#this man would take care of me if i was sick

[pucksandpower]

Worlds Apart

Max Verstappen x Sargeant!Reader

Summary: everyone seems to have something to say about your relationship with Max, but at the end of the day all that matters is the two of you

Warnings: Jos Verstappen

Based on a request by @butterflyexe

The sorority house is pulsing with noise — music, laughter, the clink of plastic cups. You weave through the crowd, feeling very much out of place amongst the scantily clad co-eds. Your sundress and sandals seem prudish in comparison.

“Y/N! There you are!” Chelsea, your big sister in Kappa Alpha Theta, comes barreling over with a few of her friends in tow. “We were just talking about you.”

You eye them warily. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, like how you’re totally wasting your college experience pining over some old race car driver instead of playing the field.” Chelsea’s friend, Brittany, smirks as she takes a sip of her drink.

You bristle at that. “Max is not old! He’s only 26.”

“Exactly,” Chelsea says, putting an arm around your shoulders. “You’re a sophomore dating a whole ass man who’s nearly 30. It’s weird.”

“No it’s not!” You protest, shrugging off her arm. “We’ve been together over a year. I really like him.”

“Like him?” Brittany scoffs. “Wake up, Y/N. He’s an international celebrity dating a little college student. You’re just his side piece.”

The words hit like a slap to the face. “That’s not true!”

“Then why does he never post about you on social media?” Chelsea counters. “I follow him and you’re never on his accounts.”

“We just value our privacy,” you mumble, but her words have sown seeds of doubt.

Chelsea gives you a pitying look. “Honey, I’m just trying to watch out for you. There are so many great guys here on campus that would treat you right.”

Your eyes narrow at the dig. “You mean like those meathead frat bros that never shut up about their high school glory days? No thanks.”

The girls all gasp in mock offense. Brittany steps closer, using her height advantage to loom over you. “You’ve got a lot of nerve, talking about our men like that.”

“Yeah?” You stand your ground, hands on your hips. “Well maybe if they acted like men instead of immature little boys, I wouldn’t have to.”

A hush falls over the nearby crowd, all eyes on your confrontation. Brittany looks murderous until one of her sidekicks tugs her sleeve, murmuring “Let’s go, it’s not worth it.” She sneers at you one last time before stalking off, leaving you and Chelsea alone.

Your big sister sighs, rubbing her temples. “Why are you so hell-bent on making this hard on yourself, Y/N? Max is a world away, both physically and in terms of life experience. You could have any guy at this school eating out of the palm of your hand. Why not take advantage of that?”

Her words are salt in the wound. You blink back tears, fighting to keep your voice steady. “Because I love Max. He makes me incredibly happy. And yeah, the distance is hard and he’s older and more established in his career. But he’s kind and smart and we just … connect, you know? I’ve never felt this way about anyone else.”

Chelsea shakes her head pityingly. “I’m just trying to watch out for you. I’d hate to see you get your heart broken over some long-distance fling.”

“It’s not a fling!” You’re sick of trying to convince everyone. Pushing past her, you storm out of the suffocating house and into the cool night air. Gulping it down, you sink down onto the steps, chest heaving with anger and hurt and frustration.

Alone at last, you let the tears come. You know the doubts eating at you are unfair — Max has been nothing but devoted and caring throughout your relationship, even with his insanely busy schedule. But the fears voiced by Chelsea and her crew have burrowed under your skin. Maybe you are just a naive little plaything for him. Maybe he’ll eventually get bored and move on to someone more sophisticated and on his level.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket — a FaceTime call from the man in question himself. You fumble to answer it, swiping hastily at your damp cheeks. “H-Hey you.”

“There’s my gorgeous girl!” His bright smile fills the screen, momentarily banishing your worries. “I only have a few minutes before FP1, but I couldn’t wait to see that pretty face.”

You can’t help but return his warm grin, though it doesn’t quite meet your eyes. “I miss you so much, Max.”

His brow furrows at your tone. “What’s wrong, liefje? You sound upset.”

You want to brush it off, but maybe this is your chance to finally get those nagging fears off your chest. “It’s just … things have been rough lately with the girls. They keep saying I’m wasting my time with you, that you’re going to leave me for someone else, that I’m just a naive little girl you’re using for fun.”

He’s silent for a long moment, then curses under his breath. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. That must be really hard to deal with, on top of the distance.”

“It is,” you admit, blinking back fresh tears. “And as much as I try to ignore them and have faith in us, their words have started to get to me. I mean … why don’t you ever post about me on social media? Do you not want the world to know about me?”

A shadow crosses his features. Clearly he’s heard this criticism before. “My reasons for keeping my relationships private have nothing to do with you, okay? I keep that part of my life off social media to avoid a media frenzy and protect the people I care about.” His expression softens. “But you better believe everyone important in my life knows about you — my family, my closest mates. Hell, the whole Red Bull garage is sick of hearing me go on and on about how amazing my girl is.”

You can’t help but laugh through your tears, some of the weight lifting off your chest. “Really?”

“Of course!” He chuckles. “I’ve never felt this way about anyone before, Y/N. No matter how far apart we are or what anyone else says, you’re the only one I want.”

Your cheeks flush at his heart-melting words. In that moment, you don’t care about your snotty sorority sisters or the distance or anything else — just being completely in love with this amazing man. “I wish you were here,” you murmur, drinking in every detail of his face. “I miss holding you so damn much.”

Max’s eyes crinkle at the corners. “Maybe you can show me how much later tonight, when we’re all alone to video call properly?”

You giggle and smack your hand over the camera, feeling suddenly shy. “Max Verstappen, you incorrigible flirt!”

“You love it.” His voice takes on a deeper, huskier tone that sends tingles down your spine. “And you’re going to love what I have planned for your next visit even more ...”

You spend the next few giddy minutes shamelessly flirting back and forth, soaking up precious moments of intimacy through the phone line to sustain you until you can be together again. When his race engineer appears in the background, beckoning him to the track, you’re both full of regretful sighs.

“Duty calls,” Max says wistfully. “But I’ll call you later, okay? We can pick up where we left off ...” He waggles his eyebrows mischievously.

You can’t stop your face-splitting grin. “I’ll be counting the minutes.”

“Bye schatje. Love you to the moon and back.”

“Love you too!” You clutch the phone to your chest after he disconnects, completely lovestruck. All your insecurities have melted away under the heat of Max’s devoted words and that heart-stopping smile.

It’s going to be okay.

He chose you — Y/N Sargeant, sophomore student, for all your flaws and relative immaturity. And you’ve never felt luckier.

Spirits lifted, you bound back into the house and upstairs to your bedroom. You’ll ignore Chelsea and her nasty friends for the rest of the night, instead losing yourself in daydreams of the next time you’ll be wrapped in Max’s strong arms.

Your relationship may be a long-distance whirlwind, but you’re all in and you’ve never been happier. Let the other sorority girls whisper — you’ve snagged yourself a keeper.

***

Max drains the last of his water bottle as he exits the Red Bull garage, sweat still beading on his brow from the qualifying session. He stretches his arms over his head with a satisfied groan — even after all these years in Formula 1, there’s no better feeling than pushing a car to its limits on the track.

“Max! A word, if you please.”

He cringes at the familiar bark, turning to find his father bearing down on him like a storm cloud. So much for basking in the post-qualifying glow. “Yeah, what’s up?”

Jos’ mouth presses into a grim line, eyes smoldering behind the lenses of his sunglasses. “Well, for one, I saw that interview of yours from yesterday making the rounds online.”

Max fights the urge to roll his eyes. Of course his old man would find something to criticize. “And? I thought it was pretty standard, nothing controversial.”

“Oh, I’m sure you didn’t mean it to be controversial.” Jos sneers the word like a curse. “But dodging questions about your girlfriend and claiming you prefer to keep your private life private? It’s only going to stoke more media speculation and rumors.”

“Is that so bad?” Max counters. “I like to keep things out of the spotlight as much as I can. You know how ravenous the press is.”

“Don’t play dumb with me, son.” Jos steps closer, his voice lowering to a dangerous hiss. “I know exactly who this girl of yours is.”

Max feels his hackles rising at his dad’s dismissive tone when speaking about you. He opens his mouth to retort, but Jos barrels on.

“First it was that damn Kelly Piquet and her baggage, and now you’ve upgraded to jailbait? What is it with you and dating either old hags or naive teenagers, Max?”

“That’s enough!” Max snarls, feeling his face flush with anger. “How dare you talk about them like that, especially Y/N. She’s an incredible woman, and our age gap means nothing.”

Jos scoffs loudly. “Come off it, boy! She’s just a child, a nobody playing at being a WAG. You were born for greatness, bred to be a champion. Why on earth would you hitch your wagon to some college bimbo barely out of nappies?”

It’s like a red mist descends over Max’s vision at his father’s vile words about you. Before he can stop himself, his fist lashes out and connects squarely with Jos’ jawbone, sending the older man stumbling back.

“Don’t you ever speak about her that way again,” Max seethes, cradling his throbbing hand. “Y/N is ten times the person you’ll ever be. Smart, mature, driven as hell —she’s going to accomplish incredible things someday, whether you respect her or not.”

Jos regains his footing, clutching the blooming bruise on his cheek and glaring daggers at his son. “How dare you strike me, you ungrateful little shit! I gave you everything — the training, the opportunities, the sacrifices to get you to this level. And this is how you repay me?”

Max refuses to be baited, meeting his father’s glare with stony resolution. “Maybe if you didn’t insist on being such a hateful, miserable bastard all the time, I wouldn’t have to. All I want is for you to be civil and show some respect. Is that too much to ask?”

He huffs out a bitter chuckle, shaking his head. “But that’s not your way, is it? You’d rather condemn me for daring to find happiness with someone, just because she’s younger or doesn’t fit into your narrow ideas of what my life should look like. Well, I’ve got a newsflash for you. It’s my fucking life and I’ll live it however I damn well please.”

Jos opens his mouth, undoubtedly to fire off more vitriol, but Max cuts him off with a raised hand. He’s said his piece, expending the last of his energy and patience dealing with his father’s bullheadedness — at least for today. Right now, all he wants is to retreat somewhere quiet and let his thoughts drift across the ocean to you.

“Save it. I’m done arguing.” He turns on his heel and stalks away, Jos shouting insults at his retreating back.

Don’t react, don’t react. His jaw clenches almost painfully as he navigates the familiar path back to his driver’s room, typing out a quick message.

You free to chat soon, gorgeous? Need to hear your voice.

The reply comes almost instantly. For you, always. Give me 20 mins? ❤️

He can’t stop the surge of warmth at your words, the tension slowly draining from his shoulders. That’s his girl — always knowing exactly what he needs, even from thousands of miles away. And isn’t that what matters most of all?

After showering and changing into casual sweats and a t-shirt, Max sinks onto the small couch placed against the wall, pillows arranged just so to prop up his aching back and shoulders. He picks up his phone and dials your number, heart rate kicking up a notch in eager anticipation.

After what feels like an eternity but is surely only a few rings, your face fills the screen. You must have just gotten back from class — your hair is tousled and loose, your makeup-free skin flushed and glowing in the South Florida sun.

“Well hey there, handsome.” Your teasing smirk dissipates as you get a better look at him. “Max? Are you okay? You look exhausted.”

“I am now,” he manages, relief already washing over him at the simple sight of you. He drinks in every last detail like a man parched. “Just had a bit of a run-in with my dad and needed an escape.”

