gnarlycrys
crystal 👾
nineteeni make artone piece & demon slayer luvr
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doflamingo + getting even
masterlist || commissions
cw: reader is nuts, beyond toxic relationship, mention of suicide (not reader or doffy), doflamingo is his own content warning, mention of cheating
tagging: @thus-spoke-lo @eelnoise @merbear25
when doffy first takes a mistress and dissolves your marriage, you swallow down your rage and channel it into something more productive—getting even.
it was only a matter of time until he would come crawling back; after all, he can't go without his fix of you for too terribly long—but that doesn't mean you don't bother to spin your own webs to ensure the inevitable comes to pass sooner rather than later. though your internal feelings are truly remarkably cool and detached, certain that you'll have our victory soon enough, you don't hesitate to throw fits full of over the top theatrics—in the throne room, outside of his bedroom door, anywhere you can—and terrorize his new conquests in the process. it becomes a twisted game of yours, seeing how long a naive, pretty little thing can withstand being tortured by both you and doffy until she inevitably breaks and throws herself from the highest spot she can find, splattering on the ground into a soup of wasted potential.
it's cruel to not allow him to move on, but he simply chuckles with amusement and lets you get away with it, because unlike any of his sycophants, or even foolish rosinante, you were the one person who was wholly indispensable to him—you made sure of that by the way you keep little doffy jr. tucked close to your side. though you can be firm your darling son at times, you coddle him and keep him dependent and attached at the hip, ensuring that a betrayal from your beloved would result in losing his son, his heir, his extension of himself for good. you both love and belong to doffy, tethered by blood for eternity by way of your gorgeous baby boy, and now by marriage—for the second time, with a gorgeous, intricate gold band slid firmly onto your ring finger.
and he belongs to you as well—even if he's too blind to see it that way sometimes. at least that's what you tell yourself.
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Okay, I've been having a LOT of thoughts about Sanemi. Partly because of the fic I'm writing and partly because of @/peachdues absolutely god tier writing of him.
I have come to the conclusion that he would just be the absolute BEST friend or partner when you are on your period??
Like, this man is canonically a mama's boy, and he has two sisters. Of course he is educated in these things. Of course he knows enough to look after his family when they're dealing with this.
He is the kind of man who will carry sanitary products. He is the kind of man who will produce painkillers if he sees you wince or thinks you look uncomfortable, or if he's just provided you with aforementioned sanitary products.
This man will be understanding and patient, even if you're a little snappy. He will sympathise if you feel rough. He will go to the shops for you and be not at all embarrassed to get you anything you need. If you want space, you will get it (with him still available should you need something). If you want to be attached to him at all times, he will make it happen. If you feel generally pathetic and gross and disgusting, he will be there to lend a supportive ear and reassuring words. Sometimes a person just needs to vent about how nasty periods can be, and he has got you!
Just Sanemi being a supportive guy because he is a sweet boy under all the trauma 🥹🥺
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Sanemi’s the type of guy to do tricks with those mini skateboards on ur butt and boobies :p
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y’all want a little sneak peek of some soft Compass content?
Note that this scene will not be included in Part I, but will be featured in a later installment, should I continue the series.
CW: mention of robbery • injury • gang member!Sanemi • protective Sanemi • slight skip between scenes because this is just a teaser lmao
Your face pales as he thunders toward you. “Sanemi, wait — it’s not that bad —“
But he doesn’t listen; not as he reaches for you, his hands cupping your jaw, trapping you in place. His eyes are wild as he scrutinizes your face, hands tilting your head every direction, assessing.
His eyes run first over the cut on your lip before settling on the bruise forming along your cheek. At the first glimpse of the faint swelling along your cheekbone, his frantic, angry concern melts into something colder; more frightening.
Murderous.
Your fingers wrap around his wrists as he begins to tremble. “Sanemi,” you say lowly, urgent. “Sanemi, I’m okay — it was just a robbery —“
“Just a robbery?” His voice is hard and unforgiving. “Just a fuckin’ robbery?”
