the bag and then back up to you — carmine eyes giving away ill hidden boredom before ripping it from your hand and turning on his heels. The slam of his door making you jolt as you strained to hear his muttered thanks. So quiet you’re sure you may have imagined it. 

It would be generous to say you were shocked, but tonight had not been a kind night to you. A few too many potholes on your way here and a few too little tips given out has your lips pursed and fists clenching in anger. You had just about had it with this man. 

What was his deal? You come all this way, make sure his food is hot — hell, you even smile and that's still not enough. Well, you were done playing nice and found your fist tapping against his door before your brain could process your actions.

In less than a few seconds the door swung open, this time a much more annoyed Tomura greeting you. 

“What?” He rasped, face turned down into a scowl, much different from his earlier indifference. 

You don't waver, “What is your deal?”

His brows shoot up in surprise, “Excuse me?”

“I said, what is your deal? I’ve been delivering to you for months and not a single time have you tipped me! You know that's how I make a living right? It's just unfair.” you huff, exasperated.

This seems to surprise him further, and if you weren't crazy you would think that was amusement on his lips. “Tip? Is that what you want?”

You are surprised, but you nod. 

He huffs, taking a step back, “Fine.”

And then he’s gone. 

You’re not sure if he intends for you to follow him inside the apartment, but you have an idea that he wouldn't leave his door open otherwise — so, against your better judgment, you go in. 

It's dark in the apartment, and not very spacious. The dim lighting gives you little to work with but the blue light from the idle game screen playing on the tv in the living room helps you make out what you're looking at. Tomura has already gone deeper into the home, no doubt to his bedroom or wherever he may keep his money. You decide to stay where you are in the living room and look around a little.

The space wasn’t… awful, messy — yes, but not disgusting. It looked average to what any other twenty-something living alone would look like. 

You try not to make a habit of getting to know customers you deliver to, but judging from the nintendo switch docked near his television, it seems you may have a little in common. 

What surprises you are the anime figurines and plushies lining the bookshelf near the television. He didn’t strike you as a plushie enjoyer. Finding yourself smiling, you walk over to one. A green dino with goofy teeth and cute eyes. Cute. You reach out to touch it, the plushie feeling as soft as it looked.

The sound of footsteps on hardwood break your focus and you look back to see a grumpy Tomura, looking through his – assumedly empty –  wallet, “I don’t have any cash on me.”

His hair is fluffy and white, but looks a pale blue in the hue of the paused game on the television screen. His frustration is prominent in his scowl and you take this moment to really look at him, carmine eyes focused and brooding. He was taller than you originally thought and his black shirt was loose around the collar area, exposing his collar bones and you find your eyes drifting lower. You could tell he was toned under the thin black shirt he wore but you had never had a chance to really notice. Unconsciously, you lick your lips.

“Did you hear me?” 

Your eyes snap up, cheeks flushing, “Y-yeah!”

He huffed, irritation obvious but continued anyway, “well, what do you want?”

You don't know what you want anymore. If he doesn't have cash then it doesn’t matter. This seems like it may have just been an oversight on his part, so you may be better off letting this go. Maybe he would order again and tip you extra next time.

You take a few steps forward, every intention to walk by him and get to the front door when you stop, finally responding to his question, “nothing, just remember next time.” Your gaze catches his and then drifts lower, to his lips. Tomura catches the trail of your gaze and it forces you to look away. You swore there was a hint of a smile on his lips but maybe you were tired, it has been a long day. 

You shift your weight, ready to continue on your way out when Tomura reaches for your arm, grip tight and demanding. It takes you by surprise, but surprises you even further when he dips down and crashes his lips into yours, rough ones meeting the softness of yours. The kiss is not smooth or slow, but needy and hungry, Tomura playfully nipping your bottom lip before pulling away. 

“I have an idea,” he breathes and pulls you by the hand to his couch, falling ungracefully onto it and in an instant he's on top of you. 

Your cheeks are burning as you place both palms onto his chest to halt his movements, “H-hey, what are you doing?”

His laugh is low as if you should already know the plan. “I’m going to give you your tip.” 

And then he's down again, lips warm and demanding. A moan escapes your throat and you fist a hand in his hair, overwhelmed and desperate to get more of him. His tongue swipes your bottom lip and you waste no time letting him in. His large hand trailed down your side, and you pressed closer to him. He felt intoxicating, and arousal pooled in your belly as Tomura pulled away, panting. He was just as flushed as you knew you were, the wild look in his eyes only making the arousal between your thighs slicker.

Tomura trailed kisses down your jaw and neck, leaving soft bites in between licks. A particularly hard bite made you gasp, gripping his shoulder and turning your head, giving him better access to your neck.

He only chuckled, sitting back and looking down at you, “You look like whore.” he spat, teasing tone in his smile. “All spread out on my couch like this.”

His hands moved to your pants, popping the buttons and pulling them down. You should stop him, tell him to wait because you barely know him and it's a little soon, but his words have you biting your lip and lifting your hips to help him get your pants down and off. 

That only makes Tomura shake his head in disbelief, a pleased smile betraying his false disappointment. 

He reaches down and presses his middle finger to your clothed cunt, rubbing soft circles and laughs, “You’re soaked. Didn’t take you for such a slut.”

The words only spurred you on, spreading your legs further and closing your eyes. It felt good to finally get some kind of contact – he was right where he needed to be. Until he pulled away, leaving you more desperate and a complaint on your lips. You stop in your tracks though as Tomura leans down, tongue licking you through your panties. 

Your hands fly to his hair, moan erupting from your lips. You’re unsure how thin his apartment walls are, but you don't care. The feeling sends pleasure shooting up your spine and your heart picks up its pace.

Tomura laps at your clothed cunt, fabric muting the full feeling but giving you enough to cry out. You find yourself grinding closer, body begging him to keep going and he obliges, only for a moment. He gives your cunt one more kiss before pulling back and pulling your soaked panties down and off, tossing them across the living room. 

He wastes no time diving back in, tongue licking a strip from your hole to your clit and your back arches. The hold you have on Tomura’s hair is so tight, you're sure it’s painful at this point, but he only groans, wet muscle lapping your clit eagerly. Your thighs reflexively try to close, but Tomura is faster, hand stopping them and thumb rubbing soothing circles. 

“Oh, god,” you squeeze your eyes shut, the pleasure building quickly and you will yourself not to go over – not yet. That would be embarrassing. 

You feel the pressure in your abdomen tighten and it's clear you won't last much longer. Tomura took that moment to suck your sensitive nub and you spill over, mouth open in a silent moan and thighs quivering.

Tomura rides you through it, only pulling away from his ministrations once you catch your breath. “That soon, huh?” There's no bite to his words and you only give him a halfhearted glare, heavy lidded eyes still reeling from your orgasm. 

You’re distracted and don’t notice Tomura’s not finished with his antics. It wasn’t until you felt a digit pressing at your heat, slipping in slowly and making you mewl in pleasure. You were soaked, and the pressure making your head loll onto the armrest of the couch. It felt so full already. 

“Ah!” you gasped, feeling the familiar glide of Tomura’s tongue against your oversensitive clit once more. 

It was almost too much, your cries reaching new heights as he pumped his digit in and out of your sopping cunt, juices from your arousal mixing with his saliva. He was taking his time building your next orgasm, moving slow and steady, making your toes curl in pleasure. 

The push of a second finger against your hole had you tapping Tomura’s shoulder, “t-too much! Tomura!” 

Your cries fell on deaf ears as he continued, tip of his tongue flicking your clit as the second finger pushed in to join the first, waisting no time fucking you in earnest. His fingers were thick and the feeling of being so full made you dizzy, pleasure spiraling as you tried to ground yourself mentally. You grabbed Tomura’s shoulder, fisting his shirt in your hand as you lost yourself in the pleasure once more. 

Tomura’s motions ceased as his eyes met yours. You could only imagine how blissed out you looked in this moment, breath ragged and sweat clinging to your brow. Tomura wasn’t much better off — he was as desperate as you, hair splayed in wild directions after your hands ravaged through it. You open your mouth – impatient words on the tip of your tongue and Tomura curls his fingers, digits hitting that spongy spot inside that made you see stars.

He flattens his tongue, giving your clit a final lap and it sends you over – for the second time tonight. 

Your back arches and your legs shake as your orgasm washes over you. The feeling sends waves of pleasure throughout your body, eyes squeezed shut and mind buzzing. 

Tomura watches as you come apart, palming his erection in awe. You meet his eyes once you come down from your second high of the night and Tomura wastes no time in crashing his lips to yours, clumsy and wet. You could taste yourself on his lips and groan when he pulls you closer. 

There's a trail of saliva linking the two of you once he pulls away, but Tomura’s heavy gaze is only on you. He leans back in once more to give you a much softer kiss, before pulling away again and giving the same soft kiss on your cheek — heat rushing to them for reasons entirely different from what just transpired between you both. 

It was very… intimate – in a way you did not expect from someone who had just called you a slut. 

It makes you want to reach out for him when he pulls away further, eyes seemingly pondering something you’re unaware of. He looked down at you one more time, before looking to his television and his unopened takeout bag on the coffee table. 

“My show is about to start, so…” he starts, picking up the remote to change the channel of the television, screen lighting up and noise filling the room. You stare as Tomura sits back and gets comfortable, opening his takeout bag and removing the contents. 