Concern flashes in your warm eyes. “Oh no, what happened?”

So he tells you — the interview rumors, his dad ambushing him and lobbing insults, the explosive fight that caused him to lose his cool and strike the first blow. You listen with sympathy, every encouraging nod and murmured reassurance calming his frazzled nerves until the story is spent, leaving him strangely at peace.

“Thank you for sharing all that with me, babe,” you say once he’s finished. Your voice is gentle but firm. “I’m sorry Jos was so out of line, but you were totally right to stand up to him. Nobody gets to dismiss our relationship or talk about you like that.”

Max blows out a long breath, raking a hand through his shower-damp hair. “I know, I just … I hate letting him get under my skin like that, you know? No matter how much I try to rise above it, he always finds a way to trigger something deep down. It’s exhausting constantly needing to defend myself and the people I care about.”

“But that’s not your burden to bear alone, Max.” You shake your head adamantly, jaw set in that stubborn way he loves. “Let me help shoulder that weight, even if I can’t actually be there physically yet. I’m on your team, remember? We’re partners. I’ve got your back.”

Your words loosen a knot of tension he didn’t realize he was carrying. Of course you get it, you always do. He knows in that moment how lucky he is to have found his teammate, his shelter in the storm that rages on no matter how successful he becomes.

“Have I told you lately how amazing you are?” His voice comes out low, thick with emotion. “How did I ever get so lucky?”

Your radiant smile could power entire cities. “By being you, silly. And for the record, your dad is way off base. There’s nothing wrong with you wanting a mature, driven, accomplished partner — even if she happens to be younger.”

“Age shaming goes both ways, apparently.”

“Apparently,” you agree wryly. “I had my own fun today ...”

As you launch into explaining the shenanigans that occurred during your morning lecture, Max feels himself relaxing further and further into the couch, a dopey grin spreading across his face. On and on the two of you go, playfully trading stories until his father and the endless pressures of his career have fully melted away, replaced by this perfect bubble the two of you inhabit.

When you hit a lull, stifling a yawn behind your hand, Max reluctantly decides to let you go for the night. “Do you have some time before your next class? You should get some rest.”

“Aw, I’m fine!” You protest through another jaw-cracking yawn. “I’m not done talking to my favorite driver yet.”

Max chuckles fondly. This stubborn streak of yours will be the death of him someday. “We both know that’s a lie. I can practically hear your bed calling your name for a nap from here.”

“Hmph, fine.” You stick out your full bottom lip in an exaggerated pout that makes his heart skip. “I guess if you insist on being all reasonable and stuff.”

“That’s me, a real fun-sucker.” He matches your playful tone, though his eyes are serious. “But before you go … can you just say it? For me?”

You immediately soften, gazing at him through the camera with so much tenderness, it almost winds him. “I love you, Max. More than anything.”

He exhales heavily, as if your words have physically lifted a weight from his shoulders. “I love you too, Y/N. And your love, your belief in me … it’s everything. Never doubt that, okay?”

“I won’t if you don’t,” you promise with a wink. “Good luck, babe. I’ll be dreaming of you.”

“Sweet dreams, liefje.”

Even after disconnecting the call, Max sits there for several long moments, staring at the now-dark screen with a besotted grin. His chest is pleasantly warm, full to bursting with the soul-deep reassurance that only you can provide.

Screw whatever toxic nonsense his dad tries to peddle about your age gap or his career. You’re the beating heart that sustains him, the sun around which his entire universe orbits. No disapproving authority figure or rumor mill gossip could ever change that fundamental truth.

So let his father rage and splutter all he wants about how “inappropriate” your relationship is. Max has tasted the extraordinary, found his home and partner in the most vibrant woman he’s ever met. All those lonely, empty years without that missing piece suddenly feel like a hazy, long-forgotten dream.

As Max sips his energy drink and prepares for another demanding few hours at the track, he can’t keep the dopey smile off his face. You’re worth enduring a thousand more shouting matches with his dad, worth traversing any distance just to hear your laugh again.

Max is the luckiest bastard alive to have earned your heart, and he’ll never take that gift for granted.

***

You shoulder your backpack and push through the double doors of the lecture hall, finally free from classes for the summer. The late afternoon sun bakes the quad in a warm glow as you pause for a moment, breathing in the sweet semi-tropical air.

For two years, this campus has been your entire world. Endless cycles of classes, parties, study sessions, and chaos with your sisters from Kappa Alpha Theta. But now, as you glance around at the laughing students basking in the first days of freedom, you feel a strange sense of restlessness settle over you.

Like there’s some place — somewhere — else you’re meant to be.

Shaking it off, you start heading for the student parking lot to meet up with Chelsea. You only make it a few steps before unusually loud cheers and shouts draw your attention to a small crowd forming near the front entrance.

Rows of parked cars block your view, but the distinctive growl of a high-performance engine cuts through the commotion. Your pulse instantly kicks up a notch as your mind puts it together.

That’s no ordinary car.

That’s a multimillion dollar, 800 horsepower British rocket. Sleek, powerful, luxuriously elegant.

Just like-

“No way ...” you breathe out, books slipping from your slackened grip as the glossy green bodywork of an Aston Martin DBS Superleggera slides into view. Because draped over the driver’s side door in that achingly familiar display of casual arrogance ...

“Max!” You shout his name in disbelieving joy even as your feet are carrying you toward him at a full sprint.

His head snaps up at the sound and your heart nearly stops at the way his whole face ignites with radiant delight. That brilliant smile you’ve ached to see in person for so long now stretching those full lips in the most heart-stoppingly beautiful way.

He pushes off from the car, hands outstretched, and in the space of a single frantic heartbeat you’ve flung yourself into his arms with a breathless laugh.

“What are you doing here?” You demand giddily as Max’s strong arms engulf you, swinging your frame around in a tight circle. You’re vaguely aware of the other students going nuts, people shouting and whistles piercing the air, but you only have eyes and ears for this incredible man holding you tightly.

Max just chuckles warmly, murmuring your name with raw affection before crashing his lips to yours in a scorching kiss that leaves you dizzy. You melt into the fierce embrace, parting your lips eagerly to taste the slight sweetness of Red Bull and dark chocolate that is so distinctly Max.

“Surprise, schatje,” he rumbles against your smiling mouth between heated, openmouthed kisses. “Thought I would swing by and pick up my favorite student myself.”

“Oh my god!” You laugh delightedly, cupping his chiseled jaw to drink in every perfectly imperfect inch of his beloved face. The strong jawline, the dimpled chin, those piercing blue eyes crinkling at the corners as he beams at you.

“When did you … how did you …” You’re at a loss for words, overcome with giddy euphoria at having Max here, warm and solid and real in your arms again after so many endless months.

A fresh wave of cheers and hollers suddenly cuts through your joyful bubble as half the crowd seems to recognize the celebrity in their midst. Dozens of camera phones whip out to capture the unexpectedly intimate reunion between you and Max.

“Who is that guy?”

“No way, that’s Max freaking Verstappen!”

“Y/N, how do you know Max Verstappen?”

The shouts and questions reach a fever pitch, finally breaking through your amorous fugue. Blushing furiously, you pull back just enough to murmur against Max’s chest.

“Well, much as I’d love to keep making out with my insanely hot boyfriend in the middle of campus, maybe we should take this somewhere a bit more private?”

Max gives a deep, rich laugh at that, the sound vibrating pleasantly against you.

“You are a wise woman, liefje,” he praises in that deliciously accented baritone. He presses one last, searing kiss to your smiling lips before reluctantly disentangling himself. “Though I would have thought you might like to give all your classmates one more delightful bit of inspiration to remember you by before you depart for the summer?”

He leers at you playfully as a chorus of whoops and whistles greets his flirtatious suggestion. You can’t help but bark out a laugh, shoving his chest lightly in mock admonishment even as heat rushes to your cheeks.

“You’re impossible!”

“No, just hopelessly in love with you,” he counters easily, reaching out to tuck an errant strand of hair behind your ear. The tenderness in his voice and touch instantly gentles your teasing mood into something infinitely fonder.

This remarkable man, so genuine and caring beneath the roguish exterior cultivated for the cameras. You’re struck by a sudden lance of melancholy at the thought of how little the world really knows of the real Max Verstappen.

But then his eyes crinkle in that way that speaks of unabashed adoration just for you and the feeling passes. Because you know him better than anyone. And he sees you just the same. Two souls intertwined by a rare, precious understanding.

Max’s hand slides around to cup the back of your neck, his thumb brushing lightly over your thundering pulse point. The tender motion instantly sets your nerves alight with renewed longing.

“So,” his voice drops to an impossibly deep bedroom octave meant only for your ears. “Shall we give the good people at the University of Miami one last show before I whisk you away for a few months of long overdue privacy?”

There’s the barest hint of a filthy promise underlying the words. You swallow thickly, unconsciously pressing closer as Max’s velvet tones wash over you like a physical caress.

“And just where will you be taking me?” You manage to tease back, forcing a bravado your hammering heart doesn’t feel.

“Well ...” He leans in until his lips brush the delicate shell of your ear. You shiver helplessly at the heated puff of air ghosting your sensitive skin.

“First,” he begins in a heated murmur, “we’re going to swing by your sorority house to gather your belongings.”

“Okay ...” You nod faintly, hyper-aware of Max’s intoxicating proximity.

“Then I’ll be driving us straight to your parents’ place in Fort Lauderdale,” he continues lowly. “Per the strict instructions of one Logan Sargeant, of course.”

You can’t help the surprised laugh that bursts forth. Trust your brother to strong-arm his way into Max’s surprise plans.

“He didn’t give you too hard a time, did he?” You ask through your giggles. “I can only imagine the threats he must have ...”

You trail off at the feeling of Max’s talented mouth blazing a trail of kisses along the slender column of your throat. Every exploratory brush of his lips and insistent swipe of tongue steals the breath from your lungs.

“Max ...” You whine out his name without conscious thought, going pliant against the solid wall of his body.

“Shhh,” he rumbles against your overwrought senses. “Let me finish first.”

There’s a maddening pause where the only sounds are the rushing waves of cheers and chaos from the delighted crowd watching your every move, hungered gazes drinking in every scorching caress Max bestows upon you. Under any other circumstances, the thought of being so shamelessly devoured by hundreds of strangers’ eyes would have you recoiling in embarrassment.

But Max’s presence, his heated touch and low, sinful voice have you spellbound, uncaring of your audience.

“After we’ve satisfied your family’s demands to see us with their own eyes,” he purrs. “We’ll be boarding my jet bright and early for someplace much more ... pleasurable.”

Your skin prickles with delicious tension as Max continues in that low, rough whisper.

“We’ll spend a few lazy days lounging on a private beach in Aruba, just the two of us.” His large hand roves provocatively down the curve of your spine to boldly grip your backside, pulling your hips flush against the insistent bulge in his designer jeans. “Catching up on all the things I’ve been dreaming about for months, schatje.”

A tremulous whimper escapes your parted lips at the blatant promise underlying Max’s words. You flatten your palms against the firm planes of his chest, feeling his powerful heartbeat thundering in time with your own.

“A-And after that?” You somehow manage in a breathy rasp, scarcely daring to hope.

Max’s only response is a low, thrumming chuckle that you feel vibrate across your heated skin. His chin dips, molten blue eyes searing into yours with naked hunger.

“After that?” He husks, stealing the breath from your lungs with a devastating grin. “Well, then I’ll finally get to introduce the world to my favorite girl.”

And neither of you can wait.