“I’m going back to headquarters,” Iguro says quietly, eager to distance himself from the pair. Without another word, Sanemi’s fellow hashira retreats to the back of the store and slips out of the service entrance.
Sanemi makes a mental note to thank him later. His hands remain on your face, his finger gingerly wiping away the smudge of blood where it’s dried on your lip. “What were they after?”
“Just the cash in the register,” you wince. “They were just some petty thieves —“
“Give me names and I’ll handle it.”
“It’s not like they identified themselves,” you say, exasperated. “And I definitely wasn’t about to ask.”
“Descriptions, then,” Sanemi says through clenched teeth as he leads you through the back exit of the store, arm latched firmly around your waist, guiding you to where he’d unceremoniously propped his motorcycle against the alley wall.
“Get on the bike,” and because Sanemi can see you hesitate, can see the protest building on your tongue, he sharply adds, “Now.” He reaches for a spare helmet and shoves it toward you.
You can’t help it. The moment you spy his arm lifting to push the helmet down over your head, you flinch. Hard.
All at once, Sanemi’s panicked anger winks out like a star. His arm drops limply to his side. He does not reach for you again.
He murmurs your name and finally, you look to him, eyes full of guilt that matches his own.
“I would put a bullet in my head before I ever raised a hand to you.”
You nod, mortified. “I know,” you whisper. “I know that.”
And you do. If there was one certainty in this — this thing between you, it was that Sanemi could not hurt you. No matter how angry, no matter how frantic he was, all that fell away the moment you were within his reach.
His voice is gentle, so very gentle as he asks, “Can I touch you?”
You nod and he folds you between his arms. His lips press gently against your forehead and then he breaks away, his hand cradling your face.
———-
You shouldn’t be surprised at the soft knock at your bathroom door; that he’d heard you pitiful attempts to stifle your sobs behind your hand and under the spray of the shower head.
A rush of cool air breaks up some of the steamy humidity of the bathroom. Sanemi softly calls your name. “Can I come in?”
You squeak out a soft yes, your eyes squeezing shut as your tears escape down your cheeks, mixing in with the shower water streaming over you.
He pulls back the shower curtain and his face falls as you shrink back against the soap-scummed tile.
“C’mere,” his hand lands softly at your waist and he tugs you in. You follow without resistance, eager to melt into the reassuring warmth of his skin.
It dawns on you that the arm locked around your waist is half-holding you up, Sanemi bracing your weight against him.
“I’ve got you, baby, I’ve got you.” He murmurs between kisses against your ear, his other hand cupping the back of your head, cradling your face into his throat. “Just let it out.”
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birthday art trade with the birthday neighbor @mih4nn
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Sanemi has never seen you like this.
Eyes blown wide and pretty, glassy from pleasure. Your eyes transfixed on where his cock was snug against your womb, your mouth parted open as you let out a shuddering breath.
His back rested against the headboard and you were sitting on dick like a precious doll. You're squeezing him so damn tight he wants to cry.
He hasn't even moved his hips but you're gushing around him, squirting so much his hips and abdomen are entirely wet and so fucking sweet.
"Oh, 'Nemi-!" you cry out and he captures your mouth with his, his fingers moving to tease your pearly clit so that you cum a second time around his cock.
"Didn't know my pretty girl could cum so much," he murmurs against your mouth as you sob softly from sensitivity. "F- fuck, do it again, hm?"
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That Thing I Like
Masterlist Here
Word count: 2,100+
Synopsis: You are ships counselor to the Polar Tang. For the past four days, you had been called into Law’s office over the Den-Den transponder speakers. The crew assumes you two had began a relationship, but what actually occurs is far more intimate than any romantic encounter.
Themes: Law x gn!reader, platonic yearning for more, crying, angst, swearing, hurt with comfort, processing grief, professionalism and duty getting in the way.