Was he… was he kicking you out right now? Seriously? 

Your brows fly up, eyes widened in disbelief — his lack of reaction at your scoff only proves you right. He was kicking you out. Bullshit. The humiliation is evident as you scurry to find your pants, not bothering to find wherever the hell he tossed your underwear earlier, and get the hell out of there before you said something you would regret. 

The only thing on your mind was the front door as you brushed by Tomura one last time. 

“Hey!” he called, gluing you to your spot. Your heart jumped as you turned back to him vaguely hoping he would offer you to stay a little longer.

That small flame of hope died as soon as it came because Tomura was only extending your long forgotten phone to you. 

You snatch the device from his hand and make your way out the door, face burning and legs still tingling from the way he made you come undone mere moments before. 

Once you reach your bike you find yourself huffing in annoyance. What else did you expect? Him to offer you some of his takeout? That would just be silly. You’re walking your bike to the sidewalk, ready to hop on and go back to the restaurant – sure your manager is worried sick about his only driver – before your phone buzzes in your back pocket. 

Tomura S.

Your eyes widened as you read a text from the name you knew you hadn't saved in your contacts before. 

You forgot my drink.

[lucilleslore]

i need to hear ur thoughts on touch starved coryo omg

i have way too much fun doing these <3

✮⋆˙

➸ okay coryo isn’t the type of touch starved where they internally start freaking out and get embarrassed with physical touch but more so he just becomes absolutely obsessed with it and won’t stop thinking about how much he misses your hands on him and then will literally do anything to get you to touch him!!

➸ i could really see him at the beginning like faking illness or injuries just to have you fussing all over him. he’s that DRAMATIC and that PROUD he won’t just ask you for affection.

➸ once coryo admits to himself how much he’s come to crave your touch he becomes really into pda which honestly surprises you. it’s never anything extreme - he does have an image to keep up - but he likes to keep a hand on you at all times. loves to hold you by the back of your neck as he speaks to you. loves it when you entwine your fingers with his. especially loves when you try and push some of his hair back.

➸ could see him liking being little spoon i’m sorry -

➸ used to always pin your hands down when he was fucking you but now literally goes feral if you so much as scratch his back. eats you out just so he can feel your nails scrape over his scalp. his pretty eyes literally flutter closed at the sensation and you have to pretend you can’t see him grinding into the mattress.

➸ becomes super possessive over who you touch/who touches you. 100% gives you the silent treatment when you have no clue why he’s angry like why don’t you realise you are HIS?? only he should get to touch you. then proceeds to blow up and bend you over the nearest surface.

➸ coryo can be cruel and whenever you get a bit needy he’d love to dole out punishments of sorts where he ties your hands back and forbids you to touch him. he loves the way you pout your lips and the grumpy little whines you let out but let’s face it once he’s about to cum he unbinds you and physically shudders when your fingers slip into his hair.

➸ omg but imagine peacekeeper!coryo seeking out the barracks bunny and you think he just wants to fuck you but he just lies himself down in your arms because he’s so stressed ( being a villain is hard ) and lonely and missing his family - I CAN’T - and you’d sing him songs from the district and tickle his back until he sleeps. would probably threaten you in the morning though not to tell anyone.

[chocum]

yea tattoo artist choso but .. what abt tattoo artist geto

congrats on 1k btw!

eee thank youuuu 🙈🙈 i’m souuurrr happy you requested geto bc i’ve been wanting to write abt other characters. AND THISS got out of hand lollll ( 1.5k ) idk what came over me i just word vomited all over my phone… & it’s unedited

— tattooartist!geto x reader // mentions of smoking, m masterbation, fleshlight, cum eating, kinda pervy geto idk he tells reader to take her shirt off when she doesn’t need to so, nipple play, v in p, mentions of overstim, creampiee

suguru geto is one of the most, if not the most popular tattoo artists in your area— hell, probably even farther than that. just to book an appointment, there’s a waitlist not including the months and months he’s already booked for. so when you finally get that confirmation email after waiting for what felt like years, you physically jump up, rushing to get ready and go to the parlor

“i don’t have anyone today under that name, sorry”

suguru pushes a strand of silk black hair behind his pierced ears, the dragon tattoo on his hand moving as he does so almost like it’s taunting you.

“what? i got an email today i just-” your hand reaches into your purse slacked over your shoulder to pull out your phone and prove your appointment was today, but when you go back to check, heat spreads across your cheeks faster than ever.

the date said next month

“ya had the right day i’ll give you that” and he’s laughing. not at you but because you’re cute, he thinks. pouting, growing hot from embarrassment. “i’ll tell you what..”

he leans in and you can smell the smoke that lingers on his breath mixing like some sort of love potion with his musky cologne, his pierced eyebrow quirking, browned eyes staring into yours with puffy lips wet from licking, “i can squeeze you in tomorrow. was supposed to have an off day but ill help a pretty girl like you out, how’s that sound?”

and you’ve never nodded faster. smile pulling at your glossed lips, drawing his to get trapped underneath his teeth.

“here i’ll give you my number, i’ll text you the time ‘n stuff later”

with that, you leave his parlor, your number scribbled on the back of some old receipt next to your name and a heart.

geto’s no better than a man. no better. he goes home that night and texts you as soon as he’s tucked into bed.

hey this is suguru btw.

your phone vibrates on your nightstand, and you smile at the notification. it almost felt unreal, someone who felt so unreachable, someone like geto in your phone, texting you first.

hey!

he catches himself smiling at the message too, his mind trailing back to seeing your pretty face when you walked into the parlor. the way you looked around doe-eyed like a little deer in headlights. looked innocent, and he liked that. maybe a little too much, his dick twitching against the fabric of his boxers.

he only talked to you for a few minutes. barely even held a conversation, but god did you look good. can’t blame him for getting like this.

what time is good for you? like i said, im supposed to be off but had no plans so any time is fine.

your thumbs dance across your keyboard as you think of what to say in response. you’re nervous. and if you knew he was jerking his cock, you’d be even more. his hand slowly .. very slowly rubbing his leaky tip, his head full, overflowing and bubbling with thoughts of you. what are you doing right now? are you in bed too? squeezing his warm balls, cupping them, teasing himself, imagining it’s your sweet little hands.

is 6 pm okay?

the little buzz drags him from his thoughts.

yea. see you then, pretty.

the simple little pet name makes you feel like you’re going to explode. so warm all over your body, and you wish you could just time travel to the next day and see him already.

geto brings the palm of his large hand to his face, lolling his tongue out to lick long stripes on it, shivering at the feeling of his own piercing before wrapping around the base of his thick cock, stroking himself only two times. this won’t do.

he reached for the pocket pussy he keeps nested deep in his drawer. leaning over to let spit fall and dribble into the clear toy before rubbing it on his tip.

groaning, “shiiiiittt” his hips bucking up as he slowly lets it sink down— body twitching at the feeling of all the little bumps and ridges massaging his sensitive cock.

“fu- fuck juuuust like that, mhhhm”

imagining he’s inside your tight little walls, squishing him like he’s meant for you, snug and tight like a puzzle piece.

his chest heaved with every snap of his wrist, spit sinking out and ringing out the base of his cock leaking down to his heavy balls, “feel so fucking good baby”

so fast he’s already shooting into the toy, whining because it’s not you. wishing it was you, your warm walls probably feel so much better. probably sound so cute taking him from behind or from the front, your eyes locked onto his.

he came so much it’s leaking all over himself. so messy and dirty and he brings the toy up and licks it all out, shoving his tongue inside the rubbery walls to flick and clean it up.

“shit”

the next day came too slowly. to you but especially to suguru. he went to the parlor an hour earlier to open and tidy up, pulling his raven locs into a ponytail, letting a few stray strands fall and frame his face, counting each and every second.

and then he hears it. the little ding as the door opens, you push it open smiling up at him as you walk through and you look even better than he remembered. and he’s trying so hard to keep his composure.

he nods at you, giving you a small smile, “so what did you want to get, and where?”

at your reply he freezes, his hands almost crumbling up the paperwork he reached for you to fill out — “my chest”

“your chest?”

he parrots you. then he repeats it in his head a few more times. picturing you pull your little top up.

he can tell you’re not wearing a bra with how your nipples perk up and poke through the flimsy, almost see-through fabric.

you nod your head, mhm sounding and bubbling past your lips.

god, you’re going to be the death of him.

after you finish with all the paperwork, he pulls you into the back making small talk asking about your day. and you indulge, asking back, finding comfort in the normality of your conversation. he’s different from what people painted him out to be and you felt relaxed in his presence.

even more when he offers you a seat, cleaning it off before slipping on some black gloves. his hands almost bulge out, his knuckles poking through the latex.

“can i see the design?”

you pull up the picture on your phone and he hums, “and you said your chest, right?”

again he repeats it, almost as if it’s a mantra he’s using to calm his nerves. calm his dick.

you just nod, “do i need to take my shirt off?”

and well no you don’t, not yet at least, but he says yes, reaching forward to do it for you because he’s just so sweet, right? so nice and caring, and welcoming.

and he only wraps his lips around your tits to soothe you, right? sucking, letting his teeth sink into the buds, the silver ball tracing over them. his other glove-clad hand cupping them.

sinks his cock into you just cause he wants to take care of you, right? he could tell you wanted it soo bad. your thighs pressing together so tightly when he pressed his lips against your chest with a soft, “suguru please”

“mhm let me take care of you, pretty girl, spread em, hold yourself open f’me— uh huh, juuust like that.”

your little arms shake and tremble, hooking around the back of your knees as he pushes into your tight cunt. and fuck, he was right. feels so much better than his toy.

