#heavy fucking metal is the law

[adriheavymetal]

And for the First time ever : a Photo of me here 😂📷⚡🤘💀 The owner of all the shit and crazy about metal ,horror ,games and movies 💯✌️

#me #tumblr #selfie #for the first time ever #metalhead #metalgirl #guitarist #gamer #horror lover #80s metal #80s horror #wrestling lover #heavy fucking metal is the law #tumblr selfie

[milf-murdock]

Safety First

(AKA: The one where Simon views “the law” as a relative term when it comes to your safety)

Simon “Ghost” Riley x Civilian!Reader 

Summary: After a scare involving a break-in at your flat, Simon decides to take extreme measures to ensure your safety—including getting you an illegal firearm and teaching you how to use it. What he doesn’t expect is just how turned on he is by watching you shoot it. Warnings: potential break-in scenario described, protective Simon to the rescue, use of a firearm, descriptive use of firearm, smut (I promise there is a plot here though it just….devolved into smut because I have no self control), P in V, oral (F receiving), unprotected sex, sliiiiiiight breeding kink, praise kink (really exposed myself with the number of “good girls” here👀), no mask Simon because civilian life, mate 😌  A/N: I had a lot of fun with this. It just seems so very “Simon” to me. He would have exactly 1 (one) incident where he gets scared shitless that something has happened to you, and he would pull every last goddamn string necessary to get your trained up on a handgun to make sure you can defend yourself always, even when he’s not there. Personal firearms are very much illegal in the UK but you can’t tell me the 141 boys aren’t packing at home. Simon Riley?? Leaving weapons behind?? Be so fucking for real.

Your grip on the shopping falters, nearly dropping the heavy container of milk. Your body freezes as you take in the sight before you, immediately on high alert. The front door stands ajar.

Someone’s broke in, your anxieties speak for themself. Images flash in your mind at a rapid pace, escalating in concern: men ransacking through your things, hiding out, waiting for you, strong foreign hands on your body—your shaking hands have your boyfriend’s number dialed before your imagination dares to unfold any further. You drop the shop bags on the floor, backing away from the door and down the hall of your complex.

“Hey—“ the deep  familiar baritone is immediately cut off by your sobs. 

“Si-Simon?” You choke out his name between your gasping breaths. You try to steel yourself, but the tears have already started.

“What’s wrong? What’s happened?” Simon’s voice instantly hardens, shifting to one of action. 

The tears are relentless now, and you try to force them at bay to respond. 

“Answer me, love, are you hurt?” Simon’s voice raises ever so slightly in pitch. 

“N-not hurt,” you gasp out. “It’s my flat. The door’s open. I know I locked it—at least I think I locked it, I went to the shop, I needed more milk, remember? I was only out for a bit—“

“Breathe, babe. Breathe.” You can hear the jingle of keys in the background of the call. “Listen to me very carefully, love. You turn around right now and get back in your car. Lock the doors. Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be right there.” 

You sniff, thankful the tears seem to have finally subsided. You’re already put slightly more at ease knowing Simon is on his way. “Okay,” your voice waivers. “I can do that.” 

“‘Course you can. Now stay on the line with me until you get to your car.” You hear his car door slam in the background. 

__________________

Simon turns the 20 minute drive to 7. 

His sharp tap on your window startles you, sending your heart racing once again. 

“Stay ‘ere, love. Be right back.” Simon’s voice is muffled through the window, but you nod in response. 

Simon makes his way up the stairs to your flat, pulling his concealed weapon to his side and subtly shifting the safety off. The heavy weight of the cold metal is familiar as he cocks the weapon, preparing for a sweep. The motion is as natural as breathing for him. He gently toes open the door, immediately pulling his weapon at attention as he scans the room for threats. “Clear” Simon thinks to himself. Some habits are too deeply engrained. 

He makes his way through your flat, thoroughly checking for anything amiss. Once he’s satisfied that everything looks clear, he disarms the weapon, clearing the loaded round from the chamber and clicking the safety back on. The gun gets tucked back safely against his body, concealed from sight as he makes his way back out to your car. 

Simon gives you a brief nod, signaling all was clear. At that sign, you fling the car door open and throw yourself out of the car, instinctually trusting those strong arms to catch you. 

The moment your face is buried in the broad expanse of his chest, his familiar scent hitting you like a freight train, the tears well up once more. 

“S-sorry, I was just so freaked out,” you stutter, unsure if Simon could even understand you with your face pressed against him, but unwilling to untangle yourself even a bit. 

“Shh, it’s alright swee’art,” Simon murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of your head as his hand rubs soothing circles on your back. “I scoped out the whole place. It’s clean.” 

He could feel the relief in your body as you took in his words. 

“You sure you locked the place up, babe?” Simon treads lightly, not wanting to upset you further. “It didn’t look like anybody had been in. Could’ve just been a draft knocking the door open if it wasn’t shut and lcked properly.” 

You pulled your head back from Simon’s chest, fumbling with the edge of your jumper to gently wipe the tears and snot from your face, sniffling. 

“I’m sure I locked it.” You pause for a moment. Well, at least you think you’re sure. You think back to when you left your flat, hands juggling your keys, your purse, distracted by your neighbor and his adorably fluffy Pomeranian who were leaving at the same time. Mr. Darcy immediately demanded your attention, of course, and who were you to deny him all the fluff-filled pets his heart desired? Embarrassment curdles in your stomach, a heat creeping up into your cheeks. 

“Well, maybe not absolutely sure…” you correct yourself. “I think I did, but Mr. Darcy was out, and I got distracted, and I just needed some milk for my tea, and I—“ 

Simon took you back in his arms, cutting off your monologue. “Ahh, Mr. Darcy, you said?” He knows your fondness for the small Pomeranian well, especially after the last time you dog sat for them and insisted Simon make friends with the blasted pup. “That would explain it.” 

“I’m sorry if I overreacted,” you sigh, shame replacing the fear. “I shouldn’t have called you.” 

“Oi-“ Simon is quick to cut you off. His strong hand grips your chin, forcing you to look up at him. “You did the exact right thing. Any time something feels off, got a bad feeling from some bloke at the pub, walking out by yourself in the dark, I don’t care what it is or when it is—you call me. Understood?” 

“Understood.” You sniffle once more. 

“Let’s get back inside and get you that cuppa,” Simon soothes, one hand pressed to the small of your back as he guides you back inside your flat. He stops to grab the forgotten shop bags off the floor with one hand. 

__________________

You two are getting ready for bed, having convinced Simon to spend the night��not that it took much convincing. Simon watches as you parade around the bedroom in one of his oversized t-shirts, toothbrush in your mouth as you walked around getting ready for bed. It’s in these little moments he realizes how truly in deep he is. He’d give his left fucking arm to have this view daily. 

“Thanks for coming to my rescue today,” you quip, exiting the bathroom and sliding into bed next to him. “And for agreeing to stay the night.”

“‘Course, love.” Simon opens his arm and lets you get into your designated spot, head on his chest, leg tangled over his, hand resting on his stomach. “Woulda probably stayed the night anyways.” 

“Yeah, but still…” you let out a sigh as you settle in, curving your body against his. The warmth of his body heat warms your chilled frame. 

“I was so scared.” Your voice is a whisper in the dark. “I just kept imagining the worst possible scenario. What if I was home? Alone? And someone did break in? What if you weren’t here? What if you were overseas?” Your breath hitches and your heart rate picks up again. Simon resumes rubbing soothing circles across your back. 

“I just felt so helpless. So defenseless.” 

“You’re okay.” His voice was low, steady. “Everything worked out okay. You’re safe. I’m here. You’re safe.” 

Between the repetitive soothing motion of Simon’s strong hand against your back and the steady rhythm of Simon’s heartbeat, sleep soon found you despite your fears. 

As your breaths evened out, Simon’s own mind starts swirling with dark thoughts. The what if’s find purchase in his brain and he subconsciously pulls your sleeping form even closer to him.  

You were right, of course. He couldn’t always be here. He had to find some way to make sure you could take care of yourself, to make sure you could defend yourself. He had to know you were always taken care of, no matter where he was. 

Of course he had already walked you through the basics of self defense. You had a decent right hook, and he more than appreciated the opportunity to teach you a few other moves that had the two of you sprawled on the floor of your sitting room, sofa pushed up against the wall to create enough space. If his memory served him correctly, that particular little sparring session had resulted in an entirely different from of…wrestling.

But none of it was enough to put his mind at ease. Simon knows that if someone truly meant to do you harm, someone from his line of work…all the moves in the world wouldn’t help you. He wouldn’t want you getting close enough for that kind of combat anyways.There was only one thing that could make him feel even a modicum of peace. 

Simon was going to teach you to shoot. 

______________

That weekend, Simon woke you up bright and early, claiming to have a surprise date for you. 

“Oooh, what is it?” You’re nearly bouncing with excitement in the kitchen chair as Simon hands you your breakfast. 

“If I told you, wouldn’t be much of a surprise, now would it?” 

“Fair point,” you mumble around a mouth full of toast. 

“Let’s just say it’ll make us both feel better.” Simon takes a sip from his mug. 

__________________

You gazed out the window, the rising sun casting the military base in a warm glow. Simon had never brought you here before, had always hidden this part of his life away from you. You try to drink in as much detail as you can, driven by curiosity at this mysterious part of his life. 

Simon pulls the car as close to the shooting range as he could. Despite the base being mostly deserted this weekend, he was still taking every precaution necessary to ensure he was limiting your exposure to this area of his life as much as he could. 

With the car parked, Simon makes his way to your side of the car, his large, protective form shielding you from any prying eyes. He feels particularly exposed without his mask, but it’s a short walk to the range and he trusts that Price has held up his end of the bargain to keep this particular area abandoned this morning. His hand finds its way to the small of your back and guides you inside the range. 

The smell of gunpowder immediately filled your nostrils. There was always a lingering scent on Simon when he came home, but nothing quite as affronting as this. 

As promised, the range was completely cleared out, and Simon made a mental note to personally thank Price for his help. 

“What’re we doing here, Si?” Your voice piqued with curiosity. 

“Well, we’re teaching you how to shoot, o’ course.” 

“But why? It’s not like I’d ever have access to anything like that. S’not legal.” 

“About that.” Simon made his way to an area of the range that housed the standard weapons that were available for practice. He trusted that Price followed through on one other crucial part of this deal. 

Sure enough, a small compact handgun was nestled amongst the other array of firearms. 

Simon grabbed it, testing its weight in his hand before making his way back to you. 

“Listen to me very carefully, love,” his tone shifted, dripping with sincerity, and a touch of his natural commanding energy. 

You immediately sober up, looking at him with your full attention as if to show how good a listener you were. 

“This is for emergencies only. It stays hidden always. No one knows you have this. No one knows this even exists. It’s very important you understand that.” 

“But how did you—? Should I even—?”

“Mm-no questions. Just—“ Simon lets out an exasperated sigh. 

“Just trust me. I need to make sure you’re safe. ‘Specially after that little scare earlier this week.” 

You nod your head solemnly. “I understand, Si.” 

“Good. Then let’s get after it.” 

He guides you over to a stall and places your gun on the countertop as you assess your surroundings. There’s five lanes in this section of the range, each separated by stalls with an open range ahead. You can make out five faux targets at the end of the lane, but they seem impossibly far. Surely no-one can actually make that shot, you think to yourself. You’re pulled from your thoughts as Ghost steps up to you and places a pair of bulky earmuffs over your head. “These’ll help protect your ears while we practice,” he says as he adjusts them to fit snugly against your ears. 

“Don’t you need some?” Your voice is raised to compensate for your dulled auditory senses. 

Simon chuckles in response. “I’ll be alright. M’used to it.” 

“Now go pick it up,” he gestures towards the gun. “Safety’s on so don’t worry. It won’t bite.” 

Reality sinks in as you step forward and reach for the weapon. It’s lighter than you expected, but there’s a heftiness there that doesn’t have anything to do with the weight of the object itself. You test the feel of it in your hand, mimicking what you’ve seen in movies. 

“Good,” Ghost murmurs, stepping up behind you. He’s close enough now that you can feel him pressing up against your back. Two strong arms encase your frame as he leans forward and places his hands over yours. His large hands manage to make the weapon, and your hands, look even smaller. “Hold it like this.” He adjusts your grip just slightly. “Atta girl.” 

His thumb guides your own along the edge of the handle until you reach a firm button on the side. “Here’s the safety. You can tell it’s on when this red button is sticking out. See that, yeah?” 

You nod your head but it’s taking every ounce of energy you have to focus on his words and not the feeling of Simon’s hard body pressed against your back, his hot breath sending a chill down your neck, and the look of his large hands dwarfing your own—

“Oi. Pay attention. This is important.” 

You mentally scold yourself and refocus, adjusting your grip. “Okay, so the safety’s on?”

“Yes. Press it in to turn it off.”  You do as he says, the click instantly elevating your senses. Did the gun get heavier? 

“Now, pull back the top like this to,” he motions pulling back the barrel. “That’ll load the bullet into the chamber. It should already have a round in there, but we’ll get you some more ammo before we leave. Go ahead, cock it.” 

You can’t help the snort that escapes you. “Cock it, eh?” You turn your head to waggle your eyebrows at him. 

“Behave,” Simon warns, turning your chin to face forward. 

It takes more power than you expected to pull the barrel back, but the reaffirming click lets you know that something did indeed happen inside. 

“Alright, she’s loaded now.” 

“Okay…” you hesitate, waiting for further instructions. “Now what?”

“Now you point and shoot.” 

“At what?”

“See that fella at the end there? Aim for his head.” Simon gestures to the paper dummy hanging at the end of the alley. 

“All the way down there? There’s no way anybody could hit that!” You protest. 

Simon sighs, resigned, and flicks a small toggle on the countertop, triggering the electric pulley system that pulls the paper dummy closer to you, stopping it about halfway down the track. 

“Better?” 

“Only one way to find out,” you mutter, adjusting your position and taking aim. 

With a centering inhale, you close one eye, aim as best you can, and pull the trigger. 

The shot rings out louder than you thought possible, even with the ear protection. The force of the shot thrusts you backwards into Simon’s sturdy frame. Gun powder fills your nostrils even stronger than before. Your heart races as you look ahead to see…

You’ve miss the target completely. 

 “S’alright, love, wasn’t too terrible for your first shot,” Simon consoles. 

“Here, move your foot,” he gently taps the inside of your foot with his toes, and you spread into a wider stance. “Good, now straighten up those shoulders. Don’t worry about cocking it yet, let’s get the position right.” 

You do as he says, pulling the gun up once more to eye level. 

“Give your elbows a bit more bend. You want to hold it tight, but be loose enough for the recoil so it won’t knock you on your arse.”

“How’s that?” You ask, loosening your shoulders and relaxing your arms just slightly. 

“Looks good to me. Go ahead and cock ‘er.” 

You pull the barrel once more and ready yourself to take another shot. 

“Deep breathe,” Simon reminds you. “Now I want you to keep both eyes open, and look at where you’re directing your shot. You want to aim just slightly above your target. Gravity will pull the bullet down a bit from this distance.” 

You try your best to keep all these factors in your mind as you take your aim. 

A deep inhale and you brace yourself as you pull the trigger. 

This time you have a better idea of what to expect, and you move your upper body with the recoil, feeling more stable.  

“Did I do it? Did I hit it?” The excitement radiates in your voice as you eagerly lean over the table to get a better look. 

Simon can’t help but laugh at your enthusiasm, so at odds with what he usually sees in this environment. “Let’s take a look,” he says as he presses the toggle and the motorized target moves closer. As it gets within range you see a clear, definitive hole in his upper right chest. “I got him!” You exclaim, jumping up and down. 

“Easy there, love,” Simon scolds halfheartedly as he leans over you and clicks the safety into place. 

You set the gun on the counter and turn to throw your hands around Simon’s neck, laughing. “I did it, Si!” 