[chosows]

i think it would be nice if like there was a one shot about us having a kid with him i think that would be perfect for a one shot

i’m assuming this is about sukuna—if i’m wrong i’m sorry anon, i’ll take my mind out from the depths of the filthy sukuna gutter

FATHERLY DUTIES

Ryomen Sukuna x Fem Reader

Summary: Pregnancy was an experience Sukuna had never expected to be bestowed upon him; you as his wife are bringing his child into the world. It’s a journey filled with joys and challenges, something he hopes to face successfully hand in hand with the woman he trusts most. Who would’ve known that such a pure life could stem from someone so corrupt?

Word count: 2.2k

Contains: Established relationship, pregnancy, brief smut, Sukuna being smitten, brief description of sex, slice of life, alternative universe: Sukuna is human

Note: making this bow divider took longer than me actually writing this, i hope it resembles bows (੭ ˊ^ˋ)੭ — don’t be afraid to request, i’ll get around to them when i have time

DURING THE PREGNANCY

Pregnancy is a wonderful gift; the ability to bring a child into the world with the person you adore should be cherished. However, the experience is far from being as glamorous as you imagined it to be. What seemed to be a breeze for everyone else hit you ten times harder—you’re experiencing it all. Bloating, morning sickness, general nausea, a weak bladder, and the list goes on. You convince yourself it’s all worth it to bring your beacon of joy into the world, but it feels as though you’re barely clinging on. 

As a man, he would never understand the extremes you experience daily with this growing life inside of you—though any set of eyes could see it was obvious you were struggling, even his. To lighten your workload, he subtly began taking over house tasks; encouraging you to get your rest was similar to asking a wolf to play fetch—you were not giving him an easy time. Claiming that just because you are pregnant you aren’t capable of taking care of chores anymore is insulting and then whining due to the aches you get after completing them; it’s a constant game of tug of war with no winning side. Since your hormones are all over the place, it is best to allow you to have your way; arguing with you won’t help anyone, and it could cause issues with the development of your child.

Observing your bump growing throughout the duration made him realise this was now his reality; half of him and half of you created this new soul. He never believed he could feel so fondly of someone he had never met, how a soon-to-be human who is currently smaller than the palm of his hand could alter him in ways he wouldn’t imagine he could change. If there is a given opportunity when you allow him to feel your belly, he would take it in an instant; the movement in which your child shifts and manoeuvres is almost as though it recognises his presence—showing favouritism to its father before they are even acquainted. The way in which he massages your hips and presses his lips to your stomach reminds you of all the reasons why you chose to settle down with him of all people. Sukuna may not be the most put-together man but he swears by his vows to raise this child right with you. The mistakes of his past will be discarded, life handed him this new slate filled with a multitude of opportunities—you were the angel sent to guide him on the right path, and you sure looked the part with how elegant you were in your flowy maternity clothes and lazy hairstyles.

Weight fluctuations are inevitable, but the bitter reality of realising some of your favourite clothing pieces don’t fit correctly anymore hits you hard. Your body has to adjust its shape and your child needs the nutrients; it would be vain to only care for your looks rather than the health of your baby. Instead of throwing out your old clothes, Sukuna emptied half of his side of the wardrobe for you to store them there—it’s not guaranteed you return to your original size any time soon, but it wouldn’t hurt to hold onto them for the memories they carried. He finds you to be as attractive as you once were; you look completely identical in his eyes, your clothing size is nothing but a number—the shape and curves of your body make you who you are, his special girl. Sukuna had stopped working out as much as he used to, claiming he was bulking and putting on weight of his own; while it was the truth, the reality was he didn’t want you to go through this change alone. It can be daunting and weigh on your conscience, but it should never affect you—a woman whose beauty can only be experienced. No matter the skill of a painter, they would find it impossible to encapsulate so much splendour on a canvas.

“A nursery wouldn’t be hard to build; we don’t need to pay anyone. I could do that myself.”— He said. While you are resting on the sofa, minding your business flicking through a magazine, the sounds of crashing and cursing sound out from upstairs. It’s hard to restrain a chuckle before you shout up to check in on him, and his tone instantly shifts from gruff to mellow, doing his best to convince you all is well while half the crib he spent hours on just collapsed. You give it to him that he is a handyman—he is just far too impatient to read instruction manuals. Ignorance is not always bliss, especially if the crib his child is supposed to sleep in keeps plummeting to the ground. The walk of shame through the living room to grab his thin framed reading glass was silent; he didn’t dare to look you in the eyes since he could already picture the smug expression on your face. Proving him wrong was like a punch to the gut; it flattened his almighty ego to the floor, burying it amongst the dirt. There is a strange guilt summoned when you acknowledge his inaudible struggles, so the two of you join forces. You knelt on the rug of the nursery, reading the instructions out loud while he did the handy work. It’s a job well done when the room you envisioned comes to life, all the blissful colours to stimulate the imagination and the variety of stuffed animals patiently waiting to greet their new friend—it’s everything you could’ve hoped for, you pray your child will love it there as much as you do.

Many pregnant women state their sex life runs dry, but yours has taken the turn for the opposite. Whether it be your pheromones growing stronger due to the hormones or him appreciating the strength it takes to become a mother, he could not take his hands off of you. Sex was something he initially hesitated on during your first trimester; he feared that too much activity might render you eligible for a miscarriage since it was so early on. When you began becoming more stable and combating the pregnancy symptoms with ease, that’s when the two of you slipped back to your usual bedroom routine. You were limited to few positions, but seeing you in missionary was something he could never catch himself complaining about. Not only was your belly growing, your breasts were too—you had simply gotten him awestruck by doing nothing but existing. What a woman’s body is capable of is truly spectacular; who wouldn’t be captivated by the beauty of it? His thrusts were much gentler than usual; it felt as though you were having intercourse with a different person due to how careful he was being. It become more sensual, the bond between the two of you stronger than it had ever been. His eyes were filled with warmth as he gazed down at you, smiling softly while the back of his hand brushed against your cheek. No one had ever belonged to him before, nor had he belonged to anyone; it was a beautiful transition into this freshly blossoming future. He finally has discovered his sense of belonging is with you by his side. His idea to snap a picture of your belly during the weeks of growth led to half of a photo album filled with images of you, there for you to reminisce on after you enter labour.

AFTER THE PREGNANCY

Delivering a child was the most chaotic yet eye-opening experience for both of you—more so him who watched it from a fully different perspective, seeing everything up close. He never felt ill, nor was he disgusted; it was amazing how you carried around this bundle of life like it was nothing. While you were dosed on the epidural, he came out of the delivery room with gashes on his hands from the force your nails dug into him. There was no gender reveal since it was decided you wanted it to be a surprise, placing your separate bets on what the baby could be. Even though he wanted a boy, as soon as he saw his baby girl resting in your arms, he fell in love with her. Though she had a sparse head of hair, it was a similar colour to his. In his arms, she barely existed—nothing but a mere dot with her little white hat on. It was rewarding to see how far he come since you first met him; you couldn’t be more proud of him. You didn’t intend to change him, but he altered himself in ways he thought were necessary. He kept his witty humour and arrogance, the two things that truly make him who he is. It wouldn’t be your Sukuna if he wasn’t a handsome pain in the ass, finding ways to tease you yet also ways to comfort you and make you laugh in desperate times.

When you had taken the childcare classes for new parents before going into labour, he outdid himself in all preparations; he was like the student who thoroughly studied for the exam months before it even arrived. The reason he had been trying so hard is due to his fear of hurting the baby—he finds himself being rough without realising, often making the same mistakes while handling you. During nights, she would screech down the baby monitor right beside his ear, causing you both to stir. The duty of checking in on her was split on a makeshift roster, but you had been growing exhausted progressively with each passing day. Since there are days when he is up later than you, he sees to her to prevent the sudden outbursts happening during the early hours of the morning. She would weep and fuss until he took her into his arms. When she’d go silent, he would lean to lay her back down until she started up her cries again. The only thing that would calm her down was being held by her father.

Time flies by with the new addition to the household; your daughter is now able to grasp onto her favourite teddy bears at five months old. Her wardrobe is bigger than yours, and she managed to successfully steal the heart of your husband—the only competitor. All three of you would spend half of the day playing, chatting with her in the room since it would aid her mental skills. She seemed pleased seeing both of her parents, watching the two of you chatter and share innocent displays of affection. Her cooing noises would make you both grin; Sukuna couldn’t believe one of his creations could be so pure and full of love. Others told him he was nothing but distant and incapable of kindling sincere connections, but he managed to prove those who held a lack of faith in him wrong. He will admit that there were times he found the idea of love far too corny for a man like him, but accepting it into his life made it so much brighter, giving it a completely new meaning.

There came many troubles and stressful situations, but the excitement of raising a child made them all irrelevant to Sukuna. The two of you finally made time for an at-home date, sharing two light drinks and a meal. Men who fall out of love with their wives after they become mothers are nothing but weak in his eyes—if they cannot deal with one minor change, they would never amount to anything in life that involves them stepping free from their cowardly safety net. If anything, this journey made him realise how he truly wishes you would be the person who will die by his side; part of him hopes the two of you find a way to bypass death and live on together for eternity—it wouldn’t hurt to be optimistic. In the bedroom, he stripped himself free of his clothes, his gigantic figure looming over you while he stared down at you. He climbed on top of you, pinning your hands to your sides while he stole a kiss—yearning for your affection greater than ever before. That sparkle in your eyes never left; he remembers seeing it ignite for the first time when he first kissed you all those years ago.

“You are quite the woman, you know?” Sukuna hums, rubbing his nose against yours while his hair brushes across your forehead.

“I know, don’t you just love me so much?” You tease, poking your tongue out as you grin.

“I do, more than anything. You’ll always be my number one girl; our little angel comes in close second.” 

“I used to be your angel” Your voice winds in a whiny tone, widening your eyes and curving your lips down to appear upset.

“You still are,” He kisses your cheek while his hand trails down to the waistband of your panties, twanging it against your skin as he speaks, “I miss your bump.”

“Do you want another baby?” You beam at him, your eyes crinkling and your hand squeezing his.

“If you want one, I wouldn’t be opposed.”

[bunniebubbleswrites]

Lil' Killer

Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x F! reader A/N: I'm alive and almost done with school. I've never been more excited for something to be over. Word Count: 966 Warnings/Tags: Establised relationship, blood and murder Summary: While travling with Cooper a group of raiders decide that it would be a good idea to attack the both of you

You should have never left the Vault. 

The Overseer was right. The Wasteland is dangerous, the first time you saw a rad-roach you almost spiraled into a panic attack. 

It’s been a few months since then. You’ve lost the Vault suit and sold your Pip-Boy for caps. You had no need for them anymore, they made you too much of a target. 

Only a few months and you’ve lost count of how many people and creatures you killed. The first time was jarring, being a bounty hunter paid well and it was the only thing that kept you on the move, never in one place for too long. If you were constantly on the move, you were safe. 

The sand crunched under your boots and the gun holstered at your hip jangled as you dragged your bounty behind you, of course the fucker wanted the whole body for his own sick reasons. You learned to stop asking questions a long time ago, that was something you learned when you had lived in the Vault. 

You walked up and into the outpost. You dropped the body down in front of the man standing behind the counter. 

“Caps.” You held out your hand, waiting for your payment. 

“We wanted him alive.” You slammed the bounty request down in front of him. 

“Dead or Alive. Caps. Now,” He looked at the paper you had shown him and raised his eyebrow. The man reached down under the counter, but to your surprise, he pulled out a gun. 