“fuuuckk found your spot, baby, ‘s right there? yeah feel good right there?” he rolls his hips up, brushing against that spot, his thick tip kissing it, making your body twitch.

“yes— fuck yes feels so good”

right about you sounding so fucking good too— his cock twitching inside the solitude of your pretty slimy walls. shivering at how you suck and milk him so well, so tight and warm. so fucking warm. feels so good he’s already close, but he wants to keep making you feel good, keep hearing you, and if he was to fuck his cum into you, overstimulating his needy cock to do that, then so be it.

“inside” you whine out at how he twitches, his stokes sputtering and faltering as he languidly pushing into your sopping pussy, leaking all over him, so wet.

“ohh — fuck ohfuck” and it pushes him over the edge, bottoming out to overfill you, make you nice and creamy ‘cause you deserve it. deserve it for being so good, making him feel so good.

letting his head fall onto your shoulder sweat sprinkling his forehead as he empties himself for you. for your pretty pussy, all for you.

[lylahammar]

People always talk about how Laios is a character who gives fat vibes even if he isn't technically fat in canon which is very true, and I have some thoughts on that!! (this will be a long post lol sorry)

There's a lot of material in the dunmeshi extras that show how fatness factors into dungeon exploration, which shows that only the most skilled adventurers are able to keep weight on while in the dungeon (thank you to @savaralyn2 for the translations! links to the individual posts these panels come from are added on the pics):

So we know, at the very least, that most of the characters are kept thinner than they would be naturally through the strain of death/revivification in the main dungeon. We also see that Laios has some fat on him, which through the text means that he's skilled enough to at least keep some of his weight (which makes sense, he doesn't die very often in canon).

(to be clear this ^ doesn't constitute as "fat," he is built as fuck here he just has some fat on his body which shows his prowess as a fighter in this universe) HOWEVER my personal little pet theory/headcanon is that Laios actually has a difficult relationship with food! I know that doesn't make much sense at first since he's shown to eat a lot in canon, but hear me out. In pre-canon, before he reunited with Falin, he's shown to be extremely gaunt:

But after partnering up with Falin, he gains weight and looks much more healthy very quickly. Part of this is definitely because of his unstable living situation/mental illness, but he and Falin still live in very poor conditions after this and he still manages to gain weight/get healthier, so I believe it's mainly due to her making sure he eats enough. We also know that Laios is. most certainly autistic. Nobody argue with me on that it's like pretty much widely accepted as canon for a lot of reasons lmao. So my theory is that he's actually food sensitive. He's shown to not really care about food that isn't monster-related. Even when he eats regular food, he's usually imagining it being a monster instead.

He has never eaten squid before, which is totally normal, but could also support my theory in a way :P it being a monster still can't save it from the autistic sensory bad experience in this case, though.

So I think that his adventurous eating during the course of the story isn't because he's actually an adventurous eater normally, it's purely because of his special interest (monsters, duh). During his journey to recover Falin, he's able to build up a healthier relationship with food through Senshi's guidance and the involvement of his special interest.

By the end of the story, after he's retired from dungeon exploration and living in comfort/safety, and with his newly healthy diet, he's finally able to gain a lot more weight. Imo, his is a story of someone who's naturally meant to be fat, but is only able to reach that point when in a stable and healthy environment.

(for the record I know he's not that fat in this post canon comic, but this is only a year and a bit after the end of the story so there's still time lol)

alright I'm goin back to drawing now just had to infodump for a minute ✌️ keep it sleazy

[skyartworkzzz]

How would your narilamb shitten look like?

Also can we get Webber design? He always was a honorary shitten to me, love the freaky little guy and lamb would definitely adopt him

WELL AT LAST I FIND MYSELF FORCED TO ENTERTAIN THE IDEA OF A SHITTEN ASUDNAMSDLKD

Here chu go!

I doodled them for funsies a while while WHILE back for an ask but actually liked the design so now we have a more fleshed out version yall are very welcome USNSMAKDD

Anyways this is Azzy u cannot tell whether hes a menace or not until they do smtng Hes a sweetheart to their parents tho and they love him very much <3

AS FOR WEBBER I do agree he is an Honorary Shitten LMAO

Heres my version of him! :D

TRIED BASING HIM ON HIS DST'S Counterpart so heres a few headcanons under the cut!

- I like to think that he refers to himself as we/us cuz of the lil spider friends that follow him around at all times - He loves hanging around adults the most and tries to be as helpful as he can to them on their duties! - Despite willing to help others, Webber may sometimes cause troubles for stealing things to build strange machineries with or simply to try and- eat them. Hes quite the hungry lil fella - Speaks in an ancient language which only Shamura is fluent in, so not many are able to understand him (aside from Lamb, who has mind reading powers). He is being taught sign language for this reason - If it ever comes to this scenario and Webber finds himself in the woods, I like to think that he would befriend the spider monsters and play with them. So its Lambert frantically looking around for Webber and finding him hanging upside down at Silk Cradle while laughing with his new monster-spider friends xD - He hangs around the cemetery sometimes to go bone-hunting with his lil spiders and also to make some company to Hermer (my undertaker, the bear yall see in the doodles ILL FINISH HIS DESIGN EVENTUALLY-)

Hopefully one day Ill show how he came to be at the cult, I like to think it was a total accident LMAO

OH and he would definitely be friends with Azzy when older, I imagine them as siblings of sorts teehee <3

[sordidmusings]

Let Go and Grip Me Tighter

Moot request! Mihawk struggles with guilt from the nature of his fantasies about you and begins pulling away. You won't let that happen.

A/N: Omfg this one was cooking for awhile but it's finally ready. It starts with some angst (living without sex ed or resources on that causes Problems) but then there's like a lot of smut then a quick wind down with some aftercare! Has some “Closer” by Nine Inch Nails vibes 💀

Word Count: 9.3 k

Warnings: afab!reader, fem!reader, NSFW all over the place, dom!Mihawk, sub!reader, edging, overstimulation, spanking, praise, degradation, biting, marking, rough treatment, claiming, prone bone, missionary, creampie, manhandling, established relationship, Mihawk is very deeply in love with you and struggles with wanting to be a strict dom, he gets condescending 👌🏻, Mihawk orders you around, miscommunication angst up front

~ ~ ~ ••• ✦✦✦ ••• ~ ~ ~

More than anything else, Mihawk was certain that the depths of his guilt were vast enough to have the breadth of the seas shrink to a mere droplet in their stead. He loves you so, so much, but his mind has been tormenting with thoughts he feels unforgivable. It started small; his fantasies of you started to latch onto that whiny, pathetic moan you’d let out when he grabbed you a bit too hard. He began to imagine himself purposefully digging his hands into you to leave bruises there, which then turned to smacking handprints into your skin. The thought of your ass red and bouncing with each hit had him cumming faster than he’d like to admit the first time it played behind his eyelids.

He began to get used to those ideas and started to get a little more… creative.  What would your neck and shoulders look like littered in bruises and bite marks? Would your moans be as whiny and pathetic if he tied your hands and feet to the corners of the bed, leaving you with no option but to struggle and beg? Maybe he could just tie your hands behind your back and use his grip on the rope to pull you back to him harder on each thrust. Maybe he’d grab you and move you around as he liked, overpowering any attempts to move on your own and eating up the high-pitched whines from the force. He’d hold you down and fuck you until any unease became begging, and begging became “too much!”.

Mihawk felt a feral place in his heart burn every time he spit filthy words at you in his dreams. Tucked away in his nightly unconscious entanglements, he claimed you as his whore, his cocksleeve, his slutty little love. Many claims came and went but they were always possessive and you were always perfect, just as you were in his waking life. The heart that held such devoted and worshiping love for you ached at the idea of calling you such insults, but they set his cock aching just as greatly and he felt as if he was splitting in two.

How could he want to treat you in such a way? Mihawk loves you. He loves you and you love him and you always treat him with ceaseless care and support and he repays you by cumming to the thought of hurting you? Would you run from him if you found out? You knew the power he held; you’d helped him wash off the stains of those foolish enough to challenge him many times. Surely you would flee if you knew that the wielder of such power held ill intent towards you.

No - ill intent wasn’t right. He couldn’t hold ill intent towards you if he tried. So what was this then? He didn’t want to hurt you but he wanted you to enjoy being hurt by him. He wanted you at his whims as far as he could press before any real damage could happen. He wanted to come at you, teeth bared against your throat, and have you respond by offering your jugular. He wanted you to take pleasure in being moved and taken by his charge. That was it then - he wanted to own and control. To dominate. But how could he ask that of you if it required such beastly treatment?

~ ~ ~ ••• ✦✦✦ ••• ~ ~ ~

Mihawk’s hands on you have felt different. Normally, you could feel their comforting weight resting on your body or their firm press, born of the need to keep you held tight. You are still held but more by the will of gravity than Mihawk himself. Laying half draped over his body, as you are now, is one of your favorite ways to end the day. The unfamiliarity of his hands, though, will not let you find rest. Where is the sweet indulgence of fingers threading through your hair and scratching gently at your scalp? Where is the healing service of kneading fingertips releasing you from the aches of the day? Where is the steadfast protection of the grounding hold anchored to your hip?