You laughter is contagious and Simon’s own chuckle is music to your ears as his strong arms lift you up on your tiptoes. “Yeah, you sure did, babe.” 

And then his lips are on yours, his kiss hot and passionate, setting your body ablaze. He deepens the kiss for a final moment before setting you back on your feet and pulling away, leaving you breathless. 

“Damn,” the curse falls from your lips as you try to catch your breath, feeling just a tad lightheaded. 

“Right,” Simon clears his throat, trying to get the run of himself once more. He not-so-subtly adjusts his trousers bringing a satisfying smirk to your lips before turning you back around. 

“Let’s get some more practice in.” His voice is resolute, but the bulging erection currently pressing into your backside says differently as he sends the target back to the middle of the range. 

You pick up the gun once more, already feeling more comfortable with it, and adjust your stance to set up for another shot. Simon reaches up and corrects your aim just slightly, and you take the opportunity to lean back into him, ass rubbing against his hardened cock.

“I said behave,” Simon groans aloud, but you can feel his hips thrust ever so slightly in response. 

You fire off another shot, reloading and firing two more times. The thrill of each shot sends a jolt of electricity through you. You feel in control. Not helpless. Not defenseless. No, you feel…powerful. 

Simon swears his cock couldn’t get any harder. He had brought you here with the express purpose of teaching you to defend yourself when he wasn’t there. How could he possibly have anticipated just how fucking turned on he’d get watching you fire that weapon. 

Your confidence grows with each shot, your stance already self-assured. You look like a badass. And right now, it is taking every last goddamn bit of strength and willpower for Simon to stop himself from taking you right then and there. 

Finally, the gun gives a satisfying click, signifying the end of your rounds.  

“Phew,” you exhale with a chuckle. “That was an absolute thrill.” Clicking the safety back in place, you set the gun down and turn to face Simon. 

The wide smile on your face, bright as the morning sun, it takes his breath away. He can’t hold back a second longer. His lips crash against yours, large hands settling on your hips, pushing you back against the countertop. He doesn’t dare break the kiss as his meaty hands slide down to your ass, squeezing the supple flesh before lifting you up with a grunt to set you on the countertop. 

“Si!” Your exclamations drown in another breath-stealing kiss as Simon slots himself between your legs. 

Simon bites back a groan as he grinds his erection against your core, sending a jolt of pleasure through you. 

Deft fingers undo the button on your jeans and you lift your hips up, allowing him to pull down your trousers and knickers in one swoop. 

You let out a hiss as the cool countertop meets your bare ass, but the sensation is lost among more exciting sensations as Simon gets on his knees before you. Thank god for his height—even with you seated on the countertop he’s at the perfect height. 

“Bloody perfection,” Simon eyes your bare cunt, eyes full of wanton need. 

His comment brings heat to your cheek, intensified by his playful nips and kisses placed along your inner thighs. 

He kisses higher and higher, exciting you with every soft kiss, before skipping right over where you truly need him, moving to the other thigh. 

You let out an exasperated groan. “Quit teasing, Si.” 

His brown eyes shoot to yours, giving you a look—how dare you order him around. He has half a mind to punish you right here and now, but the scent of your dripping cunt hits his nose and his mouth waters on instinct. He places one more kiss to your thigh before acquiescing and a moving to your core. 

Words escape you as he laps at your heat, eating like a man starved. Fingers tangle in his dark blonde locks, hips rising off the cool countertop to meet him. 

Simon’s strong hands slide up your legs, gripping your hips and forcing you back down on the counter, tongue driving deeper between your folds, relishing in your gasps of pleasure. 

His tongue slides up your sweet folds, savoring every drop, until he reaches your puffy clit. This is when Simon slows it down, takes his time. His tongue swirls around your clit, sending shivers up your spine. He continues teasing you like this, your legs shaking until you’re not sure how much more you can take. 

His eyes are wide open, locked on your squirming form. While shooting that firearm gave you a sense of power, this is what gives Simon his sense of power—watching you come undone by him, his tongue, his actions alone sending you into this frenzied state. His right hand slides from your hip to your inner thigh before sliding inside you. He curls his fingers expertly, hitting that spongey spot inside you, making you see stars. He takes your clit into his moth, suckling at the swollen nub, fingers fucking you hard, preparing you for his cock. He releases your clit with an audible pop, his voice breathy and low. 

“You’re gonna come for me right now. Just like this. On my fingers. Understood?” 

You’re past caring. You’re past words. But somehow you manage out a breathy “Yes, yes, Si, just let me— I’m gonna—“ his tongue is back on your clit and his fingers hitting that spot just so and you’re toppling over the edge, body going rigid. Simon’s tongue is incessant, lapping up every drop of juice that spills from your sweet cunt, prolonging your orgasm with every nip and suckle until you’re bucking up against him. 

“Too sensitive, Si,” you mumble, lost in the haze of your orgasm. 

“That’s just how I like you swee’heart.” Simon stands up and undoes his belt, freeing his cock from its restraints. You crack your eyes open to see him wrap a fist around his cock, giving his member a few rough tugs, rolling back the skin to expose the deep red shade at the tip of his cock, already leaking precum. You bite your bottom lip as you let out a moan. 

“Now you gonna take my cock like a good girl?” Simon smirks down on you, making eye contact as his fist slides languidly up and down his cock. 

You nod fervently. 

“Good girl, just what I like to hear.” With that, he notches his cock at your opening, looking to you for one final nod of approval before he starts inching inside. 

You gasp at the intrusion, but Simon’s groans are nearly pained. 

“Fucking hell, babe, you’re so fucking tight.” 

You can only whimper in response, still lost in the post-orgasm bliss. 

“Shit,” Simon mutters under his breath. “Gotta relax, love,” he presses one hand against your abdomen. “Relax for me. You can take it. I know you can.” 

Simon’s mumbles even more praises, each good girl blurring into one another, lulling you, relaxing you. With a final grunt, Simon thrusts in to the hilt, filling you completely. 

“That’s my fucking girl,” Simon growls, pulling out to the tip and thrusting back into you. “Ya always take me so well, so fucking well.” 

His thrusts are deep, steady, his thick arms holding your body in place while his hips drive home. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoes around the room, punctuated by your moans, and Simon swears he’s never been so thankful for Price’s little favors in his entire goddamn life. 

“Si…” you cry out, already feeling that familiar tightening in your stomach. Simon is already two steps ahead of you—he recognizes that tell-tale tightening of your cunt, that change in pitch as your breathy moans increase. Simon slides one hand from your hip down to your swollen clit, rubbing tight circles. 

“C’mon sweet girl, my good, sweet girl,” Simon’s hips move faster, cock thrusting into you with reckless abandon as he teeters on the edge. “Gonna come all over this fat fucking cock, yeah? Gonna let me fill you with every last drop of me, huh?” Simon’s words bordered on nonsense at this point, lost in the haze of pleasure. 

“Need it, Si,” you gasp. “Need to—gonna—can I—“

“Yes,” Simon growls low. It sends you over the edge, your entire body goes rigid as wave after wave of pleasure washes over you. 

“That’s my girl, good girl,” Simon coos, working you through your orgasm. His thumb doesn’t leave your puffy clit until your body is jerking against him, overstimulated and worn out. 

“You’re such a good girl coming undone for me, love,” Simon murmurs, pressing a kiss to your damp temple. 

You’re barely floating back to reality, but you know he hasn’t finished yet. “Need you, Si,” you moan. “Need you to fill me up…please?” You’re downright pitiful about it, but Simon swears it makes him cock even harder. 

“Well, since you asked so nicely.” Simon adjusts your hips in both holds, holding you steady as he pounds into your swollen pussy. “Fuck,” he groans, eyes rolling back. “Not gonna last long like this.” Simon loses all sense of rhythm as he pounds into you with abandon, searching for his end. “Fuck, I’m coming—“ Simon finishes with a growl, hips giving one final hard thrust before his warm seed start to flood you. Simon holds you close as he finishes, panting hard, forehead pressed to yours. 

You reflexively tighten your core, causing Simon to inhale sharply, beyond sensitive. 

“Fuck,” Simon curses, his breath still coming in pants as he tries to slow his heart rate. “You’re bloody perfect.” 

You chuckle in response, flushed from the thrill and excitement. “You’re just saying that because it turns out I’m a decent shot.” 

Simon smiles softly before nuzzling his head in your neck, nipping at the sensitive skin there. 

“Something like that, love.”

#simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost x reader #ghost x you #simon riley imagine #simon “ghost” Riley x reader

[sunshinescribes]

Hi Sunny!! So I can’t get the idea of Trafalgar Law waking up in the arms of his female crush or s/o (early on in their relationship) with his face buried in her chest as the reader pulled him into her cleavage in her sleep! In my mind I can’t decide if Law is shy or lowkey perverted! It all suits him well to me, so you do with that what you want.

So may I get something like that? It could be either fluff or a starter for smut I just would love to read something like this 😍

I hope I made sense and thank you in advance 💓💓

ASK AND YE SHALL RECEIVE…

Law doesn’t recall his bed ever feeling this soft and warm.

He also doesn’t recall ever having such peaceful sleep. The dark circles under his eyes and his tendency to be irritable are a testament to how often sleep evades him.

His eyes are still closed, his mind groggy but very much alert, and his body has yet to catch up. His limbs feel heavy, as if the simple act of lifting his hand would take all the effort in the world. It’s a strange sensation—would be fucking terrifying if not for the warmth that radiates through his body, an unfamiliar comfort that tells him everything is alright—he’s safe.

Law groans softly as sleep finally releases its hold on him. He blinks slowly, eyes adjusting to the dim light the lamp on his desk casts over his room. He’d forgotten to turn it off last night, pulling his usual all-nighter. He had been flipping through a medical textbook, his eyes heavy, words blurring and blending, and yet he couldn’t compel himself to go to bed.

And then a soft knock sounded at his door, accompanied by your voice, softly asking if he was still awake. He’d let you in with little convincing, and then…and…then?

Law nearly chokes when his eyes fully adjust, realizing his face is buried in your chest. Your softness, your warmth—this is what he was feeling, what had helped him stay in sleep's warm embrace. The missing memory finally comes back to him—you slipping into his room, scantily dressed. You’d made a beeline to his bed, patting the empty space beside you as you called his name. Lay with me for a bit? You’d asked so sweetly, with those pretty eyes of yours watching him, waiting expectantly. He had been slow to comply, but soon his book was forgotten, his chair empty as he laid down beside you. You had rubbed soft circles against his back and tiredly whispered, You gotta get some sleep, Doc.

And so he did.

Law carefully stirs, tries not to disturb you as you continue to sleep restfully beneath him. He can’t be caught with his face between your breasts like some kind of demented, sex-crazed pervert—no matter how unbelievably soft they are (and maybe he finally understands Black Leg’s obsession). Not that he’s opposed to sex, especially the idea of having it with you, but that’s a line you two haven’t crossed yet, and he’ll be damned if he looks like he’s trying to take advantage of you in your sleep.

He turns his head, accidentally nosing your breast in his failed attempt to move away. Law stills as noise escapes your lips, light and airy, and one of the most beautiful sounds he thinks he’ll ever hear—your laughter.

Law glances up at you, finding your pretty, tired eyes already trained on him, and the corners of your lips pull upward as you chuckle. He feels heat flood his cheeks, not knowing how long you’ve been awake or what you must make of his head still being positioned between your tits.

“Mornin’,” you greet him with a smile. “I think? I can never tell in this damn tin can.”

The quickly formulated explanations catch in Law’s throat as he blinks up at you, surprised you aren’t offended or even a little shocked with his current placement.

Relief washes over him in waves.

“If this was a tin can, we’d be food for sea kings by now,” he retorts, his voice thick with sleep.

You playfully roll your eyes—he’s so sensitive about his metal deathtrap—before lifting your hand to thread through his thick, dark tresses. “You know what I mean…”

Law hums contentedly as you massage his scalp, turning him boneless with your touch. It’s moments like this that he swears you have devil fruit powers—some kind of supernatural ability to completely dismantle his defenses. His eyes flutter shut as he basks in your touch—the softness of your flesh beneath his face and the soft patter of your steady heartbeat. He wouldn’t mind staying in this moment forever, far away from the threats that plague him and his thoughts.  

“Mind if we stay like this a little longer?” he asks—murmurs, as sleep extends a welcoming hand to him once more.

He can’t see your face, but he hears the smile in your voice when you answer. “As long as you need, Captain.”

ONE THING Y’ALL ARE GONNA LEARN ABOUT ME IS THAT IF I HAVE THE CHANCE TO WRITE FLUFF I ABSOULTELY WILL.

Thanks for the request anon! I hope you enjoyed!

#sunny.fic #sunny.reqs #trafalgar law x reader #trafalgar law x you #trafalgar law x y/n #law x reader #x reader

[morallyinept]

Pump - A Javier Peña One Shot

Summary: A man starts coming into the gym where you work, and you find you can't keep your eyes off him when he starts to pump...

Pairing: Javier Peña x GN!Reader (No name, defined sex or physical description of reader. It’s you, bub.)

Word Count: 2.6k

Scoville Smut Rating:🌶️ “Don't hurt me, cadejo."

Check out my Scoville Smut Ratings here.

Warnings/Triggers: PWP/Javi wearing the tiniest satin shorts ever made/cock outline/possible peek of a ball/very pervy thoughts over a very sweaty Javi 🥵

NSFW. MINORS DNI! OVER 18’s ONLY. YOU ARE SOLELY RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT YOU READ.☝🏻Don’t come at me; you’ve been plenty warned.

I write for me, and I share with you. If this story isn't to your taste, that's fine. Just slip quietly out the back door. No need to make a fuss. It's just a work of fiction.

Author’s Note: I saw this amazing fanart today of Javi, and the thots just thotted the fuck out of me... 🫠

MAIN MASTERLIST | JAVIER PEÑA MASTERLIST

Enjoy! 🖤

His visits are the fucking highlight of your day.

You find yourself searching for him as you meander through the gym with an added bounce in your step, stack of laundered towels in hand as you drop them around the equipment like newspapers tossed on garden lawns.

Rows of clunky weightlifting machines stand proudly, their chrome frames gleaming under the dim fluorescent lights.

Tattered, vinyl-covered benches line the perimeter of the room, each one bearing the marks of countless hours of use by sweaty bodies and muscled lunkheads striving for physical perfection.

The sound of heavy metal plates clinking together fills the air as the group of agents, from the local DEA office across the steamed pavement street, load up barbells and dumbbells, their focused expressions a melee of pinched, taut brows and refined muscles.

Despite the seriousness of their profession, the moderately sized gym is a tatty haven where they can unwind and bond over their shared passion for catching dangerous narcos and pumping iron in machismo camaraderie.

The walls in Manny’s Gym are adorned with curled edge motivational posters featuring slogans like No Pain, No Gain and Train Hard, Fight Easy, with iconic muscle men of the current era plastered over them like Arnold Schwarzenegger, Franco Columbu, and Lou Ferrigno, serving as constant reminders of the grit and determination required to succeed in both the gym and the field.

The air is always thick with the unmistakable scent of musky sweat, mingling with the earthy aroma of old leather from well-worn punch bags that hang from the ceiling like dangling scrotums swaying in a pendulous rhythm.

Steamy showers and weak powdery deodorant permeates. It’s a heady concoction that hints at the countless hours of exertion and dedication that's saturated the space.

A scent that you’re all too familiar with and breathe in like starved oxygen.

The wooden floor creaks beneath your sneakers as you make your way further into the gym, the sound echoing off the walls.

As you approach the rows of clunky weightlifting machines, the tangy scent of metal fills your nostrils, accompanied by the faint whiff of oil used to lubricate the gears.

Despite his gruff exterior, Manny himself hosts a warm and welcoming demeanour to the regular gym goers, always ready with a word of encouragement, or a pat on the back for those who train under his roof.

He takes great pride in the sense of community that’s flourished within the gym, fostering a supportive environment where the local Bogotá law and DEA alike choose to pump here.