Notes: @feral-artistry said she wanted some comforting Law. Man needs a hug. Go comfort your captain, he needs you. I hope you enjoy your gift!
Tag list: @sordidmusings @since-im-already-here @i-am-vita @gingernut1314 @writingmysanity
Written with two songs in mind: Lora Lai Lo - Patty Gurdy, Baby Mine - Sharon Rooney
Fingertips brushing with the tanned pages of your novel, focussing on the cleverly articulated poetry depicted on the pages. You began blindly reaching in front of you, your index finger meeting with the ceramic edge of your rapidly cooling teacup.
Your eyes continued to mull the same sentence over and over again, the masterful penmanship scorching into your memory as you rose your cup to your lips. Halting, you narrowed your eyes on the final two words of the sentence: “My boy.” You spoke aloud those words in a hushed whisper, brow knit and focussed.
Finally raising the teacup to your lips, you choked on the fluid within. Where you expected to taste the bitter tang and subtle sweetness of liquorice tea, your palate was assaulted immediately by the overwhelming flavor of seawater.
“Damn it, Shachi!” you immediately yelled, placing down the cup loudly on your saucer. A loud gaggle of laughter had your eyes burning with a violent rage over the spine of your novel. The redhead smirked at you, his brother in arms, Penguin, clutching his own chest alongside grasping Shachi’s bicep.
“I couldn't not!” he confessed between cackles, “It was right there!” You shook your head at him, rising to your feet and readied yourself to berate your fellow Heart-Pirate crewman, only for the drone of your Captain to spark over the Den-Den speakers.
“Ships’ Counselor, to my office,” your anger immediately cooled, huffing away your exasperation with a puff of breath.
“Saved by the captain, as per usual, Orka,” you snarled at him. His smirk only widened as you shook off the flavor of seasoned water with a shrug of your shoulders and a rotation of your neck.
“Ooooh, Counselor to the Captain’s office,” Penguin taunted you with a higher pitch to his regular drone, “How many times does that make this week, hm Shach?”
“That makes the fourth day in a row, Pen,” Shachi taunted back. You placed your marker within the pages of your novel and tucked it within your satchel. Shaking your head at the both of them, you eyed them off cautiously.
“Four days of not so secret, secret meetings,” Penguin continued in his teasing tone, “What do you get up to in there? Want to share with your two bestest friends?”
“After that little stunt?” you quipped at him, gesturing to the ceramic teacup, “Absolutely not."
“It was just a little switch-e-roo,” Shachi chuckled, “A little switch up to make things interesting.”
“I will get you back for that little switch up, boys,” you threaten them with narrowed eyes and a wide smirk, “When you least expect it, I'll enact my revenge.” The seriousness in your tone had both men on edge beneath your icy tone.
“Jokes on you,” Penguin snarled your name in a hushed whisper, “I'm always on edge.”
“A terrible coping strategy, Pen,” you remark with a soft chuckle, “When you're ready to work through that, make an appointment with me, okay?” He hummed a soft acknowledgement at your comment, both men watching as you turned to make your way through the Polar Tang.
As you left the common area and wove your body down the hall, Shachi turned to Penguin and bumped his shoulder against his.
“You reckon Cap and Sel are a little friendly?” he asked his dark-haired crewmate.
“More than that, I think,” Penguin smirked in return, scrunching his nose up, “Why else would he call ‘em into the office so much?”
Both men looked at one another with a small shrug before returning to their own recreational activities in the mess hall, leaving thoughts of romantic dalliance between you and Law alone while their hobbies occupy them.
As soon as you knock, your practiced routine for the last few days has your momentum carrying you to the desk Law remained sat behind.
“Counselor,” Law addressed you with a soft nod.
“Captain,” you mirrored his expression with a nod of your own. Your soft, melancholy smile rose up to your lips.