You have got to stop trusting people just to give you payment. You reached for your gun and aimed it at the man in front of you. 

“Now, I suggest you  give the lady her payment.” A man’s voice came from behind you, his chest now flush against your back. 

Thank god.

You lowered your gun, as did the man in front of you. He tossed you the pouch full of caps. You re-holstered your gun and tied the pouch to your belt. 

You walked around the man who stood behind you, as soon as you were outside the sound of a gunshot echoed through the air. 

The sound of spurs came from behind you and your shoulders relaxed as Cooper wrapped his arms around your waist. 

“Miss me darlin’?” 

“Very much so.” You leaned back into him, his head resting on your shoulders. 

“You really should be more careful, I thought I drilled that trustin’ instinct out of ya’ ” 

You smiled at him, gently pushing him off you. 

“Let’s get going pretty boy.” He scoffed at the nickname. 

The two of you trekked through The Wasteland, walking towards Filly. 

“What are we looking for Coop?” You asked as you climbed under a bit of rusted metal after him. 

“A man.” 

“What kind of man?” 

“A wanted one.”  At the sharp tone of his words, you knew to stop asking questions. You both continued walking, and bored with the silence you started to hum a little bit. 

Cooper, only a few feet in front of you, stops dead in his tracks. You, feeling safe enough to be distracted, bumped into his back. 

“Cooper? What’s wrong?” He shushes you and reaches for his gun, you in turn, go for yours. A rustling noise came from behind you, you turned around and your back was now flush against Cooper’s. 

You aimed your gun, towards the source of the noise, ready to shoot at any moment. Your eyes darted around, looking for any sign of danger. You could never be too careful in The Wasteland. 

“Well, well, well. What do we have here? A ghoul and a vault dweller.” 

How did they know? You had ditched everything weeks ago. 

The sound of the voice came from behind you, which meant they were in front of Cooper. 

Cooper had his gun aimed at the people in front of him, he was more than capable of taking them on himself. 

“Come on out Vaultie, we won’t hurt ya’ “ You took a deep breath and stood tall, don’t show them you're scared. You came out from behind Cooper, your pistol in hand. 

Another noise from the bush, without taking your eyes off the group of men in front of you, you took your shot, a body falling out from the bush. You let your arm fall to the side, finger still on the trigger. 

“If y’ would kindly, move out of our way,” Cooper gestured with his pistol off to the side. The men didn’t move. If they were looking for a fight, they sure found one. 

You let out a sigh as you reload your pistol. 

Let's get this over with. 

You looked at Cooper with a raised eyebrow. A silent question. 

Can I take the first shot?

He nodded

I don’t see why not

You raised your pistol, smiled at the man, and pulled the trigger. The bullet landing right between his eyes.  The other two men came running at you. You holster your gun and grab the hunting knife, you keep strapped to your thigh. 

A manic expression filled your face. It’s been a long time since you’ve done this. The terror in their eyes, you loved it. 

You ran at them, a terrifying smile graced your lips. You skillfully swung the knife in your hands. You knew exactly where to strike to make them bleed. 

As you swiped your knife across one of the men’s neck, Cooper shot the other. Your white top, stained red and your face and hair covered with the same crimson and brain matter. 

“There you are, lil’ killer.” 

You giggled at the nickname. That’s what The Wasteland does to people, it turns people into killers. 

“To Filly.” 

You both continued to Filly, you had a bounty to find and deliver.

[th3-c0rps3-r0gu3]

Parties.

Pairing: Natasha X fem reader

Fluff :)

Warnings: none I think. Nat being jealous hehe

The start is written by @azaleavolkova so full credits to them!

Nats pov:

As per the end of a tough mission, a stark party was thrown. Probably one of the biggest yet, all paid for by Stark. I don't even think he monitors or has anyone to monitor who comes in. And that's why I'm here, I was invited as a plus one, to my beloved soon-to-be spouse. Yes, I'm engaged. And yes, I love them as much as my heart can. I mean, I'm constantly thinking about them.

Anyway, here I am, in the elevator at the Avengers Tower, in a black, long flowy dress, the straps of the dress wrapped delicately around my neck. Along with the dress, I have a cute little moonstone teardrop pendant with little tree branches on the sides on my neck, completing my outfit.

A ding rang throughout the elevator, the doors opening soon after. My eyes widen almost immediately after I saw how many people were here. I quickly regained my composure, walking through the doors confidently, looking around the room and seeing widen eyes, even some dropped jaws.

"Pick up your jaws, or else a fly will get it's way into it." As soon as I said that, a little fly flew its way into one of the guests' mouths, being spit out just as quickly as it went in.

I roll my eyes and walk through the crowds. Ignoring the stares and attention. My eyes searching for my fiancee. But unfortunately they aren't here yet. I silently curse and walk down to the bar.

Its been half an hour. I'm on the sidelines of the party mainly surveying the entry. But since my fiancee hasn't shown up yet I've decided to amuse the men that have conveniently surrounded me and offered drinks or a cigarette. Eventually I take one of the men up on their offer and take a glass of champagne from the man.

The guy himself isn't too bad looking. He has dark messy hair and brown eyes of the chocolate variety and if I wasn't engaged and in a happy relationship I would've given him a shot. But I found the love of my life and have no interest in the guy.

I chat amongst the men. My eyes lingering on the entrance. Though another blond man blocks my view leaving me slightly pissed. Now how am I meant to see my glorious fiancee when they walk in!?

It's been another half hour. I'm almost sick of the men. I'm holding my third glass of champagne and yet they still haven't shown up yet. I think atleast. That is until a group of men part slightly and I see her.

There standing in a teal dress that blends into navy blue is my fiancee y/n. And she looks gorgeous. Her hair styled into a braided crown. My eyes glued. I don't even remember the fact I'm surrounded by men until one speaks up about how he'd take my woman. I am now very tempted to rip his head off. But y/n would be disappointed if I ruined this night to I refrain till later.

"hold my drink boys. I'm going in."

I smirk as I hand one of the men my glass. His mouth opening slightly. I fix my red hair and step away from the group, ignoring the shocked stares from the men who thought they had a chance. I walk over to the greatest woman in my life and I kiss the back of her hand.

"glad you could join us darling."

I mumble against her skin as I pull y/n close. I've missed her. But I do get a giggle from the love of my life.

"Tasha it seems you have a shocked fan club behind you."

Y/n smiles. I roll my eyes. I could care less for the mob I just left. Instead focusing on y/n.

"let's not discuss them."

I ask as I step away from y/n pulling in her hand. She has pearl bracelets on. They look almost as pretty as she does. Y/n smiles back.

"you seem jealous."

Y/n grins. I look less amused.

"one was being unprofessional when describing a relation he wished to have with you."

I speak low. Jealousy flashing through my eyes. I know it does because y/n laughs.

"don't worry Tasha I only have eyes for you."

The affirmative voice calms down the green monster inside me. I pull y/n into a kiss she easily reciprocates. I want to hold onto the moment forever.

A/n: This is a work that was started by @azaleavolkova and full credits to her. The rest of the fic is my own original work however. The first four paragraphs were written by @azaleavolkova.

[vegance]

I do agree that as vegans we need to be compassionate in our activism, that aggression and rudeness rarely work in convincing people to change a deeply ingrained cultural habit. People deserve kindness, we are all complex creatures. And I mostly abide by that. But sometimes I really wish that vegan friendly Omnis would extend that same compassion to us vegans and just try to imagine what it is like for a second.

Vegan activism does not only take place in specific contexts, in specific planned situations. You always have to be „on“. Every time you have a meal with someone new, everytime someone asks why you don’t want a hot dog, why you won’t join your colleagues on the zoo trip.

Every time someone asks you why you are vegan, you have to jump to activism mode. Be kind. Be factual. Don’t push, but don’t be a pushover. And I manage that, mostly! But when Omnis compliment vegans for being so kind and calm, I do wonder if they know that those vegans only manage because they have pushed their emotions into a box and nailed it shut. These emotions still exist!! I am actively pushing them down to be a functioning member of society and an effective advocate for the animals.

But sometimes they do come to the surface. I think most vegans had the experience of learning about a specific aspect of animal exploitation that surprised them. For me, it was the deliberate cruelty that takes place on farms and slaughter houses every day. Not cruelty for the sake of profit. Or cruelty out of indifference. Cruelty for the sake of being cruel to animals.

There is a specific video that I saw and I cannot forget. It’s not even that graphic. Some calves were being herded into another pen. But a few of them didn’t understand what was happening, where confused and frightened. This frustrated the man who was doing the job. Finally, he got the last calf to go through the gate. But this was not enough for him, because he was angry and frustrated. So he pulled that calf back into the gate, and slammed his body against the door a few times, crushing the calf in the gate.

I don’t think he even severely injured the calf. But I just can’t stop imagining what that must be like. To be a baby animal, confused and frightened. And this large creature pulls you back and hurts you. You don’t understand why this is happening. How terrifying it must be. How painful. To be so utterly under that persons dominion. The thought of someone doing that to their pet would turn most people’s stomachs.

And then I am talking to some kind, left wing person. Who donates to charity. And voted against sexiest politicians. And they say they will never be vegan, because they don’t want to.

And I just imagine myself saying to the little calf:“I’m sorry. You and your kind will have to keep going through that. Because Tim here just doesn’t want to give up this specific kind of burger.“ Sorry to the pigs screaming in the gas chambers. Sorry to the chickens dying agonizing deaths in ventilation shutdown. Sorry to all the marine animals dying of divers sickness as they are pulled out of the water way to fast. „You will have to keep enduring this. Because, you see, Tim cares more about having a specific type of pizza topping. So the unfathomable suffering you are all going through? That’s just too bad“.

And I know it’s not effective!! It’s not helpful!! But sometimes that little calf squeezes it’s way out of the bix in the back of my mind. And it’s really hard to put it back in.

[skellymom]

hey skelly!!!!!!!!!!!!!! i was wondering if, perhaps, you could do a one shot with Hunter where 'reader' is sick???? please??? im currently very sick and its killing me :/

~ tysm, jamie <3

@fionajames my FRIENDO! I hope you feel better soon.

Here ya go! There is some lovey-dovey to this one shot, but done in a respectful manner. Angsty, implied nudity. SAFE FOR WORK! My apologies if the spelling or grammar is off. I wanted to bang this baby out quickly to get it to you!!!

Word Count: 907

Background: Reader is not feeling well. But Hunter will DEFINITELY help change that.

(Credit: Cool moving star dividers by @4ngelic-wh1spers )

"HEALING TOUCH" - Hunter x Reader Request

Kicking off the covers, you sighed from the heat.  

Heat from your fever. 

Tossing and turning, every part of the bed uncomfortable. Your joints ached as if packed with jagged glass.  

There was NO sleep for tonight. 

There was NO sleep for Hunter, either. 

He could hear as you thrashed about in bed. Feel your horribly high fever. 

It started with a general malaise...as Tech called it. Low level energy. Mild Lethargy. Your Sergeant noticed you were off. He ordered you to take a break from ration loading and lay down in your bunk on board the Marauder. 

You crashed out immediately. Thinking you would just sit, then lay down on your bunk for a MOMENT before getting undressed for bed...didn’t pan out. However, you woke up hours later UNDRESSED FOR BED clad in your rudimentary binder and underwear sleepwear. 

You SWORE you never got yourself ready for bed before hitting your bunk... 