It’s not exclusive, your regular Joe Sixpack will frequent on occasion, but the familiar faces make it far more easy on the eye as you bask in the array of sweaty limbs on the daily.

They give you wolf-whistles and jeers as you shimmy on by handing out towels and sweat bands with a beaming, enticing smile.

But you don’t pay them no mind when they flirt back and grin with glistening rows of hungry teeth like you’re ripe for the plucking. A juicy peach bobbing in a swamp full of toothless alligators. They're physically respectful despite their obvious leers.

Most of them aren't really your type anyway. Stiff, upper pale bodies with honeyed hair falling in waves; the Americans are all the same Mattel crafted hard plastic.

Whereas you prefer something more dark and velvety rich like Colombian coffee that goes down easy and smooth and leaves a heady aftertaste on your lips.

There's one man in particular you'd like to drink down, whom you’ve noticed coming in a few times in recent weeks.

It’s hard to forget him with those tiny, satin shorts he wears in a stark canary yellow, and riding dangerously high up his lean, caramel thighs.

A break in the tight denim jeans that wrap around his legs when you’ve spied him leaving the gym, freshly clean and dressed after a hard workout, and heading back into the office.

Package stuffed tight up in there, poor thing; the brilliant tightness restricting and choking around that hefty bulge all day.

A neatly trimmed moustache adorns his upper lip, thick and fluffy, adding a touch of rugged charm to his otherwise clean-cut appearance. His standard issue DEA gym t-shirt seems a little on the small side, hugging around his golden biceps and riding skintight across the broadest set of shoulders you’ve ever seen on a man his size; a complete opposing parallel to the trimness of his waist. He’s like an inverted triangle.

It rides up a little over his tiny belly; a galaxy of dark hairs trailing down into his shorts that makes you lick your lips every time your eyes fall onto that hairy column.

His dark brown hair, slicked back slightly and curling on the nape, glistens with sweat, adding to his aura of intensity and focus. He exudes an effortless confidence as he moves from one exercise to the next.

The Latino-looking man focuses on a combination of strength training and cardio, showcasing his versatility and athleticism needed for the job he does.

And you find yourself enthralled in his routine, interrupting yours as you covertly watch him from behind the small desk trying not to flood it with your drool.

He usually starts with a set of heavy deadlifts; the sound of his puffs hissing through his teeth and reverberating through the gym as he lifts with perfect form.

Next, he moves on to explosive plyometric jumps. Clad in those tiny, satin shorts that hug his muscular thighs, his powerful legs propel him effortlessly into the air before landing with precision. You can’t help but watch as the muscles and cords in his thighs ripple with each slam of his soles on the floor.

Throughout his workout, he maintains a steely determination and laser-like focus with punishing chocolate eyes, pushing himself to the limit with each repetition; sweat glistening around his brow and temples and falling in tracks.

Despite the intensity of his workouts, there’s a relaxed confidence in his demeanour, reflected in the easy, fluid movements of his svelte body as he moves through the reps.

You watch his back move and shift, broad shoulder blades folding in and out as they flex under the snug fit of his fading t-shirt. His posture is upright and nonplussed, conveying a sense of self-assurance.

Standing at an average height, his frame is lean, yet powerful, and you can’t help but let your thoughts drift into murky territories as your eyes wander all over him and drink him up like a quenching soda on a sweltering day.

You know very little about him, only hearing his name muttered by the other agents as he addresses them pre-work, out or when they stop mid-way through to discuss, what you can only assume, is the cases they’re working on.

The dusty jukebox in the corner playing the current Billy Idol hit drowns them out somewhat at this distance.

But they call him Peña, or Javi as they sometimes greet him through lazy Spanish chit-chat.

He called you cariño once as he passed, mouthing a good morning to you with little effort.

He speaks with a soft, deep cadence; a gravelled grizzle wrapped around his pert lips, which is almost muted and out of full earshot.

But the one thing that's unmistakably loud and clear, is the grunting that pelts out of him.

Particularly when he does bench presses, or those barbell squats with the large weight resting on his shoulders. A deep, guttural grunt ruts out of him that sets your skin alight and makes your genitals want to break out the pompoms and start cheering his name doing high kicks.

They flow unabashed out of him as he pants and hisses. And you like it when he does those squats the most, watching as he parts his feet steady, and slowly lowers his pert ass down towards the floor, rendering those tiny shorts to almost disappear entirely into the rounded crack of his cheeks.

Fuck...

Javi focuses on his reflection in the mirror, lips curled back under that buoyant dark fluff lining his top lip, and teeth clenched in a snarl as he breathes out and grunts loudly with every push upwards from those strong thighs that tense and quiver.

As you observe him from across the gym, you can't ignore the undeniable attraction you feel towards him as it licks up your spine; it makes you clench and sweat just watching him and the fantastic sex-like faces he makes in the mirror.

His sculpted physique and rugged good looks are certainly appealing, but your eyes betray you and head further south at the constant movement inside his flimsy shorts.

Gaudy in their brightness, you see past them at the way they flout their thinness like they’re almost fucking see-through. You like the tease of how low they sit on his svelte hips. A simple tug and they’ll be round his ankles with ease.

You can make out the perfect outline of his heavy, flaccid cock hanging between his legs. Curves and ridges imprinted against the material like muscle memory. Flopping about so uncouthly as he moves like it’s battering you in the face.

Jesus fucking Christ.

With your task temporarily forgotten and brain slowly sluicing out of your ears, the sight of his cock outlining around the thin satin draws you in further. A third arm beckoning you in. Punching against the material with every movement from his hips as though you're mesmerised and drunk on the wildly pornographic view.

You’re pretty certain he’s not wearing any underwear, which is only confirmed by a fuzzy, pink sack peeping out at you some time later when he works on the bench, and draws his leg up.

You swallow dryly as you stare at it, and wonder instantly what it would taste like as you imagine running your mouth around its swell.

Tasting damp, matted pubic hairs sticking to your tongue, with a salted sweat and mixture of his own masculine musk on your tastebuds, and the more you ponder it, the more it makes your mouth water.

You just want to push him back on the bench, naked from the waist down except for his faded white sneakers on, ribbed thick socks pulled up to his shins, and spread his legs wide.

You want to slide your inquisitive tongue all over those sweaty, heavy balls of his and watch his cock throb and pulse before taking it deep into your throat.

A tight clench and a hiss. A pucker of a fluttering hole as you tease it with your tongue. Lips and hips bruised in unison.

Googly frog eyes stare out at him in wonder. A noise at the back of your throat registers, something inhuman between a gulp and a hiccup as he rises up again off the bench.

Humming and sighing audibly as he presents that ass out at you, shorts flapping around his cock lewdly in the mirror’s reflection as he squats again.

As you observe him from across the gym, you feel the pull of heavy want flooding your body in a stifling and suffocating heat. It makes your toes tingle and your heart thrum a bit harder. White noise steams inside your ears.

The dull, aching throb between your own legs makes you shift uncomfortably in the chair as you gulp and swallow at the spectacle.

With each lift of the weights and every drop of sweat that glistens on his brow and moustache, you find your mind sinking further into a perverted swamp of lust and unbridled thoughts running amok over your amygdala.

In your mind, Javi’s pushing you up against the mirror, face crushed against it, trailing bites down on the back of your slick neck like a dog in heat. Your breath fogging against the reflective sheet as he pins your wrists to it with his hands, leaving misty fingerprint smears on the polished glass.

You can taste the sweat on his top lip, fuzzy and damp, and it's damn delicious as he pushes his crotch into your ass. Hard and thick under those flimsy, lacquer-like shorts, leaking a patch of pre-cum soaking into them that blooms and darkens the silk.

His hands let go of your wrists and work their way down your arms, tickling gently and sending prickles to bubble and blister against your burning skin. He skims over your belly and hovers above your waistband; his hot breath inside your ears in gaspy, mouthed moans as he breathes out.

He whispers how much he wants you, how much he wants everyone to watch him fuck you up agasint this mirror, before he slips his nimble, thick fingers down inside the front of your shorts, grinding and rubbing himself against you.

He’s pulling down his satin shorts to let his hard, thick cock bounce out at you, pumping its uncut, rosy head inside his giant hand. Weeping and sticky, it shines at you as his fingers and thumb smear in the secretions, and you watch as he licks his fingers free of his own greased drippings.

You lick your lips ready for a taste as he guides the bulbous head towards your mouth as you sink, thudding to your knees. Feel him weighty and warm in your palm, squeezing just under the head and sliding the skin back to reveal that succulent bulb as you lick the tip and taste glassy bubbles flowing from him before swallowing him down deep.

Suck it, cariño, yeah like that… Tómalo todo. Trágatelo profundo. Si… aah, si. Fuck... (Take it all. Swallow it deep. Yes, aah yes.)

Lost in your thoughts, you barely notice when Javi actually glances in your direction; his dark eyes meeting yours briefly with a knitted brow and pink pout, before returning to his workout.

The brief exchange sends a thrill of wanton excitement coursing through your veins, igniting a spark of curiosity and anticipation that you can't ignore as it pulls tight between your legs and makes you pulse.

As the DEA agent finishes his workout and begins to gather his belongings - he carries a modest blue duffle bag, although never takes anything out of it's fullness - you can't help but feel a pang of disappointment at the thought of him leaving you so riled up for another day.

He grabs his worn water bottle and squeezes a stream of water into his mouth, swallowing deep and plentiful mouthfuls of the jet, and wipes at his lips with the back of his hand when some of it trickles down his smoothly shaved chin.

You watch him pick up the towel you’d laid out, wipe his face off and that onyx-like stare is in your direction again. Two pools of dark tar sucking you in.

A wet, slithery thought creeping in between your ears makes a mental note to take that towel when he's done and defile the fuck out of it.

He finds something in your eyes, perhaps something that excites him, or repulses him. You’re not sure. You’re yet to embark on any formal conversation beyond a simple greeting out of politeness.

As Javi makes his way towards you, passing the desk towards the showers, you're convinced you see a small smirk prick at the corners of his lips.

Another wanton thought bolts its way into the filthy pit of your mind. You see yourself rising up on the balls of your feet in the shower block and presenting your behind out to him and he bends you over further to touch your toes.

You feel his grip around your waist as he slides in and packs you out, stretching you around him. Knees buckling and being drowned by the spray from above as he fucks you hard against the cool, mildewed tiles in the shower block.

You feel like your spine will crack with the pressure, but you don’t care as he pulls you back, hammering up into you. Fingers grazing around your throat, teeth biting into the ball of your wet shoulder.

So fucking tight, just like I love it, baby...

You're gasping his name as your orgasm rips through you and he spills himself inside of your hole with Spanish expletives howling in your ear.

His thick, plentiful come seeps out of you; leaking, pouring. So much pumped into you as he grunts into your ear - shuddering with a high-octane thrill as his moustache tickles against your skin.

You’ll think about this again - about him - when you're at home later; that towel shoved between your legs and soaked with your own leakings.

You catch the hazy scent of Javi as he passes by the desk, subtly inhaling the stench of his sweat; an intoxicating, potent blend of musk and masculinity that leaves you feeling breathless.

A primal aroma that grabs you by the lapels to shake the cock-addled stupid out of you as you catch a glimpse of that package swaying and bobbing around in his tiny flaxen shorts to torment you further.

And once more you swallow around a constricted gulp as he meets your wandering gaze.

“Hasta la próxima vez, cariño.” (See you next time, honey.) He simply husks, as he tosses his duffle bag over his shoulder and struts towards the showers.

Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed this sweaty story. Please consider re-blogging so others can enjoy it too. Thankies! 🖤

MAIN MASTERLIST | JAVIER PEÑA MASTERLIST

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #javier peña #javier pena #pedro pascal characters #javier pena x reader #javier pena smut #javier pena narcos #narcos #jett's writing

[willowbelle]

Stay Here, With Me

part one

❤︎ trafalgar law x fem reader ❤︎

༉‧₊˚✧ (nsfw, afab!reader, 18+ only) ༉‧₊˚✧

cw & summary: established relationship, piv sex, cervix kisses, mating press, comfort and reassurance. mentions of reader's unidentified trauma, reader has a habit of crying after sex, law is comforting.

word count: ~1,300

note: this one is more poetic, and i wrote it to help me through something i am dealing with. :')

i hope you all enjoy soft, sweet law ♡︎

part two is here! : You Know Me

Stay Here, With Me

part one

Law challenged you in ways you weren’t prepared for. 

He beckoned you into realms uncharted, testing the fibers of your being unanticipated.

You had always buried your anguish; covered it in dirt to be forgotten, locked it away and swallowed the key.

And it petrified you, an inexplicable fear, the way that your pain always trembled on the verge of unveiling itself in his presence.

Not because he echoed your burdens, or reminded you of your baggage, oh no, quite the opposite. It was because, with Law, you had finally discovered solace in the company of another soul. And for once in your life, you wanted to let it out, unlock your chest, crack open your skull, expose your brain, and let it out. 

You wanted to tell him; to cry to him, to sob until your lungs gave out, to rid of all the contributors of your displeasure. 

But you didn’t; too frightened of the guilt you’d feel if your burdens were to meet the weight on his already-heavy shoulders. You were stubborn, and you were determined to keep this distress as yours and yours alone. 

You chose to stay numb in the home that you had built in your mind; made of iron walls and iron doors, shackling you to the metal. Each chain of your confinements spell out your anguish, far too long and far too heavy to name, so you locked yourself in your iron brain.

But, he knew, you poor thing, of course he did. 

Law’s analytical, observant nature kept your relationship, unbeknownst to you, essentially secretless.

He didn’t miss a thing; from the way in which your eyes told a different story than your mouth, to the tears rolling down your cheeks that you disguised as sweat, he knew why you opted for excusing yourself to the bathroom following intimacy. 

In defiance of his accustomed nature, this stone-faced “surgeon of death” taught himself to be comforting. Because he had come to learn that, above all else, this is what you needed. 

You needed him to hold you, to redirect your restless mind, to curb your enigmatic sorrow. 

Because when your tears threatened to escape; unexplainable, uncontrollable, Law remained, like he always did, lingering by your side, a constant presence in the ebb and flow of your emotions.

It wasn’t uncommon for you to cry after sex, though you didn’t know why; tears flowing down your cheeks without remorse, betraying your intention to conceal your trauma in the recesses of your soul. 

And Law would listen, though it broke his heart to do so, to the cries you tried so desperately to muffle from behind the bathroom door. 

And as the echoes of your cries made their way to his ears, he made a vow to himself. 

He studied you intensively, silently, making a map of your body inside his own, determined to understand your tears in the only way he knew how. 

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

The grasp he held on your delicate body remained gentle and kind as he fucked you into the mattress, a stark contrast to the jarring heaves of his able hips. 

The softness of his touches, coupled with the sweet words of reassurance he whispered into your ears, made up for the unruly pace of his thrusts. 

The lewd sounds of moans and skin slapping together dismissed the silence that hung in the air earlier, and even amidst the noises, the movements, he could sense you starting to slip away and into your mind. And so, he decelerates, a gentle hand on your cheek, ushering you back to the shared embrace of the present.

“Hey, y/n,” he begins softly, his velvety voice beckoning you out of your head. His hips stall, throbbing member still engulfed within your tight warmth, “Are you okay? Do you need me to stop?” he asks, his countenance and voice carrying an earnest concern.

“N-No, Law, please keep going,” you whimpered softly, nails digging down the muscular flesh of his back.

He kisses you in response. But not a typical Law kiss, no, this was different. This kiss was an ardent embrace of lips, a dance of passion. This kiss conveyed an unspoken promise solace, of pure understanding and security. With your cheek in his hand, tongues still dancing together, Law begins again, bringing his hips back to thrust into you. The sensation of being stuffed full again forces a moan to escape from within your throat, into Law’s mouth. You feel the corners of his lips twitch upwards against yours, satisfied with himself. 