“I need you to do that thing I like,” he confessed with an even tone. You shook your head, your brows furrowed to a low frown.
“Captain,” you begin, shaking your head, “This is the fourth day in a row that you've-.”
“-I need it,” he spoke over you, a small growl in his tone, “I need you to do it again.” You sighed in response, weaving your way over to his position behind the desk.
He swivelled his chair, his knees parted and hands gripping the denim over his thighs. His teeth clenched behind his tightly clamped lips, his brow deepening in a frown of his own.
“Are you certain?” you asked him, reaching out and smoothing your hands over his shoulders before cupping his chin beneath your fingertips.
“I know it's a request not common in your training,” he confessed, his inked fingertips tentatively and soothingly brushing over your own, “And it's well out of your job description and comfort zone. But I need you to do this for me.”
You smile softly at him, his eyelids falling into a cresent shape with his small smile. His hat lay askew on his desk, his documents all neatly compiled in a catalogued heap beside him.
“Alright, Captain,” you smiled at your captain, turning your hands and capturing his within your digits, “Let's go do that thing you like.”
You led Law by the hands, tugging at his wrists and slowly moved yourself to a seated position over the suade sofa in his office, patting the empty space beside you to indicate for Law to sit.
Immediately, he fell in a heaped mess beside you. His head hit your thighs, his face hidden against your stomach as your hands gently began caressing his hair. He lay himself down, tucking his lanky legs against his chest as you began the routine you had been practicing for the past four days.
“My boy, dry your eyes,” you sung melodically to him, your voice not professional by any means, but well enough to carry the simple melody. He immediately became transported back into a memory.
“Tomorrow will soar, as the dove flies,” you massaged his scalp, hands soothing over the unruly strands. He tucked his head further against your stomach, using your body as a shield to muffle any uncharacteristic whimpers from falling from his lips.
“You are loved from your head to your toes,” you continued, your own emotions almost betraying you as you felt his shoulders shuddering, “May my words spread light over woes.”
“For you are my best boy,” you repeated your lilted chorus, “My only boy.”
As your words hung thick in the air, you attempted to ignore the dampened streaks of fresh, hot tears soaking through your shirt. You knew Law needed to linger in this space, process this state of grief and use you as a lightning rod to draw in his thundering strike of raw emotion.
For the past four days, he needed a space to linger in his grief. When you noticed him making simple mistakes navigating the Polar Tang through still waters, you immediately set an appointment up with him to talk through it. It took you the first month to get him to open up, the following two to reassure him that nothing ever said here would leave.
It only took two months after that one to have him process his childhood with you there as an ear, a council and a guide to usher him through. You had become friends through this, sometimes using the opportunity to discuss hobbies and jokes. But lately, he would use your time together to remember all those lost to him.
For the past four days, that focus was on his mother.
After clutching against you within this state of vulnerability for several, you chose not to make a sound. Disguising your breath by taking lengthy inhales and exhales, your heart soared, and relief washed over you when you felt your captain match your intentional breaths.
“Thank you,” he whispered against your naval, withdrawing his face from your body and wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.
“You've done well,” you acknowledged him, withdrawing your hands from his hair as he moved to sit upright, “Less time than the last few sessions we've done this together.”
He hummed, his heart feeling lighter and less overcome beneath the strangling waves of oppressed sorrow. His eyes were red and glossy, the streaks of tears now drying on his cheeks.
“Do you want to talk about it this time, or do you want to leave it?” you offered him, feeling his bare grief still lingering, “We've spoken so much about Dressrosa, Corazon and Doflamingo. Do you want to tell me why this melody means so much to you?”
He sighed, his tattooed fingers drawing over his eyes as he scraped them over his cheeks and down to his whiskered chin.
“My mother sang that song to me every night,” he confessed in a voice just above a whisper, “She would change the lyrics for my sister when it was her turn. I would often catch her humming it when she thought nobody was around.”