You FINALLY awoke bathed in sweat. The room was too uncomfortably hot. You had to pee, but REALLY didn’t care to move. When your bladder threatened to overflow, you lurched to the refresher.  

Coming back from your trip left you winded and weak. 

But being worn out doesn’t promise sleep. Maybe one-minute intervals every 15 standard minutes. Jolting awake to lay in bed, then change position... 

...to lay in bed, then change position... 

...to lay in bed, then change position... 

...to lay in bed, then change position... 

Rinse, repeat 

Then your body temp dropped quickly, resulting in shivers. You burrowed into fetal position under the covers.  

“Y/N?” Your Sergeant whispers. His voice even smokier at a low register.  

His voice could still excites you...even being this sick.  

A prickle of heat makes its way up your body and over your face. You feel its tendrils envelope you, warm you up...then proceeds to shoot up to burning hot. 

“Hhmm...” Still weak as hell. 

“How you feeling?” Hunter reaches under the covers to feel your forehead and face. 

His strong callused hand tenderly slides down your forehead, then cups one side of your face, then the other. He takes his time to feel your body temperature. It’s a show of care with a side of sultry touch. 

Your body heats up to a definite fever pitch. 

“Ummm...” is ALL you can muster. EVERYTHING is SO MUCH! All of your senses being assaulted by your own body.  

Is this what it’s like for Hunter...all the time??? 

You try to mumble this statement to him. It comes out weak, incoherent...DELERIOUS. 

He’s pulled you upright in the bunk. Looking into your eyes. Oh...that man...he’s DIVINE! You think among other things that get lost in the mush of your thoughts. It’s SO HARD to think right now. 

Your perception blurs, then the room flips.  

“Y/N!!!” Is the last thing you hear... 

...waking up SHIVERING...in the cold rain? In just a binder and panties... 

As you focus your awareness slowly...while sitting on the refresher shower floor. Leaning against... 

HUNTER 

You are BOTH shivering in each other’s arms. His legs are spread out on either side of you. You were leaning on Hunter’s chest. He was drenched in the cold water and air as well...and shivering from the chill. 

Hunter was only wearing his Republic tightie-whities. They were drenched and stuck to him like a second skin...a rather translucent one. You covertly took in his “geography”. Muscular...neatly manicured body hair... 

“Y/N?” That smoky voice. 

“Hyeahhh...” You comically whispered. 

Hunter chuckled. Deep base in your ear against his firm, slightly furred chest.  

And he smelled AMAZING! It couldn’t be explained: like deep wilderness with the sunlight filtering through the trees...it’s warm fragrance...the sound of life in a place...the strength and heart of Oak trees...of safety in a green place  

Some approximation of that... 

You chuckled back “I think my fever’s broke.” in a guilty but emboldened whisper. 

“Hhm...you sure?” 

You sigh...he can feel the heat of your blush.  

He caresses your back. 

He knows how you feel about him. Could read you the moment you met. The little flirtations you sent out...that he returned... 

Could even feel the moment your fever broke, but continued to hold you to be sure, making sure your temperature never dropped too far down. 

Hunter’s been respectful. Waiting for your move. He’s doing that now, too. 

You reach up to trace your finger along his jawline, then caress the side of his face. You look up at him and hold his gaze. 

His eyes are soft but fierce. A small smile graces his lips. It’s an adoring face. 

Hunter reaches down to take your head gently in his hands. Then kisses your forehead, holding his lips to you for a moment. He takes in your scent. 

“I REALLY want to...I do. But now isn’t the best time.” Hunter senses your request. A responsible caretaker first, passionate partner later. 

He reaches up to turn off the refresher showerhead. Then proceeded to get you off the floor, dried, dressed, fed, and settled back into your bunk. 

“Get some sleep, Y/N. I’ll just be over in my...” 

You interrupt by grabbing Hunter’s hand before he can retreat. 

“Stay with me...big spoon?” 

He smiles. Then blushes. Then gives a mock stern face. 

“Of course...JUST strict bed rest. Cuddling only!” 

“Of course.” You smirk at Hunter. 

“You’re...going to make it really HARD ON me, huh?” 

“Bet your Duncan Hines Cake on it!” 

Hunter slid into the bunk and wrapped you up in him... 

PLEASE like, comment, and/or REBLOG!

[sailorsenshishitposter]

Getou Suguru x Reader

Suguru Getou:

You have a superiority complex, you're a massive germaphobe and have a soft spot for poor, abused children.

First Date:

You couldn't believe it. You had a date. Not just any date though. One with the hot guy that was a shaman. He was also a cult leader but you were willing to let that slide due to how attractive you found him. The two of you met on PlentyOfSorcerers.com and you hoped that you weren't getting cat fished again. "If he's as good as he looks than I'll let him expand my domain!" You waited for your date just outside your restaurant of choice. "He should be here any minute."

You were wearing casual clothing. The two of you had agreed that it would be better to dress like average people. You didn't want your dates monk attire to attract any unnecessary attention after all. You were looking through the crowd when you felt someone pat you on the back. "Yo ####. You look wonderful." It was Getou. His long hair was memorizing but you gazed down and couldn't help but notice the shirt that he wore.

It was a plain black t-shirt except for the fact that there was a large image of a dragon ball character. Freezer you think? Anyway it was something about an alien committing genocide against monkeys. You were dumbfounded. "... I thought we agreed to dress casual..." He rolled his eyes. "Hey, he's my idol." Geto than questioned where he was taking you. "Why KFC of course."

You noticed his face starting to go pale. "Is something wrong?" He quickly shook his head. "It used to bring me painful memories. But that's all right because now I have you." You couldn't help but smile. You took his hand and walked towards your destination.

The place was packed. Getou groaned. "Why must there be so many monkeys!" He then glanced in your direction. "####, why don't you find us somewhere to sit while I go and order..." He looked tense. He must not enjoy crowds you thought. You kissed him on the cheek and then went to find a place to sit.

Getou then took out his disinfectant and began to spray everyone in line while he made his way to the front. The patrons were choking and gasping for air but who cares about monkeys right? He went to order when he nearly had a heart attack. He recognized the man behind the register. It was none other than Toji Fushiguro. "WHY ARE YOU STILL ALIVE!?"

The man was used to angry customers so this wasn't anything special but then he looked up at the the patron in front of him. "Oh? I didn't expect to see you here. Anyway, I owe some gambling debt to Gege so he was kind enough to let me work here and pay it off. I have to support my son after all!" Getou spat at him. "You're a terrible father and you know it!"

"Hmpf. Maybe. But at least I actually fathered my children. Now, what will you be ordering today?"

-------------------------

Getou returned and dropped the tray on the table. "Is everything okay...?" He couldn't wait to leave this place. "It's nothing. Go on, eat!" The two of you ate your food and you noticed that Getou looked somewhat sick. His face was now a shade of green. He decided to answer before you questioned him. "This food tastes worse than curses do!""... And what do curses taste like?"

He then responded "It’s like swallowing a dirty rag that’s been used to clean up shit and vomit." Oh. Well you were definitely letting him pick the place next time. If there would be a next time... It was then that you noticed two small children. "Daddy, daddy! We want crepes!" Getou sighed. "Girls, I thought I told you to wait until I came back home..." Your eye twitched."

Your dating profile didn't say anything about having kids..." He knew he had forgotten something. "Surprise...?" You stood up to leave. "I think we should see other people." He then began to sob into the table. The two girls then hugged their father and asked what was wrong. "I miss my wife (Gojo) girls. I miss her a lot."

[thetempleofthemasaigoddess]

Love is a killer that never dies (part 2)

Dracule Mihawk x reader. NSFW!! Discussion of dub-con.

Sex Pollen!AU for the short series that began with Built a haven for your love (until I let you fall apart). Can be read as a standalone.

This is part two of four.

Title taken by another song by Beast in Black -Born Again- since it's not part of the main continuity. Kuraigana Island is Mihawk's home in the manga/anime.

Shanks being in a relationship with his crew's doctor is an allusion to this headcanon list and then to this fic, even though they take place in a different continuity.

*****

He didn’t know whether the bed he was lying on was his or hers, if they were at the fortress or in his home on Kuraigana or somewhere else; he didn’t need to know. All he cared for was that (name) was next to him, and that they were both naked.

The light of the sun played on her smooth skin, making her appear even more radiant than she usually was; the candid blanket that covered the lower half of her body rustled as she turned on her side towards him, a hand raised in an inviting, enticing gesture.

“Mihawk…” she murmured; she had said his name so many times already over the years, but never like this; never like he wanted her to say it “Mihawk, please… take me, I need you so much…”

He didn’t answer; at least, he didn’t think he did, but a moment later (name) was above him, her legs caging his hips, her lovely face close enough the swordsman could feel her breath on his skin; she was smiling, and he knew that in that moment no other man, and no other woman, existed apart from them. “Mihawk… I’ve waited for you for so long…”

He had no conscience of his body, but he saw his hands raise to hold her hips, then her waist, then the soft and delicate flesh of her chest; he saw pleasure explode in her eyes, the profound and deep awareness of how his body could make her sing. Mihawk cherished that sight for a moment, then he lowered his gaze between her legs, and suddenly found it hard to swallow.

“I am yours.” she murmured; she had started caressing his chest, and even without seeing it Mihawk could feel her fingers exploring his skin, her touch gentle but possessive, and then she was lying on top of him, her nipples brushing against his chest “I have always been yours; Mihawk, please, take me, I need to feel you, I can’t wait anymore…”

Now she was in his arms; Mihawk felt that in a moment he would be kissing her, and he knew there wouldn’t be a happier, or more fortunate, man in the world. He saw her murmur his name again, and he closed his eyes, already tasting the sweetness of her mouth…

*

Mihawk woke up. So intense and vivid the dream had been, that for a moment he almost thought he could see (name) in the bed next to him; when the illusion finally disappeared the swordsman sighed, an unspeakable feeling of loss filling his heart… and a weird, unpleasant sensation the swordsman quickly traced back to a part of his body that loudly called for his attention.

Mihawk sighed; he hadn’t woken up with an erection since he was a teenager, but thank all the Gods judging from the position of the sun out of his window he hadn’t slept long, and he still had time before dinner. Unfortunately, the nap hadn’t done him the good he had hoped; rather, he felt even worse than half an hour before, drenched in sweat, his heart pounding. Perhaps he was sick, an illness he could have caught from someone at the fortress; the timing couldn’t have been worse, but (name) had told him there were excellent doctors on the island, including the ones who took care of her and her mother’s health. The swordsman did not doubt his friend would immediately send for them, but there was something more pressing he had to do…

He turned on his back; a relieved sigh escaped Mihawk’s lips as he took care of his trousers and undergarments, freeing his cock from their constraint, and wasted no time in taking it in his hand. The heavy column was already leaking pre-cum, a beady drop the swordsman scooped up with his thumb to smear it across the tip; he moaned softly, his back arching against the bed, his forehead and chest wet with perspiration.

What would happen if (name) chose that very moment to come in, perhaps without knocking and waiting for permission to enter like she had been taught to do? She would open the door, begin to say whatever she had come to tell him, and then the words would die on her lips -her lovely lips, soft and that would look so pretty stretched around his…- when she saw the state he was in, naked, moaning and tense, busy pumping his length as if his life depended on it.

“(name)...!”