It’s hot. The room is hot. Your bodies are hot, pressed together, intertwined. Law breaks your kiss, tilting his head down to watch himself disappear into you over and over again, groaning at the sight. 

“God-, you-take me so-well,” he slurs, enunciating each word with a harsh thrust. 

With one arm holding him up, he uses the other tattooed limb to press one of your legs down, forcing you harder into the mattress, and it turn, pressing himself deeper into you. 

Another moan emerges from your lips, this one more of a cry, as the tip of his cock now hits that one sweet spot within you dead-on, over and over again in time with his thrusts. 

“A-ah-! Law-!” 

His breathing begins to grow heavy, low groans and huffs rumbling out of his inked chest. He grips your leg tighter, his thrusts becoming sloppy and unsynchronized. He’s close. 

He sits up a bit on his knees to give himself more room to move faster, now bringing both of your legs up to rest on his strong shoulders.

You throw your head back and moan loudly at the sensation. Goosebumps begin to bud all over your spent body as his blunt tip continues to bully your cervix, sending shivers down your spine with each bump to your sweet spot.  

One more glance down at you, writhing and whimpering beneath him, causes the coil growing within Law to snap, and he shudders, groans, and unapologetically paints your insides white. He looks heavenly like this; head thrown back, damp hair clinging to his sweaty forehead, inked chest rising and falling with each exhausted breath, his powerful, tatted hands now trembling as they gradually relinquished their bruising grip on your legs. 

As the two of you come down from your highs, your unspoken vulnerability begins to surface, like it always does. Law senses the impending swell of tears in your eyes, even before you do.

He knows it’s coming; it’s routine at this point for you to dart away afterwards, retreating into the bathroom to come undone on the cold, harsh tile. He wants nothing more than for you to abandon the hard and unforgiving flooring, stay in bed with him, and just unravel in his arms, instead.

So this time, he stops you. 

The moment you begin to stir beneath him, he gently grasps onto your wrist, halting your movements. 

“Law, what are you-” you begin, your lips trembling, trying your hardest to keep your tears at bay. 

“y/n,” he starts, his free hand finding its home on your cheek, “You don't have to grin and bear it,” he smiles weakly, “Not around me.” 

You could feel tears pricking in your eyes, and as you stared into his nurturing steel irises, you swore you could feel all your pain and discomfort seeping out of your skin.

His thumb rubs gentle circles into your cheek, 

“Stay here, with me.”

𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧 𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧 𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧 𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.

part two is here! : You Know Me

©this work belongs to willowhaze26.

do not repost, modify, plagiarize, translate, or share on other platforms. 

comments, likes, and reblogs appreciated!

#one piece #trafalgar law #law one piece #trafalgar law one piece #one piece law #trafalgar d water law #one piece fanfiction #trafalgar law smut #one piece fluff #one piece headcanons #Trafalgar law x reader #Law x reader #Trafalgar law imagine #Trafalgar law one shot #One piece imagine #One piece fanfiction #One piece x reader #One piece one shot #One piece fic #Trafalgar law headcanon #Law headcanons #Trafalgar law headcanons #One piece headcanons #one piece smut #op x reader #one piece trafalgar law #one piece x y/n #trafalgar law x y/n #one piece imagine #trafalgar one piece

[xcrust]

{His Regret}

Alastor X Reader

Important note!!

There is spoilers to the latest episode!!

also another note to have is that this is a little drabble with heavy angst. Like I may not be the best writer when it comes to emotions but trust on this.

This doesn't apply to my main story

at this point alastor just escaped adam so he doesn’t know that lucifer fought him.

Anyways To the Story!!

The rubble danced from the fight that was playing out. Well maybe it is more present tense. Hundreds dying for the sake of redemption? So beautiful but not if this is putting me back

“My power is fucking reduced to nothing, this just will not do”

The acrid stench of burning debris hangs thick in the air, assaulting the senses with a noxious cocktail of smoke, charred structures, and the metallic tang of spent ammunition. The once-vibrant cityscape now lies in ruins, the hotel reduced to skeletal frames adorned with tattered remnants of what were once homes and businesses.

Alastor strode through the corridors of his lair, What once was the powerhouse of his mayhem just dirt and disgust. A predatory smile that once adorned his face had transformed into a snarl of frustration.

His mind, a sanctuary of sadistic amusement, now simmered with a tempest of indignation. The audacity of this Adam, had struck a chord deep. If it weren't for this deal then he wouldnt of had to retreat from that poor excuse of a man. How could someone nearly unravel the intricacies of his power? It was an affront to his very essence, a challenge that gnawed at the edges of his sanity.

In his chamber, Alastor paced with a fevered intensity. His crimson eyes, usually filled with mirthful malice, now harbored a storm of malevolence. He replayed the confrontation in his mind, dissecting every move, every smirk, and every flicker of defiance that emanated from Adam.

"The nerve of that wretched creature," Alastor hissed to the shadows that clung to the corners of his lair.

His fingers drummed against the armrest of his grandiose throne, a rhythmic manifestation of the disarray within. The very thought of being challenged, of being outsmarted, clawed at the fragile veil of his composed madness.

The intruder slipped through the shattered remnants of buildings and overturned vehicles. The ground beneath their feet crunched softly with each step, the echoes a mere whisper against the eerie stillness of the war-torn ruins.

In an instant, Alastor closed the distance, pinning the intruder against the cold stone wall with a speed that defied the laws of the mundane. His hand wrapped around their throat, a deadly smile etched across his face.

He looked up and saw you. You, the one he's known the longest from the underground. The one he brought to become as powerful as you were. "Who would have thought it would come to this? Fate has a peculiar way of orchestrating its grand finale."

You, not only were the shackles that he was under but one that you held him in. He grew soft. Weak. You. Just an inconvenience. To get back his power. You needed to be gone.

The fear spread across your face met Alastor's gaze with a mix of confusion and dread. The demonic smile on the Radio Demon's face seemed to deepen as he traced a finger along the edge of your face.

"He almost had me," Alastor muttered, the words tasting bitter on his tongue. The realization, the admission of vulnerability, hung heavily in the air. It was an unfamiliar sensation, an unwelcome intrusion into the sanctum of his pride.

A mirror stood nearby, a relic that once reflected the sheer delight he took in others' suffering. Now, he stared into it, searching for the elusive answers to his newfound discontent. The image that met his gaze was one of a demon on the brink, grappling with an unsettling truth—he was not invincible.

"Ah, the memories we've shared," Alastor continued, almost wistfully. "You, stumbling into my narrative like a lamb to the slaughter. Do you remember all the hell we raised together?"

As Alastor spoke, he seemed to drift into a reverie, his mind retracing the twisted paths of their interactions. The reader, still struggling against their restraints, watched with a sense of surreal horror as the demon reminisced about the moments leading to this ominous juncture.

Laughter started to echo the room. Grainy insane laughter. “Great Alastor died for his friends?” he choked out.

“Alastor? What are talking about” you try to push out. All you got was him glimpsing at you with pure disdain.

“I work best when unencumbered by the weight of sentimentality." Alastor's fingers tapped a rhythmic beat on the wall behind your neck, the subtle cadence underscoring his words.

"Baggage," he scoffed, the disdain evident in his voice.

In a moment the body of his oldest friend was on the floor.

"Do you not sense it, my dear reader? The freedom that comes with unburdened malevolence," he mused, circling you laid out on the ground.

"To be truly free, one must shed the baggage of morality, of attachments, of all that ties the soul to the mundane," Alastor whispered, his voice shaking with mania, a haunting melody that lingered in the air.

The laughter that usually echoed through the corridors was replaced by a guttural growl. Alastor's shoulders tensed as he unleashed a surge of dark energy, shattering nearby objects scattered across the room. Well at least the ones that still held up.

"Adam," he seethed, the name a curse on his lips. "You will regret toying with me."

Dark energy crackled around Alastor, a volatile aura that mirrored the storm within. His manic laughter echoed off the walls, bouncing like malevolent whispers in the confined space.

"I will not allow it!" Alastor roared, the once-charming smile contorting into a snarl of madness. "My power is mine alone to wield, to savor, and no interloper, no matter how curious or audacious, shall stand in the way!"

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor x reader #alastor hartfelt #hazbin hotel episode 8 #hazbin alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin art #hazbin charlie #hellaverse #vizziepop #hazbin hotel season 1 #hazbin spoilers #hazbin hotel fanart #lillith morningstar #hazbin angel dust #hazbin hotel season finally #helluva boss #helluva boss x reader #hazbin hotel sneak peak #the radio demon #alastor in her bed #hazbin charlie morningstar

[eustasskidagenda]

Hi! I love your writing! Can I ask some headcanons with Kid, Sanji, Zoro, Law et Luffy going to the beach with their S/O, please?? Tysm!

Hello sweet anon! Thank you for requesting, it was fun to write. Hope it will match your expectations ☆

☆ Kid, Sanji, Zoro, Luffy & Law going to the beach with their s/o

CW : g/n reader, funny, fluff, Kid is cursing but I guess no one is surprised, Kid is a savage, really vague mention of sex for Sanji, slight cursing for Zoro + mention of alcohol,

WC : 2,3k

Kid

Heavy stomps, mumbling curses, regular sighs and grunts full of irritation. Yep. It was your idea to go to the beach. Kid would never go to the beach by himself because he hates all the screaming children and the sand between his toes. And, the sun could ruin his make-up. So he would act all grumpy, wondering what he has done to end up in such a situation. 

"Goddamn, y/n, come back, you didn't put your sunscreen" Of course Kid thinks about his skin all the damn time, he's such a beauty-influencer when it comes to make-up and skin care. If you neglect to apply sunscreen to your body, he will bark at you, grab you by the wrist, and do all the work himself. And then, you'll have to help him, especially when it comes to applying sunscreen to his back. He won't let you know he loves when you run your hands down his back and along his always tensed shoulders. 

"I've seen this place before you, fuck off!" While planting violently your parasol on the ground, barking to the poor innocent guy who tried to set his stuff at the place Kid noticed in first. "It's my beach."

He's so possessive with everything, help.

Actually, Kid likes one thing about the beach: he can brag about his big man boobies. No shirt, just his glorious bare, toned chest. Every time someone looks at him with jealousy or admiration, he feels so proud; his ego is never satisfied with this. He's perfectly aware of how shaped his torso is, and he's really proud of it. 

Every time someone looks at your body, he feels really pleased with himself. Even if they try, they won't be able to have you. But on the flip side, he's also upset when he realizes that everyone can see your beautiful shapes. His arm would be wrapped around your waist. All. The. Time. 

Kid being Kid, he would smash all the sandcastle made by the children. Prepare yourself to get in trouble with all the mad parents around there, while their children are crying because "the big scary man told me I'm a piece of shit who don't even know how to build a sandcastle" You better watch Kid tightly before he stuffs their mouths with some sand to make them shut up.

"Come on Kid, it's just a child." 

If you try beach sports, he will make everything a competition. Avoid playing volley beach with him, because if you team up and lose, he will smash the ball into the winner's face. "Now who's the loser?" 

If someone tries to sell him an ice cream, he would scowls madly. Does he look like someone licking some fucking ice balls full of sugar? Ugh. It's so ridiculous. 

He doesn't wear armbands because he thinks he's too good for them. "I don't care if I can't swim, I won't use those damn armbands." 

Honestly, Kid hates how weak he is in the water, so he would stay away from trouble. The ocean makes his voice weak, even his strength is leaving him. And, even if his eyeliner is waterproof, he doesn't want to risk ruining his make up. "I fucking hate water" 

Would end up using his DF to find some metal around and build something with it while you're swimming. It looks like he doesn't care, but secretly, he watches to make sure you're safe. And if you're drowning, then, he'll run to save you so yes, congrats, now you're drowning together. 

Luckily, Killer is not too far.

Killer deserves a break.

Sanji 

Oh, damn... going on a beach date with Sanji is not a good idea. All the women in swimsuits would overwhelm him. Sanji, as he is, wouldn't be able to handle all the women around him, even though you are the prettiest of all the people around.

But the moment you take off your clothes and replace them with your swimsuit, his eyes would be on you all the time because you're the most mesmerizing person in the whole universe. 

He's so proud to introduce you as his s/o to absolutely everyone, yes, even that one person sleeping peacefully under their parasol. "Have you seen how beautiful y/n is?" 

Of course, he would help you apply sunscreen to your skin. Enjoy the massage because his hands are so heavenly smooth and divine. He would clearly take advantage of the situation to place some soft kisses along your collarbone, shoulders, neck, jugular, and down your spines. 

It's clear that Sanji brought his own food to the beach. You can enjoy fresh drinks, ice cream, waffles, cakes, fresh salads, and juicy fruits just for you. He wouldn't let you buy some ice cream from the trader because it's probably disgusting, full of sugar and chemicals. Your body is a temple and cannot be contaminated by non-premium quality food. 

He's probably causing the parents to be angry because he's smoking. But Sanji is nice, so if it was asked politely, he wouldn't mind stubouting his cigarette. 

While you're tanning under the parasol, Sanji is probably laying next to you, with a book explaining all the fish he could buy in the town. 

If you decide to go swimming, of course, he's going with you. As the kind person he's, he wants to make sure you're safe, and if you uncomfortable with your body, he wouldn't mind using his own body as a shield, so no one but he can look at you. 

He's a pure romantic, so prepare yourself for some lovely hugs in the water, with him holding you tight and his hands roaming all over your wet skin. Sweet kisses on your neck. He's not against taking things further, but he's romantic and all the screaming children are ruining the mood. But during the night... yes, he's definitely not against swimming at midnight. 

And if he finds some ugly, green, gummy seaweeds, then, he'll take them back to the Sunny. "Marimo, don't let your children alone at the beach."

Zoro

"Oi, y/n, where are you?"

Well, have you already seen Finding Nemo? Remember about Marlin always asking "HAVE YOU SEEN MY SON?" Now, you're Marlin and Zoro is your Nemo. 

Do not leave him alone for more than two seconds. Do not leave him buying ice cream for the two of you. Otherwise, the date is ruined. The only thing you will do is ask everyone 'Have you seen a big man with big boobs and green hair?' 

Maybe he'll find the one piece before the end of the day.

"I wasn't lost, your indications weren't clear." 

Zoro's obliviousness means you need to pay close attention to him. Stay close to him and everything will be okay. He's in good shape, so people are probably looking at him with admiration, jealousy, or whatever thoughts come to mind. But he doesn't give a damn, and is probably thinking people are looking at you because you're mesmerizing in your swimsuit. 

He doesn't care about the people wearing swimsuits around him. It's not an event for him. "I won't nose bleed like this shitty twirled-brow." 

He thinks the beach is a good opportunity to train himself. While you're relaxing under the parasol, he's training in the sun. Burpees, push-ups, and even some yoga are used to work his breathing and stability. 

Once he's done, he's all sweaty and wants to swim a bit. If you don't follow him, he'll be swimming until he finds a new island. 

If you're too lazy to swim, he'd be okay with carrying you. If a jellyfish tries to bite your thigh, then, the poor creature is doomed and would end up as a dinner for the crew when you'll get back to the Sunny.

He prefers alcohol over ice cream, of course. It's the best thing to enjoy after swimming and training. While he's drinking, he likes when you rest your head against his chest. On the other hand, he's a bit flustered because Zoro cares about his privacy. But you're too cute, he can't push you away. 

Arms wrapped around your waist while you sleep together. Perfect date for Zoro: training and restlessness. No one would dare trying to steal your stuff because Zoro is used to standing guard on the Sunny, so he would react really quickly. 

At the end of the day, he got the biggest sunburn ever because he forgot to apply sunscreen. Poor Zoro.

Luffy

It's like going to the beach with your overly excited dog. 

He's yelling excitedly, jumping everywhere, laughing loudly, and oh, good luck, he's already running away. You tried to catch his wrist, but it just stretches his arm beyond its limits. Good luck in finding him. 