In place of these daily devotions are the hesitant, whispering touches of a man you’ve never known. Your Mihawk has always been sure in his movements. That was certain from the very first touch - a tender grip on your fingers and lips at your knuckles, then a quick flip of his wrist so that lips could move to warm the inside of your wrist. Your Mihawk doesn’t know how to falter. He can wait and assess and test but none of that encompasses the way he shifts to shy away from your seeking touch. It happens incredibly slowly to hide from your notice, but you need his touch too much to overlook its retreat. Your body and heart take to it like roots to water, always reached out and ready to soak in the vitality it brings.

You lay and continue to wonder fruitlessly at the nature of the trailing fingertips moving from your shoulder to your elbow. The endless circling thoughts are wearing at you, and you snuggle your cheek further into his chest for comfort. At the feeling of his meager caress stuttering in response, you resolve to find and fix the problem immediately.

Lifting your head up, you seek Mihawk’s gaze. His head remains tilted away and his eyes remain shut despite the fact that he can definitely feel you staring at him. After giving him a few moments to do it on his own, you bring a hand to his chin and guide him to face you. You delicately trace the lines of his facial hair, which look extra sharp in the shadows cast by the warm lamplight. He opens his honey yellow eyes and circles them all around your face. He meets your gaze last.

“You’re hiding from me.” You state it as what you know it is; a fact.

“I do not hide-”

“Yes, you do,” you interrupt. “Every time you’re afraid to talk about something, you live in that head of yours.” You shift your hand to cradle his jaw, brushing your thumb lovingly across his cheek. “But, you’ve never pulled your presence from me too. You know we always figure it out, love. What has you like this?”

Mihawk closes his eyes again. Your answer is kept somewhere behind those lids. You wait for it to appear, but it seems less likely to happen with each passing second. 

“I miss you,” you whisper. The little warble that snuck into your voice twisted the pit in Mihawk’s chest. His eyes open to mirror the concern roiling in your own.

“I’m right here,” he says, finally using his hold to press your body into him. The gesture pleases you but not enough to distract you from the way his words weren’t reassuring; they were begging to be believed. You let him have some time to try and let his eyes speak to you when he could not. Deliberately deep and measured breaths set rhythm for the way his chest floats you like calm waves beneath a ship. Taking in his unspoken cues, you could only understand that he was putting in great effort to hold something back. The conflict you felt in him between the need to shield you and the need to comfort you set you on edge. What could he hold in himself that he thinks so catastrophic? What does he know that could cause you such harm?

“Mihawk, please,” you beg. Your plea works against you; his eyes and grip harden.

“No.” Mihawk maneuvers you off of himself and moves to get up. You chase right after him, trailing rumpled sheets behind you. He makes it two steps from your shared bed before you catch him, locking your arms around his waist. You burrow your face into the warm skin between his shoulder blades and press your body as close to him as you can, clinging desperately. He remains silent but his hands move to your wrists in warning.

“Don’t run from me,” you plead, throat tight to hold back the whimpers starting to build in your lungs. He’s never left you during an argument - he had said it’s because he couldn’t stand to leave you upset. This sudden change leaves you shaken, holding tight to him in the hope that he is still your greatest stability and comfort. He begins pulling your arms away. The distress you feel lets him.

Mihawk at least turns around to see the damage he has caused. You see his regret in wet eyes, bowed head, and caving shoulders. Contrition compels him to rub circles on the wrist he still holds and the affectionate gesture pulls the first tear from your eyes. He begins reaching to brush it away but instead pulls back, his hand curling into a fist at his side. In a quick burst of anger, you snatch that hand and push it to your face. You hold it there even after it opens to embrace your cheek, scared it’ll leave you again. Mihawk hates the tears wetting his thumb and the shakiness of your breath, feeling the weight of his guilt become unbearable in their stead. He shrinks into himself even further from the way your eyes have narrowed in accusation.

“Have I ever given you a reason not to trust me with your problems?” You bite out at him. He can no longer look at you, choosing to gaze unseeing at the floor instead. 

“No,” he mumbles like a child facing the rage from authority.

“Then what is wrong?” You press, voice turning from vicious to exasperated. “Whatever it is, I’m here for you. I love you, Mihawk, that won’t change! And I can help-”

“No you can’t!” He roars, snapping his head back up to bare his teeth at you. “You can’t help me! Not with this.”

Wide wet eyes stare back at him, shaken of their fight. Your lips tremble around stuttering breaths and his own angry breath puffs out into the small space between you. They’re all you can hear while you try to process his anger and the way his fingers begin to sink onto your wrist and jaw like claws. 

“I-I’m sorry,” you say, trying to get things back under control. “I shouldn’t have pressed so hard when you weren’t ready.” Mihawk scrunches his eyes shut and bears his teeth again.

“No. You don’t understand,” he starts. A deep breath flushes his whole body and rattles him on the way out. He’s staring right into you again. “I want to hurt you.”

Confusion strikes you before fear has a chance. “What?”

Both of Mihawk's hands are now cradling your face, and the pressure of his fingertips betrays the controlling nature of his hold. He steps in close so your bodies just barely brush and he looms his head and shoulders into your space. His golden eyes burn molten, looking down on you.

“I want to hurt you,” MIhawk repeats, beginning to stalk forward to force you backwards. “I want to grip you ‘til you bruise, bite and leave marks.” You simply listen and follow as he speaks and the relief of releasing his fantasies has the confessions rushing out of him. “I want to force you down and fuck you so hard you scream.” Your calves hit the bed and you sit down on it when his hands continue leading you back. Your easy compliance has his mind blurry and spinning, now beyond his own will. 

“I want to control your breath.” One hand clamps down next to your neck, shoving you quickly onto your back. Mihawk’s thumb presses threateningly into the base of your throat, not enough to halt your breath but enough for your veins to pound back against it. “I want to bend you over and watch your flesh tremble and burn red while I strike you.” His knees spread your legs wide, before he lifts one knee onto the bed, forcing your leg up with him. “I want to tie you like a captive and fuck you while you’re bound and have to take it.” His other knee is on the bed, making your other leg open up for him too. He’s hovering over you, letting some of his weight bleed into the grip beside your neck before releasing it. The hand moves to dig into your upper arm. Mihawk crawls forward into the middle of the bed, using that grip and his shoving thighs to drag you with him. “I want to own and command you.” 

You have never felt so small and exposed and it’s sending an addictive thrill through you. Your heart is pumping bubbling adrenaline through your veins, most of it moving to boil between your hips. Looking up at the fierceness of Mihawk is bringing back temptations you had locked away long ago. Your hands move to fist into your own shirt, too unsure to touch him but needing to hold onto something.

Despite his rough grip, the way Mihawk bends down to brush his forehead against yours is reverent. “I want you to let me touch you however I want, fuck you until I’ve had my fill, until neither of us can move.” His eyes close and his hold softens and his nose nudges yours. His breath is soft against your lips, smelling sweetly of the wine you shared over dessert. His voice loses its power and creaks with defeat. “I want to do so many awful things to you, but you’re my love - my life.”

You tilt your chin up to press a soft kiss against his lips. Mihawk stays still, simply letting you mold your lips to his, until his resolve breaks and he’s lunging forward to kiss you ravenously. He’s in immediate control of the kiss, needing to take everything he can from you while you’re still willing to love him. His hand moves to the side of your head, helping guide you to follow his frantic movements. You’re immediately lost in the heat of his touch and tongue, relieved to receive his affections again. Needing to feel more of him, you brush your thighs against his, your skin sliding easily against his silk sleep pants. When your thighs make it over his hips and you feel the muscles of his sides tickling the insides of your knees, you hook your legs around him. He fights you when you try to pull him down.

“Dear heart,” Mihawk manages to say between tasting you, “I should not.”

“You should,” you gasp back against his lips. Your kissing has grown to match his in hunger, filling him with joy and guilt. Another light squeeze of your legs fails to bring him down to you. This time he pulls away to look at you, eyes shining with conflict.

“I do not deserve-” You cut him off by using the strength of your legs to pull your hips up to meet his. The thin silk he wears does nothing to hide the shape and warmth of his hard cock. You earn a low moan from him when you grind against it. Trying not to fold to your temptations, Mihawk keeps on his hands and knees while you hang off of him.

“I want you,” you assert, “And you want me.” You grind along his whole length to emphasize your point. Your thighs burn with the effort, but the way his eyes flutter at the bliss makes it worth it. “And I-” you pause and swallow, stealing yourself. “I want all that too.”

“What?” Mihawk asks urgently. He grabs your chin, keeping you centered on him.

“I want all of that stuff too,” you say, letting yourself fall from him and back to the comfort of the mattress. He’s still staring at you with the unreadable, analytical face he usually saves for opponents, so you elaborate. “Your control. You own my heart, why not the rest of me?”

“And the harm?” he prompts bitterly. Not wanting him to pull away, you smooth your hands into his hair and massage at his scalp, trapping him to you in the gentlest way possible.

“That too,” you admit quietly. Your body flushes hot again, but this time with shame. “There were times when I would see your fierceness in battle and find myself more attracted than I should be. The first year we were together it was unbearable and I would fantasize about what it would be like to feel the force of your strength and will on me.”  Mihawk’s breath halts and his face slackens. His hand releases your chin to brush fingertips across your cheek in awe. “I’d dream of you throwing me around, commanding me, punishing me. I got myself to stop over time because wanting something like that? I mean, there must be something wrong with me.”