How would she react? Would she blush? Keep looking despite herself, aware of the inappropriateness of her presence but unable to stop? Would she get excited - would she get horny? Would her gaze linger on his pelvis, on the thick, hard cock and wish she was the one taking care of it? Seems like you are having a little trouble, she would finally say advancing into the room, her gaze fixed on him, desire filling her eyes, want me to help? I know a quicker way to do this, than using my hands…

“(name)... fuck, (name)...”

That would be so good; having her kneel by his side to gently take his cock in her hands, marvelling at its length and girth, before bringing her lovely mouth to kiss it, slowly, savouring his taste, one of her hands holding it and the other rubbing between her legs, because she had gotten excited already as well, and they both knew a blowjob wouldn’t be enough to satiate them…

He felt horrible; feverish, a thirst filling his very being that no drink could ever quench; Mihawk’s free hand was rubbing up and down his chest, playing with his hard nipples, imagining it was her hand instead, that (name), his lovely and beautiful and desirable (name), was with him, on him, fucking him and letting him fuck her, because she wanted him as much as he wanted her, she loved him, and no one would ever come between them for the rest of their lifes…

“Fuck, fuck, fuck…!” Mihawk panted; he was close, close already, because of her, because he was completely and utterly lost to her beauty and grace and charm, and no woman could and would ever compare to her “Fuck, (name)... I need you, I want you so much…”

Pressure mounted inside him; his hips shuddered, and Mihawk finally reached his climax with the image of (name) sucking him off that filled the space behind his eyelids. He was quick to press a hand to his mouth, but his cry invaded the room - and maybe the space out of it as well? Had someone heard him? One of the servants, who would then happily report the news to the rest of the staff, or, Gods forbid, the lady Veressa? What a man, even a guest, did in his own bedroom was his own affair, but Mihawk wasn’t sure he could bear the shame.

What if (name) had been the one to hear? To hear him scream her name as he climaxed? Who knew, perhaps that would be declaration enough, and in a moment the woman would really come into his room, uncertain but hopeful, and ask whether he felt up to a second round…

The door remained closed; Mihawk sighed before turning to contemplate his body, and the squirts of semen spread on his belly. He fortunately hadn’t stained the sheets, but he had to clean himself immediately, and then make himself decent for dinner; it was getting late, and it would have been discourteous to keep his hosts waiting.

The problem was, even after a nap and what had to be the most intense and at the same time unsatisfying handjob of his life, he didn’t feel any better, at all - nor well rested nor… calm. Rather, he felt horrible, light-headed, his muscles aching, and the recent ejaculation had done nothing to make his desire wither. Far from it.

Gods; his heart was still pounding, and when Mihawk brought a hand to his forehead, he wasn’t surprised to feel himself burning. He must have a fever, he reflected, and he did feel weak, but at the same time he had never felt so aroused in his life, his whole body on fire with need - need for her, for her lovely feminine body, for the way they could give each other enough pleasure to make the world stop around them.   

He was hard again - no, he was still hard, even though he had come violently two minutes ago, as the rapidly drying spurts of semen on his belly could attest. Mihawk clenched his teeth; beyond the malaise, beyond the passing relief he had just felt, his thoughts were still focused on (name), on being close to her, under her, inside her. It would have been perfect; it was natural for Mihawk to assume the dominant role during a rapport, but (name) was not a prostitute or one of the women whose face he could barely remember on the next morning. She was special, she was perfect, the only woman he felt he could share his heart with and in whose company he could show the most intimate and fragile part of him; emotional and physical intimacy between them would only match the empathy and understanding they already shared. Knowing her, loving her, had opened Mihawk’s heart and mind to sensations he never thought he could experience; it was scary, in a way, but also something he knew had made his life better.

Also, he simply liked the idea of having her on top of him, kneeling on his lap after she had impaled herself on his cock, a slow, delicious torture that would bring both of them to scream. Mihawk started working himself again, his body immediately responding to the stimulus, as he imagined it, to have (name), glorious in her nudity, rocking above him, her breasts bouncing, her hips trembling with every push, every jolt of ecstasy he was gifting her.

“Oh, Gods… oh, Gods… (name), my (name), you feel so tight…!”

Simply imagining the bliss on her beautiful face, the awareness that him, and no one else, was responsible for making her feel so good and wanted nothing better than to do that again and again for the rest of their lives, was enough to make him come, and come he did, almost violently, this time not even trying to cover the lurid moan of pleasure that escaped his lips as he climaxed.

And again, it wasn’t enough.

He was still hard; still in pain; and still desperate for a relief, both sexual and -how could he put it?- salutary that he felt was just out of his reach, but close. Very close, in fact, probably sitting at the dinner table on the ground floor together with her mother and her very unpleasant cousin, wondering where the hell he was…

Night had started falling out of his window, sensibly lowering the temperature of the room. It was late. He was late, which was new to him, since Mihawk had always made sure to arrive at his various engagements - unless he wanted to be late, like he sometimes did, for his own amusement, when it was the Marines who were expecting him. He didn’t want to keep (name) waiting, but he felt too weak to stand from the bed, let alone wash, get dressed and walk to the fortress’ dining room - not to mention the fact that his erection showed no signs of sagging.

Finally, a discreet knocking came from the door. “Excuse me, sir. Lady (name) sent me to ask you if you intend to join her for dinner.”

Dammit. Just hearing that anonymous voice say her name was enough to make his loins shudder. He clenched his teeth. “I… don’t think I can manage tonight.” he answered in the end, almost curled in a ball on the bed; every single muscle of his body was hurting, the pain seeping through him “Please make my apologies to the ladies; I’m not feeling very well.”

A moment of hesitation. “Would you like me to call a doctor, sir?”

No. It wasn’t medical care he required; he felt it, despite the excruciating torment he was experiencing. What he needed, what he yearned for and what would make everything right, was her - (name). If she came, if she let him take her in his arms, confess how desperately in love with her he was and then fuck her senseless, everything would be fine, he would be fine - and she as well.

If only. Oh, if only.

“There is no need.” he answered in the end, forcing himself to speak normally and not like a man who was being devoured by his sexual impulses “I just need to rest for a while. Tell the ladies I am sorry I can’t join them, and that I will see the lady (name) tomorrow.”

“Very well, sir.”

Alone once more, Mihawk sighed; he didn’t want his friend to worry for his health, but he really was in no condition to present himself in public. Once again, he allowed himself to imagine what would have happened if (name) herself were to come to check on him; she would insist on coming in, deaf to his begging -yes, he would beg. He never had, not even as a young child when his father used a belt on him for some perceived disobedience, but he would do it for her; it was embarrassing to admit it even in the privacy of his heart, but he would be happy to, he would gladly implore for her touch, for a kiss, for the permission to push his hard cock in her warm, tight little pussy- and see the state he was in, horny and agonising in equal measure. For a moment she would remain speechless; then a small, mischievous smile would appear on her lips as she advanced into the room, already untying the knots of her dress, her eyes focused on his throbbing cock. Do you need help, my poor darling? Let me take care of you, I’ll help you relax… hmmm, you’re even bigger than I imagined…  

If only.

In the next hours, Mihawk kept feeling worse and worse. What had started as a low-grade fever and a slight muscle pain evolved into a complete calvary, every inch of his body screaming in agony; his sweat-soaked skin burned, his stomach clenched, his heart beat fast enough to make him fear it was going to explode. And in the middle of all of that, among the suffering and the ache, one thing was sure, a simple, unexplainable truth Mihawk would bet his life on…

He needed her.

He had never felt like this. Desirous didn’t begin to describe the way he felt; aroused was a gross understatement. His whole being -his body, his mind, his very soul- was being devoured from the inside, a hungry, avid beast that roared demanding satisfaction. Everything he had done, everything he thought and felt and remembered, everything he was, had disappeared, leaving behind only an excruciating, fierce impulse: the need to fuck, to make her his, to hear her scream his name and know no other man could ever compete for her attention. He couldn’t get her pregnant -but how lovely it would have been? To see her already feminine and luscious body swollen with his child, her lovely breast heavy with milk? What a dream it would be, the coronation of their love, a little heir to raise, a child he would teach swordplay and she could groom to become the next lord of the island- but he would give her so much, make her come so hard, that she would be indifferent to any other advance. They were perfect for each other, more compatible than with any other person in the world, each other’s soulmate and destined partner; they were both sexually experienced enough to be prosaic, even jaded about it, but the pleasure they could create together and gift each other would be something too intense and precious to describe it in words. Mihawk was generally satisfied with his life, even bored, nothing having troubled or interested him for years; and then (name) had come into his life and everything had changed, even though it had taken him a while to realise him. He wouldn’t say his life would have no meaning without her by his side, nor that he would never experience satisfaction or joy again; but in the event that she didn’t reciprocate his feelings, Mihawk knew he would feel a tiny part of him missing for the rest of his days.

Nevertheless, at the moment he did feel like he could die if he didn’t fuck (name), hard, long, and soon. He wasn’t the sort of man to easily give in to panic, far from it, but he felt it; he was sure of it, even though he couldn’t begin to comprehend how this was possible, and how he could know since he had never experienced anything of the sort before.

If he didn’t do it… if he didn’t have sex with (name), it would cost him his life; the agony he was experiencing would become more and more intense, sapping his mental and physical strength, until he went insane, and his heart stopped beating. 

It was absurd, completely crazy, because while poems and romance novels were full of lovers who, having lost or been rejected by the object of their affection, died of heartbreak, nostalgia and regret making them waste away faster and more efficiently than any plague or malady could, that was only an overused literary trope, it didn’t happen in real life! Or did it?

No; more probably, he had caught an illness, a particularly virulent form of fever, and his feelings for (name), and the promise he had made to himself to let her know what he felt before the end of his vacation on the island had done the rest. People didn’t die of lack of sex; that sounded like the plot of a particularly tasteless romance novel. After all he was a pirate, he did travel around and came in contact with all sorts of people; it wasn’t unlikely that he had contracted some kind of sickness. 

Right?

That night was the worst of his life. The ache afflicting his body was excruciating, but the desire devouring him without any hope for respite was worse. He masturbated two more times, climaxing every time more violently than the previous one, before his cock finally went limp in his hand; Mihawk choked a sob of relief, but that moment of peace was short-lived. His body could have reached its limits, at least momentarily, but his mind hadn’t, and his passion for (name) was still vivid, the desire to make her his and reach heaven with her lovely body writhing under his unyielding; hour after hour, he started feeling himself suffocating, as if his lungs could not process the pleasantly cool air entering through the window. 

The bed around him was a mess, spots of semen staining the soft linen sheet; disgusted, Mihawk took it off and threw it on the floor. He didn’t even want to know what the maids who would sooner or later enter to clean the room and make his bed would think, and if those voices were to reach (name)’s ear…

Night had fallen on the island, a crescent moon shining in the sky out of his window, and the fortress was immersed in silence. MIhawk forced himself to crawl out of the bed and walk aimlessly around the room, if only because anything would have been better than tossing and turning without any hope for respite; he wished he had something to keep his mind occupied, a book or a newspaper, but he wouldn’t have been able to concentrate on reading in any case, and given the state he was in, slipping quietly out of the fortress and tire himself training with Yoru was out of the question. 