Well, honestly, if you want to find Luffy, just try to figure out where the food is. He's probably eating some waffles and ice cream, or more precisely, emptying all the stands of their food. 

"Oh Y/N, you're here?" He speaks with his mouth full, obviously. 

Luffy is selfish with food, but he would let you have the last waffle because he loves to see you smile. 

As Zoro, he doesn't give a damn about people in swimsuits. 

If a child has a better rubber ring than him, he's sad. "Y/N, we need to buy a better one! What about this one?" While displaying an extravagant beetle rubber.

He's so happy, with it. Prepare yourself to pull him out the water because while he's watching to find some fish or play with some seaweeds, he would end up falling overboard like the overexcited child he's. 

But drowning wouldn't destroy his joy. Be ready for the sandcastle episode after the rubber ring one. He wants to build the best one. But have you seen his nonexistent artistic skills? His creations wouldn't look great, that's all we can tell. Please, help him building a pretty sandcastle, he's so sad. Poor baby.

"Don't get a sunburn, y/n." While lending you his straw hat. 

"Y/N, have you seen those crabs? Y/N, have you seen how funny this seaweed is? Y/N, have you seen this stone? Oh, Y/N, this cloud looks like Zoro, don't you think?" 

He wants to catch all the crabs and winkles he can find. And would probably end up organizing a crab fight. If his favorite one loses, then the poor baby will be sad again. He's so fluffy when he pouts.

He is eager to try and do everything with you. So you better follow him, because going to the beach with Luffy means you'll never be able to rest peacefully under the parasol. He's too energized to sleep peacefully. 

And if you're sleeping, he would bury you under the sand, so when you wake up, your body is totally covered up, the only thing you can do is moving your toes and head while Luffy laughs loudly and proudly. His laugh is so endearing, you can't be angry with him.

"Gum-Gum… ice-cream stolen" 

Prepare to run away from the guy who is mad at him.

Overall? Not relaxing at all, but funny as hell.

Law

If Luffy is like an overexcited dog, Law is like a cat forced to bathe. Have you already tried bathing a cat? Do you end up with scratches? It's nothing compared to Law.

"Bepo, don't sharpen your claws on the deck!" "What? But it's not me. It's Law, Y/N decided to bring him to the beach. They had to drag him to the ground. 

Yes, Law probably hates the beach. It's a noisy place with noisy people, the food smells bad, the children are annoying, and the sand is irritating. And please, the sea is like the toilet for the fish and all those disgusting people. He's so pissed off to be here. 

"Why me, Y/N-ya?"

"Aren't you happy? The sun is beautiful today! You need to take some breaks from your work." 

His sole response would be an annoyed scowl. 

Ain't no way for him to wear a swimsuit. He's conserving all his clothing, even the hat. And he's standing under the parasol with his arms crossed. All the people around are probably avoiding him, and that's for the best because a 'room, shambles' could happen really fast if they dare to make a comment about his non-appropriate clothes. 

Law would remind you to apply sunscreen on a regular basis.  And he wouldn't mind applying it himself. He loves the feeling of your skin against his palms, it feels like heaven. 

He would remind you to drink water frequently. And to wet your neck before swimming. Certainly, he's watching closely the entire time. He may be mad, but he cares about you. Prepare yourself to have a shadow following you everywhere. If you're too far from him, he'll use his DF to bring you back to him.

"Please, help me, my child needs a doctor!" He's annoyed as hell. Even at the beach, work is still pursuing him. Of course, if someone asked for a doctor, he would help. He's frustrated because he can't take care of someone and keep an eye on you at the same time.

If you give him onigiri, he will look like a child: pouting while eating silently. 

"Y/n-ya, don't touch this, it's a toxic seaweed.", "y/n-ya, come here, you have to stay hydrated."

He would lend you his own hat if you forgot yours, while he's standing under the parasol. "Do not lose my hat." 

No swimming for him. He'll stay away from the cursed water. Just like Kid, ain't no way for him to wear armbands. And if you Try to throw some water on his face, he would look like a wet cat: shocked and angry. Beware, he yowls.

Overall? You had fun. And even if Law acts annoyed all the time, secretly, he would love to have a break day with you.  On his desk, he would keep the beautiful shell you found on the beach and give it to him.

#one piece headcanons #one piece x reader #eustass kid x reader #eustass kid headcanons #eustass kid x y/n #eustass kid x you #eustass kid imagine #eustasscaptainkid #eustass kid #one piece x you #one piece requests #trafalgar d water law #trafalgar law x reader #trafalgardwaterlaw #trafalgar law headcanons #trafalgar law #law headcanons #trafalgar law x you #law x y/n #law x reader #sanji x reader #vinsmoke sanji #black leg sanji #sanji x you #sanji x y/n #one piece sanji #sanji headcanons #zoro roronoa x reader #zoro headcanons #zoro x reader

[markscherz]

A friend of mine sent me a yt video of a guy who was relocating frog eggs (prolly a vernal pool) and showed 1000s of baby frogs coming out of the water in his backyard. she asked me how I felt about it as a ecologist. I felt like it was irresponsible to do, especially to post videos on it, but probably not "ecological terrorism" like people in the comments were saying, because I see baby frogs in nature come out of water in hoards sometimes too. Kind of a mixed bag.

But I wanted to ask you, since you're a herpetologist and waaay more experienced than me: how do you feel about the yt channel "frog army YouTube"?

Many frogs and toads are classical R-strategists. Some toads can lay 20+ THOUSAND eggs in a single clutch. The whole point of that strategy is that not all of the offspring survive. In fact, it would be really rather bad if all of the offspring were to survive, because (1) they wouldn't be feeding the predators and decomposers that live off of their noble sacrifice, and (2) they will require massively more resources than they otherwise would. It can have all kinds of detrimental down-stream effects.

This is the reason we often see swarms of tadpoles darkening some small pools (especially ones where there are no fish!), and later hoards of froglets (that's the technical term) emerging from pools at once. It's an evolutionary strategy, that only few individuals survive to achieve reproductive age.

Point 1: it is *fine* if not all the tadpoles survive to adulthood. That's how the system is supposed to work. You are not doing the system favours if you are changing tadpole survivorship to 100%.

Now, humans really are fucking things up in a lot of environments. Environmental pollutants, like heavy metals, can cause major issues for wildlife, and especially frogs, which (1) are not as vagile as e.g. birds and medium- to large-sized mammals and thus cannot escape the problem zone effectively, and (2) are EXTRA sensitive to the environment because of their permeable skin.

Point 2: we do have some responsibility to do something if we notice that there is a major problem emerging, which could dramatically alter the population dynamics for one or more generations of frogs.

However, *moving* clutches of eggs that are found in polluted pools is not the right move, especially for your average person. There are many reasons that it is not the right move, but chief among them are

(1) A lot of frogs that lay eggs in vernal pools have tadpoles that cannot survive being in larger ponds, and certainly cannot survive in streams or other bodies of flowing water.

(2) A lot of frogs that lay their eggs in vernal pools are already adapted to less than ideal conditions, and have excellent strategies to overcome those conditions, such as incredibly quick metamorphosis (sometimes just a few days!)

(3) By moving clutches of eggs, you could easily be moving the pathogens or pollutants that are causing the problem in the first place.

(4) If there is Batrachochytrium dendrobatidis fungus around, you are spreading chytrid, and that is VERY bad. Chytridiomycosis has already driven several frog species to extinction, and caused massive population collapse in several others.

(5) If you do not know the species, attempts to rescue them might be aiding the advance of an invasive species.

(6) It's often illegal to intervene! Many species are protected by law, and you are not allowed to remove them from the wild. Consult your local laws.

Point 3: the responsibility to do something does not include removing the frogs and raising a frog army.

So what should we do if we find a clutch of eggs in an oily pool? Or in a nearly dried out puddle?

First assess the nature of the problem. Is the pool just about to dry out? Then leave it alone. The tadpoles will probably be fine (and if they're not, they'll provide rich nutrients to predators and decomposers). But are there signs of pollution? Then assess: is the pollution covering a larger area? Or is it localised? If you find dead frogs or other amphibians is a major warning sign, and it needs to be brought to the relevant authorities. Contact your local environmental agency/department, and notify them of the precise location of the problem, and its extent. Document everything with photos and videos.

Point 4: there are organisations and agencies specifically tasked with intervening in cases of environmental damage. It is *your* job to bring it to their attention, but unless instructed by them, you need not take any further action. It is their job to know what to do, and to take appropriate action.

TL;DR: 'Raising a frog army' is for the likes, not the frogs, and is not environmentally responsible or ethically defensible. Build a home for the frogs, and they will come.

#wall of text #long post #text post #wot #tl;dr #frogs #frog #tiktok #animals #trends #tiktok trends #info post #build a home for the frogs and they will come #I want that on a t-shirt #actually #if I answered all of the asks in my inbox as thoroughly as this #I would be writing non-stop for 393 hours

[delicatebarness]

i cant read your mind | chapter four

Summary: The journey to Madripoor.

Warnings: MCU Spoilers. Captain America: The Winter Soldier. The Falcon and the Winter Soldier spoilers throughout. Zemo.

Word Count: 1148

Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

A/N: If I didn't split this episode up then this chapter would have been too long for my brain to be okay with. The next one is gonna be looooong.

Tags: @blackhawkfanatic | @cjand10 | @wintrsoldrluvr | @missvelvetsstuff | @buckys-metal-arm | @matchat3a | @shadowzena43 | @torntaltos |

Strolling down the prison corridors, the sterile white tiles and harsh fluorescent light amplified a feeling of isolation, as well as a headache. “I’m gonna go alone,” Bucky admitted, addressing both you and Sam. Just as Sam questioned his decision, you objected with a firm “No,” as your mind went back to the last time Bucky was alone with Zemo.

“You’re an Avenger. You know how he feels about that.” Bucky continued, answering Sam's question as he shot you a warning glance that silently said, “Don’t push it,”. You didn’t say anything else while he gave Sam more reasons for him to go alone, you let out a sigh as you watched him leave. 

Anxiety began to rise throughout your body as you stood waiting, Sam sensed your apprehension about the return of The Winter Soldier. “He’ll be alright,” he said as he placed a comforting hand on your shoulder in reassurance. 

Your hand instinctively reached up to rub your neck as you responded, “I’ll believe it when he comes back and doesn’t attempt to kill me,” your memories flooded with your first encounter with Bucky. “Again.” 

That day on the bridge changed you. Never before had you been on a mission that came so close to disaster. His right hand effortlessly closed around your neck, you tried to fight back with punches, and kicks and even tried reaching for your gun. He maintained a distance that prevented you from gaining any ground. 

Just in the last second, the shield slammed into his back, which forced him to release his grip, sending you tumbling to the ground. 

~

Your eyes sparked with relief at Bucky’s return, and his expression mirrored yours. You suppressed the urge to rush forward and embrace Bucky, absent from The Winter Soldier. As he walked over to you, he instructed you and Sam to follow him. 

Guided by Bucky, you ventured into the dimly lit garage, relying on flashlights and Bucky’s hand to navigate. You reached for it the second you stepped into the darkness and stuck close to him as he and Sam debated the merits and risks of freeing Zemo. The tension in the air kept you silent until Bucky located the light switch. With a sigh of relief, you exhaled deeply. As you relaxed into the newfound brightness, you slipped your hand out of Bucky’s. 

“I didn’t do anything,” Bucky retorted to Sam. Recognizing his tone of voice, betraying his statement, you knew he had indeed done something. Concern gripped you as you wondered what it could be. Your attention was focused on him as he outlined a plan to free Zemo.

Startled by the door slamming shut, you instinctively moved toward the source. To your surprise, it was Zemo. He strolled into the garage as if it was his own. Maybe it was? “What the fuck, Bucky?!” you exclaimed, joining Sam in a heated exchange with Bucky about this turn of events. As Zemo attempted to interject, all three of you shut him down with a simultaneous “No!”. 

“When Steve refused to sign the Sokovia Accords, you both backed him. You both broke the law, and you stuck your necks out for me.” Bucky shifted his gaze between you and Sam, the weight of the past heavy in your eyes, tears threatening to spill. “I’m asking you to do it again.” he pleaded, his gaze softened as he looked down at you, brushing a stray piece of hair behind your ear. You nodded, affirming your loyalty to Bucky as Sam commanded rules to Zemo before agreeing. 

~

Sitting on a private jet beside Bucky and across from Zemo felt surreal. Their casual conversation with Sam about Marvin Gaye seemed out of place, prompting you to feign sleep, keeping your eyes closed for most of the journey. Your attention snapped back to them when they mentioned Madripoor, the destination you headed to. Intrigue sparked within you as Zemo started the topic of disguises. They have secretly been one of your favorite aspects of being an agent since the beginning. 

“Don’t touch her,” Bucky’s voice growled a warning, causing you to snap out of your feigned sleep. You opened your eyes just in time to see Zemo reaching towards your shoulder. Grateful for Bucky’s protective instinct, you glanced around feeling disoriented. Bucky was almost on his feet, presumably to stop Zemo physically. 

“Apologies,” Zemo directed to Bucky, who seemed to calm down after Zemo retreated. Zemo then brought his attention back to you. “I have picked out a dress for you to wear, Agent, to blend in,” he gestured toward the door of the jet’s toilet.

~

Unzipping the dress bag, you were surprised by the beautiful red material and its intricate details. Who would have thought Zeemo had such good taste? Without any hesitation, you shed your casual yet tactical wear and slid into the dress. You admired how it hugged your body perfectly. Rushing to see the final look, you adorned yourself with the accessories he had chosen as well. 

Stepping out of the bathroom, you revealed your new identity to your team, Bucky, Sam, and Zemo. Bucky’s eyes widened in surprise, Sam whistled appreciatively, and Zemo offered a polite nod of approval.

“Not a chance,” Bucky’s voice cut through the moment, his gaze bore into you as you walked out wearing the red dress, its neckline plunging and the hem barely covering anything below your waist, your back exposed. 

Confusion flickered across your face as you turned to him, he was looking you up and down with only his eyes still seated. “Excuse me?”

His jaw tensed as he continued to assess your appearance, “You’re not wearing that,” he stated firmly.

Your eyebrows furrowed in disbelief, “And, since when did you get an opinion?” you shot back, defiance in your voice as you met his gaze. 

The tension on the jet thickened as Bucky maintained his stance. Sam sensed the conflict brewing, he decided to step in and attempt to diffuse the situation. 

“Okay, let’s just take a minute,” He interjected, his voice was calm yet authoritative. “We’ve got more important things to worry about-”

“I’m serious,” Bucky interrupted, insisting you wouldn’t be wearing the dress. “You’ll draw too much attention.”

“This dress will not compromise the mission,” you began, your voice steady. “I’ve been in the ‘arm candy’ role for Steve enough to know what I’m doing.” you noticed the shift in his demeanor as his body tensed at the thought of you and Steve being perceived as intimate.

Sam nodded in agreement with you, “She’s got a point, Bucky,” Sam interjected, affirming your statement. He had witnessed this act on a few occasions now to know you’re right. Bucky hesitated, torn between his protective and possessive instincts over you or respecting the supposed end of your so-called relationship. After a moment of silence, a begrudging “Fine.” cut through the tension.

---

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#i cant read your mind fic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky x you #bucky x y/n #bucky x female reader #bucky fanfic #james bucky barnes #bucky fic #james bucky buchanan barnes #fatws!bucky x agent!reader #fatws au #fatws bucky #falcon and the winter soldier #the falcon and the winter soldier #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #i cant read your mind notes #i cant read your mind #tfatws #tfatws bucky

[sanjisblackasswife]

timi im sobbing like a bitch while rewatching corazón and law's story (PLUS IM ON MY PERIOD SO BYE)

COULD U PLEASE PLEAAAASE write something about cora??🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🤧🤧🤧🥲🥲🥲🥲🤧🤧🤧🤧🤧🥲🥲🤧🤧🥲🥲 anything- i just need him to hug me and kiss me and fuck me and love me etc etc etc aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa (dying)

“𝙷𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝙷𝚊𝚗𝚍”

𝚁𝚘𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚎 𝚡 𝙵𝚎𝚖! 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

Black Fem Reader in Mind

CW: Hand holding, Pet names, Soft!Dom Cora, Aftercare, (?) Soft Smut, Size kink(?), Oral, Body Worship, Cora has a tongue piercing

☹️❣️I hope this helps

“You don’t…” a shaky breath left your lips, “Have to…”

“Yes I do…lay down and let me take care of you.”