“Never,” Mihawk growls. “You’re perfect.”

He descends on you and all you know of the world shrinks down to only Mihawk. Grasping hands rove over the both of you, pulling at hair and clothes and flesh. This time his hips are chasing yours, lighting your nerves on fire at the pressure of his grinds sinking your hips into the mattress. Your canting moans are muffled by his lips and tongue, but he hears them all the same and feasts on them greedily. One of his hands finds its home at the back of your head, fisted into your hair. You let out a high whine when he pulls back and holds you still.

“You will tell me if I do something you don’t like,” Mihawk commands. Unable to speak with the way the head of his dick is teasing your clit, you nod your head. “Words,” he growls, tightening his grip on your hair.

“Yes, my lord!” you answer, half gasping, half moaning. The pull on your hair relents and his fingers massage your scalp, soothing it.

“And you will tell me to stop if it becomes too much,” he continues, watching your face intently to make sure you’re truly hearing him and understanding what you’re agreeing to. He also needs to soak you in to make sure this is real, that you really want this. You focus in on the violent yellow of his eyes, taking in the seriousness and desperation you see in them.

“Yes, my lord,” you breathe out. 

His lips cheat you of your next breath, but you don’t have the will to care. Everything of yours is his anyway. You’re just relaxing into the kiss when he’s pulling away to sit up. 

“Get off the bed,” he orders. You only hesitate a moment before crawling your way to the foot of the bed and standing up from it. You turn to look at him for more direction, hands fiddling with the hem of your shirt while you wait. The way his eyes roam over you, assessing you, does little for your nerves; you feel like an unprepared student. 

Mihawk turns and gets up from the side of the bed. He prowls over to you, taking his time to unsettle you further. The way his tall form slinks over to you treats you to a show of the shapes of his sloped muscles cutting lines across his body. His Adonis belt in particular catches your attention, on full display by the low rise of his pants. You shudder in anticipation when you follow those lines to the large bulge between them. It keeps your attention until he is stopped in front of you and you trail your gaze up to meet his neutral face. You know him well enough to notice the desire darkening his eyes. He leans his upper body forward, forcing you to crane your head back to maintain eye contact.

“Undress me.”

You fall to your knees, looking up at him while you sneak your fingers into his waistband. Slowly, you lower his pants down his thighs. You miss the way his cock bobs in front of your face when it’s freed, unable to look away from his eyes staring into your own. You let the pants fall when you reach his knees and place your hands on his warm thighs. Still looking to him, you begin smoothing your hands up his legs. Feeling emboldened by touching him, you look down to take in his length. While Mihawk may look unaffected, the truth shows in the flushed and leaking cock in front of you. A thick vein on the underside tempts you to lick it, but when you lean forward a punishing hand holds you by the hair. 

“I didn’t give you permission,” Mihawk warns. The way you look up at him with big contrite eyes has his cock twitching but does nothing to change his resolve.

“I’m sorry, my lord.” You get no response except his hand petting down your head and gently cupping your cheek. He leaves you waiting a few breaths while his palm warms your cheek and your eyes soften his.

“Undress yourself.”

Your hands drift slowly from his hips to the hem of your shirt. In a smooth motion you lift it over your head, only losing eye contact when there’s fabric between the two of you, and lay it on the floor next to you. Your thumbs hook into your underwear, holding their position while you stand up to rid yourself of them. Despite your nudity, his eyes stick to your own.

“Back on the bed.”

Mihawk watches you while you crawl onto the mattress, enraptured by the way your ass sways back and forth as you move. The teasing peaks he gets of your pussy as you move test his resolve to take his time commanding you before he sinks into you. When you get to the head of the bed he notices you hesitate, staying still on hands and knees before peeking over your shoulder for direction. The way you look to him, pleading for guidance, has his heart pounding and his mind running feral. He reels it in with a slow breath.

“On your back. You need to be able to look at me for now.” You follow his command, ending up propped on your elbows with your bent legs acting as a barrier between you two. Mihawk has seen you naked almost daily for a handful of years, but you find yourself feeling shy and exposed. This is a deep fantasy finally coming to fruition for the both of you, and what if the real you doesn’t measure up?

“Spread yourself.” You shiver at the command, absolutely dripping from the hunger rumbling in his voice. You look down to your knees and falter, worrying at being completely exposed to his voracious gaze.

“Precious,” he calls, bringing your eyes back up to him. His face is still stern but there is a touch of gentleness in his voice when he softly prompts, “Go on.”

Choosing to focus on your most beloved yellow to ground yourself, you slowly spread your legs apart. They end up in a wide v, still propped bent with your feet planted in the soft sheets. 

“Good girl,” he purrs. Mihawk takes his time admiring the curves of your spread legs before he can no longer keep his gaze from your exposed cunt. He admires those curves and lines too and is flooded with delicious memories of having his face stuffed there. Fresh heat washes from his chest to his cock, and he has to swallow from the way his mouth waters. 

Your previous worries leave you when you see how Mihawk looks at you. He’s a man possessed, taken and corrupted in the face of immeasurable riches. You see the men of myth, who scheme and steal under the noses of angry gods, in his face. That look of his snaps up to your face and you turn into prey. You love the way it has you feeling so alive.

Mihawk finally makes his way over to you. He takes his time, letting you feel each shift in the mattress from the weight of his limbs. It gives you time to feel smaller and smaller as he overtakes you, overwhelming you as his broad shoulders get higher and higher over your body, enclosing you between him and the bed. Strong arms plant themselves on each side of your head, caging you into his dark gaze. His handsome face, haloed by dark curls, looks striking in the dim lamplight, his sharp features casting shadows across pale skin. You can’t resist the call to reach up and caress him. 

“Did I say you could touch me yet?” Mihawk growls, snatching each of your hands from his face. The threat in his tone and the forceful grip squeezing your wrists has bright adrenalin bursting in your chest and tingling in your limbs. He presses your hands down in the sheets next to your hips and releases them as he tells you, “Lay on them.”

Hesitantly, you arch your back and clasp your hands together in the new gap. When you lower onto them, you scrunch your nose at the uncomfortable feeling of your knuckles rubbing into your spine. Mihawk notices and gives you a disapproving look. He places a spread hand on your stomach and presses down, making your knuckles and spine roll over each other. He keeps some pressure there; a reminder of your disobedience.

Your hands grip hard into each other when Mihawk finally lowers his hips flush to yours. The feeling of hot skin is such a relief to your frazzled nerves and pleading pussy. His dick fits perfectly within your folds, rubbing deliciously through them as he ruts against you. There’s no distracting pinch or catch; you’re wet enough to cover him and spread over any skin he touches. A shiver shakes up Mihawk’s spine at the feeling of you clenching around nothing against the base of his cock. He’s treated to the sweet sounds of your whimpers and moans, pulling especially delightful ones from you each time he angles to circle more firmly around your clit.

“Please, sir,” you whine, “I need you inside me.”

“Such a greedy whore,” Mihawk chides, tone so condescending it almost sounds bored. You whimper back to him, but he catches the way your hips twitch and press more firmly to him. He takes pity on you and gives in to his own needs to feel you around him.

Mihawk is big but it was never a problem because he enjoyed taking his time when pleasing you, so the prepping happened naturally by the time he was ready to make his way inside you. Today though, Mihawk finds himself overcome with the need to force you open when he shoves two fingers in and feels you clenching tight around them. He spreads those long fingers to press against your plush wet flesh and keeps pressing as he slides them back out. His fingers move to hold his cock, which is soaked from grinding into you and the precum he’d been uncontrollably leaking, and line him up with your entrance. He starts pushing into you immediately, groaning at how you clamp down tight in surprise. 

The way your breath hiccups as he keeps inching his way into you has his mind spinning. He bites into his cheek to keep himself from bottoming out in one brutal thrust; he wants to feel every flutter and twitch of your cunt and body as they try to accommodate him. He needs you to feel every second of him taking ownership of your body, needs you to feel how much more powerful he is. Wet fingers dig into the meat of your hip as he tries to hold himself back. You feel the sweet mix of the smooth slide of every ridge on his cock playing at your nerves and the burn of your muscles stretching almost too far. You surrender fully to your trust in him, releasing all tension from your muscles and all thoughts from your head. 

“Much better,” Mihawk breathes against your lips. He stares deep into your eyes and watches them become fully dilated and hazy. You stare right back and give him a lethargic smile for the praise. The rush of giving up control while he takes your body leaves your brain and body feeling like liquid. You almost move to touch him again, but his words are the only things still held in your mind.

Mihawk pulls back slowly, treasuring the way your body tries to suck him back in. You get halfway through an inhale before a quick thrust knocks all the air from your lungs. The satisfying clap of his hips on your ass ricochets through you. You get a chance to breathe when he stays deep in you and circles his hips to feel every inch and detail of your pulsing cunt. Overwhelmed, you whimper, “Mihawk-”

“Not my name,” he snaps. His hand flies up to your mouth and shoves two fingers in, pressing the taste of yourself into your tongue. You suck on them, looking up with apologetic eyes, hoping to placate him. It doesn’t work. “And to think I was giving you time to adjust.”