He thought about (name), about how lovely and sensual she had to look in that moment, lying in her own bed, completely unaware of his predicament. What did she wear at night? A delicate silk nightgown, only reaching down her tights given the relatively warm night, leaving her shapely legs naked and hugging her curves like Mihawk would have given half of his blood to be able to do, or something else? Perhaps she slept in the nude, the soft fabric of the sheets caressing her naked skin, her plush breasts pressed against the mattress, her legs unconsciously spread apart as if to invite a lover -him- to…  

He moaned; he couldn’t help it. He knew where (name) slept; leaving his room, he could reach her door in less than five minutes, slipping unseen along the corridors. He could enter, wake her up gently, hope she would realise he posed no danger before she retrieved her derringer from under her pillow and shot him twice, and confess how much he wanted her. And then -he was sure, sure enough he could bet his life on it- she would immediately reciprocate his feelings, and invite him in her bed; the symphony of their pleasure would fill the air… 

Mihawk sighed, all too aware of the inappropriateness of his thoughts as he walked back to the bed, took a pillow and brought it to the window, hoping the cool air would make him feel better; it placed the pillow against the sill and started rocking against it, one of his hands keeping it in place and the other running over his body, stimulating it where and how he wanted her to do. He knew that coming again would mean staining the pillow, adding fodder to his shame, but he couldn’t help it; his legs felt as if they were about to give way, his heart pounding, his vision swimming. He didn’t care if someone, perhaps a guard patrolling the courtyard or a messenger returning from a late assignment, saw him; he needed her, he needed to mate with her so much it hurt, so much it could kill him, but he didn’t want it to be like this. He wanted to court (name), not to seduce her -she was no naive maiden who could become enamoured with anyone who gifted her a flower and spoke sweet nothings to her ear- but to convince her of the depth and intensity of his feelings, and of the happiness they could find within each other. No matter how amazing the sex between them could be, she was no prostitute willing to bat her eyelashes to any client who could pay for her time, nor a tavern wench who would join the patrons in their rooms for a tip; she deserved better - she deserved the world and Mihawk intended to give it to her, regardless that she was strong and resilient enough to take it for herself, if she so desired. He did want to make love to her, all night long, in any way they could think of; but what he needed, what would make him happier than any man in the world had ever been, would be to have (name) give him her heart, like Mihawk had already given her his. 

He could feel blood burn in his veins; he raised his gaze at the stars filling the dark expanse above him, and thought that none of them was more beautiful than (name), beautiful and unattainable. The night was silent, a pleasant scent arising from the garden under him, the garden that he should have led the woman he loved to for a night stroll after dinner, had he not been incapacitated by…

And then it hit him, sudden and violent like no blow from an opponent had done in decades. 

Garden. Scent. 

Of course.

Flowers. The flower!

That’s what had happened to him; not an illness he could have caught through contact with another sick person. That damn plant that (name) received as a gift from her cousin had spurted its grains in his face in what had appeared to be a defence mechanism against predators; he had felt no pain, even though the episode had been somewhat embarrassing, but he had breathed the pollen which, not unlike a toxin, had poisoned him, attacking his organism and making him fall sick.

Did Theon know the danger that apparently innocuous flower represented? (name) had seemed surprised to receive a gift from him, which could suggest the whole matter had been orchestrated by the man as a cruel prank on her. The more he thought about him, the more sinister the whole matter appeared to his eyes; if the woman was the destined victim, did the man -her own cousin, a blood relative- intend to take advantage of her, given the fact she could be unable to say no? Fortunately no harm had been done, but Mihawk would make sure that idiot would regret the day he was born.

He was hard again; knowing where those impulses came from didn’t help, because while his current inability to keep his erection under control was due to the flower’s poison, Mihawk knew his feelings were genuine, and had been for a long time. Rather, that made things even more complicated, because he couldn’t simply ask for (name)’s help, with the tacit agreement they would both forget about it once he had found his relief and carry on as if nothing had happened. He did want her, desperately; this horrible misadventure changed nothing. And he only needed to survive this night -or not? How long would the effects of the flower’s toxin last? Was he destined to feel like this forever, until his body simply couldn’t bear it and his heart stopped?- and then he would come clean about his feelings, making sure she knew how much he cared for and admired…

A sudden stab of pain darted through his abdomen, forcing the swordsman to his knees; he screamed softly as he felt his body revolting against him, begging for a release his hand couldn’t give it.

“(name)... oh, (name), I need you… please, please make me come… darling, I need you…” he moaned, his cock already clenched in his hand; his balls felt heavy, his hips humping against nothing; when he came for the umpteenth time he felt no pleasure, and he barely had the strength to reach for the discarded sheet and use it to clean himself. The pillow had fortunately survived the ordeal unscathed, but Mihawk left it on the floor as he turned to the chair he had left his coat on; he retrieved his Den Den Mushi from the right pocket and then crawled back to the bed.

Thank all the Gods, the person he needed to contact answered almost immediately. 

“Mihawk?”

 “Shanks. I’m sorry, I know it’s late.”

“Don’t worry about that. Are you alright?” the red-haired pirate asked, immediately tense even though he had to have been fast asleep until a moment before; he knew the swordsman wasn’t the sort of man who made courtesy calls, especially not in the middle of the night. Curled with the Den Den Mushi in his hand close to his mouth, Mihawk hesitated for a moment before eluding the question. 

“I need your help.” he started urgently; normally he would have bitten his own arm off rather than uttering those words, but Shanks was the only man in the world he felt relatively comfortable admitting it to “I don’t have time to explain. The last time we met, there was a book on the table in your cabin; the cover was dark green, it was about medicinal plants.”

“I think I know the one you mean. It’s one of the doctor’s books.”

The doctor -he called her that, but with the sort of voice and smile who made it immediately clear that their relationship went much above and beyond that between a captain and one of his crewmates- was Shanks’ partner, the woman who also acted as a physician on his ship. Mihawk had only met the woman a couple of times and held no particular interest for her, but for a moment he felt a burning envy towards his friend, who could kiss his partner every time he wanted and had no reason to doubt her feelings for him. 

“Why the sudden interest?”

Gods, his stomach felt on fire, the pain so intense he had to actually focus in order to continue the conversation; Mihawk clenched his teeth, ordering himself to carry on.

Mihawk had never intended to share his feelings for (name) with anyone, not even a close and trusted friend like Shanks, but he had just once made the error of mentioning her to him, and the red-haired captain had to have perceived something in his voice, because he had become curious, and insisting relentlessly to know more he had realised something very special existed between the swordsman and the mysterious lady. In the end, thanks to a glass of wine too many, Mihawk had in the end confessed he wanted more than being simply (name)’s friend - he wanted her, to himself, forever.

“There was an illustration I saw; a tall flower with bright pink petals, closed around the centre. Shanks, I-I need you to read all that the book says about the flower.”

“You are so worried about a flower? This late at night?” Shanks asked; he sounded curious, not irritated, but every second they lingered was a torture the swordsman would rather spare himself “Mihawk, what is happening? I thought you’d be with (name), at her island; is this flower something you want to gift her?”

“Not exactly. Shanks, I promise I’ll explain soon. Find that book and read it to me.”

“As you wish. Wait a moment…”

Mihawk did, his heart in his throat. Through the line, he heard the faint rustle of a sheet pushed to the side, and then a hushed conversation; either Shanks was sick as well, and forced to spend the night in the Red Force’s infirmary, or his doctor had gotten lost and ended up sleeping in her captain’s bed. Lucky bastard, Mihawk thought without resentment.

“Alright, I found it. Bright pink, as you said.”

“What does it say?”

“So, the name of the flower is Lily of Twilight… which makes no sense, lilies don’t look like this. In any case they are pretty rare, growing only on a few inhabited islands in the Calm Belt, and… oh…”

Silence fell; Mihawk forced himself to wait while Shanks read to himself, and when he spoke again, the red-haired pirate’s voice was devoid of its usual playful tone. “Mihawk, don’t tell me you, or (name), have breathed the pollen of this flower.”

“I have.”

“... shit.”

Another pause. More than feeling it, Mihawk saw the hand holding the Den Den Mushi begin to shake. “Shanks.” he carefully articulated “What does it say?”

“Well, that this flower sort of spews out its pollen to defend itself against insects, and if a person were to inhale it… it causes fever, vomit, seizures, vertigo, the pain must be excruciating and… it also says here that it has a very intense aphrodisiac effect. Like, err… extremely intense. Unrestrainable, even.”

Silence.

“Are you…?”

“What do you think?” Mihawk asked brusquely “Is there a cure?”

The sound of a page being turned followed. “Just a moment…” 

“Is your doctor listening?”

“No, I came out of the room to let her sleep.” Shanks explained quickly, now as worried as his friend “Here it is. There is no cure for the physical distress, but if the hunger is sated, the other symptoms should disappear quickly. You… well, I think you only have one thing to do.”

Mihawk agreed; there was no other solution, but at the same time, the swordsman felt ready to bear the agony that was devastating his body for the rest of time, rather than asking for the help of the only person who could give it to him.

“At least you are in the right place; I mean, with her there with you. Imagine if you were alone on Kuraigana, or in the middle of the ocean…”

“I’m not going to do it.”

“What?!”

Mihawk tried to answer, but suddenly he found himself unable to see; for a few terrifying seconds, his eyes had simply stopped working. He had time to fear this was his end, that his body had started wasting away and he would spend the rest of his life blind, and then suddenly he could see again, although the world seemed to sway in front of him.

He had little time left; he felt it. He didn’t know how much, but little enough he couldn’t afford to think about feelings and tact. Nonetheless…

“I won’t tell (name) what is happening to me.” he stated as calmly as he could - that is, much less than he would have wanted “Nor will I… ask for her help to solve this little problem.”

The little problem had just raised its head between his legs, proudly hard once more; Mihawk sighed.

“Mihawk… I don’t think you realise the danger you’re in.”

“I know what I’m doing, Shanks.”

Shanks grunted. “Forgive me, but I don’t think you do. The book says that if not stopped in time, the pain could kill you, and there have also been victims who, unable to satisfy their appetites -who the hell wrote this stuff?- ended up losing their mind. Is this what you want? To go insane because you didn’t tell (name) you’re in love with her? After all this is also why you accepted her invitation, did you not? You already planned on doing that.”

He did, which made his friend’s words even more reasonable; Mihawk didn’t answer, too focused on the agony he was going through, and for once unable to.

“Of course, it doesn’t necessarily have to be (name) who helps you… scratch your itch; this is not a true-love-kiss situation. I don’t know if there is a brothel on the island, but…”

“I am not asking (name) to procure me a prostitute!” Mihawk exclaimed. He actually screamed, the words echoing in the room, and the swordsman bit his tongue; this was just what he needed, to make the whole fortress aware of his plight “I would never be able to look at her in the face again, let alone tell her how much I want her.”

It was true, and at the same time not the whole truth, since there was another reason, one Mihawk didn’t dare confess, not even to a loyal friend. Shanks was right, love and even just acquaintance were not necessary to find the relief he craved so much; strictly speaking all he needed was a hole to fill, and (name) was probably pragmatic enough to understand he didn’t mean to disrespect her home bringing a prostitute in it, if he explained the situation to her. 

Still.

It has to be her. Even if it is only meaningless sex, even if it costs me my life. I want no one else; I will have no one else. Only her, because she is the only one I could ever love.

He didn’t say it, but Shanks seemed to perceive his reasoning all the same, because Mihawk heard him sigh; he imagined his friend was sitting on the floor in the corridor out of his cabin, the book in his lap, since it wouldn’t have been easy for a one-armed man to hold both that and the Den Den Mushi. 

“Listen, I’m not saying I would act differently if I were in your shoes.” the red-haired pirate murmured in the end “I’m just saying that (name) wouldn’t want you to die, or worse, for a matter of honour; and I don’t want it either, if you’re interested. If this woman actually cares for you, and if you explain exactly what happened to her, I’m sure she’ll understand.”