Damn it.

His breath in your ear made your eyes roll back, you fell weak against his touch.

His long slender fingers unbuttoning the front of your bra while his cold lips hit your hot neck. His kisses were so gentle.

That was his mantra after all. He was your big gentle giant.

Usually you always took charge, laying him down and he was at your disposal but tonight Cora seen the sadness you been carrying behind your smile, he wasn’t too great with his words, more clumsy with verbally as he is physically. So he decided tonight was going to be about you.

“This…” Cora’s heavy breathing against your freed nipple made you mewl, “This…body…is all mine…and I wanna take care of what’s mine.”

His kisses were peppered over the mounds of your breast, he knew how sensitive you were so he smirked at your flinches, kitten licking the top before sucking it into his mouth, his tongue didnt rest, it was wrapping and swirling all over while his other free hand fondled the other.

“Rosi…” You whine, you felt so small, his large nude frame over your half clothed one, his body grinding against you, you felt a wet mess on your thigh already, you giggle weakly, “…I’m fine..”

“If you’re fine, then let me make you feel better than that.”

He closed his large hand with yours now looking into your eyes while his lips slips off your breast, leaving a shiny spit line disconnecting you both down to your panty line, he bit into the thin fabric and pulled it down with his teeth, not breaking away from your gaze.

He kissed both of your inner thighs, the small graze from his lips on your clit made you clench,

“I love this pussy…so much…”

His vulgar words in such a soft tone made you bite your lip, until a hum cane out of you, his long snake like tongue pushing its way inside your cunt, you immediately clench down at the cold metal that was accompanied with it.

“Thats it..” His voice muffled before diving in, feeling your hand squeeze down onto his, “Feel good for me baby, focus on this tongue.”

Cora’s head moved back and fourth, tongue fucking your hole before swirling it back on your clit, your voice was bouncing off the walls of how well he could use it.

There wasn’t an area on your pussy he didn’t lap up, his eyes rolling back at your taste and smell, just overflowing in his mind, “Fuck!” You heard him groan time to time.

Now, here you are a panting undone mess, cumming only in minutes from him being in between your thighs.

The kiss was messy, he needed you to taste yourself.

Drool pooled between both of you, barely being able to breath you both were so needy for each others touch, you didn’t mind feeling him slide his cock half way inside you.

“Th-this..is new…” You stutter, you and him knew how big he was, so missionary wasn’t something you both had in mind to do but for tonight he will make sure to keep you noting less of pleasure in this position.

The bed shook the ground, Cora’s hips nearly snapping aginst yours, he couldn’t bottom out, only half way in in fear he may hurt you he kept his pace steady and it was perfect.

“I love you..” Your boyfriend whined in your ear now grabbing both of your hands as you rocked your hips together, “I love you so much, babe. Please don’t leave me.”

His voice was cracking and you heard a few sniffs in your ear as he kissed it turning his head to find your lips again. You both were so overwhelmed by this new closeness you felt yourself cumming again.

“I love you, Rosi!” You moaned, letting go of one hand to hold the back of his nape, “I love you, I won’t ever leave you..”

It was emotional for you both, but the pleasure of the orgasm you shared together that night made it all the more better.

It left you shaking, one of your legs wrapped around his hip, he grabbed it keeping it up there as he rode out both of your highs, not once letting go from your kisses or hand.

When he pulled out, there was a sticky pool beneath you both, Neither of you cared you just wanted to be held.

and that he did.

“I meant what i said, Cora…’m never leaving you”

“I know..” He pulled you into his neck, tracing shapes on your lower back, he smiled, “I know..”

He lifted your chin, brushed back the wet fly away hairs on your forehead to kiss you so passionately, it got messy and then came in some tongue sucking and moaning, it riled you both up again.

That night was filled with back to back love making and hand holding, mixed with constant praise of “i love yous” and other sweet mothings, it was done not just for you but to confirm with your big man that you’d never leave.

and you never did.

#one piece #black reader #one piece headcanons #one piece x female reader #one piece smut #one piece x black!reader #donquixote corazon #donquixote brothers #corazon smut #rosinante smut #donquixote rosinate x reader

[dfortrafalgar]

I'm Losing You... (But We're Filling the Cracks)

It's time.

Warnings: read chapter 1 for warnings.

Taglist: @phsycochan | @mirillua | @augustanna | @chaixsherlock | @whore-of-many-hot-men | @nerdisthenewcool | @lilypadmomentum | @1dkneo | @kitsunechan707

Chapter 30

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2:00 AM, May 12th

A sudden jolt ripped you from your relatively peaceful sleep at around 2:00 in the morning.  Your body had been growing somewhat used to the Braxton Hicks contractions that seemed to plague you for a better part of the previous weeks.

This was not Braxton Hicks.

The pain seemed to start in your smile before radiating outward, almost reaching the tips of your toes and the pads of your fingers.  You felt it deep in your core, a painful cramping, almost stretching sensation that made your stomach leap into your throat.

It was happening.

You swung your legs over the side of your bed and grabbed your phone.  You had it planned out.  Law was sleeping at the hospital in a call room.  His surgery was today, at 8:00 AM.  Your knees were shaking, barely holding your weight as another contraction began to pulse through you, making you lean back against your mattress and slowly sink to the ground.  Your water hadn’t broken yet, and you were spotting the day before, but your doctor said that was normal.

You fucking hoped she was right.

[Ugh… hello?]

Your voice barely reached the phone you held to your ear.  “Sh-Shachi… it’s happening.”

A sudden rustling and a pained-sounding grunt resonated through the speaker and the line went dead.  You crawled across the floor to where your hospital bag was stored, your hand just barely reached one of the straps when another cramp ripped through your abdomen, making you squeak out a pained whimper.

You heard your apartment door burst open, probably startling your neighbors, and frantic footsteps ran across your home and to your room.  The light in your bedroom flicked on, momentarily blinding you, and Shachi stood panting in the doorway.

“Penguin, I need some help over here!” he shouted, approaching you and taking one of your arms.

The second man sprinted into the room, helping Shachi haul you to your feet.  With Penguin’s arms still supporting you upright, Shachi grabbed your heavy hospital bag and began a mad dash toward your door.  

“I’m going to stay here with Bepo, alright?” Penguin muttered, sleep still heavy on his tongue as he helped you into the hallway and into the elevator.  

You were wearing a ratty pair of house slippers and your usual pajamas, but you barely had time to think about your appearance when you could feel your stomach contracting with each movement.  You had no idea what giving birth was like, but you were progressing fast.  The only thing you could respond with was a weak nod, clenching your teeth.  The walk from the ground floor to Shachi’s car in the front parking lot was a blur for you, the only thought in your mind being the immense pressure in your swollen belly.  It was only going to get worse before it got better, and the thought made your palms more sweaty than they already were.

You were helped into the passenger seat of Shachi’s beat-up car, barely having time to register your anxieties about this hunk of metal taking you to the emergency room in the dead of night.  Your hands involuntarily wrapped around your belly, trying in vain to soothe the pain that continued to throb within you.  

“Good luck!” Penguin called as Shachi closed your door and sprinted to the other side of his car, almost throwing himself over the hood.  The car rattled to life as he twisted the key in the ignition.  He carefully maneuvered through the dark parking lot, out onto the main road, and you were off.

—

5:00 AM, May 12th

Law’s circulating nurse was holding a walkie talkie.  It wasn’t often those were found in the operating prep room.  The team was pensively getting ready, donning their gowns, following their glove procedures, and securing their masks and face shields when the static-filled sound of the receiver flooded the room.

[The helicopter is landing.]

The patient was in the prep room, still completely intubated, barely clinging to life.  This operation was his and his family’s last hope at a somewhat normal life, free from tubes.  Law closed his eyes and shuddered a deep breath in, then out, before placing his own mask on his face.  A few hours ago in the stuffy call room he slept in, he was forced awake by a night terror of the mother whose son had passed away almost a year ago.  Her screams still bounced around his head like a bell chime, loud, obnoxious, and utterly petrifying.

He thought about you sleeping at home.

“Have I received any calls?”  He turned his attention toward his circulating nurse who had placed the walkie talkie down, another nurse helping him into his second pair of sterile rubber gloves.

She pulled his phone out of her pocket.  Nothing.  The only notification on his home screen was a text from the day before from you reading, ‘Good luck baby!!!  I love you!!!!’  She shook her head, placing his phone in her back pocket.

“Don’t be surprised if we receive any calls during the operation, my wife is supposed to be giving birth in a week or so.  It’s all hands on deck at home, but this operation is our top priority right now.”  Law flexed his fingers under his gloves as he watched his staff bustle around the prep room, preparing all their instruments and materials before retreating into the primary OR to receive the patient from pre-op.

“Got it,” she replied, her voice low and patient.

Law hated that his priority wasn’t with you when you needed him around most.  But in the face of the most important operation of his life, there wasn’t much he could do.

—

6:09 AM, May 12th

Shachi wasn’t allowed into the delivery room with you due to not being family.  The only one who would be allowed was Law, and clearly, he wasn’t going to be available in quite a while.  Shachi had tried to call him throughout your triage check-in, but his phone had gone straight to voicemail.  No surprise to you, a man was getting his entire chest cavity replaced across the hospital.

Still… you missed him.  A lot.  It was certainly a bizarre feeling knowing that he was technically in the same building as you, but across the expansive hospital campus and a few floors down.

Your loneliness was far more palpable in your delivery room, however.  The entire space seemed bland and boring, and you were already hooked up to more tubes than you were pleased with, which is to say, four tubes too many.  You had a hose in your nose for extra oxygen, an IV drip in your arm, and two electrode patches on your chest monitoring your heart rate.

Your contractions had lessened somewhat in the time it took for you to arrive at the hospital, and according to the on-board delivery doctor who greeted you in the room, you weren’t even dilated.  You still had a long way to go.  You had barely eaten the breakfast that was brought to you, the buttered biscuit looked far too gray for a piece of bread, and you were effectively running off of bland applesauce and a small dosage of pain meds.  They couldn’t give you any more until your active labor started, where you could then opt for an epidural.

But you saw that needle.  You were even starting to question that.

The few contractions you felt throughout the morning were intense enough, and you were barely mustering up the courage to prepare yourself for what was surely to come later in the day.  You were still holding out hope that your labor would progress naturally and that there would be no need for an emergency C-section, or any sort of emergency procedure at all.

Your body now had one job.  It had failed all the others, but now that you finally had a successful pregnancy, there was only one job left to do.

Your dazed staring at the ceiling was interrupted when the doctor who admitted you re-entered your room.  She had a calm smile on her face, slight bags under her eyes that displayed more of a long career in delivering babies than acute exhaustion, and the sight of her soft smile lines around her mouth immediately filled you with a sense of calm you had yet to feel all morning.

“Mrs. Trafalgar, how are you doing?” she asked politely, pulling up a chair and sitting by your bedside.  One of her hands rested on yours, a gentle pat for reassurance.  “I reviewed your patient history.  I see your husband is the leading cardiothoracic surgeon with our hospital!”

The fact that she immediately jumped to singing your husband’s praises instead of rapidly addressing the two elephants in your patient charts that read ‘Spontaneous Abortions at 7 and 12 weeks’ brought a smile to your face.  “He is.  I’m sure you’ve already heard the news going on down there.”

She rubbed your hand again.  It was then that you noticed she had her own wedding ring on her left hand.  She looked like the kind of woman to have a sweet partner.  “Indeed I did, it’s been the talk of the staff for months.  Our hospital’s first, and probably only, dual cardiopulmonary transplant.  Frankly, it’s an honor that your husband was chosen to perform the operation, there is no one better qualified than him.”

You picked your head up from the pillow that was supporting your neck.  The bed you were laying in was tiled up so you were more sitting rather than stretched out.  “Have you personally met him?” you asked, your eyes lighting up.

She nodded.  “When he first got the position of lead surgeon, he was made to do a speech in front of the hospital staff to recognize his achievements.”

You remembered that day.  While you couldn’t attend due to your work schedule, he had spent the two weeks prior agonizing over what he was going to say.  He hated public speaking and everything involving it, so having to write a small speech was his worst nightmare.  You weren’t even married yet.  His reward for a successful conference was a steamy night in the bedroom with you, and as far as you knew, he did well enough that he came home and was immediately ripping his clothes off.

The doctor’s voice rattled you out of your daydream.  “It is a shame that he can’t be here right now,” she sighed.  “Hopefully your labor progresses slowly enough that he can be here for the actual birth.”

“I hope he’ll be here when they actually arrive,” you groaned.  “He’ll never let himself get over it if he misses it.”

“And it would be unfortunate for you, too, dear.  Don’t forget about you.”  Another hand pat.

You grinned.  She was right.  Your husband might have been one of the country’s most accomplished surgeons and was currently about to undertake the most daunting procedure of his life, but right now, you were the one preparing to birth two babies.

—

8:43 AM, May 12th

Law gazed down through his face shield at the exposed chest cavity of the man under the sheet on the operating table.  Multiple metal frames were holding his ribs open, his sternum sawed in half to expose the fragile, failing organs underneath.  His heart somehow was displaying visible wear, almost like a machine in a factory would begin to rust.  But both of his lungs were riddled with odd growths and morbid discoloration.

“Was it noted in his patient history that he has COPD?” Law asked, his voice displaying confusion rather than horror.  The poor guy was already getting two new lungs, it’s not like that would change.

“I’m not sure it did, Doc,” one of the nurses across the room maintaining the organ cart replied.  “Does he?”

The head anesthesiologist peered around his machines toward the open chest cavity.  “Yeesh.”

“Okay, professionalism, people.  Thank you for answering my question,” Law barked sternly, bringing his team back into strict focus.

The sound of the organ cart was filling the room with a foreign atmosphere.  It wasn’t like organ transplants on their own were very common in their hospital, but to have the giant artificial box pretending to be a human body supplying a constant stream of donor blood and oxygen to a detached heart and lung trifecta was quite a shocking sight for most of the nurses.  The heart itself was fully exposed, hoses connected to every valve.  It was beating morbidly with each pass of blood, circulating a non-living machine.  Some drops of blood from the exterior of the tissue trickled down the wet organ and collected in a small puddle at the bottom of the tray it was held on.  Some of the team could barely even look at it.

The heart had to be transplanted first, due to the way he was cut open.  They could replace the heart from the front, where his ribs were separated, but his lungs would have to be removed from the sides of his body, under the arms.  The scar tissue on the man was going to be quite the sight in a few months.  

The team was only about 45 minutes into this procedure.

Law’s shoulders were already sore.

—

10:00 AM, May 12th

Your phone was blowing up.

You had texted Ikkaku that you were admitted to the hospital and that your labor had begun, but was progressing slowly.  You didn’t think she’d be able to keep it to herself, but the sheer speed in which she had informed your other close friends was almost dizzying.  After only about 2 minutes, your phone began chiming with a near constant influx of messages from your friends and coworkers, all wishing you the best of luck with your delivery.

It was a weekday, afterall.  Ikkaku probably sprung up from her chair and sprinted around the office like the boy who cried wolf.

When the doctor said your labor would be progressing slowly, she meant it.  And you were already tired of it.  Two in the morning was already far too early for the human body to be functioning, and you weren’t able to get a lick of sleep in the hospital bed you occupied.  Each time your eyes fluttered closed, another contraction would ripple through your body and remind you of exactly where you were.

It had now been about eight hours since you were admitted.