That’s all the warning you get before he sets a rough pace, each impact bouncing through your body, shaking your thighs, hips, and breasts. You shut your eyes against the onslaught, each nerve screaming its pleasure at you loudly. You feel unbearably full of Mihawk but also unable to feel enough of him. You need him in your hands, on your tongue, ringing in your ears, pulling you apart. The closest you can do now is tilt your hips up to feel him even deeper and offer more room for his hips to rub your skin at the end of each thrust.

When he feels your thighs squeeze tight to his waist, Mihawk falls to his elbows under the instinct to curl into you. With frenzied motions, he readjusts his forearms to be beside your chest, pressing your upper arms into your ribs. His hands clamp down on your shoulders, keeping you trapped against each pound of his thick cock into you. His claim on you flushes through your veins and seeps into your bones. Your mouth, now free, hangs open to pant and moan for him. His forehead presses to your temple so he can feel your breath deliver each sound directly to his ear, persuading him further and further from sanity. His lips hovering so close to you lets you hear his own harsh breath and hushed groans. 

“My lord, sir, please,” you beg, needing more from him but too lost to say how. You know he’ll figure out what you need, he’ll take care of you, push you as far as you can go before you snap and become pure pleasure. 

“Fuck, treasure,” Mihawk moans, hot breath tingling on your neck, “just be my good cocksleeve - lay there and take it.”

He switches his rhythm, starting to pull out slower to draw out his time in the grip of your cunt. Each push into you is still punishing, taking advantage of his curve to shove the head of his dick across your g spot. The steady hammering has pressure building between your hips quickly. “Sir -hah- I’m so -nngaaaah- ‘s so good I’m -hahnn- my lord -aah-” you continue babbling pleading nonsense to him, trying to let him know how close you are.

Mihawk can tell even without you senseless moaning; your thighs have begun to tremble and jump and you get impossibly tighter with each thrust and he’s sure he’s found heaven in your cunt. His face buries in your neck, sucking harshly at your delicate skin and savoring the light flavor of salt on his tongue. His teeth begin to come into play, worrying against little sections of your neck, mixing a sweet sting into the flurry of pleasure surging to your head. He feels you tip your hips away from him and wiggle in his grip, trying to hold off your orgasm so you can cum when he does and he hates it. 

“Don’t run from me,” he snarls, snapping his right hand to grip the back of your neck. You obey immediately, but sob out at the overwhelming pressure pulsing behind your clit. The sound has Mihawk’s balls pulling tight and his cock pulsing but he’s chasing your orgasm, not his. He wants to feel the violence of it being forced out of you. His left hand moves down your back, fingers dug deep into muscle the whole way, and covers your clasped hands with his own. Mihawk licks up the side of your neck to nibble your earlobe. His tone is biting when he taunts, “Cumming already little whore?” and you’re gone.

He manages to keep his pace through your orgasm, each press of his cock making another wave of bliss crash through you. High moans knock from you in time with his hips, but you're deaf to them from the buzzing between your ears. His cock twitches hard in the threat of release, and he bites down meanly into the meat of your shoulder to muscle his way through it. The feeling of you trapped beneath him, legs clinging to him in desperation while you cum is better than any of his fantasies have granted. Through your settling fog, you feel deep moans vibrating into your shoulder through Mihawk’s teeth.

“Thank you, sir,” you rasp, “feels so good.” Teeth release from your shoulder and thrusts become circling grinds.

“Ah but you were supposed to be making me feel good, weren’t you?” Mihawk chides. He licks his burning hot tongue over his bite mark, pleased with how deep the indents are.

“Sorry, my lord,” you whine pathetically, “I couldn’t -hahn- couldn’t help myself.”

Mihawk turns to nip at your jaw before hovering his face above yours. His piercing eyes narrow down at you as he mocks, “Oh, poor you.”

He’s detaching from you, getting up onto hands and knees, leaving you empty. Your eyes widen in panic and you almost reach for him. Instead, all you can do is whimper at him while he pulls your legs from around his waist and hope your sad eyes will entice him back. Mihawk takes them in with a twinge of remorse, but mostly they send arousal shooting through him. At first, he thought of rewarding you for keeping your hands still and letting your legs go limp while he maneuvered them, but he wanted to push you more first.

“Flip over. Chest down, ass up.”

You blink twice to process his words then get to work. Your movements are sluggish and sloppy, your muscles still recovering from your orgasm. Seeing how weak you’ve become from his touch has Mihawk resisting the urge to surge at you again. The sway of your movements causes your ass to wag in front of him and he’s glad you can’t see the way his jaw slackens at the sight. You look divine - no, more like sin incarnate. Your lax muscles cause your upper body to sag fully into the bed, making your ass arch obscenely high in the air. Your tired face is buried in your arms and the sheets. The display has his mouth watering and he can hardly tear his eyes away from your glistening pussy peeking out between your thighs.

“So perfect,” Mihawk purrs, reaching a hand out to touch you. You jump slightly at the first touch then relax into it, humming appreciatively. He massages his thumbs into the curve where your ass meets your thighs. When you ease into that touch, gently swaying with the oscillating pressure, he slides his large palms onto your skin. For a short while, he simply takes greedy handfuls of you, switching and shifting his grip so that every bit of your ass and hips have been squeezed. Your lax body continues to follow his hands as his lovely marionette.

“Since you’ve forgotten the one reason you’re in my bed, I’ll have to take my pleasure from your punishment instead,” Mihawk drawls. He wastes no time delivering the first smack onto the thickest part of your ass. You jolt with it even though it was barely a fraction of his strength, just barely enough to sting.  The warmth of his palm settling over the sparking skin soothes any hurt into pleasant tingles. You’re beginning to mourn the fading of the feeling when his opposite hand strikes your other cheek just as hard. This time you gasp and arch your ass higher, forcing Mihawk to take a deep breath to keep his steady pace.

“Careful now or I might think you’re enjoying this,” Mihawk chastises. Beneath his flat tone, he’s positively bursting with excitement. He had worried that you only thought you would be okay with this, but you’re leaning your hips towards him just as eagerly as you do the days he spends hours unraveling you on his face, fingers, and cock. There’s a buzz settling under his skin that’s making every touch feel so sharply in focus. You let out a slightly embarrassed wine, but continue to display yourself to him shamelessly, begging for more.

A harsher smack stings your right cheek, sending ripples down your leg and up your side. You shiver at the burst of brilliant sensation. In anticipation for the next one, you shorten your breath, feeling on edge that you have no clue when it’s coming. The air of the room is electric as it brushes against the goosebumps on your body, vibrating with threat and promise. A breath too long passes with the hand gone and you tense up, immediately receiving a strike to the left in response. It rattles through your bones more with the tensed muscle, knocking the air from you in a loud moan. Your already burning flesh is struck over again, tripling the number of pin pricks you can feel dancing under his hand. You moan, “Sir!”

“Is that all you can take, precious?” Mihawk’s tone is just a touch gentler. He’s smoothing his palms over your marked skin, unable to stop his need to keep touching you. Staring down dark eyed at the first budding handprint, he desperately hopes you’ll let him make more. He’s barely got himself held back as it is now that he knows that sting on his palm, the sight of your ass shaking, the sharp clapping sound, your gasps and moans, the rush of absolute control. His breath is shaking with the need to overwhelm you and fill himself with as much of you as he can shove in his nerves.

“No,” you promise. You shuffle your knees just an inch closer to your chest and give an enticing wiggle of your hips. “More, please, my lord.”

“Good whore,” Mihawk groans. His hand digs into the flesh of your left hip and his right delivers two sharp slaps, each punctuated by a moan from you. You feel the hits fizzle in your skin and echo in a wanting burn rolling through your cunt. Your used pussy already felt swollen but now that’s amplified by bright pounding, feeling like your heart has fled your chest to beat between your legs. A thumb digs and swirls into the center of the bubbling handprint on your skin before disappearing again. You expect another hit, but instead you feel two thick fingers slipping through your entrance, causing you to moan long in relief. You greet them by eagerly pressing your hips backwards, trying to get his fingers to sink in deeper. Mihawk stops at the last knuckle and offers you two indulgent grinds of his hand before it rests still.

“Pleeeease,” you whine. Mihawk responds by adding another handprint to your ass, this time on the left side. His mind is swirling with the sound of your eager squeal, but he’s truly lost at the feeling wrapped around his fingers. He can feel the power of his own hit through you but it is the strong pulsing of your cunt that really makes his hips jerk with want. Mihawk presses his fingers down towards your belly button, seeking the way your pussy trembles with each successive spank. His punishing hand and your body’s spasms have his fingers hooked and twitching over your g-spot and you can feel another climax start to build with each throb of your clit.

“You were made for me weren’t you, treasure?” Mihawk asks, voice tight with desire. Time and time again, his mind has played out the dream of you under him like this but it never could have prepared him for the rush of you getting off to it just as badly. Seeing you become a needy wreck for his strength and will has his heart pounding and cock aching near painfully. He wets his lips and swallows, barely holding back from replacing his fingers with his tongue to taste just how sweetly you’re dripping for him. 