Mihawk promised he would remember. “Thank you, Shanks. I’m sorry I brought you into it.”

“Don’t mention it. Call if there is something I can do to help.”

They said good-bye. Mihawk deposed the Den Den Mushi on the bedside table and let himself fall back on the bed, exhausted like no training session had left him in years.

Now he knew what actually awaited him, and he had to admit the consequences of letting his urges get the better of him were even worse than he had imagined; to die before his time was something the swordsman had always known was a possibility, even at least a decade after the last time an opponent had seriously troubled him, but losing his mind was almost too horrible a destiny to consider. A quick, clean death was far preferable, even if he had to give it himself.

A sudden wave of nausea overtook him; a hand pressed to his mouth, Mihawk was able to crawl out of the bed once more and reach the porcelain basin in a corner of the room, full of the still clean water he had used that morning to wash his face. The stomach cramps as he retched were almost unbearable; the swordsman fell to the ground, feeling every ounce of his body beg for mercy.

For the first time, as he waited for his legs to feel steady enough to carry him, Mihawk seriously considered telling (name) the exact nature of his plight, and the only way he had to live to tell the tale; at the very least, he had to warn her of what her cousin might had wanted to do to her.

What would his friend think? Mihawk was confident that, faced with the prospect of having him die under her roof if no one alleviated his suffering, (name) would do everything within her power to help… even though she might not want to do it herself, given the fact there was a house of pleasure on the island and she could easily find him a bedmade.

What if she felt she was taking advantage of him, given the fact Mihawk wasn’t in the condition of saying no, even though and specifically because his life was on the line? What if he couldn’t convince her of how desperately in love with her he already was, and had been for months, and that he wouldn’t want any other woman?

What if she simply wasn’t interested in him, and would therefore rather find him another partner, or worse, what if she would only do it out of an obligation, because she didn’t want him to die, without any emotional involvement? Mihawk wasn’t sure he could bear it. 

What could he do? For the first time since he had been old enough to decide for himself and had taken charge of his own life, Mihawk saw no clear, definite answer.And more importantly, what should he do?

[bejeweledblondie]

Peggy, The Pin Up

-

A/N: I apologize for being MIA I’ve had a lot of very great but time consuming things take over my life! I’ve started a 1940s vintage clothing blog & I’m shocked at how successful it has become. On top of that I’ve got promotions at work & it’s opened so many doors for me. I’m hoping to write a bit more!

Warnings: classic 1940’s sexism, mentions of nudity, female pronouns

Summary: Y/N never expected for her pin up prints to be put out… it causes some disruption on Abbott-Thorpe & one dark curly haired aviator comes to her rescue

It all happened on a Thursday morning at breakfast. Y/N sat there in her crisp white uniform shoveling the chalky yellow substance the army called eggs in her mouth. A dark shadow appeared above her plate & a magazine was plopped down in front of her.

“Don’t even try to deny it, this is you isn’t it?” He asked with a hint of amusement in his voice. Speechless she looked away & noticed that the Army’s shipment of Esquire hit the shelves. “God who knew? We knew you were a tease, but this is just another level.” He started. “Do you know what everyone says about you?” She shook her head shamefully, lying to herself. She had heard rumblings in the sick bay from time to time. Sometimes while fixing a patients IV bag or a even helping move a patient a hemline might rise causing a stir.

Before the pilot could continue his chauvinistic teasing session she immediately grabbed her belongings & swiftly exited. Little did she know a dark curly haired pilot was watching the torment happen. Due to rank he couldn’t intervene but oh he so badly wanted to bury the man six feet under. He had grown fond of the nurse, she was always so kind with his men. Incredibly soft spoken & nurturing when it came to the care she provided. He had walked in on her reading a copy of John Steinbeck’s, “Of Mice & Men” to the wounded pilots one evening. She didn’t have to do that, she could’ve been out dancing at the Officer’s Club. But she voluntarily chose to stay after her shift to read to them. He could tell the men greatly appreciated it too, it gave them a small window of comfort during an incredibly traumatic moment in their lives.

Douglass, also watching the debacle rolled his eyes & sipped his coffee.

“These men act like they’ve never seen tits before it’s insane.” He scoffed. Rosie almost choked on the toast he was eating.

“I mean some are freshly turned eighteen.” Blakely reminded him.

“Still, this is going to cause a huge fucking problem.” He swore. “Rosenthal, you okay?” Rosie had been staring off into the space during the duration of the conversation.

“Go to her,” Douglass sighed. “She may be oblivious but I’m not. You’ll also want to scoop her before someone like Egan does.” With that Rosie excused himself & started to head towards the medical ward. The sterile white environment contrasted heavily from the drab olive green darkness of the mess hall. Injured pilots laid in beds reading the paper, being fed their morning breakfast, or having their vitals taken. Valerie, a nurse he knew was friendly with Y/N was checking the vitals on a young sergeant.

“Val!” He said getting her attention & started over to her. “Have you seen Y/N?” He asked.

“Yeah, she seemed a bit off,” She started. “She begged Major to allow her to just work in supply today. You might wanna try there.”

“Thank you.” Rosie replied & made his way to the supply room. There she stood sniffling & rolling gauze. Her eyes were clouded with a melancholy look as she completed the mundane task. He knocked on the door frame causing her to look up slightly startled.

“Oh Major Rosenthal it’s you,” She said with a slight tremble in her voice. “What can I do for you?” He cringed at her using his rank, usually it would make his blood pressure rise & heart race. But this circumstance was entirely different.

“I saw what happened in the chow hall,” He started. She’s started to wipe away tears. “I just wanted to see how you were doing.” He said wringing anxiously. She sighed deeply & looked away.

“I’ll be alright,” She stated. “I’m just going to lay low for a few weeks.” It broke his heart to see her this way. She was always a little jumpy & anxious to begin with. This situation just poured gasoline on a oil fire.

“No,” Rosie stated. “You shouldn’t let some asshole make you feel uncomfortable.” She stared him with big wide eyes. “If it makes you feel any better I’ll escort you places.” Her eyes softened as she listened to him. A small crimson warmth crept onto her cheeks at the mere mention of him escorting her.

After a few weeks, the heat died out about the pin up nurse. Rosie & Y/N had become closer over the weeks. His protection meant no one would even try to touch a hair on her head. From lingering touches, longing gazes, & of course Rosie sitting on her nightly readings to the wounded pilots. He (like every man on post who took a liking to her) did keep a copy of the pin up photo.

On missions he’d keep the folded piece of paper tucked into the pocket of his sheepskin. A reminder of what he was protecting & fighting for. His calloused thumb would graze over her innocent smile as he admired the image. Even in his bunk, he’d spend some alone time with it after everyone had fallen asleep. During one night after the pin up photo was brought up by a rookie pilot, & in turn making Y/N uncomfortable. Rosie knew he had to make her see what he saw in the photo. After some discussions with Ken Lemmons, he decided to really make sure he was reminded everyday was he was fighting for.

With hands covering her eyes he directed her to the airstrip.

“Rosie I can’t see!” Y/N giggled, tripping over her own feet. He chuckled at her natural clumsiness. “Where are we going?”

“You’ll see, you’re so impatient.” He said. He lead her right up the nose to his beloved bomber. “Okay now you can see.” With the removal of his hands & a adjustment to the sunlight she was staring at herself painted on the side of his bomber. The same pin up that graced Esquire months ago that brought them together. She gasped in pure shock at the artwork.

“Oh, Rosie.” She gasped unable to speak. “Did you paint this?”

“With a little help from Lemmons.” He replied. “I want you to see what I see. A beautiful woman. Do you like it?”

“I-wow,” She smiled. “I love it.” She turned around to face him. He was staring down her, admiring the way the sun light reflected off her hair. He brushed stray strands of hair behind her ear. His hand lightly danced across her cheek bone as he stared adoringly into her eyes. He leaned down & placed a tender kiss onto her lips. She reciprocated & kissed back. Her arms wrapped around his neck & his slowly gravitated to her waist pulling her in closer. After pulling a part they rested foreheads against one another.

“God you have no idea how long I’ve always wanted to do that,” He admitted.

[lis-likes-fics]

i'm sorry I don't know why but seeing you thirst in tags is genuinely so hilarious to me

look 😭 i watched black panther again today and m'baku popped up and, out of nowhere, i just went "ooohhh, he's hot." like, he was attractive before, but now i'm clutching bottles of water for dear life like... i need some fics plEASE 😭

[culling]

for all his infamous reputation and generally unpleasantness i don't think alastor is, naturally, a betrayer. we see how he handles his two canonical friends in the show ( rosie & mimzy ), who both have nothing but positive things to say, and not just miscellaneous good things, but stuff like “you love taking care of me” and “he's never steered me wrong before” ... mimzy literally puts alastor's life in danger with her problems and he never holds it against her, actively indulging this selfish behavior and seeing it as a point of pride. he allows the two a lot of leeway, a lot of touching, and isn't uncomfortable nor irritated about it. which isn't even mentioning how he clearly feels at home in cannibal town ; a place that's characterized by a rare sense of unity you hardly see in hell. where everyone helps each other and once charlie wins them over, they have no qualms giving her their loyalty and delivering on it. cannibals are the most loyal sort of demons we've seen so far! and alastor loves them, and loves it there with them. so i think he's much more loyal than he wants to be, but it's still inherently within him ( & is something he respects and likes ) regardless.

this doesn't mean he won't betray the hotel! because i think he will, and it'll be every bit as awful as it feels like it's going to be, except the point of it is less 'this is how alastor naturally is' and more so 'here is a man pushed to extremes from outside forces and inner turmoil he refuses to sort through, to the point he's doing things that he believes are something he'd do, when in fact the people who know him best will probably not understand him or his current actions' ... do you feel me!

[arthur-r]

(stupid vent in the tags i’m maybe struggling a lot. not feeling particularly real or handling my life and relationships maturely at all)

[theskywaslookingback]

My dad: *texts my mom the day after Father’s Day to see if I was mad at him because I didn’t call him*

Also my dad: *sends me a text on Easter and then radio silence for months* *does not call to ask if I have plans for my birthday* *does not text to check in on me* *does not invite me over to his house for anything ever* *allows my stepmom to use his money to prioritize her kids over me* *literally doesn’t ever act like he wants anything to do with me actually* *cancels or changes plans at the last minute because he decides he wants to drink instead* *offers to help my mom pay my car payments and then never does* *gets us gym memberships and then cancels them without warning because he didn’t have the money and just doesn’t tell me* *cannot hold a thirty second conversation without mentioning ‘the Chinese threat’ or ‘Covid was invented by democrats to replace Trump in office’*

My dad: Why doesn’t my child call me? I am the specialist most important person in the whole wide world. What could she have to be mad about?

[crimsongrimoire]

hi ive been sick so of course that means ive been thinking about kaeya being sick and sooo pathetic about it again

[vincentmatthews]

Pov: Vik gets bored waiting for you to wake up from surgery

[thatone-churro]

y’know just as soon as i start getting comfortable with the idea of being open/relying on my dad and him being more comfortable with my choices than i feared, i can essentially throw all that out the window with how vehemently he yelled at me at the thought of my getting my septum pierced (even though i never said i was yet. i said my side before i decide anything else). also making underhanded remarks of me never getting tattoos other than the one for my mom. like okay don’t ask me why i don’t tell you about anything or talk to you or anything. what the fuck.