Your cervix was 1 centimeter dilated, and your water had yet to break.

Nurses were constantly in and out checking on you and your condition, but conversation was rarely exchanged.  Instead, most of your time was spent in silence, staring at the bland burgundy walls of the delivery room, the machines you were hooked up to to supply you with fluids and oxygen, and the door to the rest of the maternity ward.

The door you wished would open to reveal your excited husband running to be by your side.

“How are you doing, dear?”  Your doctor popped her head in once more.  She entered the room fully and pulled on a fresh pair of gloves.

“Hanging in there,” you replied.  You were embarrassed with how dejected you sounded.  You didn’t intend to seem so… lonely.

The doctor positioned herself at the foot of her bed and gestured for you to maneuver your legs into the cold metal stirrups that connected at the end. The stirrups hurt your back enough as it was, and the weight of two babies against your spine did little to help, but you bared through it.

“You’re at about 3 centimeters now, you’re progressing very well!” she called, removing her head from between your legs.  “In another few hours, you’ll almost be ready to go!”

Your heart panged with excitement at finally giving birth, but also extreme desperation.

Your contractions were progressively getting closer and closer together.

You wanted Law.

—

11:51 AM, May 12th

Law’s phone rang from the back pocket of the circulating nurse’s scrubs.  The entire team let it go to voicemail.  A human heart was being removed from an open chest cavity, clutched like a sacred, scarred treasure in the blood soaked hands of one of the surgical assistants, while the man was fully hooked up to the quadruple bypass machine.  He now had a mechanical assistant serving as his heart and lungs while they retrieved the new ones.  There was no time or energy to be spent on a phone call.

“I thought you said you wouldn’t be bringing your phone in for this operation, doc,” one of the nurses said.  Law could hear the sarcastic grin from under the surgical mask.

“I thought about it, but I’d worry too much,” Law grumbled back, wiping his gloved hands on a sterile towel.

“You’re such a good husband,” the assistant anesthesiologist cooed from across the room.  “I hope my husband is as attentive as you are one day.”

Law felt blood rush to his face.  He kept his mouth shut while the organ box was wheeled over to the bedside.

—

12:10 PM, May 12th

[Hey, have you heard from Law at all?  How are you doing?]

Shachi’s voice over the speaker of your cell phone was able to clear your mind somewhat.  Your contractions were still even and decently spaced out, but you were growing more and more aware of every sudden shift in your body as the seconds ticked by.  “No, and I probably won’t hear from him at all until tonight.  The operation started only four hours ago, they probably haven’t even gotten to the lungs yet.”

[And you?  How are you holding up?]  The redhead reiterated his second question.

“I’m holding,” you muttered back.  “Doctor said I’m still about 3 centimeters dilated, so it’ll still be a while before I actually start, you know, giving birth.”

[What does that mean?  3 centimeters dilated.]

“That’s how large the opening of my cervix is,” you clarified.

A long pause over the phone’s speaker followed.  [What’s a cervix?]

You paused.  “It’s… the entrance to the birth canal?”

Another pause.

“Shachi… you know where babies come from, right?” you asked, your contractions suddenly the least of your worries.

[I do!]  His voice was defensive.  [When a man loves a woman and all that shit.  But what does a cervix have to do with any of that?]

“Have you…” your voice trailed off.  “Have you and Penguin made out yet?”

[Oh, yeah.  We made out, like, two nights ago.  Why?]

You considered your questions answered.

—

1:00 PM, May 12th

The entire room was silent as Law worked, his deft, experienced fingers expertly sewing up even the smallest of blood vessels in the donor heart.  It had been about five hours now since the start of the procedure, and everything was progressing as planned.  Even faster, at that, much to Law’s delight.  The entire team was working as one fluid unit, just as discussed for the months leading up.  When the front of the man’s chest cavity was repaired, however, was when the trickiest part of the procedure would begin.  The patient remained attached to the bypass machine as Law finished the final stitches on the aorta.  It would still be a little longer before he could be fully removed.

The man was filled with tubes.  Down his throat, down his stomach, in his chest, in his arms.  It was an incredibly uncomfortable sight.

The assistants worked in tandem to close up the chest cavity, securing all of the muscle, bone, and erroneous tissue back into place.  It was like putting together a very convoluted and high-risk jigsaw puzzle.

Now the lungs were next.

His phone rang again from the back pocket of the circulating nurse’s scrubs.  Due to the small down time, she reached in and pulled it out, assessing the screen.

“It’s your friend, doctor,” she called.

“Text him to just tell you what’s up,” he asked back.  His mind had become so focused on the operation that he barely had room to think about anything else.

Hi, this is Dr. Trafalgar’s circulating nurse!  Is everything alright?

The three little dots indicating an incoming response appeared, then disappeared, then appeared, then disappeared again.  After what felt like an eternity, an answer finally came up.  A confusing one, at that.

Orca

Uhhhh idk how to relay this properly cus idrk whats happening, but tell him his wife is 3 centimeters dilated???

Oh god.

“Uhm…” she nervously called.

“What is it?” the stone-faced surgeon asked, his back to her as he assessed the organ transplant box that still contained two human lungs.

“Your wife is 3 centimeters dilated?”

You could’ve heard a pin drop.

—

1:15 PM, May 12th

[So I got handed over to that circulating nurse.  She said she’d tell him but she obviously couldn’t do much more.]

Shachi had called you back after hanging up the first time, just to inform you that he had finally gotten through to Law, or at least, Law’s cell phone.

You sighed in relief.  That was the most you could ask for.  You were just happy that he’d be able to know.  “Thank you, Shachi.  You’re not still at the hospital, are you?”

[Nah, I’m getting ice cream.  It’s hot as shit out.]

Lucky bastard.

—

2:30 PM, May 12th

Law had two sides.  Analytical and focused, and the Protective Husband.

In the operating theater, those two sides were in a western-style duel against one another.

In front of him was a near-comatose man with the left side of his ribs cut open, a withered, diseased lung slowly being removed from his body.  And on the complete opposite side of campus, two stories above him, you had begun labor.

And he wasn’t there.

“Doctor, I thought you said another week or so,” one of the female nurses asked, her voice both curious and concerned.

“That’s what I assumed,” he replied, his tone a bit snippy.  No one could blame the poor guy.  He was having babies.

“How far along is she, again?” another voice asked.

“35 weeks,” he replied, delicately slicing through a patch of diseased lung tissue.

“It’s premature?!  Oh goodness–”  One of the nurses began to freak out over the implication, but another colleague was quick to calm her down.

“With twins!  They’re having twins, it’s alright,” the other nurse explained.  “With twins, it’s far more common to be delivered somewhat prematurely.  If the rest of the pregnancy was healthy, there’s no need to be alarmed.”

Law was inwardly thankful from his colleague’s explanation.  If anything, she unintentionally lessened the tension in the theater by ten orders of magnitude, making it far easier for him to focus.  

The harder he focused, the quicker this procedure got done.  And the quicker he got done, the quicker he could run to your side.

—

4:00 PM, May 12th

It had been about 14 hours since your labor officially began, and you barely had a lick of sleep.  The hospital lunch had not been much better than the hospital breakfast, and now you were dreading the hospital dinner.

It didn’t help that your contractions were now substantially closer together, and your cervix was now 6 centimeters dilated.

Law was now in surgery for about eight hours.

One of the evening shift nurses was in the room with you.  She looked about your age.

You turned your attention toward her as she fixed another fluid drip onto your IV pole.  “How long do you think a heart and lung transplant should take?” you blurted.

Your question clearly caught her off-guard.  “Oh gosh, I mean… a single heart transplant is, like, six hours, right?  Give or take?”

Your head flopped down onto your pillow.  He was nowhere near close to being done.

—

5:30 PM, May 12th

The topic of relieving Law with another surgeon mid-operation was now floating around the theater.  Despite being adamant that he refused to leave in the middle of a procedure, his fellow colleagues were determined to let him go.  Maybe it was just the exhaustion getting to everyone.  They had just now removed the left lung and were preparing its transplant for insertion, and they still had one more organ to go.  He couldn’t leave.

“We’ll get this done a lot quicker if we all focus,” the surgeon demanded, insisting his staff return to their focused attitudes.

It was clear that everyone, despite performing their duties well and maintaining a smooth workflow, wanted Law to go see his wife.

One of the anesthesiologists was a mother to three, and was now being drilled with questions.

“How quickly did you dilate with your first?” one of the nurses asked.

It took a few moments for her to think about it.  “I think I was in active labor for about 24 hours in total,” she replied.  “It was loooong.  But, I was also only carrying one, and I was 41 weeks pregnant, so he was quite big!  I would imagine a 35 week twin birth might progress a bit quicker, since the babies aren’t quite as big as that.”

Great.  Just what Law needed to hear.

His worst nightmare was flashing through his mind as he began to suture the transplant lung.  You in crippling agony, screaming and crying with no support from the doctors or nurses, forced to give birth alone.  What if you hemorrhage in the middle of delivery?  What if the babies weren’t positioned properly?  What if you passed out or suffered spontaneous cardiac arrest?  What if one of the babies died during delivery?  What if they both died?  What if all of you died?

The assistant standing next to Law watched in awe as the surgeon, who clearly wasn’t thinking about the surgery, sutured arteries together with robotic precision.

—

7:05 PM, May 12th

You were quickly losing track of time.

8 centimeters dilated.  The doctor told you that your body would know when you needed to push.  And now, almost all the way there, with your room now flooded with staff preparing for your birth, you felt the need to push.

#x reader #reader insert #fem reader #law x reader #one piece x reader #trafalgar law x reader #op x reader #trafalgar d water law x reader #trafalgar d water law #trafalgar law #i'm losing you

[kaizokuniichan]

Trafalgar Law x GN! Reader

Jerking off Law in his Captain’s quarters bc he deserves it ❤️

MDNI

(Divider by @cafekitsune )

There’s a heavy sigh of relief that escapes him when your fingers crawl down into his sweats. He rolls onto his back while you hook a leg over his thigh, pulling him free

Littering kisses and bites along his jaw, his goatee tickles your nose as his head falls back onto the mattress

He’s such a busy captain, and he worries so much about taking care of his loved ones; his crew. And he’s so pent up from all of the stress and worries of becoming one of the most notorious pirates in the New World; he hasn’t had the opportunity to even consider taking care of himself in such a manner. And he’s so thankful that it’s you that’s doing this for him

He wraps his arm around your waist and squeezes your hip when your grip becomes more firm; Amber eyes boring into yours; black tendrils of hair plastered wildly against his forehead. He’s solid and heavy in your hand, your fingers clutching him with the slick glide of his arousal. He’s desperately searching for your lips as you pump him faster, quiet groans pouring into your mouth

“Fuck, fuck don’t stop. You’re so good to me.”

He’s leaking and shuddering embarrassingly quick, but he’s too far gone to feel any shame. And you’re to enraptured with him revealing so much of his vulnerability as you please him

You begin to pull your hand away to replace it with your mouth but calloused, tattooed fingers wrap around yours, urging you to keep hold of him. He prefers your mouth to remain on his

Panting and muttering , voice like steel, he curses once more against your lips before he shudders violently, back arching off the bed, and spills into your hand, warm and gooey

Tired groans escape him as you milk him dry; resting his head against yours with a final sigh. You fear the acoustics of the metal walls in his quarters might be a bit too high quality as you hear light footsteps scurry away from the door. But no matter. You’d made your Captain very pleased, and that was all you’d ever wanted.

Bringing your hand to your lips to lick him clean off your fingers, he immediately brings his mouth to yours again, wishing to taste himself on you.

“Thank you.”

“Anything for you, Captain.”

#myfic #Trafalgar Law x reader #Law x reader #Trafalgar Law #re-uploading this bc I realized that none of my shit was showing up in the tags? #and re-wrote it a little to make it more clear that it is Law and not just some random man lmfao #I like it like this anyway

[strawheart-pirate]

Sabotage

Trafalgar Law x gn!Reader

December 17th 2023 Words: 1281 CW: SFW / fluff / no/pre relationship / some swearing / an annoyed captain

You were anchored on an island where some sort of winter festival was taking place, and you were eager to skate around the ice rink. Unfortunately, your captain wasn't in the mood for any fun... was he?

You walked back to the Polar Tang, which was anchored in the harbor, your arms full of groceries. Your captain walked beside you, also packed, and you noticed that he relaxed more and more as you got closer to the Tang. He had been in a bad mood since you entered the city because it was so crowded. There was a winter festival on the island and the city was teeming with people. The crew and you were excited and you talked to Shachi, Ikkaku and Hakkugan about maybe staying a day and joining the festivities. You had seen that there was even an ice rink, and you would die just to strap on some skates and take a few laps. But your dreams and wishes came to a quick end, because yes... unfortunately, you knew your captain better. The moment you asked him to stay for the night to enjoy the party, his mood took a turn for the worse and the death stare he gave you said it all. He ordered the crew to replenish their supplies as quickly as possible so they could all leave. So, with a heavy heart and a wistful look, you bid farewell to the festivities and the ice rink with every step you took toward the Tang.

Just as you're putting everything away in the pantry, you hear a loud crash and Shachi yelled from the deck. "What the fuck, Penguin! You ran in the direction of the shouting and saw a stuck Penguin. A plank of the deck had broken when he stepped on it, and now he was half stuck in the submarine. You giggled at the sight, but stopped immediately when your captain approached the mess, a scowl on his face as usual.

"You're going to fix this..." he growled through clenched teeth at Penguin. "And you help him, no one else." He pointed at Shachi.

Shachi was tempted to disagree, but he didn't dare say anything back. Instead, he glared at Penguin, ‘grateful’ for the extra work.

"We probably won't leave the harbor tonight, but...if I catch anyone ashore, I'll make them help fix this mess." Law ordered in a deep, stern voice and then went to his quarters.

The crew dispersed with mixed feelings, and you helped Shachi get Penguin out of the hole. The damage was much worse than a broken plank. You could even see inside the ship through the hole, and metal, wood, and even pipes needed repairing. You looked at the boys with pity before you said goodbye. Better follow captain’s orders and not upset him any more...

Later that night, you lay on your bed and looked out your window. The constant hammering of Shachi and Penguin echoed through the Tang as you gazed longingly at the island. The lights of the Winter Festival still looked enchanting, and you still carried a heavy heart for missing the opportunity to skate on the ice. Suddenly, you saw fireworks in the distance and pressed your nose to the window. It was a beautiful sight, and a small smile crept across your face. Even if you couldn't enjoy the activities, you could still enjoy the fireworks. You were about to change your clothes and go to bed when the blue light of your Captain's Devil Fruit powers filled the room.

What's he up to now? You asked yourself, and a second later you were standing in a side street in the middle of the city, your captain beside you. You looked at him, confused.

"Here, put this on," Law said, handing you a jacket. His gaze was hard and neutral, giving nothing away as to what he was up to.

"Um... thanks." you said and put the jacket on before you started to shiver. It was freezing cold and dark, not a soul to be seen on the streets as the festival was over for the day. "Why are we here?"

"I want to show you something, let's go." Law said in a neutral voice, showing no emotion, and started walking.

You followed him closely, curious what he was up to. "I thought no one was allowed to go ashore?"

"No one but us."

It sounded like there was a slight playfulness in his voice, but you weren't sure, so you decided not to pay any further attention. It's better not to annoy the captain again. It was always like dancing on a razor's edge with him. Especially when you couldn't read his eyes because he walked ahead of you.

You followed him through dark, narrow corridors, wondering where he was going. With his powers, he could easily get you anywhere on the island, and yet here you were, walking for at least half an hour. You knew that his powers always took their toll on his stamina, but this walk was no better...

Just as you were about to ask again, Law stopped and you almost bumped into him.

"Close your eyes," he ordered, and you obeyed. You were nervous, your heart beating a little faster when he put his hand on your shoulder. "Room. Shambles." You felt the sudden change in atmosphere and the slight dizziness that occurred every time he teleported you. Thanks to his grip, you didn't lose your balance.