You cry out when his fingers leave you, earning a lighter smack to your hip in warning. You claw into the sheets in frustration but aren’t left wanting for long; fingers reenter you and your neglected right side gets groped. His hand massages deep, helping you loosen up again and enjoy the feeling of his fingers on both hands digging into you. Mihawk marvels at the sheen on your flesh where his fingers smeared the wetness from your leaking cunt. He can’t help but leave a harsh strike right on top of the wet patch. With the encouragement of your panting and moaning and writhing, he continues on, making you feel boiling hot and boneless. 

At this point you’ve begun grinding back on his fingers, fucking yourself back onto them shallowly, afraid that anything more obvious would have him pull them out for good this time. That fear is more instinct at this point than an actual thought; your mind feels like soup and you only know how to feel and react. It’s becoming clear to Mihawk from the way your voice strains higher and your body squeezes down on him that you’ve got a strong climax building in your core. All you can recognize is more and more pressure gripping through your hips and more and more delicious friction earned with each curl back on his fingers.

Suddenly, that friction is gone.

“Nooooooo, no si-hah-irrrr,” you sob. You’re set adrift with the coil tightening in you beginning to unwind. There’s a hand holding each hip but it’s not stabilizing you at all.

“Be good for me, precious,” Mihawk warns, removing his left hand to tap his finger above your clit. It sends unhelpful jolts through your skin, teasing the nerves you need him to smother.

“I’ll be good, sir, promise, promise,” you cry. The way you move and arch your ass in an attempt to earn his touch back is obscene and has Mihawk's hand planting bruises into your hip. You twist your neck to show him one teary eye over your shoulder. “I’m yours, my lord, pleeeeeease. I’ll do anything!”

“Anything?” he presses. His voice is just above a whisper, unwilling to interrupt any of the gasps and whines coming from you. You nod fervently. “Then don’t cum.”

Three fingers shove into you, slightly curled and thrusting with the force you’ve been begging for. The wet sounds from each dive of his fingers fill the air between your pants and moans. Mihawk’s arm hooks around your right thigh so he can start steady swirls of his fingers over your clit, timing them perfectly with the thrusts from his other hand. He tries to resist the urge to bend even closer to you, but he’s helpless to the pull. You feel the thick hair on his jaw brush over your right hip. The loving caress is soon replaced by warm lips and nipping teeth, adding even more sparks to the fire he’s tending in you. 

It’s feeling more impossible by the second to obey Mihawk. The muscles in your legs want to curl and lock up and your hips are shaking against Mihawk’s hold. You’re open mouthed and pleading, not quite sure what words are actually coming out, just sure that you have no ability to keep any of them in. Your hands are clawing into the mattress, hoping to find some purchase to center yourself. The rhythmic bursts of pleasure that Mihawk is diligently working from you are so strong you’re not quite sure if you’ve tipped into cumming yet except there’s been no promised snap.

Mihawk is unmeasured in the way he bites and sucks at your flesh, but his hands are another story. He knows your body - has studied your reactions for years - and uses that to slow and lighten just enough each time a wave of pressure around his fingers gets a little too strong or your writhing stills to a tremble half a second too long. Instead of pulling you back or pushing you forward, he keeps you exactly at the edge of climax where he can actually test your will. He’s hard set on knowing how hard you’re going to try to obey him, the thought and sight of your struggle for him filling him with addicting arousal.

Your will over your body is just about to give out so you snap your teeth into the meat of your thumb to pull some attention away from the bliss of Mihawk’s touch. His attention goes up to see the bite when he hears the pitiful moan sneaking past your clenched teeth. He moans deeply at the site. “You’re being so good for me, fuck.” He presses his cheek hard into the burning handprints on your ass and unconsciously mimics the grinding of your hips with his own, finding no relief for himself. One more uptick in force and speed into your plush swollen pussy has you jerking. With digging teeth and a yelling moan into your hand, you manage to hold back against the raging tide of your orgasm.

Mihawk pulls from you and you collapse against the bed, taking in gasping breaths. You’re jostled as Mihawk shifts around quickly, moving to cover you. His breath is loud behind you as he settles there, legs stretched out between your and upper body help up only on his left elbow. That hand has shoved under you to flip around and grip your shoulder tight. His right hand anchors on your hip, guiding you back against his starved grinding.

“You did so well for me, my little whore,” Mihawk breathes into your ear. He nibbles at it before moving down to suck more red marks into your neck and shoulder. The slick way his cock glides through your folds has him burn with satisfaction. He made this pathetic mess of you. Having you soaking for him was no rarity, but the whiny mindlessness, the complete take over by your needy instincts, that was new and only had his need to tear into you grow stronger. He rumbles into your shoulder, “My perfect precious cunt, cum as much as you want.”

Mihawk is guiding himself into you and you shoot right back to being so close after only a few thrusts. You manage to slide your legs a little wider apart across the bed despite his heavy body, packed with muscle, pinning you under him.. It lets his balls tap at your clit with each thrust and just a handful more have a violent orgasm tearing through you. You cry out your bliss every moment you aren’t simply gasping and feel the muscles all the way up your core join the squeeze of your cunt, making the bright ball of pleasure feel like it’s reaching just as high. Your whole body is ringing with the echoes of it, everything feeling so overwhelmingly good.

Mihawk’s hips stutter for only a second before he’s continuing his ruthless pace. His body and mind are flooded with you and he folds to the torrent. A ravenous “more” is mumbled against your skin, barely reaching you through the whiteout in your head. His left hand shoots down to help keep your hips tilted and steady, leaving the weight of his chest to push you deeper into the bed. You’re completely smothered in him, his sweat damp skin pressing and sliding over yours. Unable to fully inhale under his resting bulk, your world gets a little fuzzier. There’s not a single part of you that cares; you feel trapped and controlled and protected and desired. You feel truly wanted and owned, being fucked into the matress under Mihawk while he holds you like a lifeline, sinks teeth into your shoulder, and speaks dark praises to you. When you come back to yourself more fully, having long been suspended somewhere between the crest of your orgasm and settled pleasure, you make little attempts to please Mihawk more. He notices the little turns and grinds of your hips and rewards you by slithering a hand under you to begin petting circles over your clit.

“You feel delicious, precious, you’re so fucking good, held out for me so long.” Mihawk’s voice is a moan and growl and sigh, sounding more untethered than you’d ever heard him. “Need to feel you forever -nnnnnghh- give me more.” The last word is all snarl and he’s shoving his face harder into the crook of your neck, sinking teeth back into your skin.

You aren’t sure if you have more to give him but still try, unquestioningly following his will. You don’t think you’ll need to try for long; both of you are wound precariously tight. Mihawk has lost his will to pull from you, so he moves against you in strong deep grinds. You’ve never felt closer; every sense is filled with Mihawk, every breath, every thought, every piece of you. It feels like he’s fucking you deeper than he’s ever reached, teasing your cervix with his thick tip, pulling you apart as if he’s somehow gotten bigger from the way your muscles have tightened around him. Mihawk feels the telltale buzz of his end flash through his nerves. Desperate, he bites out one more order, “You’re mine. Say it.”

You find the breath to chant, “I’m yours, I’m yours, yours-”

One arm shoves upwards, trapped tight between your breasts and crushing you back into him. He groans out, “Fuck, precious,” before his hips jerk and his cock is pulsing in you. His forehead presses to the side of your head and he’s moaning right into your ear. Fingers twitch against your clit and you feel his hot cum pumping into you and his arms cage you right to him and the friction of it all sends you right into another climax. This one is just as overwhelming as the last but sits in your body more smoothly. It’s a satisfied heat radiating through your muscles, rolling through you instead of jerking. You fall limp under the force of it, left to lay prone and take in every second of your body clutching and reshaping to Mihawk. He guides you both through it with the slow grind of his hips and the points of clarity where his hands grasp you.

“There you go, love, you are divine,” Mihawk praises quietly, as the aftershocks begin to settle out of you both. He gets his arms under him to lift some of his weight off of you and allow you to breathe deeply. He noses at your cheek, peppering you with kisses. You come back to your body slowly as he moves his kisses over the tender skin of your neck and shoulder. Testing the feeling, you open and close your hands, releasing the scrunched sheets. They feel inflated and clumsy, but it will do. Your right hand searches behind your head and quickly finds its way into Mihawk’s soft hair. You scratch lightly at his scalp while your other hand slides across the sheet to find his. Before you manage it, he puts his hand over your own, entwining your fingers in a comfortable hold. Mihawk rests his head behind yours, taking some time to breathe and bask in your touch. He decorates the passing moments with gentle praises, content sighs, and brushing thumbs.

Eventually, he gains the will to pull away from you to prep you both for bed. The moan you give him when he starts to pull away is endearingly grumpy like a spoiled pet roused from a nap. He’s just standing up when he notices your weak and begrudging attempts to get up and follow him.

“Stay down - you’re shaking like a newborn fawn.” The light insult is softened by a loving kiss to your temple. You’re more than used to his dry tone and direct comments anyway, knowing something like that had no cruel intent and that’s simply how he talked. That didn’t stop you from pretending to be a bit upset from time to time for apology affection. You’re pretty certain he was onto you. You were also pretty sure he enjoyed playing along.

You float thoughtlessly in your body, feeling like you’re napping pleasantly without going under. You startle when a hand lands on your shoulder. It’s hot and damp and you understand why when a soft cloth begins washing over your skin. Continuing your heavy-bodied haze, you lay there and let Mihawk wipe over your whole body, only moving to the patient prompts of his hands nudging and turning you. You wince when he works over your ass and pelvis, earning extra affectionate words and touches. You’re on your back, peeking up blearily at him through heavy eyelids, when he finishes up.