You nodded along, ushering him to continue with your eyes supporting his release of pent up emotion.
“I was a child when my whole country perished with the poisoning, or the extermination,” he continued, a wave in his voice causing him to gulp back a dry lump forming, “I don't think I had the opportunity to process this before, and now that her birthday is coming up-...”
“...You miss them,” your hands subconsciously sought out his knee, giving the cap a gentle squeeze in acknowledging his emotions, “And there is nothing wrong with experiencing the gravity of such a loss well after experiencing it. You've been through so much, Captain.”
His hand reached down to cup yours over his knee, his head shaking a soft denial to your words.
“You likely think me weak,” he confessed with a dark smile, “You have the ability to dismiss me from duty and take command, should you no longer see me fit to lead.”
“For experiencing human emotions?” you quirk your brow up, a soft smile elevating to your lips, “Hardly a valid reason for mutiny, sir.”
He chuckled at your answer, his rare smile once again drawing over his face. The moment of the memory had left him once more, his mind now fully present beside you. Your smile was one he had seen a thousand times before, but this particular one penetrated his cold heart and swelled it with an engulfing warmth.
“I appreciate you so much, Counselor,” he admitted, his body moving against its will in a hypnotic trance as his forehead met with your own, “I will be forever grateful that Bepo convinced me that our crew needed one.”
“For what it's worth,” you whisper, closing your eyes and lingering against him, “I think you are an excellent captain,” you used your thumb to brush against his knuckles, “Your parents, your sister, your country, and Rosinante would be proud of the man you've become.”
Lingering against each other, Law fought back the urge flooding his chest to release more of his stress physically. He wanted to lunge forward and press himself against you, cry into you and show his appreciation with embracing you.
But he remembered who he was, where he was, who you were, and who you were to him. You were an equal, a colleague, a friend, and someone who acts as both therapist and deepest confidant to him as your superior.
He could never betray that to seek out a physical dalliance, no matter how much his body screamed at him to clutch against you.
You were plagued with a similar plight, desperately wanting to join your lips with Law’s and demonstrate how safe, secure, and loved he is with you. To become a person far greater than a mere colleague to him.
These past few months had drawn you both close - but these past few days had propelled you even closer. You could never betray your station and your standing as his confidante and counselor.
As the night lingered on, you both opted to remain like this for several moments: enjoying the soft, emotional touch and the world you had carved out behind the safety of the office door. Both yearning and craving the touch to deepen between you, like a swelling rush of water behind a rapidly caving dam wall.
You just needed one more, simple push before that wall would shatter for you to give into this craving. But stubourness, duty and your minds often stood in the way of you both giving in to he desires your heart screamed for.
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It's hard being a fan sometimes, but I stand on business.
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|| Just imagine
- Eustass Kid having a huge crush on you and he’s always trying to show off while you’re around. And he would definitely show off his devil fruit ability. But only for him to get rejected. Poor baby boy.
kid: hey y/n! have you’ve seen muscles this big before.
y/n: yes.
kid: how about this?! *and proceeds to show off his devil fruit abilities.*
y/n: so you can attract metal?
kid: pretty impressive huh?
y/n: hm probably the only thing you can attract.
kid:
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I’m at a big city thing rn but it’s been a while. Drink up, sluts.
Somewhere, deep within Sanemi’s chest, a dark, hungry frenzy threatens to settle over him. One that would destroy whatever last thread of control he has over himself, wavering under the force of his desire for you.
One that demands he make good on his suggestion to fuck you hard, rather than to take his time, to shower you with the tenderness he knows you deserve.
He tames that urge by gripping your chin, squeezing your jaw until your mouth parts and the two fingers he’d just had between your thighs, still covered in your wetness, slide past your lips.
“Go on,” he orders, rolling his hips against yours. “See how fuckin’ perfect you are.”
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Sketches of Sanemi with his best friends. The grumpy, the mean boy and the sunshine, they're a chaos and I love them
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