"Now open your eyes." He said softly, his cold and stern voice gone.

You frowned at the change in his voice and blinked, opening your eyes to see the ice rink. It was dimly lit and there was no one in sight. "Did we just break into the rink?"

Law just grinned and handed you a pair of skates.

Although it was rare for you to see your captain smile, your attention was immediately focused on the skates. A beaming smile spread across your face and you quickly put on your skates. Your heart did a backflip because you were so happy to be able to skate a few laps. You didn't know how your captain knew or why he was doing this, but you were overjoyed and didn't question it. You wanted to enjoy this opportunity to the fullest. After putting on your skates, you stepped onto the ice and a familiar feeling shot through your veins as you glided smoothly across the ice. You turned and watched as Law stepped onto the ice. Law took careful steps, his hands gripping the boards with a firm grip, and you had to stifle a laugh.

"Have you ever skated before?" you ask Law, who is watching you from the edge of the rink, still gripping the board tightly.

"No." He replied with a growl, and you glide over to him with gentle tugs.

"Give me your hand, Captain. I can help you." You smiled at him and held out your hand.

"I can do it myself." He growled and pushed himself away from the board. He made it a short distance until his feet drifted apart and he twisted his arms to keep his balance and not fall over.

Just before his feet slipped away, you caught him under the arms and lifted him up before he could fall. "Gotcha. Still don't need any help?"

He turned away, hiding his flushed cheeks in the high collar of his coat. Instead of an answer, he grabbed your hand, so you slowly slid forward, a smile on your face as he copied your movement. By the time the two of you had completed a full lap, Law was much more confident on his skates.

"Thank you." He said quietly, almost in a whisper.

"Sure thing, Captain." You said, smiling. Just as you were about to withdraw your hand, his grip tightened.

"Call me Law."

All content unless otherwise stated belongs to: ©strawheart-pirate. Please do not copy / modify / translate / repost my writing, banners or art on other platforms. Comments, reblogs or likes are highly appreciated! Snowflake banner by ©firefly-graphics

#one piece #trafalgar law #trafalgar law x reader #trafalgar law x you #gn reader #fan fiction #sfw #strawheart-pirate.events #strawheart-pirate.christmas countdown 2023 #strawheart-pirate.writing

[thebestofoneshots]

My mate went off on me because I don’t know who Bucky Barnes (did I even spell that right?) is because I don’t like Marvel. The thing is I couldn’t really tell her “oh I do know who he is, I read smut/regular fics about him on Tumblr”…

Anyway, now I’m obsessed with a fictional character I know nothing cannonically about -🫎

Oh you’ve come to the right person. Allow me to educate you on canon.

His name is James Buchanan Barnes, nicknamed Bucky by his best friend in the whole wide world Steve Rogers (that’s Captain America). But we also call him Winter Soldier, Bucky Bear, babe, or one of Lily’s husbands in the Marvel Universe

What’s his story though? Easy peasy. It’s the 1940s he’s besties with Steve, back when he still looked like a twink, and gets drafted to fight in WWII (tho he pretends he enlisted)

That’s him back then. Yeah, we know. How could you not? Also, he’s played by Sebastian Stan, who is an absolute fluffball of a human being.

Anyway, Bucky gets drafted and then we see Steve’s story where he basically just becomes Captain America.

But then, and this is what the interesting stuff happens, Steve gets sent to a camp to cheer up the soldiers like he’s been cheering up the people, and then he finds out that the 107th Infantry Regiment (Bucky’s Unit) was captured by the German army, so he goes (against orders) to search for him.

After a lot of badass Captain America scenes we finally see our baby again. But oh no! He was tortured by Hydra and they clearly did something to him, we don’t know what.

So, Steve makes friends and they form a team Called the Howling Commandos, and they do a lot of badass things, helping the US army win WWII. In one of those missions, there’s a train.

Oh no the train.

Basically, cool fight scenes and all, Bucky falls off the fucking train on a heart wrenching moment.

And then… we don’t see him again until…

But, and this is a good question, HOW DID WE GET TO THAT?

Well, Bucky falls, hydra rescues him bc he’s alive (it’s the super soldier serum they injected on him while they tortured him), also, that’s when he loses his left arm.

They torture him for years:

Fry his brain so he doesn’t remember Steve and also add a little code so they can control his mind.

That’s how our beautiful and sweet Bucky Barnes becomes THE WINTER SOLDIER

Who is he tho? Basically, Hydra’s trained little weapon that does whatever they ask him to do. But it’s okay, eventually, he starts remembering who he is, and there’s a huge drama with this because Tony Stark (Iron Man) finds out Bucky killed his parents (it wasn’t Bucky it was The Winter Soldier) and gets all mad and pissy about it and wants to unalive poor Bucky.

But Steve thankfully defends Bucky and they escape together to Wakanda, with black panther. There Bucky gets frosted, also he looses his arm because of the fight.

Then he’s defrosted and the Wakanda people get him to get rid of the mind control codes put in by Hydra and this incredible scene happens

They also give him a new metal arm (this one’s black and gold)

And then my boy has to go to therapy (literally forced by the law)

Also he cut his hair too hehe.

I feel like I’ve summed up cannon Bucky pretty well so far. Of course, there’s a lot of emotional trauma and other plot points that I left out, but next time someone askes you about Bucky, you’ll know.

Also, I used to write almost exclusively for him, so the obsession is pretty heavy still, Bucky baby I still love you, I have not forgotten you my dear (my like 10 funko pops of you literally prove this)

Read Bucky Fanfics here

#bucky barnes one shot #bucky imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #james bucky barnes #bucky x oc #bucky x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barns imagine #bucky barnes #bucky #bucky x female reader #bucky one shot #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky fanfic #james bucky buchanan barnes

[cherryblossom-chopper]

【Losing You】

Law x Reader

Content: Ambiguous Reader. Injured Reader. Hurt/Comfort. Blood. Swearing.

————— ୨୧ —————

Law’s heart dropped in his chest, seeing (Name) collapse in front of him. His bloodied fingers reached out to them as he called out for his powers. Yet nothing happened, no matter how often‘ room’ or ‘takt’ left his lips. The doctor swayed on his feet as he stumbled over toward his partner.

“(Name),” Law growled as he dropped to his knees; he lightly slapped their face, “Hey, look at me.” Nausea nearly overcame him, seeing the blood on their lips.

“Fuck, hey, stay with me now,” Law barked, shaking them.

“Damn it, stop,” (Name) sputtered, “That hurts.”

“We gotta get you up,” he tugged on their shoulders, “My power is waning.”

(Name) cried out in pain as the movement sent shock waves through their body. As Law continued to try to get them on their feet (Name)’s breath became ragged. Each movement was agony.

Law strained with effort before sinking back to his knees. “Work with me (Name),” he grunted, “I’m wasting stamina.”

“Law,” they croaked, “Leave me, go get help.”

He stiffened before grabbing ahold of them. “I’m not gonna do that,” leaving them alone was too risky.

“Don’t be an idiot,” they groaned, “You'll come back before I die, probably.”

A small gasp escaped Law and his entire demeanor shifted.

“Losing you scares me,” he uttered, voice trembling. Hot tears brimmed his eyes, threatening to spill over. Law clutched his lover in his arms far tighter than he should’ve. Any good doctor should know how tight too tight is, but Law couldn’t care at that moment.

Law carefully cradled their skull in his hands. Their broken body was held against his chest. He swallowed thickly and dared to look at his partner's face.

A small trickle of blood had seeped from the corner of (Name)’s mouth. Their entire body ached, but seeing the pain on Law’s face, (Name)’s heart burned. With a groan, (Name) cupped his cheek. Their thumb stroked his skin.

Great, childish tears cascaded down his cheeks. Law nuzzled (Name)’s palm, seeking comfort in them. “Fawn,” Law whimpered, “Please stay.”

“It’s okay, darling,” (Name) assured him, “I’ll be just fine.” They lied. They knew it; Law knew it.

Every breath was strained. (Name) certainly had a broken ribcage throbbed with each gasp. The taste of blood was seeping on their tongue. The metallic tang made them gag.

“Don’t speak,” Law’s voice was barely above a whisper, his tone thick with grief, “Save your strength, Fawn.”

Law squinted as blood seeped into his eye. His blurred vision only made him more vulnerable.

Law rested (Name) down in the grass as tenderly as he could. At their pained whine, Law grit his teeth. He fished around into his pockets for his baby transponder snail.

His throat burned as he tried to call for help. The words barely made it passed his lips.

“Boss?” Ikkaku’s voice rang out from the tiny snail, “Boss, can you hear me? Where are you?” The little snail morphed into her features.

“We need help,” Law grunted, “(Name)’s hurt, and I can't conjure my power.” His stamina waning, exhaustion setting into his bones.

“Shit, boss, where are you?” Ikkaku began to sound frantic. The sound of his other crewmates could be heard panicking in the background.

“Please,” Law’s voice wavered. He glanced down at his lover in the grass. “We’re in a clearing,” he said, looking at his surroundings.

“Don’t worry, Captain,” the sound of Jean Bart’s voice came from the baby transponder snail, “I’ve got your card. We’re on our way.”

Law returned the communicator back into his pocket.

“Fawn?” he asked softly, terrified they wouldn’t answer. His eyes fixed squarely on their chest, and he diligently watched it move.

“I’m still with you,” they replied, trying to smile at him.

Law let out a heavy sigh of relief. “The crew’s coming,” he said, “But we can’t stay put out here.” He stood, stumbling from the surprising amount of pain shooting through him. Law wrinkled his nose at the pain in his foot and ankle.

Calcaneus and metatarsal are probably broken.

Law’s stomach churned as he walked away from his partner. Every limping step away from them was a moment of uncertainty. He counted his paces till he found a more secluded spot on the tree line. At forty-three paces, Law found a decent-looking site to wait.

The old willow tree was almost serene. Perhaps it was the oncoming concussion that made him think that.

When Law returned to (Name), his hand met their wrist, feeling for a pulse. He let out a long breath. “I’m going to move you,” Law said, tapping their cheek.

He winced, at the sound of their yelp, when he lifted them. “Sorry,” he grunted. His exhausted muscles strained under the weight of their ragdoll body. It was embarrassing; on a typical day, he could toss (Name) around so easily, but in his, fatigue Law could barely hold himself up. He could only imagine how pathetic he looked.

Law rested (Name) on the ground before situating himself at the willow tree's trunk. He choked out an apology when he manhandled (Name) next to him. He rested their head on his lap and took their bruised wrist in his hand. His tattooed fingers were fixed against their pulse.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you, Fawn,” Law said in a broken voice. Tears burned his eyes at the sound of (Name)’s raspy tone.

“Not your fault,” they replied, “I didn’t protect you either.” Their eyelids felt so heavy. Keeping them open was almost too much of a chore.

“We protect each other,” Law hummed, recalling the first time (Name) had ever said that to him. That felt like eons ago. Law rested his head against the rough bark.

The quiet of the forest was disrupted by the crunching of boots. At the sound, Law jerked upright, and his trembling hands grabbed the hilt of his sword. If someone wished to harm them, Law would fight till his final breath.

The sight of his crewmates flooded Law with relief. He slumped back against the tree, his eyes feeling heavy.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Ikkaku cursed up and down, rushing over to her captain, “Hakugan! They’re in terrible shape.”

“You came,” (Name) groaned as their crewmate hovered over them.

“Course we came, dummy,” Ikkaku replied, checking (Name) for injuries. She looked up at her captain for more information.

“Broken ribs, bruising, gashes, probably internal damage,” Law grunted, reluctantly letting go of his lover when Jean Bart scooped (Name) up into his arms.

“I’m sorry we took so long, Captain,” Bepo wailed, helping Law to his feet. The fretting bear supported Law as the captain limped after Jean Bart.

“You’re here now,” Law grunted, “I need to get (Name) back to the Polar Tang.”

“Don’t worry, Boss,” Ikkaku tried to soothe her captain, “We’ll take care of them.” She flashed a thumbs-up at him.

Hakugan wordlessly patted Law’s shoulder before hovering over Jean Bart’s side at his injured friend.

Law rubbed his face with his free hand. “I can’t lose them,” Law wiped his remaining tears from his face, “I just can’t.”

“We’ll fix (Name) right up,” Bepo reassured Law. It was hard for the bear to see his captain so distraught. Those dark yellow eyes stained with blood and grief were almost unnatural.

~~~

The cool sterile nature of Polar Tang was calming as Law sat beside (Name)’s bed. His bandaged fingers held (Name)’s hand. Feeling them squeezing his hand was almost euphoric. Seeing their face scrunched in discomfort was so reassuring.

“Be still,” Law commanded, his voice rumbling deep from his chest. His gaze flicked to Sachi, who carefully removed (Name)’s dirty bandages. A wry smile found its way to his face.

“Can’t you be gentler with me?” (Name) whined in discomfort. Their whole body ached with each movement.

“This is what happens when you put yourself in danger,” Law smirked, glad they were well enough to complain. The doe-eyed expression he was met with nearly made Law’s heart melt.

“I’ll always be in harm's way to protect you,” (Name) murmured lovingly, pulling his hand close to them and kissing his knuckles.

“Fool Hearted Fawn,” Law hummed, blushing, “Thank you.”

————— ୨୧ —————

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#cherryblossom chopper #one piece #law #one piece trafalgar law #trafalgar law #law x Reader #they/them reader #hurt/comfort #injured reader #Angst

[sparring-spirals]

(im extremely caffeinated rn this might not make sense, lets go)

With recent events, absolutely amped for Bell's Hells to become a full manifestation of the concept "horrific force of nature".

Between Orym, and Fearne and now Laudna, plants that grow and sprout and die around them, all the pretty bits of nature as well as the horrifying aspects of it. Waking up with flowers grown over and into you. Branches outstretched like fingertips, roots that can ground and choke. Vines that move on their own and wrap around your neck like a noose. Poisons and toxins growing around you. Out of you. Exquisite. Fantastic.

With Imogen, a storm, raging, crackling, bearing down, rain that could either save you or flood you. The sky turning a deep, deep red, cloud cover and nature gone silent in the face of something awful. Lightning and wind that can tear everything to pieces, that drown out everything else, set things aflame and rip them apart. Sexy. Unparalleled.

With Chetney, a wolf, howling in the distance, bloodlust that crawls in your veins, rage that is bestial and also very, very natural. A wild look in someone's eyes, glint of sharp teeth in the dark, predator and prey and jackrabbitting hearts. Visceral. Passionate.

With Ashton- Time, space, gravity, literal forces of nature, slowling and warping and bending around you. Your limbs inexorably heavy, your feet no longer planted on the same patch of ground, everything going too fast or too slow. Laws of the universe, the things keeping it anchored- all bending around you to swallow you whole. Right before a big ole stone cracks your head open. Horrifying. Inexplicable. (cool as hell).

And even with F.C.G: Something manmade, a pure technological advancement, metal and magic fused. Except: everything about them, their purpose, their kindness- wrapped up in human emotions, feelings and passion. Vulnerabilities too. Insecurities, weaknesses, patterns of mistakes made by all living minds. There is nothing more natural. Nothing more inescapable. Mortifying. Awesome as fuck.

Bell's Hells! Forces of nature! By some broad definition. With all of the inherent horror and menace that term implies. Bell's Hells as a spooky, otherworldly troupe, except everything about them is the worst bits of this world come to life. hell yes.

#have some lovely meta provoking asks in my inbox but i also had coffee which means my brain is going TOO fast for it so instead we get this #anyway its about FORCES OF NATURE AND NATURAL THINGS AND ALSO SPOOKY. spooky season. this is a halloween post i guess #im absolutely VIBRATING im going to get off my phone now. have fun with this folks. #critical role #c3e38 #bell's hells #meta #character meta #my meta #narrative meta #(?) #MAN I DIDNT EVEN TALK ABOUT THE FIRE. AND THE HELL. but thats there too