“Bathroom?” he prompts and you hum a lazy affirmative. You’re carried like a princess to and from the short stop and are thankful there’s no longer anything to keep you from or possibly interrupt your coming slumber. When you’re placed back onto the bed, Mihawk follows you with the sheets and comforter in tow. With practiced ease, you cocoon together in the bedding. On nights like this, where Mihawk has extra need to feel like he’s surrounding you, he pulls your back flush to his front and curls around you. His skin feels soft on the many places you’re molded together, but you notice it most while you both shift your legs to intertwine. 

“Dove?” Mihawk calls, wanting to know you can still hear him. You hum and snuggle your cheek further into his bicep. “I love you,” he whispers into your hair, punctuating the declaration with a lingering kiss.

“Love you, too,” you promise, adding one last gentle squeeze to your hold on his arm.

Tomorrow he would wake you with gentle kisses and caressing hands. Your favorite morning drink would be ready for you to sip on while leaned back against his chest, enjoying the way he massages the soreness from your thighs. A bath with your favorite salts would await your tired body. Mihawk would sit with you and feed you both fruits and sweet bread. Once the candles saturate the air, he would set about cleaning you head to toe. He would gently tend each bruise and bite mark, murmuring his gratitude and devotion. Each act of loving worship would be a balm to you both, affirming that connecting to and caring for each other is both your greatest want and deepest need. For now, you settle into each other for some much needed rest.

[fuxuannie]

* pairing(s) : various hsr x gender neutral reader

* prompt : drabbles abt hsr charac's and smth they like abt u?? idk im having brainrot spare me <\3.

* authors note : this was a cute idea, lowkey made me miss having a crush HAHAHA. if this does well i promy on my left toe ill do a part two (REAL).. maybe ooc, i'm just brainrotting huhu

DAN HENG was.. oddly uncomfortable but comfortable with the feeling of liking you. You two hadn't been together long, but the short amount of time had him noticing all the little quirks that you'd do, how you'd tap your pencil whenever you were stuck on a problem, the routine you had every morning and the little notes you'd leave for the trailblazers inside their rooms.

The part that made him feel a little iffy was that.. he wasn't used to being like this. He was never the type to care much about the quirks and habits of people, but considering the amount of time he spends with you (and staring at you), he can't really blame himself. He was absolutely smitten for you, so maybe those changes weren't so bad.

"You're so cute." He chuckles as he leans on his doorframe, catching you red handed as you stick the 'anonymous' sticky note on his desk. (Everyone figured it out it was you since you were the only one who wouldn't recieve one.) "Heyy, how did you catch me?" You say with a giggle, as he walked towards you and pulled you close from your waist. "The little things about you give everything away, my love."

Saying that MARCH 7TH adored you was an understatement. She absolutely LOVED being with you, all the time, everywhere. She'll be clinging onto you like a koala and if you're busy or Welt tells her to stop being so affectionate she'll pout and cross her arms. "Why can't I be with my partner?!" She'll say with an annoyed tone, "Because you have a mission, March." Welt would reply, rolling his eyes as you only chuckle in amusement.

You already knew how clingy she'd be, and infact you loved that about her, it was so sweet with how much she cared. She'll take and shoot thousands of arrows for you, to protect you and make sure you'll always be safe and happy to cuddle her before sleeping.

Speaking of which, shes in your arms, softly snoring as you two snuggle closely on her bed. You can't believe she's yours, the most pretty, bashful and caring girl in the universe. And she loved being with you the most.

BRONYA frowned as she stared at the clock in her office, 9PM. She was still forbidden to go home, and knew how lonely it must be for you. She was your lover, but could barely find time on most days to be with you. "It's okay!" She remembers you saying, but she can't help but feel guilty imagining all the times you slept alone in a shared bed.

The sound of her door creaking open caught her attention, and she watched as you peeked your head through the door and giggle. "(name)?!" She says with a shocked and confused voice, watching you open the little sling bag that you brought with you and pull out a lunchbox. "Eat. I know you haven't eaten." You demand, putting the neatly put together meal that you made for her.

Even if you had done this so many times, it still surprised Bronya every time you had these little surprise visits. "Dear.. I appreciate all of this but it'll be late if you leave now-" But a puzzled expression is plastered all over her face as she watched you make a little comfy sleeping corner with a pillow and a hood you were wearing as a blanket.

She sighs at your stubborn nature, knowing she won't change your mind. You notice her pulling up a chair and putting it next to hers, she sits down and pats her lap. "You can.. try and see if that's more comfortable." Finally, her worried gaze turned into a smile as you're eyes sparkled in delight. Before you sat down, you plant a kiss on her cheek and lay down on her lap.

"I love you, Bronya."

"I love you more, (name)."

Dating JING YUAN might be the hardest quest you've accepted, the DOZING GENERAL was on quite a handful of lists of men that parents want their daughters to marry. And hell, they've even tried throwing their daughters in his way, but he's effortlessly avoided them all. As you were the only person who had truly mattered in his heart.

He knew that his popularity can be.. suffocating. Even when he was simply courting you, he asked Tingyun to stop selling photos of him, so you'd know that he was completely serious on being a better man than he ever could be for you. But that alone can't stop the delusions of obsessed women, and Jing Yuan spent no time reassuring you that you're the only one who gets to hold his heart and say it belongs to you.

In a crowded area, his eyes never stray far from your figure that stands next to him and holds his hand. Despite the whispers, or the fawning women (and men), his eyes were locked on yours and his gaze wasn't going anywhere.

During his meetings (where he'd sometimes be dozing off..), he'd notice how you'd actually be paying attention and smiles at your adorable serious face like the most smitten man he is in the galaxy.

You can generalize it and say that Jing Yuan has made it so painfully clear to everyone that he was inlove with one person, and had no intentions of entertaning anyone else.

HERTA, despite her puppets scattered everywhere, her main body was always nervous when it came to being around you. Maybe you were used to it, always seeing her around, but she had not quite been used to human to human contact in a while. It's natural the way she tries to brush off the way she profusely blushes after your fingertips brush against her, because she's not used to spending so much time with someone as herself. She can't just pretend something isn't there anymore, because around you, she's just an absolute mess.

You watched Herta as she works on yet another puppet for the station, putting a hand on her shoulder as she jolts at the touch. "Hehe, no need to be startled. It's just me." You tell her, but she pouts a little in response. "I am an utterly perfect being. Little things such as that do not invoke fear in me."

Humming as a response, she finds it hard to find any interest in her work now. Why would she? You're right next to her, and you were far more interesting and pretty than any of the other things she's created.

She leans on you and you look down at her, "Hm? Have you lost interest in it already?" You ask, already familiar with her habit of losing motivation in a task when uninterested. She looks up at you and smiles a little. "How could I not when you're here? I might even say, you're the most interesting thing in my entire life."

GEPARD was a man who thought that loyalty was to be earned, not given freely. So when he had met you, his heart knew that no one was as deserving of his loyalty than you. You were apart of the Silvermane guards, and so naturally he was your leader. On the first day, you were very kind to not only Gepard, but your fellow guards as well. Many believed you were the kindness that the Silvermane guards deserved but never recieved, and he couldn't help but agree.

When you two began dating, he never noticed how much softer he had gotten. The way his gaze lingered on you when you left the room, the gentle kisses he'd plant on your cheek, and the way he enjoyed making you flustered. Those things were actions that the Captain didn't know he could enjoy, until you had come into his life, and practically changed the trajectory of it.

You were rambling on about something, and as usual Gepard sat next to you and listened. Smiling a bit at your excitement of whatever you were so passionate about, eventually his gaze went from your eyes, to your lips and at that realization he nervously looked away and stared at his shoes as if the most interesting thing in the world.

"Gepard? Are you alright?" You noticed how he he had looked away, and he was silent for a few moments before swiftly planting a kiss on your lips, something unexpected considering you were both in a public space. When he pulled away, a clear blush decorated his cheeks in such a color that made him look so pretty. "Sorry, I couldn't help myself."

SAMPO adores messing with you, little teases to get you riled up. (but never taking it too far.) How could he not? When you have such a pretty expression when you were getting teased. But other than that, he was surprisingly domestic. He liked cooking for and with you, washing clothes, eating together in the morning and generally just liked doing house work with you.

You'd wake up to breakfast in bed more often than not, and a smiling Sampo waiting for you to wake up in the side opposite to you. "Good morning, sleepy head." or "Good morning, sleeping beauty." on other days, he was such a sweet man to you, to a point you were unsure of what you did to deserve him.

And he knew you thought of that, so every night he'd whisper all the little things he grew to love about you. His own little way to let you sleep without a heavy heart.

You were the child of a swordsmith, YANQING adored swords. Need I say more? You two loved to go on and on about different swords, how they're made, how they're used and the history. Yanqing loved to talk about this with you, as many people thought he was almost crazy for his love for it, but you never judged him. That little thought alone made his heart flutter and eyes sparkle in adoration.

You let him be the little excited nerd he was whenever you invited him to your job, admiring the photos of different swords you helped make on the walls and if he was good, you'd make him a new one to take home.

"I love you! I love you, I love you, I love you!" He'd gush, admiring the newly forged blade in his hands as you chuckle a bit at his excitement. "Your welcome, love."